To Tempt a Scotsman Page 8

  Her legs felt weak and boneless as the last of her fear dissolved. She jerked her cloak back around her body and turned to her decision. She'd do what she'd come here to do, see to her horse. . . then on to more impractical things. More delicious, impractical, and utterly disgraceful things.

  Craven gentlemen of society be damned. She was going to catch herself a bastard.

  Chapter 7

  Her hands trembled with excitement as the curricle bounced along the wide Edinburgh road. The city was beautiful, the air fresh and warm and tinged with the scent of summer flowers, but Alexandra felt only the stifling weight of worry.

  Too much of this plan hinged on chance. The chance that Collin would attend the horse fair himself, the chance that he'd spy her across the crowd, and the biggest chance of all. . . that he'd care enough to hunt her down.

  "Stop that," Danielle ordered. "You'll hardly entice him with a frown."

  True, but they hadn't reached the grounds of the fair yet, and he was unlikely to be hanging about on a street corner. But just as she found the will to relax her face into a pleas­ant smile, the driver turned onto a wide lane that headed into a warren of stables and outbuildings and cordoned-off parade areas. Horses were everywhere, being ridden or walked on dirt and trampled patches of grass.

  This was surely a ridiculous plan, but she didn't want to walk right up to Collin Blackburn. Didn't want him to think she'd travel to Scotland just to see him, true as it was. No, she wanted to be pursued. Wanted him just as anxious for it as she had become over these two weeks of planning.

  They hadn't traveled a quarter of the way through the grounds when she spotted him. They wouldn't even have to leave the carriage.

  "There he is." The air grew thick around her, far too thick to breathe.

  Danielle twisted in the high seat of the curricle. "Where?"

  "Don't look. He'll see you!"

  "Merde. He won't see anything in this crush."

  The thought of failure squared Alexandra's shoulders. She had nothing to fear. If she failed in this, suffered complete humiliation, she could simply retreat to her brother's estate and never see Collin Blackburn again. Simple.

  "He's next to the red building on the right, about fifty yards ahead. Do you see?"

  "Oui. I'd forgotten how positively magnificent he is."

  "Isn't he?" Alex let herself take him in for a moment. She watched as he crossed his arms and nodded to the shorter man at his side. Collin was dressed more casually than she'd ever seen him. No jacket, no cravat, his cream-colored shirt open at the collar in a V of dark skin. The sight made her fingers curl.

  Oh, she couldn't back down now. The memory of him like this, handsome and work-worn, would haunt her.

  The carriage inched forward, parting a way through the crowd. They had plenty of time. Perhaps too much. If he spotted them too soon he could simply walk right over and stop them. No, she wanted him to stew for a day or so; to wonder where the hell she was and what she was doing in Edinburgh. Assuming, of course, that he didn't simply shrug his shoulders and go about his work.

  Danielle winked and lowered the gauze veil that dipped down from her hat. "Are you ready, Mademoiselle?"

  They'd almost drawn abreast of him now. He stood less than ten yards to her right, still speaking somberly to his companion, still unaware of her presence.

  Alexandra took a deep breath, turned back to Danielle and nodded.

  Danielle laughed aloud, a joyful, throaty laugh that brought several men's heads swiveling toward them even before she spoke. "Really, Lady Alexandra," she trilled, her English accent impeccable. "You can't convince me that you will actually enter the horse yards."

  Alex felt a genuine grin steal over her face at her maid's choice of topic. "I will," she replied, letting go the tension that had crouched in her chest since she'd awakened that morning. "Scandalous, I know."

  "Surely the duke doesn't allow you to run so free." Dan­ielle's eyes widened as she spoke, and her head bobbed in the barest of nods.

  Exhilaration rushed through Alexandra's veins. He was looking. She tossed her head, triumph warming her skin as she turned to look straight ahead, tilted her face up to the sun and smiled widely.

  "Indeed, I am quite free. One can only be ruined once."

  Danielle laughed again, an honest laugh, and Alex joined her, fighting the urge to look for Collin. Was he shocked, stunned, thrilled to see her?

  Her companion leaned in close. "Mr. Blackburn is thun­derstruck."

