Every Rogue's Heart

by Dawn Brower

  She turned away. “Fiona,” she whispered. “Are you considering Lord Dumfries?”

  “Da is considering him.” Fiona shrugged. “I am far less certain.”

  “I agree. He appears to be a first-class rake to me.” Clarissa gave a nod.

  Fiona rolled her eyes. Her trepidation the day before had vanished like the mist. It was so like Fiona. Clarissa had a much harder time shaking off her feelings.

  “Do not be ridiculous. He’s not a rake, just a bore.” Fiona’s words came out in a rush. “I want a man that makes me sing with life. Not one that wants quiet country strolls.”

  Clarissa’s head snapped back. Her cousin didn’t understand. She hadn’t seen the sorts of things that Clarissa had. She vowed to speak with her cousin again soon on the matter.

  Ewan cleared his throat as he sat in the empty chair next to her. She tried to keep the rolling waves in her stomach at bay. “Pleasant mornin’ to ye,” he said softly.

  “Boring,” Fiona whispered in her other ear.

  Clarissa couldn’t help it, her lips twitched into a smile. “Indeed, the sunshine is lovely.”

  Fiona made a sound like a snore. Uncle Haggis’s paper dropped to assess her and she folded her hands primly.

  Clarissa also did her best to concentrate on her eggs and sausage without looking at Ewan McDougal at all. She wasn’t trying to be rude, but she had no use for male conversation, especially not from a man as suspicious as he or as handsome.

  She heard him shuffle, each little noise jangling across her nerves. It was as though she were aware of every move he made. “Will you ride with us today?”

  “I’m afraid they’ve talked me into it.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked at him. Which was a horrendous mistake because a tingling reverberated through her at the proximity of his strong jaw, penetrating eyes, and soft lips.

  “You don’t like to ride?” He looked…relieved by that information. He gave her a patronizing smile. “I ken ye were an English lady and not a Scottish lass.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She could feel herself bristle.

  He shrugged. “To each his own, I suppose, but every Scot not only likes horses but is a first-rate rider.”

  She huffed a breath. He was insulting her again. It seemed as though he thought her less for simply being English. “Does every Scot also have such a high opinion of himself?”

  She heard Kieran chuckle, though it was muffled by the food in his mouth. “She’s got you there,” Kieran called across the table.

  She could hear one of her aunts clucking her tongue, but she ignored it.

  He glared at Kieran and then turned back to her. “It’s not an opinion, simply a fact. Scots are as good on a horse as they are with a weapon. That’s why the Sas—I mean the English—draft us in droves into their army.”

  The anger was coursing through her veins, reaching her fingers and toes, making her long to slap him, kick him, or kiss him…though why she had thought that last one she couldn’t possibly say. “Is that what all your little barbs are about?” She pointed a glare at him as her eyebrows rose.

  “What little barbs?” He fired back, though guilt flitted across his face, pinching his mouth.

  “You know perfectly well…”

  “Enough, both of you,” Uncle Haggis called. “We’re breaking fast, not bones.”

  “My fast is broken.” Clarissa stood, tossing her napkin onto the table. Holding one side of her skirt, she did her best to sweep from the room. She’d not tolerate another second of Ewan McDougal.

  Ewan watched her walk away, back straight, skirt out to one side, hips swaying as she went. He couldn’t blame her for leaving. Without meaning to, he raked his hands through his hair. He was being an arse. The question was why? One half-blooded English lady should not have him so out of sorts.

  He amended to be nicer to her on the outing today. Stop insulting her English heritage. He was making an arse of himself. If he hoped to make Fiona his bride, he’d best not fight with her cousin. His hands found his hair again, his eyes closing for a moment. Did he really hope to make Fiona his bride? It was what he came here for, and he should give her a chance, but somehow all he could focus on was Clarissa whenever she was in the room.

  He returned to the task of eating his breakfast but several people around the table gave him curious stares. He swore to himself. This trip had been a disaster.

