Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord

  He gave an unexpected chuckle, the sound warming the room. “Fiona, I have seen you naked and writhing. Why would you mind disrobing before me now?”

  Somehow, last night seemed a long time ago. “I was just…” What? Going to refuse to be close to him because he hadn’t agreed to all of her requests? They had to continue their intimate contact if they were to have a child.

  Besides, she had never felt anything as powerful as their lovemaking, and she refused to give it up.

  She flicked a glance toward Jack and almost smiled. He lounged in his chair, looking relaxed, except for the hand that clutched one arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white.

  The truth dawned on her. He had been as affected by last night as she had been! Her heart skipped a beat, triumph washing through her.

  Fiona stood and walked to the tub, bending over to trail her fingers through the water. Hot swirls of steam arose, tickling her nose with the fragrance of sandalwood.

  Jack’s body was suddenly taut with tension. Fiona smiled. There was more than one way to skin a cat. She faced him and slowly undid the neck of her gown.

  Both of his hands now clenched the arms of his chair.

  Oh, yes. There was indeed more than one way to capture the attention of a very naughty Scottish lord. And oh, how good that attention felt.

  She pushed her gown from one shoulder, then stopped. “I’d best remove my boots first.”

  His eyes darkened with amusement. “Would you like me to undo them?”

  “That would be much faster, I’m sure.”

  He stood and walked toward her, proud and unbowed. She supposed there were benefits to not winning an argument; they were still able to face each other with their heads held high.

  They were two of a kind in many ways. She didn’t like losing, either. And they both enjoyed the heat of passion.

  She shivered as he knelt before her, his hands cupping her calf. He slowly untied the lace and glanced up at her. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

  She did so, marveling at the warmth that soaked through his coat.

  He held her leg with one hand and pulled her boot free. “There,” he said, dropping the boot onto the floor.

  Fiona caught her breath as his hand slid a bit farther up her leg.

  He flashed a wicked smile and lifted her other foot; in seconds, he dropped her other boot beside the first.

  She looked at the tub. “Do you think we mightboth fit in your tub? It seems quite large.”

  He chuckled, standing up. “It’s plenty large if you sit on my lap.”

  Her body quivered at the thought. “Shall we, then?”

  Jack bent to nuzzle her neck, kissing a line from her collar to her ear.

  Fiona pulled loose the ribbon that held her gown closed, and it fell to the floor. Pretending she didn’t notice Jack watching her, she picked up her gown and tossed it over a chair, then untied the ribbons of her chemise. Shimmying free of that, completely naked, she stepped over the edge of the tub and slid into the water.

  “Ahhh!” She closed her eyes, the heat and steam caressing her as the water lapped against her.

  “Move forward, sweetheart.”

  She opened her eyes. Jack stood before her naked, a faint smile in his eyes. She gawked. She couldn’t help it; he was so magnificent, his body a ripple of muscles and taut skin from his broad shoulders to his flat stomach to his well-developed thighs.

  She slid forward in the tub, pulling her knees up as Jack climbed in behind her. He slid his legs to either side, lifting her and settling her in his lap. It was heavenly, sitting in a bath surrounded by nothing but Jack. His thighs made a perfect seat for her. His muscular arms stretched to either side of her, his shoulder enticingly near her head.

  They sat there for a long moment, just soaking in the luxury of the water and each other. Fiona snuggled against him, tilting her head back so that she could see his face.

  He kissed her forehead. “I apologize for not introducing you to the servants. I didn’t think of it. That was inexcusable.”

  She shrugged, her skin sliding along his, the wetness holding them together. “I am more interested in discussing your propensity for gaming hells. I know what goes on in those places. I have brothers, you know.”

  He slid a hand to his side and grimaced. “I am very well aware of that.” He reached around her to cup her breasts with both hands, then rubbed her nipples, the warm water lapping at her sensitive skin.

  Beneath her bottom, she could feel the distinct stir of his manhood, and her body arched as sparks of desire flashed through her. Fiona lifted her lips to his, sliding her arms around his neck as he slipped his hand between her thighs.

  And then she was lost, lost in the heat of his touch, and she gave herself up to Jack’s embrace.

  Chapter Ten

  Like all women, the White Witch was possessive. Therein lay her mistake. It does not pay to be possessive of a man determined to remain free. All you’ll win is an empty bed and an achin’ heart.

  OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  The sun was sinking below the horizon when the last footman staggered up the front walk, carrying bundles and boxes of countless shoes, boots, gowns, an evening wrap of silvery tulle, three new reticules, and a blue pelisse trimmed with ermine.

  Jack followed behind Fiona. “Well, my lady, are you pleased with our many purchases?”

  “Yes,” she replied breathlessly. “You didn’t need to buy so much.”

  He shrugged. “My grandfather left her entire fortune to me—yet another reason my stepfather cannot abide me.”

