Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord Read online

  “Fiona,” Jack said more firmly, “put down that blasted sewing basket.”

  She sighed, folded her embroidery, and placed it in the basket, then clasped her hands in her lap.

  “It was a bit disconcerting to discover your name on everyone’s lips, Fiona.”

  She bit her lip. “I suppose I should have told you.”

  “Good God, what were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t. At least, not then.”

  “And you couldn’t just walk away?”

  Fiona stiffened. “I did not plan on making a scene, but she was determined to talk to me.”

  “So? She can have nothing to say that would interest either of us.”

  “She had quite a lot to say. She told me about…the two of you. She also knew I’d abducted you and forced you to marry me.” Fiona sent him a reproachful look. “It was painful to learn that you’d shared that information withher. ”

  “I have never told anyone how we came to be married. I don’t know how Lucinda came by that information.”

  “Well, she knew of it. She was very ugly to me, and I am not in the least sorry I threw water on her. If she’d been outside,” Fiona added darkly, “she would have been much wetter.”

  Jack shook his head. “I thought something had happened. The scent of lilacs was too strong.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Iam sorry for causing a scene last night.” She hesitated. “Jack, when did you stop seeing her?”

  “The same night you and I returned to town.”

  That was not what Campbell had said. Actually, he hadn’t said anything so much as implied that there was more. Much more.

  “Did you love her?”

  “God, no!” Jack frowned.

  “She said you and she planned on getting married.”

  “With Lord Featherington presiding over the nuptials?” Jack asked sarcastically. “Please.”

  Thank goodness! “I suppose people are talking about me.”

  He laughed shortly. “Yes, though not in the way you might think. I received no fewer than eight invitations today, three of them from society’s highest sticklers. You appear to have climbed a few notches in the estimation of the ton.”

  “With the women, I am certain I have. I believe Lucinda is not much liked by them.”

  Jack chuckled. “You might be interested to know that it has rained nonstop at Lucinda’s house since last night. I heard her roof has sprung a leak and her wine cellar flooded.”

  Fiona unsuccessfully fought a smile.

  “Oh Jack, don’t tell me that! I feel bad enough that I emptied an entire vse of water over her head!”

  “She didn’t melt, did she?”

  “No, Jack, but I didn’t mean to drag your name into this.”

  “Sweetheart, we are married. Whither thou goest and all that.”

  Their gazes met. Fiona could not breathe; the words were so rich with meaning, hinting at a future they both knew was not theirs.

  He frowned and stood quickly, as if to get away from both his words and her. “Fiona, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.” She gave him a tight smile. “It’s just an expression.” At least, that’s all it was for them.

  The clock chimed the hour, and she stood and gathered her basket. “I must go. I promised my brothers I would meet them for a ride in the park, and I haven’t yet dressed.”

  “Wait.” Jack crossed to her, captured her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “It’s a pity you are in a hurry.”

  “Why?”

  He bent his head and whispered against her ear, “We could leave your brothers cooling their heels for a few minutes, couldn’t we? Just long enough to…”

  Fiona closed her eyes, her knees weakening, and leaned against him for support.

  He removed the basket from her grasp and placed it on the table beside them, then pulled her toward him, sinking into a large chair with her on his lap.

  Fiona slipped an arm around his neck and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips as he loosened his breeches. With a quick tug, his manhood was revealed, and Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. When she curled her fingers over the thick shaft and squeezed gently, his head fell against the back of the chair as he moaned.

  Encouraged, she ran her hand up. With the end of her thumb, she circled the engorged head. A bead of wetness clung to the tip.

  “Fiona.” Jack gasped, his hands tightening around her.“Please.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath was short, and her whole body quivered. As desperate as he sounded, she was more so. Every sinew yearned for him.

  Jack slipped a hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his for a consuming kiss that burned through her.

  God, how she wanted him.Now. She shifted, turning toward him, the chair creaking with their combined weight. His hands urged her on, and soon she was facing him, her skirts ruched up, with her stockinged legs straddling his powerful thighs.

  There was something wanton about being on top, something powerful.

  Her breasts tightened, and her body tingled in anticipation as his erection pressed against her intimately, her chemise all that separated them from each other. She pressed down and rubbed against him, sliding back and forth.

  Jack’s breathing grew more ragged, his gaze locked on her as if she were the only woman in existence.

  Still moving against him, Fiona unpinned her hair, the thick tresses falling down about her.

  Jack’s hands tightened on her hips, and suddenly, she wanted more. She needed his lips and hands on her bare skin.

