The Laird Who Loved Me (9 page)

Across from him, Caitlyn lifted the last piece of pear with her fork. She’d stolen
his
pear from
his
plate, the wench!

She smiled at him as she slid the pear between her lips and chewed it with obvious relish. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and an answering spark of amusement lifted one corner of his mouth, but he staunched it immediately.

For a dangerous moment, he’d almost forgotten why she was here. Dammit, he had to be on guard that she didn’t beguile him the way she’d already enslaved the majority of men here.

He turned toward Dervishton. “The wind is blowing from the north. It’ll be a cold ride this afternoon.”

Dervishton looked down the table at Caitlyn. “I don’t care if it snows; I wouldn’t miss this ride for the world.”

Irritation flared and Alexander regarded the younger lord with a jaundiced eye. He knew exactly what would happen: Dervishton and Falkland would spend the entire ride to the Snaid trying to outjockey one another, which would gratify Caitlyn Hurst’s vanity to no end. It was a pity he wasn’t going. If anyone could keep the two lunkhead lords at bay, it was he.

Hmm . . . perhaps he
should
go. He thought of all the ways he could tease her while riding, when private conversation was more easily obtained. Not to mention he knew her true riding skills, and they weren’t the best. It was one thing to ride the smooth, flat paths in Hyde Park and another to ride a narrow, uneven country lane.

Alexander smiled. “I believe I will go for that ride after all.”

Georgiana’s head snapped in his direction, her hard blue gaze sharp, and for an instant he thought she would blurt out something indiscreet. After a moment, she collected herself and gave an uncertain laugh. “Alexander, really! I’ve never known you to join in such mundane sport.”

He shrugged. “I’ve decided I’d enjoy the fresh air.”

A flash of displeasure marred Georgiana’s face. “Since you won’t be here … Lord Dervishton, perhaps
you
will be so good as to stay. I shall be glad to have the company.”

Lord Dervishton looked disappointed, but he quickly hid it. “Of course, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”

Caitlyn felt a faint sense of satisfaction as the duchess glared at Alexander. Muiren’s information about the duchess and MacLean must be true. Caitlyn shot a glance at the duke, who was happily polishing his snuffbox. Since he didn’t seem bothered, perhaps she shouldn’t be, either. After all, she had no claim to MacLean.

Of course, if he’d been her husband, she wouldn’t have stood for such nonsense. When she married, she’d make sure her husband respected their relationship
and
her, just as her parents respected each other.

The thought of her mother gave Caitlyn pause. Already, she’d allowed MacLean’s goading to push her down the same path that had caused the trouble from before—the oh-yes-I-can-and-you-can’t-stop-me that had led her into such indiscretions. She’d let his teasing keep her silent on her limitations as a rider, even claiming that she knew more now, which was a blatant falsehood. She simply could not allow him to lure her into altercations.

There was something insulting in the way MacLean looked at her, as if he found her wanting in some fundamental way. That look had the power to push her
into rash behavior, which was why she’d stolen his pear. The pompous ass had been so patronizing that she’d longed to take him down a notch. Fortunately, only the Earl of Caithness had witnessed her theft, and he’d merely grinned and returned to his own breakfast.

Caitlyn could see why Miss Ogilvie thought Caithness an interesting man. He had a steadfast, calm quality. It was a pity Caitlyn didn’t find such men attractive, but she was invariably drawn to the more volatile, less predictable sort.

She regarded MacLean from under her lashes and wished he weren’t quite so handsome. He looked far too much like a hero from a novel, though his actions were anything but. She wondered what his intentions were. He was certainly out to embarrass her, but why? What did he hope to gain?

Perhaps she could discover that when they were riding. She’d find a way to speak privately with him and—

The duchess leaned forward to say something in a low voice to MacLean. He listened, then shrugged and turned away. The duchess looked furious, while MacLean merely looked bored.

A faint flicker warmed Caitlyn’s heart.

Sally leaned across the table. “Caitlyn, instead of riding, perhaps I should stay here and look at the grand portraits.” She glanced down the table at the duke, before saying in a low whisper, “I’ll count how many have the unfortunate Roxburge chin.”

Caitlyn had to laugh. “No, no! You must ride!”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Falkland interjected. “You can’t miss the views. Nothing like them for miles around.”

