But did it matter? Did anything matter, other than the feel of her against him?
Done with trying to understand her, he lifted her skirts by the handful, pulling them up, up, so that he could touch her warmed skin through her thin chemise and—
Outside, the sound of a group of horses approaching the house penetrated his fog of passion. The other guests were returning.
Alexander dropped his forehead to hers and held her tight, his mind slowly clearing. Damn it, what were they thinking? They had to stop this, had to fight it. But looking into Caitlyn’s passion-drugged eyes, Alexander knew it was up to him. Though it was physically painful, he released her and stepped back.
“MacLean, wha—”
“No.” It was all he could manage. His heart thundered, his skin burned as if her touch had scalded him, his cock ached with unreleased passion.
Caitlyn blinked rapidly, as if waking from a deep sleep, then slipped off the table, her skirts tumbling back into place. “MacLean, what—”
“The others are arriving. I heard their horses as they rode past to the stables.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t even hear them. I— Good God, I don’t know what I was thinking—”
“We weren’t.” He couldn’t stand the wounded look in her eyes. “This passion is what caused us such problems to begin with. It will sink us again, unless we control it.”
Her face pale, she nodded. Then, her gaze averted, she walked to a mirror on the wall and began putting her hair to rights, her hands shaking.
The silence grew long. Alexander rubbed his face. He’d come so close to losing control, and he never lost control. It was a luxury he couldn’t afford as a MacLean. Since Callum’s death, Alexander had never, not once, allowed his passions to get the better of him.
Until today.
For a few glorious, blindingly exquisite moments, he hadn’t been in control of anything. He ran a hand over his face. Good God, what did I almost allow to happen?
Caitlyn returned to the settee and retrieved the fallen book. “Well, that was a very pleasant interlude.”
He frowned. “Pleasant?”
“More than pleasant.” Her cheeks were still flushed. “We had planned to talk, and now is a good time, before the riding party reaches the house. Have you decided on my next challenge? I have decided on yours.”
Alexander didn’t know what to say. He’d been certain she would berate him for attempting to seduce her; instead, she’d calmly accepted part of the responsibility and moved on.
He realized she was still looking at him, a question in her eyes, and he forced himself to find his voice. “One task Culhwch performed was to convince a reluctant visitor to come to a dinner party. Do you remember that part?”
She tapped the book with a slender finger. “Yes . . . there was something about a guest who’d declared he’d never set foot within the castle, and Culhwch had to convince him?”
“Which Culhwch did by completing errands for the guest, although I’m not convinced that ruse will work in this instance.”
Caitlyn shot MacLean a glance from beneath her lashes. “So I’m to convince—”
“Lord Dingwall.” He smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile, either.
“Who is that?”
“His estate borders this one.
“So I am to invite Lord Dingwall to attend a dinner here at Balloch Castle?”
Alexander nodded.
She frowned. “And I assume that he dislikes the duchess?”
“Why not the duke?”
“The duke is too self-absorbed to get into an argument. The duchess seems to relish that sort of encounter.”
MacLean’s lips twitched. “Point conceded.”
“If I convince this Lord Dingwall to come to dinner, how do I know the duchess will allow him in?”
Alexander shrugged, arrogantly self-confident. “She’ll do it if I ask her. She knows him well; his property is attached to hers in the west, his house almost visible from the largest curve in the drive.”
“And they dislike one another.”
“I’d use the word detest. According to Georgiana, Dingwall once called her an ‘empty-headed piece of decorated fluff,’ and she returned the favor by calling him a ‘pompous relic.’”
Lovely, Caitlyn thought. She was to play nursemaid to a pair of squabbling adults. “What started their argument?”
His green eyes alight with amusement, he replied, “I’m sure Georgiana told me at some point, but I didn’t listen.”
She sniffed. “I’ll have to find out what happened between them. Perhaps I can patch things up.”
“And my task?”
Caitlyn smiled. “It’s easier than falling from a tree.”
“Excellent. My back has yet to recover.”
