The Laird Who Loved Me (2 page)

Somewhat mollified by his attention, Georgiana pouted her full lips. “It took me two weeks to get that woman to even hear me out, and then I had to promise to watch over her precious daughter as if she were my own.”

“She’s held Caitlyn under lock and key for the last three months. I haven’t been able to get near the blasted woman.” Alexander sent her a look that actually held some warmth and her heart fluttered. “Thank you for your assistance, Georgiana. I shall repay you.”

She shifted so that her dressing gown opened to reveal her new French-style negligee, made of lawn so fine that the nipples on her full breasts were revealed.
Any other man would have been panting to be at her, but not MacLean.

He remained reclined in the chair across the room, his long, muscular legs stretched before him, his starkly handsome face in deep reflection. His gaze was fixed on some unseeable, distant object, a considering smile tugging the chiseled hardness of his lips.

It had taken her almost two years of carefully artless teasing to get him into her bed, and less than three months for him to tire of it. The thought burned her cheeks, and she gripped the silver handle of the brush until her fingers cramped. “What is your plan for the Hurst girl? You’ve never really said.”

His gaze shuttered. “Caitlyn Hurst owes me dearly. She turned my name into a mockery.”

Noting with satisfaction how MacLean’s mouth thinned, Georgiana adopted a sympathetic tone that covered her triumph. “Everyone was talking about how the Hurst chit announced she would marry you, one way or the other. She made you both the talk of the ton.”

His face tightened. “And now I will exact my pound of flesh from her soft, pampered hide. When does she arrive?”

“Within the week. I am sending my coach to fetch her.”

“Excellent.” He leaned his head against the tall back of the chair, shifting his broad shoulders as he crossed his shiny black boots at the ankles. “Caitlyn Hurst is as impulsive as they come. All I have to do is lead her
into some sort of impropriety, and her reputation will be in tatters. Only this time, neither her sister nor my brother will be close by to save her.”

“Just be careful
you
are not caught in the parson’s trap, like Hugh.” Georgiana had been with Alexander the night he’d discovered how Caitlyn had set a plan in motion to force him to offer for her hand. Her ill-conceived actions had forced Alexander’s brother and Caitlyn’s sister into marriage as they attempted to stop her heedless rush to ruin.

Fury didn’t begin to describe Alexander’s reaction when he’d learned of that. He had paced his library, white-faced with blazing anger, and the once-clear night sky boiled into a melee of wild, dangerous storms. Remembering them even now, months later, Georgiana shivered. She’d heard the rumors about the MacLean curse, but before that moment, she hadn’t believed them.

His lip curled. “I’d marry a scullery maid before I’d marry that woman.”

“You’re much too smart to be caught unawares by her,” Georgiana purred. “I hope I am not too embarrassed when this girl arrives. The other guests will wonder why I invited such a rustic creature.”

“You need not worry; Caitlyn turned herself out in first style during her season in London. Even Brummell mentioned it.”

Georgiana hid a flicker of worry. “How old is Caitlyn? Twenty, correct?”

“Twenty-three.”

“How funny. There are the same number of years between you and her as between Humbolt and his young wife,” Georgiana said idly, glancing under her thick lashes at MacLean.

Alexander’s expression hardened and Georgiana hid a smile. Viscount Humbolt had been MacLean’s best friend. To everyone’s surprise, at the age of forty-two Humbolt fell wildly in love and married a woman almost twenty years his junior. His mother, who’d believed her son would never marry, had been blissful, but Alexander had had reservations about such an uneven match. Humbolt was in no mood to hear anything negative about his bride, however.

The viscount’s newfound happiness was shortlived. The new viscountess was an insatiable woman who, over the next seven years, dragged her husband through countless public scenes and humiliations, and eventually, total financial ruin.

One day Humbolt’s man of business found the viscount dead, a smoking pistol in his hand, a letter beneath a paperweight on his desk. The letter condemned his wife but brought little consolation to those who truly loved him.

