After last night, he was more than ready to share his feelings with her. He need only determine how, when and where. The moment needed to be special. Memorable.
He pondered his options as he worked through the ledgers, until Thorburn trotted into the room. Not surprisingly, Brody arrived a few seconds later. The lad paused at the entrance as though uncertain of his welcome.
Logan attempted a smile, though his mouth felt stiff from disuse. “Good morn, Brody.”
“Captain.” Brody dipped his head. “I’m pleased you have returned.”
“As am I.”
“Will you be leaving again soon?”
“Nae, no’ for a long while.”
Brody approached Thorburn and placed his hand on the dog’s head. He glanced at the papers on Logan’s desk. “Shall I take Thorburn and go away?”
“No need.” Logan pushed back from his desk. “What do you have planned for the day?”
Brody lifted one shoulder. “Nothing in particular.”
“Would you like to learn more about the abbey?”
At the boy’s enthusiastic nod, Logan gestured to the chairs before the fire. “Let us get comfortable. Mayhap after luncheon, we can do a little exploring.”
Brody’s smile made Logan’s answering smile come more naturally.
Logan pulled from a shelf one of his favorite books about the founding of the abbey and settled onto the settee beside Brody. With luck, he could add a bit of regional history and geography to the story without the boy being any the wiser.
***
Fiona decided she’d waited long enough. If Logan had been displeased with the changes she’d made in the library, surely, he’d have found her by now. She directed the maid to clean his bedchamber and to add rugs and a chair to the room.
When the hour for luncheon drew near, she went in search of Brody but couldn’t find him or Thorburn. She swallowed back worry and decided to ask Logan if he’d seen them. The library door stood ajar, so she peeked into the room. The sight before her caused her breath to hitch.
Brody sat next to Logan on the settee, looking at a book her husband held. The fire crackled softly, and Thorburn lay stretched out on the rug at their feet. Logan read a brief passage before looking at Brody. “How did people travel in Scotland years ago?”
“They used waterways rather than roads.”
“Aye, that’s right. You are an excellent student.”
Brody beamed, and the sight of his smile warmed Fiona.
She tapped on the door and entered the room, surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. She blinked quickly, but the rush of joy couldn’t be denied so easily.
“Fiona!” Brody called, his tone full of enthusiasm. “I’ve learned what a crannog is.”
“What is it?”
“A circular house built in olden times on the waterways. Back then, people travelled by water rather than roads. The captain says we might visit one someday soon.”
“Truly?” She looked at Logan in surprise as she dabbed at an escaping tear.
Brody answered, “Aye, he said so.” He turned to Logan. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”
Logan nodded. “It must be time for luncheon. Why don’t you proceed to the dining room, and your sister and I will join you in a moment?”
Fiona hadn’t missed the questioning look her husband sent her. How could she possibly explain her tears when she didn’t understand them herself?
Thorburn followed Brody from the room, and Logan stood to face her. “What has happened?”
His tender concern only resulted in more tears.
She wiped them away. “Nothing. ‘Tis just—”
He stepped closer and drew her into his arms.
That only made her cry harder.
“My darling, tell me,” he whispered as he ran a comforting hand over her back.
“This moment just now,” she managed between sniffs, “was more than I could’ve dreamed. You and Brody spending time together—”
“I enjoy teaching him about the Highlands. I thought it would please you.”
“It does. More than I can say.” She drew a deep breath. “It is such a gift—”
“No, Fiona. You are the gift.”
He took her hand and placed it over his heart. His green eyes held no secrets. “You are wonderful in every respect,” he whispered. “Intelligent, clever, loving, kind. And so beautiful. You have given me hope, not simply for a day, but for our future. That is priceless. I love you.”
Her breath caught and more tears fell. “Oh, Logan.”
He grinned. “I love you so much.”
She cupped his cheek. “I love you, too. More than I can say.”
A teasing glint lit his eyes. “Even though I am a Beast of Blackstone Abbey?”
