A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  The princess drew back, searching her face with considerably more kindness than before. Or perhaps, Alba was just seeing her differently. “There, we are difficult to take all at once, are we not? You will grow used to us, I hope.”

  “And you to me,” Alba said hopefully.

  “You make him happy,” the princess said warmly. “We already love you.”

  Yuri stuck his head back in the door and grinned to see his wife and mother sitting so close together. “Alba, you must see what the girls have done. Come!”

  Alba stood at once, smiling to be included.

  “It’s our secret for now,” her mother-in-law murmured. “You must tell him yourself when you’re ready. And we will talk later.” Taking Alba’s arm, she led her from the room.

  A few moments later, she was in the midst of Yuri’s laughing family, her sense of strangeness melting in their eager warmth. And she knew, without any more foolish doubts, that she and Yuri would be happy here.

  ###

  The Highlander’s Unexpected Bride

  Highland Wives

  Book Two

  Tarah Scott & KyAnn Waters

  Chapter One

  Inverness 1804

  Cameron Hunter cursed the lack of privacy in Lord Deighton’s garden. When he’d suggested the rendezvous to his informant, he’d assumed there would be plenty of seclusion. Most gardens on an estate this size were filled with hidden spots ready-made for couples to engage in mischief. Open lawn and short hedges like those before him afforded no privacy.

  At half past two in the morning, the ball in the mansion behind him continued in full riot. Music drifted on the breeze, chattering voices the accompaniment. A late spring chill hung in the evening air. He could only hope that the lateness of the hour and the less-than-desirable weather discouraged guests from venturing outside. Ladies generally preferred warm male bodies to cold groping in the dark.

  Cameron glanced heavenward. Heavy clouds obscured the stars. At least the weather favored him. He strode away from the light that spilled onto the balcony, deeper into the shadows. He slowed on the rocky path and strained his ears for sounds of footsteps. A breeze rustled the rose and juniper bushes. The sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms perfumed the air. No doubt, the only damned tree silhouetted in the rear of this garden. He squinted into the darkness for signs of his contact.

  A woman’s scream pierced the night. Cameron yanked his gaze left. Another scream. He cursed, then bolted in the direction of the terrified cry. He rounded the bushes and caught sight of a small figure lying in a heap up ahead on the path. An instant later, he reached her. She shifted, a crumpled ball of lace, taffeta and tulle that crinkled. She pushed onto her knees and tipped her head up toward him, but he couldn’t discern her features.

  “My lady.”

  “Lord Weston.”

  Cameron silently cursed. He knew that voice and would prefer any damsel in distress to this one. The heavenly bodies might have favored him, but all other good fortune had deserted him. He should turn and run as fast and as far from this woman as he could. Miss Erin Lennox’s distress was, most likely, that of her own making. She shifted and meager moonlight lit one creamy shoulder and a thick tumble of hair that had escaped the once neat chignon.

  He would wager that she had exposed the supple flesh above the taffeta of her bodice to the wrong man. Cameron had shared a dance with her, then made his excuses. Miss Erin Lennox hunted a husband.

  “Come along, Miss Lennox.” He grasped her arms and assisted her to her feet. Damn. The exposed shoulder wasn’t a flash of her womanly wiles. The fabric was torn.

  “Miss Lennox, what happened?”

  A quiet sob softened his heart. No man should accost a woman, even a foolish woman who agreed to meet with him alone in the gardens.

  “It is dangerous to meet a gentleman alone even in a small garden like this one,” he murmured.

  “The ballroom was so stuffy. I…I only meant to take some fresh air,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stray far, but the gardens are so small. I never expected to encounter a stranger who...” She clutched her bodice.

  Had a stranger ripped her bodice? Or…

  “A stranger?” he repeated. “Perhaps, you intended to meet a particular man?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said in a haughty voice that told him that no real harm had come to her. “I am a lady, sir. I have never seen him before. He grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I…I am so grateful to you.” She lowered her head. “You weren’t by chance looking for me?”

