The Laird Who Loved Me (15 page)

But that was how things had gone so awry last time. She’d tempted, and he, like the most callow of youths, had succumbed. This time, it wouldn’t be
him
left panting with desire. This time it would be her.

He leaned forward until his lips were within an inch of hers. Her warm brown eyes seemed almost liquid, her flawless skin silky. “I’m up to any challenge you dare to name.”

“Any?”

His gaze roamed boldly over her. They were so close to one another that he could feel the heat of her creamy skin. “I’ll accept your conditions, but realize this: if I lose, I’m risking my freedom, which you’ve admitted you might well take should the mood suit you. So if I win, I want more from you than a tumble in my bed.”

Her gaze grew wary. “What more is there?”

He grinned, relishing the worry in her voice. “If I win, then not only will you come to my bed, but you’ll become my mistress for two entire weeks—and you’ll do it in front of the entire world.”

He could see the pulse beating wildly in her delicate throat. She attempted to swallow, but could not. Finally she managed to say huskily, “Done.”

“When
I’m
done, you’ll be sorry you ever set eyes on me.”

Her chin lifted, and she whispered with such sincere regret that all humor fled, “It’s too late for that, my lord. Far too late.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her hips beckoning as she left.

She opened the door, then looked back. “We’ll discuss the particulars tomorrow, after breakfast. That should give us time to decide the first tasks.”

He nodded once, his body so aflame that he didn’t dare risk speaking. With a sense of profound relief, mixed with a staggering sense of disappointment, he watched her slip out of the room and disappear from view.

Alexander turned and leaned against the desk, his hand closing around his glass. He took a hard gulp, then another. It was a sacrilege to drink good port in such a way, but he didn’t give a damn. In a short week or two, he’d have Caitlyn Hurst at his mercy. She’d be his in bed.

He smiled, already savoring his victory. He’d dress her in scandalous clothing that showed her delectable figure to one and all. He’d escort her all over London, place her in his high-perch phaeton, and drive her down St. James’s Street past the bow window at White’s, something a genteel lady would never do. Then he’d escort her to Vauxhall Gardens and have
her sit with the other ladybirds on display there. He’d humiliate her so thoroughly that there would be no last-minute saving by a sister or brother or anyone else.

For two weeks, she’d be his to do with as he wished, in bed and out. And, oh, how he’d take pleasure in that.

From out in the hallway, he heard Dervishton’s voice raised in greeting as Caitlyn joined the others waiting for dinner.

Alexander tossed back the rest of his port and left the library. Soon he’d have his revenge, and Caitlyn Hurst would learn a lesson in humility she’d never forget.

Always fight fair. Those as fight dirty will find tha’ the mud on their hands lets their enemies slip awa’ every time.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

Alexander reached blindly for a towel. “Did you discover anything new about Miss Hurst?”

“Oh, yes.” MacCready placed a fresh towel into Alexander’s hand and waited until he’d dried his face. “In fact, I discovered several things about the young lady. Lord Falkland is planning on surprising her with a picnic after breakfast. He heard from the young lady’s maid that Miss Hurst is especially partial to roasted beef and strawberries, and he’s had Cook in a tizzy trying to procure the berries.”

Alexander handed the damp towel to the valet. “The fool. Anything else?”

“Miss Hurst is apparently a rather indifferent correspondent. She’s begun no fewer than four missives home, but hasn’t finished a one.”

Alexander wasn’t one for letter writing, either. Reading, though, was a different matter altogether. He rarely left home without the company of a good book. He thought of the way Caitlyn had paged through the small leatherbound book last night, with a comfort and familiarity that indicated someone used to being around books. She was obviously a reader.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and was startled to see a satisfied smile curving his lips. Shocked, he scowled.
Damn it, what does that matter if she reads or not?
Since Hugh’s marriage, Alexander had thought so much about Caitlyn Hurst that he felt as if he knew her, and his assessment had been of the darkest, most insulting kind.

Now that he was face-to-face with her and not just stewing over her selfish manipulations, he was forced to recognize all of the seductive and alluring things about her that had made him pursue her to begin with.

Of course, that didn’t make his previous assessment less accurate; her true nature was obviously impulsive and self-centered. But now a part of him whispered that perhaps … just perhaps … his faults were just as much to blame as hers had been.

He shook off the disturbing thoughts. “What else have you found out?”

“Lord Dervishton has been making inquiries as to the location of her ladyship’s bedchambers—” At
Alexander’s sharp look, MacCready added in a sonorous tone, “As you were doing just two days ago.”

He had been, though he doubted it was for the same reason. He’d just wanted to know the location of his enemy. Dervishton’s motives were less pure.

Damn Dervishton. “I don’t trust that man. Tell the footmen to keep an eye on him.”

“My lord, this isn’t our house. I can’t—”

“Fine. I’ll tell Georgiana to see to it. Anything else?”

MacCready’s mouth thinned in annoyance, but all he said was “The maids are in a tizzy over the quality of Miss Hurst’s wardrobe, and there are rumors she sewed it all herself. The footmen are half in love with her, which has caused some strife among some of the staff, as you can imagine. One individual has even gone so far as to stock her fireplace with twice the wood necessary, and as a result a large log hit the floor at two this morning, startling Miss Hurst and scaring Lord Caithness.”

Alexander whirled on MacCready. “They were together?” His voice was dark and dangerous.

MacCready’s brows lifted. “No, my lord. Lord Caithness’s room is directly below Miss Hurst’s.”

Alexander realized he was glowering at his valet.
Bloody hell, I need to calm down. The sooner Caitlyn and I get this business settled, the better.

