Before entering the house, Caitlyn paused, grasped her hair, and twisted it, wringing water from its long length, and then followed Hay indoors. Alexander followed, trying not to watch Caitlyn and failing. Her hair was straight back from her face, and the severe style highlighted the delicate shape, her full, lush lips, and the pink-and-white cream of her skin. Her soaked brown velvet riding habit clung to her body and left nothing to the imagination. The delicate slope of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, were lovingly encased in clinging wet velvet. No woman had ever looked so good wet.
She shivered, crossing her arms and blocking his view of her breasts, which was a good thing since Alexander was certain he, and every footman in the place, had seen her peaked nipples through that clinging velvet.
“Miss, you are freezing,” Mr. Hay stated. “We must get you into some dry clothing at once.”
Or out of her wet ones and into a large, warm bed—preferably mine.
Mr. Hay ordered footmen about and one of them soon returned with a red-haired maid bearing a thick wool blanket. Talking nonstop, she wrapped Caitlyn in the blanket and led her away, a trail of water following her up the stairs.
“Good God!”
Alexander turned to find Dervishton coming from the sitting room. He was staring up the steps at Caitlyn’s retreating figure as well, pure admiration on his face.
Irritation rifled through Alexander. He stripped off his wet coat and handed it to a waiting footman. “I’ll need a hot bath in my room.”
Mr. Hay bowed. “Of course, my lord.”
Dervishton turned toward Alexander. “Her hair is unbound. Did you see how glorious—”
“Yes.” Alexander strode past Dervishton and took the stairs two at a time, his boots squishing uncomfortably with each stride.
The sound of footsteps followed as Dervishton caught up, dropping into step beside him. “Lord MacLean, how was your ride? Or should I ask?”
Alexander stopped outside his bedchamber. “As you can see, it was wet.”
“And where is the rest of the party?”
“Miss Hurst’s mount proved unruly and I had to assist her.”
Dark humor lit Dervishton’s eyes. “Playing nursemaid, eh, MacLean? That’s not like you.”
“I don’t like to see a good horse get injured by his rider’s incompetence,” Alexander said sharply, wishing the fool would leave. Cold water was trickling down Alexander’s neck and it was damnably annoying.
“I’ve never seen a woman look so good in rainwater as Miss Hurst.” Dervishton glanced down the hallway toward the ladies’ bedchambers, a hungry look in his eyes. “I’m glad you don’t have an interest in the lady, for I intend on giving her a chase.”
Alexander wiped water from his face. “I thought you were interested in the duchess.”
“I was, but this afternoon she made herself available and . . .” Dervishton shrugged. “The charm was lost. What I really like is a good challenge. I think Miss Hurst will supply that.”
“Oh, she’s a challenge, all right. If I had a penny for every time I thought of strangling that woman . . .” Such as right now, for putting him through this painful conversation with Dervishton. Until these last few days, Alexander had thought Dervishton was an easygoing, rather intelligent man. Now the man’s weaknesses were becoming glaringly obvious.
Dervishton lifted a brow. “You really should just go ahead and admit you have an interest in Miss Hurst.”
“If I did, would you stop pursuing her?” Alexander asked bluntly.
Dervishton’s eyes darkened and a smooth smile curved his mouth. “No.”
Alexander shrugged. “Then why should I bother?”
“It would just mark the playing field more clearly.” He waved a hand. “But you’ll do what you want; you always do. As do I.” Dervishton bowed and turned to leave.
“Dervishton?”
The man paused and looked back. “Yes?”
“I wouldn’t get too wrapped up in a pursuit of Miss Hurst.”
Dervishton’s expression closed.
“While I agree she is beautiful—”
“Exceptionally so.”
Alexander nodded. “She has no funds, nor is she likely to ever possess any.”
Dervishton chuckled. “I don’t plan on marrying the chit, any more than you did when you had your little flirtation with her in London last season.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “I see you didn’t waste your time this afternoon.”
