To Tempt a Scotsman

by Victoria Dahl

  "No grudge," Collin conceded. "What I implied was in­excusable."

  George's smile was sympathetic if a little weak. "These two are too quick for the male mind to follow, but really, you waltzed into that one."

  Collin tipped his head in agreement, gave a helpless shrug. "Well, Cousin, whether you are a witch or a harlot, I would hear the story."

  "I am the witch, or was. But there is no harlot here, and I will hear no more talk of it." Alexandra rolled her eyes and grinned. "When George and I married, Alex was only eight—"

  "Nine!" she called.

  "Pardon me. Lady Alexandra Huntington was a mature young woman of nine."

  She chuckled, the sound brushing Collin's spine. "She had a rather fierce crush on George—"

  "My grown cousin!"

  "—and she found it difficult to like me. In fact, I believe to this very day that she plotted my murder."

  "Not true. I only wanted to run you off."

  "Well, thankfully I'd said my vows just before I met her, or I may very well have abandoned him." Lucy flashed her husband a tender smile that belied her words.

  "So what did you do, Lady Alexandra?" Collin asked. Her naughty smile made him want to groan.

  "I only played a prank. Lucy didn't find it amusing."

  "She put a mouse in my bridal bed!"

  Alexandra and George collapsed into laughter.

  "You should have seen her, Collin," George gasped. "So delightfully shy and pink, then shrieking about the room without a stitch, all modesty out the window!"

  "George!" But his wife laughed too, and Collin couldn't help but chuckle.

  "That must have been a sight for a new bridegroom."

  "Oh, it was. I was so enthused that she accused me of planting the rodent myself. I will say I wasn't quite as upset with Alex as I should have been."

  "We didn't know who'd done it, of course, or even if it'd been happenstance . . . until our farewell breakfast the next morning. In walks little Alex, looking quite pleased with her­self, until she spots me and howls, 'Why are you still here?'"

  "Oh, I'd convinced myself she'd hie back to wherever she'd come from, and I'd have George all to my own again."

  "Well, I knew immediately it was her, and I dragged her by her ear out to the garden to give her a stern talking to. The girl never even blinked. She had no fear."

  Collin wasn't surprised. She'd likely never been denied a thing in her life. "So you told her you were a witch?"

  "I did." Lucy still looked smug, ten years later. "I was only seventeen, you know. But you'll remember my family, Collin. Children crawling from every nook and cranny. I knew I had to put a fear in her. So I told her I'd already roasted the mouse and cut off its tail and ears. Told her all I had to do was mash them up with a little blood of a bat and slip that into her porridge . . . She'd turn into a mouse before the next full moon."

  "And what did you say, Lady Alexandra?"

  She turned pink when his eyes locked with hers. "I told Lucy to eat horse dung and ran to find my nurse." Her smile went naughty again, tightening the muscles of his stomach. "Then I decided that George was not my true love after all."

  "I made an impression on her. She didn't come near me for two years."

  George reached out to pat Alexandra's hand with a proud smile. "Not the most trouble you've ever caused, but—" As soon as the words left his mouth, his face paled. "I meant. . ."

  "Come now, George," Alex murmured. "None of that. Not among friends." She raised her glass of wine. "A toast. To memories of old times!"

  Lucy laughed and drank with her. "She says that so con­vincingly for a girl no more than nineteen."

  "To memories," George added, slanting a sly grin at his wife.

  Collin raised his glass and smiled at Alexandra's hearty, "Here, here!" Her eyes sparkled with laughter and her cheeks were flushed from the wine. She glowed.

  She glanced his way and he watched her eyes dart away from his stare. But only a heartbeat passed before they slid back to him. Her mouth smiled a softer smile. He drank in the sight of her pink cheeks and pinker lips. He watched her gaze fall to his mouth and felt his blood rush low in response. Not good. Not good at all.

  George cleared his throat, jerking Collin's eyes away from her lovely face to meet the speculative look. Collin shifted, coughed, tried not to feel guilty.

  "When are you returning home, Collin?" Lucy asked with a lightness he didn't trust.

