Caitlyn closed her fingers around the vial. “Mam, thank you.”
Mam sighed and placed her hand over Caitlyn’s. “Lass, I dinna solve yer greatest problem, and ye know it. That one, ye’ll have to work out fer yerself.” She kissed Caitlyn on the forehead. “But ye’re a smart one, ye are, and I know ye’ll work yer way through it. Jus’ promise me tha’ when the time comes, ye’ll listen to yer heart. That will tell ye what to do.”
“I promise, Mam—but I don’t think MacLean and I will have a ‘time.’ It’s just not meant to be.”
“We’ll see, lass. We’ll see.” Mam then turned the topic to Caitlyn’s sister Triona, and how well she was doing with her new stepdaughters, and about the horses Lord Hugh was raising on his estate.
Caitlyn listened, always interested in how her twin sister was doing. But deep in her heart, another voice was whispering, telling her that her heartache was just getting ready to begin.
Chapter 20
’Tis a fool who tries to think his way t’ his own heart.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
“My lord, I must ask you to reconsider that costume.”
“No.”
“People will talk.”
“Let them. I like it.” Alexander glanced at himself in the mirror. He was wearing knee boots of thick fur wrapped with leather lacing, and a long kilt that came past his knees. A sporran hung from the wide leather belt at his waist, weighing down the kilt to keep the winds from exposing him. A wide swath of the kilt rose across his chest and over one shoulder.
“My lord, at least wear a shirt with your”—MacCready shuddered—“skirts.”
“I am going to Georgiana’s masquerade as my own ancestor Duncan MacLean. He didn’t wear a damned shirt and I’m not going to, either.”
“He was a barbarian, my lord.”
“Tonight, so am I. Open the door, MacCready.”
Sighing his displeasure, the valet did as he was told.
Alexander had spent the entire day riding as hard as he could across the Roxburge lands. The ride had cleared his thoughts but had brought no real answers. When she loses the wager, as she’s bound to do, I’m to take her to be my mistress for two weeks. Should I really risk making things more difficult? But can I resist the opportunity?
He didn’t think he could. The thought of having the lushly curved Caitlyn for two sensual weeks made his body ache. Damn, how he lusted for her!
In the back of his soul came a whisper: But is that all? Is it just lust? Or are you as weak as Charles?
He paused by the top step and looked down the hallway. Where was she, anyway? She’d left the house shortly after he had; he’d seen her climb into a carriage just as he’d ridden his horse onto a rise.
He’d watched the carriage bowl down the drive and had been tempted to follow it, but he’d resisted the silly desire.
Instead, he’d ridden hard, trying to burn some of the lust from his veins through hard exercise. When he finally returned to the house, he’d been informed that Caitlyn had not yet returned, and that the other guests had all retired to their rooms to bathe and dress for the masquerade. Georgiana had invited a good number of local guests and was predicting a squeeze, which suited Alexander fine. The bigger the crowd, the easier it would be to whisk Caitlyn away for private speech when he finally won this contest.
He walked down the stairs, the ball already in progress. He passed the Marchioness of Treymont on the bottom step. Dressed in a pale green gown covered with silk flowers, she was probably representing spring, an attractive choice for someone with her white skin and reddish hair. Her gaze locked on his kilt and she faltered on the steps, flushing a deep red before she looked away and hurried past.
Alexander’s grin widened. He wanted to shock the masses tonight, to scandalize the whole stuffy lot of them. He was tired of playing polite guest, and this would definitely set the tongues wagging. The thought pleased him, and he swaggered a bit more as he entered the drawing room.
Through a room filled with spring sprites, princesses, and ice fairies, Caitlyn immediately drew his eye. He stopped then, his feet suddenly rooted to the floor. She was dressed in a gown that appeared to be made of silver tissue. The silver would wash out many blondes, but Caitlyn, with her rich, pure gold hair and dark brown eyes, seemed to shine in it, her coloring augmented in some way he couldn’t fathom.
