by Jessica Hart
Corran swung the Land Rover into the main road and put his foot on the accelerator. ‘I haven’t got time for any of that,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve got the cottages to finish, an estate to get back on its feet, and then—maybe!—I can turn my attention to the house and finding another wife. It’ll be time enough then to talk about having children,’ he said. ‘That’s years down the line! Having a child now would be a disaster, just like it was for my parents. I’ve got far more important things to think about before then.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like getting new breeding stock, improving my herds. I need to buy some good rams in October.’
‘I’ve hardly seen any sheep,’ Lotty realised.
‘That’s because they’re all up on the hills at the moment. You’ll see plenty come September when we take the sheep to market,’ said Corran.
But in September she would be gone. ‘I’d like to see that,’ Lotty said in a level voice, ‘but I won’t be here then.’
She looked out of the window, suddenly bleak. In September she would be back in Montluce, back to her life as Princess Charlotte, always good, always obliging. A princess who never behaved badly. Who never sulked or lost her temper or felt herself burning up with desire.
And Corran would be here, taking his sheep to market, Meg at his heels and Pookie under his feet, bringing the estate back to life, without her.
Perhaps it would all be for the best. If her grandmother finally gave up the idea of her marrying Philippe, Lotty might be allowed to meet someone else. There had to be some prince or count somewhere the Dowager Blanche would deem a suitable match. Someone who understood royal life, who would know how to behave and how to smile and shake hands, who would be a dignified consort for Princess Charlotte of Montluce. Then Lotty could be married and lose her tiresome virginity to her husband. It would be sweet. It would be safe. It would be sensible.
But Lotty didn’t want sweet and sensible. She didn’t want suitable. She didn’t even want safe.
Not yet.
This might be the only chance she ever had to be reckless, her only chance to take what she wanted without worrying about what the papers might say, or how her grandmother would react.
All those ancestors had had a chance to live dangerously, one way or another. Why not her?
A little fling, a brief affair… Was that so much to ask for?
Absently Lotty rubbed her thumb over her poor, cracked fingernails and allowed herself to revisit the question that had been simmering at the back of her mind ever since that first bath at Loch Mhoraigh.
Why not ask Corran?
Under her lashes, she watched Corran driving with the same cool competence he did everything else. The long, solid body was relaxed, his eyes narrowed, the big hands very sure on the wheel. The flex of muscles in his thigh when he braked sent such a surge of lust through her that she was dizzy with it.
It wasn’t as if Corran was involved with anyone else. He was a free agent, and so was she.
So why not?
Of course, she wasn’t Corran’s type. He’d made it clear that he was looking for quite a different kind of woman, but that just made it better, didn’t it? There would be no problem about her leaving after a couple of months. She could say goodbye and he would never know who she really was. Not that Lotty thought Corran was the kind of man who would tattle to the tabloids, but who knew really? How I seduced virgin princess was a story some papers would pay a lot of money for, and the Mhoraigh estate was badly in need of cash.
Besides, she didn’t want him to know she was a princess. She wanted him to think of her as an ordinary girl. She wanted him to make love to her as an ordinary girl. She couldn’t bear it if he suddenly started treating her carefully. No, she wouldn’t tell him, ever.
He was single, attractive, and they were alone together most of the time. If she wanted to lose her virginity, Lotty thought, she might never have a better chance.
Why not Corran?
The sensible side of Lotty, the side that wasn’t giddy with desire, pointed out that she had no idea how to go about seducing a man and that, even if she did, Corran wasn’t the kind of man who would fall for any tricks. There was something dauntingly unflirtable about him. She simply wouldn’t dare.
So there was no point in thinking about it any more.
Only that didn’t stop her nerves crisping every time Corran reached for the gearstick between them. Every time he shifted his hands on the wheel or flicked a glance up at the rear view mirror, she found herself sucking in her breath. And every time she would wonder what it would be like if she did dare ask him to be her lover.
Because then she would be able to put her hand on that long, tantalising thigh. She would be able to look at the uncompromising line of his jaw without feeling sick with longing.
She would know what it felt like to press her lips to his throat. She would know the hard planes of his body, the shift of his muscles, the touch of his hands.
Lotty began to feel feverish. Fixing her eyes desperately on the road ahead, she swallowed and twisted her fingers together.
‘Are you all right?’
Corran’s abrupt question made her jump. ‘Fine,’ she said brightly. Too brightly. ‘Absolutely fine.’
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘Am I? I suppose I was just thinking about going home.’
‘It’s not much further,’ said Corran. ‘Another hour, maybe.’
‘No, I meant home to Montluce.’
There was a pause. ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ The silence lengthened uncomfortably. Corran cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know anything about your country. What’s it like there?’
Lotty looked out of the window, remembering her home. ‘Everything’s on a small scale in Montluce. It’s like a fairy tale country in lots of ways. Mountains, lakes, castles, little old towns. It’s pretty.’
Her eyes rested on the great sweeps of hillside, their starkness softened and turned to gold in the early evening sun. ‘Here, it’s…wilder. Grander somehow.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘I’m going to miss it.’
