by Lydia Dare
Miss Campbell’s cheeks flamed at his words and she looked away. It was always too easy to make a redhead blush. Alec stepped forward, concern etched across his brow. “Miss Campbell, are you all right?”
She nodded, but refused to look back at Ben. “I’m dreadfully clumsy, Mr. MacQuarrie. Perhaps I should stay here this evenin’.”
Her friend, a slight blonde, gasped at the pronouncement. “Sorcha Ferguson would never forgive ye if ye missed her ball.”
“Think nothing of it,” Alec replied smoothly. “We all make a misstep one time or another. Miss Macleod, Miss Campbell, may I present my dear friend Lord Benjamin Westfield.”
“Lord Benjamin.” Miss Macleod curtsied. “It’s so nice ta make yer acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ben replied, though he kept his eyes focused on the flame-haired lass in front of him. “Shall we, Miss Campbell?” He offered her his arm.
Her green eyes flickered up to him as she nodded and placed her gloved hand on his forearm. Even through his sleeve her touch was cold, and Ben fought the urge to cover her hand with his to warm her up.
To warm her up. He nearly laughed at himself. He wanted to do a lot more than warm her up. Perhaps whatever was wrong with him had righted itself. He hadn’t felt such pull, such lust, since the jaunt to Brighton, before he was broken.
Miss Campbell cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Lord Benjamin, aren’t we ta follow Mr. MacQuarrie?”
Ben pulled himself from the spell of her eyes and noticed that his friend was halfway out the door with Miss Macleod at his side. “Yes, of course.”
She looked away from him, tugging at her dress to pull the hem from the floor as they started for the doorway.
And that’s when he saw it.
In her mass of red hair sat a pewter wolf disguised as a hair comb. He nearly stumbled. It was an unusual piece. Most women didn’t wear wolf adornments, not unless her lover was a Lycan.
A wave of something akin to jealousy washed over him. Some other wolf had claimed her. Some other wolf that was capable of claiming had done so. He stopped in his tracks, unable to move.
Miss Campbell turned, confusion on her lovely face. “Lord Benjamin?”
He heard her words, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her bare neck and shoulders. His gaze raked one side then the other. He didn’t see any evidence that she’d been claimed. She had perfect alabaster skin without a blemish of any kind. Not even a freckle marred her skin. Had she been claimed, he would see evidence of it. He knew what to look for. There was nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sir,” she pressed, “are ye all right?”
Ben nodded, forcing what he knew was a charming smile to his face. “My apologies, Miss Campbell. It was a long journey to Edinburgh, and I’m apparently more tired than I thought.”
Compassion settled on her face. “Perhaps ye should rest, sir. I’m certain my friend will understand if I miss her ball.”
“Elspeth Campbell!” Miss Macleod called over her shoulder. “Ye ken as well as I that Sorcha Ferguson would be put out for at least a fortnight. Stop tryin’ ta wriggle out of attendin’.”
A mischievous smile lit Elspeth’s face and she shrugged. “Well,” she whispered conspiratorially, “it was worth a try.”
A laugh escaped Ben’s throat. “Miss Campbell, I do believe you need close watching.”
She pretended to pout as he led her out the front door. “That’s a fine thing ta say ta me. I was only concerned for yer well-bein’, my lord.”
“I’m concerned enough for both of us, lass.”
He helped her climb inside MacQuarrie’s coach, and his eyes dropped to her perfect little bottom, which he’d already had the pleasure of squeezing. The men in Scotland were fools if they let a little thing like the circumstance of her birth keep them from her.
Ben settled himself next to Miss Campbell on the bench before a prune-faced Macleod maid squeezed herself inside the coach as well. Ah, a chaperone. Apparently Alec’s reputation must have followed him north.
Elspeth’s eyes adjusted to the darkened coach quickly. She tried to steady her breathing, which was a difficult thing to do considering Lord Benjamin had pressed his leg against hers and rested his arm on the seat behind her head.
