How to Abduct a Highland Lord (18 page)

 “And?”

 “She did not choose me.”

 Fiona’s heart sank. It could not be. Surely Jack would have said something. But how? She’d abducted him and married him so quickly. What if his heart had been already engaged?

 The thought struck her with the force of a blow. “Is he…Is Jack still—” She could not finish the sentence.

 Campbell must have sensed her distress, for he immediately said, “Ibelieve he ended it…” He paused for a significant amount of time.

 Fiona’s imagination raced. Oh, God, what had she done? She could not look away from the woman’s blond perfection. She was beautiful, cultured, fashionable—everything Fiona was not.

 Campbell’s hand came to rest over hers. “Lady Kincaid—Fiona. Don’t allow Lucinda to worry you. It’s obvious Jack cares more for you than he ever did for her.”

 Hope sputtered to life. “Do you think so?”

 “Absolutely. He married you, not her.”

 Fiona’s heart sank to the bottom of her jeweled slippers. Suddenly, she wanted to move, stop thinking, stop imagining Jack with that woman. “They are beginning the new set. Did you wish to dance?”

 “Absolutely!” Campbell took her hand. “Come, let’s—”

 “No.” A deep voice came from behind Fiona. “I believe this dance is mine.”

 A heated shiver raced down her body and pooled in her stomach.

 “Kincaid.” Campbell gave him a thin smile. “What a surprise.”

 “I’m sure it is,” Jack said, slipping a hand around Fiona’s waist and neatly pulling her to him. “If you don’t mind, Campbell, I plan on dancing with my wife.”

 “Well, well, well,” Gregor said, arriving next. “If it isn’t Alan Campbell, the scourge of Scotland.”

 Dougal took in the situation at a glance. “Making up to our sister, were you? I suppose you didn’t realize we were in town.”

 Campbell’s face turned a mottled red. “No,” he said stiffly. “I did not.”

 “Pity,” Dougal said. “You might have saved yourself some trouble.”

 “And some bruises,” Gregor added cheerfully. He leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, “I have to keep an eye on my sister, you know. Scare off the scalawags.”

 Campbell sent him a dark glare. “I was just leaving.” He bowed to Fiona. “I hope we may speak again sometime.” He turned on his heel and left.

 Jack caught a look of sympathy on Fiona’s face. “Damn it, Dougal,” he growled. “I didn’t need your help to take care of Campbell.”

 “Oh, it’s no problem.” Gregor waved a hand. “Besides, we’re glad to see our sister.” He kissed Fiona soundly on the cheek. “Hello, lass. I hope you’re doing well.”

 “I’m fine, thank you,” she said in a decidedly frosty tone. “I am surprised you have not yet visited me.”

 “We were going to do that tomorrow,” Dougal said a bit uneasily.

 Fiona met his gaze. “At ten?”

 Dougal and Gregor exchanged surprised glances, then nodded. “At ten,” Gregor agreed.

 She turned to Jack. “I would like that dance now, my lord.”

 Jack immediately took her hand. “So would I.” With that, he swept Fiona into the dance.

 Fiona tried not to compare Campbell’s rather slack grip to Jack’s firm one and failed miserably. There was just somethingright about Jack. Which annoyed her very much. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.

 He looked down at her, his glance hot and possessive. “I didn’t. I’ve been to three other places. I was fortunate to find you at this one.”

 He turned her swiftly, his arm firm about her, his hand warm clasping hers. Her skirt whirled, a faint swirl of air tickling her bare skin, and the colors in the room softened and blurred.

 The air flowed from the terrace door, the music flowed around them. And there she was, no longer alone but with Jack. She frowned.And with Lucinda Featherington.

 “Fiona, we must talk,” Jack said in a grim tone. “It is not safe for you to go about town alone.”

 “I came with the coachman and two footmen, so I hardly think I was in any danger.”

 “Fiona, you know what I mean.”

