by Dare, Lydia
“Yes, I know that about you,” he whispered against her lips as he moved one hand and used it to unlace the ties at her throat. The material whispered softly.
Her hand came up to clutch his, but her eyes remained closed. “Stop,” she said softly.
“Let me see your shoulder.” He tugged at her laces again.
Her eyes instantly flew up to meet his. “Why?” she asked, doubt written across her features.
“I want to see how much damage I did,” he said, trying to look properly apologetic. It was a look he’d mastered as a young boy to keep Eynsford’s temper at bay. “I wasn’t able to see much in the dark last night.”
“And that’s all?” Skepticism clouded her light blue eyes.
“Actually, I’d like to see more than that.” He couldn’t help but grin. “But for now, it’ll do. I would feel terrible if I hurt you badly.” That part was true, at least. He would feel like the worst sort of cad if he’d injured her needlessly.
“Ye never did tell me why ye felt the need ta take a bite out of me, Lord Brimsworth,” she said as she removed his hands from the laces of her dress and simply tugged at the collar of her gown, exposing her neck and shoulder to him.
“Dashiel,” he repeated. He appraised the wound on her shoulder. It wasn’t too bad. A little red around the bite mark. “You truly don’t know why I did it?” She knew what he was, after all. In fact, she might know more about being a Lycan than he did.
“I have no clue.” She looked completely dumbfounded, and he believed her.
Dash sighed deeply. This wasn’t the time or place to tell her about the claiming. He wasn’t even sure he knew everything himself. The situation was at the top of the list of questions he had for the shipbuilding Forster in Glasgow.
Besides, Dash needed her to actually like him before he told her the truth about that little bite. Judging by the scent of her, she was quite a bit interested in him now; but it wasn’t the same thing. And though she intrigued him more than he’d have ever imagined, that wasn’t enough to make him divulge his secrets yet.
All things considered, he could have chosen a worse mate. Caitrin was beautiful. And smart. And stubborn. He grimaced at the last. “I let passion overtake me,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders. “You did kiss me back, you know.”
“Aye, I did.”
“Kiss me now,” he urged softly.
Right when his lips touched hers, the door flew open with a bang. Dash tucked her head into his chest and glanced back over his shoulder, where a big, burly man looked ready to thrash him.
“A moment, if you don’t mind,” he called out.
“I’m ruined,” she whispered as she buried her face in his neck, her hands clutching his waistcoat in her fists.
“I’ll take care of it,” he assured her. Maybe not the way she’d like for him to do so. But he would make it right for her, even if he had to kill the interloper.
“Miss Macleod,” the burly man began, and Dash couldn’t miss the lilt of his Scottish brogue. “Are ye all right?”
***
Lamont.
Cait cringed and wished she could vanish with a snap of her fingers. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a skill she’d ever learned. Her coachman would never look at her the same after this. And what if the man mentioned this to her father?
She groaned. Life had always been complicated, but never more so than it had been since the Earl of Brimsworth entered her life.
Dashiel put her away from him and turned on his heel. “It is customary to knock.”
Lamont paid him little heed and stomped over to her. “Miss, are ye all right? Jeannie said the swell was threatenin’ ta get her sacked.”
Within the blink of an eye, Dashiel had Lamont’s jacket in his hands and held the burly coachman against the wall. It happened so fast that Caitrin gasped.
“If Jeannie had stayed at her post,” the earl growled, “there wouldn’t be any reason for her to be sacked.”
“My lord!” Cait tugged on his jacket, but he couldn’t be swayed from his purpose.
“B-but—” Lamont stuttered.
“And if you’re intent on maintaining your post, you will not impugn Miss Macleod’s good name.”
The coachman’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “O-of course no’.”
Dashiel released the man and Lamont slid down the wall until his feet found purchase. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, while his gaze landed on Caitrin. “Jeannie says yer trunk is missin’ and everythin’ else.”