  “Ah, no. I am afraid not.” In fact, the opportunity for his appointed assignation had passed. He could only hope his informant would agree to another rendezvous.

  She sighed. “Either way, I am in your debt. You saved me.”

  “Make no mention of it.”

  “I shudder to think what would have happened had you not come along. I know I’m safe with you.”

  “The danger has passed. Your dress is torn. You cannot return to the party.” He glanced past the cherry tree. Faint streetlight in the righthand corner of the garden illuminated what might be a stone wall. Thankfully, the mansion was located at the juncture of an alley and street. “If luck is with us, there will be a rear entrance.” Though he had little faith in luck tonight—good luck, at any rate. He cupped her elbow and began walking toward the wall. “I assume your father’s carriage is nearby?”

  She stumbled. Cameron tightened his grip on her elbow. She broke free and threw herself into his arms. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. By God, the chit was throwing herself at him, literally.

  Cameron grasped her shoulders and set her at arm’s length. “Beware, Miss Lennox, it would be a shame to avoid scandal as a result of your encounter with that stranger only to be ruined by our innocent meeting.” This time, he kept a tight hold on her arm as he led her toward the wall.

  “My father is not at the party,” she said. “I attended with a friend and her family. I can’t possibly let them see me like this.” Rising panic tinged her voice. “Perhaps we could leave in your carriage?”

  The last thing he intended to do was to put her in his carriage.

  “I am sure you can rely on your friend’s discretion.”

  They reached the wall and Cameron discerned the outline of a narrow, wrought iron gate to their right. He hurried her to the exit. To his relief, only a heavy bolt locked the gate. He slid the bolt aside, then opened the gate and led her into the alley.

  “You are too kind to help me in this unfortunate situation,” she said.

  They reached the end of the alley and halted. Streetlight illuminated the thin shawl she clutched to her chest. He couldn’t deny the relief. She wasn’t wholly wrong in that tongues would wag if she were seen getting into her carriage with her bodice ripped. The tear was enough to start scandalous rumors. Cameron wasn’t certain she hadn’t agreed to meet someone, but he didn’t give a damn how much a woman threw herself at a man, he had no right to rip the clothes from her body. Cameron grasped the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. She stared up at him, eyes wide and adoring. God help him.

  She dropped her gaze. “What you must think of me.”

  “I think nothing,” he said. “Now, keep the shawl on your shoulders and no one will be the wiser.” He didn’t mention her hair. The girl might not come out of this unscathed.

  “I hate to be the reason for your early departure,” she whispered. “There is no one home at my father’s townhouse. Father keeps a bottle of French brandy in his library. We can spend a moment alone. Allow me to properly express my gratitude.”

  Cameron looked sharply at her. “Forgive me, Miss Lennox, but this behavior is likely to get you into even worse trouble than a torn dress.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. By God, she could perform on the stage. He returned his attention to the street. He needed at least a respectable hackney. He caught sight of a gleaming black carriage four spaces down.

  “It seems luck is with
us. If I’m not mistaken, that is your father’s carriage.” He nodded toward the vehicle. “It seems he decided to attend the party, after all.”

  He started forward, but she tugged him to a jarring halt. “I cannot be seen like this.”

  “It is this or return to the party,” he said.

  She glanced back at the mansion. “Please, my father cannot know of this-this incident. His driver will report to him that my dress was torn. I beg of you, take me home in your carriage.”

  “Ma’am, I am afraid your family carriage is your only option.” He released her and stepped away. “Hurry along. I will inform your father you are in need of his attention.”

  “But, sir, you cannot leave me out here. What if the stranger returns? My safety is in your hands.” Her brows puckered in a fierce frown.

  If she threw a temper tantrum… “You disregarded your safety the moment you stepped into the gardens without an escort.”

