“To tell me of your aching ass?”
“I didn’t come to discuss my injuries.”
His smile disappeared. “Injuries? Did you—”
“No, no! I should have said I hadn’t come to discuss my aching ass, but that seemed a bit vulgar.”
He gave a burst of surprised laughter, and the warm sound bolstered her confidence. “MacLean, I came to ask a question.”
Still chuckling, he said, “If you want me to give you more riding lessons, the answer is no. I daresay Dervishton would agree to do it, for the man’s nothing but a fawning pup.”
“I wasn’t going to ask any such thing. I just want to know why you brought me here.”
All traces of humor fled. “The duchess invited you, not me.”
She lifted her brows in polite disbelief.
He returned her look for a minute, then went to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He came back to the desk and leaned against it, crossing his legs at the ankles as he took a sip from the heavy cut-crystal glass.
“Well?” She crossed the room to stand beside the settee, watching him through her lashes. He was so distant, it was as if he’d surrounded himself with a wall of ice. Well, she knew how to shatter ice. “You’re angry.”
He merely sipped his port, but his eyes glittered with suppressed anger.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “I hope this isn’t about what happened between Lord Hugh and my sister. For if it is, then you, my lord, are being silly.”
His mouth went white, his eyes flashing furiously. Outside, lightning flashed, sending a stark white flicker into the room. A deep-throated rumble of thunder followed, the floor quaking at the sound. She glanced outside and saw that in the twinkling of an eye, the storm had rebuilt and large, boiling black clouds loomed ominously overhead.
Caitlyn shivered, not just at the force of the storm brewing, but at the quickness of it. Such power. Such power, and carried with such careless grace. How that must burden him.
She turned back to MacLean and noted the lines beside his mouth, the way his skin had paled and how his eyes gleamed hard and bright. She’d thought those were signs of his fury, but now she wondered if they were signs of the weight of the curse—a silent acknowledgment that he didn’t have the luxury to completely free his tempestuous temper—ever.
The thought staggered her. What a horrid curse! Caitlyn’s heart ached in a new, different way. She didn’t feel pity—for God knew, the man didn’t inspire such an insipid emotion—but she did feel a sudden and unusually strong flash of empathy. All of her life, her grandmother had repeated larger-than-life stories of the MacLean curse. Now, facing it, Caitlyn had caught a glimpse beyond the surface.
It made her conduct in London all the more reprehensible, for she’d been curious and had tried to force MacLean into losing his temper and exhibiting the power of the curse. She’d done so without any thought of how it might affect the man, and that was inexcusable. “MacLean, this has gone on long enough. We can’t keep hurting one another. We must talk. There are so many things I wish to explain and—”
He placed his glass of port on the desk, the heavy glass clunking on the wood as he turned on his heel and walked toward the doors.
He was leaving? She’d asked for a chance to explain herself, and he was going to just walk away and—
He closed the doors to the hallway and locked them, the click of the tumblers loud in her shocked silence.
Caitlyn couldn’t breathe. They were alone now. The only other entrance was through the terrace doors, and with such horrid weather, no one would enter from there.
She wondered if she should ask for the doors to be left opened, but as she caught MacLean’s gaze, she recognized the sardonic glint in his eyes and realized that was exactly what he expected her to do.
“Thank you. I’m glad you closed the doors; now we won’t be interrupted.” A surprised look crossed his face, and she had to grin.
A reluctant answering smile touched his hard mouth. “You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that.” He returned to the desk to retrieve his glass of port. “Speak, Hurst. Now’s your chance, and it’s the only one I’ll give you.”
Ha! We’ll see about that. “You’ve done nothing but torment me since I arrived.”
He smiled at her over the edge of his glass, his eyes so dark that they appeared black. “I have not yet begun to torment you.”
“MacLean, if this is about our behavior in London—”
“Our behavior? Your behavior, you mean.”