 “Indeed I do. You think that you should be able to do what you want to do, when you want to do it, while I should wait at home and notwant at all.”

 He frowned. “No, that is not what I mean.”

 “Then whatdo you mean? I can make no sense of your complaints at all.”

 He glowered down at her. “You are being difficult.”

 “If taking action when I am unhappy is being difficult, then that is what I am.”

 There was a pointed silence.

 “Jack?”

 “What?”

 “Who is Lady Featherington?”

 Jack stopped dancing, ignoring the other dancers who stared. “What about her?”

 “Campbell said—he said that you and she—”

 Jack led her to one side of the dance floor. “What did that scoundrel tell you?”

 “That you and he wanted the same woman. And you won her.”

 “That bastard. He had no right.” Jack took a calming breath. “Very well. Lucinda and I were once friends. Now it’s over.”

 “Over?”

 “Yes, before we married. I just hadn’t bothered to inform her of that.”

 God, what a horrid evening. He’d been harassed by Fiona’s brothers; then he’d spent a good hour dashing about town, trying to find her; now Campbell was making mischief for him. When he had the chance, he’d make the troublemaker pay dearly.

 Slowly, Fiona said, “Very well. I believe you.”

 “Good. Then shall we dance again?” He placed his hand on her waist and pulled her a bit closer, forcing himself to smile. “I enjoy holding you.”

 Her cheeks pinkened and she nodded.

 They merged back into the swirling crowd. Jack twirled Fiona faster this time, her skirts flaring about her, the silk brushing her legs, tickling her skin. Fiona looked up at him and laughed, her teeth white between her lips, her eyes shimmering with amusement.

 Her husky laugh was like soothing, cool water over his seething irritation. He looked down at her and admired the sparkle in her eyes, the joy that shone in her expression.

 Jack held her tightly and swirled her so that her skirts fanned out behind her. People were beginning to watch, for they were dancing a good bit faster than the music required. He didn’t care. He only cared that his wife was with him, where she should be.

 Jack didn’t know why he had been so furious to see Fiona being led to the dance floor by Campbell. He only knew that he was. Something about seeing her on Campbell’s arm had stirred emotions he couldn’t contain or explain.

 Jack slowed Fiona into a gentle glide. She laughed again, her eyes sparkling at him. Suddenly, Jack wanted to be away from the crowd; he wanted her all to himself.

 He guided Fiona toward the open terrace door, bringing their dancing to a graceful halt as a breeze stirred the sheer curtains flanking the French doors.

 Fiona fanned herself energetically. “That was so enjoyable! We must dance more often.”

 Jack had a sudden image of dancing with her before the fire in the master bedchamber, dancing slower and slower, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips within reach…His body raged with the need to feel her, if just for a moment.

 Her gaze met his, and the fire in her eyes rose to match his. Jack’s body responded immediately. He gripped her hand and leaned toward her, toward her lush mouth, her lush—

 “Jack.” Her breathless voice reminded him that they were in full view of the room.

 Damn it, what did a man have to do to kiss his own wife? He took Fiona’s hand. “Come. We need fresh air,” he said, moving through the French doors to the flagstone terrace.

 Jack led Fiona down the wide steps and out into the garden. His shoes sounded on the stone path, the trees above whispered, and somewhere nearby a fountain gurgled. The scents of jasmine and orchids filled the air.

 It was madness, this desire for yet another taste of her. He’d thought that once she was his, he’d tire of her. Instead, his desire seemed to grow with each encounter. He wanted to taste her and explore her, discover every inch of her silky skin, taste the lines of her thighs and hips, smell the lilac of her hair, and lose himself in her heat.

 “Jack, where are we going?”

 He turned at a low hedgerow, the light from the house no longer illuminating the path. He heard the murmurs of other couples but saw no one on the narrow pathway.

 “Jack—”

 He pulled her into a private alcove made by two narrow benches. The area was shielded from anyone coming down the pathway by an effusion of shrubberies.