  Alex felt her heart skip.

  "He's moving this way."

  Pulse stuttering in wild excitement, she glared at the carriage ahead, cursing it silently to move, move, move. Seconds ticked by, sweat dampened the palms of her gloves. Their wheels crunched slowly over gravel, then turned faster, until the whole line of vehicles ahead of them began to move at a quick walk. They rolled along, picking up speed until they passed through the fair and into the green outskirts of the city.

  "Oh. Oh, my." She inhaled the dusty, grassy scent of the countryside and trembled in disbelief. "Oh, my. I think we did it."

  "He was dumbstruck, Mademoiselle. Pale with shock."

  "Oh, Danielle." She pulled her maid into a happy hug. "He'll work himself into a frenzy by Saturday night."

  "A frenzy?"

  "Out."

  "A frenzy. I like that." "Wouldn't we all?"

  Alexandra slumped against the seat, sure and happy, almost the same feeling she'd had after Collin had brought her to that long ago peak. "You were marvelous, Danielle. Perfect."

  "It is not so very hard to fool a man."

  Closing her eyes against the sun, Alex let the wind sweep the warmth of anxiety from her skin. She'd tossed and turned the night away and her body reminded her of that as the excitement ebbed away. "Well, the fooling is done. I'll be on my own for the rest of it."

  "I'll make you as enticing as possible. He won't be able to resist."

  "Ha. He resisted quite easily a few weeks ago."

  "Oh, no. Not easily."

  She rolled her eyes behind closed lids. "What could you know of it? You saw him all of two times."

  "True, but you'll remember that your cousin loaned him a manservant?"

  "Mm."

  "The boy assured me that your Mr. Blackburn slept not a wink the night before you left, and not so well the rest of his nights either."

  "Really?" She opened one eye.

  "Really."

  She tried not to smile. "It was likely something else bothering him."

  Danielle snorted in French disdain. "We will solve that mystery soon enough."

  Collin tore the wrinkled cloth from his neck and hurled it across the room. The fine linen floated to the floor, land­ing with a disappointing whisper that tempted him to kick it for good measure.

  "Need some assistance?"

  "Where the hell have you been?"

  Fergus stepped cheerfully through the door and bowed deeply. "Only following yer instructions, sir. We are here to sell horses, after all."

  "Fuck off."

  "I canna wait to meet the lassie's got you so tied up in knots."

  "Well, don't hold your breath, you shit. She's not likely to come visit, is she?"

  "I've nae idea. Is she?"

  Collin ignored him and jerked a freshly pressed cravat from the bureau. "Did he sign it?"

  "Happily. The wait to breed with Devil is now three years out."

  "And well worth it," he grunted, staring down at the evil strip of starched cloth. "He's a fine one." Fergus's hand reached into his vision to pluck it from his grasp.

  "Turn 'round."

  "I can tie my own—"

  "Just shut up and turn around. I've ne'er seen a man with such a sad inability to tie a cravat."

  Collin turned slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, and glared at his manager. One of the downsides to being a lord was the dependence on another person to help you dress. Oh, he was happy to let someone polish his boots and press his shir
ts, but to stand like a child and be helped into jackets and shoes and cravats . . . Why not slip into shortpants and a smock for good measure?

  Fergus flashed him a grin, making clear he enjoyed Collin's discomfort. The man knew horseflesh and he was a fearsome negotiator, but he took an inordinate interest in clothing and the latest styles. His blond hair and beard were always neatly trimmed, his coats cut from the finest cloth. And even the Frenchmen who came to Westmore complimented him on his intricate cravats. The French­women complimented him also, and looked stricken when they realized that Lord Westmore was actually the big brute in rough trousers and shirtsleeves.

  "There. What do ye think?"

  Collin was shoved around to scowl at his reflection. "It's fine."

  "Fine? It's perfect."

  "Perfect. Whatever." Collin squinted at the tumbling folds of cloth. "Why is there something sparkling at me?"

  "It's a pin, Collin. Ye think a creation that beautiful can hold itself together?"

  "It's a diamond, and I think I've made myself clear—"

  "Good night. I'm off to my own enjoyment."

