To Tempt a Scotsman

by Victoria Dahl

  "You must not speak of this to anyone, Jeannie. She's a fine lady and I'll not have her name bandied about."

  "Bah. Do you think me an idiot as well as a gossip?"

  "No, I. . . No, of course not."

  "I think she's very nice and I would love for a woman like her to live nearby. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a woman friend at hand?"

  He stared blankly, reminding her of her brothers.

  "A wife, Collin. It's plain you're in love with the girl. I've never seen you so bothered."

  His blankness hardened quickly into outrage. "I am cer­tainly not in love. She's a friend, is all."

  "I am a friend, and I daresay you've never dragged me into a dark garden to make love. And you've certainly never worn diamonds for me." She poked a finger at his cravat.

  "Listen to me," he whispered harshly, taking her wrist in a firm grip. "She is the sister of a duke. I did not make love to her in the garden and I am certainly not going to ask for her hand." He glared until she shrugged, then huffed, "A wife."

  Jeannie tugged on her arm, stuck out her tongue when he released it. "Fine, deny it. And as long as you don't love her, I suppose it doesn't matter in the least."

  "It does not."

  "Perfect. May I have her direction?"

  "What? Why?"

  "I wish to write her."

  His gray eyes bore into her, studying her wide-eyed gaze. "I think not."

  "All right. I shall get it somewhere else then." Turning away to flounce off, she heard his deep, weary sigh and smiled.

  "She's at Somerhart in Yorkshire. Please do not try to match-make."

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Lord Westmore. Honest." Fin­gers crossed, she bounced back into the party with not an ounce of pity for her favorite neighbor.

  Chapter 9

  Four hours. Four hours more and she'd be at her cottage, and surely Collin would arrive soon after. Alex shifted on the seat, already crawling with restlessness after just the first hour in the carriage.

  "I think I'll ride for a bit." She reached up to tap the roof.

  Danielle waved sleepily. "Do not tire yourself out, Mademoiselle."

  Alex let the driver hand her out and waited as he untied Brinn. As she mounted and settled into the saddle, her eyes swept the rolling countryside. This was so much better than sitting inside the shadowed carriage. She could dis­tract herself out here, or at least feel the fresh air while she obsessed over Collin.

  The carriage rolled on and, as Alex turned to follow, she spied movement at the crest of the hill they'd just de­scended. A rider, moving in their direction. Whoever he was, he was too far away to see, but the notion struck her that it could be Collin. Her heart quickened that he might be so near, but it was a ridiculous notion, surely. Just her overactive imagination. Alex forced her thoughts back to tonight and what they would do.

  If he made it by tonight. She couldn't bear the thought of spending her first night in the cottage without him, but he was coming from far away, and there were so many ways to be delayed. Still, she had the hope that if she wished hard enough, the man would appear just when she wanted him to.

  A half hour later they rounded a long curve, and Alex caught site of the lone rider through the trees. He seemed slightly closer, but she couldn't quite make him out past the leaves.

  Perhaps it was Collin. It would be just like the man to arrive early and follow her carriage to be sure of her safety. She slowed her horse a little and let the carriage roll ahead. If it was him—oh, let it be—she planned to give him every opportunity to approach.

  The distance between her and the carriage grew to forty feet, then eighty. Hoofbeats thumped faintly from behind and drew a smile to her lips even as she wondered if she looked road-worn and dusty.

  She drew the cuff of her jacket over her brow, then rubbed it across her mouth before she glanced back .. . and caught the unexpected glint of sunshine off bright blond hair. Not him, her brain squeaked. Not Collin. Five hard heartbeats passed. She made herself look again.

  The rider was close enough now that Alex could see the line of a hard-set, narrow jaw that shocked in its familiar­ity. By the time the man raised a hand in an elegant wave, Alex was sure who had followed her from Somerhart. Damien. Damien St. Claire. Here, in England.

  Oh, God. She twisted in the saddle, taking in her sur­roundings as quickly as possible. Brinn danced sideways and snorted her displeasure, but Alex ignored it.