  Two hours later the party set off toward the loch, Ewan riding next to Fiona in the front. She was everything he’d expected her to be on horse. Graceful, in command. He suspected she’d keep up with him if given the chance.

  The other ladies fell in line behind them with Agnes and Kieran at the back.

  A horse’s snort caused him to turn. Clarissa’s horse pawed at the ground, skittering sideways. It was too large and powerful for her by half.

  He’d been doing his best to neither look nor talk to her, but a flutter of a different kind rose in his chest. Seeing her on that beast made him afraid. Their eyes met, hers the size of saucers.

  “Fiona,” she choked. “You said you’d get me a gentle—”

  Fiona’s laugh cut her off. His eyes swung to her. Her gaze was filled with mischief. He recognized that look. It had annoyed him when she was a child, it always meant trouble. But now, it absolutely terrified him.

  He pulled his horse to a stop and turned, reaching back for the reins of Clarissa’s animal. But the beast sidestepped and then came up on two hooves, pawing the air.

  Ewan nearly cursed and Clarissa’s eyes were so wide with fear, she looked like a spectre. But she held on, even as the horse took off across the open land.

  He didn’t think or speak, he just kicked his own beast into action. His horse was lightning-quick, but Clarissa was so light on that giant steed’s back that he was eating the ground before him. Clarissa was bouncing about her sidesaddle, barely keeping her seat. He couldn’t hear a sound other than the wind and the thuds of his own heart but she must have been screaming.

  Closing the distance between them, he wondered what to do. Should he try for the reins again? But that had spooked the animal to begin with. Pluck her from her seat? They were moving very quickly.

  Drawing up next to the horse, he grabbed at the rein and gave it a firm tug, trying to calm the animal with a show of dominance. The horse pulled up and, without hesitation, he grabbed Clarissa around her waist and plucked her from the animal and onto his own saddle across his lap.

  He’d expected it to be difficult but her tiny frame slid easily onto his. What he hadn’t anticipated was the absolute jolt that shot through his groin at the contact of her bottom against it.

  It was deliciously curvy, soft, and a near perfect fit between his thighs. Her arms snaked around his neck and she twisted her torso to press chest to chest. Her breath came out in short gasps and his teeth clenched. She was afraid. Only afraid. It wasn’t desire that caused her breath to hitch so.

  But he responded to it anyway and the insane urge to lean his head down and kiss those plump, panting lips nearly overtook him.

  He slowed his horse to a slow walk. His job was to comfort her, and he tightened his hands around her waist. It was meant to keep her safe, but it only drew them closer.

  Her cheeks were now flushed and her body molded to his. Bloody bullocks, she fit against him like she was meant to be there. He’d been so afraid. Now, holding her in his arms, he wanted to crush her to his chest and never let her go.

  He wanted to kiss those pretty lips and then he wanted to feel her skin…his mouth was drawing closer to hers. It wasn’t as though he meant to, it was just happening.

  Even more strangely, hers seemed to be moving toward his. Her eyes, which had been wide open, were now drifting closed. She wanted to kiss him too.

  And that shocked him back to reality. “Are ye all right lass?” His voice was a husky murmur with her body fitted to his.

  She blinked several times as though coming back to reality. “You…you s
aved me.” Her honey voice had a breathless quality about it. He nearly groaned, the sound tugging at his manhood, making it even more difficult to not capture her lips with his.

  He couldn’t help it. Her already loose coif had released several tendrils around her face, glossy soft curls that were now brushing against his shirt. He lifted one hand, securely holding her with the other, and brushed the hair back.

  Slipping through his fingers, the locks were more like water from a clear stream than anything else. Silkier than he’d imagined, he ached to bury his face in the strands. He’d been dreaming about her hair. Having it trailing over his chest, his hands tangled in the locks. To touch them nearly undid him.

  “You didn’t think I was going to let that horse kill ye, did ye?” He gave a little chuckle and God help him, he let his hand slide into her hair at the nape of her neck.