The earl turned back to Cait and smiled sheepishly. “I was going to mention that. As we are headed to the same place, we should ride together. Your coach may follow mine.”
Except there was the little fact that they weren’t, in fact, traveling to the same place. She should probably mention that, but not while she was unsure of the power he held over her. Not while he behaved like a martinet. Not while he barked out commands and expected her and her servants to obey them to the letter. Besides, she hadn’t technically lied. She had never told him she was traveling to Glasgow; he’d just assumed that for some reason, and she had neglected to correct him.
Cait sighed from exasperation. Lycans were all alike. Bellowing bullies. Arrogant arses. She’d seen those same qualities in others of his kind and didn’t find them remotely attractive. “So ye do have my things, Lord Brimsworth?”
His amber eyes actually twinkled. “Assuming Jeannie can serve as a suitable chaperone, I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t keep each other company, Miss Macleod. I know it will make my journey more enjoyable.”
Cait did wish her heart wouldn’t flip when he looked at her like that. “I’m no’ so certain Jeannie will want ta spend any time at all with ye, after ye’ve threatened her livelihood.” Besides, she had no intention of traveling to Glasgow with the man. She’d have to find a way to abandon him before they reached the border. But that shouldn’t be too difficult for a witch of her talents.
Dashiel grinned rakishly. “If she can prove her loyalty, I could be persuaded not to mention last night’s indiscretion.”
Blackmailing blackguard.
Lamont’s sigh of relief echoed throughout the small room. It wasn’t in anyone’s best interest for Cait to chastise the earl at the moment for his heavy-handed behavior. That could wait until later. She pasted a fraudulent smile on her face. “That does seem most fair, my lord.”
Who did he think he was to bully her around like that? She was going to teach the Earl of Brimsworth a lesson he wouldn’t ever forget. But timing was everything.
Seven
Dash was fairly pleased with his success. Caitrin Macleod was traveling in his carriage, directly across from him. Before much longer, he would have her in his bed, too. He nearly groaned aloud at the thought, but with the glares her maid continued to shoot at him, that wasn’t a particularly good idea.
He leaned his head back against the squabs and his gaze fell to Caitrin. She looked like an angel in the daylight, too, sitting so properly with her hands folded in her lap. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have her hands on his bare skin. Heaven in every sense of the word.
Caitrin turned her gaze from the window and settled her soft blue eyes on him. Besotted fool that he was, Dash’s breath caught in his throat. He managed to pull himself together and hoped she didn’t notice. “So nice not to travel alone.”
A tentative smile lit her face before she smothered it. “Why are ye headed ta Glasgow, my lord?”
“I already told you, Miss Macleod. My future’s there.” In every sense.
He really should ask the lass’ father for her hand. Do things properly. He hadn’t asked for Prisca Hawthorne’s hand until it was too late. Besides, he hadn’t been in love with Prisca Hawthorne. He didn’t quite believe in the emotion, but he’d liked her quite a bit. She would have made the perfect countess. She was beautiful, poised, and could manage a household with no effort at all. He’d even played the gallant. But that hadn’t stop
ped William Westfield from snatching her out from under Dash’s nose.
The loss of Prisca had been a blow to his ego, but his heart had been unaffected. Staring at the beautiful blonde across from him, so different from Prisca in almost every way, Dash wasn’t certain he could survive if he lost Caitrin. But was that because of the connection that tied him to her, or was it something even more than that?
She was a lady; there was no question about it, with the way she held herself so proudly. But a Scot? He could just imagine the look on his father’s face when he found out. If the Lycan news didn’t finish the old buzzard off, a Scottish daughter-in-law might do the trick. That thought brought a smile to Dash’s face.
“What is so amusin’, my lord?” Caitrin asked him.
“I was just thinking about my father.” Not that the powerful Marquess of Eynsford was his true sire, but odds were the vicious old man didn’t know that. Or maybe he did, Dash didn’t care anymore. “I think you’d knock him off his feet.”