  Her lips pulled into a pretty pout. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  He was, but he didn’t want a public argument on the matter. “Nae, I am simply saying that I am not the solution.” He turned her toward the street. “I will watch until you are safely in the carriage. Then I will return to the party, find your father, and direct him to you.” He gave her a gentle shove.

  She took a hesitant step toward the street. “Please, my lord, how will I survive the embarrassment?”

  “There will be far less talk if you go to your carriage alone than if I escort you.” He suspected she knew that. “Your father can deal with your driver.” Cameron nodded toward the carriage “Go on now.”

  She didn’t move.

  If she wanted to stand in the street all night, that was her prerogative. He turned and took three steps back into the alley, then glanced over his shoulder. The little fool was halfway to the carriage. Although, he wasn’t sure who was the bigger fool. Her for venturing into the gardens alone, or him for giving her aide.

  ***

  At the clatter of hooves coming to a halt on the darkened street below her bedchambers, Alison rose from the chair before the fire and went to the window. She recognized the carriage. Dim moonlight illuminated the coachman as he alighted from the driver’s seat and opened the door. He reached inside and helped a woman to the ground. Alison couldn’t discern her features, but the woman had to be her cousin Erin.

  Alison gave thanks her cousin Henry was out for the night. Since he’d moved to Eversley Place nine months ago after the death of his wife, he’d taken more seriously his role as her guardian and asked far too many questions. She hurried from the room and slipped down the servants’ stairs. She reached the front door just as the knocker sounded. Alison opened the door.

  “Of all the foolish—” Words failed as she took in Erin’s hair, which tumbled about her shoulders.

  “I cannot return home,” Erin said.

  Alison pulled her inside, then closed the door. “What happened?” She spotted a leaf tangled in Erin’s dark strands. “Are you hurt? Where are Lady Carrington and Annabelle? Why aren’t you with them? Why did you arrive in your father’s carriage? For heaven’s sake, Erin, tell me.”

  Erin sighed. “It was wonderful.”

  Alison frowned. “Wonderful? You look as if—” She spotted the torn dress bodice and yanked her gaze onto Erin’s face. “Your dress is torn.”

  “Forget the dress. He could have torn it from my body and ravished me right there in the gardens.”

  Alison stared. “Have you lost your mind?” Disgust overrode concern. “I need not guess the who you refer to.” Alison didn’t condone the games Erin played, but her younger cousin fancied herself in love, which meant any means to an end was justified. Viscount Weston, the future 8th Earl of Weston, had garnered Erin’s affection. “He was there?”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  “Did he tear your dress? Erin, true gentlemen do not treat a lady like that.” Even a foolish lady like Erin.

  Erin grasped her hands. “I wish to tell you everything.”

  “Not here.” Alison led her toward the stairs. Erin might not care for her reputation, but Alison understood too well the dangers of meddling servants.

  Once safely inside her bedchamber, Alison closed and bolted the door. She faced Erin. “What have you done?”

  Erin dropped into one of the chairs in front of the hearth. “He was wonderful. His hands were on my body.”

  Alison came around the chair to face her cousin.

  “His fingers were warm and strong.”

  “He had his hands on you?”

  Cameron Hunter had the morals of a tomcat. She could well imagine the handsome Highlander kissing a woman and, yes, touching her intimately. But she was shocked that he had torn Erin’s dress. The viscount hadn’t struck her as being that foolhardy.

  Cameron Hunter’s scandalous reputation as a rake was well deserved, but to dally with an innocent like Erin? Well, almost innocent. Erin wasn’t exactly virtuous, but her reputation had never been publicly tarnished. Tonight, that may have changed.

  Alison sank into the chair beside her cousin. “You are very fortunate—and very foolish.”

  “You do not understand. Father believes he will make me a good husband. He will be so proud when I become Viscountess Weston.”

  A smidgen of compassion softened Alison’s anger. For as long as Alison could remember, Erin had endeavored to win her father’s affection. His approval did not come easily. As for love, Alison wondered if he was truly capable.