Her gown was in the medieval style, the neckline round, the long sleeves falling to a point over her slender fingers. Her hair was down, braided to one side in a style reminiscent of times long gone. No jewel offset the long braid, which was held by a complex-winding black ribbon. He hardened just thinking of how that luxurious braid would look unbound, the silken gold tresses streaming over him and his pillows again.
Alexander had to force the image away—he didn’t dare allow himself to react fully in a kilt. Nearby, Lady Elizabeth caught sight of him and his costume. She openly gaped until her companion turned to see what she was reacting to, and the two women stared, not looking away.
Alexander gave them a mocking bow and walked farther into the room, ignoring the immediate spate of shocked murmurs and whispers. He was far too busy admiring Caitlyn.
He wondered who or what she represented. Maid Marion perhaps? Or— Ah! Hanging from her girdle was a series of embroidered disks depicting a silver comb, a small golden boar, and other images from the myth.
He chuckled. She was playing Olwen herself, each charm representing one of the challenges.
She hadn’t yet seen him, being deep in conversation with Miss Ogilvie, who was dressed as a milkmaid. Caitlyn’s long golden braid swung gently, caressing her hip and making him yearn to grasp it and turn her to him so he could plunder her soft mouth.
He’d always thought he admired women who were more deliberately feminine; women who were conscious of their female wiles and blandished them with ease. Now he was beginning to think that sort of woman was too predictable, too stale.
Caitlyn’s straightforward enthusiasm was refreshing. She wasn’t shy or retiring and possessed a surprisingly earthy streak that he liked, reveled in, and responded to on a very, very intimate level.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who did, for a quick glance around the room found Lord Dalfour listening with half an ear to Georgiana as his gaze was glued to Caitlyn. Lord Falkland was staring open mouthed, and even Caithness, who’d made no secret that he admired Miss Ogilvie, was eyeing Caitlyn appreciatively. In addition, a half a dozen other men that Alexander didn’t recognize were swiftly converging on Caitlyn.
If he didn’t hurry, she’d be surrounded. He couldn’t wait to wrest the statement from her lips that he most longed to hear: “You win.”
Hands closed over his arm as Georgiana suddenly appeared at his side. “Alexander! What a pleasant surprise.” Her icy blue eyes raked him from head to toe. “My,” she drawled. “You came as a barbarian. How apropos.”
“I came as my ancestor Duncan MacLean.” His gaze narrowed as he saw that she, too, wore a blue plaid over her shoulder. Alexander frowned. She wore the MacLean plaid that matched his kilt.
“Do you like it?” she purred, smiling.
“No.”
After a stunned moment, Georgiana managed a fake laugh. “Alexander, please! It’s merely a coincidence. I had no idea what you were wearing.”
Hadn’t she? No doubt one of the maids had mentioned seeing the plaid in his room earlier. “Where’s Roxburge?”
Georgiana nodded to one corner, her expression dismissive. “He is by the punch bowl.”
The duke was dressed as a fool, complete with dunce cap and a multicolored cape. Though it was only nine in the evening, he already looked ready for bed and a cup of warmed milk. For the first time, Alexander felt a wave of pity.
“Excuse me, Georgiana, I believe I’ll share a glass of punch with your husband.”
“With Roxburge? But why?”
Alexander bowed and
left. He made his way to the duke’s side, where he waited for the right time to remove Caitlyn from the throng of men that now surrounded her.
Finally the call for dinner sounded. As people milled around, looking for their partners, he headed for Caitlyn, where two gentlemen were vehemently arguing over the right to take her down to dinner.
“Ah, Miss Hurst, there you are! Are you ready for dinner?” Alexander asked.
The gentlemen broke off their argument, their eyes widening when they saw Alexander’s bulging arms.
Caitlyn hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm, her fingers cool on his bare skin. “Of course. It will be our last dinner together.”
“Last? We still have tomorrow, and then the two weeks after that.” He smiled down at her as the crowd slowly moved toward the dining room.