Mo chreach! He was like no one she’d ever encountered before. She would certainly have weathered Sorcha’s ill temper for missing her ball if she could have kept herself from the handsome Sassenach at her side. There was something dangerous about him simmering beneath his surface. She could feel it. She felt the danger as clearly as she did the heat that radiated from him.
Caitrin managed to find idle things to chit-chat about until they reached the Fergusons, though Elspeth couldn’t quite follow the conversation. She could do nothing but stare out the darkened window and wish the evening were already over.
She felt his scorching gaze on her. How she managed to keep from shivering she had no idea, but continuing an acquaintance with the man was to be avoided.
When the coach finally rumbled to a stop, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would find Sorcha as soon as she stepped inside the Fergusons’ sprawling home, and then she’d make her excuses and return home to her grandfather. Caitrin had MacQuarrie well under control, so she wasn’t truly needed. Besides, she abhorred societal functions. She was only marginally accepted at these sorts of events, and only because the Macleods and Fergusons were loyal to her.
Lord Benjamin climbed out of the coach then turned and offered his hand. She accepted his assistance and tried not to stare into the light hazel depths of his eyes. Dangerous. He was definitely dangerous.
“I do hope you’ll save me a dance, Miss Campbell,” his gravelly voice rumbled in her ear as they followed Caitrin and MacQuarrie toward the Fergusons’ ballroom.
Elspeth forced a smile to her lips. “I never dance, my lord.”
“Never?” he echoed, a wolfish grin on his face. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
No one had ever asked her, though she’d rather not divulge that sort of information. “I’m terribly clumsy,” she said instead. “Perhaps ye noticed.”
He laughed. “I do believe I’ll take my chances.”
A squeal erupted once they entered the ballroom adorned in heather and white roses. Elspeth was glad for the interruption. She knew that squeal, and the faster she wished Sorcha a happy birthday, the faster she could leave this event altogether. She dropped Lord Benjamin’s arm, spun on her heels, and smiled at the Còig’s youngest witch.
Dressed in a pretty rose silk, Sorcha’s dark hair was piled high on her head, and her dark eyes danced as they swept over Elspeth. “Oh, El! Ye came! I thought for certain ye’d find an excuse.”
So much for trying to leave early. Elspeth shook her head. “Sorcha, ye ken I’d be here ta wish ye the best on yer birthday.”
The young witch squealed again as she threw her arms around El’s neck. “Who’s the handsome devil with ye?” she whispered in her ear.
Stepping away from her friend, Elspeth gestured to the strapping Sassenach. “Miss Sorcha Ferguson, this is Lord Benjamin. Sir, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten yer last name.”
He smiled a dangerous smile. “Westfield.”
Sorcha sucked in a breath. “As in the Duke of Blackmoor?”
Elspeth’s eyes flashed to her escort. Even she had heard of Blackmoor’s scandalous exploits. His brothers were rumored to be even more debauched. Lord Benjamin’s smile faltered. “It seems my brother is known in every corner of Britain.”
“This is Scotland,” Sorcha informed him with an arrogant tilt of her head.
“So it is,” he said quietly. Then, as the first strings of a waltz began, he squeezed Elspeth’s shoulder. “I do believe this dance is mine, Miss Campbell.”
Without a way out, she looked up at him and accepted his outstretched arm. Lord Benjamin led her to the middle of the floor and slid one arm around her waist. His light eyes twinkled in the chandel
ier light, and Elspeth suddenly found herself unable to look away from him. He was mesmerizing.
“You’re light on your toes, Miss Campbell.”
“Ye lead well, my lord.”
His hand splayed against the small of her back, and he pulled her closer to him. “Your hair combs are unusual.”
What an odd thing for a gentleman to notice. “Is that a compliment?”
“I find myself drawn to them.”
“Ta my hair combs?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “That has ta be the strangest thing a gentleman has ever said ta me.”
