Hurst 02 - Scandal in Scotland Read online

  Fuming, Triona hoped the lout would be in a more accommodating mood once he’d slept. She tugged the blankets around her from neck to toe and settled into her own corner.

  As soon as they reached someplace with a lantern, MacLean would realize his error and send her home. Meanwhile, all she could do was rest. The mad race to reach London, then the disappointment of failing to find Caitlyn twice over, had exhausted her. Her body ached from the roughness of the ride, too.

  She turned toward the plush squabs, slipped her hands beneath her cheek, and willed herself to relax.

  Yet she found herself listening to the deep breathing of her captor and wondering dismally where Caitlyn might be. Had her sister changed her mind at the eleventh hour? Or had something befallen her?

  Worried for both Caitlyn and herself, Triona shifted, exhausted yet unable to rest. Her knee ached, her body still thrummed from MacLean’s kiss, and her lips felt swollen and tender. She lifted a hand to her mouth, shivering at the way it tingled.

  No one had ever dared kiss her before. Father’s stern presence had protected her from many things, she realized, and in a way, it was rather sad. She was twenty-three years of age and had never been stirred by passion.

  Triona frowned, realizing she was sorry for her lack of experience; a moral woman should be scandalized. She couldn’t dredge up a bit of outrage, though.

  The kiss had been … interesting. MacLean had been thorough and expert, a trait even an inexperienced kisser could recognize, and she thought she might enjoy kissing under different circumstances. She might enjoy it a lot, in fact. After all, what harm could come from a simple kiss?

  She yawned. The rocking coach and the deep, soft cushions cradled her as they raced through the night, MacLean’s deep breathing soothing her. Soon, sleep claimed her and hugged her into blissful nothingness.

  Triona awoke, slowly becoming aware of the rocking of the coach, the creak of the straps overhead, and the incredible warmth engulfing her. She stirred, rubbing her fingers against the rough pillow beneath her cheek. She frowned at the roughness; then her fingers grazed something hard. She opened her eyes to find herself in a carriage, enveloped in dim light from a dim lantern, and blinked at the object at her fingertips.

  It was a button. A mother-of-pearl button.

  On a pillow?

  Bemused, her gaze traveled from the button upward, to another button, to a wide collar and a snowy white cravat, and farther—past a firm chin covered with black stubble, over a sensual mouth, to a pair of amused green eyes. MacLean!

  Triona gasped and bolted upright, leaving the warmth of the arm that had been tucked about her.

  Hugh, who’d been enjoying the many expressions that had flickered over her face, chuckled. “Easy, sweet. You’ll hit your head on the ceiling.”

  His mussed companion hugged herself, her gaze sparkling with anger. With a sniff, she moved to the farthest corner of the coach. “What were you doing on my seat?”

  He shrugged, enjoying her discomfort. “You began to fall over. I merely gave you something to fall against.”

  Her brows lowered, her eyes flashing her irritation. Hugh was very glad he’d lit the lamp, though he’d kept it very low so as not to awaken his captive. In the faint, shadowed light, it was a testament to the strength of her expressions that he was able to read them at all.

  It was odd, but in the few times he had met Caitlyn Hurst, he’d missed several important things about her—mainly because he’d made a point of not paying her the slightest heed. He hadn’t spoken to her, looked directly at her, or even acknowledged her presence. He knew it had piqued her, and he’d enjoyed that immensely. Now he realized what he’d missed by his endeavors.

  For one thing, he’d mistakenly thought her a slender, rather pixieish creature, but her face was softer, more curved than his memory had led him to believe, which made him wonder even more about what was under her cloak.

  He’d remembered her voice as being higher-pitched, too. He’d certainly never realized that the troublesome chit possessed a voice that dripped over his senses like warm honey.

  He also hadn’t been aware of the thrum of physical attraction she exuded that made him … restless, eager to engage her in some way. Having seen his older brother’s reaction to her seductive powers, he should have expected it. Perhaps he’d been immune before because he hadn’t been in such close proximity. It was purely an imp of devilment that had made him slip onto her seat and pull her head to his shoulder, and her reaction hadn’t disappointed him.