“We were both pushing societal rules, you as much as I. We both had a hand in the events that forced your brother to wed my sister.”
“That’s not true.” He swirled the port in his glass, warming it even as his gaze grew chillier. “All I did was embark on a harmless flirtation, which you apparently took for something much more.”
“I did no such thing! If we’d been caught—”
“We wouldn’t have been, except for your behavior,” he said impatiently. “We’re both adults. You’ve been out of the schoolroom for a long time, and you knew better than to publicly announce—”
“What do you mean, I’ve been out of the schoolroom for a long time? I am not an antidote.”
His gaze flickered over her insultingly. “Some might say you’re long of tooth.”
“Oh! You—” She gathered her skirt and marched to where he sat on the edge of the desk. “You are just trying to distract me from the real issue. We are evenly at fault for what happened in London, and you know it!”
The line of his jaw tightened. “My brother went through hell when he realized he had to marry a woman he didn’t even know.”
“Your brother wasn’t the only one to suffer! How do you think my sister felt?” Caitlyn said hotly.
“We’ve all suffered at your thoughtlessness. You boasted to the entire world that you would force me to offer for your hand, which set the entire ton on its ear.”
Her face heated. She had boasted that, and it was that impulsive indiscretion that had brought her sister racing to London to halt the whispers. “MacLean, I don’t—”
“Had our siblings not married, it would have been a huge scandal. It was weeks before the ton could speak of anything else, and my name was tossed about like chaff on the wind.” The wind rattled against every window in the house as if trying to beat its way inside.
“Ah!” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re not angry about your brother at all. You’re angry because you were made a fool in front of the bon ton!”
A flash of white illuminated the room, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that made the decanter tremble on its silver tray. MacLean came off the desk, moving with a deadly intent that froze her in place.
He grasped her by the shoulders and yanked her close, his face only inches from hers as he snarled, “I will not be made a fool of by a chit like you! Not now. Not ever.”
The nerve of this man! “Ha! If that’s all it takes to make a fool of you, then you’d best expect it to happen again—and soon!”
Hot white lightning blinded her as his warm hands slipped from her shoulders to encircle her throat. She gasped as his thumbs came to rest on the delicate skin where her pulse beat.
Caitlyn found herself staring directly in his green, green eyes. Had any other man held her so, she’d have been frightened. Instead, she felt oddly excited and had to fight an urge to lean forward, to move even closer. He was not a man to harm women; he would scorn those who did. The danger came from her reaction to his touch.
She was agonizingly aware of him, of his height, of the breadth of his shoulders, of the bold line of his nose and the gleam of his unusual eyes, of the fall of his hair over his forehead. Every aspect of him was magnified and distinct, even the faint scent of sandalwood soap on his hands.
Caitlyn grasped his wrists and moved forward, into his arms. His brows lowered, and as if against his will, his hands slid to the back of her neck, his fingers deliciously warm as they t
raced across her nape.
A shiver danced through her, raising goose bumps, tightening her nipples and making her breath ragged. She struggled to think. She had to close her eyes and take a breath before she could say, “MacLean, why did you have the duchess invite me to her house party?”
He leaned close until his lips were by her ear, his port-flavored breath warm. “I had Georgiana bring you here so that I could punish you for what you did to me and my family.”
Caitlyn opened her eyes. “Punish me?”
“I will ruin you, the way you would have been had your sister not rescued you from your folly.”
She pulled back and stared up at him. He was deadly serious. He meant what he said—and he could do it, too. She glanced at the closed door, and he chuckled softly. “Exactly.”
Why, oh why, had she allowed him to close the door? She’d been so wrapped up in trying to appear in command of the situation that she’d even thanked him. Blast my rebellious nature.
One could cross society’s rules only if one had enough clout, and never publicly. Not that he needed the aid of a closed door. The sad truth was that, for a woman, a hasty word or an embrace—even unwanted—could be enough to tarnish her name and banish her and her family from society. And unless the lady was from one of the leading families, there would be no second chances. “Blast it, MacLean, you must let go of this misguided notion of revenge.”
