The Laird Who Loved Me

by Karen Hawkins

  Caitlyn smoothed her skirts and made certain her gloves were buttoned at the wrists, suddenly uneasy. She didn’t know a soul, though she was sure she’d make some friends of some of the other ladies before the week was out. She lifted her chin. If she didn’t, then she’d just enjoy the surroundings. It would be fun to explore the countryside with the gorgeous loch.

  The coach door swung open and the steps lowered as a footman held out his gloved hand. Within moments, Caitlyn was in the most magnificent front hallway she’d ever seen. The gleaming parquet floor stretched out to a number of large double doors. The warm wood was accented by a long, white-and-gold table set beneath a huge gold-framed mirror and between two heavy, gilt chairs. Overhead, an ornate, gleaming gold-and-brass chandelier shone brightly, already lit though evening was still an hour away.

  A door on the far side of the foyer opened, followed by a bustle of activity. Footmen scurried here and there carrying candelabra, linens folded over their arms. A maid hurried by with a basket of just-cut flowers, an empty vase tucked under one arm.

  A distinguished-looking butler walked forward, pausing to bow before Caitlyn. “Miss . . . ?”

  “Hurst.” Caitlyn unbuttoned her gloves and pelisse and handed them to a waiting footman.

  “Ah, Miss Hurst. We have been expecting you.”

  A groom entered carrying Caitlyn’s portmanteau and trunk, Muiren following closely.

  The butler flicked a glance at Muiren. “Her grace and some of her guests are in the pink sitting room. I will take Miss Hurst there before escorting her to her bedchamber.”

  “Thank ye, Mr. Hay.” Muiren turned to Caitlyn and bobbed a curtsy. “Miss, would ye like a bath afore supper? It’ll make ye a mite less stiff from all o’ the travel.”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “I’ll have one drawn fer ye. And I’ll see tha’ yer bags are unpacked and have a spot o’ tea brought up, as well.”

  Caitlyn’s stomach was already growling, and she knew from her time in London that it would be hours before dinner. “Thank you, Muiren. That sounds lovely.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and left, ordering one of the footmen to carry Caitlyn’s portmanteau and trunk up the stairs.

  The butler cleared his throat. “Miss Hurst, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her grace. She and some of the guests just returned from a ride and are in the sitting room, discussing plans for their amusement tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  The butler took her to a set of wide double doors, threw them open, and announced in a monotone, “Your Grace, Miss Hurst has arrived.” With a bow, he stepped out of Caitlyn’s way.

  The room gleamed with glass and mirrors, fully three times as long as it was wide and decorated with furniture of the ancien-régime style. Down two walls, magnificent windows, framed by heavily swagged and tasseled bronze silk curtains, poured light into the room. The walls across from these were covered in intricate wallpaper with a delicate pink, brown, and white pattern, interspersed with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Large, salmon pink settees flanked two of the three roaring fireplaces that warmed the room, while a deep-pile, fitted carpet of salmon, red, and brown covered the floor. Added to this luxury were three ormolu chandeliers, one as large as a settee.

  Caitlyn forced herself not to gape and focused on a small group clustered on two settees near the door. A striking red-haired woman measured her with a curious but cold gaze. She was dressed in a sapphire blue habit that made the most of her statuesque form, and her auburn hair was piled on her head, a rakish blue hat tossed to one side. Beside this magnificent creature sat a tall, handsome man with startlingly blue eyes, which traveled across Caitlyn in a bold manner. Across from them sat two ladies, one younger with brown hair and soft blue eyes, the other older with a sharp face and a significant nose.

  The lady with the red hair looked Caitlyn up and down. “Well, well,” she drawled in a low voice, as if speaking to herself. “I should have known.”

  Caitlyn, who’d been walking forward, paused. “I beg your pardon?”

  The woman’s expression closed and a tight smile touched her lips. “Miss Hurst, I am so glad you accepted my invitation.”

  So this is the duchess. She is lovely. Caitlyn stopped at the foot of the couch and curtsied. “Your Grace, it was very kind of you to invite me.”

  The man at the duchess’s side had risen to his feet as Caitlyn approached. He bowed now, his eyes devouring her. “Georgiana, I believe introductions are due.”

