Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “A month ago, I would say.”

  “How?”

  “Val called in a very large favor just before Trafalgar.” Erroll smiled with the memory. “I do not enjoy the popularity my brother did, so it took more than asking nicely to ensure Val’s last request was honored.”

  “Last request?” Ash’s blue eyes bore into him. “It isn’t your fault he died. Val was determined to become an Admiral without help from the family.”

  “Then we can blame ambition; his and Bonaparte’s.”

  Ash gave a slow nod. “You tried to have him reassigned along with Grant.”

  “As I said, I do not enjoy the same popularity he did.”

  “I suspect the truth is more along the order of him telling you to mind your own damn business.”

  “He accused me of trying to control his life; actually compared me to our father.” Erroll grimaced. “Can you imagine?”

  Ash laughed. “I can. I will be sure to tell Olivia that Grant was more obedient and did as his elders directed. Mayhap she will get a little more sleep. Shall I give her your regards?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will she see you before you leave Mull? You know she will never forgive you if you do not visit.”

  “I will be sure to visit.”

  They rose and went to the main deck where a rope ladder had been slung over the side to a waiting jollyboat.

  “Will I see you again before you leave?” Ash asked.

  “I imagine so.”

  “I assume the lady has something to do with your visit,” Ash said.

  “She does.”

  “You didn’t tell me how she shot you, or why you came to be on this ship.”

  “The tale does not cast me in a flattering light.”

  “All the more reason I should hear it.”

  Erroll laughed. “I have no doubt you will. Stories like this have a way of being told and retold.”

  Ash turned and fitted his boot to the first rung of the ladder.

  “Ash.” His brother paused and looked up expectantly. “I have an acquaintance in the navy… Admiral Peterson. He is well acquainted with the Atlantic and the goings on in the ports of the major Colonial cities. It occurs to me that he might be of help in locating Johnson. It will take some time, but I’ll contact him and see what he might discover.”

  “This would not, per chance, be the captain of Grant’s ship?”

  “I cannot recall,” Erroll said.

  “How very fortunate that you remembered this connection,” Ash said.

  “The walk from the galley to the deck cleared my head.”

  “It’s more likely the walk sobered you up.”

  Erroll grinned. “The walk was not that long.”

  “No,” Ash murmured. “It was not.”

  Then he left.

  *****

  “I promise to shove the table in front of the door while you take Grace up on deck to find Lord Rushton,” Eve negotiated with Lord Somerset. They would read Ravenhall very soon and she needed Grace out of the say so that she could accept his offer of marriage.

  He shook his head. “I cannot allow you to stay here alone.”

  Good Lord, was he going to be this rigid their entire marriage? “Sir, be reasonable. If you do not leave me behind, that will force Grace to find his lordship on her own.”

  His mouth thinned. “She will not.”

  Grace rose from her seat at the table across from Eve and glided over to him. When she reached his side, she touched his sleeve with her fingertips and looked up at him through her lashes.

  “Of course not, I cannot go about the ship alone.”

  Grace turned slightly and looked at Eve. Eve caught Lord Somerset’s eyes flick to Grace’s breasts and her mind registered the small intake of breath Grace had taken that caught his attention. Did Grace realize—A tiny smile touched the corner of Grace’s mouth. She knew!

  “Eve, I am certain Lord Somerset will be kind enough to escort us both up on deck.” She looked back at him. “Will you not, my lord?”

  He gave a half smile, tender and, to Eve’s surprise, a little sad.

  “I am happy to be of service, Miss Crenshaw,” he said.

  Eve’s mind jolted. Dear God, Lord Somerset was in love with Grace.

  Her mind raced back two days ago when he had prepared a plate of sweet goods for Grace at the restaurant in Belfast, then him escorting her down the street, leaving Eve with Lord Rushton. Hadn’t his fingers lingered a moment too long on hers when he’d helped her from the carriage at the docks? And there was last night, when Lord Rushton’s brother had barged into their room. It had been Grace who Lord Somerset covered with his coat—not Eve.

