Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “She looks as if she would like to scratch his eyes out, does she not?”

  Eve started at the female voice beside her and swung her gaze onto Lady Dorothy Benson. “I beg your pardon?”

  Lady Benson sat on the chair beside hers. “No need to pretend you didn’t see her little tantrum.” Her gaze shifted in the direction of the group. “Louisa does not respond well when a man rebuffs her.”

  “I do not know her,” Eve said.

  “It is no loss.” She paused, then added, “He is a fine specimen of masculinity.” Lady Benson looked at her. “And you are to marry him.”

  Eve stiffened. This was the one thing she had hoped to avoid tonight: direct confrontation with one of Lord Rushton’s lovers. Eve glanced at Lord Rushton, but his attention remained on Lord Adkins.

  “You have no cause to be jealous,” Lady Benson said.

  “I am not jealous,” Eve blurted.

  Amusement danced in her eyes, but she said in an amiable tone, “You are wise.”

  Yes, Eve thought. Wise. For if she allowed herself to worry about his lovers, she would worry all day—every day.

  “Louisa simply couldn’t enjoy her good luck while it lasted,” Lady Benson said. “She got greedy.”

  “Greedy?” Eve said.

  “Yes. She thought she could trap Lord Rushton into marriage.” Eve stiffened and Lady Benson lifted her brows. “Oh, you are under the impression I think you trapped him. No. Unlike those who thrive on turning every piece of gossip against a lady, I find the truth much more interesting.”

  She paused and Eve realized she was waiting in hopes of hearing more. Eve thanked heaven that Grace’s deception hadn’t come to light, then realized she might turn this conversation to her advantage.

  “A case of mistaken identity,” she said.

  Lady Benton’s gaze sharpened. “He mistook you for your sister.” Eve didn’t reply, letting silence condemn, and Lady Benton gave a little laugh. “Forgive me for saying so, Miss Crenshaw, while your sister is perfectly lovely, Erroll would never have married her.”

  Eve stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do you honestly think she would have held his attention?”

  “You know very little of Grace, my lady—nothing, I daresay.”

  “You may be right, but I know a great deal about him.” She nodded toward Lord Rushton.

  “Indeed?” Eve said, and the lady laughed again.

  “You have no cause to be jealous of me, Miss Crenshaw. Unlike Louisa, I know how to enjoy a man—especially a man who enjoys pleasing a woman—and I never make the cardinal mistake of asking for more than he is willing to give. That is why Lord Rushton and I have remained friends.”

  “I see,” Eve said.

  Lady Benton studied her. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Pardon me for saying so,” Eve said, “but you presume a great deal for a lady who doesn’t know me or my family.”

  “I don’t have to know you to recognize your reluctance to marry Rushton. If he preferred your sister that would be cause for discomfort. However, his interest in her could have been fleeting at best, so you need not fear that he will be pining for her while married to you.”

  The conversation had taken a strange turn, and Eve wished mightily for Lord Rushton’s return. As if reading her mind, his eyes shifted onto her. Amusement curved his lips. He murmured something to Lord Adkins then, two champagne glasses in hand, returned to her side.

  He handed one glass to Eve, then bowed over Lady Benton’s hand. “How nice to see you, Lady Benton.” He straightened. “Would you like some champagne?” He offered her his glass.

  “No thank you, my lord.” She rose. “I am, in fact, returning to the ballroom. I promised the next dance to Lord Townes.” She looked at Eve. “Good evening, Miss Crenshaw, my lord.”

  When she left, Lord Rushton sat down. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Perfectly fine, my lord, and you?”

  “Never been better.” He sounded like he meant it.

  They drank champagne and exchanged small talk with other guests until he had finished off three glasses to her one. By the time they returned to the ballroom, he seemed not to have been the least bit affected by their short but heated encounter in the closet. She, however, still felt as if her legs were made of pudding, and she hadn’t been able to forget his encounter with the woman in the refreshments room—or the lady she’d spoken with.