  She untied her gown and pushed it down to her waist. Her breasts, covered only by the thin chemise, were level with Jack’s mouth. He immediately pulled her forward, his mouth hot upon them, his tongue laving her nipples to hardness, leaving the material wet and clinging. Fiona gasped, her head tossing back as he made her writhe with delight and need.

  His hips moved restlessly against her, straining upward, then his hands reached under her skirt. He pushed aside her chemise, his fingers sliding across her wetness, tantalizing and teasing. Fiona clutched his shirt with both hands and gasped. His fingers slid over her harder, then into her.

  Each stroke lifted her higher, closer to delicious madness. She rocked her hips against his fingers, until sudden waves of pure pleasure flooded through her, leaving her weak and leaning against his neck, gasping his name.

  She felt the insistent press of his turgid manhood, and though still throbbing from her release, she yearned to feel him inside. She rocked back, placed her hands on his shoulders, and pressed down.

  Jack gasped as she slid over him, engulfing him in a tight wetness that sent his pulse reeling.

  He’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the intense pleasure on her face, and he fought for control. She was so tight, so hot, sohis . He pressed his mouth to her breasts, his breathing ragged and loud.

  Slowly, Fiona shifted forward, then back, rocking against him. Jack was held in place by the exquisite torture. His entire body was focused on that one point where they were joined, on the feel of her tightening over him, of the sensual abrasion of her booted feet along his thigh.

  God, he loved her half boots—though not as much as he loved the feel of her, wet and writhing over him.

  Jack moaned as he watched her ride him, unable to catch his breath. Never had he seen a more arousing sight than when she threw back her head and called out his name, her body quivering as she came.

  Her pleasure ignited his own. He exploded into her, his gasps matching hers as wave after wave of pleasure flooded them both.

  With a final shudder, she collapsed against him. His heart pounded in his ears as he held her close. Never had he been with a more erotic, more sensual woman.

  Fiona buried her face in Jack’s neck. What mind-blinding, knee-shaking, thigh-quivering lovemaking! Her body still shook with the aftershocks of desire.

  She drew in a shuddering breath and pushed herself upright.

  He leaned back
against the chair, a deeply satisfied smile on his face. “I am spent.”

  “So am I.”

  She suddenly realized that the episode with Lucinda had proven one thing: if she didn’t take care, her emotions could grow until they were as out of control as the storms that attended her. With this man, there was no calling back the thunder. It rolled over her every time he so much as looked at her.

  And once she had a child, Jack would be gone.

  She pushed herself from his lap.

  He tried to hold her in place. “Not yet.”

  “I would stay if I could, but I must wash and change into my riding habit. And you know my brothers will not wait patiently. If I do not meet them soon, they will come for me. I didn’t think you’d want them here.”

  “No, Hamish is enough angry Scotsman for me.”

  Fiona smiled. “After I ride with my brothers, I thought I’d visit Bond Street and look for some ribbon for the bonnet I’m making.”

  He spread his arms wide. “You are as free as a bird, love.”

  She was. Nothing bound them together. Some devil made her say breezily, “Free indeed. I’ve not even decided which amusement I shall attend tonight—perhaps a gaming hell. So don’t wait up for me.”

  Jack shot to his feet.

  “You willnot go to a gaming hell.”

  She merely raised her brows.

  “You don’t understand how dangerous they can be. They are filled with scoundrels and thieves and—”

  “Men like you. If it’s good enough for you, then it will be good enough for me. Jack, I know you value your freedom more than anything. When we first arrived in London, you made it clear that you would do what you wanted and expected no complaints from me.”

  Jack rammed his hands into his pockets to keep Fiona from seeing how upset he was. She was right; he had said that, as idiotic as it sounded now.

  “Fiona, I just—”

  “There is nothing more to discuss, Jack. You may do as you please, and I will never again complain.”

  That was good—wasn’t it? She would allow him his freedom, his life; that was what he’d wanted all along. He frowned. “But what about you?”

  “Naturally, I will go wherever I wish, too. I’m finding this idea of a modern marriage surprisingly appealing.” She placed her hand on the door handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go, or I will be late.”

  For a long time after the door closed behind her, Jack stood where he was, conflicting emotions crowding his mind. Apparently, he’d just won an argument, yet he didn’t feel as if he’d won.

  He raked a hand through his hair and stared out the window with unseeing eyes. Fiona constantly confused and confounded him. Just when he thought he knew her, she surprised him. Like her battle with Lucinda—who was no meek miss. Underneath Lucinda’s air of sophisticated helplessness, she was brittle and hard. At first, he’d found her callousness amusing, but that had paled.