 “What are you doing?” Fiona asked, her voice slightly breathless.

 He peeled her glove from her hand and tucked it into his pocket. “I am stealing a kiss.” He traced his lips to the tip of her finger, brushing the inside of her thumb.

 Her breathing was ragged, the pale moon’s glow reflected in her eyes.

 “This is silly,” she said in that breathless tone that told him she was as affected as he. “You don’t have to steal a kiss from me. I am quite willing to give you one.”

 “Just one?”

 Her lips curved into an amused half-smile. “Did you want more?”

 Something quivered through him. He didn’t know what he liked better, the innocently wanton fullness of her lips or the pure line of her cheek and chin. He wanted to trace them all with his lips, taste the freshness of her, the wildness of her passion.

 He ran his hands down her back to the curve of her buttocks as their lips met. He swept his tongue along the line of her bottom lip, raking her teeth.

 She moaned, her arms coming up to clasp around his neck, her body pressed hard against his. For a mad moment, he did not think. Did not care. He just tasted, took, drank from her.

 And she did the same to him, pressing closer, her hips unconsciously rocking against him, her moans deep in her throat.

 He paused, his heart thundering in his chest, his body rigid with desire. “We should leave, my love. While the stone bench behind your knees offers some interesting possibilities, we have a perfectly good bed awaiting us at home.”

 She shivered against him, her arms tight about his neck, her voice husky and as mysterious as the moon overhead. “Jack, I don’t wish to wait.”

 “That bench is not only hard, but it would scrape your tender skin. I won’t allow that to happen.”

 She reluctantly dropped her arms from him and eyed the bench with distaste. “Someone should put cushions on it.”

 “I agree. Unfortunately, they do not have our understanding of how things should be in a garden.”

 One of the benefits of being married, he realized, was that one could take one’s leisure. He used to think that the urgency of a clandestine relationship was all the piquancy he needed. Now he saw that much of the excitement had been in the clandestine nature and not the relationship itself, which was why they’d swiftly palled.

 Anyone who thought being married to one woman would be boring did not know a woman with Fiona’s rich passion. The more he drank of her, the thirstier he became.

 Jack bent and pressed a kiss to Fiona’s brow. “Fix your hair, and we will say farewell to our host.”

 She smoothed her gown. “Oh, blast. There’s a tear in my flounce. I shall have to stop and pin it, or I might trip.”

 He nuzzled her cheek. “Just be swift. I cannot wait too long.”

 Jack escorted Fiona inside. “I shall be right here when you return.” He kissed her hand, then released her.

 “Thank you. I shall hurry.” She had a gratifying last glimpse of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes glimmering with unfulfilled passion as he watched her go.

 Fiona hurried to the chambers where two maids helped with such emergencies as torn flounces and unpinned hair. One of them quickly set Fiona’s hem to rights, and she was soon headed back to the ballroom.

 A soft voice came from behind her. “If it isn’t the lovely little bride. I’ve been looking for you.”

 Fiona turned around.

 Standing in the hallway behind her was Lucinda Featherington.

 Chapter Thirteen

 They say the MacLean curse will be broken when every member of a generation performs a deed of great good. Can ye imagine that? All seven of ye and yer brothers, out lookin’ fer dragons to fight and maidens to save? What a bonny adventure life would be then!

 OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

 Fiona felt the urge to wrap her fingers around Lucinda’s neck and squeeze.

 She lofted her chin in the air and said as calmly as she could manage, “Lady Featherington. How do you do?”

 “Ah, Fiona MacLean,” the woman purred the name.

 Fiona’s jaw tightened. “Actually, it’s Lady Kincaid.”

 She wished the woman were not so breathtakingly beautiful, with her thickly lashed eyes and outrageous figure. This was exactly the type of woman one could imagine with Jack. They must have turned heads every time they were together, the woman so blond and Jack with his auburn hair and dark blue eyes.