To Tame a Highland Earl

by Tarah Scott

  Long suppressed fury shot through Erroll. He thrust away from the railing. The desire to turn the ship around sparked a fever he would have given a fortune to have been able to indulge. He should have taken Ash and gone after Captain Johnson. Catching the slaver was probably the only thing that would convince Ash to leave Scotland. Going after the brigand was an excellent excuse to immediately turn around once they entered port.

  “Beg pardon, sir.”

  Erroll turned at the sound of Captain Mercantile’s voice and frowned at Somerset, Grace and Eve Crenshaw standing behind him.

  “The ladies have paid us a visit,” the captain said.

  “So I see.” The captain stood aside and Erroll said, “Ladies.”

  Grace Crenshaw left Somerset’s side and approached Erroll. She looked up at him through her lashes and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “When will we arrive to Tobermory, my lord?”

  “If the weather holds, we will dock sometime this evening.”

  “How marvelous. Then there is a good chance we will arrive at Ravenhall tonight.”

  He shook his head. “The roads are too treacherous at night. We will leave early tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course,” she demurred. “Since we will remain in the cabin another night, I would love a turn around the deck.”

  “The evening air is bracing,” he said. “You ladies will enjoy the walk.”

  “Eve isn’t interested. Lord Somerset insisted she could not be left alone, so she agreed to come with us while he delivered me to you.”

  “And so we have done.” Eve turned and started back across the poop deck toward the stairs.

  Somerset started after her.

  “Just a minute.” Erroll started forward, jerking his arm from Grace Crenshaw’s hold. Erroll hurried past Somerset and grasped her arm.

  She turned and looked at him. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  No, but something was definitely wrong with her. “Nothing at all. I simply want to accompany you downstairs. Somerset can take a turn on the deck with your sister.”

  “But, Lord Rushton,” Grace said. “We’ve had no time to talk.”

  “Lord Somerset has been kind enough to stay below with you ladies this evening. A little exercise will do him good.” Erroll didn’t wait for a reply, but grasped Eve Crenshaw’s hand and started forward.

  She glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back, Erroll caught the pain on her face before she looked down. What was wrong? He looked back and saw Somerset with Grace Crenshaw, her hand in his arm and—satisfaction shot through Erroll—Somerset’s hand covered hers. Erroll jerked his eyes forward onto Miss Crenshaw. Was she jealous of Somerset and her sister? She hadn’t demonstrated any particular affection for him.

  They reached the steps and Erroll descended first, then turned and held her hand as she took the three stairs. She pulled free and crossed to the stairs going below. She didn’t wait for him, but started down the first step. Erroll grasped her arm and stopped her.

  She shot him an impatient look. “I’m not a fragile piece of china that will break. I can manage a few stairs on my own.” Without waiting for his permission, she went down the stairs. He followed and had to quicken his steps to catch up with her. They turned a corner in the corridor and, a moment later, reached the cabin.

  She opened the door, then said, “Thank you, sir,” and started to close it.

  Erroll stopped the door with a flat palm to the wood and forced her back when he stepped inside.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I would like to come in, if you don’t mind.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “That is highly improper.”

  “That is your objection?” He closed the door behind him.

  “If you are worried about me being alone, have Oscar stand guard,” she said.

  “And deprive him of much needed sleep?” Erroll shook his head. “I think not.”

  “If he knew you were alone with me he would have your hide.”

  “I am enjoying an innocent talk with you, Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Nothing about you is innocent,” she muttered.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a blessed thing.”

  “So I shall pay the price, guilty or not?” Erroll asked.

  “Oh, you are guilty as sin.” She plopped down into one of the chairs. “And you’ve ruined me in the bargain.”

  “If we are judged guilty, perhaps we ought to commit the crime?” Hadn’t he said something like that the first night in her room? She didn’t reply and Erroll realized she hadn’t heard him. He really was losing his touch if he couldn’t keep a woman’s attention while trying to seduce her. “Miss Crenshaw, are you all right?”