“I promise that your back will be safe for this task. Your fingers, however—”
Noise arose out in the hallway. The first of the guests had returned from the stables, and Caitlyn heard her name mentioned by Lord Dervishton. It wouldn’t be long now before they were interrupted.
Caitlyn said swiftly, “In the story, Culhwch is sent to fetch a comb and mirror from between the ears of a wild boar. MacLean, you are to fetch the bow from Lady Kinloss’s dog.”
Alexander straightened. “That monster?”
“That old, near-toothless monster. The one that snarls every time you come near.” She set the book on the desk and smiled.
“It’s a deal.” He stood by the display table where they’d just embraced, looking elegant and menacing.
That was a particular talent of his. While she suspected that many men wished they could do the same, few were capable of it. For MacLean, it was as natural as breathing.
The commotion in the hallway grew louder as another group joined the first, and the duchess’s voice could be heard over the clamor.
MacLean grimaced and moved toward the terrace windows, as far away from the hallway as he could get.
Dervishton appeared at the library door, his sharp gaze taking in the entire scene. “Ah, Miss Hurst, there you are!” He entered the room, nodding coolly to MacLean. “My dear Miss Hurst, you made the right decision not to ride. According to her grace, the trail was too steep, the sun too cold, the wind too brutal, and the company not merry enough.”
“It sounds lovely.” Caitlyn sent a glance at MacLean from under her lashes, but he was staring out the terrace windows, his attention obviously somewhere else. “Lord Dervishton, you once mentioned that you know this countryside rather well.”
He looked pleased, stripping off his riding gloves and tossing them onto the display table without a glance. “My mother’s family is from this area. I spent most summers of my youth in a house not far from here.”
“So you know all of the people who live around here.”
MacLean’s attention swung in her direction.
Dervishton nodded. “Of course. Some of them very well. Why?”
She smiled sweetly. “I have a great favor to ask.”
He could not have appeared more eager. “Yes?”
“If you’re not too tired and will give me a few moments, I’ll change into my riding habit and we can take an easy canter up and down the drive while you tell me about the history of the castle … and the surrounding properties.” She cast a demure glance at MacLean, who now faced the room, his gaze considering as he watched her.
“It would be my pleasure!” Dervishton reached for his gloves. “We can ride down through the—” His eyes widened as he looked at the display table.
His expression was so shocked that Caitlyn, who was standing only a few feet away, moved to see what he was looking at. There, imprinted on the thin metal sheets of the ancient map, was a perfect impression of a woman’s posterior. Her posterior.
Good God, no! Her face flushed and she instinctively turned to MacLean.
He crossed the room at her silent entreaty.
Dervishton frowned. “That looks like—”
He sent an embarrassed glance at Caitlyn.
She pasted a smile on her lips. “I see some dents. I don’t know what else there is to see.”
“They look like—” His expression froze and he looked from Caitlyn to MacLean, then back to the map upon the table.
Caitlyn stared blindly at the cheek dents pressed into the old map. Not only was it painfully obvious what they were, but MacLean’s having caused her to writhe, the imprints were well hollowed out and wider than they should be.
At least she hoped her behind wasn’t that wide. She fought the desire to peer over her shoulder and see.
“Pardon me,” a rich, silky masculine voice murmured in her ear. MacLean bent over her shoulder and examined the dents through his eyeglass. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “Fascinating.”
Dervishton’s expression had darkened. “You could call it that.”
MacLean straightened. “I’m certain Georgiana—I mean, her grace—would wish us to remove this map.”
“Yes, but—”
“Dervishton,” MacLean said in a voice heavy with meaning, “her grace would wish it.”
“Yes, I heard—” Dervishton’s eyes widened. “Oh!” He looked at the imprint again. “You mean—”
MacLean leveled his eyepiece at the indentions. “I’m positive.” He placed his hand along the indentions as if to measure them. “Yes. Her grace would be most glad to see this map removed.”
Dervishton nodded. “Of course. I see. Her grace—” He carefully closed the map, then slid it under another book.
“Thank you,” Alexander said somberly, tucking his eyepiece back into his pocket.
