“What’s wrong, MacLean? Afraid of a little competition?”
Alexander’s body reacted immediately to Caitlyn’s nearness, though he refused to let her see it. “I am not the one with something to prove.”
She turned away, toying with the silver filigreed candy dish, her head turned so that her pure profile was in stark relief. “I don’t agree with that.”
“I can do anything I wish, and I know it.”
“Oh?” She looked back over her shoulder at him in a flirtatious move as old as Eve. “Can you really?”
Alexander slammed his hands onto the desk.
Caitlyn jumped, her color high, her lips parted.
He leaned forward. “I accept.”
For a long second, she just looked at him, then a pleased expression entered her eyes. She walked to the desk, so graceful that it was painful to watch, placed her hands on the opposite side, and leaned forward until she was within tantalizing reach. “Then we’re agreed, MacLean. Shall we say two tasks each?”
His first impulse was to reach across the desk, grasp her by the waist and pull her to his side. There, he’d plunder her sweetness, brand her with his kiss, and show her how much he was capable of.
But that was how things went so awry last time. She’d tempted, and he, like the most callow of youths, had succumbed. This time, it wouldn’t be him left panting with desire. This time—
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The Laird Who Loved Me is also available as an eBook
Praise for
TO CATCH A HIGHLANDER
“Love and laughter, poignancy and emotional intensity, endearing characters, and a charming plot, are the ingredients in Hawkins’s utterly delightful tale.”
—Romantic Times
“Karen Hawkins’s best book to date! Fast, sensual, and brilliant, it tantalizes and pleases all in the same breath. . . . This is romance at its best!”
—Romance and More!
TO SCOTLAND, WITH LOVE
“Hawkins brings another hardheaded MacLean brother and a sassy miss together in a sensual battle of the sexes. Her humor, intelligent characters, and story are simply delightful.”
—Romantic Times
HOW TO ABDUCT A HIGHLAND LORD
“Hawkins takes a fiery Scot lass and a wastrel lord and puts them together in a match made in, well, not heaven, but one that’s heated, exciting, and touching. Hawkins excels at taking tried-and-true plotlines and turning them into fresh, vibrant books.”
—Romantic Times
“The characters are as wonderful as the story. . . . [It] is laced with passion and drama, and with its wonderfully romantic and thrilling ending, it’s a story you don’t want to miss!”
—JoyfullyReviewed.com
. . . and for all the delightfully sexy romances of Karen Hawkins
“Karen Hawkins knows how to keep a reader entranced from first page to last.”
—Joan Johnston
“Karen Hawkins never fails to please!”
—Victoria Alexander
“Karen Hawkins writes fast, fun, and sexy stories!”
—Christina Dodd
“A lively, sexy escapade.”
—Linda Howard
“Saucy, witty flirtation . . . excitement and passion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Luscious, romantic, witty, sexy, and emotional.”
—Romantic Times
“Fast paced, lively, sexy, and laugh-out-loud funny.”
—Romance and More!
“An enjoyable fast-paced read. The sensuality is steamy.”
—The Best Reviews
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“I laughed, cried, and fell in love. . . . Every character was so well written that they seemed as though they could jump right off the page.”
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Also by Karen Hawkins
The MacLean Series
How to Abduct a Highland Lord
To Scotland, With Love
To Catch a Highlander
Sleepless in Scotland
Contemporary Romance
Talk of the Town
Available from Pocket Books
The Laird Who Loved Me
KAREN HAWKINS
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Front cover and stepback illustration by Alan Ayers
Hand lettering by Ron Zinn
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4165-6026-5
ISBN 978-1-4391-6415-0 (ebook)
THE MACLEAN FAMILY TREE
The Laird Who Loved Me
Prologue
If e’er a mon needed a lass to show ’im how the world truly be, ’tis Alexander, Laird o’ Clan MacLean.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
“Then it is set,” he said, his deep voice rich with satisfaction. “Caitlyn Hurst will finally pay for the harm she’s caused me and my family.”
There was no denying the pleased expression on the man’s strong, sensual face, and Georgiana, the Duchess of Roxburge, was glad she wasn’t the recipient of such revenge. “It wasn’t easy to get her here, especially with the company I had to keep.” She curled her lip as she pulled a silver-handled brush through her long, red tresses. “I don’t enjoy mingling among tradesmen.”
“Really?” The hard mouth curved into a faint smile. “Even though there’s always the pleasant possibility of meeting a relative …”
The brush hung in midair for a startled moment before she snapped, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
His brows rose, his gaze mocking.