  Fiona titled her head. “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “No, I don’t. Not that it matters; I have long since ceased to need a family.”

  She halted. “You cannot mean that. Everyone needs a family.”

  She looked so outraged that he grinned. He touched the end of her nose. “After spending some time with your brothers, I find the thought of needing a family ludicrous.”

  “Oh, Jack! You just don’t know them yet. Gregor has a heart as big as the world, though he’d rather no one knew it. And Hugh writes the most amazing poetry. He carves, too; our house is filled with his work. And Alexander is—”

  “A saint, I’m sure.” Jack placed his hands on Fiona’s shoulders and turned her toward the shrubbery. “Nowtell me how wonderful your brothers are.”

  Before them stood a large tree, the leaves shredded, the bark faintly scarred. The ground was covered with torn bits of foliage, leaves, and the ripped edges of the rosebushes surrounding the house.

  Fiona winced. “The hail.”

  Jack nodded, sliding his hands from her shoulders down to her arms. “Your brothers may be wonderful to you, but they have been less kind to me.”

  She sighed. “My brothers are sometimes overzealous in their endeavors, but they are good people, and—”

  Jack kissed her, hard and fast, oblivious to anyone who might be passing by on the street. He wasn’t sure why he did it. All he knew was that the urge was overwhelming. Once it was over, his lips lifting from hers, he knew he’d done the right thing.

  For the past two days, they’d done nothing but shop, make love, sleep, and talk. Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t gone out the last two nights, but that was the nature of freedom: he was free tochoose to stay home and sleep in his own bed. A soft and passionate woman with ripe curves and a smoky laugh was a very compelling choice.

  Jack knew Fiona was using their marital bed as a way to keep him home, and he was all too willing to allow her to do so—for now.

  He traced the line of her lip with his thumb, amazed at the sensual response that flashed in her eyes. Sheneeded to be kissed, damn it. Every passionate, ardent inch of her, and he was just the man for the job.

  Fiona watched the play of emotions across Jack’s face. The embrace had left her breathless and wanting. Her cheeks hot, her lips tingling, she smiled. “I thought
you’d had enough of that this morning.”

  He grinned roguishly. “Is there such a thing as enough?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, “but I look forward to finding out.”

  He chuckled and tucked her arm within his. They strolled up the walkway and entered the house.

  Inside the foyer, a line of footmen staggered up the stairs with their burdens. Jack shook his head ruefully. “My dear, I fear there is nothing left to purchase in London.”

  “I think you’re right. We shall have to wait a week before our next foray so the shops can restock.” Fiona turned to one of the mirrors that lined the foyer and looked twice to be certain it was really her. A bronze pelisse covered her new walking gown and set off her hair and eyes admirably. Her hair was no longer so unruly but had been cut and styled à la Sappho. Lovely ruby ear bobs sparkled on either side of her face, and new half boots adorned her feet. Jack had been insistent about buying her a goodly number of boots, all made of the softest leather.

  She relinquished her pelisse to a waiting footman, then reached up to untie the ribbons on her bonnet.

  “Allow me,” Jack said, his eyes meeting hers as his hands brushed her neck.

  A loud snore erupted. Jack glanced over his shoulder. “What the—”

  Hamish was propped up on a chair beside the library door, his booted feet planted wide, his chin sunk on his none-too-clean shirt.

  Fiona smiled fondly at him. “When did he arrive?”

  Devonsgate sighed. “Right after you left, my lady. He refused to leave the foyer, though I suggested he might be more comfortable in the kitchen, near the fire.”

  “Bloody bastard,” Jack said, looking grim. “As big as he is, his snore is larger.”

  “Shall I wake him, my lord?”

  Hamish, stirred by the voices around him, shifted and began to snore even more loudly than before.

  Jack gritted his teeth. “Devonsgate, will you at least throw a tablecloth over him? I cannot abide having to look atthat every time I come and go.”

  “I shall see what can be done, my lord.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, wondering how much Fiona’s brothers had to do with Hamish’s appearance. Probably everything. They probably thought his lack of activity for the last two days was a result of their little “talk.”

  Jack stiffened.That was unacceptable. He glanced at the clock. The day had flown by, and with the encroaching darkness, a faint restlessness overtook him.

  “Jack?”

  He turned to find Fiona smiling up at him, a question in her eyes.

  She’d read his unease. He forced a smile. “I’m tired from our excursion. Are you?”

  Fiona shrugged. “A bit. I was hoping you might take me to the British Museum tomorrow.”

  “I would be delighted.” He glanced at her from beneath his lashes, his gaze lingering on her new boots. He liked the way they fitted about her neat ankles, the leather so soft. Perhaps…

  Jack captured Fiona’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To our bedchamber to unpack.”

  “But the servants will—”

  He glanced over his shoulder, a gleam in his eyes.