“Misguided?”
His voice was soft and threatening, yet deep and warm, like his hands. The goose bumps renewed and she shivered, finding her gaze locked on his firm, sensual mouth. What she wouldn’t give to feel those lips again. Perhaps she’d imagined the feel of them and had exaggerated her reaction in her mind. Suddenly, she needed to find out … now.
“What are you doing?”
She leaned against him, slipping her hands about his waist, pressing against him. “I was thinking . . .” Only she wasn’t thinking at all; she was already in action. She pressed herself to him and kissed him, unable to resist the lure of that finely chiseled, hot mouth that was too close, too tempting.
He gathered her hard against him, his strong hands molding her to him.
She moaned, opening her mouth to him, her entire body aflame. God, how she loved his hands on her, the warmth of his touch even through her clothing. He slid a hand to her breast and traced his thumb over her nipple, which was hard through the thin silk of her gown and chemise. Caitlyn gripped his coat and yanked him closer, desperate to close the small distance between them, wanting to—
“No.” His hands closed around her wrists and he yanked her hands from his coat and stood glaring down at her, his breathing as harsh as hers.
She struggled to think, to pull her gaze from his mouth, now pressed into a firm, straight line. “No, what?” How could he want to stop something that felt so good?
With a muffled curse, he turned and strode to the desk, where he grabbed his glass of port and took an angry swallow.
She rubbed her arms, chilled. “MacLean, I—”
He slammed the glass onto the desk, port sloshing onto its surface as he sent her a furious look. “What happened in London was a mistake I won’t repeat, no matter how you try and tempt me. Had you not been such a flirt—”
She stiffened. “Flirt?”
“Why else do you think Falkland and Dervishton are so hot on your trail? Of course, such flirtations rarely last. You’re not mature enough to hold the interest of a real man.”
Caitlyn gripped her elbows tightly, fighting an answering flare of anger. “I enjoyed our flirtation in London. But if that makes me a flirt, then it makes you one, too, my lord. Because for every sin I committed, you did the same.”
“I never attempted to trick you into a fraudulent offer of marriage.”
“No, but you challenged me to do it, which makes you just as responsible!”
“Like hell I did!”
She plopped her hands on her hips. “Did you or did you not say you’d never ask me to marry you in a million years?”
He frowned. “I didn’t—”
“Oh!” Caitlyn couldn’t believe her ears. “Your exact words were, ‘Hurst, there’s no way in hell I’d ever ask you to marry me, and there’s nothing you could do to make me.’”
“I—” He froze in place, his brows contracting, realization plain on his face.
She nodded, smugly pleased. “At the Manderleys’ soiree, on the terrace.”
“That wasn’t meant as a challenge.”
“And how would you have viewed it, if someone had said that same thing to you?”
He glowered and opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand. “Honestly—what would you have done?”
He made an impatient gesture. “Whatever I did, it would have been discreet, not have been performed in the full glare of public censure—which is what made your actions untenable.”
“Discreet? Like the time you kissed me in the antechamber at Devonshire House, and the prince walked in?”
He looked thunderous. “That was an error of judgment, but one instance doesn’t—”
“And the time at the Treveshams’ dinner party, when you pulled me into an empty sitting room and the butler came in to collect something, and we had to hide under the settee until he left and Lady Trevesham walked—”
“Enough!” He clamped his mouth firmly shut, the wind furiously beating against the windows, the panes clattering in their frames. “You can’t count those. You teased me mercilessly and—”
“I teased you? You, you, you—” She fisted her hands and advanced on him until they were toe-to-toe. “I wish my original plan had worked! I wish you had been forced to offer for me, just so I could have had the pleasure of refusing you!”
His jaw tightened and rain slashed across the terrace doors.
