She'd told herself that they had all contributed to the tragedy. But now. . . to think everything had been planned. Planned by Damien.
Just come in here for a moment, my sweet. I'll die if I don't touch you tonight. The excitement of flirting with danger. The thrill of Damien's hands on her, pushing her skirts to her hips. And then. . . John and his anguished gaze.
Alexandra clenched her eyes shut and pushed the memory away. She had no doubt she'd relive that night over and over before she slept, but she didn't have time to think about it now.
She would do this thing, turn her lover over to Collin Blackburn, because if what he said were true—and it was painfully easy to believe—then she had been ruined, and her family humiliated, and sweet John Tibbenham had been killed, purposefully.
And if it weren't true?
Alexandra pressed her fingers hard into her temples, remembered that look on Damien's face, remembered how quickly, how easily he'd accepted the challenge. Oh, it all made sense now, though Damien's motive escaped her. It certainly hadn't been love.
She grabbed the letters from the floor and stuffed them back into the dresser, under the ruffled petticoats that she rarely bothered wearing anymore, then called her maid to help her finish dressing. Once dressed, she rushed from the room, desperate to get the meeting over with, but not desperate enough to simply send a note 'round. She had been called many things in her life, but never a coward.
Word had already been sent for Brinn to be saddled, and the groom stood waiting at the front steps. Alexandra mounted and let Brinn lead the way, mind blanking as it always did when the bay mare moved smoothly into a run. The world narrowed to the path ahead and the feel of wind and force and muscle.
She could forget, for a moment, that she traveled to meet a man whose eyes flashed with honesty and scorn. Life was just the horse beneath her and the ground ahead. A quarter hour flew by in seconds, and the yard of the inn loomed suddenly, too soon.
Alexandra dismounted, throwing the reins to the stable boy before she could change her mind. Her footsteps faltered at the sight of the red door.
"Please walk the horse," she murmured. "This will only take a moment."
With one last deep breath, she stepped up onto the threshold and through the doorway. The great room seemed dim after the sun, but even in shadow it was hard to miss Collin Blackburn. He sat relaxed, perusing a stack of papers, pint of ale in hand. He was very still, she realized. He did not bounce his knee or tap the table as he read. No, he held his long body quiet, as if his movements were valuable to him, a resource not to be wasted. She could not keep still for a moment when she worked the ledgers. A meaningful difference between them, perhaps.
A curl of hair escaped over the edge of his collar, the softness such a contrast to his hard face. There was something about him, something in his eyes that spoke of nobility and honor. Something unyielding.
"Lady Alexandra!" the proprietor's voice boomed across the room. "Welcome, welcome. Will you have dinner this evening?"
Blackburn's eyes jerked from his papers to lock with hers. "No, Mr. Sims," she answered without looking away from the man she'd come to see. "I have business to attend."
Blackburn stood to pull back a chair when she walked toward him. "Lady Alexandra."
Ignoring the proffered seat, she handed him the note. He opened it, looked back to her, his expression unreadable.
"The last direction is from two months ago," she explained past stiff lips.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry about everything." She started to turn, but he placed his hand on her arm—not a grip . . . a touch. "This was a shock to you. I'm sorry I lost my temper."
"You have every right to be angry."
"Still. I was harsh."
"I understand what you must think of me. How could you not?" She gave him what she hoped was a light smile. "I appreciate that you did not involve me until you had to. I wish you luck." She turned again, needing to leave, to flee the sharpness of his eyes but, again, she was stopped by his voice.
His words were low, soft, and not the least bit kind. "What am I supposed to think of you?"
Jaw set, Alexandra pivoted, anger giving her the will to meet his gaze. It hurt to be around people who knew nothing of her but the lowest moment of her life. Hurt even more to be near a man who seemed so solid and unpretentious and who must hold her in such contempt. What did he want her to say? What did anyone want her to say?