MacLean had been devastated at his friend’s death. Even now, four years later, just a mention of that time made his eyes darken and his lips turn white. “I have no interest in Caitlyn Hurst, if that is your meaning,” he snapped.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Georgiana soothed. “You are far too sophisticated for a vicar’s daughter. I always thought Clarisse was far too young and too beautiful for Humbolt; he should have realized how it would end. She wanted his money, and once she had it . . . She was mocking him all along.”

Alexander’s expression grew guarded, though his eyes sparkled with irritation. “Perhaps.”

She took comfort that he didn’t argue. He never flirted with very young women, yet it had worried her that perhaps Caitlyn Hurst was different. Whatever he might have once felt for the girl, he couldn’t possibly feel it anymore, though. Not after her conduct made him the talk of London.

With an impatient gesture, he stood. “I should be on my way. I’m to ride with the Duke of Linville and try his new bay.”

Georgiana’s gaze flickered over his broad shoulders, the smooth fit of his coat that cut in at his narrow hips, the powerful thighs—

“Do my breeches meet with your approval?”

Her gaze jerked up to his, her cheeks burning, and she pasted what she hoped was a teasing smile on her face. “You can’t blame me for having fond memories.”

“So long as you know they
are
memories, and nothing more.” His gaze narrowed and he added softly, “I hope you don’t see my request for assistance as anything more than a favor between friends.”

She managed a faint laugh. “Friends we are and, hopefully, always will be.”
For now, anyway.

He bowed, his eyes warmer than they’d been since he’d arrived two days ago. “Good day, Georgiana. Until dinner.” His steady tread took him to the door, with an athletic grace that made her mouth go dry.

Then he was gone, leaving the room achingly empty.

It takes a woman who dinna knows the word
no
to conquer a MacLean, especially one wit’ a heart o’ stone.

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

“A real, live duchess?
”

Caitlyn Hurst laughed at her younger sister’s wail. “Yes, a real, live duchess, not a real, dead duchess.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Mary threw herself on the bed with her sister’s worn portmanteau, three ball gowns, a stack of freshly folded unmentionables, and a pair of well-worn ball slippers. “I wish
I
could go to a real, live duchess’s house for a three-week house party!”

Caitlyn placed a pair of only-mended-once stockings into a small trunk on the floor. “Surely you’re not begrudging me the only fun I’ve had in months?”

“No, I just wish I might go
with
you.” Mary threw her arms out to the side. “The letter from the duchess said there will be walks through the park, horseback rides, archery, card games—”

“Mother was not happy about that aspect.”

“No, but Papa slipped you a guinea that you might play, so it can’t be
too
bad. Besides, it wasn’t the gaming that had Mother in a taking; it was the masquerade ball. I truly thought she’d refuse to allow you to go when the duchess wrote that you’d need a costume.”

“I had to promise not to wear a mask and to behave as any gently raised young lady should.”

Mary’s brow rose. “Can you do that?”

“I
will
do it,” Caitlyn said fervently, and meant it. She always did; the trouble was remembering she wished to behave herself when she lost her temper. She didn’t have a burning desire to thwart society’s rules; but when she was challenged or angry, her competitive spirit burned through all caution or thought.

Caitlyn stuffed a shawl into the portmanteau with more force than necessary. Blast it, if only she’d kept her temper three months ago and hadn’t allowed Alexander MacLean to irk her into saying and doing things she shouldn’t have. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it now—except use this incredibly fortuitous invitation to reestablish herself and her family into society’s good graces.

Mary reached out to touch one of the new gowns spread upon the bed, ready to be wrapped in tissue paper before being packed. “Certainly no one at the duchess’s house will have as beautiful gowns as these. You sew better than most of the modistes on Bond Street.”

Caitlin smiled. “Thank you! That’s quite a compliment. I’m very proud of the silver one; it’s for the masquerade.”

