To Tempt a Scotsman Read online

  Chapter 5

  She'll be gone in the morning.

  Collin told himself this every time his eye fell on Alexandra Huntington.

  Don't worry. She'll be gone soon.

  She looked beautiful, of course, in a fluff of red dress that accentuated her alabaster skin and the smallness of her waist. The dress also rather successfully drew the eye to the soft rise of her breasts. It was not daring by society standards, but the bodice curved more than low enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of her firm breasts. Collin did what he could to stop himself staring. Not an easy task when he could picture perfectly the shape and shade of them beneath his hand.

  Perhaps more maddening than his fascination with her bosom was the way her eyes slid away from his every time he looked at her. Even when he'd greeted her before dinner she'd stared at his collar. Now she stared at the wineglass that had not left her hand since the first course was served.

  "How is your head?"

  She blinked as if drawn from a deep thought. "Pardon me?"

  "Your head. That is why you missed luncheon? A headache?"

  "Oh. Yes. My head is better, thank you."

  "I hope it was not the strenuous ride today that discom­posed you." Oh, her eyes flew to meet his then.

  Collin kept his face straight—very straight—and raised an innocent, inquiring brow. Her cheeks flamed.

  "It was not the ride, Mr. Blackburn," she bit out. "I am an experienced rider, after all."

  Ouch. Her behavior was so demure this evening that he'd forgotten that kittens' claws were not only tiny but also devastatingly sharp.

  "Of course." This time, when she looked away, he slumped back into the chair to glare at his bowl of stewed fruit.

  "My word," Lucy injected into the silence that followed. "Our guests are quiet this evening, George. I do believe we're boring them to death with our rusticating ways."

  They both muttered something negative. Lucy's eyes narrowed.

  "You two rode together this morning?"

  "Yes," Alex squeaked and sat up straighten

  Collin felt the hair on his nape rise at his cousin's suspi­cious look. A sudden memory of naked thighs assaulted him.

  "Did you argue? Collin, were you bothering her about London again?"

  "No. No, we did not argue. Absolutely not."

  "Alex?"

  "Of course not, Lucy. Perhaps we only went too far, after all. I'm exhausted."

  Went too far. Oh, she was clever. So clever he wanted to shake her. My God, you'd think he'd ravished an innocent the way she treated him as if he had the plague. Hadn't he been admirably restrained? Hadn't he saved her from making a dire mistake?

  Her words pierced the fog of his resentment. "I believe I shall retire now. I don't wish to be rude, but—"

  "Oh, but it's your last night here!"

  "I know, Lucy. I know. But I must leave early. I'd hoped to make it back to Somerhart by tomorrow evening."

  "You can sleep in the carriage."

  Alex laughed and shook her head. "No. I'm going to ride Brinn and have the carriage follow. I'll make better time."

  "But—"

  "Stop!" She cried out, laughing at Lucy's pout. "I'll see you in a month, after all, before your trip to the Continent."

  Lucy sighed and let her shoulders slump in melodra­matic defeat. "All right. I suppose if you're tired, you're tired. But do not leave in the morning without saying good-bye."

  "I promise." Alex quickly drained the dregs of her wine and stood. She kissed Lucy's cheek, hugged George, and spared Collin the barest nod before fleeing the room.

  A violent jolt of anger shot through him. Did she think that she could just dismiss him, just walk away with nothing but a nod? By God, he wasn't one of her London playthings.

  "Collin?"

  Lucy and George had retaken their seats and now sat gaping up at him while he stood and stared at the empty doorway.

  "Are you quite well? I don't know what's happened between you two, but—"

  "Excuse me," he interrupted.

  Lucy's laughter followed him when he stalked from the room.

  Alex frowned when she spotted Danielle dozing on a chair by her open trunk. She couldn't help but wonder if her maid had also spent an exhausting morning being hu­miliated by a man.

  "Danielle, darling, wake up and go get some dinner."