  Fiona had changed everything, no matter how much he’d tried to stop it. She’d given him his freedom, but he wasn’t sure if he’d lost something in the exchange. All he knew was that once she began to expect more of him, he’d come to realize that maybe his perfect life wasn’t so perfect after all. There were things he should have done, should be doing, that he’d not bothered with. In a lot of ways, before he’d married Fiona, he’d let life drift by. That was no longer enough.

  “My lord?”

  Jack turned to find Devonsgate standing in the doorway, a bottle of brandy in one hand. “I came to refill the brandy decanter. Will I disturb you?”

  “No, no. Go ahead.”

  The butler bowed and moved to the small table by the window.

  Jack watched as Devonsgate refilled the decanter, then carefully wiped off the glasses and tray. “Devonsgate, do you think I’m a good master?”

  The butler’s face was almost comical as his brows rose to echo the roundness of his head. “My lord?”

  “You heard me. Do you think I’m a good master? And do not mouth platitudes; I want the truth.”

  Devonsgate opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then he went to the door and closed it firmly. “My lord, that is a difficult question. You are a good master…and you aren’t.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The butler eyed him cautiously. “Well, you are certainly generous with your wages. I’ve never heard you complain about paying someone more than they are worth.”

  That was because Jack had no idea how much his servants were paid.

  “Furthermore,” Devonsgate said, looking thoughtful, “you rarely interfere in the completion of household tasks.” The butler caught Jack’s grim gaze and hurried to add, “I assure you that servants appreciate that quality in a master.”

  “I do not interfere with my staff because I do not notice what they do. That is hardly a good quality. Devonsgate, how many footmen do we have?”

  “Twelve.”

  “That many?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I had no idea. They all wear livery and look so much alike that I—” He shook his head. “As for wages, I don’t complain because I have no idea what they are. Who takes care of that, anyway?”

  “Mr. Troutman used to, my lord.”

  “My man of business? He used to be here twice a week, pestering me about this and that. I haven’t seen him of late.”

  “That is because you banished him, my lord.”

  Jack frowned. “When did I do that?”

  “Two months ago, my lord. You said you were tired of him always wanting you to sign things. You had one of the footmen throw the man out.”

  Jack raked a hand through his hair again. Fiona was right to let him go his own way; she would never stay with such an irresponsible man.

  He crossed to the window and looked out, his mind whirling. He’d never had to worry about his fortune since the majority of it was tied up in investments; all he had to do was spend the profits. Until now, he’d been perfectly happy with his deliberate lack of knowledge. “Devonsgate, I am beginning to see myself in a new way, and it is not pretty.”

  “You are being far too harsh on yourself. Most household details would fall to the lady of the house. There hasn’t been one until now.”

  Jack straightened thoughtfully. “That’s true. I daresay I run my house in a manner quite acceptable for a bachelor.”

  Devonsgate did not respond.

  Jack turned to look at him.

  The butler offered an apologetic smile. “Ah, yes. Quite.”

  Jack’s gaze narrowed. “You worked for the earl of Berkshire before he married. Did he know how many footmen were in his employ?”

  Devonsgate hesitated.

  Jack’s heart sank a bit. “He did, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And did Berkshire know how much they were paid?”

  “Yes, my lord. He and his man of business kept a close eye on that.”

  “I never liked Berkshire. I daresay that bastard also knew the names of all of his servants.”

  “He kept an eye on the entire household. He was quite a generous man, giving gifts on various birthdays and such. He even arranged for the upstairs staff to have an extra day off at Christmas.”

  “What a bloody paragon.” Jack sighed. “Devonsgate, it is time I put my house in order. Please inform Mr. Troutman that I wish to see him tomorrow afternoon, and I promise not to have him tossed from the premises.”

  “Yes, my lord!” Devonsgate said, brightening.

  “Good. When you’ve done that, bring me the household accounts and a list of every servant with a description of each.”

  “A description?”

  “Yes. Height, hair color, eyes—that sort of thing. If I’m going to learn their blasted names, I will need all the help I can get.”

  “Yes, my lord. I shall see to that myself.” Devonsgate cleared his throat. “My lord, I cannot help but feel it is a good step. Her ladyship will be most pleased.”


  Jack frowned. “I am not doing this for her.” He was doing it because it needed to be done and for no other reason, damn it.

  Devonsgate bowed. “Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “On your way out, please have Lady Kincaid’s horse brought to the door.”