“Yes, Georgiana explained how Miss Hurst served your family a bad turn. I shall be careful not to get caught in the same trap.” Dervishton smiled. “I must say that I find her intriguing. She’s a vicar’s daughter, all purity and irksome notions of propriety. But somehow, between her prudery and the way she walks, there is a spark of something wild and naughty.” A hungry expression arose in Dervishton’s eyes. “So you see, she is my usual pursuit.”
Alexander shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from planting a fist in the man’s mouth. Caitlyn was impulsive and naturally sensual, and in the hands of an unscrupulous man, such a combination could be dangerous.
As if reading Alexander’s thoughts, Dervishton added, “Whoever captures her when she finds vent for that wild flare will benefit beyond his wildest dreams.”
Alexander scowled. “She will expect marriage.”
“She may well be worth it.” Dervishton met Alexander’s gaze. “Don’t you think?”
A swell of pressure grew behind Alexander’s eyes, and his temper simmered to the level to tease the curse. A sudden wind swept across the roof, rattling the shingles, and the steady rain became a furious, voracious torrent.
Dervishton’s smile faded as he sent Alexander a hard glance. “Careful, MacLean. You don’t want to send water down Georgiana’s brand-new fireplaces. She may think her house impervious to the MacLean curse, but she’s wrong.”
“You have no idea what the curse can do.”
“But I do; I saw what happened when Callum died.”
The words chilled Alexander to the bottom of his heart. Callum had been his youngest brother, the baby of their large family. A stupid taproom brawl, started under suspicious circumstances, had stolen Callum from them. Devastated and furious, Alexander and his siblings had allowed the curse free reign. The results had been deadly. The valley below the castle had flooded, lightning had caught barns and houses on fire, and hail as big as a fist had devastated fields and crops. For once started, the curse couldn’t be stopped. Or so they’d believed at the time.
“Good,” Alexander growled. “Then you know you’d do well not to provoke me.”
“By not telling you how beautiful and exciting I find Miss Hurst?”
The shingles rattled more wildly, and somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.
Dervishton’s gaze never wavered. “So you are staking a claim.” He threw his hands up, though his faint smile was mocking. “If you’re going to make the lady yours, I’ll step back”—he dropped his hands—“for now.”
Alexander frowned. “For now?”
“Once you’ve grown bored, I shall begin my pursuit again. I am willing to wait my turn. As I said, she’s worth it.” Dervishton smiled and turned away. “Just let me know when the chase has palled. I shall be waiting.”
Alexander stalked inside his room, as outside, the wind swirled and slammed, rattled and banged. Rain was pounding hard and fast upon the roof.
He closed his eyes and fisted his hands at his sides, pushing his anger down . . . down . . . making it smaller, forcing it away. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. The rain didn’t change, for the storm had been stirred to life and would have to beat itself out upon the hills and mountains. But at least his temper wouldn’t feed it more.
Sighing, he crossed the room to the crackling fire. Staring into the flames, he knew one thing only: he might not want Caitlyn Hurst for himself, but he damn well didn’t want Dervishton or any other man
to have her, either.
Chapter 6
’Tis said that the MacLean curse can rattle the very center o’ th’ earth if they’re angry enough. ’Tis a power ye dinna wish t’ see and shouldna’ wish t’ know.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
Caitlyn bent to adjust the overskirt of her gown and winced.
“Yer arse achin’ from yer ride, miss?” Muiren stooped down to move the tangled skirt.
Caitlyn straightened thankfully. “My entire backside must be bruised top to bottom. Not even the hot bath set things completely to rights.”
“I’m sorry about that, miss. When ye return from dinner, I’ll see if I can’t find some liniment fer ye.” Muiren straightened, then stood back to regard Caitlyn’s gown. “Och, ye look as pretty as an angel! I’ve never seen such a beautiful gown.”
