The Laird Who Loved Me

by Karen Hawkins

“No. That is not all.” Alexander had no use for a conscience; he’d hushed his long ago. “There is that other matter I asked you to see to.”

  The valet opened the wardrobe door and pretended to study the contents. “Ah. I shall have your riding boots cleaned and will see to the pressing of your good burgundy waistcoat for dinner tomorrow.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

  MacCready shut the wardrobe with a snap. “I must suppose you are referencing the errand you wished me to complete?”

  Alexander crossed his arms over his chest.

  The valet sighed. “Very well. I shall discover which room belongs to Miss Hurst.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Yes, yes. Tonight. It shouldn’t be a difficult task, as both Lord Dervishton’s and Viscount Falkland’s valets were making the same inquiry when I was fetching starch for your cravats. I shall just ask one of them.”

  “When did Falkland meet Miss Hurst? She only arrived a few hours ago and he just returned from his ride.”

  “He hasn’t met her. Lord Dervishton mentioned how beautiful the lady was, and as Falkand’s man said, his lordship is now planning ‘his strategy.’”

  Alexander turned to the mirror and made a minute adjustment to his cravat. So, both Dervishton and Falkland were already sniffing around the prize, were they? They were doomed for disappointment. Caitlyn Hurst might move with the sensuous grace of an exotic courtesan, but she was nothing more than a tease. For weeks, she’d held him on a tether, seeming to always promise more, urging him on but then holding back with the perfect amount of hesitation. Like a greenhorn, he’d fallen for her seemingly wanton innocence—but he knew her now, knew what she was, and that would keep him from making the same mistakes.

  Still, she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Small and shapely, with full breasts, she also had a narrow waist and curved hips that begged a man’s hands. Her silken blond hair and thick brown lashes made her brown eyes seem dark and mysterious. Something about that odd combination—the pale hair and creamy skin, accented by the dark, rich color of her eyes—made a man burn for her.

  Yet more than her physical beauty was the way she moved. Even this afternoon, when she’d left the room, every masculine eye had been on her. Something in the way she moved was challengingly erotic, so innately graceful, so … feminine. She’d used that femininity to lure him down a path that had almost led to his ruin, but had instead caught his brother.

  His gaze narrowed. Of all his brothers, Hugh was the one Alexander counted on the most. Gregor, Dougal, and Fiona were younger and less involved in the family holdings. Since the death of their parents, when the weight of the clan business and the responsibility of four brothers and a sister had come to rest upon Alexander’s shoulders, Hugh had always been there offering his quiet support, even during the dark times after Callum’s death. Hugh was steadfast and competent, though given to doing far more than asked. He often crossed the line from “helpful” directly into “meddling,” which was how he’d been caught in the web of Caitlyn Hurst’s spinning.

  Alexander scowled. How dare she try to her tricks on him? She’d pay for that impudence, b’God, and he’d enjoy every second. He’d show her how a real seduction was played—and once he’d had her in his bed, he’d walk away and leave her wanting … just as he was sure she had planned to leave him.

  Revenge would be sweet. Very sweet, indeed. While it would be simple to plan one large fait accompli, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. No, he would first toy with this little mouse, savoring the chase. What happened to her after he’d taken his pleasure wasn’t his concern. He’d have made his point.

  He turned from the mirror and pinned his valet with a hard look. “From now on, I want to know any speck of information, any tidbit of gossip that you hear regarding Miss Hurst.”

  “What if it’s nothing of significance?”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  The valet pursed his lips. “Let us say, just for the sake of argument—”

  “Of course,” Alexander said grimly.

  “—that I heard one of the lower maids mention that Miss Hurst prefers her towels dried by the fire and not on a line near a window, which can cause the material to be less soft. Surely you don’t wish me to report things as insignificant as that?”

  “I don’t care if you hear that she sneezed twice or prefers her toast plain and not buttered—I want to know.”

  MacCready sighed. “Very well, my lord.”

  “From what you’ve said, she is already a topic of conversation in the kitchen. What else did you hear?”

