To Tempt a Scotsman

by Victoria Dahl

  "He is headed this way with a rather ferocious scowl. Shall I intercept him?"

  "No," Alex whispered, shutting her eyes against the sus­pense. "No, let him come."

  Jeannie chuckled and Alexandra opened her eyes to watch the girl wave cheerfully. She had no choice but to turn, not if she wanted to seem unaware. So she turned and saw him, standing not a dozen feet away, and found that she did not have to feign her reaction. Her breath left her in a rush past numb lips, and she stared at Collin Blackburn.

  She'd never seen him like this, dressed impeccably, his cravat a snowy sculpture at his dark throat, his black coat a sharp outline of the strength of his shoulders. And his hair was so short, just cut, like a sweet young boy dressed for a portrait. How could he look so intimidating and so touchable at the same time?

  His eyes pierced her, nearly black in that fierce face, and so full of questions that she almost abandoned her plan of coyness. But she was better than that.

  Alex made her mouth smile, made her hands relax and uncurl, and took a step toward him. "Lord Westmore. What an unexpected pleasure." And the hunt was on.

  Chapter 8

  Here she was. This little slip of a thing who'd made him so miserable. Here she was. Now what the hell to do with her?

  She drew closer, a vision of black hair and cream skin, close enough that Collin could just make out those freck­les on her nose. Two more steps and she would be so close he could lean down and kiss them. She stopped at one.

  "Lord Westmore," Jeannie Kirkland said from her side. "I see you've already met my friend."

  Collin shot her a quick glare, this girl he'd known his whole life. "Your friend."

  She flushed a little, pointed chin inching up. "My new friend. She's very nice."

  "Yes. She is." He let his eyes swing back to Alexandra, their natural resting place when she was near. "Lady Alexan­dra, whatever are you doing here?" Her rosy lips parted, and he thought of them pressing into his skin.

  "Why, I am here to buy horses, of course."

  "Of course."

  She licked those lips, her tongue a pink surprise, then drew a breath that tested the modesty of her gown. "It is wonderful to see you."

  Collin stared at her, took her in, her beauty, her spark. . . stared until Jeannie cleared her throat.

  "Collin, I will speak with you later." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully, then smiled at Alex. "Lady Alexandra, it was a pleasure to meet you."

  She must have left, because the next time he glanced away from Alex's face he found they were standing alone, the party flowing around them like a babbling stream.

  "Would you walk with me outside, my lady?"

  She watched him, seemed to measure him through the sooty veil of her lashes as a smile spread slowly over her face, a smile that lit her up and heated his blood.

  She didn't speak, only slid her arm through his and let him lead her to the wall of doors, then out into the moon-bright garden below. A cool wind swept over them, green and light. She shivered at his side as he pulled her into the deep shade of a tree.

  Reaching to unbutton his coat, Collin began to shrug it off, but she made a low sound of distress that stayed his hands. "What is it?"

  "Don't. Don't take off your coat. You look so . . ." Her hand caressed the air in front of him. "Magnificent."

  "Magnificent?" His body stuttered to a halt. When he could move again, he found his fingers reaching to rebut-ton the coat. Her husky laugh sent blood racing to his face as well as to the lower reaches of his body. She seemed to have some torturous gift for arousing and embarrassing him simultaneously, a siren with a wicked wit.

  How could this woman, this vision, be attracted to him? It confused him, put him on the defensive and touched him somewhere deep inside. And she was still attracted, he wasn't blind. She devoured him with her eyes, touching each part of him, lingering on his mouth. When she slipped off a glove and reached a small hand up to stroke the hair behind his ear, Collin pulled her against him and kissed her with all the need he'd been tamping down for months. He pressed her lips open with his own and slipped into her wet warmth.

  Her hand tightened, tried to grab his hair, slid downward to clutch at his neck. Not in outrage, no. She fell into the kiss, plunged into it, raised onto her toes and pushed herself at him. More than willing to oblige, he pulled her up off her feet to line their bodies up. She smelled of flowers and tasted like wine, and oh God, how he wished she were wear­ing her boy's clothes now, wished he could feel the softness of her breasts and the hard press of her pelvic bone against his cock.