‘Do you have to go?’ Corran asked. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the road ahead, and it sounded to Lotty as if the question had been forced out of him.
‘Yes,’ she said on a breath. ‘Yes, I do.’
Three months, she had agreed with Philippe, who was only standing in as regent while his father, the Crown Prince, was recovering from a major illness. The moment his father was better, Philippe would be leaving Montluce, he had told Lotty frankly, and that meant the country would need a first lady once more. Who better than Princess Charlotte, who had spent years doing the job for her own father? She had the perfect combination of warmth and dignity. The people loved her.
Ever since she was a child, Lotty had had the importance of duty and responsibility dinned into her. Her grandmother hadn’t hesitated to point out that Lotty would be monumentally selfish if she insisted on her own life after her father had died. How could she even think about refusing and letting the new Crown Prince down? How could she think about letting her country down?
She couldn’t. This was the only rebellion Lotty could allow herself.
‘I have to go back,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘But not yet?’
Was that a hint of anxiety in his voice? Lotty swivelled in her seat to look at him, longing to believe that it was true. His eyes were flickering between road and mirrors, but his jaw was set. She could see the tension jumping in his cheek.
‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘not yet.’
CHAPTER SIX
THREE months, Lotty had given herself. She had been here for three weeks already…was she going to make the rest of the remaining time?
It was all very well deciding to do something about the lust that had her in its grip, but how exactly was she going to go about it? Lotty squirmed in her seat, mentally rehearsing scenes.
Should she just grab Corran once they got
back to the house and hope he got the idea? She couldn’t see herself having the nerve to do that, descendant of Raoul the Wolf or not.
Or she could lead up to the question in a diplomatic fashion. I was wondering what your views were on brief flings? she could ask him, and then if he said that he was all for them, that would give her an opening at least.
Or perhaps she should be grown up and discuss the matter openly as two consenting adults.
Yes, grown-up was good, but the more Lotty tried to think about how such a conversation might go, the deeper she lost herself in a morass of euphemisms. Perhaps the grabbing option wasn’t such a bad one, after all.
One thing became clear to Lotty during that interminable drive. It had been a mistake to bottle up the physical attraction she felt. Something about being shut up in the Land Rover with Corran for so long seemed to have acted as a pressure cooker, and choosing furniture together had merely lifted the lid on her feelings, which were now threatening to explode out of control.
Lotty was alarmed by the way her hands were twitching and she had to clutch them together in her lap in case they wandered over to Corran of their own accord. She felt physically ill: giddy and slightly nauseous, her heart pounding, her throat dry. Was it normal to believe that the only way she could ever feel better again was if she could touch him?
If only she had more experience, she would know what to do. Was the chance of being able to coil herself around him and press her mouth to that pulse beating in his throat worth the risk of making a monumental fool of herself? Lotty couldn’t decide. She couldn’t think. She could just sit there and give up on the idea of pretending that she didn’t want him, while the air in the Land Rover grew tauter and tauter with every mile.
When they drew up in the stable yard behind Loch Mhoraigh House, Lotty practically threw herself out of the Land Rover to gulp at the fresh air, only to find that her legs were so weak that she had to hang on to the door.
Perhaps she really was ill?
Lotty told herself to get a grip. She was distracted for a little while by unpacking the shopping, and she made herself breathe deeply: in, out, in, out. Not too difficult once you had got the hang of it. She was very glad Corran had left her to it while he took the dogs out. Pookie was thoroughly overexcited after being left all day.
‘I’ve put your case upstairs,’ Corran said briefly before he left.
She would be able to change into something decent for a change. Lotty clung to the hope that wearing clothes from her old life would remind her that she was a princess, not a skittish, fever-eyed girl in a frenzy of lust. She would put on the clothes she wore in the palace, and she would miraculously become sensible and dignified again.
Only it didn’t work out like that.
Lotty remembered packing her most casual clothes, but everything she pulled out of the case looked far too smart for Loch Mhoraigh House. She was half inclined to put it all back, but having made such a fuss about getting the suitcase back, it would look odd if she didn’t wear anything from it.
She chose the most relaxed outfit she could find—a pair of loose trousers and a silk knit top, a scarf knotted casually at her throat—but, far from restoring her to her normal regal self, the slip of the luxurious materials against her skin only made her feel more edgy. Every cell in her body seemed to be jangling with awareness. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, or her feet, and she couldn’t settle to anything.
Corran was checking the oven but he glanced up briefly when Lotty went into the kitchen, and then did a double take. Closing the oven door, he straightened slowly.
‘You look very elegant,’ he said.
Elegant. It was a horrible word, Lotty decided. It was cold and restrained. She didn’t want to be elegant. She wanted to be foxy. She wanted to be sexy. She wanted to be hot.
And elegant didn’t belong at Loch Mhoraigh either. Elegant was out of place, just like she was, Lotty thought miserably.
They had bought a ready meal to heat up for supper, but Lotty was too tense to enjoy the break from cooking. The soft trousers whispered against her legs whenever she shifted in her seat, and with every stretch of her arm, every lift of her hand, the silky top caressed her bare skin. She wished she had her old jeans and pink cardigan on again, or—even better—her filthy working clothes. Anything would be better than sitting there, simmering, unable to think about anything except her own body and Corran sitting across the table.