  A wave of sadness deflated her. She’d been a fool. She had refused his offer three times, then when he’d had the chance to compare her to Grace, he had fallen under Grace’s spell without resistance. Eve, too caught up in her misery, failed to recognize the signs. Now she would be forced to marry a man who didn’t care for her, and who—Eve drew a sharp breath—who she could—

  “Eve?”

  Eve startled at the intrusion of Grace’s voice.

  “Are you all right?” Grace asked.

  Eve glanced from Grace to Lord Somerset. Both stared at her with concern. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

  Grace seemed uncertain, then said, “Shall we go up on deck with Lord Somerset?”

  Eve would have preferred to crawl into bed and never get up, but she had promised to help Grace spend time with Lord Rushton. The plan had been a good one when she hoped to have a few minutes alone with Lord Somerset. Now, however, he would only be wishing for a private moment with Grace.

  But that didn’t mean that Grace’s plan to spend time with Lord Rushton was a bad one, she realized. In fact, it was now more imperative than ever that Grace spend as much time with him as possible. Given the chance, it was as likely he would fall in love with Grace as easily as Lord Somerset had. The thought brought an unexpected jab of pain. Eve ignored it and stood.

  “I am ready.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Erroll leaned against the railing as he breathed deep of the sea air and stared out at the water from the poop deck. Mull lay off the starboard side and the mainland filled the port view, but he had eyes only for the channel straight ahead. He wasn’t the sailor Val had been, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed the tang of salt air and the wind on his face. He thought that one day he and Val might cross the Atlantic to the Colonies or sail to Australia just for the sheer joy of it. Instead, Erroll was returning to Mull, and his brother’s empty grave.

  Long suppressed fury shot through Erroll. He thrust away from the railing. The desire to turn the ship around sparked a fever he would have given a fortune to have been able to indulge. He should have taken Ash and gone after Captain Johnson. Catching the slaver was probably the only thing that would convince Ash to leave Scotland. Going after the brigand was an excellent excuse to immediately turn around once they entered port.

  “Beg pardon, sir.”

  Erroll turned at the sound of Captain Mercantile’s voice and frowned at Somerset, Grace and Eve Crenshaw standing behind him.

  “The ladies have paid us a visit,” the captain said.

  “So I see.” The captain stood aside and Erroll said, “Ladies.”

  Grace Crenshaw left Somerset’s side and approached Erroll. She looked up at him through her lashes and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “When will we arrive to Tobermory, my lord?”

  “If the weather holds, we will dock sometime this evening.”

  “How marvelous. Then there is a good chance we will arrive at Ravenhall tonight.”

  He shook his head. “The roads are too treacherous at night. We will leave early tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course,” she demurred. “Since we will remain in the cabin another night, I would love a turn around the deck.”

  “The evening air is bracing,” he said. “You ladies
will enjoy the walk.”

  “Eve isn’t interested. Lord Somerset insisted she could not be left alone, so she agreed to come with us while he delivered me to you.”

  “And so we have done.” Eve turned and started back across the poop deck toward the stairs.

  Somerset started after her.

  “Just a minute.” Erroll started forward, jerking his arm from Grace Crenshaw’s hold. Erroll hurried past Somerset and grasped her arm.

  She turned and looked at him. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  No, but something was definitely wrong with her. “Nothing at all. I simply want to accompany you downstairs. Somerset can take a turn on the deck with your sister.”

  “But, Lord Rushton,” Grace said. “We’ve had no time to talk.”

  “Lord Somerset has been kind enough to stay below with you ladies this evening. A little exercise will do him good.” Erroll didn’t wait for a reply, but grasped Eve Crenshaw’s hand and started forward.

  She glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back, Erroll caught the pain on her face before she looked down. What was wrong? He looked back and saw Somerset with Grace Crenshaw, her hand in his arm and—satisfaction shot through Erroll—Somerset’s hand covered hers. Erroll jerked his eyes forward onto Miss Crenshaw. Was she jealous of Somerset and her sister? She hadn’t demonstrated any particular affection for him.