  Her brown eyes popped wide in shock. "Merde, I'm sorry! The packing is finished."

  "Thank you. Now go and feed yourself and don't forget to go to bed tonight."

  The maid's sly smile answered her curiosity. Not an em­barrassing morning then, but an adventurous night. Danielle was so delightfully French. Only she had dismissed Alex's terrible scandal with a shrug and sniff. "Was it worth it?" had been all she'd asked. Her companionship had been just what Alex needed in the time since.

  She closed the door on her maid's saucy grin and, with a deep sigh, leaned against the ancient wood. She felt so tired. She should not have had those extra glasses of wine with dinner. She should not have skipped luncheon either, but it had taken her all day just to screw up her courage and face him.

  It wasn't just the rejection. It was the letter that had been waiting in her room when she'd returned from her unsuc­cessful tryst. If only Prescott had ignored her instructions to forward personal mail.

  The sharp knock she'd been half-expecting rattled the door against her back.

  "Good God," Alex muttered, pressing a hand to her stut­tering heart. She knew who it was. He'd glared daggers into her just moments before when she'd said her good­byes. What the hell did he want from her?

  Steeling herself against the coming confrontation, she stepped away from the door and opened it just a crack.

  "Alexandra," he said in a suspiciously even voice. "Might I speak with you?"

  "Yes."

  His mouth tightened. "Will you open the door?"

  She stared at him for a long moment just to be diffi­cult, then let the door swing open. "What is it?"

  She pretended not to notice his anger, but she did back a few steps away from him as he slipped in and shut the door.

  "Why are you acting like this?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like I've done something terrible."

  "I'm not acting that way at all."

  "You won't speak to me. You won't even look at me. You're leaving tomorrow and all you can manage for me is a nod of your damned head?"

  Oh, this was ridiculous. "I can't imagine why you'd care."

  Collin growled, hands crumpling to fists. "You think I wouldn't even care to say a proper good-bye to you?"

  Her temper ruled her, off-balance as she was from a combination of his overwhelming presence and the wine she'd consumed. "I think that you had every reason not to like me when we met, and I think you do not like me now. I, I offered myself to you like a . .." She pulled herself straight and refused to say it. "And you didn't want me."

  "That's absolutely not true."

  "Of course it is." She looked down at the floor, unable to meet his suddenly understanding gaze. "You're simply too nice to say it."

  "Come here."

  "No." She shook her head to emphasize the word. She heard a step and saw his boots come into her line of vision.

  "Alex," he said more softly.

  She shook her head again, wishing he'd go away, wishing she didn't feel so uncertain. She felt his hand beneath her chin and let him raise her face to his gaze.

  "Surely you know when a man wants you."

  "Apparently not."

  "Alex." She heard the laughter in the word, his amuse­ment at her pouting. And then his breath touched her lips. And then his mouth was against hers and she was sighing and opening to him.

  The kiss was so soft, so hesitant that, though her heart leapt at the touch, it only confirmed what she feared. He did not want her as she wanted him. He didn't kiss her hard and hot. He didn't push her to the bed and strip her naked and slake his need. He only held
her, licked gently at her bottom lip.

  She wanted his tongue. She wanted his arousal.

  She broke away, swiped at the warmth that lingered on her mouth. "Don't lie to me, Collin." Ignoring his shocked eyes, she spun and jerked open the corner drawer of her dresser.

  "Here." She thrust the stiff paper into his hands, push­ing it away from her. "Take it. Leave." He just stared at her a moment, looking almost hurt.

  Finally, he glanced down, brow furrowed as he turned the paper over in his hands. "What is it?"

  "What do you think it is?"

  The paper snapped, it unfolded so quickly beneath his fingers. His face blanked, then flushed. Alex turned to her trunk and smoothed the already neat bundles of clothing.

  She'd given it to him in anger, and already her hand itched to snatch it back. Damien's note was passionate and flirtatious, and she'd only wanted to show Collin that some­one didn't think her too low to desire. Now she felt foolish. Used.

