The Laird Who Loved Me (34 page)

Her eyes were shimmery, as if she held tears at bay. “Only that you may not be the one to win this wager.”

A few final couples walked past, casting them curious glances. As the final couple disappeared through the doors, Alexander led Caitlyn to the blue salon. Inside, he closed the door.

Her chin rose. “People will notice we’re missing.”

“Not for another ten minutes.” He grinned wolfishly. “Admit it, Hurst: I’ve won. I wore a skirt to the party. Are you truly going to entertain the masses with a naked dip in a fountain?”

Her chin lifted, her mouth thinning. “This contest isn’t over. I still have time to make my move.”

“Oh? So you’re going to do it?” He laughed, disbelieving. “You’d be ruined, which is what you were trying to avoid to begin with.”

Her gaze flickered to his face. “Perhaps.”

“Caitlyn, you can’t mean that …” Good God, she looked deadly serious. “Caitlyn, it would be foolish to do such a thing, and you know it.”

“I
must
win this wager. I refuse to be your mistress—and I will do whatever I must to make sure that never happens.”

His jaw tightened. “Even ruin your name?”

“I’ve found something that means far more to me than my pride.”

“What?”

Her gaze met his, and in that second he knew the answer. She cared for him. Shock and disbelief coursed through him. She didn’t just care for him, she
loved
him. He could see it in her expression as plainly as if she’d said it aloud.

No. She can’t— I can’t allow that. If she cares, then I . . .
Alexander looked at her—
really
looked at her. In the soft candlelight she looked even younger, no more than eighteen. The mirror over the fireplace reflected the face of a mature man, one who’d lived too hard, too well, and too fast. Even if she loved him now, what would happen later?
Could I bear to lose her then?

He knew the answer with every ounce of his soul.

With a heavy, bitter heart, he sneered, “Don’t get maudlin on me, Hurst. Our wager was to settle one thing only: the penalty for your deception in London. Tonight you will admit you’ve lost, and you will stay with me for two weeks as you promised.”

It was all he’d have to remember her by, once she left for good, but at least he’d have that. Two short, precious weeks—and then he’d never see her again. His chest felt odd, as if a metal band pressed the air from his lungs, and his eyes were burning from the smoky candles.

Two weeks
. It wasn’t much, but it was all fate would allow him, and he, desperate soul that he was, would take it.

“Well, Hurst? What do you say?”

He expected her to flare back at him with that fine spirit she possessed. Instead she regarded him sadly
for a long moment, then turned and left him, the door clicking quietly behind her.

Much, much later, Caitlyn stood on the terrace bundled in a thick cloak, the cool night breeze making her shiver. It was well past four in the morning, the last of the guests finally gone. Everyone had gone to bed except Alexander. As usual, he’d headed for the study for one last glass of port before he retired.

“Are ye sure about this, miss?” Muiren asked.

“Yes.” Caitlyn looked up at the castle windows. Only one or two were still lit, and as she looked, they, too, darkened to black. It was time.

She looked through the library window at Alexander, who poured himself a glass of port, then took a chair by the fireplace.

“He’s not facing the right way,” Muiren hissed.

“I know. I must get him to turn around. Mam said the drops would work quickly.” Caitlyn looked at Muiren. “Are Mrs. Pruitt and the others in place?”

“Aye, Mrs. Pruitt locked all of the other doors and is watching the garden gate. ’Tis the only other way into the garden here, miss. The others are ready as well.”

“Very well. I’ll be right back.”

Caitlyn put her hand on the cold brass knob leading inside, her gaze locked on Alexander. He sat with his back to her, his black hair thick and curling at the neck as he sipped his port. She waited for him to finish the drink.
Please, Mam, be right about the drops.
She had been careful not to put more than four in the glass.

He placed his empty glass on a table and stood, ready to retire for the night.

She took a deep breath, then turned the knob and walked in.

He turned, his brows quirking down. “Caitlyn! What are you doing here?”

She came farther into the room, the cloak swirling about her. “I came to fulfill my part of our wager.”

Alexander frowned. She was cloaked head to foot, but her expression caught his attention the most. She looked so sad, as if the entire world had betrayed her.

His heart constricted. He couldn’t stand this another moment. He’d been lying to himself that he could take Caitlyn as a mistress, even for an hour.

He shook his head, his voice thick as he said, “Caitlyn . . . don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t stand aside and allow you to win?” She smiled sadly. “I’m not.”

Alexander didn’t give a damn about the wager. He just wished he could erase the sadness from her eyes. Just the sight of it was holding him down and it took an effort to say, “I’ll forgo the last wager.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

But he didn’t pity her. He
loved
her. The words seared through the odd fog that was settling over him. He wanted to tell her that, to explain to her that he loved her so much that he couldn’t bear to see her grow tired of him, to watch as her interest waned.

But he couldn’t.

She seemed to realize his distress, for she crossed the room toward him, her sweet fragrance wafting about her. She stood in front of him and gently pushed him into the seat behind him.

He must have sat, but he never felt it. His knees and arms were leaden, though he was wide-awake and his senses clear, even acute. He was vaguely aware he should be upset at the lack of response of his limbs, but he was just so glad she was here.

She bent down until her lips were beside his ear. “I am a woman of my word. What I say I will do, I’ll do. I wish our time together had been different”—her voice broke, taking his heart along with it—“but we are what we are, and fate doesn’t grant us every wish.”

He tried to breathe in the sweet scent of her, to savor the soft brush of her hair over his cheek as she stood.

“Watch, Alexander—for this is the last you will ever see of me.” She went to the terrace door, opened it, and slipped outside to the garden.