“You are no beast. You are a hero. And all mine.” She rose on her toes and kissed him, pouring all her love into the moment.
He wrapped her in his warm embrace, and she knew she’d found not only love, but home.
###
Seduction of a Widow
The Marriage Maker
Book Twenty-Three
The Marriage Maker and the Widows
Tarah Scott and Laura Chandler
Chapter One
Something in the way the woman dipped her head and smiled stopped Evan MacLaren in his tracks. The breeze from the ballroom’s open terrace doors caught one dark ringlet and ruffled the lock against her long, elegant neck. From her pure Grecian profile to her lithe, narrow waist to the softly rounded flare of her hips, she embodied perfection.
She turned in her chair to face the turbaned matron she addressed, and her eyes met his. He caught his breath. Clear pools of honey-brown fringed by gold lashes seared his very soul. She was a goddess. He grimaced inwardly at the turn of his thoughts and offered a rakish grin in hopes of hiding his attraction. The touch of a smile on her rose-hued lips betrayed only tolerant amusement in the instant before she returned her attention to the woman at her side.
Thank you, but no.
The swift dismissal heated his blood with challenge.
A low laugh arose from that graceful flower, then she and her matronly companion rose and strolled toward the refreshments table. The rich, olive-green velvet of her skirt swayed with the subtle shift of her hips. He quashed the desire to chase her. She was just another woman, in a chamber filled with luscious beauties.
Evan wound through the crowd to the quiet cardroom, where a man might find a better suited drink than the sweet lemonade served in the ballroom. A sideboard laden with decanters and bottles sat against the left wall. He crossed the room and filled a tumbler with whisky. Glass in hand, Evan wandered past the table of card players. Sir Stirling James looked up from his cards and nodded. Evan nodded back and took the final three paces to the hearth, where sat half a dozen other gentlemen. He leaned one shoulder against the mantle and savored the liquor, waiting for its mellowing effect to take hold.
“She is looking for a new interest, I hear,” Lord Smith said.
The Duke of Holmes’ eyes lit with devilry. “Her interests have always been wide and varied.” The portly gentleman leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against his vest, embroidered in bright jewel tones and gold lace. The style echoed the flamboyance of his youthful days, yet still suited his shoulder length, faded red-gold locks.
Lord Smith nodded. “Aye, her interests have always been adventurous.”
Evan wondered which woman present was the object of their discussion. Did he know her? Was she someone who would make this trip to the country brighter?
“Ah.” Holmes gave an exaggerated sigh. “Were I only twenty years younger…”
The younger man leaned over and slapped the elder’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Your Grace? Afraid you’re not up to the—ride?”
Holmes broke into loud guffaws. “Her first husband wasn’t up to the deed, and died in her bed.”
Had he heard correctly? The lady in question killed her
first husband on their wedding night?
Lord Bumbleberry clapped a hand to his chest. “Oh, to be clasped by those firm, ivory thighs.”
Holmes shook his head. “Now, what would a scapegrace like you know about the lady’s thighs? I said she was adventurous, not lacking in taste.”
Lord Bumbleberry’s reddish brows drew together sharply. “Keep your opinions to yourself, thank you very much.”
The duke slapped the table. “Told you he had no idea of the lady’s secret charms.” His eyes sparkled with a wicked light. “Remember how she raced her phaeton?”
“Such a daring girl.” Lord Parker almost sighed the words.
The duke grinned. “Carr came up from London like a fury. Her papa was helpless to do aught but agree to Carr’s demand that the wedding take place immediately.” He sobered. “She quieted for a time after that. Perhaps, if he had been able to sire a child on her, she would have remained quiet.”
“She’s an excellent horsewoman,” said Lord Parker.
“A reckless hoyden of a horsewoman, if you ask me,” said Lord Smith. “Of course, her thighs would be long and lean from all that wild riding.”
“Wild riding, ho!” Holmes said.
“Tally-ho!” said Lord Parker.