“It looks wonderful on you, even though Mother made you sew the neckline so high.” Mary grimaced. “If she had her way, you’d go to the masquerade sewn chin to toes into a large burlap potato sack. Mother worries far too much, even though you—” Mary’s face pinkened.

Caitlyn’s humor evaporated. “I will never allow my temper to get the best of me again. If I hadn’t behaved so badly that Triona had felt compelled to come to London to rescue me, then she wouldn’t have been forced to wed and—” Caitlyn’s throat tightened painfully.

Mary grasped her sister’s hand. “It all worked out well in the end. Triona is deeply in love with her new husband and said she had
you
to thank that she met him. And you made Mam a very happy woman. She’s excited as a lamb with a wool sweater about the match.”

“Grandmother thinks anything having to do with the MacLeans is wondrous—especially if it means she might get some great grandchildren out of it.”

“Oh, that would be so—”

A noisy thumping came from the hallway, sounding like a herd of romping calves. A fast knock later, the door was thrown open to reveal William, their oldest brother, followed by a surprisingly elegantly dressed Robert and a much-too-thin Michael.

They were all so tall, especially William, who, at twenty-one, had reached the impressive height of six feet four inches, his shoulders a proportionate width.

Michael, only recently recovered from another chest complaint, threw his lanky, sixteen-year-old length into the chair by the fireplace. “Well?” he asked, looking at the gowns and slippers and gewgaws placed on every surface of the room. “I thought you’d be packed by now!”

Mary grinned. “Caitlyn’s only had two weeks to pack; you know that’s not enough.”

Caitlyn gave Michael a flat stare. “Have you all come to bother us? I assure you that we have enough to do without entertaining you.”

Robert eyed the contents of the bed through a quizzing glass he’d recently taken to wearing. “Good God, woman! How much stuff are you taking with you?”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze on her brother. “Must you use that ridiculous eyepiece?”

“It’s the fashion,” he said stoutly, though he looked somewhat uncertain.

“For a nearsighted Cyclops, perhaps.”

Mary giggled while Michael and William snorted loudly.

Robert slipped the eyepiece into a pocket and said in a lofty tone, “Just because you don’t appreciate good fashion—”

“She does, too!” Mary interrupted. “You’ve seen the gowns she’s made.”

Caitlyn smoothed a blue morning gown on the bed.
“If the list of amusements offered by the duchess is to be believed, I have fewer gowns than I need, but these will have to do. I can always change my wrap and shoes and make minor alterations so that my outfits look different.”

“Caitlyn even redid her old riding gown.” Mary reached into the portmanteau to touch with a loving hand the brown velvet riding habit. “When you return, will you help me make one like it?”

Michael snorted. “And where would you wear it? All we have to ride is the squire’s old, fat mare.”

Mary sniffed. “It doesn’t matter what the horse looks like, just the rider.”

“You spent hours making a riding habit you might only wear once or twice a month?” Michael appeared to be amazed at the thought.

“If it looked good on me, I might.”

“Vanity is a sin. Father’s told us that a million times.”

“It’s not vanity to wish to appear good; it’s vanity if you think you look so good that it won’t matter how you dress.”

That opened up a discussion between Mary and Michael that grew in volume as Robert and William egged them on.

Caitlyn ignored them and tucked away a spangled shawl she’d purchased during her brief stay in London three months ago.
Has it only been that long?
The entire episode seemed a faded nightmare.

She couldn’t clearly remember the balls and gowns anymore, or the sumptuous foods or town attractions,
but she remembered every second she’d spent dangerously flirting with Alexander MacLean. She clearly recalled how she allowed him to teach her to ride. Though she’d made certain one of the grooms stayed nearby for appearance’ sake, MacLean had quickly and easily dispensed with the man, sending him to fetch various “fallen” gloves or to look for a scarf that was blown away, even on days when there was no wind.