The Laird Who Loved Me (5 page)

Miss Ogilvie bent closer to Caitlyn. “As rude as he is, I must say Laird MacLean is a disturbingly handsome man.”

She doesn’t know the half of it.

Miss Ogilvie regarded MacLean’s profile as he spoke to the duchess. “The only reason my father wanted me to come to the duchess’s house party was because he hoped I might attract Lord MacLean’s notice.”

“Have you?”

“Lud, no. He’s too busy looking at—” Miss Ogilvie blushed, and shot an apologetic look at Caitlyn. “I shouldn’t gossip.”

No, please! Please gossip more!
But Miss Ogilvie’s expressive mouth pressed into a determined line, and when she spoke next, it was about the wonderful dinners and how she’d never had turtle soup before and hoped it would be served again.

Caitlyn listened with half an ear, her gaze drawn back to MacLean, who was now talking to Lord Dervishton. Oddly, MacLean hadn’t seemed a bit surprised to see her. Perhaps the duchess had mentioned her invitation. Or maybe . . .

“Don’t you think,” Miss Ogilvie said softly, “that Laird MacLean looks like Lord Byron?”

“I take it you haven’t meet Lord Byron.”

“No, but I’ve seen a painting, and he seemed dark and dangerous and—” Miss Ogilvie shivered.

Caitlyn forced a smile. “Byron is a bloated, white worm that’s fallen in love with his own slime.”

Miss Ogilvie’s eyes widened, then she giggled. “Really?”

“I met him several times during my brief stay in London, and to be honest, he is rather fat and pale and talks with a lisp.”

“A
lisp
?” Miss Ogilvie said in an outraged tone. “That’s not at all the way I imagined him! Caro Lamb must be quite mad to go on about him in such a fashion.”

“They are
both
mad. And rude. And vulgar. A match made in mud, so to speak.”

Miss Ogilvie’s lips quivered. “You are very frank.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no! I find it very refreshing. Please do not guard your tongue on my behalf. I’ve been here for a week and that’s the most honestly spoken statement I’ve heard yet.”

“That’s both my gift and my curse.” Caitlyn smiled. “It will be a relief to be able to speak my mind with at least one person.” Over Miss Ogilvie’s shoulder, Caitlyn noted that MacLean had left Lord Dervishton and was once again speaking with the duchess.

The red-haired beauty held out a languid hand for MacLean to kiss. He bowed over it, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he smiled at his hostess.

The sight made Caitlyn’s stomach clench. The man was a walking threat to a woman’s well-being.

Miss Ogilvie had followed Caitlyn’s gaze and tsked. “You’d never know her grace was married, the way she
flirts. She spent all afternoon encouraging Dervishton to make the
most
inappropriate comments. I hope Lord MacLean takes care.”

“Don’t worry about MacLean; he can be quite devious on his own.”
And can make a woman believe—even if just for three short, amazing weeks—that she is the only woman in the world.
“Shall we retire? I really am quite tired.”

“Oh, of course! After your travels, you will wish to rest before dinner.” Miss Ogilvie took Caitlyn’s arm and they continued to the door.

Caitlyn felt MacLean turn to watch, his dark green gaze fastened on her as she left the room. The urge to look back was almost overpowering, and she was relieved when they reached the foyer.

A footman led them to their bedchambers, which were just three doors apart. The younger woman offered to meet Caitlyn on the landing at eight thirty so they could walk to dinner together. “It will take every bit of thirty minutes to find the dining room.”

Caitlyn agreed and said good-bye, then entered her bedchamber, where Muiren was unpacking the small trunk and portmanteau. The maid cheerily bustled Caitlyn to the fireplace, where tea and cakes lay waiting, promising that the bath would be arriving shortly.

Seated before the crackling fire, tea and cakes at hand to assuage her hunger, the maid chatting cozily in the background, Caitlyn fretted about MacLean’s presence, an unwelcome addition to the duchess’s
house party. If there was one person who knew how to goad her into doing and saying things no lady should, it was
that
man.

She bit down on a cake with more force than was necessary. Blast it, she refused to allow his presence to spoil either her peace of mind or her fun. Let him do what he would and say what he could; this time she’d resist his taunting and teasing. This time
she’d
be in charge, not her traitorous heart. And no darkly handsome, caustic-witted Scottish laird would change that.

Och, me lassies! ’Tis a sad fact tha’ many times a mon dinna ken the power a lassie has till he’s raised her ire an’ faced her fire!

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

“Will that be all, my lord?”

Alexander flicked a glance toward his valet. MacCready was a proper gentleman’s gentleman in every way, except one—he had an annoying tendency to consider himself his master’s conscience.

“No. That is not all.” Alexander had no use for a conscience; he’d hushed his long ago. “There is that other matter I asked you to see to.”

The valet opened the wardrobe door and pretended to study the contents. “Ah. I shall have your riding boots cleaned and will see to the pressing of your good burgundy waistcoat for dinner tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

MacCready shut the wardrobe with a snap. “I must suppose you are referencing the errand you wished me to complete?”

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest.

The valet sighed. “Very well. I shall discover which room belongs to Miss Hurst.”

“Tonight.”

“Yes, yes. Tonight. It shouldn’t be a difficult task, as
both
Lord Dervishton’s and Viscount Falkland’s valets were making the same inquiry when I was fetching starch for your cravats. I shall just ask one of them.”

“When did Falkland meet Miss Hurst? She only arrived a few hours ago and he just returned from his ride.”

“He hasn’t met her. Lord Dervishton mentioned how beautiful the lady was, and as Falkand’s man said, his lordship is now planning ‘his strategy.’”