  There was no one about. No one. Not even a rise of smoke in the distance. They were alone, she and her maid and the driver. Will carried a pistol, she knew that, but she also knew that Damien was desperate and on the run and probably armed to the teeth. And if Will drew him down . . . Well, Damien had already proved himself an accurate shot. Alex couldn't let that happen.

  She pulled her mare to a stop. I'm sure he knows, Collin had said. Damien must know that she'd passed his location on to Collin. He must know and he must want his revenge. Alex took a deep breath and wheeled Brinn around to face him.

  From twenty yards away, she watched his mouth spring from a snarl to a smile. His brown eyes stayed blank.

  "Damien!" she called, because he would expect it. He barreled toward her and yanked his mount to a stop not a foot from Brinn's nose.

  "My dear Lady Alexandra!" His words held more than a hint of ice, but Alex pretended not to notice.

  "Damien, I can't believe it's really you! I thought my eyes had tricked me. Whatever are you doing here? Has everything . . . ?"

  The carriage wheels quieted on the road ahead. She looked to see her driver standing atop his post. He nodded when she stretched up her hand, and Damien's smile was slightly more genuine when she met his eyes.

  She tried her best to look relieved. "Has everything worked out then?"

  "Everything?"

  "You are home, Damien, so all must be well."

  His eyes narrowed. He didn't bother to hide his suspi­cion. Anxiety inched through her nerves, but even over her fear she could still hear her mind marveling that she'd once found this man so attractive. His hair was far too light, his jaw too weak, shoulders too narrow. And there was not a glimmer of decency in his eyes.

  "Your naïveté is refreshing," he finally answered. "But no, all is not well, my darling Alexandra."

  "But you are here."

  "Yes."

  "Then. . . Then you are in danger!" He did not seem to mind her overacting. In fact, he puffed up as she gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth.

  "I am. And you are my only hope of safety."

  "Oh, Damien!"

  "'Tis true. Have you ever made the acquaintance of a Collin Blackburn?"

  "Collin . . ." Alex summoned up the last dregs of her acting skills. "I do not think so, though I daresay I've heard the name."

  "Well, I am relieved you've never suffered his presence. The man is no more than a thug. But are you quite sure? He's a big Scottish brute, dark and rough-mannered."

  "Do not tell me that such a man is after you?"

  "He is."

  "But that is terrible! You could be hurt."

  Her gut churned, telling her she was overdoing it, but her nerves were stretched too tight to grant her subtlety. Still, Damien seemed to find it easy to believe her a sim­pleton. He nodded solemnly, cold eyes wide.

  "I'm sure I could defend myself against a more honor­able man, but this one . . . I fear that I will be murdered in my bed."

  "Oh!"

  "I need your help, Alexandra. Darling." "Of course."

  "I had always hoped . . ." He heaved a great sigh and shifted his eyes to the horizon. "I had always hoped that one day, this catastrophe would resolve itself, and I could make an offer for your hand. A decent, civilized offer."

  When his narrowed eyes cut back to her, she gave the barest nod.

  "I understand why you could not accept my recent pro­posal. Though I was heartbroken."

  "But I hope you will see fit to help me build a new life for myself. A good l
ife. I plan to go to America, you see."

  "America! That is so far."

  "Yes. And I'm afraid I must prostrate myself before you again. I will repay you, of course, once I am settled."

  Alex's mind raced and strained to find a solution. She could not turn around and go home. Hart would not return from London for another day; she'd made sure of that before she'd arranged her deception.

  The local magistrate was a pleasant man, but surely no match for Damien, and Alex was damned determined that she would not give the man money again. No, she wanted him caught, wanted to turn him over to Collin . . .

  "I have twenty-five pounds in my luggage. Would that be enough?" she asked him, knowing it would not. Pre­dictably, his face drew up in a snarl.

  "Twenty-five pounds? That would not buy me a bunk in the hold."

  "Oh, I. . . Of course. It is such a long journey, I can't imagine. But, you see, my brother.. ."

  "Your brother?"

  "He somehow found out that I'd sent you funds before. He has cut off my allowance."