“Oh, keep your blasted rain and wind; it doesn’t scare me one bit! You’d be lucky if I married you, and you know it!”
His mouth turned white, his eyes a brilliant, hard green, his wounded pride emblazoned across his furious face. He towered over her, angry and threatening. “They don’t make enough port to get me inebriated enough to ask you to marry me, regardless of whether you were ‘ruined’ or not.”
“That’s— Why, you— Oh!” She stomped her foot. “MacLean, if I wished to, I could make you want to marry me!”
“Like hell.” A cold smile that was no smile turned up one corner of his mouth, and he bent down until his eyes were level with hers. “But I know I could make you come to my bed willingly—without the sanctity and disaster of a marriage.”
“Not in a million years! There’s no way in . . . in . . . in hell!” The word curdled on her tongue, but she said it anyway.
MacLean’s brows flew up and he burst into a deep, rich laugh that surprised them both.
Outside, the wind abated a bit, and Caitlyn let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m glad you find this funny, for I don’t.”
He grinned now, dark and wicked. “Hurst, sometimes you are so very much a vicar’s daughter.” His smile turned wolfish. “What do you say to a little wager? If I win, you come to my bed.”
She fought an instant picture of herself in his bed, his large hands moving over her bared skin. Instantly her stomach tightened and her nipples tingled as if his hands were even now cupping her breasts.
If she closed her eyes, she could see him—warm-skinned and deliciously masculine. For the briefest moment, she wondered if losing would be so bad . . . Then she met his gaze and there was no mistaking the superior air that he regarded her with.
He doesn’t think I have a chance! Why, that fiend! “And when I win,” she snapped indignantly, “then you will go down on bended knee before the entire party here and ask for my hand in marriage. In front of everyone, MacLean.”
MacLean shrugged. “Fine. It doesn’t matter what you wager, for I’ll be damned if I let you win anything.”
“As if you could stop me.” I can picture him on his knee before me, asking for
my hand while the duchess glowers in the background. It was too delicious! “But I should give you fair warning: I may decide to say yes to your offer of marriage just to irk you. Then where will you be?”
“Then you will have one very angry husband.”
She grinned. “If you’re angry, then you’ll have a very happy wife.”
His hands curled into fists and she thought for an excited moment that he would reach out and grab her again, but instead he said in an icy voice, “We’ve set the stakes. Name the conditions.”
Conditions? Good God—how did one set conditions for such a wager? A wager of his freedom against her virtue. She swallowed, the enormity of what they were doing settling about her like a cold mist. Blast it, what was it about him that always made her forget her vow to remain calm and unflustered?
Whatever it was, she was going to put an end to it once and for all. She had to construct the conditions in a way that benefited her, and not this great lummox who could outride her, outrace her, and outdo her in every physical way. But what? She glanced around the room, seeking inspiration and not finding it . . . until her gaze fell on the open book on the desk she’d seen on entering the library. With startling clarity, an idea instantly formed.
She whirled around MacLean and reached for the book. “I know exactly what we’ll do.”
“What’s that?” His voice was softer now, edged with suspicion.
She flipped through the pages eagerly. “We will set this wager to follow the tale of Olwen and Culhwch.”
“Who?”
She almost chuckled. He didn’t know the legend and she did, which could be an excellent advantage. She flipped through the pages quickly, excited at the idea of having this proud and arrogant man at her feet. “My father loves this tale and used to read it to us when we were children.”
“How fortunate for you,” MacLean said in a dry tone.
Caitlyn ignored him. “Olwen and Culhwch are of Arthurian legend. Culhwch, King Arthur’s cousin, was cursed by an evil stepmother to fall in love with only one woman—Olwen. The trouble was, Olwen’s father was a very large, very angry giant. In order to win Olwen’s hand, Culhwch was sent to perform a series of deeds to prove himself.” She tapped her finger on the text. “We’ll use this old myth as the basis of our wager.”
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 10