by Lydia Dare
Being the youngest was difficult. For Ben, it meant he was never fully alone. His two older siblings constantly watched everything he did. Simon, the Duke of Blackmoor, did so in a fatherly fashion. A very strict father, who lived by a certain moral code. And Will, the middle brother, had stood back and watched Ben make a fool of himself on more than one occasion. Then he swooped out of nowhere, laughed like he’d done when they’d both been in short pants, and dusted him off. Then he stood back and let him do it all over again.
This time Ben was bound and determined to solve his little problem himself. It really wasn’t a little problem, though. Not being able to change with the fullness of the moon was a huge problem for someone like him. It threw his whole life out of kilter.
And that was exactly how he felt when he stopped at the home of his oldest and dearest friend, Alec. Out of kilter. The coach pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, and Ben took a deep breath before he reached for the handle. He could do this. He could be his normal happy-go-lucky self, find the fabled witch who could heal him, and go home. Or he would do the opposite and prove the witch didn’t exist. Either way, he’d had an opportunity to escape London in the wake of his recent scandal. And that alone was worth the trip.
Ben stretched his legs when he stepped out of the coach; they had never made those things big enough for men like him. The butler met him at the door, took his hat, and left him waiting in the parlor while he went to find Alec. Ben heard the stomp of booted feet as someone moved at a hurried pace down the corridor. At least Ben hadn’t lost his keen sense of hearing when he’d lost his beastliness.
Ben was surprised to see that Alec was dressed in his best evening clothes. In fact, his friend wore a devil-may-care grin that made him look like quite a rake. It was a reputation well earned, much of which they’d cultivated together.
“Benjamin Westfield, is that you?” Alec said as he turned the corner. “I thought your letter said you’d be a few more days, my friend.” He held out a hand to Ben.
“So you did receive my note?” Ben asked, extending his hand to shake. “I’m quite glad. I was afraid it wouldn’t reach you and I would arrive without warning.”
“I believe I did that to you last time I visited London, so that would have been just fine as well. Come, come,” he said, motioning toward his study. “I have a bottle of whisky you can help me sample.”
“You know, you didn’t have to get quite so dressed up for my arrival,” Ben joked as he accepted a glass of amber liquid and settled into a comfortable chair.
“I wish I could say this was for you.” Alec smiled. “Alas, this is for a lady.”
“Just as I thought. You’ve planned a night of debauchery and drinking, I assume.” He crossed one foot over his knee.
Alec colored slightly. “Actually, no. I have planned a night of dancing, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get a walk in the garden while I hold the girl’s hand.”
“That kind of a girl, is she?” Ben was shocked. His friend had never looked quite so discomfited to discuss a member of the opposite sex.
“That kind, aye,” Alec admitted. “The kind I’m not quite sure what to do with.”
“I feel sure that you’ll come up with something. Where are you going?”
“The Fergusons are hosting a ball.” He pulled his pocket watch from his breast pocket by the chain and flipped it open. “I have an hour yet before I’m to arrive at Miss Macleod’s.”
Ben grimaced. “Please tell me you’re not a man besotted. I don’t know what I would do with myself if my best friend shackled himself with a wife.” He shivered dramatically.
“Not besotted. Just a bit intrigued. She wants nothing to do with me.” Alec frowned into his whisky glass.
“Oh,” Ben laughed loudly. So loudly and so long that he clutched his stomach. “A woman who won’t give you the time of day. What a novelty!”
“It has never happened to me before, I must admit. But I do so love a challenge. Speaking of which, you should come along. The Fergusons won’t mind if I bring one more, especially the brother of a duke. In fact, I am to escort a friend of Miss Macleod’s as well. You can ride along and accompany her.”
“When did two women become too much for you, Alec?”
The man looked shocked. “Never. I just didn’t want you to feel all alone.” Alec frowned. “There’s a bit of scandal attached to Miss Macleod’s friend, however. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”
“What kind of scandal?” Ben was suddenly intrigued.
“A circumstance of her birth, unfortunately,” Alec sighed. “She is a bit illegitimate.”