  "Fergus!" Collin shouted after him, but the door was al­ready slamming shut. He was now adorned in jewels. If he removed the pin, the tie would be ruined and he'd be even later to the ball. Jesus, even if Alexandra was there, she could have left to attend another party by now. If she was still in Edinburgh at all.

  "Damn," he muttered, glaring at the winking flash of the diamond. He pinched a small bit of fabric between his fin­gers and tried to tug it down to cover the pin, but it popped back up when he let go. A bloody masterpiece of a cravat.

  Resigned, he slid into his coat and stalked out the door, scowling at the thought of the carriage waiting below. He couldn't even ride his own horse for fear his black trousers would get dusty. Ridiculous.

  The ride to the ball was slow and maddening. He itched to jump down and find his way on foot, but he couldn't very well arrive with muck and mud on his shoes. No, he was stuck in the coach with muscles that ached with ten­sion and a brain that wouldn't stop twitching and turning. Because of her.

  "She won't be there," he growled, meaning to flatten the hope that rose in his chest. She hadn't been at any of the dances or dinners or parties he'd hunted through last night. Granted, the MacDrummond ball was the premiere event of the fair, but invitations were hard to come by. Add to that the possibility that she was still hiding from society, and there was almost no chance she would be there. Yet she had to be.

  He'd lived like a starving man for weeks. He had so nobly sent her on her way in England, with hardly more than a kiss on the cheek and a friendly wave, and had cursed himself every night afterward. She crept into his bed each evening, bodice gaping, fine blue skirt pushed up to her hips. She lay on his twisted sheets and asked him to take her, to mount her. His dreams were so vivid, he awoke with the scent of her arousal like a taste in his mouth. Jesus, he hadn't even had the chance to taste her.

  He had thought half a dozen times of riding down to Somerhart and claiming her, had picked up a quill more times than that to write a real letter. He'd had an excuse, could've asked about St. Claire, but then she might have taken insult. She'd given her word, after all, to pass on new information.

  The lust would fade, he'd told himself. He'd had the strength to walk away from her ready body, he could wait for this too to pass. And it had begun to fade, just barely, over the past few weeks. And then he'd heard her voice yesterday, above the din of the fair crowd. He'd swept the lines of people and saw her face, lit up by the sun and her own glow. He would have thought her an illusion if he hadn't heard her name, a laughing censure from the woman beside her.

  And now he couldn't find a damned trace of her. And he needed to find her. He was done with being responsible. He'd measure her by the same standard he'd measured his other lovers. If his seed caught, could he stand to marry her? Aye, he could.

  Bastard born, he would not leave a child of his to be raised without a father, so he never slept with a woman whose companionship would be unbearable. But Alexan­dra would be far from unbearable. Ach, if he'd seen the girl walking to market in Scotland, he'd have had her in the church within a fortnight. But she was a far cry from a simple Scottish lass, and he was little more than a stable boy. . . had, in fact, been a stable boy at one time. No, he did not fancy himself good enough to marry her, but good enough to go to her bed?

  Collin smiled humorlessly at the thought. She had assured him he was good enough for that; he'd only needed time to convince himself.

  Thousands of candles glittered above, magnified by the sparkling crystal of the chandeliers and drawing a smile to Alex's face. The light threw off heat, and there existed the startling danger of burning drops of wax, but she much preferred candles to gas, especially at a ball. Balls were meant to be magic and she desperately needed a little magic tonight. The candles were a good omen.

  Anxiety bubbled through her veins like champagne. Champagne bubbled in her veins also, but it didn't seem to be helping to calm her. No, now she just felt a little sick. She would certainly get Collin's attention if she vomited at first sight of him.

  But she truly wanted to relax and enjoy herself. This was her first evening out since the scandal and her first foray into Scottish society. The murmur of voices riding the air had a slightly different rhythm, the barest twist of cadence that spoke of the Scots burr.

  Not that all the guests were Scottish, by any means, but she hadn't yet seen anyone she knew. Nor was she likely to. The Season was in full swing in London. The ton did not travel to Scotland for balls, not during the Season.

  "Lady Alexandra."