Alexander turned to the mirror and made a minute adjustment to his cravat. So, both Dervishton and Falkland were already sniffing around the prize, were they? They were doomed for disappointment. Caitlyn Hurst might move with the sensuous grace of an exotic courtesan, but she was nothing more than a tease. For weeks, she’d held him on a tether, seeming to always promise more, urging him on but then holding back with the perfect amount of hesitation. Like a greenhorn, he’d fallen for her seemingly wanton innocence—but he knew her now, knew what she was, and that would keep him from making the same mistakes.

Still, she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Small and shapely, with full breasts, she also had a narrow waist and curved hips that
begged a man’s hands. Her silken blond hair and thick brown lashes made her brown eyes seem dark and mysterious. Something about that odd combination—the pale hair and creamy skin, accented by the dark, rich color of her eyes—made a man burn for her.

Yet more than her physical beauty was the way she moved. Even this afternoon, when she’d left the room, every masculine eye had been on her. Something in the way she moved was challengingly erotic, so innately graceful, so …
feminine
. She’d used that femininity to lure him down a path that had almost led to his ruin, but had instead caught his brother.

His gaze narrowed. Of all his brothers, Hugh was the one Alexander counted on the most. Gregor, Dougal, and Fiona were younger and less involved in the family holdings. Since the death of their parents, when the weight of the clan business and the responsibility of four brothers and a sister had come to rest upon Alexander’s shoulders, Hugh had always been there offering his quiet support, even during the dark times after Callum’s death. Hugh was steadfast and competent, though given to doing far more than asked. He often crossed the line from “helpful” directly into “meddling,” which was how he’d been caught in the web of Caitlyn Hurst’s spinning.

Alexander scowled. How dare she try to her tricks on
him
? She’d pay for that impudence, b’God, and he’d enjoy every second. He’d show her how a
real
seduction was played—and once he’d had her in his
bed, he’d walk away and leave her wanting … just as he was sure she had planned to leave him.

Revenge would be sweet. Very sweet, indeed. While it would be simple to plan one large fait accompli, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. No, he would first toy with this little mouse, savoring the chase. What happened to her after he’d taken his pleasure wasn’t his concern. He’d have made his point.

He turned from the mirror and pinned his valet with a hard look. “From now on, I want to know any speck of information, any tidbit of gossip that you hear regarding Miss Hurst.”

“What if it’s nothing of significance?”

“That’s for me to decide.”

The valet pursed his lips. “Let us say, just for the sake of argument—”

“Of course,” Alexander said grimly.

“—that I heard one of the lower maids mention that Miss Hurst prefers her towels dried by the fire and not on a line near a window, which can cause the material to be less soft. Surely you don’t wish me to report things as insignificant as that?”

“I don’t care if you hear that she sneezed twice or prefers her toast plain and not buttered—I want to know.”

MacCready sighed. “Very well, my lord.”

“From what you’ve said, she is already a topic of conversation in the kitchen. What else did you hear?”

“Just that Dervishton’s valet said his master thought Miss Hurst an angel on earth.”

An angel on earth.

Alexander slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a heavy silver watch. He flipped it over and traced the engraving on the back.
To Alexander. From Eton to beyond! Charles.

Alexander’s heart hardened. “I’ve heard such language before, and it was applied to just such a woman—young, beautiful, and given to flirting with any man who’d have her. It led to naught but ruin.”

“I take it you are referring to Viscount Humbolt,” the valet said quietly. “We all miss him, my lord.”

Alexander tucked the watch back into his pocket, wishing he could do the same with the sadness that weighted his heart. “Anything else?”

MacCready cleared his throat. “Dervishton has taken to calling her The Incomparable. Furthermore, his lordship seemed to think the lady would be easily won over.”

“Oh? Why would he think that?”

“I believe it stemmed from something the lady did or said earlier today.” The valet sniffed. “Should I take it that the lady in question is a bit … common?”

“No, she’s not. Impetuous, yes. Foolish, absolutely. But not at all common; she’s too complex for that. Just the way she moves is—” Alexander shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. She’s trouble.”

“That’s good to hear,” MacCready said primly.

Alexander quirked a brow. “Worried I might lose my innocence?”

“As far as I’m aware, my lord, you’ve never had any.”

Alexander grinned.

“It just seems a troublesome situation … so many cocks and just one hen.”

Alexander choked on a laugh. “It could be. Fortunately, I have no interest in this woman other than securing retribution for what she’s done to my family.”

MacCready stiffened. “She’s harmed the MacLeans?”

“Yes. It is
her
fault that my brother was forced to marry.”

MacCready frowned. “But … my lord, your brother seems happy in his new marriage.”

“Hugh’s merely making the best of the situation, as he always does. Besides, that isn’t the point.” The point was that Caitlyn had tried to make a fool of
him
. “Miss Hurst must pay for her impertinence,” he snapped.

“Absolutely, my lord. If what you say is true, then I shall of course do whatever you require.”

“Miss Hurst is not your average opponent. To those who just meet her, she is quite sweet and projects an air of sensuality and innocence.”

MacCready’s thin brows rose. “Sensuality
and
innocence?”

“It’s a heady combination, and I daresay
that
is what draws Dervishton and the others down the path.” Dervishton, for all his man-about-town ways, was in for a surprise. Caitlyn Hurst would look at the fool through her wide, brown eyes, blink her long,
thick lashes, and then—just as he thought he’d won her over—slay him with a cutting remark.

Alexander allowed MacCready to help him into his evening coat. “Visit the servants’ quarters during dinner and see what you can discover about Miss Hurst.”

“With pleasure, my lord.”

His mind focused on the task ahead, Alexander left his bedchamber. At the landing, he was surprised to find Dervishton leaning against the rail, idly swinging his eyeglass. The younger lord smiled and nodded a greeting, but his gaze went down the hall.