No responding smile lit her eyes. “Perhaps.”
Alexander’s humor fled. Something was different about her tonight, something somber and … sad? He tucked her hand tighter in the crook of his arm and pulled her to one side, allowing others to walk on past. “What do you mean by that?”
Her eyes were shimmery, as if she held tears at bay. “Only that you may not be the one to win this wager.”
A few final couples walked past, casting them curious glances. As the final couple disappeared through the doors, Alexander led Caitlyn to the blue salon. Inside, he closed the door.
Her chin rose. “People will notice we’re missing.”
“Not for another ten minutes.” He grinned wolfishly. “Admit it, Hurst: I’ve won. I wore a skirt to the party. Are you truly going to entertain the masses with a naked dip in a fountain?”
Her chin lifted, her mouth thinning. “This contest isn’t over. I still have time to make my move.”
“Oh? So you’re going to do it?” He laughed, disbelieving. “You’d be ruined, which is what you were trying to avoid to begin with.”
Her gaze flickered to his face. “Perhaps.”
“Caitlyn, you can’t mean that …” Good God, she looked deadly serious. “Caitlyn, it would be foolish to do such a thing, and you know it.”
“I must win this wager. I refuse to be your mistress—and I will do whatever I must to make sure that never happens.”
His jaw tightened. “Even ruin your name?”
“I’ve found something that means far more to me than my pride.”
“What?”
Her gaze met his, and in that second he knew the answer. She cared for him. Shock and disbelief coursed through him. She didn’t just care for him, she loved him. He could see it in her expression as plainly as if she’d said it aloud.
No. She can’t— I can’t allow that. If she cares, then I . . . Alexander looked at her—really looked at her. In the soft candlelight she looked even younger, no more than eighteen. The mirror over the fireplace reflected the face of a mature man, one who’d lived too hard, too well, and too fast. Even if she loved him now, what would happen later? Could I bear to lose her then?
He knew the answer with every ounce of his soul.
With a heavy, bitter heart, he sneered, “Don’t get maudlin on me, Hurst. Our wager was to settle one thing only: the penalty for your deception in London. Tonight you will admit you’ve lost, and you will stay with me for two weeks as you promised.”
It was all he’d have to remember her by, once she left for good, but at least he’d have that. Two short, precious weeks—and then he’d never see her again. His chest felt odd, as if a metal band pressed the air from his lungs, and his eyes were burning from the smoky candles.
Two weeks. It wasn’t much, but it was all fate would allow him, and he, desperate soul that he was, would take it.
“Well, Hurst? What do you say?”
He expected her to flare back at him with that fine spirit she possessed. Instead she regarded him sadly for a long moment, then turned and left him, the door clicking quietly behind her.
Much, much later, Caitlyn stood on the terrace bundled in a thick cloak, the cool night breeze making her shiver. It was well past four in the morning, the last of the guests finally gone. Everyone had gone to bed except Alexander. As usual, he’d headed for the study for one last glass of port before he retired.
“Are ye sure about this, miss?” Muiren asked.
“Yes.” Caitlyn looked up at the castle windows. Only one or two were still lit, and as she looked, they, too, darkened to black. It was time.
She looked through the library window at Alexander, who poured himself a glass of port, then took a chair by the fireplace.
“He’s not facing the right way,” Muiren hissed.
“I know. I must get him to turn around. Mam said the drops would work quickly.” Caitlyn looked at Muiren. “Are Mrs. Pruitt and the others in place?”
“Aye, Mrs. Pruitt locked all of the other doors and is watching the garden gate. ’Tis the only other way into the garden here, miss. The others are ready as well.”
“Very well. I’ll be right back.”
Caitlyn put her hand on the cold brass knob leading inside, her gaze locked on Alexander. He sat with his back to her, his black hair thick and curling at the neck as he sipped his port. She waited for him to finish the drink. Please, Mam, be right about the drops. She had been careful not to put more than four in the glass.
