Tall, Dark and Wolfish

by Dare, Lydia

  "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 tou
ch 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.

  Dressed in a pretty rose silk, Sorcha's dark hair was piled high on her head, and her dark eyes danced as they swept over Elspeth. "Oh, El! Ye came! I thought for certain ye'd find an excuse."

  So much for trying to leave early. Elspeth shook her head. "Sorcha, ye ken I'd be here ta wish ye the best on yer birthday."

  The young witch squealed again as she threw her arms around El's neck. "Who's the handsome devil with ye?" she whispered in her ear.

  Stepping away from her friend, Elspeth gestured to the strapping Sassenach. "Miss Sorcha Ferguson, this is Lord Benjamin. Sir, I'm afraid I've forgotten yer last name."

  He smiled a dangerous smile. "Westfield."

  Sorcha sucked in a breath. "As in the Duke of Blackmoor?"

  Elspeth's eyes flashed to her escort. Even

  she

  had heard of Blackmoor's scandalous exploits. His brothers were rumored to be even more debauched. Lord Benjamin's smile faltered. "It seems my brother is known in every corner of Britain."

  "

  This

  is Scotland," Sorcha informed him with an arrogant tilt of her head.

  "So it is," he said quietly. Then, as the first strings of a waltz began, he squeezed Elspeth's shoulder. "I do believe this dance is mine, Miss Campbell."

  Without a way out, she looked up at him and accepted his outstretched arm. Lord Benjamin led her to the middle of the floor and slid one arm around her waist. His light eyes twinkled in the chandelier light, and Elspeth suddenly found herself unable to look away from him. He was mesmerizing.

  "You're light on your toes, Miss Campbell."

  "Ye lead well, my lord."

  His hand splayed against the small of her back, and he pulled her closer to him. "Your hair combs are unusual."

  What an odd thing for a gentleman to notice. "Is that a compliment?"