  They reached the steps and Erroll descended first, then turned and held her hand as she took the three stairs. She pulled free and crossed to the stairs going below. She didn’t wait for him, but started down the first step. Erroll grasped her arm and stopped her.

  She shot him an impatient look. “I’m not a fragile piece of china that will break. I can manage a few stairs on my own.” Without waiting for his permission, she went down the stairs. He followed and had to quicken his steps to catch up with her. They turned a corner in the corridor and, a moment later, reached the cabin.

  She opened the door, then said, “Thank you, sir,” and started to close it.

  Erroll stopped the door with a flat palm to the wood and forced her back when he stepped inside.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I would like to come in, if you don’t mind.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “That is highly improper.”

  “That is your objection?” He closed the door behind him.

  “If you are worried about me being alone, have Oscar stand guard,” she said.

  “And deprive him of much needed sleep?” Erroll shook his head. “I think not.”

  “If he knew you were alone with me he would have your hide.”

  “I am enjoying an innocent talk with you, Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Nothing about you is innocent,” she muttered.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a blessed thing.”

  “So I shall pay the price, guilty or not?” Erroll asked.

  “Oh, you are guilty as sin.” She plopped down into one of the chairs. “And you’ve ruined me in the bargain.”

  “If we are judged guilty, perhaps we ought to commit the crime?” Hadn’t he said something like that the first night in her room? She didn’t reply and Erroll realized she hadn’t heard him. He really was losing his touch if he couldn’t keep a woman’s attention while trying to seduce her. “Miss Crenshaw, are you all right?”

  Her eyes focused on him and she frowned. “What? Why are you here, Rushton?”

  So it wasn’t ‘Lord Rushton’ or ‘my lord.’ He was now ‘Rushton.’ At least that was a step up, even if she seemed to have lost interest. She’d certainly been interested at Lady Grendall’s party, he thought with frustration.

  “Grace won’t be long up top,” she said. “It is best if you are not here when they return. She would not be happy to find us alone and I am sure Lord Somerset will consider it quite improper.”

  ”I suspect Somerset will take his time with her.”

  A stricken look flashed across her face and her eyes glistened with tears.

  “Miss Crenshaw.” Erroll closed the distance between them and pulled her up and into his arms. She twisted in an effort to break free, but he held her firmly. “Shh,” he soothed.

  She gave a halfhearted push, then slumped in his arms.

  “Did I misread things? Miss Crenshaw?” His chest tightened. “Do you love Somerset?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said through tears.

  “I am a man,” he said. “We’re all idiots when it comes to women.”

  “Yes, you are,” she readily agreed.

  Erroll’s chest relaxed a fraction. “Do you want to tell me what is the matter?”

  “You,” she said through a sniffle. “You are what is the matter. You’ve ruined everything.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with a sigh, “I suppose I have.”

  She looked up at him. Confusion washed across her features, then her eyes widened. Erroll knew exactly how she felt and lowered his head. When their mouths touched, she gave a small gasp. Her scent enveloped him and a jolt of lust drew his bollocks so tight his breath caught. The compulsion to toss her on the bed, yank up her skirt and thrust into her with all his might startled him. He froze, uncertain for a terrible instant if he would be able to resist doing just that. Then she leaned into him. Erroll urged her back until they fell onto the bed. They landed, him on top, and her curves accepted his body as if they were one.

  She gripped his shoulders, but didn’t push him away and Erroll ruthlessly pressed his advantage, seaming her mouth with his tongue. Her lips parted and he thrust inside with quick stabs. Slowly, her arms slid around his shoulders as Erroll slanted his mouth over hers again and again, so hungry for her he feared it wasn’t possible to get enough.

  Did she want him as much as he wanted her? She moaned and the sound reverberated through him like a shock wave. He had to touch her. Erroll flattened a hand on her ribs and slid upward until the side of his hand encountered the edge of her breast. His cock thickened as he molded his fingers to the curve of soft flesh and grazed the stiff nipple.

