The Laird Who Loved Me (31 page)

“Oh, Muiren, no!”

“No?” Muiren blinked. “But if MacLean canno’ produce the bow, surely it means ye’ve won.”

“That would be cheating. He completed his task, and it’s only right that he get the credit.”

Muiren’s face fell. “If ye think so, miss.”

“I do. We must put this back in his room as soon as possible.”

“But . . .” Muiren bit her lip.

“But what?”

Muiren hesitated, then said in a rush, “If his lordship realized one of the maids took something from him, miss, he might tell her grace and—” The maid made a helpless gesture.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Caitlyn considered the options. Finally she nodded. “Just put it on the dressing table and don’t worry; I’ll take it back to him.” Not only would it keep the staff from getting into trouble, but it would give Caitlyn a chance to speak to his high-and-mighty lordship. Their business wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.

“Thank ye, miss!” Muiren put the bow on the dressing table, turned down the lamps, made sure Caitlyn was tucked in, then went to the door. “G’night miss!”

After the door closed, Caitlyn lay in the dark, listening to the sound of the raging storm. The wind whistled and moaned, and rain slashed down in waves that made an almost hypnotic sound. Heavy rolls of thunder shook the house from the ground up.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, though her body was as alive as the thunder-filled air.
So that was love-making. How glorious! I finally know what the poets write about, what lovers dream about, and what I’ve always longed for.
She’d never felt so enthralled, so
alive.
But had MacLean felt the same way?

The question burned through her heart, bright and aching.

A flash of lightning lit the room and she sat up, realizing sleep was not coming. She’d planned to take the bow to MacLean in the morning, but she couldn’t wait.

For a moment, she longed for the peace and quiet of the vicarage. Somewhere away from the drama and troubles she’d found here.

But, oh, how she’d miss Alexander. Though she tried to pretend otherwise, it was true. Every day, she’d bounded out of bed and hurried down to breakfast, every inch of her alive at the thought of seeing him, of teasing him, of winning a glinting smile, or even one of his famed annoyed looks. She loved all of
his expressions—except the cold one he’d given her tonight in the grand salon.

She pressed her hands over her eyes.
Blast it, was he involved with Georgiana?
Caitlyn couldn’t accept the idea. The woman was so hard, so jaded, and had little beyond a cold, impersonal prettiness to recommend her to a passionate and fiercely independent man like Alexander.

Caitlyn knew she shouldn’t feel jealous—she had no claim on the man and didn’t wish for any. Still, she wished she understood him better. Perhaps . . . perhaps she should just
ask
him how he meant their relationship to progress, and what feelings, if any, he had for the duchess. That’s what a bold woman would do, anyway.

Caitlyn threw back the covers, stuffed her feet into her slippers, tugged on a robe, and snatched up the bow.

She silently made her way down the hallway. A faint light showed under MacLean’s door, but no noise came from the room. Or was there? Was that a woman’s voice she heard? Surely he wasn’t with the duchess right
now
!

Her heart thudded sickly and Caitlyn’s hand clenched around the bow. She pressed her ear against the door panel, but the noise from the storm obscured all other sound.
Blast it, I want to know if she’s in there!
If MacLean thought he could hop from Caitlyn’s bed to the duchess’s, he had another think coming. She’d just—

The door opened, a large hand closed about her wrist, and she was yanked into MacLean’s room, her slippers left in the hallway.

MacLean scowled down at Caitlyn. “What in hell are you doing here?” He’d just been on the verge of going to bed, even though it would be futile since all he could think of was making love to Caitlyn. She had filled his senses in a way no other woman ever had.

That she’d been a virgin had echoed through his mind over and over. For days he’d wondered whether she was, for her manner was so confident, her interest in their physical contact so genuine. Whatever she was, she’d been extremely eager, and had luxuriated in their lovemaking in a way that was spontaneous and incredibly
fascinating
.

Still, she should have admitted that she was a virgin, and if he’d been able to feel past his throbbing cock, he might have been upset. But their lovemaking had been so spectacularly worthwhile that he couldn’t dredge up more than mild irritation. But that had been then, and this was now. As soon as the blood returned to other parts of his body, realization of what had happened began to seep in. He’d expected Caitlyn to be upset, or at least a little misty-eyed at the huge change in her circumstances, but she’d merely given him a sleepy, sensual smile that made the blood surge back to his cock.

Too bemused to speak, he’d washed, dressed, and left, unable to do more than promise to speak to her at a later time. He’d arrived in his bedchamber to find a hawk-eyed MacCready, whom Alexander had dismissed as soon as possible. After that, he’d spent the time pacing madly, wondering what in hell he was supposed to do now.

Would she expect him to offer her marriage? If she did, she would be sorely mistaken. He had to end this relationship, had to stop this spiral out of control— with her, this was the way things had always been. Something about her sparked his rebellious soul.

Yet the more he enjoyed being with her, the more determined he was to keep from entangling himself in her life. The trouble was that he didn’t just
enjoy
being with her—he desired it, yearned for it,
craved
it.
Was this how Charles felt? Desperate to have her, regardless of the cost?

Well, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake. He could fight this craving. Once the newness of the conquest wore off, his mind would return to rights and he could go on with his life unfettered.

When he’d left Caitlyn and retired to his bedchamber, he’d told MacCready to mix him a bowl of hot buttered rum. Though three glasses of the lethal concoction had warmed him from head to toe, they had done nothing to calm his racing thoughts.

