How to Abduct a Highland Lord

by Karen Hawkins

  “Did you?”

  “Not that he can prove in court.”

  “Then I am doubly surprised to see you on his guest list. Or are you?”

  He laughed, though his gaze flared with an odd mixture of anger and lust. “I am, indeed. The charming duchess and I played cards last week at the May-fields’. She was moved to invite me.”

  “Ah, she lost, and you forced her into it. They say her gaming debts are extraordinary.”

  “Yes, I hear the duke is going to have to do something to avoid embarrassment.”

  “How perfectly dreadful,” Lucinda drawled. She regarded Campbell from under her lashes. Though his manners were impeccable, there was something about him that bothered her.

  Yet she couldn’t help but picture the two of them reflected in the mirrors she had around her bed. His darker skin would augment the remarkable whiteness of her own, her blond hair and his black hair perfect foils. They made a beautiful couple. A pity they also would make a poor couple.

  Lucinda had lived with enough poverty. She wanted money. A life of leisure and wealth. Campbell was good for a momentary distraction; that was all.

  Campbell stepped forward, his gaze dropping to her lips, so close his chest almost touched hers. “You should not look at a man like that. It encourages them to think you mean something…dangerous.” His lips twisted, a cold gleam to his eyes. “But then, you know that.”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” He captured her loosened tendril and threaded it through his fingers. The faintest scent of cologne engulfed her. “We are creatures who crave comforts. Who luxuriate in our own sensuality.” He was so close she could see his eyes, the centers black and velvety.

  She should move away, for he was taking liberties she allowed few. Yet she still smarted from the slap Jack had given her vanity, and Campbell’s admiration poured a balm over her spirit.

  But he was still a poor substitute for Jack Kincaid.

  Very poor.

  Lucinda turned away, pulling her hair free from his fingers and repinning the curl. “We are alike in some ways, but there is one big difference.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Our birth. I am not of common stock.”

  Lucinda could feel the icy cold rage that filled him. A flare of power flushed through her, making her nipples peak, her breath quicken. This was the true rush: to control the actions and feelings of another, to incite them to painful passion or the anguish of rejection. She loved it.

  His smile was cold. “I beg to differ. I am not of common stock.” He threw up a hand before she could reply. “I did not seek you out to engage in a flirtation. I came for another reason.”

  “Oh?” she said in a disinterested voice. “And what is that?” She took a step toward the ballroom, expecting him to follow.

  His hand closed over her wrist, halting her. “What I have to say should not be said in public.”

  “Then send me a letter. Let me go.”

  “It’s about Kincaid.”

  Lucinda eyed Campbell for a long moment. “What about Jack?”

  “Ah, that caught your interest, didn’t it?”

  “What do you have to say? I cannot stay here forever, listening to you. I am to dance the waltz with Lord Selwyn during the next set.”

  “He can wait. This cannot. Not if you wish to know the dirty details of Kincaid’s marriage.”

  She’d known something was amiss! “What about it?”

  “Kincaid did not marry Fiona MacLean willingly.”

  Lucinda’s heart pounded an extra beat. “No?”

  “Fiona had Kincaid trussed and bound, brought to the altar like a sacrificial lamb.”

  Her mind roiled with this new information. “I cannot see him allowing such a thing to occur. He has too much pride.”

  “True, but she has convinced him it is for the best, to avoid a war between their families. Her brother was killed; his brothers were implicated…” He waved a hand. “You know a Scotsman’s temper. Had war broken out, there would have been more deaths.”

  It made sense. Jack was not the sort of man to do something heroic, but perhaps, once married, he could see no way out of it without inciting the feud.

  What delicious information! How he must hate the entire situation. No wonder he’d broken off with her; he probably couldn’t bear to tell anyone what had happened.

  She eyed Campbell with suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’ve seen how you look at him. I didn’t wish you to lose hope.” He smiled and turned toward the ballroom door. “I believe there is still hope for us both.”

  “What do you want, Campbell?”

  “I want it all. Jack’s money. His position.” Campbell’s mouth twisted. “And to remind him that he cannot embarrass my family without cost, I also want his wife.”

  “That plump thing?”

  His gaze flashed. “There is much more to her than you might think.”

  “That stupid curse?” Lucinda smirked. She didn’t understand how anyone could be attracted to such a dowd, but it didn’t matter.

  She smiled at her image in the mirror, imagining how she would turn this information to her benefit. She’d ever so gently let Jack know she was aware of his circumstances. She’d offer her sympathy, her companionship. Jack would see then that she was a much better companion for him than his frumpy wife.

  “Don’t worry, Campbell. I shall continue to remind Jack of my presence. Is that what you wished?”

  “Of course.” He grinned back. “Meanwhile, I shall make certain the lovely Fiona knows of her husband’s past affiliation.”

  “I like how you think, Campbell.”

  “If things play out as I hope, we will both be rewarded.” Campbell bowed and gestured to the door. “After you, my dear. Lord Selwyn awaits his dance. But after that, you are all mine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I’ve oft heard it said that men and women speak different languages, but ’tis not true. They speak the same language, they just hear it with different ears.

  OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  Hours later, Fiona awoke, blinking sleepily in the semidarkness. The silence caught her, and she knew as she reached beside her that the bed was empty. Jack was gone.

  Disappointment washed over her. What was her husband doing right now? Was he playing cards? Perchance he’d gone home with a friend? Maybe a female friend?

  Fiona’s jaw tightened, and she threw back the covers. She could not just lie there and wonder; she would find out for herself. She had two feet and two willing legs. Wherever he could go, she could go. She’d warned him, and now she’d show him she meant it.

  She marched to her wardrobe and found one of her new gowns, a beautiful green silk with a décolletage far lower than anything she’d ever owned. Jack had been insistent on purchasing it, declaring he’d been delighted to see her wear it. She hoped he’d think so when she walked into one of his precious gaming hells. It was probably tame, compared to what the other women would be wearing, but it was pretty and a little racy.

  Racy. Yes, that’s what she’d be. Racy and seductive and dangerous. Just like the women who frequented Jack’s gaming hells.

  “Blast him!” she said aloud.

  It felt good, saying that. So she said it again. “Blast him, blast him, blast him!”

  She dressed, pulling on stockings and then slippers to complement the gown. Then she crossed to the dresser and quickly put her hair to rights. She would not sit tamely by while Jack made a mockery of their marriage. She was through with waiting.

  But how would she find him? She paused a moment. Perhaps there were certain places he frequented. The servants would know; they knew everything.

  Yes, that was a good plan. Fiona stood back from the mirror, then tugged her neckline down to a more precarious level. Oh, yes, that would do. That w
ould do very well. She looked stylish and determined, a powerful combination.

  “Jack Kincaid, you had best have a care,” she announced. “You have raised the ire of a MacLean. Woe betide you now.”

  Outside, there was a distant rumble of thunder. If she didn’t wish to get wet in her own downpour and ruin her entrance, she had to maintain her calm. She didn’t want to get angry; she wanted to get even. That required finesse.

  With one last glimpse in the mirror, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Devonsgate blinked. “I—I beg your pardon, my lady?”

  “I said I am going out.” Fiona took her cloak from the hovering footman.

  “Yes, my lady. I heard that. I just didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t certain—I mean, I shall—” The butler paused, then took a deep breath. “What I mean is, where shall I tell his lordship you are going, if he should ask?”

  Fiona fastened her cloak about her neck. “Oh, he is not here, so it should not be an issue.”

  “But—but—he could return, and then what will I tell him?”

  She pursed her lips. “I suppose it would be best if he knew.”

  Devonsgate nodded miserably.

  “Very well, then. If his lordship should ask, pray inform him that I have gone out.”

  The butler blinked. “Just…out, madam?”

  She smiled. “Actually, inform him that I have gone carousing.”

  The butler choked. “My lady, did you say…carousing?”

  “Yes. I am going out just as his lordship does only I shall seek out male companions.”

  The butler’s eyes could not open wider.

  “Yes,” she continued, warming to her subject as she tugged on her gloves. “I shall seek out the most unsuitable, most lecherous men in London. I will also gamble and drink and—” What else did one do while carousing? She supposed there were wild horse races in the dead of night and such, but she was not dressed for that. “I suppose that’s it.”

  “I should hope so!” Devonsgate burst out.

  Fiona raised her brows.

  The butler colored. “My lady, please. This cannot be safe. Let me send a note to his lordship—”

  “You know where he is?”

  “No, my lady. There are several places he likes to visit, most of them quite unsuitable for a lady of quality.”

  Excellent. Then that was where she would begin. “Does the coachman know these places?”

  Devonsgate nodded miserably. “My lady, surely you do not mean to do this. Perhaps you would prefer a nice cup of tea or a—”

  “No, thank you. I’m going to discover the late-night attractions of London, either with his lordship or without him. But feel free to inform him of what I am doing.” She smiled. “And tell him that I expect to have an exciting time.”

  With a wave of her fingers, Fiona swept out of the house, down the steps, and into the waiting carriage.

  “Are you playing, Kincaid, or sleeping?”

  Jack looked up from his cards at the man across the table. “Damn you, de Laughsley. I’m playing.”

  “Then place your wager. You are holding up the game.”

  Lord Cane looked into his empty glass with an expression of profound disappointment, then sighed. “This place has wretched service. Why do I come here when there are better establishments—”

  “Place your wager, Kincaid,” Lord Carlyse interrupted. His forehead glistened in the lamplight with the stress of play.

  Jack noted the man’s pasty demeanor. Carlyse had been losing steadily for the past several hours and seemed more desperate by the moment.

  Jack placed a card on the table. “I’m still playing.” He met Carlyse’s gaze. “Are you?”

  The man’s swallow was audible, but he nodded jerkily. “Of course.”

  “Then play!” Cane said, holding his glass aloft and hoping a footman would catch sight of his dilemma.

  “Is this chair open?”

  Jack looked up to see one of Fiona’s brothers standing beside Carlyse’s chair. “What are you doing here, Gregor?”