  She stroked his tongue with a rhythm that drew a shud­der through his body and melted his mind. He had no wish to resist her this time and prayed this was an invitation to escort her home. He was done resisting, couldn't think why he ever had.

  The sharp bite of her nails stung his neck, thrilling him, pushing him over the edge of reason. He jerked her skirts up in bunches, inches at a time, trying to expose her body with his one free hand, trying to reach the center of her.

  "Good God!" a hard voice exclaimed, spiking Collin's arousal with fear. Sweeping Alexandra around to hide her, he placed her carefully back on the ground.

  "Did she actually invite Roxbury?"

  "Surely he snuck in!"

  Alex melted in his arms. They hadn't been spotted. Collin eased her backward, deeper into the shadows of the flowering branches. Tiny petals floated down as his head brushed the leaves, landing in her dark curls, in the shadow of her breasts, white spots of fragrance.

  "Alex," he breathed, framing her heart-shaped face be­tween rough hands. "Why did you come here?"

  She smiled at his tortured words, mouth red as a rose from his kisses. "I've missed you, Collin."

  "Missed me? Surely you've forgotten me by now."

  Something close to pain froze his blood when she pulled away from his hands to press her face into his skin, nuzzling the place beneath his ear. A yearning rose up in him, more than lust or want, and her hair spilled around his hands, pins flying away at his clutching fingers. She smelled like flow­ers and rain and the underlying spice of need. Need for him.

  "Oh, Collin. I wish I could forget you." The fierce whis­per burned his neck.

  He growled in dark humor. "I understand exactly."

  She pressed her lips hard to his throat, trailed kisses up his jaw until he caught her with his mouth and kissed her again. Gentler, this time, and tinged with sadness and his own lone­liness. She sighed into him, a deep, broken sound, and his sanity returned.

  "I'm sorry." He touched her arms, held her away from him. "I'm sorry to fall upon you like a starving beast."

  One of her dark eyebrows arched high. "You are easily appeased for a starving beast."

  "Not appeased. Not at all."

  "No? You are a perverse man, Collin. Always so in control."

  "If I were in control, I wouldn't have spent the past two days dashing to every damned social function in the city."

  The eyebrow dropped. "Pardon me?"

  "I saw you at the fair, riding by, and nearly had a fit of the vapors."

  Her laugh stroked his body, warmed his blood. A sudden vision made him ache—Alexandra, above him, riding his shaft, a delighted laugh spilling from her mouth. One of the many fantasies he'd indulged in over the past months. She was a damned affliction and a painful one at that.

  "I'm sorry you've been tormented. Still, it only serves you right."

  "Oh?"

  "Don't forget who walked away." "I rarely do."

  Grinning, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the path, out of their leafy alcove and back into the world. Collin tried not to groan as she turned them for a stroll into the darkest part of the garden.

  "We could have already satisfied our curiosity and gotten over each other by now."

  "You think so?"

  When she shrugged, the small mounds of her breasts rose against her dress as Collin watched with avid interest. "Perhaps. Surely it's the anticipa
tion, the wondering, that's made me so . . ." She shrugged again.

  Collin swallowed. "So what?"

  A frown tugged at her brow as her left hand drifted up to brush low against her belly. "So hungry."

  His breath hissed out between his teeth, drawing her sparkling eyes.

  "You have undone me, Collin Blackburn." She smiled a little when he didn't respond, shook her head sadly. "I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon."

  "Tomorrow?" Panic tumbled his gut. "Why?"

  "I'm going home. Let's not pretend you would invite me to stay."

  "No," he said without thought and cursed himself when she smirked and looked away.

  "You searched me out here, pulled me into the garden, fell upon me, as you say. What do you want, Collin? Cer­tainly not a strolling companion."

  "No."

  "No?" She shot back, pulling her hand from his to cross her arms. "No, you know what I want."

  "Hardly. I know what I want. I want you in my bed. If you wanted the same thing, we would've already been there."

  "Jesus, do you want me to come and have you tonight? To slake my thirst and sneak out the window before the hour's out?"