  “Just that Dervishton’s valet said his master thought Miss Hurst an angel on earth.”

  An angel on earth.

  Alexander slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a heavy silver watch. He flipped it over and traced the engraving on the back. To Alexander. From Eton to beyond! Charles.

  Alexander’s heart hardened. “I’ve heard such language before, and it was applied to just such a woman—young, beautiful, and given to flirting with any man who’d have her. It led to naught but ruin.”

  “I take it you are referring to Viscount Humbolt,” the valet said quietly. “We all miss him, my lord.”

  Alexander tucked the watch back into his pocket, wishing he could do the same with the sadness that weighted his heart. “Anything else?”

  MacCready cleared his throat. “Dervishton has taken to calling her The Incomparable. Furthermore, his lordship seemed to think the lady would be easily won over.”

  “Oh? Why would he think that?”

  “I believe it stemmed from something the lady did or said earlier today.” The valet sniffed. “Should I take it that the lady in question is a bit … common?”

  “No, she’s not. Impetuous, yes. Foolish, absolutely. But not at all common; she’s too complex for that. Just the way she moves is—” Alexander shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. She’s trouble.”

  “That’s good to hear,” MacCready said primly.

  Alexander quirked a brow. “Worried I might lose my innocence?”

  “As far as I’m aware, my lord, you’ve never had any.”

  Alexander grinned.

  “It just seems a troublesome situation … so many cocks and just one hen.”

  Alexander choked on a laugh. “It could be. Fortunately, I have no interest in this woman other than securing retribution for what she’s done to my family.”

  MacCready stiffened. “She’s harmed the MacLeans?”

  “Yes. It is her fault that my brother was forced to marry.”

  MacCready frowned. “But … my lord, your brother seems happy in his new marriage.”

  “Hugh’s merely making the best of the situation, as he always does. Besides, that isn’t the point.” The point was that Caitlyn had tried to make a fool of him. “Miss Hurst must pay for her impertinence,” he snapped.

  “Absolutely, my lord. If what you say is true, then I shall of course do whatever you require.”

  “Miss Hurst is not your average opponent. To those who just meet her, she is quite sweet and projects an air of sensuality and innocence.”

  MacCready’s thin brows rose. “Sensuality and innocence?”

  “It’s a heady combination, and I daresay that is what draws Dervishton and the others down the path.” Dervishton, for all his man-about-town ways, was in for a surprise. Caitlyn Hurst would look at the fool through her wide, brown eyes, blink her long, thick lashes, and then—just as he thought he’d won her over—slay him with a cutting remark.

  Alexander allowed MacCready to help him into his evening coat. “Visit the servants’ quarters during dinner and see what you can discover about Miss Hurst.”

  “With pleasure, my lord.”

  His mind focused on the task ahead, Alexander left his bedchamber. At the landing, he was surprised to find Dervishton leaning against the rail, idly swinging his eyeglass. The younger lord smiled and nodd
ed a greeting, but his gaze went down the hall.

  Ah. So that’s how it is. A flash of irritation ripped through Alexander. “Dervishton, are you waiting for someone?”

  The lord flashed a wolfish grin. “Aren’t we all? In fact, I believe our lovely hostess is breathlessly awaiting your arrival in the sitting room right now.”

  “I doubt it. Georgiana and I ended our tryst months ago.”

  “Really? I was under the impression she—” Dervishton’s gaze went past Alexander, his mouth freezing half-open.

  Alexander could tell from the glazed look on the man’s face exactly what had occurred.

  Alexander turned as a faint rustling noise approached, and just as he’d expected, Caitlyn Hurst walked toward them moving with that damnably mesmerizing grace. Dressed in a gown of the softest blue trimmed with tiny white flowers and a wide, white sash beneath her breasts, her blond hair piled upon her head, small pearls shimmering on her creamy earlobes, she looked innocent and ethereal.

  She paused and curtsied, a smile curving her soft lips. “Good evening.”

