She freed herself. “No, we are not. You may leave, but I am staying.”
He glowered down at her, his powerful hands opening and closing. Her partners at the table watched with interest as he leaned down until his eyes were even with hers. “Fiona, it’s time to go home, now.”
She didn’t flinch. “As you said before, we are completely independent of each other. You may do as you wish, and I may do as I wish.”
“That is not acceptable.”
“It’s all you’ll get,” she said in a heated tone.
Campbell had remained quiet throughout this altercation. Fiona wasn’t even certain he was still standing with her.
“Very well,” Jack said. “If you wish to stay, then stay. I will do the same. Just don’t expect me to change my behavior because you are present.”
“I expect nothing from you.” She waved a hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you are interrupting our play.”
He glowered, then turned on his heel and left.
Within seconds, he was surrounded by a bevy of attractive women and a group of rather dissolute-looking men.
Campbell’s hand came to rest on Fiona’s shoulder. “Forgive me for saying this, but your husband is a hothead.”
Campbell didn’t know the half of it. “He has had a bad day.”
“Are we ready to begin?” Lord Penult-Mead asked.
“I hope so!” Lady Oppenheim huffed. “I am quite determined to win back my markers. Lady Kincaid, I believe it’s your turn.”
Fiona quickly placed her wager.
The next hour was pure hell. Campbell stayed by her side, whispering advice in her ear and paying her overblown compliments. She pretended to be interested in what he was saying, but she was painfully aware of Jack across the room, looking dangerously handsome as he played at another table.
She simply could not help peeking at him, noting the way his breeches clung to his thighs. The way he quite eclipsed everyone else in the room with his broad shoulders. The way his hair fell over his brow, shadowing his eyes until they looked black instead of dark blue. The way every woman in the room was doing exactly what Fiona was doing: watching Jack.
Blast it all, what were they thinking? He was her husband!
“Ah, I wondered when she’d arrive,” Campbell said softly, looking at the doorway.
Fiona followed his gaze and saw Lucinda Featherington cross the room to Jack’s table. She stiffened. “I didn’t know that woman came to places like this.”
Campbell shrugged. “She goes anywhere she thinks she might find Jack.”
Lucinda spoke to Jack. Fiona watched closely, catching a flash of emotion on Jack’s face. It came and went so quickly she couldn’t tell what it meant, but Lucinda laughed and took the chair next to his.
Fiona fumed. Who did that woman think she was? Hadn’t she learned her lesson yet?
Fiona caught Jack’s eye. Slowly, their gazes locked, and he reached his arm along the back of Lucinda’s chair.
Lucinda needed no more encouragement. She leaned toward Jack, pressing her bosom against his arm, gazing up into his eyes with open invitation.
“Lady Kincaid.” Lady Oppenheim’s rather strident voice cut through the air. “It’s your play again. Please pay attention!”
Flushing, Fiona smacked markers on various cards without paying the slightest heed to what she was doing.
“Careful,” Campbell said.
“I am tired of being careful,” she said, unable to keep her eyes on her cards.
Campbell looked at her face, then glanced back to Jack’s table. Fiona’s gaze followed Campbell’s. Lucinda was whispering in Jack’s ear. He was listening with an absent smile, his gaze locked on his cards. As Fiona watched, Lucinda looked across the room, directly at her. A cool, triumphant smile flickered over Lucinda’s lips.
Fiona rose from her chair, but Campbell’s hand pressed her back into her seat. Thunder rumbled outside.
“Easy, my sweet. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of making a scene.” He glanced at the window as lighting flashed, a thoughtful look on his face.
“‘Making a scene’ doesn’t even begin to describe what I wish to do.”
“Do as you wish, of course. I just thought you’d rather have your dignity than revenge,” Campbell said.
It was a pity she couldn’t have her dignity and slap Lucinda Featherington silly.
“It would hardly be wise,” Campbell said coolly. “People will forgive a dousing but not an out-and-out attack.”
Her face flushed. “I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud.”
“You didn’t. I guessed at your thoughts.”
“Was my expression so revealing?”
His blue eyes twinkled at her. “You do have a tendency to wear your thoughts on your sleeve.” He looked pointedly at the window, where the panes were rattling from the sudden wind. “Much like your brothers.”
Fiona didn’t know what to say. Many people in Scotland knew of the curse, but few actually believed it.
“Perhaps there is a way we can turn the tables on your husband.” Campbell caught her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips, his breath warm through the cotton.
It was a proper gesture, but the insinuation in the length of time he held her hand, the way he let his fingers slide from hers when she pulled free, the manner in which he stared into her eyes—all of it smacked of seduction.
Fiona glanced to where Lucinda leaned against Jack, the two of them deep in conversation. Lucinda’s breasts were pressing against his arm, their fullness quivering with each breath.
Fiona’s jaw tightened, and, instead of setting Campbell in his place, she leaned toward him and smiled. “Thank you.”
His eyes widened, an odd flush entering his cheeks. He pressed her hand meaningfully.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack’s hand fist on the table, and she knew she’d won a point. Without removing her hand from Campbell’s, she tossed her new wager onto the table.