  Her eyes focused on him and she frowned. “What? Why are you here, Rushton?”

  So it wasn’t ‘Lord Rushton’ or ‘my lord.’ He was now ‘Rushton.’ At least that was a step up, even if she seemed to have lost interest. She’d certainly been interested at Lady Grendall’s party, he thought with frustration.

  “Grace won’t be long up top,” she said. “It is best if you are not here when they return. She would not be happy to find us alone and I am sure Lord Somerset will consider it quite improper.”

  ”I suspect Somerset will take his time with her.”

  A stricken look flashed across her face and her eyes glistened with tears.

  “Miss Crenshaw.” Erroll closed the distance between them and pulled her up and into his arms. She twisted in an effort to break free, but he held her firmly. “Shh,” he soothed.

  She gave a halfhearted push, then slumped in his arms.

  “Did I misread things? Miss Crenshaw?” His chest tightened. “Do you love Somerset?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said through tears.

  “I am a man,” he said. “We’re all idiots when it comes to women.”

  “Yes, you are,” she readily agreed.

  Erroll’s chest relaxed a fraction. “Do you want to tell me what is the matter?”

  “You,” she said through a sniffle. “You are what is the matter. You’ve ruined everything.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with a sigh, “I suppose I have.”

  She looked up at him. Confusion washed across her features, then her eyes widened. Erroll knew exactly how she felt and lowered his head. When their mouths touched, she gave a small gasp. Her scent enveloped him and a jolt of lust drew his bollocks so tight his breath caught. The compulsion to toss her on the bed, yank up her skirt and thrust into her with all his might startled him. He froze, uncertain for a terrible instant if he would be able to resist doing just that. Then she leaned into him. Erroll urged her back until they fell onto the bed. They landed, him on top, and her curves accepted his body as if they were one.

  She gripped his shoulders, but didn’t push him away and Erroll ruthlessly pressed his advantage, seaming her mouth with his tongue. Her lips parted and he thrust inside with quick stabs. Slowly, her arms slid around his shoulders as Erroll slanted his mouth over hers again and again, so hungry for her he feared it wasn’t possible to get enough.

  Did she want him as much as he wanted her? She moaned and the sound reverberated through him like a shock wave. He had to touch her. Erroll flattened a hand on her ribs and slid upward until the side of his hand encountered the edge of her breast. His cock thickened as he molded his fingers to the curve of soft flesh and grazed the stiff nipple.

  She drew in a sharp breath and jerked so that his erection settled more snugly against the firm flesh of her pelvis. Blood roared through his ears. Erroll kissed his way along her cheek to her ear and gently nibbled on her lobe. She gave a small cry and lust growled in warning that it would devour him—and her.

  “Eve,” he whispered, and again nipped gently at her ear.

  She speared one hand through his hair and tightened her fingers. She wanted him, and by God he would oblige until he couldn’t think straight—and then some.

  �
��My lord,” she said in a half gasp. “Sir, please, I-I—”

  Erroll froze as if he’d been doused in ice water. It wasn’t Rushton, but my lord, and sir. “Love, it’s all right.”

  “We cannot,” she said. “Oscar—Holy God, Grace.”

  Erroll wished Miss Grace Crenshaw far, far away.

  He pushed himself up and looked down at Eve. She swallowed and Erroll felt another hard pulse in his cock when her slim throat contracted.

  “You might, marry my sister.”

  “No, I will not.” he said, with vehemence. “Do you deny you want me?”

  “I…I am not made of stone.”

  But he certainly was, or a part of him was, anyway, and that part was ravenous.

  “If you should end up married to Grace, I would never be able to face her,” Eve said in a whisper.

  “Is that all that stands in our way?” he demanded. He would solve that problem this instant with Captain Mercantile officiating their marriage.

  She hesitated, then pursed her lips. “Contrary to gossip, I do not spread my legs for every man who asks it.”

