The Laird Who Loved Me

by Karen Hawkins

  Caitlyn had to laugh. “No, no! You must ride!”

  “Oh, yes,” Lord Falkland interjected. “You can’t miss the views. Nothing like them for miles around.”

  Sally looked uncertain. “If you think I should go . . .”

  Caitlyn nodded. “We two will ask for the slowest, fattest mounts from the stables, and we’ll both be fine. If they have ponies, we’ll request those.”

  Sally laughed. “A pony would be perfect for me, but not for you, although it is kind of you to offer.”

  Caitlyn pshawed the notion and was glad when the duchess rose from her chair. Since everyone had finished breakfast, Lady Kinloss suggested they meet in the foyer in an hour for their ride. The other guests agreed and left to change into their riding habits. Caitlyn was escorted to the foyer by Dervishton and Falkland as Alexander remained in his seat, his dark gaze following her.

  Georgiana watched as Miss Hurst dominated the masculine attention, leaving with an eligible bachelor on each arm. How pathetic. Men are such weak creatures, far too easily led by a youthful beauty.

  Knowing they were fools didn’t reduce the sting; Georgiana wasn’t used to sharing every bit of the masculine attention. It was quite acceptable for the Earl of Caithness to pay attention to Miss Ogilvie, for everyone knew he was on the lookout for a well-set wife. But it irked her to see a handsome, polished gentleman such as Lord Dervishton playing up to a pasty-faced ingenue such as Miss Hurst. What disturbed her even more was the way MacLean followed the girl’s every movement, his green eyes considering . . . measuring . . . interested.

  Lady Kinloss picked up a napkin and wrapped up a small slice of ham. “Muffin loves ham. I can’t give him too much, though, for it makes him gassy. Muffin’s stomach is so delicate! He never complains, but I can tell when he’s—”

  “Diane, would you mind leaving Lord MacLean and me alone for a few moments? I must ask his opinion about that set of matched grays I just purchased. One has drawn up lame, and I don’t know whether to keep him or have him put down.”

  Diane hopped up from the table with a nervous twitter. “Oh! Of course.”

  Georgiana waited for Diane to disappear out the door before she moved down the table to where Alexander sat, his gaze still on the open doorway as if he was lost in thought.

  Taking the chair beside his, Georgiana followed his gaze to the hallway, where Miss Hurst was talking earnestly with Lord Dervishton. Georgiana’s lip curled. The silly chit had no notion of Dervishton’s fickle nature, which was most useful to Georgiana in making MacLean jealous. The younger man was attractive enough, but he had nothing on the sheer masculine power and sensuality of the man now sitting beside her.

  She watched MacLean through lowered lashes, an unfamiliar pang of longing twisting her heart. To most people in society, she was the Duchess of Roxburge, the most beautiful and wealthiest woman in all of Scotland and perhaps even England. Only she and her doddering husband knew that he’d first seen her at the tender age of fourteen, working in a cotton mill dressed in near rags, dirty and barefoot, the illegitimate child of the town whore.

  Roxburge had been a jaded peer, tired of life and the vagaries of the ton, labeled an imbecile by the wits of the time because of a faint lisp and a tendency to turn bright red anytime someone looked his way. But Roxburge was no fool, and he had a deep appreciation for beauty in all forms—even in a girl dressed in rags with no shoes on her feet.

  He’d taken Georgiana home that day and, as soon as he’d been able to procure a fake birth record, had married her. Thus, the Duchess of Roxburge had been “born.” For the first two years, he’d sequestered her away in his northernmost estates, where she was scrubbed, tutored, and polished until even he sometimes forgot where she came from. The marriage was not one of great passion; she had no love for him nor he for her. Theirs was a simple marriage of convenience. Roxburge gained a young and beautiful wife who excited envy among his peers. In return, Georgiana received a title and a generous monthly allowance. The birth of a healthy, handsome son with the family birthmark on his left elbow sealed the deal.