  Any woman who married the earl would have to grow accustomed to, and accept, such encounters. Tonight alone, two woman had made advances toward him, and only God knew how many others had approached him before that. Would the advances lessen once he married? Only if he discouraged them—and he had already said he wouldn’t.

  “Are you all right, Miss Crenshaw?”

  His voice broke into her thoughts. “Yes,” she replied. “Just a bit unnerved.”

  “You should have had another glass of champagne.”

  She shot him a reproachful look. “Liquor will not solve my problem. It was your fault we went in there.”

  “That it was.”

  He steered her along the wall and out the open doors onto the balcony. Her heart jumped into her throat. The cad was going out of his way to encourage gossip. Cool air washed over her and she drew in a deep breath.

  “Shall we sit down?” He nodded to a bench at the bottom of the stairs.

  Eve hesitated. They had managed to avoid detection in the parlor, but the garden was a public place.

  “I cannot kiss you in plain view of the ballroom,” he said.

  Eve jerked her gaze onto his face.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “I thought perhaps you could use a little fresh air.”

  The fact was, she could. What would the lasting effects be of sitting in the garden with him? Nothing. As he’d said, they would be in plain sight.

  She allowed him to lead her down the three steps. Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the nearest garden hedge twenty feet from the mansion. Her heart jumped. She recognized the hulking figure before it melted back into the shadows. Oscar Hinks. The gravity of her plans hit full force and she faltered as her foot touched the grass.

  Lord Rushton’s arm shot around her waist and he hugged her to his side. “Miss Crenshaw.”

  She startled at the hard muscle that came into contact with her hip and arm. “I am fine,” she said, though the breathless note in her voice made her wonder.

  “Come sit down,” he started toward the bench, still holding her tight, and she realized it was now or never. If she didn’t get him off to Gretna Green, she never would.

  “If you don’t mind, my lord, I would prefer to walk.”

  He halted. “A walk?” The words were drawled with nonchalance, but she knew he was surprised by her suggestion.

  “The exertion and fresh air will do me good,” she said. “I haven’t fully recovered from, er, recent events.”

  “Indeed?” This time, amusement laced his voice. “And a walk will put you to rights?”

  She flushed with embarrassment and prayed he couldn’t see the blush she knew followed the heat creeping up her cheeks. “Fresh air cures many ailments.”

  Eve looked up, then regretted meeting his gaze when his fingers flexed against her waist. A moment of silence passed. Why did he hesitate? He couldn’t conceive of, much less suspect, what she had in mind. No, she realized with a jolt of frustration. He was searching for a reason to decline the invitation. There could be no denying his arousal when they’d been jammed into the hidey hole in the parlor. He hadn’t hesitated then. Why now? Eve shifted so that her breast came in contact with his chest and pressed closer. It seemed he was suddenly a statue, his body hard as stone, his hand on her waist an unmoving vice.

  “Shall we, my lord?” she asked.

  “That depends, my dear.”

  Good Lord, she wasn’t Grace, but she was worth a walk in the gardens. What did she have to do, strip down to her shift in
order to entice him? He lifted a hand and Eve froze when he ran a finger down her cheek.

  His finger reached her chin and he grasped it. “Are you carrying a pistol?” She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “A lady does not carry a pistol.”

  He gave her chin a small squeeze. “A lady does not sleep with a pistol under her pillow.”

  Ire flashed. “Use some sense. If I intended to shoot you again, the parlor would have been the place to do it.”

  “Indeed?”

  The amusement in his voice fueled her frustration. “It isn’t as if I asked you to walk the plank.”

  “Oh, but you did,” he said. She pulled away, and he released her. “But, as I am a good swimmer, I am willing to take the plunge.”