  She looked to the side then. “You’ve earned the right to tell me you were correct.”

  Confusion clouded his mind. He didn’t understand what she might be referring to, but perhaps that was just because, in turning her head, she’d exposed the creamy column of her neck. And he was trying to decide which he’d most like to kiss, her lips or the trail of skin from her ear to the neckline of her dress. “What are ye talkin’ about, lass?”

  “You said that a Sassenach can’t ride like a Scot. I am the only one whose horse ran away with its rider.” She bit her lip, still looking to the side.

  And that was when all reason left his brain. Because the sight of those perfect little teeth nibbling on that full, sumptuous-looking skin was more than a man could take. His fingers slid from her hair, across the delicate column of her neck and to her chin where he gently turned her face back to his.

  His head dipped and his body tightened at the thought of claiming those lips for his own.

  “Is everyone all right over there?” Kieran called.

  Curse words he hadn’t said in years bubbled to the forefront of his tongue but he pressed his lips together to keep them from tumbling out.

  Instead he whispered, “Tonight we can plan your revenge against Fiona.”

  And that was when it happened. She gave him a smile with no malice, no distrust even, just a beautiful unreserved grin that lit every hollow of her face. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

  “For helping with revenge?” He brushed another tendril as it blew in the breeze. Her hair might be his undoing.

  “For not telling me how I am a useless Sas—“ she started.

  “Don’t say it,” he growled back because suddenly he was embarrassed by those words. For lumping her in with the men that had sent him off to war.

  Kieran reined his horse next to them, Fiona just on his other side. Clarissa leveled her with a glare and for once, it was nice to not have it trained on him. “Fiona McDougal,” she snapped. “Were you attempting to orchestrate my death?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Fiona looked less sure of herself now. Not so pleased with her jest.

  Clarissa had one arm around his neck but the other came to her hip. “That horse could have killed me. That isn’t funny, Fi-o-na.” She drew out her cousin’s name to make her point.

  “If you’d seen yourself, you might have thought it was comical,” Fiona answered, looking to the side.

  “It was dangerous,” Ewan scolded, unable to help himself. Fiona’s tricks had always annoyed him and this one made him downright furious. He’d been so afraid for Clarissa. His hand tightened around her waist at the thought.

  Fiona leveled him with a glare. “She’s my family. I am the one who cares for her. I don’t see that it’s any of your business what happens to the English miss.”

  Ewan winced because she was correct. He’d done nothing but insult her English heritage. Many of his soldiers had suffered tremendously at the hand of the very men they’d fought for. Not only were they pushed to the front of the line again and again, suffering great losses, but when they returned home many of their lands had been confiscated and their families sent away in the name of progress.

  But Clarissa had nothing to do with any of that.

  Not that he wanted to marry an Englishwoman, but insulting her was just plain childish.

  He looked down at her to say something, anything to explain himself but her eyes were now cast to the ground. “Lord Dumfries,” her voice was just above a whisper. “Would you please take me back to the castle? I am done riding for the day.”

  “Of course,” he replied. But his insides twisted again because he could hear the hurt in her voice.

  The ride back was silent, which he was alternately grateful for and worried about. Was she angry with him?

  But her body remained pressed to his, head in the crook of his neck, his arm tucked around her waist. Never in his whole life had a woman felt this good against him. He leaned down and caught a whiff of her scent. Like spring flowers after a rain, it filled him with calm even as it excited him.

  The castle came into view and he tightened his grip. He didn’t want to let her go. “Are ye sure you wish to return, lass?

  “Oh yes, thank you, though.” She sat up a little straighter and he regretted asking. “Thank you again for rescuing me.” She didn’t look at him but her pink cheeks gave away her emotion.

  “I’d never let anything happen to ye,” he said, surprised how much he meant the words.

  She looked in his eyes then. The look tugged at his heart. Ach, he wanted to kiss her. “With any luck you’ll never need rescue me again.”