"I did not come here to explain myself to you. You asked for something and I've given it to you. That's the end of it."
"Will you contact me if he writes you again?"
"Why would he write again?"
"You sent him money."
Blood rose to her face, giving her away. "Should I tell you I did, so you can truly hate me?"
His eyes flashed something hot, then traveled about the room, measuring each face before he took her arm and guided her toward the door. "People are watching."
She let him lead her only because it meant she'd be that much closer to leaving. As soon as they stepped out the door, as soon as her foot touched the dirt yard, she edged away, putting distance between them. "Thank you for escorting me out. Have a good journey." The stable boy nodded at her gesture and led Brinn toward the mounting steps, but before Alexandra could follow him, Blackburn's soft words touched her ear.
"You are not what I thought you would be, Lady Alexandra."
She glanced back at him, taking in the angled planes of his face and the flint of his gray eyes. He was a hard man, she thought, but fair. He'd apologized. Still, he did not like her or, at the very least, did not want to. He was just like the rest of them in that way.
She gave him her back and spoke into the soft breeze. "You do not know the first thing about me, Mr. Blackburn."
She ignored the painful pounding of her heart and stepped to her horse. The mare's ears pricked for a bare moment as Alexandra mounted, whispering of speed before she'd even secured her seat. Brinn wheeled about, forcing the boy back a step, snorting wildly over the sound of Blackburn's curse.
Alexandra did not look back; she simply rode, flying toward home. The journey seemed to take an hour this time, the ride no longer a haven from thought. The moment Brinn's hooves clattered against the stone drive of Somerhart, Alexandra tossed the reins to a groom and slid from the saddle, then ran inside and up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
"Bastard," she huffed and threw her riding crop across the room in a high arc. She would not cry, she told herself again, sniffing against tears and dragging a sleeve across her eyes.
The man was a stranger. It did not matter what he thought of her. He was not the first person to look at her as if she were a pile of rubbish, and he would not be the last.
It was all so ridiculous. Her brother ran around as if he were Bacchus incarnate and all anyone could think was what a fine, strong, eligible man he was. But she gets caught in one tiny indiscretion and what results? Death, destruction, mayhem.
The heels of her hands caught her tears. She could live with it. She would. A man had died, and she would have that sorrow on her heart for the rest of her life, but she was only nineteen and it could not be the end of her. She'd done nothing more than men did every hour of every day.
Fingers trembling, Alexandra jerked the bellpull, then tugged at her jacket, wincing when a button broke loose under her clumsy fingers and bounced across the floor.
A bath was in order. A hot bath and a glass of wine before dinner. Her brother was in London and she would dine alone, but she would take pleasure in dressing. She might be a fallen woman, a harlot who lured men to their deaths, but she was alive and able and that was something.
And tomorrow she would work until she was too sore to think, and, please God, too tired to feel.
Collin Blackburn decided to leave the woman be for a fortnight. His men in France had flushed St. Claire out of his hole three weeks ago, and the man had left all his pos
sessions behind, including the letters from one Lady Alexandra.
St. Claire had nothing now. He would write soon, begging for money. Collin could simply swoop in to retrieve the whereabouts of that bastard and he'd never have to see the girl again.
His head still spun from their meeting the night before. From glancing up to find her standing there, pale and lovely and somehow younger in her respectable gray. No breeches to distract him from her smallness, no bright red coat to add color to her cheeks. She'd looked vulnerable, and that vulnerability had angered him.
The note had been a surprise, or the honesty of it at least. St. Claire had used all three French locations, including the one he'd fled most recently.
Why such forthrightness? Guilt. It dulled her eyes, those damned eyes that pricked his conscience with their glimpses of hurt and defiance. Well, this mess wasn't his fault. She'd made her own bed.
Collin packed his bag and stowed his breakfast of bread and cheese for the journey. He could make it to his cousin's home before dark if he didn't tarry. Lucy would be happy to have him for a week or two, had, in fact, threatened to box his ears if he ever ventured near her home and didn't visit.