“Thank you! I am rather proud of how it turned out.” The gown was made of light brown lace over a rich cream silk underskirt that shimmered. Trimmed with cream silk bows at each shoulder and decorated with a wide cream silk sash that tied just beneath her breasts, it was modest and elegant. Most women with blond hair thought their coloring limited them to pastels, but Caitlyn found the warmer colors darkened her eyes and made her hair appear brighter.
She smoothed her hands over the skirt and admired her creation in the mirror. The back of the gown was slightly longer than the front, so that it would pull the split front panel open as she walked to reveal the silk cream undergown. “It drapes well, doesn’t it?”
Muiren clasped her hands. “Och, miss, ’tis the prettiest gown I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen me fair share. The duchess will be green wit’ envy when ye go down to dinner, see if she’s not!”
“Thank you. That will be most gratifying.” Caitlyn picked up a small, cream-colored fan and looped it over her gloved hand. Her legs were as sore as her bottom, and she knew just who was to blame. “Sometime tonight, I hope to discuss a small matter with Lord MacLean.”
Muiren quirked a brow. “Och, now, ye look serious, ye do.”
“I’ve thought about this all afternoon, ever since I returned from our ride. It cannot be simple coincidence that the duchess, MacLean’s past lover, befriended my mother and convinced her to allow me to attend the same party he was attending. Since I arrived, he’s glared at me with an air of … it’s almost a threat, but … I can’t quite describe it.”
It seemed to change from one moment to the next. One minute he was glaring at her as if he’d like to tear her limb from limb, and the next he was kissing her as if— Her cheeks heated. As if he cared in some way and didn’t like the fact.
“Why would his lordship glare at ye?”
“He believes that something I did harmed his brother.” At Muiren’s considering gaze, Caitlyn hurried to add, “It could have, but it didn’t. In fact, his brother, Lord Hugh, is quite happily married to my twin sister.”
“Ye dinna say!”
“Yes. Yet MacLean still bears a grudge, and I have begun to believe he arranged that I come here for a reason.”
To Caitlyn’s surprise, Muiren said, “I’ve wondered about that meself, miss. It isn’t like her grace to invite a younger, more beautiful woman to the house, not unless she can help it.”
“Now that I’ve met her, I think the same.”
“Aye, and she went out o’ her way, too, which is odd, fer ’tis rare her grace will bestir herself for anyone.” Muiren frowned. “If MacLean believes ye harmed his brother and wished ye nearby to cause ye harm, he could well have talked her grace into bringing ye here. MacLean’s a one fer family, he is. All of them are.”
“I know—but it was an honest error and no true harm was done. While I’m willing to apologize, I refuse to sit by meekly while he tries to goad me into doing something stupid.” Caitlyn frowned. “I think he hopes I’ll make a misstep and ruin myself.”
“Ye’d never let him do tha’ to ye!”
“I almost did it once already. I’d have never gotten on that horse if he hadn’t egged me on.” Caitlyn scowled. “Tonight I’m going to tell him that I won’t accept his needling any longer.”
“I’ve heard his man say tha’ his lordship likes a glass o’ port before his meals instead o’ after. Perhaps if ye went down to dinner a wee bit early, ye’d find him in the library.”
“That would be perfect. We could talk without any interruption.”
“Just be careful, miss. The MacLeans are cursed, they are. If ye make his lordship angry—”
“I know, I know. The clouds will gather, the skies will crash and flail, and the rains will flood the earth. I know the MacLean curse backwards and forwards, thanks to my grandmother.”
“Old Woman Nora knows everythin’ there is to know aboot the MacLeans.”
Caitlyn grinned. “That’s because she has a telescope, and her house is on the opposite side of the valley from their famed castle.”
“No! She’s been peekin’ in their windows?”
“All of the time.” Caitlyn chuckled. “I’m surprised she doesn’t have a permanent circle around one eye from staring into her telescope for so long.”