“One can’t be a bit illegitimate, my friend. She either is or she isn’t.”
“Well, then she is. But she’s a splendid woman. Fiery red hair. Beautiful eyes.”
“All the women in these parts have red hair, don’t they?” Ben threw back the last of his whisky.
“It’s not quite fair to lump all Scottish women into one basket, Westfield. Miss Campbell is a very nice woman,” Alec admitted.
“Campbell, did you say?” Ben instantly sat forward.
“Aye. Miss Elspeth Campbell.”
How many people in Edinburgh wore the surname of Campbell? Probably hundreds. Surely this one couldn’t be related to the old witch he sought. That would seem much too easy. And nothing had ever been easy for Ben Westfield before. Why should it start now?
“I’m wearing a fortnight’s worth of trail dust, but if you can lead me to a bath, I assume I could make myself presentable.”
“I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer you to wear, so I hope you have appropriate clothing. You’re much too big to wear anything of mine.”
“I think I brought something that will fit the occasion.”
“Just don’t outdress me, old friend,” Alec smiled. “I plan to turn Miss Macleod’s head in my direction.”
Ben could honestly say that for once he was much more interested in meeting his own companion than trying to steal one out from under his old friend.
“I do so hate to be a tagalong,” Elspeth grumbled as she bustled about the busy bedroom. She turned to allow the maid to tie the laces of her gown.
“Ye canna be called a tagalong,” Caitrin said. “I need ye. Ye have ta attend the ball, even if I have ta drag ye, kickin’ and screamin’.”
“Doona tempt me,” Elspeth retorted as she settled into a chair and allowed the maid to brush through her long hair. She remarked to the woman, “No matter how ye pin it, it’ll all be down around my shoulders within minutes. It seems ta have a life of its own.”
The maid turned to pick up hairpins from the table.
“Oh, no.” Elspeth stopped her and passed her the two combs that belonged to her mother. “I willna go without these.”
“Then that’s probably why yer hair is always so out of control,” Caitrin replied absently. “Allow Jeannie ta do it up properly, will ye?”
“Certainly I will. With these combs,” she said as she pressed them into the maid’s outstretched hands. Elspeth smiled at Caitrin, who scowled from across the room. “Nothin’ about me has ever been proper. I doona ken why I would start with my hair.”
“I think yer definition of ‘proper’ is quite skewed. Ye’re proper enough for us.”
Elspeth knew she meant the other members of the coven. But they had no choice but to accept her. They didn’t have the privilege of choosing the members. They were born into it. Elspeth had inherited her gift of healing from her mother. Just as Caitrin had inherited her visions of the future from her mother.
“Aye, I ken, ye love me,” Elspeth grumbled. “Ye really just want ta keep me between ye and Alec MacQuarrie.”
Caitrin laughed. “I need to use ye like a windbreak, in case of an emergency.”
“Happy ta be of service.”
Once the maid had Elspeth’s hair pinned atop her head, she stood and shook her gown. “I’m afraid I willna have time ta hem my gown before we leave. It’s a bit long.”
“I told ye that ye could wear somethin’ of mine. But ye refused.”
“I think my gown is passable.”
“All in the village ken ye’ve a gift with a needle, Elspeth. Yer gown will be one of the best at the ball, even if it is a bit long.”
“I’ll just have ta work ta keep from steppin’ on it.”
“Ye’ll do just fine,” Caitrin remarked absently as she nodded to the maid, who announced, “The gentlemen have arrived.”
Caitrin and Elspeth glanced at each other. “Gentlemen?” they both asked at once.
Caitrin colored slightly. “I did ask Mr. MacQuarrie ta see if he could find an escort for ye.” When Elspeth opened her mouth to complain, Cait replied quickly with, “Ye can forgive me later.”
Then she walked past Elspeth and out the door, leaving El no choice but to follow in her wake.
The two women stopped side by side at the top of the grand staircase, which led to the foyer. They stopped and looked down at the men who stood talking casually at the bottom of the stairs, completely unaware of their presence.
“Oh, my,” Caitrin breathed. “He’s quite somethin’, isna he?”