So he rode out at dawn, chewing his breakfast, making a very good effort not to think of the young Alexandra Huntington. He could measure his trip now in days-till-home. As long as he made it back to Scotland within the month, he'd get to the first horse fair. Past time to choose which of his stock would go up for sale, but things were running smoothly in his absence—no mares sick, no foals lost. Of course, if the girl did provide new information on St. Claire, Collin would be away longer. A detour to France would take weeks.
Coming around a slow bend in the road, Collin glanced up to a rise in the west. Workmen labored next to a low wall, large stories strewn at their feet. There in their midst stood a slender figure, red coat ablaze in the rising sun. Alexandra Huntington. It had to be her. She gestured widely with the spade she held, appearing to shout, though the distance stole the words. Collin stopped his horse to watch.
He'd known she acted as her brother's manager, a rare position for a nobleman much less a gently bred woman, but he'd assumed it was merely an amusement for her. A novelty, an excuse to be scandalous and wear men's clothes. He should have known better after glimpsing that simmering will in her eyes. She looked to be more involved than most managers would be.
How vulnerable she appeared, standing among the hulking laborers, weighing half of even the smallest of them. But, to a man, they stood still as she spoke, some of them nodding at her words.
One of the group inclined his head and she turned to stare down the hill. She went still, probably shocked at finding herself watched, then took a step in his direction. Just one. Collin wondered at her expression as he raised a hand in farewell, and felt a moment's regret that she didn't return the gesture. She stood like a statue, stiff and proud in the pink light, her face unreadable. Then she turned back to the men with a sharp word that set them all in motion.
She'd dismissed him. Just as well. She'd be unhappy with him regardless when he returned to demand further information. No point calling a truce now.
As he urged Thor to a brisk pace, Collin felt a small curl of anticipation in his stomach at the thought of another visit, but he tamped the feeling down with cool efficiency. The woman was intriguing, dangerously so, and definitely not someone he should get to know better. Someone he should avoid at all costs, even. But she was also very likely his only chance at fulfilling this damned promise to his father.
Chapter 2
"Collin, are you coming down?"
A smile stole over Collin's face at the sound of his cousin's shout echoing up the stairway and through the open library door.
"Collin?"
"Be right there."
Tossing the book back onto the chair where he'd found it, Collin stepped out of the library and made a careful survey of the angled hall before choosing the stone archway to his left. Lucy's home was massive and rambling, having been added onto at least a dozen times, and visitors often found themselves lost. Collin had been here for three days and he had yet to get his bearings.
"Oh, my word! Oh, I can't believe it!"
He rolled his eyes at Lucy's echo. She had never been the perfect example of a gentlewoman, perhaps because she was not very gently bred. No telling what had excited her into shouting this time, there were so many possibilities. A new kitten, a letter from a friend . . . perhaps even a tempting biscuit. Still chuckling when he found the stairs, Collin descended to the landing, looked down, and felt his tongue freeze to the roof of his mouth at the sight of Lucy's latest thrill.
"Oh, you naughty thing!" Lucy sang, her red curls bouncing. "What are you doing here?"
Naughty thing indeed. Below him, radiant in a rumpled gown of aquamarine silk, stood the naughty Lady Alexandra herself.
"Good God," Collin breathed, or perhaps just thought, he couldn't be sure. His brain had stuttered at the unexpected sight of her. He watched his cousin hug her, coo over her, then made himself walk down the rest of the stairs. "Lady Alexandra," he murmured when he reached the first floor.
She snapped around with a sharp gasp. "Blackburn!"
"But. . . You know each other?" Lucy asked, wariness tightening her voice.
"Aye," Collin said just as Alexandra shook her head.
She shot a hot look in his direction. "I think 'know' is too strong a word."
Lucy frowned, but before she could question them further, George walked in and swept Alexandra into his arms to twirl her about the hall.
