The Laird Who Loved Me (18 page)

Caitlyn almost hopped with victory. “That’s perfect!”

“No’ so much as ye might think,” Mrs. Pruitt warned. “He’s almost deaf, but he doesn’t sleep very sound, sometimes wakin’ up an’ yellin’ at the charwoman to be quiet when she’s no’ even in the room.”

She gestured Caitlyn inside. “Go ahead,” the housekeeper whispered. “Muiren and I’ll keep watch in th’ hallway.”

Caitlyn nodded and slipped inside the library, her slippered feet making no sound on the thick rugs. Lord Roxburge was snoozing deeply, his head dropped forward on his chest. He was dressed in proper dinner clothes from a past era: knee breeches, a long coat, and a waistcoat, his black shoes pointed pigeon-toed. One liver-spotted, heavily veined hand rested on his knee, and the edge of his gold snuffbox glittered between his fingers.

There it was! And soooo close. All she’d have to do was move his hand …

Holding her breath, she slipped one finger into his ruffled sleeve and lifted. His hand raised slowly … so slowly . . . his fingers tightened instinctively over the snuffbox and he lifted it with him.

Blast it! She carefully lowered his hand back to his knee. The clock ticked loudly into the silence as the seconds passed. Finally, to her vast relief, his grip slowly loosened once again.

Perhaps, instead of lifting his whole hand, she could just lift one of his fingers and slip the box out.

She glanced at his face, and satisfied that he was still sleeping, she carefully attempted to lift one of his fingers.

He stopped snoring. Caitlyn froze in place as a frown settled over his face and he muttered something.
Her heart pounded and she held completely still. Finally, he subsided, snoring even louder.

She let her breath out, her heart beating wildly as she carefully released his wrist and stepped away. She looked around, assessing bric-a-brac that decorated the marble-topped tables, and found what she was looking for: a small box of ivory that was almost the size of the snuffbox.

She carried it quietly to Roxburge’s side and compared it for a moment.
Close enough.

She readied herself, flexing her hands as she prepared to perform a magician’s trick. She’d once seen a street performer who’d whipped a tablecloth from under an entire table setting of plates, glasses, silverware, and even a candelabra. Her goal was to remove the snuffbox and replace it so quickly that the duke wouldn’t notice the difference.

She reached for his arm and was just about to lift it when a movement by the doorway caught her eye, and her heart began thudding in an odd way.

Caitlyn turned her head and saw MacLean standing inside the doorway, Mrs. Pruitt’s apologetic figuring hovering just outside.

Damn the blackguard! He stood with his feet planted apart like a sea captain’s, his arms crossed over his powerful chest, his sensual mouth curved in a smile.

She scowled. This caper was difficult enough without a critical audience.

As if he could read her thoughts, he uncrossed his arms and made an elaborate bow, gesturing for her to continue.

There was both challenge and condescension in his gestures.

Caitlyn sent him a black look and turned back to Roxburge. She wiggled her fingers to loosen them up and imagined exactly what she’d do. If she lifted just two fingers and slipped the ivory box into his palm, it might dislodge the snuffbox …

Her heart beating unsteadily, she gingerly lifted his fingers. Ever so carefully, she pushed the ivory box into his hand, pushing the snuffbox out the other side. He stirred, his snoring interrupted as his fingers fumbled with the ivory box a moment before closing over it. His restless movements dislodged the snuffbox from his broad knee, and it silently tumbled to the thick rug.

Caitlyn snatched it up, her arm brushing his leg. Roxburge muttered in his sleep, his hand closing tightly over the ivory box.

For a long second she remained frozen in place, waiting for the comforting sound of his snore. Finally, after an eternity, the old man’s lips parted and a roiling snore filled the room.

Caitlyn sighed in relief and turned to show the box to MacLean … but he was no longer by the doorway. Frowning, she looked around and saw him standing beside the large desk that fronted the windows overlooking the garden. He was leaning against the desk,
negligently tossing and catching a paperweight, his gaze twinkling with dark amusement.

A warning trill shot through Caitlyn. What was he up to?

He slowly lifted the paperweight over the desk and held it there.

Oh, no!
If he dropped it . . .

She opened her mouth to whisper “No!”—then—
THUNK!
—the paperweight fell onto the wood desk.

Roxburge bolted upright, his eyes fixed on Caitlyn.
“Damned charwoman!”
he yelled.

Caitlyn froze.
What am I going to do now?

Roxburge’s eyes flickered once.

Please,
go back to sleep.

He slowly settled back in his chair.

Please,
please,
go back to sleep.

The third time, his lids slid closed and a snore slipped from his lips.

Caitlyn pressed a hand to her thudding heart. That’d been a close one. She glared at MacLean, who was looking at her with a mixture of frustration and reluctant admiration.

Holding up the snuffbox in victory, she turned to go—but couldn’t. Frowning, she looked back and saw the lace trim of her gown was caught under Roxburge’s shoe. Worse, it seemed to be hooked under his heel. Bending down, she saw no way to slide it free without lifting his foot or tearing her costly flounce.

She frowned and stood—only to discover that MacLean now stood beside her, so close that her
breasts brushed his thigh as she stood. So close that if her skirt weren’t caught, she could easily rise up on her toes, wrap her arms about him, and pull him into a kiss.

The thought made her heart pound, and the very air seemed charged with heat. When she shivered, he smiled. God, she loved his mouth. It was firm yet sensual, warm and questing and—

He whispered in her ear, “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

Desire swirled through her so hard, her knees began to shake.