  It was his own reaction that had astonished him. Having drawn her close, he’d been hard pressed not to touch her in other ways, and only the fact she’d been fast asleep had saved them both. Not that he really needed to worry. Her behavior had been wanton from the beginning, and she’d never squander her attention on a younger son. She’d be as anxious to end this farce as he was, probably more so.

  A surprising twist of regret surged through him at the thought.

  By Zeus, he needed to tread carefully. This woman was as false as her smiles. He’d suffered the hidden barbs of a woman’s wiles before, and he’d not suffer them again.

  She’d even attempted to convince him she was an innocent, with her refusal to respond to his kiss. She’d done very well at playing the shocked virgin, he thought grudgingly. Fortunately, he knew just who and what she was, and innocence had nothing to do with it.

  Her gaze suddenly focused on the lamp and she turned toward him, looking eager. “Now you can see my face!”

  He raised his brows. Was she looking for compliments? “So?”

  She said impatiently, “Now you can see I’m not Caitlyn!”

  His gaze raked over her honey-gold hair, mussed into curls about a distinctively heart-shaped face. “Still playing me for a fool, Hurst?”

  She fisted her hands. “Blast it! You, my lord, have made a mistake.”

  “Not as much of one as you.” The coach slowed and he turned to lift the corner of the curtain. As he did so, she gasped.

  He glanced back at her and found her gaze locked on his hair. She stammered, “Y-y-you’re not Alexander MacLean! You’re his brother, Hugh!”

  She’d seen the streak of white hair that brushed back from one brow, a relic of a dark time that he never dwelled on. “Stop playing the fool; it doesn’t become you. You know damned well who I am.”

  “Oh!” She fisted her hands and pressed them to her eyes for a moment before she dropped them back to her lap. “You are going to drive me mad! You don’t believe a word I say and—”

  Her lips thinned, her gaze narrowed, and he could almost see the thoughts flickering through her mind. By Zeus, I’ve never seen such an expressive face before.

  Her lips relaxed, and then a faint smile curved them as her gaze traced the white hair at his temple.

  “There is nothing humorous in this situation.”

  She lifted her brows, a genuine twinkle in her fine eyes. “Ah, but there is. I thought you were someone else while you now think I’m someone else—” She chuckled, the sound rich as cream. “The situation may be untenable, but the irony is delicious.”

  But not as delicious as you. He scowled, startled at his own thoughts.

  “Stop this nonsense,” he said impatiently. “I refuse to—” The coach slowed, then turned a corner. “Ah, the inn. It’s about time.”

  Her eyes, large and dark in the dim light, sparkled with amusement. “Once we’re in the stronger light, you’ll see your error.” A chuckle broke free, and she regarded him with such lively humor that Hugh was tempted to grin back.

  Almost.

  Finally he understood why Alexander had pursued her, even though he knew the dangers. There was something incredibly taking about the curve of her cheek, the way her thick lashes shadowed her large eyes, and the fascinating display of emotions across her expressive face.

  It was a damned shame she was layered in two cloaks, for he couldn’t see her figure. He knew what to expect, yet she seemed
more rounded now, and oddly … taller, perhaps?

  A chill rippled through Hugh.

  Good God, had he seen what he wanted to see? What he’d expected to see? Surely he hadn’t been so—

  The coach rocked to a halt, but Hugh was only distantly aware of the cry of his coachman, the sound of another carriage drawing up beside his.

  Then the door flew open and Hugh turned, only to meet a fist as it plowed into his chin.

  The blow did little more than stun him for a second. He rubbed his chin and glared at his attacker, a smallish older man wearing a fashionable multi-caped coat. “Lord Galloway,” he said curtly.

  “You cur!” Galloway’s face was a mask of fury.

  Hugh’s companion lurched into the man’s arms. “Uncle Bedford!” she cried. “I am so glad to see you!”

  “There, there, my dear,” Lord Galloway said, fixing a very stern gaze on Hugh. “This ordeal is over, Caitriona.”

  Caitriona—not Caitlyn. Hugh’s heart thudded sickly as he closed his eyes and faced the truth. God help him—he had the wrong woman.

  FROM The Laird Who Loved Me

  Viscount Falkland gaped at the doorway, then frantically adjusted his cuffs and smoothed his waistcoat.