A pretty pink stained her cheeks, and Dash bit back a smile. She wasn’t immune to flattery. He’d keep that in mind. He’d charm her right out of her dress if all else failed.
The irritating maid cleared her throat, so he must have given something away on his face. Dash raised his brow, daring her to say something. After the way she neglected her duties, it was quite something for her to attempt to chastise him.
A giggle escaped Caitrin’s throat and he returned his gaze to her, which suited him just fine. “Have you always lived in Glasgow, Miss Macleod?”
The maid sputtered.
Caitrin turned her glance back out the window. “Papa has land in Berwickshire, but I’ve only been there once.”
Only once? That was odd. From the time he was young, he’d been shuffled from the ancestral estate in Kent to the hunting box in Yorkshire and to every other Eynsford property in between. It wasn’t until his thirteenth year, when he went through changes, that the trips stopped.
His father had called him a demon child, a monster. Dash had been locked up every full moon since, either by the marquess’ orders or his own. The first time he’d been free, Caitrin Macleod had stumbled into his path. Was that fate?
“I doona like ta travel,” she explained, breaking into his thoughts.
That didn’t make any sense at all. Dash glanced around the coach. “Then why did you journey to Hampshire? It’s not a short trip.”
She shrugged. “Elspeth had need of me.”
“Lord Benjamin’s wife?” he asked, though he knew he must be right. The red-haired woman in question was Major Forster’s daughter and had Caitrin’s exact lilt.
She nodded. “We’re very close. Like sisters, ye could say.”
“And she needed you in Hampshire?”
Caitrin’s blue eyes cast downward to her hands. “Ye wouldna understand, my lord.”
“You could explain it to me.”
Her hands began to fidget in her lap. “I doona think that would be wise.”
Dash frowned at her answer. She didn’t trust him. He’d change that, as soon as he figured out how.
***
All day in a carriage with the Earl of Brimsworth. Caitrin sighed. She wasn’t doing very well with her pledge to stay away from Lycans, which was more than a little frustrating. After watching the way Benjamin Westfield had courted Elspeth, she would have thought she knew well the arsenal of tricks Lycans used to capture women.
But Dashiel was different from that. Just as soon as she decided she hated him, he’d swoop in and turn her mind upside down, like he’d done the night before. He shouldn’t have stayed all night with her, but it was very sweet of him to worry about her, just the same.
Then he had to turn around and do something as despicable as threaten to expose Jeannie and manipulate Cait into his carriage. Her mind was still whirring on that situation, though she was certain a solution would present itself.
Cait heard a slight thump and looked over to find Jeannie sleeping, her head resting against the side of the carriage. Then she heard him chuckle.
“You cannot avoid me any longer, Caitrin,” Dashiel said smoothly.
Cait raised a hand to her chest in surprise. “I doona ken what ye mean, my lord.”
“You’re holding back on me. I want to know all about you. Every detail, but you’ve been hiding behind your maid’s skirts.”
Her cheeks warmed at the accusation. “I most certainly have no’,” she hissed. “And I dinna give ye leave ta use my given name.”
“Ah, yes.” He winked at her. “We must abide by the formalities of our rank, Miss Macleod. I nearly forgot. Thank you for reminding me. I tend to forget my manners when I’m with you.”
Cait reached up absently to rub her shoulder. “Did ye have any manners ta begin with?” she murmured.
Again he chuckled softly, a sound that almost made her smile with him. Almost, but not quite. Then he shrugged and said, “I was overcome by the moment. There’s no other way to justify it.”
Caitrin chose to look out the window and avoid his amber eyes, which suddenly seemed to look into her instead of at her.
“Tell me about last night,” he prompted. “I noticed the pair in the taproom, but I never would have known what sort of villain the man was. How did you know about the girl? And how were you already upset about something that hadn’t yet happened?” He held up a hand when she was about to speak. “Not that I minded, of course. I like it when you fling yourself into my arms. Feel free to do so at any time.”