Caitlyn had to hold her breath to keep from choking on a hearty laugh. She met MacLean’s gaze, and for a moment both of them regarded one another, their eyes warm with laughter.
Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I should change into my riding habit.”
Dervishton bowed to Caitlyn. “I shall await you in the foyer.”
“I’ll be swift.” As Caitlyn curtsied good-bye to MacLean, she mouthed a sincere Thank you. His gaze softened and his mouth curved as he bowed in return.
The look warmed her from head to toe, and with a light heart she hurried upstairs to change into her riding habit, to discover all that she could about the mysterious Lord Dingwall.
Chapter 14
One day ye might find yerself wantin’ something so badly that ye think ye might do anything to get it. When that happens, be very wary, fer that’s th’ moment th’ devil will dance in through yer door.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
“Ye have to do what?” Muiren, who was fetching Caitlyn’s bronze walking dress from the wardrobe, turned an incredulous look on her mistress.
Mrs. Pruitt, who’d just brought in neatly pressed unmentionables, looked up from the dresser drawer and gaped. “Ye canno’ be serious!”
The late-afternoon light bathed the bedchambers with a golden glow. Caitlyn was getting ready for a game of lawn billiards with the other guests to enjoy the mild weather. “I’m perfectly serious: my next task is to fetch Lord Dingwall to visit her grace.”
Muiren and Mrs. Pruitt exchanged glances.
“Miss, I’m sorry, but I dinna think that’ll happen,” Muiren said.
“Why not?”
Mrs. Pruitt let out a long breath. “Lord Dingwall isna a nice man.”
“He’s a horrid ol’ troll, is what he is!” Muiren said.
Mrs. Pruitt nodded, both chins wagging. “He is. And he hates her grace fer many things, but especially fer havin’ house parties like this, with all manner o’ people traipsing up an’ down the paths. He dinna care fer that at all.”
“But the real reason he’s mad at her grace is because her drive runs near his own property. He liked to have had a fit when she had the lane cut,” Muiren said.
“Aye, he came stormin’ to the house, yellin’ tha’ she was on his property.”
“Tha’ was only one argument, though. They’ve had many.”
“Aye,” Mrs. Pruitt confirmed. “Her grace demanded that he repair the road in front o’ his house, which becomes a lake whenever it rains. She doesna like how it splashes mud on her new carriage.”
Muiren nodded vigorously. “Dingwall would have none o’ it, though, and he near had a fit. Ye’d have thought she’d asked him to pay fer a brand-new road an’ a house or two, as well.”
Mrs. Pruitt sniffed. “While I can understand tha’ her grace is no’ always a reasonable sort o’ woman, there was no need fer him to call her a”—the housekeeper looked around before whispering loudly—“hussy!”
“He didn’t!” Caitlyn could see why Georgiana had been angry; the duchess was very conscious of her dignity. “Lord Dervishton’s mother lives near here, and he told me some things about Dingwall yesterday. I’m hoping to quiz his lordship more during our game of lawn billiards. Did Dingwall really steal her grace’s favorite dog?”
“Aye, he did,” Mrs. Pruitt said. “But only after she had the men move the markers.”
“What markers?”
“On his property. That’s what started the real fight. Afore that ’twas naught but hard words. After tha’, the war began in earnest.”
“What did she do to the markers?”
“Her grace wished the drive t’ the new house t’ curve on the other side o’ the park, and there was no arguin’ with her, not e’en when she was tol’ the drive would cross Lord Dingwall’s land. Not by much, but ’twas enou.’”
“I can’t believe she just moved the markers! No wonder Lord Dingwall is so angry. He could have taken her to court.”
Muiren shook her head. “When the duke is the one who appoints the seat? I dinna think so.”
“Aye, Lord Dingwall would be bangin’ his head against a brick wall wit’ that one. He was angry as could be when he found out the judge wasna goin’ to give him a fair hearin’. He showed up during one of her grace’s house parties, yellin’ aboot how the duke and she had cheated him, and how he wasna going to stand fer it. Her grace ordered the footmen to keep ’im out and he’s ne’er been allowed to enter since.”