She forced herself to continue brushing her hair with long, even strokes, though inside she quaked with anger and fear. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; Alexander, Laird of Clan MacLean, was known for his ability to ferret out the truth; she should have known he’d eventually discover hers. She might now be a duchess, but once—
Her stomach in knots, Georgiana watched from under her lashes. He’d turned toward the window, the fading
afternoon light limning his face, lighting his green eyes, and tracing the bold line of his nose and the sensual harshness of his mouth. She shivered a little as she looked at his mouth and remembered—
“And so the game begins.” He turned back toward her. “How did you convince Mrs. Hurst to accept your invitation for her daughter?”
Somewhat mollified by his attention, Georgiana pouted her full lips. “It took me two weeks to get that woman to even hear me out, and then I had to promise to watch over her precious daughter as if she were my own.”
“She’s held Caitlyn under lock and key for the last three months. I haven’t been able to get near the blasted woman.” Alexander sent her a look that actually held some warmth and her heart fluttered. “Thank you for your assistance, Georgiana. I shall repay you.”
She shifted so that her dressing gown opened to reveal her new French-style negligee, made of lawn so fine that the nipples on her full breasts were revealed. Any other man would have been panting to be at her, but not MacLean.
He remained reclined in the chair across the room, his long, muscular legs stretched before him, his starkly handsome face in deep reflection. His gaze was fixed on some unseeable, distant object, a considering smile tugging the chiseled hardness of his lips.
It had taken her almost two years of carefully artless teasing to get him into her bed, and less than three months for him to tire of it. The thought burned her cheeks, and she gripped the silver handle of the brush until her fingers cramped. “What is your plan for the Hurst girl? You’ve never really said.”
His gaze shuttered. “Caitlyn Hurst owes me dearly. She turned my name into a mockery.”
Noting with satisfaction how MacLean’s mouth thinned, Georgiana adopted a sympathetic tone that covered her triumph. “Everyone was talking about how the Hurst chit announced she would marry you, one way or the other. She made you both the talk of the ton.”
His face tightened. “And now I will exact my pound of flesh from her soft, pampered hide. When does she arrive?”
“Within the week. I am sending my coach to fetch her.”
“Excellent.” He leaned his head against the tall back of the chair, shifting his broad shoulders as he crossed his shiny black boots at the ankles. “Caitlyn Hurst is as impulsive as they come. All I have to do is lead her into some sort of impropriety, and her reputation will be in tatters. Only this time, neither her sister nor my brother will be close by to save her.”
“Just be careful you are not caught in the parson’s trap, like Hugh.” Georgiana had been with Alexander the night he’d discovered how Caitlyn had set a plan in motion to force him to offer for her hand. Her ill-conceived actions had forced Alexander’s brother and Caitlyn’s sister into marriage as they attempted to stop her heedless rush to ruin.
Fury didn’t begin to describe Alexander’s reaction when he’d learned of that. He had paced his library, white-faced with blazing anger, and the once-clear night sky boiled into a melee of wild, dangerous storms. Remembering them even now, months later, Georgiana shivered. She’d heard the rumors about the MacLean curse, but before that moment, she hadn’t believed them.
His lip curled. “I’d marry a scullery maid before I’d marry that woman.”
“You’re much too smart to be caught unawares by her,” Georgiana purred. “I hope I am not too embarrassed when this girl arrives. The other guests will wonder why I invited such a rustic creature.”
“You need not worry; Caitlyn turned herself out in first style during her season in London. Even Brummell mentioned it.”
Georgiana hid a flicker of worry. “How old is Caitlyn? Twenty, correct?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How funny. There are the same number of years between you and her as between Humbolt and his young wife,” Georgiana said idly, glancing under her thick lashes at MacLean.
Alexander’s expression hardened and Georgiana hid a smile. Viscount Humbolt had been MacLean’s best friend. To everyone’s surprise, at the age of forty-two Humbolt fell wildly in love and married a woman almost twenty years his junior. His mother, who’d believed her son would never marry, had been blissful, but Alexander had had reservations about such an uneven match. Humbolt was in no mood to hear anything negative about his bride, however.
The viscount’s newfound happiness was shortlived. The new viscountess was an insatiable woman who, over the next seven years, dragged her husband through countless public scenes and humiliations, and eventually, total financial ruin.
One day Humbolt’s man of business found the viscount dead, a smoking pistol in his hand, a letter beneath a paperweight on his desk. The letter condemned his wife but brought little consolation to those who truly loved him.