The valet held out a freshly laundered shirt. “Lord Caithness’s man informed me this morning that his
lordship actually leapt from bed and hit his head on the bedpost, which caused quite a commotion, as you can imagine.”

“So long as he was in his own room, I don’t give a damn if he split his head open.”

“Pardon me, my lord, but do I detect a hint of jealousy? I thought we
disliked
Miss Hurst.”

“We do.”
But she’s mine, and I’ll be damned if I allow every buck at Georgiana’s house party to land hands on her before I do.
Alexander pulled the shirt over his head. “Did you discover anything else about Miss Hurst?”

“Yes. In addition to roast beef and strawberries, Miss Hurst is also fond of walnuts and marmalade.”

“She likes pears, too,” Alexander muttered.

“Pardon me, my lord?”

“Just thinking aloud.”

“Hmm. Am I still to collect useless information or have I given you enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Keep collecting.”

“But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I’m sure you’ll eventually hear something.” Something Alexander could use when planning these “tasks” they were to complete.

He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Caitlyn to talk him into such a silly game, but God knew he’d enjoy taking her to his bed, and having her as his mistress would be particularly sweet. His body warmed at the thought.

Perhaps this was for the best. Had she a mind to, she could easily keep herself surrounded with the sycophantic idiots who seemed to have taken over Georgiana’s house party. She was usually more intelligent about whom she included on her guest list.

Alexander finished dressing and made his way toward the breakfast room, where the quiet told him that he was unfashionably early.

He turned on his heel and strode into the library and went to stand before the terrace doors. The storms had passed and left the grass and leaves a pale orange and tan against the winter brown. Here and there a tree was down, and the lawn was scattered with broken branches and dead leaves, but other than that there was little damage. He rubbed his chin as he surveyed the mess, glad he hadn’t allowed himself to get too furious. In his youth, he hadn’t been able to control his temper. And when he’d been older and Callum had died … He closed his eyes against that memory. His youngest brother had been full of life and laughter. His smile could light any room, his temperament mercurial and swift. He’d been the center of the family until he’d been killed at the age of nineteen.

At the time they’d blamed the Kincaid family, and Alexander and the rest of his brothers had been set on vengeance. Fortunately, their sister, Fiona, had stepped in. Her solution had been to marry that wastrel Jack Kincaid to stop the erupting feud, but Alexander supposed it had worked out for the best. For all
of his failings, Jack seemed to be a good husband and a devoted father. Of course, that could be because he knew if he ever stepped a foot out of line, Fiona’s four brothers would take it out of his hide. Surely the man knew better th—

“MacLean?”

He turned and found Caitlyn walking toward him. She was dressed in a cream-colored gown that had bows and gewgaws at the rather high neckline. But the bows accentuated her curves nonetheless.

She came to stand beside him, her hands clasped before her. “I’m glad to have found you alone. Have you been thinking of the tasks?”

He regarded her sourly, irritated that she managed to look so damnably
tempting
. Worse, when other women’s eyes looked puffy or red in the morning, hers sparkled, her emotions plain within. It was a pity such beauty hid such a questionable character. “You’re excited about this.”

“More than you know. I love winning.”

The minx.
“I thought of a task or two.”

“So have I.” Her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, she leaned forward, gesturing earnestly. “I have your first task and it’s simple.”

“I’m to find a pig with a hair comb between its ears?”

“I’m saving that for later. There is a beehive along the drive to the house. Bring me a piece of it.”

“That’s it?”

She smiled smugly. “I should think that would be enough. It’s
very
high in the tree.”

This would be astonishingly easy. “Fine.” His gaze lingered on her golden hair, on the thick sweep of her ridiculously long lashes, on the rich chocolate of her eyes— He stirred restlessly, his jaw tightening. All of his life, Alexander had surrounded himself with beauty—in his castle, his fashionable town house in London, in the fine clothes he wore and the excellent horses he rode. He didn’t always find beauty where others found it, so there was rarely competition for what he wanted.

But now he wanted
this
particular beauty. He wanted Caitlyn’s lush, sensual beauty in his hands, against his naked body, in his bed. He wanted to taste her, to enjoy her, to
own
her. And he wanted her now, this very second.

Just seeing her standing by the tall terrace doors, the morning sun warming her skin, sent primal lust thundering through his veins. She had but to look at him from beneath her lashes and his cock sprang to attention as if she were a general and it a lowly soldier.

She looked at him now and smiled. “Have you thought of a task for me?”

He had, but his irritation made him shrug and turn away. “I don’t remember the myth well enough to—”

“Then we’ll look at the story.” She swept to the desk and perched on the edge as she picked up the book. “My father is quite a literary scholar, and he’s particularly fond of Welsh fairy tales so I know this one frontward and back.”

“Oh?” More to amuse himself than because he particularly cared about Arthurian legends, he followed her to the desk and settled himself into a chair where he had full view of his fair opponent.

“Father’s convinced that Arthur was of Welsh decent. He . . .” She rattled on, but Alexander didn’t follow a word. His entire attention was on the rounded ass perched just feet away from him at eye level. A rounded ass barely covered by thin muslin that was caught tightly beneath one luscious cheek.

He curved his hand, imagining cupping her to him. As he watched, she shifted as if the desk was too hard for such a firm ass. That ass deserved a softer seat. Perhaps his lap, although right now it was anything but soft. In fact, his cock was so hard he—

“. . . do you think?”

Alexander blinked, forcing his gaze to her face and away from that tempting ass. “Pardon me?”