He wasn’t even fazed by her words. “Where did you get them?”
“They were a gift.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw and Elspeth swallowed nervously. Why should he be so concerned with her hair combs? It didn’t make one bit of sense.
“From whom?” he asked with a darkening frown.
She tilted her head back to see him better. “My mother.”
Five
Ben was so taken aback that he couldn’t avoid a misstep. “Ouch!” Miss Campbell softly cried as he stepped on her toe. She stopped dancing long enough to wiggle her toes within her slipper. Her eyes met his. Was that a twinkle within the depths? “I think they’re all still attached, thank goodness,” she continued.
“My apologies, Miss Campbell. I don’t usually clod upon the toes of my dance partners.”
“Does that mean I should consider myself ta be special?” she asked as he led her back into the dance.
“Quite special,” he admitted. Special enough to have wolf hair combs that had been passed to her from her mother.
“Where did your mother get the combs?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, yet aware that he probably was failing miserably.
Her brows knit together. “Why are my combs so important ta ye, Lord Benjamin?”
“My brothers tell me I’m a curious sort.” He attempted a smile. He really wanted to pull the combs from her hair so that he could inspect them for a maker’s mark. He might find their origin that way.
“My mother had a liking for dogs.” She shrugged.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had never been insulted so rudely. “I did you a good turn, yet you look me in the eye and insult me?”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t pretend ignorance very well, Miss Campbell.”
Ben fought the rage that suddenly built within him. Normally he only felt such tendencies at the moonful, in the days before the change happened. But tonight he was feeling it in full force. The intensity of it scared even him.
It was terribly bad form to leave a woman on the dance floor. But Ben felt a sudden and intense need to escape. He led Miss Campbell away and then dropped her hand and bowed respectfully to her. “Thank you for the dance. Regrettably, I must take my leave.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but turned and skirted quickly around the room. Fresh air. He needed fresh air. Quickly.
Ben’s senses were in overload. He smelled the perfume of every woman he passed, the shaving lather of the men. He heard the whispers around him, most of which were normal fodder for the scandal pages. But they sounded like screaming to his ears. He burst through the terrace doors. Ben leaned as far as he could over the terrace wall as he looked down, gauging the distance between the terrace and the ground. Not too far to jump. He raised one leg over the wall.
“Did I say somethin’ that offended ye?” Miss Campbell asked from behind him.
Ben stopped his climb and closed his eyes tightly, wishing she would disappear. Because if she didn’t, she would be the most obvious source of release, the only outlet for his anger. For his beast. For himself.
He swung his leg back to the right side of the terrace wall. He was before her in seconds.
“You insult me and then seek me out?” he growled.
“I doona ken how I insulted ye,” she breathed.
“Those aren’t dogs,” he growled.
This time it was Miss Campbell who faltered. She reached a hand to her hair to touch the rough surface of the comb. “Certainly they are.”
“My dear Miss Campbell, there is no one who knows better than I. Those are not dogs.”
“And what makes ye an expert on women’s jewelry?”
“Not on jewelry,” he said quietly. Her eyes rose slowly to meet his when she tipped her head back. “On beasts.”
“Beasts?”
“Yes. Beasts,” he snapped.
“Ye’re certainly doin’ a fine imitation of one now, are ye no’? So I assume ye’re quite an expert.”
A twinge of guilt nearly made him wince. How much more did he have to reveal before she admitted the true origin of the combs? He searched her face, looking for even a hint of subterfuge. He found none. “You truly thought they were dogs?”
“I’ve never been told differently,” she said quietly.
“I’m telling you differently now.”
“I doona ken what difference it makes. Beasts?
Dogs?” She tugged the combs from her hair and held them out to him. “Just what about them offends ye?”
Her hands shook noticeably and she worked to steady them. His eyes narrowed when he noticed, but he took the combs from her and held them up to the lantern that lit the terrace.