  “You would marry a man just to please your father?” she asked.

  Erin gave a careless shrug. “It is done every day.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, it’s not just to please my father. Cameron Hunter will do a fine job of pleasing me.”

  Alison threw her hands in the air. “Oh, heaven and saints above.”

  “Please, Allison, do not call upon the saints for help. There will be nothing holy about my marriage to the viscount.”

  No, Alison privately agreed. A man like Cameron Hunter was a master in the art of carnal seduction. “You do not know the man—certainly not well enough to love him,” she said.

  “I am going to marry him.”

  “Even with trickery? What if he takes all you offer but refuses to wed you?”

  Erin waved a hand airily. “Men do not care how they are led down the aisle.”

  Alison rolled her eyes and prayed for patience. Her cousin was a fool, and damn Cameron Hunter for taking what didn’t belong to him.

  “Men do not marry their paramours. And they do not marry young chits who no longer have their virginity.”

  “Men only wish for a wife to warm their bed and give them heirs,” Erin replied. “That will not be a hardship with Lord Weston. I know.”

  Alison narrowed her eyes. “You had better not know or I will fetch your father this moment.”

  Erin pouted. “Worry about your own marriage, Cousin. Do not concern yourself with mine.”

  Alison grasped Erin’s hands. “I am worried about you. For a moment of pleasure now, you will sentence yourself to a life of unhappiness. I cannot imagine a marriage created in scandal and consummated in lies could ever bring joy. End this seduction now. Do not give in to him.” Although, the warning may already be too late.

  Alison recognized stubborn determination in the tilt of Erin’s mouth and the narrowed intensity in her eyes. Obstinance was a family trait.

  “I promise to be careful,” Erin said. “But you need not worry. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Erin”—Alison touched her cousin’s hand—“surely, you would rather find a man you love and who loves you. You are very beautiful. You could have your pick of men.”

  Erin tossed her head. “Of course, I can have my pick. Mister MacLean danced with me.”

  “Jamie MacLean?” Alison asked. “Oh, he is very handsome.”

  “Indeed, he is. Lord Myerson also danced with me. He asked if he could call on me.�
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  “See.” Alison clapped her hands. “You can choose any man. Do you have a tenderness for any of them?”

  Erin shrugged. “Tenderness is for schoolchildren.”

  “Perhaps. But a woman should at least like her husband.” Alison leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Lord Myerson seems like a very nice man.”

  “He is.” A faraway light entered her eyes. “Mister MacLaren is probably in love with me.”

  “How delightful,” Alison cried.

  Erin’s gaze hardened. “He is a fool.” She arched a brow. “Now, tell me, what have you heard from Robert?”

  Sweet Robert. Alison could scarcely believe her own nuptials were so close. Robert’s term in the navy was nearly finished. Upon his return, in six months, he would make her his wife. A jolt of nervous energy thrummed through her at the thought of the boy who had become a man. They’d known one another since she’d been fourteen and him fifteen. Promised since she’d been seventeen, there had never been a doubt that she would become Mrs. Robert Thomson.

  How she wished they had wed before he’d left. But Robert’s father had served in the navy, but Robert was determined to make his mark as his father had, then return to work as a solicitor. She would become a bride as an old maid of twenty-two.

  “I have received no other letters after the one I received a month ago. But, as I told you then, Robert is just as excited as I.” She smiled, remembering his sweet sentiments. “Next week, I will begin wedding preparations. The dress, the guest list. The wedding will be intimate.” She smiled at Erin. “You will attend, of course.” She released a breath for fear tears would follow. “He does not want a delay once he returns.”

  Erin regarded her. “You worry about me, yet you are to marry a man you have seen fewer times than I have seen Viscount Weston over the last four years.”

  Alison smiled. “I feel as if I have known Robert my whole life. I love him.”

  “He is boring.”

  “He is respectable.”