Sally looked uncertain. “If you think I should go . . .”

Caitlyn nodded. “We two will ask for the slowest, fattest mounts from the stables, and we’ll both be fine. If they have ponies, we’ll request those.”

Sally laughed. “A pony would be perfect for me, but not for you, although it
is
kind of you to offer.”

Caitlyn pshawed the notion and was glad when the duchess rose from her chair. Since everyone had finished breakfast, Lady Kinloss suggested they meet in the foyer in an hour for their ride. The other guests agreed and left to change into their riding habits. Caitlyn was escorted to the foyer by Dervishton and Falkland as Alexander remained in his seat, his dark gaze following her.

Georgiana watched as Miss Hurst dominated the masculine attention, leaving with an eligible bachelor on each arm.
How pathetic. Men are such weak creatures, far too easily led by a youthful beauty.

Knowing they were fools didn’t reduce the sting; Georgiana wasn’t used to sharing every bit of the masculine attention. It was quite acceptable for the Earl of Caithness to pay attention to Miss Ogilvie, for everyone knew he was on the lookout for a well-set wife. But it irked her to see a handsome, polished gentleman such as Lord Dervishton playing up to a pasty-faced ingenue such as Miss Hurst. What disturbed her
even more was the way MacLean followed the girl’s every movement, his green eyes considering . . . measuring . . .
interested.

Lady Kinloss picked up a napkin and wrapped up a small slice of ham. “Muffin loves ham. I can’t give him too much, though, for it makes him gassy. Muffin’s stomach is so delicate! He never complains, but I can tell when he’s—”

“Diane, would you mind leaving Lord MacLean and me alone for a few moments? I must ask his opinion about that set of matched grays I just purchased. One has drawn up lame, and I don’t know whether to keep him or have him put down.”

Diane hopped up from the table with a nervous twitter. “Oh! Of course.”

Georgiana waited for Diane to disappear out the door before she moved down the table to where Alexander sat, his gaze still on the open doorway as if he was lost in thought.

Taking the chair beside his, Georgiana followed his gaze to the hallway, where Miss Hurst was talking earnestly with Lord Dervishton. Georgiana’s lip curled. The silly chit had no notion of Dervishton’s fickle nature, which was most useful to Georgiana in making MacLean jealous. The younger man was attractive enough, but he had nothing on the sheer masculine power and sensuality of the man now sitting beside her.

She watched MacLean through lowered lashes, an unfamiliar pang of longing twisting her heart. To
most people in society, she was the Duchess of Roxburge, the most beautiful and wealthiest woman in all of Scotland and perhaps even England. Only she and her doddering husband knew that he’d first seen her at the tender age of fourteen, working in a cotton mill dressed in near rags, dirty and barefoot, the illegitimate child of the town whore.

Roxburge had been a jaded peer, tired of life and the vagaries of the ton, labeled an imbecile by the wits of the time because of a faint lisp and a tendency to turn bright red anytime someone looked his way. But Roxburge was no fool, and he had a deep appreciation for beauty in all forms—even in a girl dressed in rags with no shoes on her feet.

He’d taken Georgiana home that day and, as soon as he’d been able to procure a fake birth record, had married her. Thus, the Duchess of Roxburge had been “born.” For the first two years, he’d sequestered her away in his northernmost estates, where she was scrubbed, tutored, and polished until even he sometimes forgot where she came from. The marriage was not one of great passion; she had no love for him nor he for her. Theirs was a simple marriage of convenience. Roxburge gained a young and beautiful wife who excited envy among his peers. In return, Georgiana received a title and a generous monthly allowance. The birth of a healthy, handsome son with the family birthmark on his left elbow sealed the deal.

When the time came, the duke presented his lovely duchess to London society, which, as he’d expected,
she took by storm. When anyone asked about Georgiana’s heritage—as a few did—he let it be known that his wife was from an ancient family in the northernmost reaches of Scotland, hinting at a lineage linked to that delicate and tragic beauty Mary, Queen of Scots.

Georgiana navigated the murky waters of the ton with a sure step, welcomed for both her beauty and that faint air of superiority that she’d developed to keep the more curious at bay. This intriguing combination opened more doors for her than her husband’s lineage and money ever could. She was quick to see that to truly advance, she’d have to choose her lovers wisely, develop a reputation for discretion, and select only the most discriminating of friends. She did just that and was soon one of the leaders of the ton.

