A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) by Kimberly Bell

witchcraft. She played hell on his body and his mind whether she was near him or not.
    Then there was Rose. If he’d known she was here . . . how could he not have known? Ewan had grown up with his grandfather’s ward, the only child his own age. They’d been inseparable—right up until Ewan had left for Dalreoch Castle. Left her behind, in this hellhole full of monsters. Had he even thought about her after the first few weeks?
    As if thinking about her had summoned her, Ewan’s childhood friend appeared at the top of the cliff with a bucket.
    “Thirsty?” Rose called down.
    “Oh, thank Christ.” Tristan dropped his pick and made his way up the few feet of trail they’d finished improving.
    Ewan saw Rose flinch at the profanity, but her welcoming smile stayed firmly in place.
    “Thank ye,” he said when she handed him the ladle.
    “It’s no trouble.”
    “Still, it’s a bit of a walk from the house.”
    “Oh, I dinnae mind.” She gave Ewan a shy smile. “I’m afraid I’m nae much use up there at the moment.”
    “What’s Dee got them doing?” Tristan asked, splashing water over his head.
    “She, um, well . . .” She fidgeted with the bucket and the edge of her dress.
    Ewan sat on one of the craggy rocks that lined the cliff’s edge. “It’s all right. Ye’ll nae shock either of us.”
    “She was instructing them in how to tell the difference between men who can be bought, men who can be blackmailed, and men who must be avoided,” Rose imparted with a furrowed brow.
    Tristan nodded. “Don’t need anybody getting pinched if we can help it.”
    “Ewan, can we . . .” Rose cast a sideways glance at Tristan.
    “Tris, why dinnae ye head up and see if yer sister needs help.”
    The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He took off up the hill without a backward glance.
    Rose perched near Ewan on the rocks once Tris was out of earshot. She peered down over the edge of the cliff. “I havnae been out here in years.”
    “No?”
    She shook her head. “Ye asked me to marry ye out on this cliff. Do ye remember?”
    “I do. I remember ye called me a clod head and turned me down.”
    “Ye were a clod head. Ye were practically my brother.”
    “I was four,” Ewan defended. “If ye remember, I’d also asked my mother to marry me that same day.”
    His mother. Remembering her sent pain through his gut like fire. He pushed it down and pushed her out of his mind.
    “Ye did, dinnae ye.” Rose smiled down at her hands. They tangled in her skirts as she came to the reason she’d wanted Tristan away. “Are ye certain this smuggling business is the best idea?”
    “Certain? No, but it’s nae a bad one.”
    “Couldnae ye just . . . restore the farms? Get the tenants back?” She sounded hopeful.
    It was a nice idea, but not a realistic one. “It would take years before the land would yield crops we could sell for a profit. And tenants need a lord to manage them.”
    “But yer back now. I’m sure ye could—”
    Ewan cringed. This wasn’t the place or time he would have chosen for this conversation, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I’m nae staying, Rose.”
    “Oh.”
    He rushed to reassure her. “I’ll nae leave ye behind. Ye’ll come with me. Ye can stay at Dalreoch or we can find ye a husband.”
    Her laugh rippled out over the rocks. “A husband. I’m two and thirty, Ewan. Even if I were younger, I’m nae exactly—”
    “Nonsense. There’s plenty of men would have ye.”
    She shook her head. “No. Besides, this is my home.”
    “It’s nae place for a woman, Rose. Ye cannae stay here.”
    “Mr. Darrow isnae so bad. He pretends to be some famous criminal, but Iona wouldnae have brought him here if he was a danger.”
    “I’m nae about to lay bets on my grandmother’s judge of character,” Ewan spat. “And neither should ye. Nae when it’s yer life being used as the stakes.”
    Rose flinched at his tone, but she didn’t back down. “Miss Morgan is staying. I