The chamber erupted into raucous laughter and the men lifted their glasses in a toast and drank.
Lord Bumbleberry scowled. “I will win her over.”
“I don’t know about that.” The duke regarded him doubtfully.
“Oh, no?”
“You actually think you can best the competition?” Holmes said.
Lord Bumbleberry slammed his glass down on the table. “No man here can outride me—in bed or out.”
The duke turned to Evan. “What of young Mr. MacLaren?” The older man made a dramatic show of appraising Evan. “He’s certainly a handsome young swain and I think our Lady Hoyden will be most impressed by his horsemanship skills.”
Lord Bumbleberry’s scowl deepened. “I have never been impressed by the horsemanship skills of a common privateer. Much less one without two pence to rub together.”
A sudden fury seized Evan. What in hell’s name could this spoiled, soft bellied nobles know of the sacrifices he had made for his family’s honor?
He studied the amber liquid in his glass for two heartbeats, forced calm, then said, “You may have a point about the horsemanship of privateers, compared to the nobleman who rides in leisure with hounds.” He raised his gaze and held Lord Bumbleberry’s. “But marksmanship skills are another matter, entirely.”
The other man paled.
Evan offered a cold smile. “I would be pleased to make a demonstration at dawn.”
Lord Bumbleberry snapped his spineless form against the polished mahogany chair back, then sought quick refuge in his drink. Quiet settled over the group. The scrape of shifting boots and the clink of decanters against glasses wafted from other parts of the room. Someone began shuffling cards. Gradually, the gentlemen departed. Only the Duke of Holmes remained.
“Well, young Mr. MacLaren, the question remains,” he said.
Evan raised a hard stare to the older man. “What question?”
He bristled, ready to challenge even this powerful duke if he dared insult his situation or family. Yet, he had no idea why his pride was so easily pricked tonight. It was a shameful loss of self-control. He might have a taste for danger and risk, but he was no hot-headed fool.
Holmes stared back warmly, seemingly unaware of any contention. “Are you going to ask the adventurous lady to dance?”
“Who?”
“Lady Carr.”
“I do not know her,” Evan replied.
The duke snorted. “Surely you could not have missed that lithesome beauty gowned in green velvet? The one with the deep brown hair and the—” He made quick motions with his hands, approximating a woman’s lush form.
Ah, so it was the female who had given him the polite—but firm—rebuff. She was the lady whose husband had died in an effort to claim his husbandly rights? Like simmering rum on a cold Atlantic morn, his blood began to warm.
“I see you know her.” Holmes chuckled, then rose.
Holmes canted his head, then strolled away. Evan watched his retreat. This gathering had become too stale to bear. A spoiled, wealthy hellion, and the gentlemen who so lacked zest in their luxurious lives that they found her a novelty. Evan tossed back the last of his whisky, set the glass on the mantle and started toward the door.
“She’s not really the wild adventuress that they have painted her.”
Evan stopped and turned. Sir Stirling James stood near the chair Holmes had vacated, his dark eyes alive with excitement. Or was it expectation? It rankled Evan’s growing sense of impending…what? Trap?
Evan kept his expression impassive. “Pardon me?”
Sir Stirling smiled with warmth. “Lady Carr is not some silly minded, wild girl. She is a sophisticated woman who lives life to the fullest. Though she still retains a sort of naivety…no, it is more a freshness.” Sadness flickered in his expressive eyes. “It is unfair that some malign her.”
In this, Evan agreed. His earlier disgust for those gentlemen returned—parlor tigers—who lacked backbone. They bolstered their flagging manhood by making a conquest of a woman they neither understood, nor fully appreciated.
“Would you care to meet the lady?” Sir Stirling asked.
The man’s expression was pleasant. The sense of a trap returned. Nevertheless, Evan found himself following Sir Stirling James back to the ballroom.
Chapter Two
Leslie sighed and shifted in her seat. “The party has grown dull.”