He bent down again, his lips by her ear. “Shall I release your gown from Roxburge’s shoe?”

His warm breath sent chills through her. What
was
it about him that affected her like no other man? It was as if some inner fire heated the very air about him, seeping into her and melting her control.

She managed to find her voice. “I-I can handle this without any help, thank you.”

“Afraid I won’t credit your possession of the treasure since you didn’t get away?”

She nodded.

His smile was wicked. “You’d be right.”

She looked down at her caught gown and tried to focus on her predicament, but all she could think about was the way MacLean’s hip was pressed against hers and the wonderful feeling of being touched.

Stop that! Think of a way to get free.

No ideas came. In an effort not to look into MacLean’s eyes, she looked everywhere else and was captured by the powerful muscles under his coat, the way his forearms strained against his sleeves as if fighting the confining fabric.

She shivered and hazarded a glance up at him and couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as his gaze slowly traveled over her face, lingering on her lips and chin, then moved lower to her throat, and the neckline of her gown.

She burned both hot and cold, and her breath fought to be free of her throat. He had the most beautiful mouth—firm and yet unrelentingly sensual.

That mouth curved now into a self-satisfied smile. “What’s wrong, Hurst?”

His low voice curled around her thudding heart and tightened, and he leaned closer so that his thigh brushed her hip.

She caught her breath, trying desperately to hold on to any calm. Finally, she whispered, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to think of a way out of this mess.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps you can’t and should just admit defeat.”

“You’d like that,” she sniffed. “But I
won’t
quit!”

“No?” His fingers grazed the bare skin at the neckline of her gown.

She jerked as if burned, and he smiled wickedly. “Afraid, Hurst?”

“Should I be?”

“Oh, yes.” He slowly traced the line of her gown from the crest of her breast to her shoulder, then back.

She tried to contain a wave of shivers that danced through her, but couldn’t.

His fingertips continued to slide across her skin. Then he paused at the lowest point of her gown’s neckline . . . and stayed there.

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands clenched at her sides as she tried desperately to focus on something else . . .

Then she gave in, threw her arms about MacLean, and kissed him for all that she was worth.

If ye e’er have the chance to bend the ear o’ a great mon, dinna break it off wit’ the weight o’ yer words. Just bend it gently an’ speak yer piece an’ ye’ll do well enou’.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

Alexander expected Caitlyn to get angry, to berate him for teasing her. What he didn’t expect was a hot, passionate assault.

Her mouth opened beneath his and her tongue traced across his lip, hot and seeking. His groin tightened and he moved closer, running his hands over her back, her narrow waist, her rounded hips.

Caitlyn’s arms tightened about his neck as she pressed herself to him. Her soft, full breasts rubbed against his chest, then he felt her hand slide down to his neck. In her excitement she tugged on his cravat, her other arm bent around his neck, holding him to her as if she couldn’t bear to let him go.

God, but she was lush, her mouth hot, her body warm and pliant.
This
was why they’d taken such
chances;
this
was why he’d flirted with a woman so different from his usual type.

The passion between them was hot and instantaneous, flaring brighter. None of the women he’d made love to had sent his senses reeling in such a way. Perhaps that was why he’d been so angry when he’d discovered her trickery.

That memory chilled his passion. He had to stop this, this very second—if he didn’t, he wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to stop. It took all of his self-control, but he broke the kiss and took two unsteady steps back. His entire body ached, protesting the delights he was missing.

Her hand, still tangled in his cravat, caught him. “What … why are you—”

He forced himself to lift a brow and say as coolly as he could manage, “We are done with this.”

Had she known him better, she might have detected the faint quaver in his words or noticed that his hands were fisted at his sides. A hot flush flooded her face as she released him. “I see,” she said stiffly. She lifted her chin and said in a firm tone, “Fine, then. Just go.”

Roxburge stirred as if to awaken.

Caitlyn stiffened, but she didn’t look the duke’s way.

Alexander knew he should leave, but somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something undone. “Caitlyn, I—”

She grabbed one of Alexander’s hands, then shoved
something in it. Swiftly she bent, grabbed her gown by the train, and yanked it from beneath Roxburge’s foot.

The duke awoke with a startled cry, which she ignored as she marched from the room, her head held high. She swept out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

“Demme!” The duke rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand. “Can’t a man sleep in his own house?”

Alexander started to answer, but his attention was caught by the realization that Caitlyn had shoved the snuffbox into his hand before she’d left.

“MacLean?” Roxburge blinked up at him and yawned. “What in hell was that all about? Miss Hurst seemed quite put out.”

“What gave it away? The fact that she nearly toppled you from your chair, or the way she slammed the door?”

“Did she do that? By Jove, whatever for?”

“I believe her anger was directed at me, and you just got in the way.”

“While I was sleeping?”

“Apparently so. Before you resume your slumbers, I should return this.”

Alexander handed the snuffbox to the bemused duke, who took it, then opened his other hand and regarded the small ivory box with a confused air. “I thought this was— How did that get there? And how did you come to have my—”

“I’d love to stay and explain, but I have a climbing date with a tree.” Alexander gave Roxburge a short bow and then stalked to the doorway.

“Damn it, MacLean, you’re not making sense! Why on earth would you wish to climb a tree?”

Alexander gave a sardonic laugh. “For the honey, of course.”

Next time he’d find a task that was
truly
difficult—something where she couldn’t be helped by the servants she’d beguiled to give her a hand.

It had surprised him to find the housekeeper and the maid standing watch outside the library. Caitlyn Hurst had a way of collecting admirers, both male and female.