“Somethin’?” Elspeth whispered back. “He’s beautiful.” And much more. She gaped at the stranger with Mr. MacQuarrie. She’d never seen a man quite so tall. His evening jacket fit snuggly against the wide expanse of his shoulders. Light brown hair, a bit too long, touched the top of his collar. But it was the intensity of his eyes that caught her attention, a light color she couldn’t quite make out from the distance.
Then she took a tentative step. Yet she was so enthralled by the man standing at the bottom of the staircase she forgot to lift the edge of her gown. Her foot caught in the material and she stumbled. She was able to do no more than flail her arms in the air and close her eyes tightly before she braced herself for the blow.
But no sooner did she stumble than she felt strong arms catch her in the air. She came to an immediate stop, safely and well caught within the grasp of the handsome stranger. How had he moved so fast?
Elspeth opened her eyes slowly and met the smile of the man who now clutched her so close. One hand was wrapped around her waist and the other pressed against her bottom. She gasped, far more discomfited by that hand than she had been by the fall in the first place.
The man spoke, a laugh coating his words. “‘Beautiful,’ you say?” he asked quietly.
Four
OF COURSE HE’D HEARD HER. HE HAD HEARD THE footsteps down the corridor and smelled the beautiful scent of her long before she graced the top of the stairs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that another woman stood near. But he couldn’t draw his eyes from the flame-haired beauty long enough to take the other in.
Then she nearly threw herself into his arms, right after she called him beautiful. It was times like this that he loved his beastliness. His heightened sense of smell and hearing had served him well in the past. And they served him well now. Well enough that he had a fiery redhead tucked in his arms, and he’d only just arrived in Edinburgh. And she thought he was beautiful.
“I-I,” she stuttered. “Ye can let me go, sir.”
The melodic lilt of her voice made Ben’s mouth go dry. But she was gazing at him with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, and he somehow found the strength to gently put her down. “Are you all right, miss?”
She blinked at him. “Ye’re Sassenach?”
The derogatory term for English slipped easily from her lips. Oh, the Scots would never admit the word was derogatory, but it was the way they said it that gave them away. Ben grinned at her. Being English was the least of his sins. “My family has land in Dumfriesshire, if that makes the circumstances of my nationality more palatable for you.”
Miss Campbell’s cheeks flamed at his words and she looked away. It was always too easy to make a redhead blush. Alec stepped forward, concern etched across his brow. “Miss Campbell, are you all right?”
She nodded, but refused to look back at Ben. “I’m dreadfully clumsy, Mr. MacQuarrie. Perhaps I should stay here this evenin’.”
Her friend, a slight blonde, gasped at the pronouncement. “Sorcha Ferguson would never forgive ye if ye missed her ball.”
“Think nothing of it,” Alec replied smoothly. “We all make a misstep one time or another. Miss Macleod, Miss Campbell, may I present my dear friend Lord Benjamin Westfield.”
“Lord Benjamin.” Miss Macleod curtsied. “It’s so nice ta make yer acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ben replied, though he kept his eyes focused on the flame-haired lass in front of him. “Shall we, Miss Campbell?” He offered her his arm.
Her green eyes flickered up to him as she nodded and placed her gloved hand on his forearm. Even through his sleeve her touch was cold, and Ben fought the urge to cover her hand with his to warm her up.
To warm her up. He nearly laughed at himself. He wanted to do a lot more than warm her up. Perhaps whatever was wrong with him had righted itself. He hadn’t felt such pull, such lust, since the jaunt to Brighton, before he was broken.
Miss Campbell cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Lord Benjamin, aren’t we ta follow Mr. MacQuarrie?”
Ben pulled himself from the spell of her eyes and noticed that his friend was halfway out the door with Miss Macleod at his side. “Yes, of course.”
She looked away from him, tugging at her dress to pull the hem from the floor as they started for the doorway.
And that’s when he saw it.
In her mass of red hair sat a pewter wolf disguised as a hair comb. He nearly stumbled. It was an unusual piece. Most women didn’t wear wolf adornments, not unless her lover was a Lycan.