  "No."

  "Then perhaps you'd be happy if I took you behind the hedge here and stood you against the wall?"

  "No."

  "No?" Collin swallowed hard, fighting the urge to shout at her.

  "I want you to come back to England." Growling, cursing, he threw his hands in the air, won­dering how she always drove him to such frustration. "Listen, Collin. I'm to go away next week. There's a small house outside my brother's land. It's mine, passed to me by my mother. Meet me there."

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. Her chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm, excitement or anger, he couldn't tell. "Meet you."

  "Yes. Stay with me. A week. Two. Long enough to ease this need we've roused between us."

  His mind raced, weaving disastrous outcomes with his memories of her naked thighs. Stay with her. God, it was a terrible idea and a grand one, and every reason he'd ever had for not making love to her still applied. He no longer cared. He wasn't a damned saint.

  "Where is this house?"

  Alex smiled, then grinned, then squealed like a child and jumped into his arms to rain kisses over his face.

  "I haven't agreed yet," he protested futilely before open­ing his mouth and kissing her back as her tongue stroked his. His body hardened and pulsed, aware, despite his words, that there was no turning back from this. He would have her finally, or she would have him.

  "Tonight," he whispered fiercely. "Here. Stay here in Edinburgh."

  When she shook her head, Collin felt suddenly sure he'd burn to ash if he didn't bury himself inside her soon.

  "No." She gasped the word as he set his teeth to her neck. "Oh, God. No, not here. I want to be alone with you. No neighbors, no servants, just you." A moan. "The cot­tage is perfect. In the forest. No one will know."

  Anger slashed him, sudden and sharp. "You've done this before."

  "No!" She drew away, stumbling a little. "Of course not. I've only been there once. With my family."

  God, he wanted to believe her. Wanted to be an excep­tion in her life, not just one more indiscretion along the way, but she was so alive in his arms, not a woman to live staid and quiet as a spinster. He wasn't her first, but would he be her third or fourth or fifth? It shouldn't matter.

  "Never mind." Her words were low, almost lost in me rustle of wind-blown trees. "Never mind."

  "No, Alex. No . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "Well, you did. And why shouldn't you?"

  "Forgive me. It was jealousy, nothing more. Not logic."

  "Of course not." She shrugged, smiled, but her eyes shone too bright.

  "That won't happen again, I swear. God knows I'm not a virgin either. Shall I tell you of my sins so you can use them against me in the future?" She laughed, happy again, and Collin's gut unwound.

  "Maybe just one sin."

  "A little one?"

  She shook her head, resumed her stroll, skirts a swaying seduction.

  "A big one, hmm?" He stepped to join her, boots crunch­ing on the shell path, and sifted through his embarrass­ments. One in particular was excavated rather easily.

  "Thought of something, have you?"

  "I've never told anyone."

  "Oh, perfect! A secret sin."

  Grimacing, he tried to think how to phrase it, how to make it sound better. No luck. "My first time. She was a married woman."

  "Why, Collin Blackburn, isn't adultery a mortal sin in the Catholic Church?"

  He rolled his eyes at her mock distress. "I'm not Catholic."

  "Oh."

  "Still, it was wrong, and I was ashamed. After it was done, at any rate."

  "I believe that's how it normally works."

  "Mm. In my defense, I was very young and a little eager to discover the joys of women. She was happy to teach me."

  "I'd imagine so. Well, I can assure you I've never sinned with a married woman."

  Collin choked, shook his head. "No?"

  "What? How could I even—? I mean, how could a woman—?" She blushed fiercely, pink even in the moon­light. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

  "Are you sure?" As her shock grew to mortification, Collin laughed aloud. "I'm teasing, Alex. You are scan­dalous enough without adding women to the plot."

  "I didn't know they could be added," she muttered.

  "They can't. Forget I mentioned it. Really."

  "Hm."

  "Have you been well?"

  "I have. And you? Any word about St. Claire?"

  "No. I'm not even sure he's still in France. He fled out a back window when we found his apartment."

  "You went yourself?"