  "It came this afternoon," she muttered. The letter was brief. Surely he'd finished it.

  "I thank you for the information. And the titillation."

  A glance over her shoulder found him holding it out toward her. She sniffed. "Shouldn't you keep it? It's what you wanted, after all."

  "Oh, I wouldn't deprive you of such a tender keepsake. Surely you treasure his vivid remembrance of that evening in the rose garden. It is all that keeps him going, after all."

  Alex snatched it back from him as she should have done before he'd read it. A hard toss sent it floating into the chest and she slammed the lid against the sight of it.

  "Good-bye, Mr. Blackburn. Let me know if I can be of assistance to you in the future." The silence behind her stretched her nerves thin. "What?"

  A shush of fabric as he shifted. Then nothing.

  "What?"

  "I did not kiss you, or . . . I did not make love to you as a means to get information."

  "Really?"

  He cursed. It sounded like a curse, anyway, though it wasn't English. Gaelic, she guessed. Of course, she didn't really think he'd used her, but better he think that the cause of her anger than injured pride and hurt feelings.

  "I realize you do not know me well," he murmured from close behind her. "But I would never do that. I meant to not touch you at all, but I could not help myself."

  A shiver of pleasure slid over her spine at the honest heat in his voice.

  "I am not a man who often loses control."

  "And so you did not."

  "I did. If not for that ill-timed cart I would have happily buried myself between your legs and damn the consequences."

  The shiver turned to a stroke of hot lust. Oh, God, she could picture him rocking against her, his naked hips pressed against her own.

  His hand reached from behind to circle her wrist. He pulled her around to face him. "Is this a habit of yours? Collecting confessions of lust from men who can't have you?"

  "I. . ." His nearness, the savage light in his eyes. . . She had to breathe deep to clear her head. "You could have me."

  "You are not the type of woman a man simply beds."

  That surprised a sharp laugh out of her. "I am exactly that type of woman."

  "Don't speak that way of yourself," he growled. "It's not true. I knew the moment I met you it wasn't true."

  "But. . ." she choked out, confused and oddly hurt by his words.

  "We all do stupid things when we're young, Alex. Do not let past indiscretions dictate the rest of your life. You are a fine woman—smart and kind."

  "Oh, Collin," she sighed and pulled her hand from his. "Don't be naive. I'm truly ruined. The Errant Heiress, they call me. The Duke's Despair."

  "You are rich and beautiful and the sister of a duke. Don't tell me you haven't had men clamoring to marry you even since the scandal."

  She shrugged, sullen in the face of the truth. "Not the kind of men I'd marry."

  "One day there will be. And you should not damage yourself further because of past mistakes."

  This was almost comical. Was he really turning her away out of some misguided morality? She did not want to be fine and good. She wanted to be happy.

  "Good-bye, Alexandra. It was truly a pleasure."

  My God, he was really going. She set aside her pride for later. "A kiss good-bye, at least?"

  He hesitated, but only for the barest moment. "Aye. Of course."

  Reaching high on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his before he could change his mind. He kissed her ten­derly and thoroughly—and held her body an inch from his. Undaunted, she pressed her palms to his chest and felt him shift toward her. Good. Good. He was saying farewell and she would likely never see him again and he would damn well think of her when he was gone.

  She couldn't stop the small, sad sound she made as he closed the space between them.

  His hand curled into her hair. His mouth left hers. He pulled her back and stared down at her, eyes sliding over her eyes, her neck, her parted lips. Then his hands slipped out of her hair and he stepped away.

  "Good-bye," she whispered, hating the feel of his heat seeping away from her.

  Collin Blackburn opened the door of her room and walked silently out of her life.

  Chapter 6

  "Julia will be coming out next Season?"

  "Oh, yes." Aunt Augusta fairly vibrated with excite­ment. "And she has finally shed her baby fat, Alex! You cannot imagine how excited she is!"