  Unsure of the answer, he shrugged. "Within a few weeks. I still have some business here in England."

  A movement drew his eye back to Alexandra, and he found her stiff now, the smile fading from her face. "What kind of business?"

  "Oh, various things. As manager of Somerhart, you must understand how tedious these matters can be."

  She watched him carefully for a moment, then seemed to blink away her suspicions. "Yes, but I don't find the work tedious at all. I find it invigorating."

  He couldn't help a disgusted grunt. "I would rather work the horses."

  "Well, we all have our passions, I suppose."

  His eyes locked with hers, seemed to draw the color back to her cheeks. "Aye," he agreed finally, and wondered why she was becoming one of his.

  Alex stepped into the dim morning light of the court­yard, announcing her arrival with a wistful sigh. She'd hung about in the breakfast room for almost an hour, straightening at every sound that filtered in from the hall. She'd even trailed about the library for a while, hoping to run into Collin Blackburn.

  The man had disappeared early last night, staying no more than half an hour in the drawing room before mur­muring his goodnights. He hadn't appeared since.

  Lucy claimed not to know where he'd hidden himself and had found her own words oddly amusing. Alexandra decided on a tour of the horse yard. At worst she'd walk off some tension. At best, she'd run into him.

  Hurrying toward the stables, she chastised herself for this sudden tendre she'd developed. She hardly knew the man. And what he knew of her, he didn't like.

  The hazy light of the stable enfolded her as she stepped through the door, an apple held idly against her skirt. The golden dance of dust motes caught her eye first, then a slow movement in the closest stall. . .

  Alex's muscles locked, her heart stopped beating, her mind creaked to a shuddering halt. Here he was. Collin Blackburn. Right under her nose and wearing nothing more than breeches and boots.

  She devoured the sight of his naked back as he groomed a pitch-black horse. Muscles tightened and bunched and stretched as he brushed. Drops of sweat gathered like liquid crystals at his neck, then dripped in a warm slide down his spine, tracking a path to the waist of his tight gray breeches. She watched each drop dissolve into damp fabric.

  Surely she'd never seen anything so lovely in her life. Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands and her lips went so dry she had to lick them. Oh, she'd seen men remove their shirts before, laborers and noblemen alike, but nothing had ever moved her like this. Nothing had set her nerves to a hum.

  Blackburn crouched down and ran a careful hand over the stallion's hind leg, checking for soreness. Alex thought of his hands running over her like that, and a frightening jolt of heat swept through her belly. Oh, God. Would that he'd check her for tender spots. He'd find them.

  She must have made some small sound, must have sighed, because he was suddenly on his feet and spinning around to face her.

  "Christ!" he barked, turning to jerk his shirt up from a stool and wrestle his arms into it. He stared at her as he buttoned it, eyes narrowing as the seconds passed.

  She couldn't speak, could only watch in sorrow as the muscles of his chest disappeared beneath white linen.

  "What do you want?"

  She blinked and met his eyes again, flushing with the thought of just what she wanted. "I. . . I want. . ."

  Collin growled a low curse and grabbed his coat.

  "I—" Her brain clanked back to working order as his body disappeared benea
th too many layers of cloth. "Brinn! I brought an apple for my mare."

  He did not say a word, only put his tools away and shut the stall door before edging carefully past her toward the yard. "I must send a letter to my manager."

  "Such an urgent one?"

  "Aye," he threw over his shoulder.

  "I thought we had reached a truce." Her words slowed him to a halt, until he stood silent in the bright square of the door. "Mr. Blackburn?"

  He turned, reluctance punctuating the movement. "For­give me, Lady—"

  "Call me Alexandra. We are very nearly cousins."

  He slanted a look at the door. "Very well. Alexandra. It is nothing to do with you. I've just remembered some-thing important."

  "Your dislike of me?"

  "Of course not."

  She stared at him, trying to read his shuttered face. He did not blink under her gaze, but his jaw softened and ceased to tic.

  "It's not that I dislike you." The hard glint left his eyes and the silver began to warm to gray. "You are a very inter­esting woman." And with that, he spun on his heel and left.