  “Dougal and I came to see what mischief you might be in.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  Dougal wandered from the crowd behind Gregor, and leaned an arm against the back of Cane’s chair. “Hamish told us where you were.”

  “Do you mean to have me followed wherever I go?”

  Gregor nodded. “That’s about it.”

  Dougal caught sight of Cane’s empty glass. “Brandy?”

  Cane blinked in surprise. “Why, yes.”

  “I shall find a footman to bring us some. I’d fancy a glass myself.”

  “Good man!” De Laughsley pushed his empty glass forward as well.

  Dougal looked across the room to find a footman. “There’s one.” He cupped his hands about his mouth. “Yaw!”

  The room went silent.

  Jack winced.

  Dougal plucked Cane’s empty glass from the older man’s hand and waved it toward the footman, who stood, mouth agape, staring at Dougal. “Brandy!”

  The footman gulped, bowed, and rushed forward. Talk resumed immediately.

  “Well!” Cane said, brightening at his filled glass. “Thank you.” He looked at Dougal with raised brows. “Who are you?”

  Dougal pulled an empty chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, crossing his arms over the chair back. “Kincaid, why don’t you introduce us?”

  “Aye.” Gregor bent down to Carlyse and said in a soft voice, “I believe you are done, my friend.”

  Carlyse looked astonished. “Here! How can you say that?”

  Gregor flicked a careless finger at Carlyse’s cards. “You’ve no face cards at all, and only one eight. I’d say you were done for.”

  Carlyse choked. “You cannot just read my cards aloud like that!”

  Gregor bent down until his face was even with Carlyse’s. “Why not?”

  The lord blinked, then stood so quickly he knocked a small stack of coins to the floor. “Gentlemen, I fear this gentleman may be right. I am finished. I should have stopped playing hours ago.” He bowed. “Good night.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Gregor took Carlyse’s empty chair. “Perhaps I should introduce myself and my brother. I am Gregor MacLean and this is Dougal. We are Kincaid’s in-laws.”

  “And greatest pains in the ass,” Jack added, throwing his cards to the table.

  Lord Cane chuckled. “I know what you mean. My wife’s brothers are forever haunting my house, asking for loans, eating me out of house and home.”

  De Laughsley nodded. “It’s the worst part of marriage.”

  Jack agreed. As Gregor picked up the tossed cards and began to shuffle them, Jack said, “Gentlemen, I believe I have spent long enough at this table.”

  “Oh?” Gregor’s gaze narrowed. “Going home, then?”

  “Where you belong?” Dougal added. “With your wife?”

  Cane and de Laughsley exchanged glances, then Cane cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should move to another table?”

  One of Jack’s footmen came up to the table. “Lord Kincaid? You have a message from Devonsgate. He said to tell you it is urgent, my lord.”

  Jack took the note:

  My lord, Lady Kincaid announced she would be out this evening. When I asked where, she said she was going “carousing.” That is a direct quote. Please advise. Devonsgate.

  Jack stood, his chair hitting the floor.

  How dare she? he fumed. God, what if something happens to her? What if—

  “Where are you going?” Gregor said, pushing back his own chair.

  “To find my wife.”

  “Find her?” Dougal stood as well. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said grimly. “But when I find her, I shall turn her over my knee and remind her why I am the one who—”

  Gregor’s brows snapped low. “You are the one who what?”

 
; “None of your business.” Jack pushed past his brother-in-law and headed for the door, his stride long and purposeful.

  By God, he’d make certain Fiona never went “carousing” again.

  Chapter Twelve

  ’Tis a horrid thing, to possess a power greater than you are. This is the curse of the MacLeans, to be out of control when their emotions run high and their blood runs hot. ’Tis a wicked curse, yet a smart one, for all that.

  OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  Fiona entered the Harringtons’ house with anticipation. Odd, she’d thought a gaming hell would be more decadent. Situated in one of the best parts of town, the house was large and well appointed. The windows were large, the glass mullioned. The rugs were beautiful, thick, and of rich designs. Everything sparkled and gleamed.

  People glanced her way, but no one seemed to think her out of place. A bit breathless at the taste of freedom, she walked into the main salon and brazenly met the gazes of several men who lounged about the doorway.

  Jack would not look away from a beautiful woman, so why should she look away from a handsome man? If any of them approached her, she’d have someone to talk to, and who knew? She might even make a friend or two. She soon found herself speaking to several rather flirtatious but polite gentlemen, a glass of lovely wine pressed into one of her hands, with music playing softly in the background as she talked and laughed.

  Fiona clutched her fan a bit tighter. The rooms were very crowded, but all in all, gaming hells were far less intimidating than she’d imagined.

  She noted the tables scattered here and there, the sounds of cards and dice, voices and laughter. She should watch a game or two to learn how to play before joining in. After a half hour, she felt confident enough to play. To her delight, she soon had a small pile of winnings.

  Her partners were three very different gentlemen. The first was Mr. Grantham, a pretentious braggart; only the amused contempt of her other partners made his presence bearable. The other two players were obviously gentlemen: Count d’Orsay, quite the handsomest man she’d ever met, and Lord Chessup, the youngest son of the earl of Stanwick.