Jack scowled. Then, with a narrow look, he picked up Lucinda’s hand and kissed it exactly the way Campbell had kissed Fiona’s.
Wind rattled the front window, and the first smattering of rain slashed across the glass.
Jack smirked.
Fiona looked around. Damn him! She had to find something else to irk him.
She watched as he took a drink from a glass on the table, smiling absently when Lucinda spoke.
A drink! All of the footmen were on the other side of the room, so she grasped Campbell’s arm. “I need a drink.”
He blinked. “Of course. Someone will be by soon, and—”
“No, I need one now,” she said breathlessly. “Should we go to one of the footmen and fetch one?”
“They will bring it here. Wait a moment.” He lifted a finger, catching the attention of a footman, who obediently rushed to their side.
Campbell took two shimmering glasses of champagne from the tray and handed one to her. “Here you are, my lady. To what shall we drink?”
Sparkling bubbles rolled up the side of her glass, gathering on the surface. The candlelight reflected through the glass. “It’s almost too pretty to sip.”
Campbell’s gaze darkened. “All the more reason to do it quickly.”
Fiona glanced past him to Jack.
He paused, his own glass halfway to his mouth, and frowned when he saw the champagne in Fiona’s hand.
Never breaking his gaze, she lifted the glass. And drank it all.
At first nothing happened, but then a slow, lazy flush moved up her breasts to her neck. “Oh, my!”
Jack’s brows lowered. Lucinda, realizing she’d lost his attention, glowered at Fiona.
Campbell laughed. “I see you enjoy champagne.”
“I love it.” She tossed her head. “In fact, I will have another glass.”
Jack’s frown grew as Campbell ordered another glass.
Fiona took the second glass and looked directly at him. His expression hardene
d; he lifted his glass and tossed back his drink, every move a challenge.
Fiona steeled herself, then lifted her glass to Campbell. “Here’s to the end.”
“The end of what?”
“Of everything.” She lifted the glass and quaffed it as she’d done before, but this time, the champagne refused to go the way it was intended. She sputtered a moment, then sneezed so violently two pins dropped from her hair, a thick tress falling to one shoulder.
Campbell laughed. “My dear, I hope you don’t take this wrong, but champagne does not seem to be your drink.”
“I am not going to drink ratafia. Old women drink that.” The two glasses of champagne so close together were taking their toll; she felt frothy and light and completely free.
Which she was, thanks to Jack Kincaid. She was unfettered, free, and damned happy. She lifted her empty glass. “Another toast!”
Campbell laughed and gestured to a footman, saying something to him in a low voice. “There,” he said when the footman had nodded and scurried off. “I believe I have solved your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem,” Fiona said, tossing more markers onto the table without caring where they landed.
Campbell took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I never argue with a beautiful woman.”
Fiona peeked past him to Jack. His face was like a thundercloud. Good. It was time someone besides her made a little rain. She turned back to Campbell and smiled at him sweetly. “I appreciate your help, but please do not think this means I will allow you any liberties.”
He turned her hand over and peeled the glove from her wrist, then placed a kiss on her pulse. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”
The footman returned, a single glass on his tray. Campbell handed it to Fiona, who sniffed it gingerly.
The glass was warm; the scent of cloves and cinnamon and a dozen other delicious spices curled through the steam that rose over the cup.
Fiona took a sip, smiling as the taste caressed her tongue. “This is delicious!”
Campbell smiled. “Drink it up. Then we will dance.”
She did as he said, setting the cup down with a thunk. “I am ready.”
“Good. I promise to hold you much too tightly and make it seem as if I’m whispering sweet naughties in your ear.”
“Just do not whisper real ones, for I would laugh, and that would not help matters.” She was almost giggling now, and she had no reason to. “What was in that drink?”
“A little of this. A little of that.” His eyes darkened. “Did you like it?”
“Oh, yes. Wayyyyy too much.” She pushed her markers to Lord Penult-Mead. “I think I am through.” She turned to Campbell and started to stand but fell back into her chair.
He swiftly caught her elbow and pulled her hard against his chest. “Easy, my sweet! You don’t want to fall.”
Fiona realized her chest was pressed against his, his hands holding her intimately. She pushed away from him and smoothed her gown, aware that though many watched, no one seemed shocked. All behavior was accepted and expected here.
Of course, that would not keep anyone from gossiping about what they saw.
Fiona put a hand on a nearby chair and forced a smile at Campbell. “Shall we dance?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Just try not to step on my new shoes.”
With that unromantic rejoinder, Fiona allowed Campbell to escort her to the dance floor.
They never made it.
One moment, they were walking out of the card room. The next, Jack was standing before them, his face furious.
“Ah,” Campbell said smoothly. “I wondered how long it would take you to reclaim your wife.”
“She is going home now.”
Fiona snorted inelegantly. “She is doing no such thing.”
Jack’s gaze burned into hers. “You don’t know what you are doing; you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Nonsense! I only had two glasses of champagne”—she held up three fingers—“and one glass of…what was that?”
“Rum punch,” Campbell said succinctly.
Jack’s face darkened. He grasped her arm and pulled her forward.