  The duchess’s lips thinned, but she smiled. “Of course. Miss Hurst, this is Lord Dervishton. I must warn you that he is a very bad man.”

  “Georgiana, really!” Dervishton’s blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he took Caitlyn’s hand in his own and placed a warm kiss to her fingers. “Miss Hurst, it is a pleasure. Don’t listen to Georgiana. She’s just angry that I beat her while racing back to the house.”

  “You cheated,” the duchess said in her languid tone.

  Caitlyn removed her hand from the man’s grasp and dipped a brief curtsy. “Lord Dervishton, it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

  The duchess flicked a hand toward the other two women, who’d both risen. “This is Viscountess Kinloss, a very dear friend of mine.”

  The sharp-faced women tittered. “Oh, Georgiana! The things you say!” She stood and ducked a too brief curtsy. As she did so, a small, thin dog darted from her skirts, a large, pink bow fastened to a tuff of hair between its large, pointy ears.

  “A dog! May I—” Caitlyn reached out a friendly hand but the dog growled and leaped at her, snapping and baring its teeth. Had it not been for Lord Dervishton’s quick thinking in stepping between Caitlyn and the dog, she’d have been bitten.

  Lady Kinloss scooped the dog into her arms. “There, there, Muffin!” The dog quivered with rage, its bulging eyes fastened on Caitlyn.

  “I’m sorry if I startled her.”

  Lady Kinloss sniffed. “He doesn’t like strangers.” She kissed her dog on its bony head and crooned, “Do we, Muffin?”

  The duchess chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Miss Hurst, as you can see, we are ruled by a wild dog here at Balloch Castle. I hope you’re not made uncomfortable by that.”

  Caitlyn felt more comfortable with the bad-tempered little dog than she did with the faintly critical air the duchess exuded. Looking at the duchess’s perfectly fitted riding habit, Caitlyn suddenly felt crumpled and travel-worn and wished she’d thought to change into a fresh gown before introducing herself. She knew it wouldn’t do to look uncertain, though. If she had learned one thing in London, it was that any show of weakness made one a target for the cruel.

  Caitlyn turned an inquiring glance at the younger woman who stood quietly by.

  The duchess frowned. “Oh, yes. And this is Miss . . . Oddwell.”

  The young woman smiled. “Miss Hurst, I am Miss Ogilvie.”

  The duchess shrugged. “Ogilvie, then.”

  Caitlyn smiled warmly at the younger woman and received a genuine smile in return. Caitlyn relaxed; here was one potential ally, at least. She moved a little closer to Miss Ogilvie.

  Lady Kinloss kissed Muffin and placed him on the floor, where he retreated to her skirts, his head poking out as he growled at Caitlyn. “There, little Muffin. Be polite.” The viscountess glanced at the door. “I wonder where the others are. They were just going to walk the path down to the original castle ruins; I’d think they’d have returned before us.”

  The duchess shrugged, an elegant gesture that showed off her delicate neck and shoulders. “I daresay they stopped to view the gardens. The Marchioness of Treymont has developed a propensity to go on and on about roses.”

  Caitlyn frowned. How had Mother, usually the best judge of character, been so trusting of such a hard woman? Caitlyn wondered if perhaps she was being hasty, though; she’d barely met the woman.

  The duchess sank onto the settee cushions once more, gesturing for the others to do the same.

/>   “If you’ll pardon me,” Caitlyn said, “I would like to rest a bit before dinner.”

  The duchess nodded. “It will be served at nine. That must seem dreadfully late for you.” Her full lips twisted into a smirk, she looked at Lady Kinloss. “Miss Hurst comes from a horridly provincial part of the country. I was there not a month ago and I thought I should die from ennui.”

  How dare the woman! A sharp retort rose to Caitlyn’s lips, but she forced herself to swallow it. I promised Mother I wouldn’t make a scene—but ohhhh!

  Lady Kinloss tittered behind her hand. “Perhaps Miss Hurst would rather have some bread and cheese at six than mutton and lobster at nine!”

  That does it. Caitlyn pasted a smile on her face. “Oh, I don’t care when you serve dinner; I just don’t wish to miss it. I never miss the chance to experience a good meal, exchange pleasantries with my fellowmen, or witness a fool speaking.”