Muiren chimed in, “Which is when he took her grace’s prize poodle. Stole it when the footman took it fer a walk and refuses to give it back. Now, just to make her mad, he walks th’ dog right along the fence, he does. And if he sees her grace, he’ll wave right big and point to the dog and dance up an’ down like a troll.”
“Does it work?”
“Och,” Mrs. Pruitt said, “ye should have seen her grace! It happened once just before ye arrived, miss, and she was fit t’ be tied, she was. Leaned out th’ window of her carriage and screamed like a fishwife.”
“Aye.” Muiren’s eyes grew wide. “I ne’er knew she could speak so! She’d have had ’im shot if she’d thought she could get away wit’ it.”
Caitlyn didn’t doubt it a moment. The duchess had a hardness that couldn’t be ignored, a brittleness that permeated her speech and, when she was upset, made her laugh as harsh as a mule’s bray. Caitlyn couldn’t possibly get upset with someone who succeeded so brilliantly in annoying the duchess. At times Caitlyn wished to do the same thing, especially after last night.
Yesterday’s ride with Dervishton had provided her with excellent information on Lord Dingwall. Up until ten years ago, when Dingwall’s daughter had died from an infection of the lungs, the old man had been fairly friendly to his neighbors. After that, he’d become a hermit and rarely had a good word for anyone.
Caitlyn felt quite sorry for the man. Added to his miseries, shortly thereafter the duke and duchess began to build the new house. From what she’d come to understand, they’d been insensitive about almost every issue possible. No wonder Dingwall had adamantly refused to take care of his portion of the roadway or do anything else the duchess asked. It would be a daunting task to get him to voluntarily visit the duchess’s house.
“Are ye sure ye wish t’ do this?�
� Mrs. Pruitt asked in a doubtful voice.
“Of course! I’m not the sort of person who wavers just because a strong wind comes by.” A strong kiss . . . she might waver a bit for that. But not for mere adversity.
“If ye’re decided, miss, then so are we,” Muiren said stoutly. “I dinna know how we’ll help, but we will.”
“There is one way,” Mrs. Pruitt said, looking meaningfully at Muiren.
“Och, now, Mrs. Pruitt, I couldna!”
“Aye, ye could. This is war, lassie! Of the old sort—we women must stand together!”
Caitlyn frowned. “What are you two talking about?”
Muiren sighed. “’Tis about me man, Sean.”
“Why, Muiren, you never said a word!”
Muiren smiled shyly while Mrs. Pruitt sniffed. “That’s because he’s a footman, and Muiren’s no’ supposed to mingle wit’ the help in such a manner.”
“Mrs. Pruitt, I told ye I dinna mean to fall in love! But it slipped up behind me and knocked me in th’ head.” Muiren turned to Caitlyn and said, “T’were true love, miss. One minute we were fetchin’ the linens to count the sheets, an’ the next—” Muiren’s cheeks couldn’t be pinker.
Caitlyn blew out her breath. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Muiren and Mrs. Pruitt sent her a surprised glance and she added hastily, “I’ve read in many books about how love can hit one unexpectedly.”
“I daresay there’s been tomes on the subject,” Mrs. Pruitt agreed. “Muiren, tell Miss Hurst what ye and Sean can do fer her quest.”
“Sean’s cousin’s wife’s sister works for Lord Dingwall. I dinna know till I speak to her, but mayhap she can get ye into the house. ’Tis fer certain he willna let ye in if ye walk up to the front door. He willna even see the vicar when he comes callin.’”
“Oh, Muiren, that would be a great help! Now, if I can only convince him to visit her grace.”
Mrs. Pruitt nodded. “That’ll be th’ trick, fer certain.”
What a troublesome task! It made the snuffbox challenge look appallingly easy, blast MacLean and his fiendish imagination.
Lost in thought, Caitlyn prepared to join the other guests for an invigorating game of lawn billiards. It would be invigorating for her because she would not only attempt to garner more information from Lord Dervishton, but would also attempt to get a better look at Lord Dingwall’s house from the lawn.
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 17