  He wasn’t exactly sure that would be lucky. In fact, with any luck, he’d have her tucked against him like this in the very near future. The thought near scared him out of his wits because he shouldn’t want an English lass who could barely ride a horse. But something about her felt so right. He wasn’t ready to throw away his principles but he wouldn’t dismiss these feelings either. For the first time in a very long time he was alive again.

  Chapter 5

  Clarissa sat curled up in the library with a novel, exactly where she had wanted to be. So why did she feel so empty with everyone off and her here alone?

  She could admit to one thing, her swirling thoughts were not about Lord Davenport, as they had been for days and weeks now. Instead they were on Lord McDougal.

  She had to give him some modicum of credit. He’d come to her aid, twice. But his interest in her was obvious despite being here to court her cousin, which definitely made him a rake.

  But he hated her English blood, and she his rakish ways, and so there was nothing left to think about really. Except she couldn’t seem to put him out of her mind.

  Sighing, she closed the book. She wasn’t getting any reading done. Her Aunt Rhona walked into the library. She didn’t start browsing the titles but instead walked straight toward Clarissa. Clarissa held back a sigh. Clearly, her aunt wanted to discuss something.

  “My wee bairn, how are ye fairin’?” Aunt Rhona kissed her cheek as she stood to greet her elder.

  “Fine, Aunt Rhona.” She gave a weak smile.

  “Are you going to tell me about what happened?”

  “Fiona gave me a wild horse and I nearly was killed. Lord McDougal—”

  “Lamb, I know about all that. I’m askin’ about London.” Her aunt reached for her hand giving it a squeeze.

  With a sigh, she sat down and her aunt did too. “It was humiliating.”

  “I can only imagine. Judith says you haven’t spoken a word about it. I think it’s time. Don’t you?”

  She gave a mute nod, dreading this moment. But somehow, it didn’t hurt quite as much as the other times she attempted to discuss it. “It was the engagement party. It was supposed to be the event of the season. It’s not every day a marquess becomes betrothed.” She had been swept up in the excitement of it, she could admit that to herself. In less than two months, they’d gone from first meeting to engaged. Every lady knew that publicly announcing the match was a pinnacle moment.

  Engaged couples were allowed time alone.
Not that he’d been anything other than proper. But if the marriage fell through, the lady was ruined.

  “How did the betrothal come about? Were you in love with him?” Her aunt was still holding her hand and she gave it a tiny squeeze.

  “No, of course not. My father had arranged it. He wanted to see me attached to a strong title. I had heard the rumors about Lord Davenport, a gambler and a rake, but he was so attentive when we were together. He was handsome and complimentary, I thought our feelings would grow over time. I was such a fool.”

  “You are young. And you were trying to make the best of an arranged marriage.” Her aunt gave her a gentle smile.

  Clarissa took a shaky breath, the shame of what had happened washing over her once again. “My father was getting ready to make the toast but Lord Davenport was nowhere to be found. Five minutes past and then ten.” Her insides twisted into knots remembering the shame of standing there waiting for him, all eyes on her. It was nothing compared with what was about to come. “Two hundred people and I could have heard a pin drop. Then a howling laugh cut through the silence.” Her hands pressed into her eyes as nausea rose in her stomach. “‘He’s tuppping a maid!’” Tears burned at the back of her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall.

  “Oh, lamb.” Her aunt reached for her but she barely felt the touch as she relived the moment.

  “Two hundred eyes turned to me. Some laughing, some appalled, some filled with pity. I heard a woman yell, ‘She couldn’t even get him to the altar.’” A tiny sob broke out. “I just ran. The next day I wrote the letter and three days later I set off for the castle. I haven’t shown my face in any respectable establishment in London since and I might never again.” she meant those words with every ache of her beating heart. She hadn’t done a thing wrong and yet a careless rake had destroyed her life. She’d fled her home, friends, even family. She’d never fall prey to a man like that again.