  As Lady Kinloss’s smile faded, Lord Dervishton laughed. “Brava, Miss Hurst! A good retort! Now Lady Kinloss is left to wonder which of the three you meant.”

  The duchess’s gaze narrowed. “Really, Dervishton, don’t encourage the girl. She’s known to be impulsive. Her mother warned me about that.”

  Caitlyn had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from slaying the entire lot of them with the sharp side of her tongue. “Your Grace, I’m not being at all impulsive.”

  Lord Dervishton chuckled. “Those of us who spent all afternoon in the saddle or”—he bowed his head at Caitlyn—“traveling the dusty roads will be exceedingly hungry come nine.”

  “Indeed,” Miss Ogilvie said in her soft voice. “Nothing makes me hungrier than traveling.” She smiled at Caitlyn. “It took me eight hours to reach Balloch, and if it hadn’t been teatime when I arrived, I might have eaten one of the carriage straps!”

  Caitlyn smiled gratefully at the young woman. “I’m glad you weren’t forced to such lengths.”

  “Me, too!” Miss Ogilvie’s soft blue eyes twinkled. “I thought I—”

  The door opened and two more couples entered, accompanied by Muffin’s snarling and growling. Lord Dervishton introduced Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Argyll, and her companion, Lord Dalfour of Burleigh. Both were dressed extremely fashionably and greeted Caitlyn pleasantly. Following close behind were the Marquis and Marchioness of Treymont, a handsome couple who graciously said hello, but were soon engrossed in a conversation with each other over the layout of a new garden planned for one of their estates.

  The duchess and Lady Kinloss greeted the new arrivals with far more enthusiasm than they’d shown Caitlyn, which was fine with her. All she really wanted was her bedchamber and the waiting bath. She glanced longingly at the doors.

  “I’ll go with you, if you’d like.”

  Caitlyn turned to find Miss Ogilvie standing beside her, a shy smile on the young woman’s face. Caitlyn smiled. “If you don’t mind, that would be lovely.”

  Miss Ogilvie linked her arm with Caitlyn’s. “I’m sleepy and would like to rest before dinner, too.”

  Caitlyn sighed in relief and walked with the young woman toward the huge doors. “Thank you so much. I’m not quite sure where to go; the house is so large.”

  “And beautiful. Just wait until you see the bedchambers! They’re appointed in such lovely colors. Mine is emerald green with tan curtain tassels and bed hangings—well, you’ll just have to see it yourself. Lord Dervishton told me that every room has its own water closet, which is astonishing.”

  They’d almost reached the door when it opened and a tall, dark-haired man entered. His face was hard and sensual, his mouth carved, his eyes as green as mossy stone beneath an ice-cold river.

  Caitlyn knew that face—it had haunted her dreams and her regrets for three months now. “Alexander MacLean,” she whispered, her voice lost in the greetings from the duchess and her companions.

  MacLean smiled at the group, but as he walked toward them, his gaze flickered in Caitlyn’s direction and locked with hers. Heat, sizzling and jagged, ripped through her, and in that second she remembered every stolen kiss, every sensual touch, every forbidden moment they’d spent together for three glorious weeks before his arrogance and her impetuous pride had nearly caused the downfall of her family.

  Her body was instantly alive with a deep, pleasurable excitement. Blast it, I should be over this!

  His gaze narrowed, but only for a moment, then—as if she didn’t matter—he moved on, toward the group farther in the room.

  “That was rude!” Miss Ogilvie sniffed. “He didn’t say a word to either of us.”

  But he had. With one cool, composed look, he’d let Caitlyn know that though she might still be affected by his presence, he felt absolutely nothing at hers.

  She couldn’t seem to look away as he walked across the thick carpet. He was dressed in tailored riding gear, his black boots gleaming while his perfectly tailored coat outlined his powerful muscles.

  Miss Ogilvie bent closer to Caitlyn. “As rude as he is, I must say Laird MacLean is a disturbingly handsome man.”

  She doesn’t know the half of it.

  Miss Ogilvie regarded MacLean’s profile as he spoke to the duchess. “The only reason my father wanted me to come to the duchess’s house party was because he hoped I might attract Lord MacLean’s notice.”

  “Have you?”