  Dervishton—usually the most calm and urbane of men—stepped forward and said in an eager tone, “Miss Hurst, may I say how lovely you look this evening! You quite outshine all of the other beauties here at Balloch Castle.”

  For the love of God, must the man gush like a fool?

  Caitlyn sent a sly glance at Alexander before she bestowed a soft smile on Dervishton. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Encouraged in his foolishness, Dervishton lifted one of her hands and pressed a fervent kiss to it. “I’d be honored if you’d allow me to escort you to the dining room. This house is confusing and I doubt you were furnished with either a map or compass upon your arrival.”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’d appreciate your assistance.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” Dervishton beamed as if someone had handed him a trunk of newly minted guineas. “I am doing myself as much of a favor as you. Walking into the sitting room with such a beautiful woman on my arm can only increase my own worth in the eyes of our company.”

  Alexander crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the railing. “Dervishton, you don’t need to assure Miss Hurst of her beauty. She carries that knowledge with her like a thief carries a pick.”

  Caitlyn stiffened and locked gazes with him, fury sparkling in her fine eyes.

  For a long second, they looked at one another. In that short time, Alexander remembered other, more private moments—moments when he’d foolishly allowed himself to be lured into tasting those sweet lips and had captured her moans in his mouth, moments when he’d slid his hands over those lush curves and felt her shiver with need, moments when the world had been lost because of the exquisite taste and the feel of her moving restlessly against him, separated by nothing but silks and satins.

  He clenched his teeth. That was the past, and now the tables were turned. He’d never again trust her.

  Alexander forced a wolfish grin and remained blocking the stairs as he boldly regarded her up and down. He allowed his gaze to dwell in places it shouldn’t and was immediately rewarded when her cheeks pinkened and she started as if to snap out a sharp retort, but then visibly swallowed it.

  Satisfaction warmed him. Oh, yes, Hurst. I know exactly how to push you into doing something rash.

  Dervishton, looking uncertainly from one to the other, stepped forward. “I can see that you two have met before.”

  Caitlyn sniffed. “Lord MacLean’s brother is wed to my sister.”

  “What?” Dervishton frowned. “Ah yes. Didn’t I hear rumors that—” He sent a glance at Alexander before he smiled uncertainly at Caitlyn. “I’m—I’m sure that’s all in the past.”

  “More than you know,” she replied coolly, and placed her hand on Dervishton’s arm, smiling up at him in a way that made Alexander’s jaw tighten painfully. “Lord Dervishton, would you please escort me to where we’re to gather for dinner? I was to walk with Miss Ogilvie, but she ripped her lace on her heel and she had to return to her room. She asked me to let the duchess know she would be down as soon as she could.”

  “Poor Miss Ogilvie! We’ll let Georgiana know right away; I’m sure she will hold dinner.” Dervishton placed his hand over hers. “Allow me. The stairs are a bit steep.”

  Alexander regarded the wide, sweeping staircase with a raised brow. It was definitely grand, but had little in the way of steepness. “Miss Hurst, pray cling to Dervishton’s arm, for I know how unstable you get once you’ve had too many glasses of sherry.”

  Dervishton blinked. “Sherry? Miss Hurst, I didn’t realize you’d been—”

  “I haven’t.” Caitlyn snapped a glare at Alexander. “I haven’t had any sherry this evening at all.”

  Alexander drawled, “I recall an evening when you’d had far, far too much and you told me you’d always wanted to—”

  “Lord Dervishton, may we continue?” Caitlyn broke in hastily. “Miss Ogilvie is counting on me to deliver her message.”

  Dervishton looked disappointed to be cheated of Alexander’s story. “Of course.”

  Caitlyn sent Alexander a fulminating glare and swept past him, as regal as a queen.

  Alexander grinned. They’d been at the Lingefelts’ supper ball and it had been inordinately stifling and airless, and the lemonade—the only beverage available for the younger ladies—had run out. Thirsty from dancing, Caitlyn had sipped her way through several tiny glasses of sherry. Before the night was over, she’d stumbled at the top of the long flight of stairs that led from the ballroom to the dining room, and Alexander had caught her just in time to stop her fall.