  Alexandra forced a smile. Of course she could. She had felt that same excitement not two years before.

  "We are taking her to Madame Desante for her ward­robe, of course."

  "Of course."

  "She says that the coming styles are perfect for Julia."

  "That's wonderful, Aunt Augusta. And Justine? Is she thirteen now?"

  "Oh, yes. And as wild as her little brother." A tired sigh made her cheeks quiver. "We shall see about that one."

  Alex couldn't help but smile a little more widely. "She will outgrow it, I'm sure. And you have only Julia to think about now."

  "Oh, and she will be lovely. You must come to her ball, Alexandra. She would miss your not being there."

  "Perhaps," she lied. She had absolutely no intention of slinking back to London with her tail between her legs, and she certainly would not taint her cousin's coming out.

  When Augusta turned to speak to Mr. Covington, Alex swept her gaze around the table, then glanced up to her brother to watch as he raised a subtle toast in her direction. She grinned, aware that she was lucky to have such a won­derful brother. He made her comfortable life possible. If he'd been anyone else she'd have been married to a fortune hunter by now. Someone more than willing to overlook her scandalous past for the chance of shaping her into the per­fect rich wife.

  Her eye caught on Robert Dixon then, smiling at her from mid-table. She smiled back.

  He was a cousin of some sort, though God knew how dis­tant. She'd met him twice before. He was very handsome, in a polished, blond sort of way, and he had been subtly flirt­ing with her since dinner began.

  Letting her eyes fall away from his, she continued her sweep of the table. Hart had planned this party to coincide with her twentieth birthday, and no more than two dozen handpicked guests had been invited—only the friends and relatives who'd treated her kindly after the scandal. No one else would find themselves close to the handsome Duke of Somerhart anytime soon.

  George and Lucy had sailed to France not a week ago, however, and she found herself oddly nervous without their support. And still lonely, despite her brother's inten­tion to cheer her up.

  Loneliness had settled upon her over the past weeks, cold and suffocating, like a muffling blanket of snow that shrouded her happiness. It wasn't just the loss of Collin Blackburn, though that was certainly a part of it. She was, quite simply, alone. There were no other women like her, not that she knew of. Women who worked the land and the books. Women who were blessed with the luxury of play­ing at manly pursuits. And t
hank God she had that, for hard work was the only pleasure she had.

  Laughter swelled briefly around her, and Alex laughed too, making sure that none of the guests could see her distraction. The increasing volume of the chatter signaled the winding down of dinner, and Alex nodded toward Hart and stood.

  "Gentlemen. Please stay for a few moments to enjoy your port. Ladies?"

  They stood around her in a flutter of silks and satins, each bright butterfly wing of gown separated from the next by the stark black of the men's jackets until the women stepped away to file out. Alexandra followed, murmuring pleasantries to the men she passed, and very aware of Robert Dixon's eyes on her.

  A quarter hour passed. Fifteen minutes of torturous talk of babies and tatting and husbands and fashion. Alex spoke of gardens and thought of Collin. She laughed at a joke about waltzing and imagined his hand as it gripped her thigh.

  She could not make herself forget him.

  The men wandered out of the dining room in groups or pairs, trailing the scent of cigars and providing her with a distraction. She made her eyes look at Robert Dixon, made herself study him at his post near the door.

  Aside from being handsome, he was cultured and polite, though his smile spoke of a steel will. And he would in­herit the title of Viscount Landry from his father. In short, he was a man she would have found attractive during her Season. Regardless, he did not send any sparks racing through her veins. Had Collin ruined her for other men? Perhaps Mr. Dixon could help her find out.

  His eyes met hers across the room and he moved imme­diately toward her.

  "Mr. Dixon."

  "Lady Alexandra. You look very. . . happy tonight."

  She laughed at his choice of words. "You expected me to be withering away in exile?"

  He smiled with an endearing touch of embarrassment. "Not withering away, certainly, but you seem almost content."