Muiren giggled. “Och, I daresay she even knows the laird’s birthmarks.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have any.” At Muiren’s surprised look, Caitlyn’s face heated. “I’m sure if he had, Mam would have mentioned it.” She handed the maid some hairpins. “If you’ll help me with my hair, I’ll try to catch MacLean before the others come down for dinner.”
Though Muiren looked as if she might say more, she went to work with the pins, twisting Caitlyn’s hair into an elegant mass of curls. In a remarkably short time, she stepped back and said with a note of satisfaction, “There ye go, miss.”
“Thank you, Muiren. It’s perfect!” The deceptively simple style had a cascade of curls framing Caitlyn’s face, making her eyes appear larger than usual. “I never could have done that.”
“Most women don’t have such lovely curls.”
“Most women don’t have you for a maid, and that’s the real difference.” Caitlyn stood and gave Muiren a swift hug.
Muiren turned bright pink. “Thank ye, miss!”
Caitlyn grinned and said a quick good-bye before hurrying downstairs, her mind already racing ahead to MacLean. Just speak plainly and keep your temper. If she didn’t, the overbearing laird would fluster her and she’d never pin him down about his intentions. And if he kissed her again the way he did this afternoon—
She abruptly halted outside the library and pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart thudded hotly. She hadn’t allowed herself to even think about that punishing embrace all evening, afraid that her sharp-eyed maid would notice how that kiss had affected her. And, oh, had it ever. Even now, the mere thought of it, of the way he’d swept her up off her feet and held her body flush against his, of his hard mouth capturing hers, of the way his hands—
She took a shaky breath. I must keep some distance between myself and MacLean this time! Yet her more impulsive side whispered into her other ear, Ah, but imagine what it would be like to be kissed again in such a way!
But she was determined not to listen to that side ever again, especially not where Alexander MacLean was concerned. She glanced at herself in one of the long mirrors, tweaked one of the cream-colored bows, then walked through the open library doors.
The room was empty. Disappointed, she walked across the thick rug, keeping an ear open for the sound of someone coming down the stairs. As she passed a large oak desk, she paused to pick up a small book that lay open. It contained translations of stories about King Arthur, and his cousin, Culhwch, and she knew her father would have enjoyed it. In many ways, he was as much of a romantic as his mother, Mam.
She returned the book to the desk, then walked toward the tall terrace doors that lined one end of the room, the moon illuminating the last lingering storm clouds scattered across the dark sky.
The more she was around MacLean
, the more she realized how little she knew about him. Their shared time in London didn’t begin to encompass the complex man he was. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. Such as today, when he’d saved her from her foolish pride by catching her runaway horse.
That moment could have ended badly, had he not been so quick to act. Though she hadn’t allowed him to see it, she’d been seriously frightened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against one of the terrace doors, the smooth glass cool against her shoulder.
If she wasn’t careful, her pride would be the death of her. It almost physically pained her to admit that she couldn’t do something, especially when someone looked as if that was exactly what he or she had suspected all along. Somehow MacLean had figured that out and used it against her, looking at her as if he thought every word she uttered was a lie.
He’d taunted her into taking the unruly horse from the groom, and she’d let him do it. She’d almost paid the ultimate price for that bit of nonsense. She sighed and rubbed her rump—
“Bruised your ass, did you?” asked a low, satisfied voice.
She hurriedly dropped her hand and whirled to face MacLean.
He stood just within the doorway, dressed in evening clothes of unrelenting black, broken only by a severely tied snowy white cravat held in place with a blindingly beautiful emerald pin. The emerald had surprised her when she’d first seen it, for she hadn’t thought him the sort to wear such an obvious vanity. But it became him well and paled in color when contrasted with his frosty green eyes.
He grinned wolfishly. “Perhaps a sore bottom will teach you not to be so foolhardy in the future.” His hard gaze flickered across her, lingering on her gown before lifting to her face.
She refused to allow the shiver that danced up her spine to show, gripping her hands into fists at her sides. “My lord, I’m glad to see you. I was hoping you might come here.”
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 9