  "I see. Your brother has found you out. That makes sense, then. Where are you going?"

  "Me? Oh, I am going shopping in Greendale. There is the most wonderful little millinery there, and Hart has al­ready sent them a note to vouch for my credit. I shall—"

  "You must go back home, and access your household accounts."

  "Oh, but Hart has declared that he must approve every­thing! And he is not there. He's gone to London. I don't. . . maybe. . ."

  "Yes?"

  "No, that would take too long."

  "What?" Damien pressed, eyes glinting like cut topaz.

  "I could write him a note, send it as soon as I reach Greendale. He promised me a new phaeton, Damien, and two high-flyers! Can you imagine me racing down the drive of Somerhart? If I told him I'd found the perfect matched set of whites and the most wonderful little carriage . . . Do you think a thousand quid would be enough, Damien?"

  Those eyes flashed. "I will pay you back."

  "But then I shall have to give up my phaeton, I suppose."

  "I'll make it up to you," he said flatly. "And I'm sure your dear brother will forgive you."

  "Oh, I suppose. All right. Shall I meet you back here then? On Saturday perhaps? It would take a few days to get his response, but I'd think that a week would—"

  "Yes. Saturday. There is an inn about five miles ahead. I'll meet you in the orchards next to it."

  Alex raised her eyebrows. "Must you stay hidden, Damien?"

  "I must."

  "Damien .. . I.. . Hart said the most awful thing about you. He said that you wanted John Tibbenham dead. That cannot be true, though. I told him it wasn't." Bile rose in her throat as she watched a glow of triumph light his face.

  "Of course not, my dear. It was all a terrible misunder­standing. If I could take it back . . ."

  "I know," she made herself say, and thought of how pleased she would be to offer him up to Collin on a plat­ter. A week with Collin—what she'd wanted so much for so long—and then she could give Collin just what he'd been waiting for.

  Alex sprang from the chair, padding quickly on bare feet to peer out the window. Again. She propped her arms on the sill and her chin on her wrists and breathed in the smell of old wood and vinegar, the scent she'd been breathing on and off for two hours.

  He would come. He had to.

  Swaying a little on the balls of her feet, swinging her hips in the air, she imagined herself a simple farm girl waiting for her strapping young beau. Her skirt brushed against bare legs, her hair hung unrestrained down her back, curling over the bright white cotton and lace of the dressing gown.

  A simple farm girl. Well, she worked the stables some­times, didn't she? And certainly crops were grown on her brother's land. And Collin was nothing if not strapping.

  Pressing her cheek to the glass, she could just make out the dark wood of the stable. Hmm. If they were going to live out a fantasy, she would do her best to seduce Collin into taking her in there. In the closeness of the afternoon heat, on a bed of clean blankets and fresh hay, as dust motes danced over their heads. Every farm girl made love at least once in a barn, didn't she?

  Her smile was a soft echo of the anticipation growing between her legs. She wanted him with such fierceness that she walked through her days with weak thighs and a hard ache deep in her belly. Her nervousness today only made her lust more keen.

  She had no doubt he was regretting this agreement they'd come to, had no doubt he'd like to change his mind, but he wouldn't. He would not leave her sitting in this house like an undressed courtesan pining for her protector. At worst, he would arrive and try to talk her out of it. She had ways of dealing with such resistance. She had chased him, after all. If she had made a fool of herself, she would at least have his body as appeasement.

  Someone rode into view. Alexandra froze, terrified that Damien had followed her here despite her cautiousness. But the horse drew closer, down the long lane that curved through the trees, and she saw the rider's face.

  Oh, here was reality. Collin scowled, thoughtful and tense, and Alex smiled. Yes, he thought this a very poor plan indeed. Too bad for him.

  Humming a little through her wide grin, she danced to the door, counted to twenty and stepped into the sunshine to corner her prey.

  Collin slanted an annoyed glance at the small stable, wondering if it were clean. The cottage itself looked sturdy enough, well tended, even welcoming. He should turn around and ride away before he complicated both their lives. He dismounted instead.