  "Yes, for what good it did. The man's as slippery as an eel. I expect you'll never hear from him again. I'm sure he knows you turned the information over to me."

  The path curved again, heading back to the well-lit patio. Collin watched her walk, memorized her neck, her bare arms, the tumble of wild hair.

  "Is there some way I can help with your hair?"

  "My hair?" Her fingers reached to inspect. "Oh." Her freckled nose wrinkled. "Oh."

  "Beyond repair?"

  "I think so."

  "Shall I sneak you out the back then, and take you home?"

  She sighed, huffed really. "I had hoped to dance with you."

  Collin was shaking his head before she'd finished the sentence. "I don't dance." She opened her mouth to argue, but he rushed on. "I'm a bastard. I lived in a two room cot­tage until I was twelve. I don't dance. I don't know how."

  "I could teach you."

  "Perhaps you could, but not tonight."

  "No, I suppose not. . . But you will let me teach you?" She'd brightened again, looking so young he felt perverted.

  "We will negotiate the terms of my surrender at your cottage."

  "Ooo, I like that. I shall have to draw up a list."

  Her happy leer made him chuckle, then laugh aloud. There were so few people who made him laugh, but he couldn't avoid it with Alexandra. She threw off humor like sparks. Her eyes glittered and gleamed, pleased with his laugh. Finally giving himself over to the inevitable, Collin leaned down, aimed straight for her nose, and placed a chaste kiss on his very favorite freckle.

  "Write a long list. If I'm going to hell, I want to be sure I earn my place."

  "My philosophy exactly . . . in case you hadn't noticed."

  His laugh boomed through the garden and echoed off the stone walls of the house.

  Jeannie Kirkland had learned patience from her saint of a mother and it paid off in spades tonight. She waited and waited, not taking her eyes from the patio doors. Waited until she was sure he had snuck out the back gate. Finally, nearly an hour after he'd disappeared with Alexandra Huntington, Collin Blackburn slipped back into the ball.

  He was a changed man, no longer radiating tension like a horse in a summer
storm. No, now he looked tired and almost happy. Jeannie blinked. Surely he hadn't. . .

  Oh, he was already edging toward the front door, that sneaky dog. She pushed away from the column she'd been supporting for the past hour and glided toward him. He didn't see her coming, didn't give a thought to her until she slid her arm through his and steered him toward the next set of doors. A hallway. Perfect.

  He drew back when she released him, pulling in his chin to watch her with wary eyes. She took her time looking him over, noting every button undone and every hair out of place.

  "Collin Blackburn, are those lilac petals in your hair?" "What?" Both his hands flew up as if to cover the evidence.

  "Been doing a bit of gardening this fine even'?"

  "Now, Jeannie—"

  "I am verra, verra surprised at ye, me fine lad." She imitated the thick burr of her incorrigible grandmother, a woman who'd buried three husbands and claimed to have ridden them all to their deaths. "And ye, such an up­standing citizen, sae right in all ye do. Ach, 'tis a shock to me puir wee heart."

  "Jeannie—"

  "My God, Collin. Tell me everything. Who is she?"

  "Who is she? She's your friend, isn't she?"

  "Oh, give over. Is she still out there? I should tell you, Collin, that when you have an assignation with a lady in the garden, you are supposed to let her return first, then you follow a few minutes later. It's rude to leave her skulk­ing about outside in the—"

  "Your brother is right. You do read too much."

  "'Your brother' he says, as if I didn't have eight. And never mind them. Where is she?"

  "She's gone."

  "Gone? Gone where?" Jeannie clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, then leaned up toward his blushing face. "Is she to meet you in your rooms then?"

  "Jeannie Kirkland, you should be ashamed of yourself."

  "Not as ashamed as you, I'd say. Your coat is all askew."

  "What?" He drew back again, running hands over but­tons and lapels. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Well, it's misbuttoned for one. And it's dusted with flower petals just like your hair."

  Grinning, she watched him refasten his coat and brush at it with violent strokes. When he'd finished, he glanced about the bright hallway before pulling her into the broad recess of a doorway. "You smell pretty," she crooned.