  When the time came, the duke presented his lovely duchess to London society, which, as he’d expected, she took by storm. When anyone asked about Georgiana’s heritage—as a few did—he let it be known that his wife was from an ancient family in the northernmost reaches of Scotland, hinting at a lineage linked to that delicate and tragic beauty Mary, Queen of Scots.

  Georgiana navigated the murky waters of the ton with a sure step, welcomed for both her beauty and that faint air of superiority that she’d developed to keep the more curious at bay. This intriguing combination opened more doors for her than her husband’s lineage and money ever could. She was quick to see that to truly advance, she’d have to choose her lovers wisely, develop a reputation for discretion, and select only the most discriminating of friends. She did just that and was soon one of the leaders of the ton.

  She had everything she wanted and more, and she’d enjoyed it. But lately, something didn’t feel quite right. Her beauty was beginning to fade, and her husband was now a doddering old fool who leered at the upstairs maid and fell asleep at the dinner table with his mouth wide open.

  Georgiana found herself restless for something more, for the one thing she’d never had—true love. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d found it in Alexander MacLean, that mysterious, maddeningly handsome, and damned elusive Scottish laird; a man with black hair and a blacker soul and dark green eyes that hinted at both deep passion and the ability for cold cruelty.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he finally dragged his attention from the hallway and turned her way. “Yes?”

  His voice held only boredom. Already frayed by his inattentiveness, Georgiana’s temper sparked to life. “Watching Miss Hurst and her conquests? Or wishing you were one yourself?”

  His gaze narrowed, his eyes shimmering like green ice.

  She snapped, “How unlike you, MacLean. I’d never saw you as the sort to chase schoolgirls. I’d have thought Humbolt’s demise might have been a lesson.”

  A cold smile touched his lips. “What’s wrong, Georgiana? Jealous that Dervishton has forgotten to worship at your altar?”

  Chilled by the icy gleam of his eyes, Georgiana swallowed a sharp retort.

  Alexander’s gaze had already returned to the open door. Outside, Georgiana watched Caitlyn Hurst, who looked positively ravishing as she laughed up at Dervishton. The chit’s gowns had a deceptive simplicity that was instantly recognizable as having come from a modiste of the first water. Where had she gotten such a wardrobe?

  Georgiana tapped her fingers on the table. “MacLean, you told me you’d decided to teach Caitlyn Hurst a lesson.”

  He shot her a bored look. “What I do or don’t do is really none of your concern.”

  “It’s my concern when I work to get the chit invited to my house, and then have to sit and watch you fawn over her like all of the other men here. You’re infatuated with her! Admit it!”

  His eyes blazed hot green, his mouth white with anger. Outside, a roaring wind slammed against the house; the sunshine blotted by the sudden appearance of a roiling bank of clouds.

  Georgiana shivered, frightened and aroused. To own a man like this … How had she let him escape? He was gorgeous and overwhelmingly masculine, but his power was what made her bones melt. She touched his arm and leaned forward, her blue silk morning gown cut provocatively low. “Alexander, please . . . I didn’t mean to make you angry. I’m just curious about your plan. And I am a part of it, since I’m the one who invited her here.”

  He regarded her for a long moment. Outside, the wind slowly died down; the clouds calmed, though they didn’t disappear. “I am merely toying with her. She didn’t ruin my brother in one single moment; he had to face the knowledge of his fate for a while. I want her to do the same. She knows I have plans, but she doesn’t know what they are. She’s curious and concerned; I see it in her face.” His hard mouth curved in a faint smile
. “When the time comes, she’ll know what’s in store for her. Until then, I want her to worry.”

  Relief swept through Georgiana. “You’re torturing her! I was worried that you were succumbing to her like that fool Falkland and the others. But how do you plan on punishing the girl while she’s constantly surrounded by admirers? It’s going to take some deviousness on your part.”

  “So it will.” He stood, forcing her to drop her hand from his arm. “For now, I want her to stew in uncertainty. I’m coming for her, and she’s beginning to realize it. That’s all you need to know.”

  Georgiana opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her with a sharp frown. “I must change for the ride.”