  “Of course not. Anyone who would think such a thing—” Erroll stared down at her. “Halifax did not by chance imply that?”

  Her cheeks turned pink.

  Erroll cursed. He shoved off her, and pulled her to her feet. “One can only hope that my aim was sufficiently accurate to put an end to his miserable life.” He gave her a critical look. “Put your dress to rights, madam.”

  She looked down at where one breast was bared to the nipple. Her head snapped up, but Erroll kept his gaze fixed on the perfect pink bud. She whirled and pulled her dress up. Erroll envisioned the bodice sliding up over the nipple, and his mouth went dry. When she faced him, the fabric was once again molded to the full mounds with exquisite perfection. There would be no sleep tonight—or any night to come if he didn’t do something about the situation.

  Erroll crossed to the door, opened it, then paused. “By the by, Eve, I will shoot the next man who implies you spread your legs for any man who asks.”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise and he closed the door behind him.

  *****

  Ravenhall came into view through the carriage window and Eve was certain her stomach would rebel on a monumental level.

  “My lord, it is magnificent,” Grace cried.

  Through the remainder of last night’s voyage and the carriage ride today, Eve had maintained calm. But as the carriage approached the opening in the thick, stone wall surrounding the castle, it seemed they were headed straight into a great gaping maw…and into Lord Rushton’s iron grasp.

  After their interlude last night, Eve hadn’t seen him until they boarded the carriage this morning. He gave no indication that he remembered touching her so intimately—or that he was in the least bit affected by the encounter. Eve, on the other hand, had lain awake, her body plagued with memories of his weight on top of her, his warm mouth devouring hers, his muscled shoulders beneath her fingers and his strange parting words: I will shoot the next man who implies you spread your legs for any man who asks. Her throat went dry. When would the effect of those words diminish?

  “I had a feeling you would like it.”

  Lord Rushton’s voice drew Eve’s attention back to her surroundings and she saw him smile at Grace, amusement in his eyes.

  “It would be impossible not to,” Grace said. “I have never been to a castle before.”

  His gaze shifted onto Eve. “What do you think of Ravenhall, Miss Crenshaw?”

  She looked out the window again. Vines crept up the massive stone walls, leaves sprouting with the warmer weather of spring. No sun shone and a mist hung in the air, but that only added to the sense that the castle wasn’t simply stone piled upon the mossy ground, but that it had somehow sprung up from the earth as a living part of her.

  “It is lovely.”

  “You don’t seem pleased,” he said.

  “I would rather be home,” she said.

  His expression remained passive as he said, “No need to worry, Miss Crenshaw. I promise, you will not be abandoned here in Scotland.”

  Grace glanced sharply at Eve.

  “Of course not,” Eve said in a level voice. “Who would think such a thing?”

  “Not I,” he replied.

  The coach passed through the gate and moments later, the carriage halted at the front steps. Lord Rushton opened the door and stepped to the ground with Lord Somerset behind him. Eve went first and Lord Rushton grasped her hand and helped her down, then did the same for Grace.

  “What of Oscar?” Eve asked. He hadn’t dismounted from up top with the driver.

  “Oscar, you must do your duty. Please accompany your charges into the castle.”

  Oscar alighted from the carriage and Lord Rushton led them up the three steps to the entrance and through the archway. He pushed open a heavy wooden door and stood aside for everyone to enter.

  “You have no butler?” Grace asked as she went first, Eve close behind.

  “My father employs a most competent housekeeper. She could run the Royal Navy. I doubt she would tolerate a butler.”

  A maid appeared from a corridor and gave a start. “Laird,” she cried.

  He smiled. “Hello, Leslie. Is one of the parlors perchance warm enough to settle our guests while we ready chambers for them?”

  “Aye. Your father instructed us to have the pink parlor ready, along with rooms for your guests.”

  “My father?” he murmured.

  “He arrived last night,” the maid replied.

