“Then we’ll look at the story.” She swept to the desk and perched on the edge as she picked up the book. “My father is quite a literary scholar, and he’s particularly fond of Welsh fairy tales so I know this one frontward and back.”
“Oh?” More to amuse himself than because he particularly cared about Arthurian legends, he followed her to the desk and settled himself into a chair where he had full view of his fair opponent.
“Father’s convinced that Arthur was of Welsh decent. He . . .” She rattled on, but Alexander didn’t follow a word. His entire attention was on the rounded ass perched just feet away from him at eye level. A rounded ass barely covered by thin muslin that was caught tightly beneath one luscious cheek.
He curved his hand, imagining cupping her to him. As he watched, she shifted as if the desk was too hard for such a firm ass. That ass deserved a softer seat. Perhaps his lap, although right now it was anything but soft. In fact, his cock was so hard he—
“. . . do you think?”
Alexander blinked, forcing his gaze to her face and away from that tempting ass. “Pardon me?”
She frowned impatiently. “I was giving you suggestions for a task.”
He wondered how warm those rounded cheeks would be beneath that thin muslin gown. He could almost reach over and—
“MacLean!” Her gaze narrowed and followed his gaze to— “Blast it!” She dropped the book and hopped off the desk, a delicious pink flushing her skin. “You were looking at my behind!”
He smiled and leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Yes.”
She plopped her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”
“What else should I say?”
“You should apologize for being so improper.”
“As I recall, you were no proponent of proper behavior when you were in London. In fact, I remember one time when you dragged me behind a curtain at a ball and gave me a very improper kiss.”
She flushed but met his gaze steadily. “Our relationship just kept escalating, and I should have resisted more.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t.”
“You never once said no to anything I suggested. I had the impression that no matter what I said, you’d agree.”
“You kept challenging me, and that’s my weakness, as you know. But, that was before, and this is now. We will be careful not to engage in anything improper.”
Alexander lifted a brow, amused and oddly uneasy with her admissions. “We will?”
A definite tone of regret was in her voice when she said, “I must, for I promised my mother.”
Alexander blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I promised her I would set things right and not engage in impulsive behavior.”
“Impulsive? Like our wager?”
“That isn’t impulsive,” Caitlyn said just a touch too swiftly. “I know exactly what I am doing.”
Alexander rubbed his mouth to hide a surprised grin. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. One moment she was beguiling him and every other male within a five-mile range with her seductive grace and fine eyes, and the next she was as disarming as a child, challenging him to do something totally foolish such as fetch a piece of an abandoned beehive.
As disarming as a child … That said it all. His smile faded. Georgiana had been right; Caitlyn Hurst was too young for him. Society was filled with examples of uneven and poorly thought-out unions, just like Charles’s. Such uneven matches invariably began with the men in control, but ended with the women leading their older, smitten men around by the nose until they had no pride left.
“What’s your task for me?” Caitlyn asked.
She picked up the small leather book and opened it.
He rose and took the book from her. “I’ll find one myself, thank you. I want to find something suitably wretched for your first task. Now be quiet while I look.”
She was able to sit quietly for less than twenty seconds, sighing loudly and crossing and then uncrossing her arms. Alexander knew the exact time because he watched the clock. She really couldn’t sit still, could she?
Finally, he lowered the book. “Hmm.”
“What?”
He shrugged and lifted the book again.
She managed to keep silent for less than ten seconds this time. “MacLean! Surely you’ve already decided what to—”
He closed the book. “Fetch me the magic cauldron: Roxburge’s golden snuffbox.”
She tried to hide a wince but failed miserably.
He chuckled. “It will be difficult, to say the least. The duke keeps that snuffbox beside him day and night. You’d have the devil of a time getting it from him, especially without any of the other guests knowing.” He placed the book on the desk. “So all I must do is bring you a piece of a particular beehive?”
Caitlyn fought a smug smile. According to one of the footmen, the hive was in a tall tree, high off the ground. “You’ll find the hive where the drive turns in from the main road.”