  That was all she was going to get. Georgiana stood as well. “Of course. I’ll let the footmen know how many of you will need mounts. And, Alexander?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you return, I’d like to hear how things went.” She held her breath. She was taking a risk, asking for such a thing, especially in a tone of voice that suggested she knew his answer would be yes.

  To her relief, he merely shrugged. “I’ll stop by your apartments when I return.”

  Her heart leaped. When he returned, she would entice him into more than conversation. She managed to keep her triumph from showing. “I will speak with you then.”

  He bowed and left, walking with that animal grace that made her shiver. She watched him until he disappeared up the stairs, then turned to look out the window. The storm clouds were still hanging low on the horizon, and the taste of rain still lingered.

  Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Alexander MacLean was a challenge; a delicious, delectable, and difficult challenge. But she was not the average society miss; she was much, much more. And she, more than anyone else, didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. She’d find a way to capture him. One way or another, he would be hers.

  Chin high, she left the breakfast room.

  Chapter 5

  When ye’ve a problem, lassies, ’twill do ye no good to pretend ’tis no’ there. Fer when ye turn t’ walk away, it’ll rear up and bite ye in the arse.

  OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

  An hour later, Caitlyn sat clinging to her horse with both hands, wondering how she’d found herself in this predicament.

  Actually, she knew exactly how and it had to do with the six foot three inches of smirking masculinity who sat on a bold black gelding five feet behind her, laughing every time her mount—a prancing bay mare with a stubborn streak as wide as Caitlyn’s—decided to shy at some imaginary danger.

  So far, Caitlyn had retained her seat, but only through sheer force of will. Clutching the reins, she jealously watched Sally, who sat prettily on a small, fat mare that had no inclination to do more than amble. As a consequence, Sally could make casual conversation with Lord Caithness anytime she wished, while Caitlyn could only smile tightly at Lord Falkland, who’d planted himself at her side the second she’d stepped into the foyer. She barely dared to make a sound, for it took every ounce of her attention to keep her horse from bolting every time a leaf trembled.

  “I say, is that a rabbit?” Falkland exclaimed, pointing with his whip toward a distant field.

  Caitlyn’s horse—whom she’d begun to call Devil—shied at the sudden movement. Caitlyn convulsively clenched her knees, hunching down and yanking on the reins.

  It was an amateurish move, but effective nonetheless. The horse fought her tooth and hoof, but the ploy had the desired effect of taking Devil’s attention off Falkland’s whip.

  Damn it, why didn’t I tell the groom I needed an easy horse like Sally’s? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. But she knew why; she’d refused to bow before the challenge she’d seen in MacLean’s eyes. He’d stood within earshot of the groom, looking as if he expected her to ask for an easier mount, so of course that was the last thing she’d do. My pride will be the death of me someday. Perhaps even today.

  She shot a resentful glare at MacLean. As usual, he seemed oblivious of her as he leaned over to catch something Lady Kinloss was saying. His face was in profile, and Caitlyn admired the firm line of his jaw, the sensual turn of his mouth, his black hair over his brow, his skin far darker than was normal for a gentleman of fashion. Compared to the pale and fashionable Lord Dervishton, MacLean looked uncivilized, even a bit wild, as if his Scottish ancestors came from the battlefields and smithies, not a castle.

  Yet a patrician fineness was in the straight cut of his chin, in his bold and well-defined nose. This was no common man, but a man of history and strength. A man who was fully at home at a long, burnished mahogany dining table in the largest, most ornate house Caitlyn had ever seen, yet who now, sitting astride a barely broken black gelding, seemed more like a highland marauder.

  Even while dealing with a mount so difficult that it made hers seem merely impolite, he carried himself with an elegant grace that no other man could emulate.

  Caitlyn stole a glance at Viscount Falkland, who was rambling on about the many horses he’d fallen from. His clothes were more fashionable with his high shirt points and exaggerated coat collar, frilled cuffs, and polished boots that positively shouted a desperate need for approbation. It was a bit of a pity, she decided, turning her gaze back to MacLean just as he looked her way, his deep green gaze burning into hers.

  The second their eyes met, a jolt of pure longing raced through her, heating her from head to toe. Reflected in his face were the same reactions—desire and pure, hot lust.