  Alex huffed her outrage, growling out a foul name as the stable door swung shut and plunged her into twilight. But there was no true anger behind the curse. Indeed, the word sounded a great deal like a sigh, even to her own jaded ears.

  A sigh, because Collin Blackburn liked her.

  He could be as rude as he wanted, but she wasn't some silly young girl who didn't know when a man wanted her. He had come close to kissing her in her bedroom yesterday. She had wanted him to, had been surprisingly desperate for it, but he'd fled the room instead.

  That moment had passed so quickly she'd begun to think it imagined. But just now . . . Oh, he'd been disturbed all right. Almost as disturbed as she. She wanted Collin Blackburn, and he wanted her.

  It wasn't that she thought it would be right to take a lover. No, it would certainly not be right. It would just be . . . lovely. A momentary joy. She'd lost so many friends that night in London, so many connections. And though she was satisfied, even happy with her life as it was now, she also felt very alone. And the great advantage of her fall from grace was that she could not fall again. She was free to take what risks she would, and Collin was undoubtedly a risk worth taking.

  Interesting, he'd called her, as if she were a new animal. "Ha!" Alexandra huffed. Interesting indeed. He would find out just how interesting she could be. And how much trou­ble. They hadn't named her The Errant Heiress for nothing.

  Chapter 4

  Collin adjusted the girth of Thor's saddle and patted the stallion's shoulder. He tried to quiet his mind to match the silence of the dawning day, the peace of the deserted stable. Only the soft shift and snort of horses disturbed the morning.

  He'd slept badly last night and woke before dawn, rest­less and edgy with a need he refused to acknowledge. Even as he pushed the thought of that woman from his mind, Thor's ears pricked, warning of an intruder.

  "Collin!"

  A heartfelt curse lurched to the tip of his tongue. He froze to gather his self-control, bit back the curse, and turned to look at her. "Lady Alexandra."

  "Just Alexandra, please. May I join you for a ride this morning?"

  He tried to wither her with his glare, but her pretty face smiled back, undaunted. "I'm not out for a leisurely ride. Thor needs a good run today."

  "Wonderful."

  "You'll have to keep up."

  Her eyes glinted, but she nodded and smiled.

  Collin wracked his mind for a better excuse to leave her behind, but a drowsy stable boy hurried in, no doubt awak­ened by their voices, and led Alexandra's mare from her stall.

  He really couldn't avoid riding with her without being un­conscionably rude. He didn't want to hurt her, he just wanted to avoid the temptation of being around her. Still, she would leave the next day—he'd announced as much at dinner with a sly look in his direction. Surely he was mature enough to spend one day with her without succumbing to his lust.

  He led Thor out and mounted, then made sure to look impatient as he waited. She ignored his show, chatting with the now-lively stable hand and sending Collin only the occasional glance.

  She looked like a dream in the early morning light. Fresh and lovely and impossibly young. Her dark, unruly hair had been tamed into a shiny black braid that fell nearly to her waist. Still, nothing could keep the curls com­pletely under control. Several strands had already escaped to float against her cheeks, teasing the dimples that were nearly always in evidence.

  She wore a royal blue riding habit that mirrored the color of her eyes. Her tiny hat seemed constructed only of net and ribbon; it reminded him of the freckles on her nose and how different she was from other women, never wor­rying over keeping her skin fair and perfect. Perhaps she was too rich to worry over white skin.

  The boy led her horse to the block and she mounted her mare as she did everything—with grace and ease. The way she moved through the world pulled at him and he couldn't keep his eyes from watching her.

  She would leave tomorrow, he reminded himself, and the gods be praised.

  "Ready?" he grumbled.

  In answer, she urged her horse out of the yard at a trot. Collin smiled at the beauty of the mare's gait and followed.

  He rode behind her for a long while but found it tortur­ous to watch her small body move so fluidly in the saddle. Worse, she kept turning to flash him a delighted smile that caught at his breath. So when they came to a wide, grassy meadow, he urged Thor to his full speed and quickly passed her by.