“Done.”
“It won’t be that easy. It’s well up the tree.” She eyed his clothes. “I daresay you’ll get dirty before the day’s out.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It shouldn’t be too difficult; unless they’re honeybees, the hive will be empty.”
Caitlyn felt her smile freeze in place. “What?”
He looked amused. “The queen sleeps for the winter, along with a few drones, but the majority of the hive dies off.”
She scowled. “Oh.”
“You didn’t know that?”
“No, I thought they— Oh, blast. It doesn’t matter.” She hadn’t wished him hurt, of course, but she’d hoped to make it more difficult. Now she’d given him a ridiculously easy task, while he’d given her an extremely difficult one.
Lord Roxburge was notoriously attached to his snuffbox, and she had to procure it, show it to MacLean, then return it before his lordship even knew it was gone. Well, she simply needed to be careful and clever. “I hope to get the snuffbox by tomorrow.”
“I’ll definitely have your piece of beehive by tomorrow. I’d do it today, but I promised her grace I’d assist her in choosing a mount for the ride tomorrow.” His lips twitched. “I’d say her skill on horseback is just a hair over yours.”
Caitlyn wanted to smack the smirk off his face. Instead, she managed an unaffected shrug. “I’ll have to make your next task more difficult.”
MacLean grinned and headed for the door. “Feel free, Hurst. Just know that I’ll do the same. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must have my breakfast.”
She watched him walk out the door and cross the hallway to the breakfast room. Once he was out of sight, she threw herself into a nearby chair and wondered how on earth she was going to sneak off with the duke’s snuffbox without raising a hue and cry.
What she needed to do was think like MacLean, who knew how to flirt with a woman right under society’s easily-out-of-joint nose. He knew when to sweep someone away, when to yank the curtains closed, when to sneak off so no one noticed—and when not to.
She nodded to herself. She’d borrow from his all-too-familiar book, which would add to her pleasure when she won. He might have been the master of their battle in London, but she would win the war when she won their wager.
Immensely cheered by the thought, she arose and went in search of Muiren to see what she could find out about the duke and his snuffbox.
Chapter 8
Lassies, if ye hold back yer curiosity, yer fears, an’ yer desires, then ye’ll ne’er truly live.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
“Och, miss! I’m sure ye’ll find a way to fetch the duke’s snuffbox.”
“I have to.” Caitlyn hadn’t intended to tell her plight to Muiren, but the tale had slipped out when she’d asked the maid about the duke’s fascination with that blasted snuffbox. According to the conditions set for the wag
er, only the other guests should be kept in the dark about their efforts, not the servants. That suited Caitlyn well; Muiren’s information was useful, if daunting.
According to Muiren, Roxburge had had a bizarre attachment to his snuffbox since he’d first purchased it twelve years ago; it was almost always in his hand or placed in plain sight. It was maddening. Last night, the box had sat at the side of Roxburge’s plate all during dinner. Though he removed his hand from it while he ate, the second he finished, he would nervously grasp it and flip the lid open and shut, over and over. She didn’t know how the duchess stood it.
The rest of the time, the box stayed in his pocket unless he was shining it with his sleeve. Her only hope was that he’d drop it or look away from it long enough so that she could slip it into her pocket. Waiting and hoping for her chance, Caitlyn had determinedly stayed in the duke’s presence all day. When the rest of the guests had taken carriages out for a picnic at a gazebo built on a picturesque bluff overlooking Loch Lomond, she’d pleaded a headache and the desire to sit quietly and read. MacLean had been amused, but he’d left with the rest of the group, the duchess clinging annoyingly to his arm.
While the party was out having fun, she’d sat in the library, watching the duke snore in a chair across from her, his snuffbox safely secured in a pocket. Thank goodness Lord Falkland had remained behind and kept her company, or she’d have gone mad with boredom.
All she needed was one chance—a few seconds would do it—to grab the box. Luckily, Muiren was a constant source of ideas. While most of them were wildly improbable, they at least kept Caitlyn’s spirits up.