She was preternaturally aware of him, of his fingers holding the foil packet steady as he helped himself, of the broad, strong wrists. She couldn’t risk looking into those iceberg eyes, but her gaze skittered around the rest of his face, from the dark brows to the forceful nose, across his cheek to his temple, along the uncompromising line of his jaw, and always back to his mouth.
That mouth.
Lotty’s pulse was roaring in her ears. She couldn’t believe that she had spent every other evening sitting at this same table, happily chatting to Corran. At least, she had chatted happily and Corran had offered caustic comments, but it had been comfortable.
It wasn’t comfortable now.
How could one day have changed so much? It wasn’t as if anything had happened. All they had done was sit in the Land Rover, and walk around two stores. And yet it felt as if a fault line had appeared between them, shifting the world out of kilter, and squeezing all the air out of the atmosphere. Lotty had years of experience of stilted situations. She knew just what to do to move the conversation on, to make people relax and smile.
But not now. She felt like a hot air balloon, precariously tethered, and it would take only one little tug and she would just float away out of control. It was all she could do to keep herself in her chair. So their lame attempts at conversation kept getting stuck while Lotty pushed her food around her plate. ‘Not hungry?’
‘Not really.’
‘Me neither,’ said Corran, pushing the plate aside. ‘Let’s go out.’
Lotty looked at him blankly. ‘Out?’
‘I’m stir crazy after a whole day indoors or in the car. I need some exercise. We could go for a walk.’
Lotty’s heart was beating high and hard in her throat. ‘OK.’
Outside, it was one of those long, soft Highland evenings she had come to love so much. Corran had told her it was a different story in winter, when the days were short and it was dark and bitterly cold, but in June the sun was only just setting at half past nine, and the cloudless sky was washed with an uncanny orange light.
The breeze ruffling the surface of the loch still carried the warmth of the day, but Lotty was hugging her arms together and her shoulders were hunched with tension.
‘Cold?’ Corran asked her. ‘Do you want to go back and get a jacket?’
‘No, I’m just… No, it’s fine.’ He could see her making an effort to relax her shoulders. ‘I’m fine,’ she said again, but she tucked her hair behind her ears in a gesture he had seen her make before when she was uncertain.
She had been tense all afternoon. Corran couldn’t put his finger on when things had changed. She had been her usual self on the way down to Glasgow, but gradually the ease had leaked out of the air, and then she had started talking about going home.
Her home, which wasn’t Loch Mhoraigh at all. Corran had been conscious of a nasty jolt at the reminder. Of course, he knew that Lotty wasn’t going to be there permanently—that had been the deal, after all—but he hadn’t thought she’d be thinking about going home yet.
He hadn’t thought at all. He’d just got used to Lotty being there. She’d turned into a more useful worker than Corran would ever have imagined and between them they were making good progress on the cottages. Which would explain the rush of relief when she had said that she wasn’t leaving immediately, of course.
Corran didn’t want to think about an alternative explanation.
On the whole he was glad Lotty had reminded him that she was only there temporarily. For some reason she was making a point
of it today. Corran almost hadn’t recognised her when she came into the kitchen earlier. She was wearing trousers and a top, just as she had done every evening, but that outfit screamed sophistication and style. And money. Corran didn’t know much about clothes, but even he could see that it must have cost a lot of money. He wondered how many rams he could have bought for the cost of that pair of trousers.
She looked different. Elegant, expensive, a creature from a different world. She made Ella’s fashionable wardrobe look cheap. She didn’t look like she belonged at Mhoraigh any more.
And that was a good thing, Corran tried to convince himself. It made it easier for him to ignore the way her mouth tilted when she smiled. Made it easier to pretend that the blood didn’t rush to his head every time he looked into those luminous grey eyes.
She was walking beside him in silence, fiddling with the inevitable scarf at her neck, slender, straight-backed, those trousers swishing around her legs. Her face was averted slightly, and that meant he could let his eyes rest on the pure line of her throat as it swept down from her ear and curved into her shoulder. Sometimes Corran let himself imagine kissing his way down it…
He pushed the thought aside with a scowl. What was the point? Lotty was the last kind of woman he needed, Corran reminded himself. She didn’t belong here any more than Ella would have done, any more than his mother had done. There was no point in imagining what it would be like to draw her close and taste that soft, sweet mouth, to gentle his hands down her spine and discover if her skin was as warm and smooth as it looked.
No point at all.
Corran didn’t even know why he had suggested this walk. It was just reminding him how out of place Lotty was. And yet somehow she looked completely right here with the hills and the water. Somehow she felt right walking by his side.
Still thoroughly overexcited by their return, Pookie jumped around Meg, who did her best to ignore him as she trotted at Corran’s heels. They walked past the beach where they had lunch, and on around the loch side until the track petered into a narrow deer path which led at last to a perfect curve of beach at the end of the loch. Behind, the hills soared up into the sky, while the loch stretched gleaming down the glen.