  Caitlyn had never wanted something more. He was so close, yet he couldn’t have been more distant. Their time was over, and all that was left was his anger, and her deep, painful longing.

  She forced herself to look away, though she was achingly aware of him. When she could speak, she announced, “I’m hungry.”

  Falkland blinked, but recovered quickly. “Me, too. It has been”—he consulted his pocket watch—“two hours since breakfast.”

  “I want tea,” Caitlyn said. If she ate her body weight in tea cakes, then perhaps one part of her would be satisfied.

  “I could use some tea,” Sally agreed. She looked at Caithness. “Are you—”

  “Parched beyond belief,” he answered stoutly.

  As Sally smiled at the young earl, a pang riffled through Caitlyn. Suddenly restless, and wishing for the ride to be over, she turned to Lady Kinloss. “Are we near the Snaid?”

  Lady Kinloss didn’t look pleased to be interrupted in her tête-à-tête with MacLean. “We’ve five more miles.”

  Good God, I’ll starve before then. “I don’t suppose there’s a shortcut?”

  Lady Kinloss’s mouth pressed into a flat line, but her gaze flicked to the rocky field off to their right. “I suppose you could go through the field—”

  “Excellent!” Caitlyn gathered her horse.

  “Wait, you fool,” MacLean snapped, his dark green gaze assessing the field. “That field is filled with rocks, uneven patches, and rabbit holes, and at least two fences that I can see.”

  Caitlyn’s grasp tightened convulsively on the reins. The rocky field didn’t worry her, and she was sure she could pick through any rabbit holes. But fences?

  Lord Falkland turned his eager gaze her way. “If you wish to take the shorter way, I’ll go with you!”

  Alexander watched as Caitlyn eyed the field with a considering gaze even as she fought to keep her horse under control.

  Surely she wasn’t thinking of—

  She gave Falkland a blinding smile that left him gaping in red-faced delight. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to take the shortcut. It’s not so very long and—”

  “No.” Alexander edged his horse up. “You won’t.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes sparked, her mouth thinned. “Why not?”

  “Riding across such rough ground and trying to take fences on a horse you can barely control is foolhardy beyond belief! You’ll fall off and break your neck.”r />
  Falkland frowned. “If Miss Hurst wishes to ride through the field, she should be allowed.”

  Alexander eyed her grimly. “Have you ever taken a fence in your life?”

  Her chin lifted and he could tell he’d managed to thoroughly goad her. “Of course I have,” she said.

  Alexander scowled. You fool! Of all the things to lie about—

  “See? She knows what she’s doing.” Falkland looked at Caitlyn eagerly. “If you wish to take the fences, then I will go with you. I can perhaps show you my technique, which is quite superior, if I say so myself.”

  Alexander gave a short bark of laughter. “In order to teach Miss Hurst your technique, you’d have to have one yourself.”

  Falkland stiffened. “Miss Hurst, I personally guarantee your safety!”

  Alexander snapped, “Don’t be a fool. If she falls, there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”

  Lady Kinloss tittered. “Falkland could throw his body beneath Miss Hurst’s to soften her landing.” She sent a sly look at Falkland. “Of course, that could be what he’s hoping for.”

  The viscount’s face turned bright red. “You underestimate Miss Hurst’s skills.” He looked at Caitlyn and smiled, his expression softening. “But I appreciate them.”

  Lady Kinloss smirked. “Miss Hurst, I have complete trust in your horsemanship as well. It’s your spirit I wonder at.”

  Alexander saw the exact moment Caitlyn decided to abandon common sense. She stiffened, her eyes flashed, and her hands tightened on the reins, which caused her mount to edge forward nervously.

  Good God, the woman was a danger to herself. One cross word and she instantly became determined to follow whatever course lay before her, regardless of the cost.

  Her chin went up and she said in a cool voice, “Lady Kinloss, I appreciate your concern, but I believe I can take the fences. They don’t appear that high from here.”

  “Oh?” Lady Kinloss said politely, her disbelief plain upon her thin face.