  Alexander MacLean followed the plump young lord’s gaze and found Caitlyn Hurst entering the room arm-in-arm with Miss Ogilvie. They made a pretty picture, and Alexander would wager the family castle that they knew it.

  “Good God, she’s—” croaked Falkland, turning bright red. “She’s an angel! A true angel!” He subsided into wide-eyed bliss.

  “Easy, fool,” Lord Dervishton muttered. “You’ll embarrass us all.” He stood and flourished a bow. “Good morning! I trust you both slept well.”

  “I certainly did,” Miss Ogilvie said.

  “As did I. I slept until almost ten,” Miss Hurst added in her rich, melodious voice.

  Falkland visibly shivered and it was all Alexander could do not to chide the fool. The youth was smitten and, judging from the way Dervishton was watching Caitlyn, he was in no better shape.

  Good God, did every man except him fall madly in love with the chit? It was damnably annoying.

  Falkland leaned forward eagerly. “Miss Hurst, can I carry your plate at the buffet and—”

  “Don’t even try it.” Dervishton slipped his arm through Caitlyn’s. “Miss Hurst needs someone with steadier hands to hold her plate.”

  Falkland stiffened. “I have steady hands, and I can also—”

  “For the love of God!” Alexander snapped, unable to take another moment. “Leave the chit alone! She can get her own damned breakfast.”

  Falkland turned bright red. “I was just—”

  “Sausage!” Caitlyn looked past him to the buffet. “There’s only one left and I intend to have it. If you will pardon me a moment, please?” She slipped her arm from Dervishton’s, whisked around him, and began to fill a plate while exclaiming at the sight of kippers.

  “Excuse me!” Falkland scurried off to pester Caitlyn.

  Chuckling, Miss Ogilvie followed.

  Dervishton returned to his seat. “Well! I’ve never been dismissed for a plate of sausage before.”

  Alexander had to hide a reluctant smile. He should have been irritated, but his sense of humor was too strong to allow it.

  He watched Caitlyn chat animatedly to Falkland about the variety of fruit on the buffet as she filled the plate he dutifully held. Last night she’d been equally enthusiastic about their dinner, her reaction immediate and genuine. Their previous relationship had happened so quickly, so fiercely, that he hadn’t learned her everyday likes and dislikes. Not that it mattered, he told himself, dispelling a flicker of unease. He knew her character, and that was all he needed to know.

  “Falkland is a fool,” Dervishton said into the silence. “He is escorting the charming Miss Hurst this way. I’d have taken her to the other end of the table, away from the competition.”

  Alexander watched as the weak-chinned viscount assisted Caitlyn to a chair down a little and across from Alexander. Caitlyn was chuckling at something the viscount said, while he watched her with an adoring air that made Alexander nauseous.

  When Alexander turned to say as much to Dervishton, he realized that the young lord’s gaze was locked on Caitlyn, too. “Watch,” he murmured to Alexander. “You’ll be glad you did.”

  “Watch what?”

  A mesmerized look in his eyes, Dervishton didn’t answer.

  Muttering an oath, Alexander turned and regarded Caitlyn. The morning sunlight slanted across her, smoothing over her creamy skin and lighting her golden hair. Her long lashes, thick and dark, shadowed her brown eyes and made them appear darker. She looked fresh and lovely, no different than he expected.

  Irritated, Alexander shrugged. “So?”

  “You’re an impatient sort, aren’t you?” Dervishton flicked a glance at Alexander and then turned back to Caitlyn. “Wait a moment and you’ll see.”

  Alexander scowled, but as he did so, Caitlyn leaned over her plate and closed her eyes, an expression of deep pleasure on her face. Her expression was like that of a lover, a sensual yearning.

  Instantly his throat tightened and his heart thundered an extra beat. “What in the hell is she doing?”

  “Smelling the ham, I believe.” Dervishton’s voice was oddly deep.

  Alexander was fairly certain his own voice wouldn’t be normal either as he watched Caitlyn savor the scent of her breakfast.

  She smiled and lifted her fork and knife … and licked her lips.

  “Good God,” Dervishton whispered hoarsely.