The maid now handed a mirror to Caitlyn so she could see the red rose placed in the curls over her ear. “What if ye tripped his grace an’ got the snuffbox then?”
Caitlyn placed the mirror back on the dressing table and tightened the sash on her robe. “I can’t trip the duke! He’s old and feeble.”
Muiren looked regretful. “Och, I suppose ye’re right. Ye canna hurt him.” The maid was silent a moment, adjusting a hairpin. “It’s too bad ye canno’ just snatch it from the dinner table tonight.”
“But then I’d have to explain myself to the other guests, and they can’t know what MacLean and I are doing.”
The maid sighed. “It’s no’ the quest as is so difficult. ’Tis all of the rules.”
Caitlyn frowned. “There has to be a way to get that dratted snuffbox! Yesterday I couldn’t even get close to the blasted thing, and today was no better. MacLean is going to hand me that piece of beehive any minute now, and I won’t have a thing to show for my own task!”
“Aye, the duke even sleeps with the box under his pillow. I asked his man jus’ this morning. Ye’ll have to get it from him at dinner this evenin’. That’s all there is to it.”
Caitlyn leaned her elbow on her dressing table and plopped her chin in her hand. “There must be a way—”
There was a knock on the door, and the housekeeper stepped inside carrying Caitlyn’s green evening gown. Mrs. Pruitt was short and round, with two chins and a stern, sour expression that made her look as if she could easily be a termagant.
Muiren hurried to curtsy. “Och, Mrs. Pruitt!”
“Sorry to bother ye, miss,” Mrs. Pruitt said to Caitlyn. “I brought yer gown. Muiren here had the laundress iron the flounces.“
“Oh, thank you!” Caitlyn was particularly proud of the gown. It was a round gown of green Urling’s net over a white satin slip, the bottom trimmed with lace flounces festooned with bouquets of roses and bluebells. It had taken her almost two weeks to get the flounces to lie just right, and after much thought, she’d added an extra row of lace to the bottom of the overskirt, which made it softly drag the floor as she walked and added a little drama. It had turned out perfectly, and she smiled every time she saw it.
Mrs. Pruitt carefully placed the gown on the bed and adjusted the skirt. “Pardon me, miss, but is this Parisian?”
“Oh, no,” Muiren said before Caitlyn could answer. “Miss Hurst made it herself!”
“Noooo!” Mrs. Pruitt bent to inspect the stitching. “’Tis a nice, even hand ye have, miss, if ye dinna mind me saying so. And the lace is very fine.”
“It’s Belgium point lace, and it took me quite a while to gather the funds since it’s quite dear.” Almost a year, and if she hadn’t been able to tutor the squire’s rather slow son in Latin, she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.
Mrs. Pruitt appeared impressed. “Her grace has more clothes than ye can shake a stick at, but I’ve never seen anything in her wardrobe to match tha’ dress.”
“Thank you.”
The housekeeper came to eye Caitlyn’s pinned-up hair. “Och, ’tis lovely, Muiren.”
Muiren beamed.
“She is very talented,” Caitlyn said.
“So she is.” Mrs. Pruitt nodded encouragingly. “Miss, ye look fine as can be. Ye’ll charm tha’ snuffbox fra’ Lord Roxburge before ye know it.”
Caitlyn blinked.
Muiren cast her an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid I tol’ Mrs. Pruitt aboot yer wager.”
“Aye, an’ I wish ye well. Lord MacLean could use a takin’ down a peg or two, if’n ye ask me,” the housekeeper said with a dark look. “He’s a mite too handsome fer his own good, in my opinion.”
“I promise to do my best.”
The housekeeper curtsied. “I’d best be gettin’ to her grace’s dressing chambers. She’s havin’ trouble gettin’ her gown t’ fit. Seems she’s gained weight since she last wore it, but o’ course, she’ll blame the laundress fer shrinking it.”
Muiren tsked. “The duchess can be a piece of work.”
