The Laird Who Loved Me (13 page)

“Most women don’t have such lovely curls.”

“Most women don’t have you for a maid, and that’s the real difference.” Caitlyn stood and gave Muiren a swift hug.

Muiren turned bright pink. “Thank ye, miss!”

Caitlyn grinned and said a quick good-bye before hurrying downstairs, her mind already racing ahead to MacLean.
Just speak plainly and keep your temper.
If she didn’t, the overbearing laird would fluster her and she’d never pin him down about his intentions. And if he kissed her again the way he did this afternoon—

She abruptly halted outside the library and pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart thudded hotly. She hadn’t allowed herself to even think about that punishing embrace all evening, afraid that her sharp-eyed
maid would notice how that kiss had affected her. And, oh, had it ever. Even now, the mere thought of it, of the way he’d swept her up off her feet and held her body flush against his, of his hard mouth capturing hers, of the way his hands—

She took a shaky breath.
I must keep some distance between myself and MacLean this time!
Yet her more impulsive side whispered into her other ear,
Ah, but imagine what it would be like to be kissed again in
such
a way!

But she was determined not to listen to that side ever again, especially not where Alexander MacLean was concerned. She glanced at herself in one of the long mirrors, tweaked one of the cream-colored bows, then walked through the open library doors.

The room was empty. Disappointed, she walked across the thick rug, keeping an ear open for the sound of someone coming down the stairs. As she passed a large oak desk, she paused to pick up a small book that lay open. It contained translations of stories about King Arthur, and his cousin, Culhwch, and she knew her father would have enjoyed it. In many ways, he was as much of a romantic as his mother, Mam.

She returned the book to the desk, then walked toward the tall terrace doors that lined one end of the room, the moon illuminating the last lingering storm clouds scattered across the dark sky.

The more she was around MacLean, the more she realized how little she knew about him. Their shared
time in London didn’t begin to encompass the complex man he was. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. Such as today, when he’d saved her from her foolish pride by catching her runaway horse.

That moment could have ended badly, had he not been so quick to act. Though she hadn’t allowed him to see it, she’d been seriously frightened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against one of the terrace doors, the smooth glass cool against her shoulder.

If she wasn’t careful, her pride would be the death of her. It almost physically pained her to admit that she couldn’t do something, especially when someone looked as if that was exactly what he or she had suspected all along. Somehow MacLean had figured that out and used it against her, looking at her as if he thought every word she uttered was a lie.

He’d taunted her into taking the unruly horse from the groom, and she’d let him do it. She’d almost paid the ultimate price for that bit of nonsense. She sighed and rubbed her rump—

“Bruised your ass, did you?” asked a low, satisfied voice.

She hurriedly dropped her hand and whirled to face MacLean.

He stood just within the doorway, dressed in evening clothes of unrelenting black, broken only by a severely tied snowy white cravat held in place with a blindingly beautiful emerald pin. The emerald had
surprised her when she’d first seen it, for she hadn’t thought him the sort to wear such an obvious vanity. But it became him well and paled in color when contrasted with his frosty green eyes.

He grinned wolfishly. “Perhaps a sore bottom will teach you not to be so foolhardy in the future.” His hard gaze flickered across her, lingering on her gown before lifting to her face.

She refused to allow the shiver that danced up her spine to show, gripping her hands into fists at her sides. “My lord, I’m glad to see you. I was hoping you might come here.”

“To tell me of your aching ass?”

“I didn’t come to discuss my injuries.”

His smile disappeared. “Injuries? Did you—”

“No, no! I should have said I hadn’t come to discuss my aching ass, but that seemed a bit vulgar.”

He gave a burst of surprised laughter, and the warm sound bolstered her confidence. “MacLean, I came to ask a question.”

Still chuckling, he said, “If you want me to give you more riding lessons, the answer is no. I daresay Dervishton would agree to do it, for the man’s nothing but a fawning pup.”

“I wasn’t going to ask any such thing. I just want to know why you brought me here.”