  Alexander’s body flash heated, and for one wild, crazed moment, he wanted that look—wanted to own it, to possess it, for it to be directed at him and no one else.

  Caitlyn slipped her fork beneath a small bit of ham and brought it to her lips.

  If he had thought her expression rapturous before, he’d been wrong. There was no description for the blatantly sensual expression she wore now. “Has she never had food before?”

  Dervishton answered quietly, “I think it’s the sophistication of the dishes that she savors.”

  “Ham and eggs?”

  “Seasoned with chives, butter, and a touch of thyme—Roxburge keeps an excellent table. I have seldom—” Caitlyn slipped a forkful of eggs between her lips. “Damn,” he breathed as Caitlyn closed her eyes and slowly chewed, her lips moist.

  Damn indeed. The woman was talented at garnering attention, but this was beyond enough! Alexander saw that every man in the room was watching her eat—even Roxburge had a greedy expression on his face.

  Alexander’s jaw tightened. Then he leaned forward and said in a clear voice, “Miss Hurst, I’ve never seen a woman eat with such relish.”

  She lowered her fork. “I doubt I enjoy my food any more than anyone else.” She turned to Miss Ogilvie, who’d just taken a seat. “Don’t you think that’s true, Miss Ogilvie?”

  “Oh, we all have our weaknesses,” Miss Ogilvie said promptly. “For example, no one loves chocolate cake as much as I.”

  Beside her, the Earl of Caithness grinned. “I’ve been known to hoard truffles.”

  “Don’t let MacLean fool you,” Dervishton added with a wicked twinkle. “He almost fought our host over the last pear.”

  Caitlyn blinked. “There were pears?”

  “I have the last one.” Alexander cut a piece and made a show of tasting it. “Mmm! Cinnamon. Excellent.”

  Her gaze narrowed and her lips pressed firmly together, which made the pear taste all the better to Alexander.

  Georgiana’s sharp voice cut through the moment. “Lord Dervishton, you mentioned last night that you’d enjoy a ride this afternoon.”

  Dervishton nodded, his gaze drifting back to Caitlyn.

  “I shall have the horses readied, then,” Georgiana said sharply. She looked at Alexander and her expression softened. “You don’t normally ride for pleasure, I recall.”

  He shrug
ged. “I ride while attending my lands. I don’t normally find it a relaxing pastime.”

  Lady Kinloss, seated at Georgiana’s left, clapped her hands. “A ride would be delightful! Though her grace and some others”—she sent a quick glance at Alexander—“are not much for riding, I’m sure the rest of us would enjoy it. Perhaps we could even visit the Snaid.”

  Miss Ogilvie looked up from a low conversation she was having with Caithness. “The Snaid? Is that a castle?”

  Lady Kinloss tittered. “Lud, no! The Snaid is what the locals call Inversnaid. It’s a very small village, but there’s an inn there with exceptionally good fare and some astounding views of the Ben, which is quite a lovely mountain. We could ride to the Snaid this afternoon, have tea, and return in plenty of time to get ready for dinner.”

  “Miss Hurst, do you ride?” Dervishton asked.

  “Somewhat. I was learning in London when—” Her gaze slipped to Alexander and then, catching his hard look, she colored. “Of course I can ride.”

  He lifted his brows, amused at her pink-stained cheeks. Though she was talking about their rides in the park, she was thinking about the kisses that had followed. As was he.

  Glad to know that those memories still caused her some flustered moments, he allowed his gaze to flicker over her mouth. “Miss Hurst is an excellent … rider.”

  She flushed a deeper pink, her gaze flying to meet his. “Thank you, Lord MacLean, but I wouldn’t classify myself as excellent.”

  “Oh, come now. Don’t be so shy about your talents.”

  All eyes turned toward Caitlyn. She flicked him a cold glance before offering a breathless laugh. “While I can ride, I don’t know the horses in her grace’s stables and—”

  Alexander drawled, “You are worried they wouldn’t be up to your standards, of course. Having seen you ride, I can certainly understand your concern.”

  Dervishton raised his brows. “You have ridden together before?”

  “I had the privilege of teaching Miss Hurst when she was in London last season.”