  Holding her to him, her breasts pressed against his chest, he’d been inflamed with the desire to taste her. She’d been similarly affected, and in an unsteady voice she’d confided that she wanted nothing more than to be kissed—hard.

  Over the years, Alexander had been with many experienced courtesans who’d requested sexual favors, and he’d given them willingly. He’d also been with other women—most of them married—who’d wished to experience raw passion, and he’d obliged. But he’d never had a woman request something as simple as a kiss in such a husky, passionate voice, one that inflamed him as none of the other requests had.

  He’d immediately led her to an alcove hidden by long silk curtains, and he’d kissed her mercilessly. She had kissed him back with a fervor that had set his blood aflame. It was the first time he’d realized how his friend Charles had succumbed to the winsome, coldhearted woman he’d wed. It had been madness of the worst kind—heated by passion, fed by excitement and blinding desire, and foolish because of the belief that it was controllable—no wonder Charles had succumbed.

  That kiss was the first of many risky encounters between Alexander and Caitlyn, each one taking them a bit farther down a path she’d planned with perfection. He hadn’t even realized he was being led until much, much later.

  Damn it, I knew better; I’m not a green youth just out on the town! But somehow she wormed her way into my life, and … I just let her.

  A slow, simmering anger rippled through him, and he was vaguely aware that in the distance a rumble of thunder answered his anger. “Miss Hurst,” he called down the stairs, “a word of warning. The Roxburge cellars are famous for their variety. Perhaps you should request lemonade with dinner, as anything stronger might send you tumbling into someone’s arms.”

  Caitlyn’s brown eyes sparkled with anger, her expression tight. “Thank you for your concern for my safety, Lord MacLean, but I will not imbibe more than is prudent. I never do.”

  “Never?” he asked softly.

  He and Caitlyn locked gazes, and to his utter consternation, a slow, simmering heat began to thrum through him, building every time her breasts rose and fell, pressing against the fine silk ball gown. Many women did not look so beautiful when they were angered. Somehow he’d forgotten exactly how sensually gorgeous she was and it was a bit disconcerting to face her again. His bod
y was anything but immune to the sight of her.

  Dervishton cleared his throat. “Miss Hurst, should I—”

  She yanked her gaze from Alexander and smiled blindingly at Dervishton. “Let’s continue down to where the duchess and other guests are waiting, please.”

  “Of course,” Dervishton murmured, sending Alexander a bright, curious look.

  Alexander watched them go, his hand so tightly clasped on the railing that his fingers grew numb. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Caitlyn glanced back, her eyes sparkling with fury. Alexander had the impression that with very little more goading, she would pummel him with her clenched fists.

  Which was exactly what he wanted. The thought made him relax. He simply needed to remain more removed and keep his passions at bay. He already knew her weakness: vanity. All he had to do was keep pressing, keep taunting, and she would do the rest. God, he would enjoy this battle! Enjoy waging it and savor winning it.

  Still, he had a momentary feeling that something had changed since the last time he’d seen her three months ago. Had she been so obviously goaded before, she would have responded in kind. Her quick passion was what had attracted him to begin with. So many London misses were mild lemonade and stale cake; Caitlyn Hurst was spicy mulled wine and rich, delicate pastry.

  He watched her walk toward the drawing room holding Dervishton’s arm, her hips swaying beneath her flowing gown. To the casual observer she appeared unaffected by their conversation, but he knew better. He could tell she was upset, for as Dervishton escorted her into the drawing room, her shoulders were lifted and her movements had lost some of their innate grace.

  As they disappeared, Alexander pushed himself from the railing and followed his quarry down the stairs. For Caitlyn Hurst, dinner would be a long, long affair.

  “Heavens, I’m exhausted! I can barely lift my feet.”

  Miss Ogilvie tucked Caitlyn’s hand into the crook of her arm as they reached the stair landing. “It’s no wonder you’re tired; it’s after midnight and you were traveling most of the day.”

  “We were on the road before dawn, too. Then, dinner went on forever.”