Nothing could calm those except another hour with Caitlyn, sinking into her softness, soaking in her heat. The thought had made his cock harden again,
as if it hadn’t just been sated. Good God, had any man ever been so enthralled with a woman’s touch as he’d become in a few short moments? He’d been with scores of women, and none of them left him burning for more the way she did.

He’d thought about returning to her room, though it would be a mad, crazed thing to do. If they were caught, there would have been only one answer—marriage. When he’d gone to her bedchamber before, he’d been so furious about Dervishton’s treatment of her, and worried that she’d been frightened, that he hadn’t thought of that. Now, he was perfectly able to think, and discovered a more upsetting fact—he didn’t give a damn about the cost of his behavior anymore. Caitlyn Hurst was
worth
taking a chance on,
worth
whatever ill might happen, if he could just sink into her one … more … time.

He’d been in the process of drinking even more rum punch, trying to stave off the desire to return to Caitlyn’s bedchamber, when he’d heard a sound in the hallway.

He’d thought maybe Georgiana had sent one of her servants to listen at his door; he’d never expected to yank a disheveled and pink-faced Caitlyn Hurst into his room, her golden hair about her shoulders, robe falling off one shoulder, her creamy skin on display to his hungry eyes. He devoured the sight of her, his rum-warmed body flaring to life yet again.

His heart pounded in his throat and he had to clear it before he could speak. “What are you doing here?”

She pointed to the floor.

He looked down, the bow resting beside his foot. He frowned. “Where did that come from?”

“One of the maids brought it to me.”

“What? She stole it from my chambers?”

“Yes, and I told her it wasn’t fair. I didn’t want the duchess to punish her, so I brought it—”

Alexander yanked her against him and kissed her. He knew he shouldn’t, but he didn’t give a damn. He wanted this woman, needed her
now,
and watching her lush lips form word after word was driving him mad with need. He stopped her the only way he knew how, by kissing her senseless. He’d had his fill of her once tonight, but somehow it wasn’t enough. Their lovemaking had just made him thirstier, desperate for another taste. The realization scared the hell out of him, even through the fog of heated lust.

But his passion was fanned by the excitement of the storm roaring overhead and the feel of her glorious blond hair, streaming down around her. The soft curls cupped her breast on one side and tumbled over the other so that nothing could be seen but the turgid nipple, covered in the thin silk of her night rail.

He had her all to himself, here in his own room, within his arms. And as his lips touched her, he realized something equally as wonderful—she was just as glad to see him as he was to see her. His soul stirred to life at the realization and they melted together, no words blocking their way, no thoughts holding them apart.

Caitlyn kissed him passionately, her arms encircling
his neck, her breasts pressed through her night rail against his bared chest. His heart warmed and he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the settee by the fire.

He placed her against the cushions and lay beside her. The firelight glistened on her hair, her dark eyes were mysterious, her skin creamy and warm. God, she was beautiful.

Beautiful,
a voice inside him whispered with the inexorable truth,
but not for you.

The thought held him in place, his heart sinking.

Her smile slipped and she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Alexander? What’s wrong?”

He caught her hand and kissed it, closing his eyes as his lips touched the soft skin. He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and it was agony knowing that she was so close, so willing, and he would have to turn away.

Why did I pull her inside my room? Damn the rum for clouding my judgment.

She stirred, her other hand coming to rest on his cheek. “Alexander,” she whispered, “what is it? We’ve already … this isn’t anything new. We can—”

He opened his eyes, his heart pounding so hard in his throat that his voice came out as a harsh whisper. “We can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Caitlyn, no matter what happens here, I will not marry you.”
I’d rather die than watch your passion turn into disgust.

She looked puzzled. “But I haven’t asked you to.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

A damnably mysterious smile touched her lips. “I thought we could just enjoy each other for the time we do have.”

It was so tempting. “And afterward?”

A sad look entered her eyes. “We become past acquaintances. Isn’t that the way it usually works?”

It was indeed, but somehow it didn’t seem right this time. He opened his mouth to say so when she looked him directly in the eyes and slipped a hand inside his robe. Her warm fingers closed over his erection, bringing his thoughts to an abrupt halt.

He could no longer breathe and he knew in that instant that it didn’t matter—it didn’t matter if she wished for more or less from him, or if this moment could cause their doom or end their lives in society.

All he could do was take her as she wished to be taken. Overhead the storm crashed and rumbled, as inside the room, Alexander MacLean once again succumbed to Caitlyn Hurst’s magic.

Dinna wait fer love to find ye, me dearies. Go out and find it yerself. Life’s too short fer waitin’.

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

“Good morning, my lord! You are certainly a late sleeper today.”

Alexander stirred, wincing as his head informed him of the amount of rum he’d had last night. But the rest of his body told him something else, for he felt relaxed and replete.
Ah, Caitlyn.
Images from the night before arose, hours of teasing and pleasure. Images of Caitlyn writhing beneath him. Caitlyn with her eyes closed in ecstasy as he took her time and again. Caitlyn with her legs wrapped about his hips, her skin glistening with moisture as she gasped his name for the hundredth time. His cock grew hard, and his mind cleared.
Good God, is she still here?

He sat bolt upright and looked around. MacCready was stirring the fire; a tray sat on a small table by the chaise. Alexander looked at the settee. Though the
pillows were mashed, no one would guess what had occurred there. He glanced around the room and saw no evidence of Caitlyn at all.

It was a bit disconcerting. She’d surprised him with her enthusiasm and creativity, which made her absence all the more felt.