"Put me down!" she ordered, though a hint of laughter bubbled through.
"Sorry. Forgot the wife was here," George said, leering comically as he set her on her feet.
"Ha! You say that very convincingly for a man who hasn't noticed another woman in ten years."
George winked just before he spied Collin. A narrow look of worry descended over his face as he cleared his throat and turned Alexandra around.
"Lady Alexandra, may I present Collin Blackburn? He is Lucy's cousin by marriage."
"We've met," she said evenly, then, "I didn't mean to intrude."
"Oh, no, no, no," Lucy chattered, plump cheeks reddening. "You're both family. Why shouldn't you have a nice visit? Um . . . There's no reason . . ."
George smiled a sick smile and took his wife's hand. "Alexandra is my second cousin, Collin."
"Ah." What else could he say?
George cleared his throat, obviously aware of the tension in the room and the reason for it. He'd sent a deeply sympathetic letter at John's death, but he'd never told Collin of his connection to Alexandra. Of course, there'd been no mention of her role in the incident, not in polite company.
"Yes, well," George boomed with a clap of his thin hands. "We were about to take Collin out for a ride to the village. Will you accompany us, Alex?"
Her eyes flitted from face to face and she looked so miserable that even Collin wanted to grimace.
"I do believe I'd rather stay and catch up with Alex," Lucy said breezily. "You two go talk about manly things like fields and horses and fishing. We'll get her settled and rested before dinner."
George, nodding vigorously, had turned to the door before his wife had finished speaking.
Collin tried to catch Alexandra's eye, though he didn't know why. Only to read her, he told himself, not to reassure her. He owed her nothing.
She did not look at him, just let Lucy take her arm and guide her away without a glance in his direction. The set of her jaw bespoke anger, at him or the situation or both.
Collin glared at her back as she walked away, resenting the guilt that burned his gut. He'd done nothing wrong, certainly hadn't known she'd be coming here. And now he would have to speak with her, try to make peace because they were both guests in George's home. He didn't want to make friends with the woman. He wanted to shake her.
"Collin?" George stuck his head back inside.
> "Coming," he muttered and followed his miserable host out to the waiting horses.
"Well, then. That was a little tense." Lucy closed the door of the bedchamber with a soft click.
Alex groaned and threw herself face down on the bed. "What is he doing here?"
"Oh, Alex, he's my cousin! Or not really. His aunt married my uncle . .."
"I know. I mean, that is. . . I didn't know. Lucy, why didn't you ever tell me you were related to John?" She pushed herself up, miserable and fighting tears of frustration.
"I'm not. He and Collin were half brothers. I never even met John."
"This is terrible! I should just go back to Somerhart." "No, I absolutely forbid it."
She fell back upon the bed, covering her face with her hands. She had come here for comfort, for company and distraction, anything to avoid the regret that had fallen over her after Blackburn's visit.
"Alex, what is it? Has he been cruel to you? I may have to stand on a chair to do it, but I'm not afraid to box his ears."
A surprised laugh bubbled up from her throat at the image. "Really?"
"Please tell me what's going on."
"Oh, it's nothing that terrible. I'm just overwrought. I only met him three days ago. He wished to speak with me about his brother's death."
"Why?"
She could almost hear her friend frowning. Sighing, Alex sat up, wondering if she looked like a melodramatic marionette as she flopped about on the bed. "He's looking for St. Claire. Naturally, he wanted to speak with me. I gave him what I could and he left. The end."
"Did he know you were coming here?"
"No, and I certainly did not know he would be here."
"We never mentioned . . . That is . . . I could ask him to go."
"No! No, of course not. He's done nothing wrong. I believe that distinction belongs to me."
"Oh, Alex, don't say that, please. Men are solely responsible for those stupid games of honor that they play. That duel was between those two men and likely had little enough to do with you."
To Tempt a Scotsman Page 2