  Alexandra jumped, grateful her glass was empty when she spun awkwardly toward the woman's voice. "Oh, Lady MacDrummond. Thank you again for the invitation."

  "My pleasure, dear. And may I say what a beautiful dress that is? Far more in the French fashion than most young Englishwomen have the sense for."

  "My mother was French, you know. Perhaps it is some­thing I learned at her knee."

  The woman nodded, the blood rubies in her ears spark­ing with the movement. "Well, do not let that French blood get you into any more trouble."

  Alex's eyes flew wide in surprise. Before she could think what to say, Lady MacDrummond winked in sly conspiracy.

  "Oh, I am aware of your little indiscretion in London, my dear, but we all have our indiscretions, private or public. I would not hold it against you."

  Alexandra wondered if her eyes were in danger of falling from her head. She blinked hard. "Thank you."

  The grandmotherly woman leaned in, scarlet skirts brushing against Alex's blue dress. "If it had been a Scots­man, dearie, he would've thought to lock the door."

  "Oh," she murmured dumbly. "Of course."

  Lady MacDrummond glided away in a cloud of laugh­ter, skirt swinging around her, while Alex was left to wipe her sweaty gloves against the striped silk of her dress. The narrow strips of periwinkle and royal blue made her seem taller and she certainly needed help with that. It was one reason she preferred the French fashion. The wider En­glish skirts did not suit her—she looked rather like a giant pudding sliding about.

  Raising her eyes to scan the crowd, she wondered if she should move. The ballroom was an ingenious design, cir­cular and ringed entirely by a low, wide balcony that rose no more than two feet above the ballroom floor. The ele­vation provided just enough height to give everyone a good view of the dancing and suited her purpose perfectly. She could see past the crowds to watch for Collin, but she was torn between the compulsion to search him out and the desire to appear naturally occupied.

  She wavered for a good quarter hour, watching the en­trance, feigning nonchalance. He had to come to the Mac-Drummond's. If he had any desire to see her at all, he would put in an appearance at this ball on this night. Please let him come.

  Alexandra smiled briefly at a man who nodded in her di­rection before shifting her eyes away. She couldn't simply approac
h a strange man without an introduction, and the only women around her were chaperones and matrons. Better to have Collin see her alone and dignified than cloistered with the elderly. Or was it?

  Just as she took a step away from the railing, she spot­ted a young woman walking toward her, then, beyond the girl's head, a man's large form darkened the main door. Collin. Oh my.

  She turned her back to the door even as his appearance crystallized in her mind. He wore full formal dress, of course. A shiver touched her legs and settled in her knees.

  The woman on the balcony drew even with Alex. She was pretty in the way that the luckier redheads were—skin pale and almost fragile. Her thinness furthered the air of delicacy, though a generous bosom ensured that one did not think her too thin. She began to pass, smiling uncer­tainly at Alex's stare.

  The nape of her neck prickled and tightened, raising tiny hairs. Collin was watching.

  "Hello," she boomed, startling the girl into a jump. "Have we met somewhere before?"

  "No, I. . ." She blinked, pale-green eyes wide with sur­prise. "I don't think so. I'm sure I would remember."

  "I'm sorry. My mistake. May I introduce myself? I'm Alexandra Huntington. It's a pleasure to meet you." Smiling brightly, she waited, hoping the girl wouldn't bolt.

  "Yes, um. . . I'm Jeannie. Jeannie Kirkland."

  The girl's burr was lovely, the soft words soothing to her frayed nerves. "Miss Kirkland, I am so glad I mistook you for someone else, though I don't know how I could have. I daresay I've never met a woman with such beautiful hair."

  Jeannie blushed, touching her hair with nervous fingers. "Oh, no. That canna be right. My brothers have assured me my whole life that I've hair the color of pumpkin innards."

  Alexandra laughed in genuine amusement, but the sound hiccupped into a rather breathless cackle. Jeannie's hand rose to touch just one finger to Alex's bare arm, her face drawn into a concerned frown. Then her eyes shifted, drawn to some movement over Alex's shoulder. The confusion fell from her face in an instant, chased away by amused understanding.