She had everything she wanted and more, and she’d enjoyed it. But lately, something didn’t feel quite right. Her beauty was beginning to fade, and her husband was now a doddering old fool who leered at the upstairs maid and fell asleep at the dinner table with his mouth wide open.

Georgiana found herself restless for something more, for the one thing she’d never had—true love. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d found it in Alexander MacLean, that mysterious, maddeningly handsome, and damned elusive Scottish laird; a man with black hair and a blacker soul and dark green eyes that hinted at both deep passion and the ability for cold cruelty.

As if sensing her thoughts, he finally dragged his attention from the hallway and turned her way. “Yes?”

His voice held only boredom. Already frayed by his inattentiveness, Georgiana’s temper sparked to life. “Watching Miss Hurst and her conquests? Or wishing you were one yourself?”

His gaze narrowed, his eyes shimmering like green ice.

She snapped, “How unlike you, MacLean. I’d never saw you as the sort to chase schoolgirls. I’d have thought Humbolt’s demise might have been a lesson.”

A cold smile touched his lips. “What’s wrong, Georgiana? Jealous that Dervishton has forgotten to worship at your altar?”

Chilled by the icy gleam of his eyes, Georgiana swallowed a sharp retort.

Alexander’s gaze had already returned to the open door. Outside, Georgiana watched Caitlyn Hurst, who looked positively ravishing as she laughed up at Dervishton. The chit’s gowns had a deceptive simplicity that was instantly recognizable as having come from a modiste of the first water. Where had she gotten such a wardrobe?

Georgiana tapped her fingers on the table. “MacLean, you told me you’d decided to teach Caitlyn Hurst a lesson.”

He shot her a bored look. “What I do or don’t do is really none of your concern.”

“It’s my concern when I work to get the chit invited to
my
house, and then have to sit and watch you fawn over her like all of the other men here. You’re infatuated with her! Admit it!”

His eyes blazed hot green, his mouth white with anger. Outside, a roaring wind slammed against the house; the sunshine blotted by the sudden appearance of a roiling bank of clouds.

Georgiana shivered, frightened and aroused. To own a man like this … How had she let him escape? He was gorgeous and overwhelmingly masculine, but his power was what made her bones melt. She touched his arm and leaned forward, her blue silk morning gown cut provocatively low. “Alexander, please . . . I didn’t mean to make you angry. I’m just curious about your plan. And I
am
a part of it, since I’m the one who invited her here.”

He regarded her for a long moment. Outside, the wind slowly died down; the clouds calmed, though they didn’t disappear. “I am merely toying with her. She didn’t ruin my brother in one single moment; he had to face the knowledge of his fate for a while. I want her to do the same. She knows I have plans, but she doesn’t know what they are. She’s curious and concerned; I see it in her face.” His hard mouth curved in a faint smile. “When the time comes, she’ll know what’s in store for her. Until then, I want her to worry.”

Relief swept through Georgiana. “You’re torturing her! I was worried that you were succumbing to her
like that fool Falkland and the others. But how do you plan on punishing the girl while she’s constantly surrounded by admirers? It’s going to take some deviousness on your part.”

“So it will.” He stood, forcing her to drop her hand from his arm. “For now, I want her to stew in uncertainty. I’m coming for her, and she’s beginning to realize it. That’s all you need to know.”

Georgiana opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her with a sharp frown. “I must change for the ride.”

That was all she was going to get. Georgiana stood as well. “Of course. I’ll let the footmen know how many of you will need mounts. And, Alexander?”

“Yes?”

“When you return, I’d like to hear how things went.” She held her breath. She was taking a risk, asking for such a thing, especially in a tone of voice that suggested she knew his answer would be yes.

To her relief, he merely shrugged. “I’ll stop by your apartments when I return.”

Her heart leaped. When he returned, she would entice him into more than conversation. She managed to keep her triumph from showing. “I will speak with you then.”

He bowed and left, walking with that animal grace that made her shiver. She watched him until he disappeared up the stairs, then turned to look out the window. The storm clouds were still hanging low on the horizon, and the taste of rain still lingered.