He placed his empty glass on a table and stood, ready to retire for the night.
She took a deep breath, then turned the knob and walked in.
He turned, his brows quirking down. “Caitlyn! What are you doing here?”
She came farther into the room, the cloak swirling about her. “I came to fulfill my part of our wager.”
Alexander frowned. She was cloaked head to foot, but her expression caught his attention the most. She looked so sad, as if the entire world had betrayed her.
His heart constricted. He couldn’t stand this another moment. He’d been lying to himself that he could take Caitlyn as a mistress, even for an hour.
He shook his head, his voice thick as he said, “Caitlyn . . . don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t stand aside and allow you to win?” She smiled sadly. “I’m not.”
Alexander didn’t give a damn about the wager. He just wished he could erase the sadness from her eyes. Just the sight of it was holding him down and it took an effort to say, “I’ll forgo the last wager.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”
But he didn’t pity her. He loved her. The words seared through the odd fog that was settling over him. He wanted to tell her that, to explain to her that he loved her so much that he couldn’t bear to see her grow tired of him, to watch as her interest waned.
But he couldn’t.
She seemed to realize his distress, for she crossed the room toward him, her sweet fragrance wafting about her. She stood in front of him and gently pushed him into the seat behind him.
He must have sat, but he never felt it. His knees and arms were leaden, though he was wide-awake and his senses clear, even acute. He was vaguely aware he should be upset at the lack of response of his limbs, but he was just so glad she was here.
She bent down until her lips were beside his ear. “I am a woman of my word. What I say I will do, I’ll do. I wish our time together had been different”—her voice broke, taking his heart along with it—“but we are what we are, and fate doesn’t grant us every wish.”
He tried to breathe in the sweet scent of her, to savor the soft brush of her hair over his cheek as she stood.
“Watch, Alexander—for this is the last you will ever see of me.” She went to the terrace door, opened it, and slipped outside to the garden.
She reached the fountain, and through the open door he watched as four female servants appeared. They unfolded a large sheet, then held it aloft so that it shielded the fountain from the upper windows. They then turned their backs to the fountain, never releasing their hold on the sheet. Caitlyn glided to beside the fountain where a shadowy companion c
ame to assist her as she shed her slippers and, with a shrug, tossed off her cloak.
She was gloriously naked, the silvered moonlight caressing her curves, highlighting the mold of her breasts, the gleam of her shoulders, making her long hair shimmer like moon dust.
He was mesmerized, his gaze locked on her as she slipped into the black water of the fountain, gasping at the coldness. Her nipples instantly peaked as the water cascaded over her breasts, shimmering down her flat stomach and across the gentle swell of her hips. Quiet splashes filled the air as she submerged herself completely. Then, looking his way, she rose from the water like Venus, the water sluicing over her.
Alexander gripped the arms of his chair until his fingers ached.
Her shadow companion brought the cloak and wrapped her in it, helping her put on her slippers. She would be freezing cold now, her body shaking with tremors.
All Alexander could think about were her last words to him: that he’d never see her again. He watched, helpless, as she turned and disappeared from sight, her handmaidens following, leaving the cold air to blow through the terrace door, the desolate fountain splashing tauntingly in the distance.
“A carriage? Right now?” The duchess looked surprised.
Caitlyn, glad she’d found the duchess alone before breakfast, nodded, forcing the words past the tears in her throat. “Yes, please. I . . . I wish to leave immediately. I . . . I just received a letter from home and . . . it’s very important I return at once.”
A pleased look entered the duchess’s blue eyes and she didn’t question the improbable story but purred, “Of course. I’ll call the carriage at once.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll wish to pack—”
“Muiren is seeing to it right now.”
Georgiana wondered what had happened to cause such a precipitous departure, but decided she didn’t really care. Whether the chit had finally had a falling out with MacLean, or if she’d given up her desperate hopes of trapping him into a relationship—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she’d be gone. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to place a few final nails in the coffin, just so the silly girl understood how things truly were.
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 25