“You speak of them like they’re average creatures,” he mumbled. “Like they’re inconsequential.”
“No’ inconsequential,” she denied. “They’re beautiful.” She raised her index finger and ran it over the snout of the beast. “Look at the way he raises his head. He calls ta the moon, as though it is part of his very soul.”
“It is.” He sighed. “Or it usually is.” Was that sadness that entered his voice?
She took the combs from him and attempted to put her hair back to rights. Finally she gave up, allowing her shoulders to drop in defeat. She settled onto a bench in the shadows.
“I’m sorry I overreacted,” he said softly.
“It’s all right,” she allowed. “I’m used ta it.”
“Used to men who act like children?” he asked as he sat down beside her.
“No. Used ta bein’ miserable at events like this.” She leaned back and looked up at the stars. “I doona ken how I do it. I offend ye and I doona even know ye.”
Lord Benjamin’s finger surprised her when he touched her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. Still, she avoided his gaze.
“I’m very sorry,” he said quietly. “I mistook what you said. It’s completely my fault. Not yours.”
“I almost got one dance in this time, so it’s better than usual,” she admitted, the heat creeping up her cheeks when she realized what she’d said. “Thank ye for the opportunity.”
“You said you normally don’t dance. Why not?”
“I’m sure ye’ve heard the rumors.” She looked up and caught his gaze. Of course, he’d heard. He was an English lord. People who walked in his world didn’t accept people from hers.
“I heard rumors that there was a girl named Miss Elspeth Campbell who had flaming red hair and eyes that danced with laughter.” His gaze lingered on her mouth. “And I am quite happy to find out the rumors are all true.” He bumped her with his shoulder. “Now, tell me why you don’t dance.”
She sighed and admitted, “The only reason I’m invited ta these things is because I have a few friends. They feel like they have ta bring me in, despite the fact that I’m no’ quite respectable.”
“And just what about you is not respectable?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. “If you’ll point out the people who said it, I’ll go and have a discussion with them.”
No one had ever attempted to stand up for her before, aside from her grandfather and her coven sisters. She found that it warmed her heart, more than a little.
“It’s no’ important,” she whispered. “Do ye still want ta flee as fast as ye can over the wall?” she asked, pointing a thumb behind her.
“Only if I can take you
with me,” he said softly. He reached to cup her face, the pad of his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “Care to go and be really unrespectable with me?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Ye would jump over the wall? How would I get over?”
“In my arms. How else?”
How else, indeed? It sounded like quite a feat. Before she could say it, he replied, “I’m not an average man.”
“That much is obvious, Lord Benjamin. That much is quite obvious.”
He stood and held a hand out to her. “Then if you won’t go over the wall with me, I’ll have to take you back to the party. It’s either flee or dance. What’ll it be?”
Oh, how she truly wanted to flee. She would be much more comfortable running away with him than returning to face the judgment of the party-goers.
But then all four of her coven sisters stepped out onto the terrace. Lord Benjamin’s head swiveled around as they descended upon them.
Caitrin spoke first. “Are ye all right, Elspeth?” Her gaze shot to Westfield, the look scorching.
“Aye, I’m fine. Just takin’ a little break from the party.”
“Why did ye need a break?” Caitrin asked, her eyes never leaving Lord Benjamin. “And what happened ta yer hair?”
Westfield chuckled and said very quietly so that only she could hear. “I’ll leave you to your friends so they can put you to rights. Then may I claim a dance when you return to the ballroom?”
Elspeth could only nod. She admired the swagger in his walk as he went back to the party through the terrace doors.
They all descended upon her at once. “What happened? Why is yer hair all a mess? Did he take it down?” All their words ran together as one.
Elspeth just laughed and shook her head. She held up the pewter combs. “He was just admirin’ my hair combs. I took them out so he could see. He dinna do a thing that was improper. I promise.”
The group sighed with collective relief. But Elspeth couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he did.