She reached the fountain, and through the open door he watched as four female servants appeared. They unfolded a large sheet, then held it aloft so that it shielded the fountain from the upper windows. They then turned their backs to the fountain, never releasing their hold on the sheet. Caitlyn glided to beside the fountain where a shadowy companion came to assist her as she shed her slippers and, with a shrug, tossed off her cloak.

She was gloriously naked, the silvered moonlight caressing her curves, highlighting the mold of her breasts, the gleam of her shoulders, making her long hair shimmer like moon dust.

He was mesmerized, his gaze locked on her as she slipped into the black water of the fountain, gasping at the coldness. Her nipples instantly peaked as the water cascaded over her breasts, shimmering down her flat stomach and across the gentle swell of her hips. Quiet splashes filled the air as she submerged herself completely. Then, looking his way, she rose from the water like Venus, the water sluicing over her.

Alexander gripped the arms of his chair until his fingers ached.

Her shadow companion brought the cloak and wrapped her in it, helping her put on her slippers. She would be freezing cold now, her body shaking with tremors.

All Alexander could think about were her last words to him: that he’d never see her again. He watched, helpless, as she turned and disappeared from sight, her handmaidens following, leaving the cold air to blow through the terrace door, the desolate fountain splashing tauntingly in the distance.

“A carriage? Right now?” The duchess looked surprised.

Caitlyn, glad she’d found the duchess alone before breakfast, nodded, forcing the words past the tears in
her throat. “Yes, please. I . . . I wish to leave immediately. I . . . I just received a letter from home and . . . it’s very important I return at once.”

A pleased look entered the duchess’s blue eyes and she didn’t question the improbable story but purred, “Of course. I’ll call the carriage at once.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll wish to pack—”

“Muiren is seeing to it right now.”

Georgiana wondered what had happened to cause such a precipitous departure, but decided she didn’t really care. Whether the chit had finally had a falling out with MacLean, or if she’d given up her desperate hopes of trapping him into a relationship—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she’d be gone. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to place a few final nails in the coffin, just so the silly girl understood how things truly were.

Georgiana smiled sweetly. “Poor dear, you look devastated. May I … my dear, I know we’ve not had a chance to speak often during your stay, but would you mind a word of advice from an older, more experienced woman of the world?”

Caitlyn stiffened, but Georgiana ignored her. “I know what’s been going on between you and MacLean, and it’s perfectly natural that someone like you—so innocent and from the country—should find a sophisticated man like him devastatingly attractive.”

“Your Grace, I don’t know what you think, but—”

“Hear me out. I’m doing you a favor. MacLean’s tastes run the gamut from sophisticate to ingénue. It’s normal for a man of his—shall we say ‘appetites’?—to wish for variety. That’s why I have these little parties. So he can appease his desires.”

“You invited me just so he could—”

“And others before you, yes.”

The girl’s back couldn’t be stiffer, her face almost white. Satisfaction rippled through Georgiana. “You might think this odd, seeing as he and I are—” She chuckled. “But we understand and appreciate one another. That’s why, when the duke finally dies, Alexander and I will marry.”

“He’s already told you this?”

“Yes.”

Caitlyn’s heart ached anew as she made a jerky curtsy. “I’m happy for you, Your Grace. I . . . I think the carriage must have arrived. I’ll see myself out.”

All too soon, Caitlyn was sitting beside Muiren in the carriage, her trunks strapped to the back as they traveled through the moonlight.

Caitlyn watched the night slide away before her eyes. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything, her mind ringing with the duchess’s last words and, more compelling, images of Alexander.

She closed her eyes and saw Alexander from earlier this evening, wearing the garb of a clan laird from an era long gone. His broad chest had shockingly been bared revealing hard muscles that were cut and carved, making her mouth water. Wrapped around
his narrow hips and tossed over one broad shoulder was a length of plaid. A fur sporran had rested amid the folds about his waist, weighing down the front of the kilt. Fur boots tied on with leather strips emphasized the sheer power of his legs.

Her body tingled all over, and her heart pounded against her throat, as she thought of making love to him again. Though she’d felt frozen just a short time ago, she was now damp from the heat that shivered through her, from memories of MacLean’s large hands, of his hard mouth, of the demanding feel of him between her thighs—all of the things she’d shouldn’t have enjoyed, yet had.

Her mind flickered back to the duchess and her final, poisonous words. Caitlyn wasn’t sure she believed the woman, yet she couldn’t deny the pain the words had caused. One part of it was true, for Alexander had told her it was—that the duchess had invited Caitlyn at his request. The thought that he could collude with such a cold, superficial woman gave Caitlyn pain. How could he have a relationship of any kind with such a horrible person?

The entire visit had been nothing but a manipulative sham. Tears seeped from her lids and she fumbled for her handkerchief, glad Muiren was soundly asleep.

Wiping her eyes, she decided she’d been naïve to think she could change Alexander’s mind about her, or anything else.

The wagers had been a mistake fom the beginning. A horrible mistake that had pushed them together
more and more, when the safest course would have been to stay away from one another. Damn it, was she
always
to suffer from her inability to do what was safe? Was she always to follow the riskier path?

She looked out the window at the disappearing house. MacLean would be able to move soon. Perhaps he would go to the duchess’s bedchambers for the rest of the night. The thought pained Caitlyn, but she held it tight. She had to think things like that, to keep herself from lamenting what might have been.

Still, her eyes filled with tears. Why couldn’t Alexander be the sort of man to long for a normal marriage?

This evening, when she’d looked across the room and met his hot gaze, she’d felt an answering spark deep down in her soul, an urge to throw caution to the winds and run straight into his arms. To run her hands over his warm skin, to trace his deliciously defined stomach, and press hot, mad kisses over his strong jaw until he shuddered against her.

The problem was, it wouldn’t be enough. She wanted all of him, or nothing. And as she looked out into the dark night, her tears began to fall again. For nothing was exactly what she’d gotten.