MacLean had been devastated at his friend’s death. Even now, four years later, just a mention of that time made his eyes darken and his lips turn white. “I have no interest in Caitlyn Hurst, if that is your meaning,” he snapped.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Georgiana soothed. “You are far too sophisticated for a vicar’s daughter. I always thought Clarisse was far too young and too beautiful for Humbolt; he should have realized how it would end. She wanted his money, and once she had it . . . She was mocking him all along.”
Alexander’s expression grew guarded, though his eyes sparkled with irritation. “Perhaps.”
She took comfort that he didn’t argue. He never flirted with very young women, yet it had worried her that perhaps Caitlyn Hurst was different. Whatever he might have once felt for the girl, he couldn’t possibly feel it anymore, though. Not after her conduct made him the talk of London.
With an impatient gesture, he stood. “I should be on my way. I’m to ride with the Duke of Linville and try his new bay.”
Georgiana’s gaze flickered over his broad shoulders, the smooth fit of his coat that cut in at his narrow hips, the powerful thighs—
“Do my breeches meet with your approval?”
Her gaze jerked up to his, her cheeks burning, and she pasted what she hoped was a teasing smile on her face. “You can’t blame me for having fond memories.”
“So long as you know they are memories, and nothing more.” His gaze narrowed and he added softly, “I hope you don’t see my request for assistance as anything more than a favor between friends.”
She managed a faint laugh. “Friends we are and, hopefully, always will be.” For now, anyway.
He bowed, his eyes warmer than they’d been since he’d arrived two days ago. “Good day, Georgiana. Until dinner.” His steady tread took him to the door, with an athletic grace that made her mouth go dry.
Then he was gone, leaving the room achingly empty.
Chapter 1
It takes a woman who dinna knows the word no to conquer a MacLean, especially one wit’ a heart o’ stone.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
“A real, live duchess?”
Caitlyn Hurst laughed at her younger sister’s wail. “Yes, a real, live duchess, not a real, dead duchess.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Mary threw herself on the bed with her sister’s worn portmanteau, three ball gowns, a stack of freshly folded unmentionables, and a pair of well-worn ball slippers. “I wish I could go to a real, live duchess’s house for a three-week house party!”
Caitlyn placed a pair of only-mended-once stockings into a small trunk on the floor. “Surely you’re not begrudging me the only fun I’ve had in months?”
“No, I just wish I might go with you.” Mary threw her arms out to the side. “The letter from the duchess said there will be walks through the park, horseback rides, archery, card games—”
“Mother was not happy about that aspect.”
“No, but Papa slipped you a guinea that you might play, so it can’t be too bad. Besides, it wasn’t the gaming that had Mother in a taking; it was the masquerade ball. I truly thought she’d refuse to allow you to go when the duchess wrote that you’d need a costu
me.”
“I had to promise not to wear a mask and to behave as any gently raised young lady should.”
Mary’s brow rose. “Can you do that?”
“I will do it,” Caitlyn said fervently, and meant it. She always did; the trouble was remembering she wished to behave herself when she lost her temper. She didn’t have a burning desire to thwart society’s rules; but when she was challenged or angry, her competitive spirit burned through all caution or thought.
Caitlyn stuffed a shawl into the portmanteau with more force than necessary. Blast it, if only she’d kept her temper three months ago and hadn’t allowed Alexander MacLean to irk her into saying and doing things she shouldn’t have. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it now—except use this incredibly fortuitous invitation to reestablish herself and her family into society’s good graces.
Mary reached out to touch one of the new gowns spread upon the bed, ready to be wrapped in tissue paper before being packed. “Certainly no one at the duchess’s house will have as beautiful gowns as these. You sew better than most of the modistes on Bond Street.”
Caitlin smiled. “Thank you! That’s quite a compliment. I’m very proud of the silver one; it’s for the masquerade.”
“It looks wonderful on you, even though Mother made you sew the neckline so high.” Mary grimaced. “If she had her way, you’d go to the masquerade sewn chin to toes into a large burlap potato sack. Mother worries far too much, even though you—” Mary’s face pinkened.
Caitlyn’s humor evaporated. “I will never allow my temper to get the best of me again. If I hadn’t behaved so badly that Triona had felt compelled to come to London to rescue me, then she wouldn’t have been forced to wed and—” Caitlyn’s throat tightened painfully.
Mary grasped her sister’s hand. “It all worked out well in the end. Triona is deeply in love with her new husband and said she had you to thank that she met him. And you made Mam a very happy woman. She’s excited as a lamb with a wool sweater about the match.”