  The small blue door opened just as he gathered the reins to lead his mount to the stable. Collin's lungs seized for a long second, and before he could manage to take her in—or draw another breath—she skipped out the door to run to him.

  Catching her midair, he swung her around and away from the shying horse, assuring himself that the thrill crashing over his body was fear for her safety.

  "Welcome to our rendezvous," she cried, arching her whole body back, counting on Collin to hold her secure. She grinned up at him with flashing eyes, and he couldn't stop his answering smile.

  "Rendezvous, eh? Have I stepped into the middle of an outdoor drama then?"

  "Yes," she responded with a lift of her chin. "It's called Hell in a Handcart. I hope you enjoy it."

  Throwing back his head, Collin laughed and let his trep­idation slide away. His heart lightened, broke free of its doubts and denials, and he pulled her up, curved her into him and held her an inch away from his mouth. She closed her eyes and waited.

  "I can't kiss you yet, or Samson will likely spend a week here in the yard."

  She nodded, eyes still closed, just-parted lips curved in a small smile. Collin groaned and set her a safe distance away.

  "Come. Tell me about this love nest while I tend the horses."

  "Brinn has already been seen to," she said breezily as she swung along beside him, hand curled in his. "You brought a groom?"

  "I did not!"

  Her bare toes peeked beneath her skirt as she walked, catching his eye.

  "Really, Collin, do you think yourself the only person who can care for a horse?"

  He arched a doubtful glance at her and shook his head. "You groom your own horse?"

  "Well, not every day. But I am in the stables constantly and I'm not a raging idiot."

  "Perhaps not." He dodged a small, well-aimed foot.

  "Come now. What other noblewoman do you know who can do that? My surprise is warranted."

  She sniffed, but she wasn't truly offended. He could see not a smidgen of tension in that jaw. And he'd seen it hard as steel often enough.

  "Catherine the Great."

  "What?"

  "Catherine the Great. A noblewoman who personally cared for her horses."

  Collin stopped at the stable door to gape at her. She couldn't possibly mean. . . Then she tilted her face up and smiled with a boldness that left no question.

  "She was quite the horsewom
an, I understand." She slipped into the dim of the stable, leaving him shaking his head that he'd even doubted what she meant.

  "I'm beginning to think you a fraud. A tavern wench masquerading as a duke's sister."

  "Not a tavern wench," she called, stroking her mare's flank. "A saucy farmer's daughter."

  Collin snorted and led his horse to the far stall. He'd ridden a sturdy gelding this time, knowing Thor wouldn't stand a week in a small stable with such a lovely mare as Brinn. He saw to Samson's brushing and feeding, hiding the looks he sent toward Brinn, not wanting to reveal he was checking Alex's work. She'd done a fine job.

  Alex lounged against the rough wood wall, watching his hands and explaining the arrangements she'd made.

  "So you'll cook for us?"

  "Oho, aren't you a funny one? The woman I hired to clean in the mornings will also prepare a full day's worth of food before she leaves. She promised to be gone by nine every day, so we shan't even see her."

  "You have a devious mind, young woman."

  She shrugged, eyes sparkling with self-satisfaction. "I trained in London."

  "Well, hopefully there are still some Scottish skills I can pass on." He watched as she wiggled a little under his gaze.

  "My governess was adamant that there is always room to further one's education."

  Samson turned to nudge Collin away from the spot he'd been brushing for nigh on two minutes. With a sigh, he set his mind to the task at hand. His chores would be complete within a quarter hour, and they had the whole of a week before them. He tried not to look at her again. Tried and failed.

  When he'd finally toted the last bucket of water from the spring, he found he'd misplaced one rosy-cheeked woman. He discovered her inside the house, frowning in puzzle­ment at a large plate of red mush on the kitchen table.

  "Making my dinner, dearest?"

  Alexandra jumped and looked toward him with alarmed eyes. "She said to leave the pie in the window to cool."

  "Well, it looks cool." Collin squinted toward the shad­owed sill of the kitchen window. Red tracks wove over the wood in a serpentine pattern. "Cool enough for a crow anyway."