  “Lud, no. He’s too busy looking at—” Miss Ogilvie blushed, and shot an apologetic look at Caitlyn. “I shouldn’t gossip.”

  No, please! Please gossip more! But Miss Ogilvie’s expressive mouth pressed into a determined line, and when she spoke next, it was about the wonderful dinners and how she’d never had turtle soup before and hoped it would be served again.

  Caitlyn listened with half an ear, her gaze drawn back to MacLean, who was now talking to Lord Dervishton. Oddly, MacLean hadn’t seemed a bit surprised to see her. Perhaps the duchess had mentioned her invitation. Or maybe . . .

  “Don’t you think,” Miss Ogilvie said softly, “that Laird MacLean looks like Lord Byron?”

  “I take it you haven’t meet Lord Byron.”

  “No, but I’ve seen a painting, and he seemed dark and dangerous and—” Miss Ogilvie shivered.

  Caitlyn forced a smile. “Byron is a bloated, white worm that’s fallen in love with his own slime.”

  Miss Ogilvie’s eyes widened, then she giggled. “Really?”

  “I met him several times during my brief stay in London, and to be honest, he is rather fat and pale and talks with a lisp.”

  “A lisp?” Miss Ogilvie said in an outraged tone. “That’s not at all the way I imagined him! Caro Lamb must be quite mad to go on about him in such a fashion.”

  “They are both mad. And rude. And vulgar. A match made in mud, so to speak.”

  Miss Ogilvie’s lips quivered. “You are very frank.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, no! I find it very refreshing. Please do not guard your tongue on my behalf. I’ve been here for a week and that’s the most honestly spoken statement I’ve heard yet.”

  “That’s both my gift and my curse.” Caitlyn smiled. “It will be a relief to be able to speak my mind with at least one person.” Over Miss Ogilvie’s shoulder, Caitlyn noted that MacLean had left Lord Dervishton and was once again speaking with the duchess.

  The red-haired beauty held out a languid hand for MacLean to kiss. He bowed over it, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he smiled at his hostess.

  The sight made Caitlyn’s stomach clench. The man was a walking threat to a woman’s well-being.

  Miss Ogilvie had followed Caitlyn’s gaze and tsked. “You’d never know her grace was married, the way she flirts. She spent all afternoon encouraging Dervishton to make the most inappropriate comments. I hope Lord MacLean takes care.”

  “Don’t worry about MacLean; he can be quite devious on his own.” And can make a woman believe—even if just for three short, amazing weeks—that she is the only woman in
the world. “Shall we retire? I really am quite tired.”

  “Oh, of course! After your travels, you will wish to rest before dinner.” Miss Ogilvie took Caitlyn’s arm and they continued to the door.

  Caitlyn felt MacLean turn to watch, his dark green gaze fastened on her as she left the room. The urge to look back was almost overpowering, and she was relieved when they reached the foyer.

  A footman led them to their bedchambers, which were just three doors apart. The younger woman offered to meet Caitlyn on the landing at eight thirty so they could walk to dinner together. “It will take every bit of thirty minutes to find the dining room.”

  Caitlyn agreed and said good-bye, then entered her bedchamber, where Muiren was unpacking the small trunk and portmanteau. The maid cheerily bustled Caitlyn to the fireplace, where tea and cakes lay waiting, promising that the bath would be arriving shortly.

  Seated before the crackling fire, tea and cakes at hand to assuage her hunger, the maid chatting cozily in the background, Caitlyn fretted about MacLean’s presence, an unwelcome addition to the duchess’s house party. If there was one person who knew how to goad her into doing and saying things no lady should, it was that man.

  She bit down on a cake with more force than was necessary. Blast it, she refused to allow his presence to spoil either her peace of mind or her fun. Let him do what he would and say what he could; this time she’d resist his taunting and teasing. This time she’d be in charge, not her traitorous heart. And no darkly handsome, caustic-witted Scottish laird would change that.

  Chapter 3

  Och, me lassies! ’Tis a sad fact tha’ many times a mon dinna ken the power a lassie has till he’s raised her ire an’ faced her fire!

  OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

  “Will that be all, my lord?”

  Alexander flicked a glance toward his valet. MacCready was a proper gentleman’s gentleman in every way, except one—he had an annoying tendency to consider himself his master’s conscience.