  She drew in a sharp breath and jerked so that his erection settled more snugly against the firm flesh of her pelvis. Blood roared through his ears. Erroll kissed his way along her cheek to her ear and gently nibbled on her lobe. She gave a small cry and lust growled in warning that it would devour him—and her.

  “Eve,” he whispered, and again nipped gently at her ear.

  She speared one hand through his hair and tightened her fingers. She wanted him, and by God he would oblige until he couldn’t think straight—and then some.

  “My lord,” she said in a half gasp. “Sir, please, I-I—”

  Erroll froze as if he’d been doused in ice water. It wasn’t Rushton, but my lord, and sir. “Love, it’s all right.”

  “We cannot,” she said. “Oscar—Holy God, Grace.”

  Erroll wished Miss Grace Crenshaw far, far away.

  He pushed himself up and looked down at Eve. She swallowed and Erroll felt another hard pulse in his cock when her slim throat contracted.

  “You might, marry my sister.”

  “No, I will not.” he said, with vehemence. “Do you deny you want me?”

  “I…I am not made of stone.”

  But he certainly was, or a part of him was, anyway, and that part was ravenous.

  “If you should end up married to Grace, I would never be able to face her,” Eve said in a whisper.

  “Is that all that stands in our way?” he demanded. He would solve that problem this instant with Captain Mercantile officiating their marriage.

  She hesitated, then pursed her lips. “Contrary to gossip, I do not spread my legs for every man who asks it.”

  “Of course not. Anyone who would think such a thing—” Erroll stared down at her. “Halifax did not by chance imply that?”

  Her cheeks turned pink.

  Erroll cursed. He shoved off her, and pulled her to her feet. “One can only hope that my aim was suffi
ciently accurate to put an end to his miserable life.” He gave her a critical look. “Put your dress to rights, madam.”

  She looked down at where one breast was bared to the nipple. Her head snapped up, but Erroll kept his gaze fixed on the perfect pink bud. She whirled and pulled her dress up. Erroll envisioned the bodice sliding up over the nipple, and his mouth went dry. When she faced him, the fabric was once again molded to the full mounds with exquisite perfection. There would be no sleep tonight—or any night to come if he didn’t do something about the situation.

  Erroll crossed to the door, opened it, then paused. “By the by, Eve, I will shoot the next man who implies you spread your legs for any man who asks.”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise and he closed the door behind him.

  *****

  Ravenhall came into view through the carriage window and Eve was certain her stomach would rebel on a monumental level.

  “My lord, it is magnificent,” Grace cried.

  Through the remainder of last night’s voyage and the carriage ride today, Eve had maintained calm. But as the carriage approached the opening in the thick, stone wall surrounding the castle, it seemed they were headed straight into a great gaping maw…and into Lord Rushton’s iron grasp.

  After their interlude last night, Eve hadn’t seen him until they boarded the carriage this morning. He gave no indication that he remembered touching her so intimately—or that he was in the least bit affected by the encounter. Eve, on the other hand, had lain awake, her body plagued with memories of his weight on top of her, his warm mouth devouring hers, his muscled shoulders beneath her fingers and his strange parting words: I will shoot the next man who implies you spread your legs for any man who asks. Her throat went dry. When would the effect of those words diminish?

  “I had a feeling you would like it.”

  Lord Rushton’s voice drew Eve’s attention back to her surroundings and she saw him smile at Grace, amusement in his eyes.

  “It would be impossible not to,” Grace said. “I have never been to a castle before.”

  His gaze shifted onto Eve. “What do you think of Ravenhall, Miss Crenshaw?”

  She looked out the window again. Vines crept up the massive stone walls, leaves sprouting with the warmer weather of spring. No sun shone and a mist hung in the air, but that only added to the sense that the castle wasn’t simply stone piled upon the mossy ground, but that it had somehow sprung up from the earth as a living part of her.