“Her grace has a redhead’s temperament, that’s a fact. Best of luck to ye on gettin’ the snuffbox, miss.” Mrs. Pruitt went to the door. “I’ll keep me eyes peeled fer a way to help ye. Ye ne’er know when an opportunity may present itself.” With a bow, the housekeeper left.
Muiren eyed Caitlyn hopefully. “If anyone can find a way to snatch that snuffbox, it’ll be Mrs. Pruitt. Ye canno’ pass wind in this house without her knowin’ aboot it.”
Caitlyn laughed. “I can tell. Now help me into that gown. I can’t get my hands on that snuffbox while I’m in this room.”
Grinning, Muiren fetched the gown. Caitlyn rose from the dressing table, her determination rising. All she needed was one small opportunity. And when it came, she’d be ready.
“Alexander, you really must stop that!” Georgiana crossed the room to his side, her gown fluttering about her. It was after dinner and the men had returned from enjoying their port. Now the party had settled in, some to play cards, some to talk.
Alexander turned to Georgiana. “I need to stop what?”
“Glaring across the room at Miss Hurst as if she were an ill-behaved child and you her father.”
By Georgiana’s smile, he knew she was sure she’d hit her mark. For the last two days, she’d managed to mention the disparity between his and Caitlyn’s ages more than once. It was wearing, to say the least.
He glanced past her to where Caitlyn stood beside Roxburge. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about your husband. He seems quite taken.”
Georgiana shrugged. “If she wants him, she can have him. I have his name, and that was the best part.” She watched her husband flirt with Caitlyn. “At one time, it might have bothered me to see Roxburge flirting so. Now I just find it—and him—pathetic.”
Alexander ignored her. It had been an interesting two days, and he’d come to respect Caitlyn’s determination. It’d had been amusing to watch her try to manipulate Roxburge into giving up his precious snuffbox. It would take quick thinking to get the box if she ever got near it. Alexander smiled at the thought and found a good vantage point by the fireplace to watch.
She was seated by Roxburge’s side, attempting to cajole the old duke into showing her his prize.
She sent the old man a sideways glance from beneath her long lashes, smiling at the old roué as
if he were a veritable Adonis. She listened to his muddled stories with rapt attention, laughed when he smiled, and in general flirted with him outrageously. Because of Roxburge’s advanced age, no one would think aught of it, and she was taking full advantage of that. So far, all she’d managed to get for her pains was one look at his snuffbox. When she held out her hand and asked prettily to hold the box, she’d been jovially but firmly rejected. Alexander had to grin.
As if she could read his thoughts, Caitlyn sent him a resentful glance. He merely bowed, letting her know he was enjoying the show.
Her cheeks red, Caitlyn renewed her efforts on the duke. Alexander wondered if Roxburge’s eyesight was good enough to appreciate the cream of her skin and the way her disappointed lips curved downward.
The old duke said something to Caitlyn that made her blush and look away—right at Alexander. Her lips firmed into a thin line and she sent him a don’t-say-a-word glare before turning back to the duke. Though Alexander had no view of her except for one pert, challenging shoulder, he was sure she was now smiling for all she was worth. He chuckled softly.
“What’s so amusing?” Georgiana asked.
“I vow but I think Roxburge’s eyes have grown worse over the last few years.”
She glanced indifferently at her husband. “They’ve never been good, even when we first met.”
“That explains a good deal,” Alexander said smoothly.
Georgiana gave him a sharp look.
Across the room Miss Ogilvie played a light piece on the pianoforte, much to Lady Elizabeth’s delight. Unfortunately, that austere woman had no musical tone, and she marred the performance with her off-key hum.
Georgiana curled her lip. “I must invite more talented people for my next house party. I was just telling Dervishton how much I love a good play, and he suggested we do a reading one afternoon.” She continued on, but Alexander ignored her. She’d lately taken to throwing Dervishton’s name about, but if she thought to make Alexander jealous, she was wasting her time. He could care less, and though she might not yet realize it, she wasn’t the younger lord’s primary target.
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 12