All traces of humor fled. “The duchess invited you, not me.”

She lifted her brows in polite disbelief.

He returned her look for a minute, then went to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He came back to the desk and leaned against it, crossing his legs at the ankles as he took a sip from the heavy cut-crystal glass.

“Well?” She crossed the room to stand beside the settee, watching him through her lashes. He was so distant, it was as if he’d surrounded himself with a wall of ice. Well, she knew how to shatter ice. “You’re angry.”

He merely sipped his port, but his eyes glittered with suppressed anger.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “I hope this isn’t about what happened between Lord Hugh and my sister. For if it is, then you, my lord, are being
silly
.”

His mouth went white, his eyes flashing furiously. Outside, lightning flashed, sending a stark white flicker into the room. A deep-throated rumble of thunder followed, the floor quaking at the sound. She glanced outside and saw that in the twinkling of an eye, the storm had rebuilt and large, boiling black clouds loomed ominously overhead.

Caitlyn shivered, not just at the force of the storm brewing, but at the quickness of it.
Such power
.
Such power, and carried with such careless grace. How that must burden him.

She turned back to MacLean and noted the lines beside his mouth, the way his skin had paled and how his eyes gleamed hard and bright. She’d thought those were signs of his fury, but now she wondered if
they were signs of the weight of the curse—a silent acknowledgment that he didn’t have the luxury to completely free his tempestuous temper—ever.

The thought staggered her.
What a horrid curse!
Caitlyn’s heart ached in a new, different way. She didn’t feel pity—for God knew, the man didn’t inspire such an insipid emotion—but she did feel a sudden and unusually strong flash of empathy. All of her life, her grandmother had repeated larger-than-life stories of the MacLean curse. Now, facing it, Caitlyn had caught a glimpse beyond the surface.

It made her conduct in London all the more reprehensible, for she’d been curious and had tried to force MacLean into losing his temper and exhibiting the power of the curse. She’d done so without any thought of how it might affect the man, and that was inexcusable. “MacLean, this has gone on long enough. We can’t keep hurting one another. We
must
talk. There are so many things I wish to explain and—”

He placed his glass of port on the desk, the heavy glass clunking on the wood as he turned on his heel and walked toward the doors.

He was
leaving
? She’d asked for a chance to explain herself, and he was going to just walk away and—

He closed the doors to the hallway and locked them, the click of the tumblers loud in her shocked silence.

Caitlyn couldn’t breathe. They were alone now. The only other entrance was through the terrace doors, and with such horrid weather, no one would enter from there.

She wondered if she should ask for the doors to be left opened, but as she caught MacLean’s gaze, she recognized the sardonic glint in his eyes and realized that was exactly what he expected her to do.

“Thank you. I’m glad you closed the doors; now we won’t be interrupted.” A surprised look crossed his face, and she had to grin.

A reluctant answering smile touched his hard mouth. “You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that.” He returned to the desk to retrieve his glass of port. “Speak, Hurst. Now’s your chance, and it’s the only one I’ll give you.”

Ha! We’ll see about that.
“You’ve done nothing but torment me since I arrived.”

He smiled at her over the edge of his glass, his eyes so dark that they appeared black. “I have not yet begun to torment you.”

“MacLean, if this is about our behavior in London—”

“
Our
behavior?
Your
behavior, you mean.”

“We were
both
pushing societal rules, you as much as I. We
both
had a hand in the events that forced your brother to wed my sister.”

“That’s not true.” He swirled the port in his glass, warming it even as his gaze grew chillier. “All I did was embark on a harmless flirtation, which you apparently took for something much more.”

“I did no such thing! If we’d been caught—”

“We wouldn’t have been, except for your behavior,” he said impatiently. “We’re both adults. You’ve been
out of the schoolroom for a long time, and you knew better than to publicly announce—”

“What do you mean, I’ve been out of the schoolroom for a long time? I am not an antidote.”

His gaze flickered over her insultingly. “Some might say you’re long of tooth.”