  The arm that had been pressed close to him prickled in the cool night air. An odd sense of lightheadedness gripped her. Warm fingers grasped her hand and Lord Rushton slipped that hand into the crook of his arm as he started forward. Movement amongst the hedges’ shadows snapped her back to attention.

  She swallowed. Once they left the manicured gardens and entered the privacy of the shadowed hedges there would be no stopping Oscar from his assigned duty. Lord Rushton didn’t stand a chance against the hulking man. At Gretna Green, he would have no choice this time but to marry Grace, and Eve wouldn’t have to worry about having him as a husband. No. She would then call him brother.

  She thought she might be sick.

  *****

  Erroll feared his near painful erection would cripple him. Since leaving the parlor, he’d barely regained control. Then the vixen had pressed that lovely breast against his chest. She’d already witnessed how quickly the blood could rush to his cock—and his inability to think. She had to know how badly he wanted her. Her reluctant acquiescence in the small confines of their hiding place hadn’t fooled him into thinking she would spread her legs so easily, however. She would have had to be made of stone not to be aroused when jammed together with him. But after making it clear she had no intention of marrying him, he hadn’t expected an invitation to walk with her in the gardens. He strolled forward, willing his lust into submission with the promise of imminent satiation.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Never better,” he replied.

  “Is your leg well? You seem to be limping.”

  It wasn’t his leg that caused the limp.

  “I am sorry I shot you.”

  At least this time she sounded half remorseful. “It is a mere flesh wound.”

  “Your limp seems to be worsening,” she said.

  He knew how to remedy that and once they reached the shadows—Erroll sensed someone behind them.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end even as a female silky voice at his back said, “A beautiful night for a walk, don’t you agree, my lord?”

  He halted. One surprise a night was enough. He looked down at Miss Crenshaw. “We should have slaked our lust the instant the other couple left the parlor.”

  Her eyes widened and he nearly laughed. Perhaps he’d been too direct. With a sigh, Erroll turned her toward Lady Diana Barrett. Light poured through the open ballroom doors and illuminated her tall, lithe figure standing in the grass a few feet from the stairs. Lady Barrett was stunning—or so he’d thought until two weeks ago when he ended their affair. Her allure evaporated the instant he realized she was angling for a husband and had him in her determined sights. What was she up to now? She had to know it was bad manners to accost them as they were headed for the gardens.

  “Good evening, Diana,” he said.

  “My lord,” she said, then to Miss Crenshaw, “Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Lady Barrett,” Miss Crenshaw replied.

  Diana glided forward. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Miss Crenshaw’s fingers tightened around his arm as Diana stopped a few feet in front of them.

  “I gather you read the announcement?” Erroll said to Diana.

  “Is it in the newspapers?” she said with an innocence that didn’t fool him. “I suppose it is,” she went on, “but news that London’s most eligible bachelor is off the marriage mart is the talk of the town.”

  “I believe Lord Gregory has that honor, not I.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Every mamma in England hopes you will marry her daughter. But it seems those hopes are dashed.”

  Erroll wasn’t lost to the innuendo in the words those hopes. So Diana was letting him know that she was available for a liaison, despite his imminent nuptials. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

  “What a shame,” Miss Crenshaw said.

  “A shame?” Diana repeated.

  “A shame that so many mammas must now look elsewhere to marry off their simpering daughters.”

  Erroll looked down at Miss Crenshaw in surprise. Surely his prospective bride wasn’t jealous?

  “I doubt those mammas would appreciate their daughters being referred to as simpering,” Diana said.

  Erroll swung his gaze onto her. “I feel certain no one will tell them.”

  Her face reddened.

  “Be that as it may,” Miss Crenshaw interjected, “any hopes that have been dashed as a result of Lord Rushton’s betrothal will stay dashed.”

  Well, well, this was a delightful turn of events. The little minx wasn’t going to take Diana’s jibes lying down. They would have a grand time before she cried off.

  “I am certain Lord Rushton will deal with them as he sees fit,” Diana said.