She didn’t remember flinging herself into his arms. Not exactly.
“The girl, Miss Macleod. How did you know?”
Now, how could she explain it? “I saw them downstairs, too,” Caitrin lied smoothly. She’d been lying about her gift of clairvoyance for years. It came easily to her. “Somethin’ dinna seem right with them.”
His eyes narrowed as he appraised her face. “I can hear it when your heartbeat speeds up,” he said softly. “I can’t tell if you’re anxious because you’re telling me an untruth, or if it’s because you like me.” He grinned mischievously at her.
“I can assure ye it’s neither.” She sat up a bit straighter.
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Then what is it?”
Truth be told, just the look in his eyes made her heart beat faster. He had this way of making her feel naked, despite the fact that she was fully clothed. She squirmed in her seat.
He chuckled once more and sat back, a supreme example of a relaxed male. “That’s what I thought.”
Caitrin wanted nothing more than to rant and rave about his superior attitude. But her sleeping maid didn’t allow her to say what she wanted to say. Instead, she pushed her lips together in an effort to stay quiet.
***
The more Caitrin pursed her lips, the more Dash wanted to kiss them. Her very existence tortured him, though she seemed oblivious to his plight. If he could get her talking again, he could focus on her words to distract himself.
“Do you have any sisters or big, burly brothers?” Anyone he should worry himself about meeting when they reached Glasgow.
She shook her head. “Nay. I’m an only child, though I have a small group of friends I’m very close ta. Ye could say we’re like sisters in a lot of ways.”
Dash had a few friends but none so close that he’d consider them family. Of course, he could never trust anyone enough to divulge the dark secret he kept hidden. What he wouldn’t give to have been raised in a pack that accepted him.
“Ye look far away, my lord.” Her soft, lilting voice reached the recesses of his mind and brought him back to the present.
“Nothing of any importance, I assure you.”
“What about ye? Do ye have any siblings?”
“None that I’m aware of,” he admitted. Honestly, who knew how many children his real father had sired?
Caitrin’s tinkling laugh warmed his soul. “What is that supposed ta mean?”
He proba
bly shouldn’t have said that. He wanted to marry the lass. Confessing to being a bastard wasn’t the best way to go about convincing her. “One never knows,” he answered vaguely.
She cocked her head to one side as though assessing him, and he didn’t welcome the scrutiny. What secrets would she uncover, simply by looking at him?
“My father wanted many sons, but he was only blessed with me. Something he’s lamented for years.” He wasn’t certain why he told her that. There was something about staring into her pretty blue eyes that made him want to confess all.
Caitrin bit her bottom lip, the sight of which made his trousers painfully tight. “Yer father’s no’ a Lycan?”
Dash nearly fell out of his seat. How could she possibly know that? He shook his head, stunned. Then he took a sidelong glance at the sleeping maid. “No. And that fact, according to Major Forster, means he’s probably not my father.” There, he’d said it. There was no use trying to hide it; her mere presence would pull it from him anyway.
Her pretty blue eyes rounded in surprise. “And yer mother?”
“Dead. She died in childbirth, taking the secret of my sire with her.”
“Oh. That must be difficult. A friend of mine never kent her father, and it pained her every day.”
Dash released a breath he didn’t know he held. “You’re very kind not to judge me.”
“Ye’re hardly responsible for yer own circumstances, my lord.”
He reached across the coach and grasped her hands in his. “Dashiel, or Dash, if you’d rather.”
She shook her head. “I doona think that would be appropriate.”
Probably not, but wanting to hear his name on her lips was nearly driving him mad. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Her eyes twinkled devilishly, as though they shared a secret. “Dashiel, why do ye say yer future is in Scotland?”
It was heaven to hear her say his name, and Dash nearly groaned. He leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. Her sweet breath encompassed him, and her soft sigh was almost his undoing. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t balk. She didn’t complain. She didn’t abhor him or what he was.