“Oh!
You—”
She gathered her skirt and marched to where he sat on the edge of the desk. “You are just trying to distract me from the real issue. We are
evenly
at fault for what happened in London, and you know it!”

The line of his jaw tightened. “My brother went through hell when he realized he had to marry a woman he didn’t even know.”

“Your brother wasn’t the only one to suffer! How do you think my sister felt?” Caitlyn said hotly.

“We’ve all suffered at your thoughtlessness. You boasted to the entire world that you would force me to offer for your hand, which set the entire ton on its ear.”

Her face heated. She
had
boasted that, and it was that impulsive indiscretion that had brought her sister racing to London to halt the whispers. “MacLean, I don’t—”

“Had our siblings not married, it would have been a huge scandal. It was weeks before the ton could speak of anything else, and my name was tossed about like chaff on the wind.” The wind rattled against every window in the house as if trying to beat its way inside.

“Ah!” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re not angry about your brother at all. You’re angry because you were made a fool in front of the
bon ton
!”

A flash of white illuminated the room, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that made the decanter tremble on its silver tray. MacLean came off the desk, moving with a deadly intent that froze her in place.

He grasped her by the shoulders and yanked her close, his face only inches from hers as he snarled, “I will not be made a fool of by a chit like you!
Not now. Not ever.
”

The nerve of this man!
“Ha! If that’s all it takes to make a fool of you, then you’d best expect it to happen again—and
soon
!”

Hot white lightning blinded her as his warm hands slipped from her shoulders to encircle her throat. She gasped as his thumbs came to rest on the delicate skin where her pulse beat.

Caitlyn found herself staring directly in his green, green eyes. Had any other man held her so, she’d have been frightened. Instead, she felt oddly excited and had to fight an urge to lean forward, to move even closer. He was not a man to harm women; he would scorn those who did. The danger came from her reaction to his touch.

She was agonizingly aware of him, of his height, of the breadth of his shoulders, of the bold line of his nose and the gleam of his unusual eyes, of the fall of his hair over his forehead. Every aspect of him was
magnified and distinct, even the faint scent of sandalwood soap on his hands.

Caitlyn grasped his wrists and moved forward, into his arms. His brows lowered, and as if against his will, his hands slid to the back of her neck, his fingers deliciously warm as they traced across her nape.

A shiver danced through her, raising goose bumps, tightening her nipples and making her breath ragged. She struggled to think. She had to close her eyes and take a breath before she could say, “MacLean, why did you have the duchess invite me to her house party?”

He leaned close until his lips were by her ear, his port-flavored breath warm. “I had Georgiana bring you here so that I could punish you for what you did to me and my family.”

Caitlyn opened her eyes. “Punish me?”

“I will ruin you, the way you would have been had your sister not rescued you from your folly.”

She pulled back and stared up at him. He was deadly serious. He meant what he said—and he could do it, too. She glanced at the closed door, and he chuckled softly. “Exactly.”

Why, oh why, had she allowed him to close the door? She’d been so wrapped up in trying to appear in command of the situation that she’d even thanked him.
Blast my rebellious nature.

One could cross society’s rules only if one had enough clout, and never publicly. Not that he needed the aid of a closed door. The sad truth was that, for a woman, a hasty word or an embrace—even
unwanted—could be enough to tarnish her name and banish her and her family from society. And unless the lady was from one of the leading families, there would be no second chances. “Blast it, MacLean, you must let go of this misguided notion of revenge.”

“Misguided?”

His voice was soft and threatening, yet deep and warm, like his hands. The goose bumps renewed and she shivered, finding her gaze locked on his firm, sensual mouth. What she wouldn’t give to feel those lips again. Perhaps she’d imagined the feel of them and had exaggerated her reaction in her mind. Suddenly, she needed to find out …
now.

“What are you doing?”

She leaned against him, slipping her hands about his waist, pressing against him. “I was thinking . . .” Only she wasn’t thinking at all; she was already in action. She pressed herself to him and kissed him, unable to resist the lure of that finely chiseled, hot mouth that was too close, too tempting.