  The malicious note in her voice was even more than he’d expect. “Really, Diana,” he drawled, “you’re starting to bore me.”

  Her eyes flew to his.

  He laid a hand over Miss Crenshaw’s fingers, which still grasped his arm, and said to her, “I believe we were about to take a walk, my dear.”

  She cast a nervous glance at Diana and he understood her anxiety.

  “Miss Crenshaw and I haven’t had a moment alone.” He smiled at Lady Barrett. “You understand the need for discretion, Diana.”

  Her mouth thinned and he knew she understood the warning. But he had no illusions. She wouldn’t heed him.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we returned to the ballroom,” Miss Crenshaw said.

  “Nonsense,” Erroll said. “There’s no need to waste a perfectly lovely night in a stuffy ballroom.” He began to lead her away.

  “Damn Scottish bastard,” came the barely audible words behind them.

  Erroll halted, but before he could turn, Miss Crenshaw whirled and demanded, “I beg your pardon?” The chilling tone in her voice sent an odd ripple of warmth through him. She added as he turned, “Are you insane?”

  He noted the anger in her voice, but it was condescension that dripped from her words. His mother would be proud. No woman could cut a person to the quick—when deserved—faster than his own dear mamma.

  Diana drew a sharp breath and opened her mouth to reply, but Erroll murmured, “Beware, Diana.”

  Her eyes flew to his. She stared for a long moment, then whirled and started toward the mansion. Erroll didn’t wait for Miss Crenshaw to attack again. He steered her back toward the gardens and began walking.

  She twisted and looked over her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She faced forward. “That malicious cat. I wager her attitude was sweeter when you were bedding her.”

  Erroll laughed. “Madam, you are a delight.”

  “Rubbish. Do you think she will remain quiet about us being out here?”

  “Likely, she has already chosen the biggest gossip to spread the news.” If he wasn’t careful, he might find himself at Gretna Green after all.

  “This is what I get for shooting a man with a past,” she muttered.

  Erroll was certain she intended an affront, but he laughed again. “Miss Crenshaw, you have had some bad luck, haven’t you?”

  “If I set a wedding date far enough into the future, I imagine one of your paramours will shoot you a
nd save me the trouble,” she replied. “Although, if I married you first, I would be a very rich widow.”

  He answered with mock gravity, “You would be only as rich as I choose to make you.”

  “Oh no, my lord, you are going to make me a very generous marriage settlement. Rest assured, when you die, I will be a wealthy widow.”

  “You seem quite certain I will die first.”

  “If Lady Barrett is an example of your past paramours, it is a foregone conclusion. Why does the spiteful thing detest you so?”

  “I didn’t want to marry her.”

  “I can’t say I blame you,” Miss Crenshaw said.

  They neared the tall bushes that marked the garden entrance. “Indeed, why?” he asked.

  “I have never liked her.”

  “In truth, I never much liked her either,” he said.

  “Then you deserve everything she has planned for you.”

  Erroll was beginning to enjoy himself. “Again, you are quite right,” he said.

  A small cry from the garden brought him to a halt and, an instant later, a young woman darted through the large hedges on the left.

  Miss Crenshaw stepped forward, but Erroll held firm to the hand still entwined with his arm. “The lass will come to us,” he whispered.

  The girl reached them, and Miss Crenshaw gasped. “Lady Gallagher?” This time, he allowed Miss Crenshaw to pull free of his hold. “Are you all right? What are you doing here?”

  She glanced in the direction she had come, then answered in a shaky voice, “Yes,”

  A large figure separated from the dark shadows of the garden, answering Miss Crenshaw’s second question.

  The man slowed. “Halifax,” Erroll said as he neared.

  “Lord Halifax,” Miss Crenshaw said.

  The note of censure in her voice was obvious to Erroll—to Halifax as well, when he said, “Miss Crenshaw.”

  Lady Gallagher shrank closer to her as Halifax stopped in front of them.