Alice Langley, her friend of fifteen years, gave a low laugh. “I imagine that means you haven’t found a suitable gentleman with whom to while away the night.”
Leslie cast Alice a sideways look. With not a single gray hair on her fair head, Alice was still magnificent at the mature age of forty-five. “You know full well I don’t live up to that ridiculous reputation,” Leslie said.
“I also know you often come closer than you let on.”
“Not so,” Leslie said with a laugh, though she knew it was true.
“I would say your evening is about to get much more interesting,” Alice said.
“What—” Leslie began, then caught sight of the two men who sidestepped a group of ladies. Sir Stirling James and—
Piercing blue eyes met hers. Her heart pounded as it had upon seeing him earlier. What thick, dark brows he had. They lent his elegant, handsome face a fierceness that made her breath quicken. But it wasn’t simply the dark brows that saved him from appearing too boyish, too pretty. His eyes bore a worldly shrewdness. What could have caused that look in such a young man?
Leslie lowered her eyelids a fraction. Those eyes were too intense…too knowing. She cast a furtive glance at his well-cut, dark blue suit. Not an inch of softness in that tall, powerfully muscled body. His carriage was that of a warrior, confident and comfortable in his masculine power. Had he learned that deportment in military service?
“Who is he?” she whispered to Alice.
“Everyone knows Sir Stirling.”
Leslie scowled. “You know full well I’m not speaking of Sir Stirling.”
“Ah,” Alice intoned, all innocence, but Leslie knew her friend too well to be fooled. “That is Evan MacLaren,” Alice said.
Leslie stopped herself just in time from yanking her gaze onto the man. “Not that young privateer who captured the Zeus three months ago?”
“One and the same,” Alice replied.
“That was an eighty-gun ship,” Leslie said.
“I heard he lost not a single man on his ship,” Alice said.
Leslie gave a slow nod. “Perhaps not. But the French have a bounty on his head. He’s caused them no end of annoyance.”
“I think he’s about to cause you no end of annoyance.” Alice broke off and Leslie looked up as the two men halted before them.
<
br /> “Ladies.” Sir Stirling bowed. “May I introduce Mr. Evan MacLaren. Evan, this is Lady Hilton.”
Mr. MacLaren grasped the hand Alice extended toward him and bowed. “My lady.”
Alice’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. MacLaren.”
Sir Stirling turned to Leslie and smiled. Leslie kept a neutral expression. The man was a charmer. It was a shame he was married. She felt certain he would be a great deal of fun.
“Lady Carr, may I introduce Mr. Evan MacLaren.” Sir Stirling sidestepped.
Mr. MacLaren turned to Leslie. She extended her hand. He grasped her gloved fingers. His warmth penetrated the fabric and a frisson of awareness raced up her arm. Those intense eyes locked with hers as he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against her fingers. An all-too-familiar tingle radiated through her stomach. This young man was another charmer, and probably quite dangerous. But it would take a dangerous man to be a sailor these days—particularly a British privateer in Napoleon’s war.
Desire to learn more about Evan MacLaren flared to life. Leslie started. Such a compelling need was dangerous, for this younger son of a viscount was not wealthy. A handsome youth with no title and no money—the Zeus was a war ship filled with soldiers, not treasure, which meant Mr. MacLaren received a paltry sum from His Majesty in thanks for risking his life. He had no prospects besides improving his lot through marriage.
He released her hand and she was startled to realized she missed his warmth. Nae. She didn’t need complications. She enjoyed affairs with peers. Gentlemen who enjoyed their freedom as much as they enjoyed pleasure and luxury. The memory of a Season spent fending off ardent, false avowals of love, and promises of matrimonial bliss, made her tired. Even as a virgin, she hadn’t relished hurting a man. She would say her goodnights, go straight to her bedchambers and, in the morning, she would leave this party.
Those blue eyes still stared.
She opened her mouth to make her excuses.
“A waltz.” Sir Stirling’s remark caught her off guard.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 41