  Her breath caught, color blooming in her cheeks. “Oh! Yes. I—I suppose we should unpack at least a few of the boxes.”

  “Just as I thought.” They had reached the landing.

  “No sense making the servants do all the work.”

  “Exactly.” They were almost running down the hall.

  “One should always straighten up after oneself.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He threw open the door and kicked it shut behind them. The key clicked loudly in the quiet.

  He picked Fiona up and carried her to the bed, her arms slipping around his neck. This time, when he left for the night, he would make certain she was fully satisfied and deeply asleep. That was why he was there—for that reason and no other.

  Jack bent and captured her lips, halting all further discussion, all further thought. For now, he had better things to do.

  Much later, Jack quietly pulled on his breeches, then paused by the bed to pick up his boots. Fiona lay sleeping deeply, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her hair mussed from their lovemaking.

  The bed was warm; the sheets carried her scent. The urge to rejoin her was almost overwhelming. Jack clenched his jaw and turned away.

  It was disconcerting, the ease with which he fit into her life, and she into his. But that was only because this was temporary. If they had to face being bound for life, neither of their tempers would have fared so well.

  Jack finished dressing and paused by the bed to tuck the sheets around her. She smiled in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the pillows. He had to fight the oddest urge to smooth her hair, though he could not resist placing a light kiss on her forehead.

  She murmured his name in a way that made his blood simmer. It was a reflex, he told himself firmly. Nothing more.

  He turned and left, closing the door behind him. At the bottom of the stairs, Hamish still slept in his chair, the footmen eyeing him nervously. Gesturing for them to be silent, Jack quietly walked across the thick carpet. He’d just reached the front door when Hamish spoke. “Where are ye going?”

  Jack sighed. “You’re awake. Finally.”

  Hamish stretched, the chair creaking beneath him. He scratched under one arm, regarding Jack with an unfavorable glare. “Ye haven’t answered me. Where are ye going?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  Hamish crossed his arms and grinned, his teeth white against his beard. “Where ye go isall my business.”

  “Did your mistress request that?”

  “No. Master Gregor seems to think ye might do the mistress wrong.”

  Anger tightened Jack’s jaw, and he pulled on his gloves. “I am going out. That is all you need to know.”

  Hamish lumbered to his feet. “Then go. I’ll just meander after ye a bit.”

  He would inform Fiona’s brothers, damn it. Then they would arrive and ruin his evening.

  Jack scowled. “The MacLeans can be damned. All of them.” Jack put on his hat and left.

  Lucinda Featherington paused before the large gilt mirror in the duke of Devonshire’s front hall. Though a huge vase of flowers blocked her view, she could see enough to know that she looked perfect. Her honey-blond hair framed her face and her full lips. Her eyes were darkened with a hint of kohl—not enough for anyone to notice in a lamp-lit ballroom but enough to give her an advantage over the women who did not bother with artifice.

  Fools, the lot of them. In this world, artifice was the least of sins one had to commit to win what one desired.

  Lucinda knew she was beautiful, well off, and in demand as a guest and a lover. Yet as much as she had, she found herself in the unfamiliar position of wanting something that was out of reach.

  Her lips tightened. Until recently, she’d been able to boast that no man had yet withstood her. And she’d had more than her fair share, more than any knew.

  Men were fools. They all wanted to believe they were different, special, but so few of them really were. “I love you” was too easy to say.

  Only once had Lucinda believed the words she’d spoken. Only once had she felt the stirrings of something other than conquest.

  It was maddening.

  Over the months, her interest twisted and grew until she found herself lying awake at nights, unable to sleep, unable to stop thinking of him.

  Then, without a single sign of remorse, he’d cut her from his life. Rejected her. And in front of Alan Campbell, too. That stupid Scotsman had made certain everyone in town knew it. Four different people had made sly remarks about it today alone. She, the beautiful Lucinda Featherington, was the laughingstock of London.

  Her chest burned with the thought, her eyes gleaming in the reflection in the mirror.

  She loosened a tendril over one brow,
struggling to conceal how her hand shook with fury. She would never give up. Never. She’d seen Jack’s wife—a plump little mouse if there ever was one. He couldn’t be in love with such a plain dab of a female. No, it had to be something else. There had to be some reason he’d never mentioned this woman before, then had suddenly married her.

  Lucinda was determined to discover the secret, whatever it was. And once she knew it, she’d—

  “Beautiful.”

  The deep voice held a hint of a brogue. Lucinda’s breath quickened, but it wasn’t Jack. It was that damned Alan Campbell. His dark hair fell over his brow, and an intricate cravat was tied at his throat. It was really a pity she didn’t have feelings for Campbell. His dark, dashing looks were a perfect foil for her own blond loveliness. Unfortunately, he didn’t present a challenge—unlike Jack Kincaid.