She stumbled against his chest, and he caught her firmly.
“No,” she said, pushing away from him. “I am going to dance with Campbell, and he is going to whisper to me and not step on my new shoes.”
“Like hell,” Jack said. He pulled back his fist and smashed it into Campbell’s face. Campbell dropped to the floor like a lead weight.
“Jack!” Lucinda rushed forward. “What are you—”
Jack ignored her. He stooped and flung Fiona over his shoulder, and turned for the door.
“Jack!” Fiona’s hair fell completely out of its pins, dropping over her like a curtain. “You’re hell on a woman’s hair, Kincaid! I hope you know that!”
Jack just walked out the front door and into the rain to the carriage, ignoring the faces that stared out the windows at them.
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve often thought it unfair that women are expected to stay at home when there’s a fight to be won. If a woman has the strength to bear a child, she can swing a sword as well as any man.
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
“May I take your hat, my lord?”
Gregor tossed it to Devonsgate. “Is my sister ready yet? We are to ride this morning.”
The butler handed the hat to a waiting footman. “I believe her ladyship will be down in a minute.”
Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed and someone stomped across a floor.
Devonsgate looked stoically ahead.
Silence reigned for a moment, then the sound of raised voices—one female, one male—lifted in the distance.
The front door rattled, wind buffeting the heavy panel until it shook.
Devonsgate frowned. “My, but the weather has been abrupt lately.”
Gregor smelled the scent of lilacs, faint but unmistakable. He sent a hard glance at Devonsgate. “What’s that jackass done now?”
The butler returned his look blandly. “I am sure I don’t take your meaning, sir.”
The sound of voices raised in discord once again floated downstairs.
“It seems as if the storm may be inside this time,” Gregor said.
Devonsgate sighed and nodded in agreement, then caught himself. “I do not know what you’re speaking about,” he said stiffly.
Upstairs, the door slammed again, voices were raised, and then came the stomp of booted feet on the stairs.
Jack stopped when he saw Gregor in the foyer.
Gregor rocked back on his heels. “Sounds as if you’re having a rather windy morning.”
Jack eyed Gregor a long moment and then continued down the stairs, past Gregor, and went into his library, slamming the door behind him.
Gregor strode across to open it, his large form filling the entryway. “What’s going on, Kincaid?”
Jack dropped into the chair behind his desk and pulled his papers forward. “Ask your sister.”
“I plan to. I thought you might want your side of the story to be heard, too.”
“I don’t need anyone to hear my side, least of all you and your brother. In fact”—Jack’s eyes flashed—“if you and Dougal ever give Fiona another piece of advice like yesterday’s, I will rip your tongues out and feed them to my hunting dogs.”
Gregor’s irritation faded. “Fiona didn’t do anything foolish, did she?”
“You might want to ask your sister what she was doing at Lady Chester’s last night.”
Gregor stiffened. “She went where?”
“With Alan Campbell, who took great delight in giving her champagne and rum punch.”
“That bast—”
“I took care of him,” Jack said shortly.
“And Fiona?”
“I had to toss her ov
er my shoulder, but I managed to get her home.”
Good God. Gregor didn’t know what to say.
A sharp clip on the staircase told him his sister was approaching. He looked at Kincaid, whose face was grim, the deep lines beside his mouth and eyes telling their own tale.
A flash of guilt went through Gregor. Since the beginning of this debacle, he’d been angry. Angry with the Kincaids for Callum’s death. Then angry with Fiona for sacrificing herself as if she alone could solve their problems. Angry with Jack for not treating Fiona as he should have. But mainly, Gregor had been angry with himself. He should have been with Callum that night. Should have seen Fiona’s plan and stopped it. Should have found a way to set her marriage with Kincaid aside.
And he hadn’t done any of it. He’d been a selfish bastard, unable to put the needs of others ahead of his own impulsive emotions. And now, because of that and his misdirected sense of humor, his sister had ended up in a gaming hell where God knew what could have happened to her.
“Thank you for watching over my sister, Jack.”
Jack’s gaze swung up to meet his. “She’s my wife, Gregor. I may not be happy about that, but I will take care of her.”
“I shouldn’t have suggested she cross you. I never thought she’d do something unsafe and—”
Jack threw up a hand. “Just don’t be so flippant the next time Fiona asks for advice. She’s worth more than that.”
Fiona’s footsteps could be heard on the steps behind Gregor, and he asked Jack, “Would you care to ride with us this afternoon?”
Jack raised his brows. He’d never thought he’d receive an invitation from one of Fiona’s brothers. It was a pity to have to reject it. “I’m sorry, but I have a meeting with my man of business. Perhaps tomorrow?”
Gregor nodded, his expression harried. “Very well. I’ll see what’s to be done with the lass. Perhaps I can talk some sense into her.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve already tried, and—”
But Gregor had already left. Even now, his deep voice could be heard booming through the foyer as he welcomed Fiona.
Jack strained to hear her soft reply, but her voice was lost when the front door opened and a strong wind whistled in. In a moment, the wind and the voices disappeared as Fiona left for her morning ride.
How to Abduct a Highland Lord Page 18