A wave of something akin to jealousy washed over him. Some other wolf had claimed her. Some other wolf that was capable of claiming had done so. He stopped in his tracks, unable to move.
Miss Campbell turned, confusion on her lovely face. “Lord Benjamin?”
He heard her words, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her bare neck and shoulders. His gaze raked one side then the other. He didn’t see any evidence that she’d been claimed. She had perfect alabaster skin without a blemish of any kind. Not even a freckle marred her skin. Had she been claimed, he would see evidence of it. He knew what to look for. There was nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sir,” she pressed, “are ye all right?”
Ben nodded, forcing what he knew was a charming smile to his face. “My apologies, Miss Campbell. It was a long journey to Edinburgh, and I’m apparently more tired than I thought.”
Compassion settled on her face. “Perhaps ye should rest, sir. I’m certain my friend will understand if I miss her ball.”
“Elspeth Campbell!” Miss Macleod called over her shoulder. “Ye ken as well as I that Sorcha Ferguson would be put out for at least a fortnight. Stop tryin’ ta wriggle out of attendin’.”
A mischievous smile lit Elspeth’s face and she shrugged. “Well,” she whispered conspiratorially, “it was worth a try.”
A laugh escaped Ben’s throat. “Miss Campbell, I do believe you need close watching.”
She pretended to pout as he led her out the front door. “That’s a fine thing ta say ta me. I was only concerned for yer well-bein’, my lord.”
“I’m concerned enough for both of us, lass.”
He helped her climb inside MacQuarrie’s coach, and his eyes dropped to her perfect little bottom, which he’d already had the pleasure of squeezing. The men in Scotland were fools if they let a little thing like the circumstance of her birth keep them from her.
Ben settled himself next to Miss Campbell on the bench before a prune-faced Macleod maid squeezed herself inside the coach as well. Ah, a chaperone. Apparently Alec’s reputation must have followed him north.
Elspeth’s eyes adjusted to the darkened coach quickly. She tried to steady her breathing, which was a difficult thing to do considering Lord Benjamin had pressed his leg against hers
and rested his arm on the seat behind her head.
Mo chreach! He was like no one she’d ever encountered before. She would certainly have weathered Sorcha’s ill temper for missing her ball if she could have kept herself from the handsome Sassenach at her side. There was something dangerous about him simmering beneath his surface. She could feel it. She felt the danger as clearly as she did the heat that radiated from him.
Caitrin managed to find idle things to chit-chat about until they reached the Fergusons, though Elspeth couldn’t quite follow the conversation. She could do nothing but stare out the darkened window and wish the evening were already over.
She felt his scorching gaze on her. How she managed to keep from shivering she had no idea, but continuing an acquaintance with the man was to be avoided.
When the coach finally rumbled to a stop, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would find Sorcha as soon as she stepped inside the Fergusons’ sprawling home, and then she’d make her excuses and return home to her grandfather. Caitrin had MacQuarrie well under control, so she wasn’t truly needed. Besides, she abhorred societal functions. She was only marginally accepted at these sorts of events, and only because the Macleods and Fergusons were loyal to her.
Lord Benjamin climbed out of the coach then turned and offered his hand. She accepted his assistance and tried not to stare into the light hazel depths of his eyes. Dangerous. He was definitely dangerous.
“I do hope you’ll save me a dance, Miss Campbell,” his gravelly voice rumbled in her ear as they followed Caitrin and MacQuarrie toward the Fergusons’ ballroom.
Elspeth forced a smile to her lips. “I never dance, my lord.”
“Never?” he echoed, a wolfish grin on his face. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
No one had ever asked her, though she’d rather not divulge that sort of information. “I’m terribly clumsy,” she said instead. “Perhaps ye noticed.”
He laughed. “I do believe I’ll take my chances.”
A squeal erupted once they entered the ballroom adorned in heather and white roses. Elspeth was glad for the interruption. She knew that squeal, and the faster she wished Sorcha a happy birthday, the faster she could leave this event altogether. She dropped Lord Benjamin’s arm, spun on her heels, and smiled at the Còig’s youngest witch.