  He stayed just ahead of her and they rode for miles in si­lence. They cut over to the coast and followed it, some­times at a run and sometimes at a more gentle pace, until the sun shone bright and hot above them. The sea wind whipped salt air over their skin until he could taste it on his lips, and the water glinted blue and white as far as he could see. When Thor slowed to a walk, Alexandra pulled Brinn next to him.

  Collin looked unwillingly in her direction. "There's a copse of trees just ahead. Would you like to stop? Have a drink?"

  Her eyes beamed as she nodded, the bright blue soaking in the sparkle of the water's shine.

  Thor snorted and nudged the mare roughly. "I'll need to tether him a good distance away. I think he's gotten her scent."

  She looked at Thor and then up at him. "Yes, I think he has," she said simply, but heat crept into his face and Collin was relieved when she pulled away to ride toward the small grove of trees. Collin led Thor a good thirty yards away before he walked back to join her.

  "Water?" He held out the skin and looked over the sea as she drank her fill. "You're a fine rider," he finally said, uncomfortable with the silence.

  "Thank you." She smiled and gave no hint of false mod­esty. He looked back to the glinting waves.

  "Collin." She touched his arm.

  He cringed at the soft sound of his name on her lips and took the water from her. But as he reached for it, their fin­gers brushed and his eyes traveled inexorably to her mouth. A tiny drop of moisture clung to her bottom lip and he had the overwhelming urge to lean down and brush it away with a kiss. A moment passed, then two. The flick of her pink tongue licked the drop away and set fire to Collin's blood.

  With a muttered curse and a few sharp, silent words for himself, he tipped the skin up to his mouth, praying the cold, sweet water would tamp the heat in his body. He swallowed and swallowed, desperate to ignore her. But she refused to be ignored, damn her, and her warm fingers were suddenly on him, stroking down his neck.

  He jerked from the caress, choking, and bent over at the waist to cough, strangling on shock and water. She started to slap his back, but he stood and stepped away from her as soon as her palm hit his body.

  "What are you doing?" he gasped.

  "Trying to help."

  "No, not that! The other. . ."

  She shrugged and sent him the first shy smile he'd seen cross her lips.

  "I couldn't help it."

 
"Couldn't help what?"

  "Touching you."

  He drew back from her, took another panicked step away and held up a hand to ward her off, but he only re­ceived a fierce frown in return.

  "You needn't look so horrified."

  "Lady Alexandra," he started, cringing at the desperate edge of his voice.

  "I was under the impression that my interest was returned."

  "My God, girl, you're the sister of a duke!"

  "Well, what does that have to do with anything?"

  He stared at her open-mouthed, incredulous. "I am a Scotsman, a bastard."

  "Well, I'm a fallen woman—a whore as far as society is concerned." She shrugged. "The idea is only enhanced by my brother's title."

  Unable to think of anything to say to that, he threw his hands in the air, rolling his eyes in disgust.

  Her eyes narrowed at him, seemed to threaten some­thing as she took a purposeful step forward. His body tensed to jump away, but he forced himself to be still. She was just a wee girl, after all.

  "Collin?" How did she make his name into a caress? She took another step. "I thought. . ." Her hand lifted and inched toward him. He wanted to shy like a wild, wary horse as he followed its inexorable progress toward his neck. "I've seen you watching me," she finally said as her fingers brushed his skin.

  He felt his eyes close, felt a groan rumble up his throat and into her hand.

  "I thought you wanted me, too," she whispered, the words soft with something close to doubt.

  Don't answer her, he told himself. Just walk away. But his lips moved of their own accord. "My God, Alexandra. Don't all men want you?"

  "No, of course not. No. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter to me. But you . . . You're so lovely."

  His eyes flew open and locked with hers. "That's ridicu­lous," he rasped, but he was reaching for her as he spoke. His hand curled around her nape, the heat of her skin seep­ing into his palm. He watched her pale neck arch into his grip before his gaze slid to her lips.

  "This is a mistake." The words fell from his mouth even as he lowered it to hers.

  She sighed, a sweet brush of warmth against his mouth, and then a searing whip of fire when she touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip. She shuddered—or he did—and he opened his lips to possess her.