  “He must have ridden like the wind.”

  Fear lanced through Eve. Had the marquess’ mad ride to Ravenhall anything to do with the duel? Did the marquess bring news of Lord Halifax’s death? Excited female chatter came from the stairwell on the right and, an instant later, two young girls stepped into the foyer.

  “Rush!” The youngest flew into his arms. “We have been in pins and needles waiting for you.”

  He caught her and swung her around. “Camilla, my love.”

  He put her down and she pushed back. “Papa is very cross with you.”

  “What would you know of your father’s moods?”

  “You have done something very wicked this time. Mamma had to speak kindly in order to calm him.”

  “Ah, so our mother is here as well?”

  The marchioness? Eve feared she would be sick.

  “She arrived this morning,” Camilla went on. “Papa expected you before this. He was getting angrier as the hours passed. I think he was of a mind you were not coming after all, but I am so glad you came.”

  “As am I,” he replied. “Now I must say hello to your sister.”

  “Juliet is too grown up to be excited,” Camilla said.

  “Of course she is.” He looked at the taller girl, who stood quietly. “Juliet. Are you not pleased to see me?”

  “Of course I am.”

  He took two paces and pulled her into a hug, which she seemed to tolerate as only a sister could. When he drew back, he said, “Did you miss me?”

  “We always miss you, but we saw you only two months ago in London.”

  “Two months? I would rather see you every day.” Grudging warmth rippled through Eve at the obvious affection in his voice.

  “Then you should not have left London,” Juliet replied, and Eve decided she liked the girl—both girls, in fact.

  He tweaked a lock of Juliet’s hair. “Leave it to you to be reasonable. You are right, of course, and I shall stay longer just to prove I am not uttering sweet words for their own sake. Now, ladies, let me introduce our guests. This,” he nodded toward Eve, “is Miss Eve Crenshaw.”

  “My lady.” Eve curtsied.

  “Oh, she is nice,” Camilla said.

  “No need for curtsies here,” Lord Rushton said. “And this is her sister, Miss Grace Crenshaw. This gentleman is their friend Oscar and the last is Lord Somerset. As you, my friends, may have guessed, these are
my sisters, Camilla and Juliet.”

  The girls curtsied.

  “You said no curtsies, my lord,” Grace cried.

  “Indeed,” Camilla said, “but Mamma would not be pleased if we did not curtsy, no matter what Rush says.”

  “And Mamma is always right,” he agreed.

  “Indeed she is.”

  Eve jumped at the sound of a mature female voice. A tall, lithe, dark-haired woman glided into the foyer from the hallway to the left.

  “Mother.”

  Mother. Eve’s stomach knotted.

  Lord Rushton met his mother halfway across the foyer and folded her into an embrace. When they separated, he said, “You are looking well, madam.” The formality of his words was undone by the tenderness in his voice and the hint of a smile.

  She lifted a brow and Eve recognized the same look she’d see on the earl’s face. “Better than you, my son. Your father commands you go to him straight away.”

  “I will visit my father presently,” Lord Rushton said.

  “You will visit him once you have introduced me to your guests,” the marchioness said. “He awaits you in his study.”

  The earl’s brows rose as hers had, but he said in a casual tone, “As you wish,” and first introduced Grace, who dropped into a proper curtsey.

  “My lady.”

  “You are the younger Crenshaw sister, if I am not mistaken,” her ladyship said.

  Grace rose. “I am.”

  Eve detected no censure in the marchioness’ demeanor and wondered how much she’d heard of the story that brought them to Ravenhall. A tremor rocked Eve’s stomach. Did the lady know she’d shot her son?

  Lord Rushton turned to Eve and said, “Miss Eve Crenshaw, my mother, the Marchioness of Rushton.”

  Eve also curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

  The marchioness inclined her head in acknowledgement, but said nothing. Eve’s heart beat faster. Was the lady’s lack of response an indication she knew—and was angry?