Georgiana smiled sweetly. “Poor dear, you look devastated. May I … my dear, I know we’ve not had a chance to speak often during your stay, but would you mind a word of advice from an older, more experienced woman of the world?”
Caitlyn stiffened, but Georgiana ignored her. “I know what’s been going on between you and MacLean, and it’s perfectly natural that someone like you—so innocent and from the country—should find a sophisticated man like him devastatingly attractive.”
“Your Grace, I don’t know what you think, but—”
“Hear me out. I’m doing you a favor. MacLean’s tastes run the gamut from sophisticate to ingénue. It’s normal for a man of his—shall we say ‘appetites’?—to wish for variety. That’s why I have these little parties. So he can appease his desires.”
“You invited me just so he could—”
“And others before you, yes.”
The girl’s back couldn’t be stiffer, her face almost white. Satisfaction rippled through Georgiana. “You might think this odd, seeing as he and I are—” She chuckled. “But we understand and appreciate one another. That’s why, when the duke finally dies, Alexander and I will marry.”
“He’s already told you this?”
“Yes.”
Caitlyn’s heart ached anew as she made a jerky curtsy. “I’m happy for you, Your Grace. I . . . I think the carriage must have arrived. I’ll see myself out.”
All too soon, Caitlyn was sitting beside Muiren in the carriage, her trunks strapped to the back as they traveled through the moonlight.
Caitlyn watched the night slide away before her eyes. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything, her mind ringing with the duchess’s last words and, more compelling, images of Alexander.
She closed her eyes and saw Alexander from earlier this evening, wearing the garb of a clan laird from an era long gone. His broad chest had shockingly been bared revealing hard muscles that were cut and carved, making her mouth water. Wrapped around his narrow hips and tossed over one broad shoulder was a length of plaid. A fur sporran had rested amid the folds about his waist, weighing down the front of the kilt. Fur boots tied on with leather strips emphasized the sheer power of his legs.
Her body tingled all over, and her heart pounded against her throat, as she thought of making love to him again. Though she’d felt frozen just a short time ago, she was now damp from the heat that shivered through her, from memories of MacLean’s large hands, of his hard mouth, of the demanding feel of him between her thighs—all of the things she’d shouldn’t have enjoyed, yet had.
Her mind flickered back to the duchess and her final, poisonous words. Caitlyn wasn’t sure she believed the woman, yet she couldn’t deny the pain the words had caused. One part of it was true, for Alexander had told her it was—that the duchess had invited Caitlyn at his request. The thought that he could collude with such a cold, superficial woman gave Caitlyn pain. How could he have a relationship of any kind with such a horrible person?
The entire visit had been nothing but a manipulative sham. Tears seeped from her lids and she fumbled for her handkerchief, glad Muiren was soundly asleep.
Wiping her eyes, she decided she’d been naïve to think she could change Alexander’s mind about her, or anything else.
The wagers had been a mistake fom the beginning. A horrible mistake that had pushed them together more and more, when the safest course would have been to stay away from one another. Damn it, was she always to suffer from her inability to do what was safe? Was she always to follow the riskier path?
She looked out the window at the disappearing house. MacLean would be able to move soon. Perhaps he would go to the duchess’s bedchambers for the rest of the night. The thought pained Caitlyn, but she held it tight. She had to think things like that, to keep herself from lamenting what might have been.
Still, her eyes filled with tears. Why couldn’t Alexander be the sort of man to long for a normal marriage?
This evening, when she’d looked across the room and met his hot gaze, she’d felt an answering spark deep down in her soul, an urge to throw caution to the winds and run straight into his arms. To run her hands over his warm skin, to trace his deliciously defined stomach, and press hot, mad kisses over his strong jaw until he shuddered against her.
The problem was, it wouldn’t be enough. She wanted all of him, or nothing. And as she looked out into the dark night, her tears began to fall again. For nothing was exactly what she’d gotten.
Chapter 21
Do what ye will, love will always find the way.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
Caitlyn leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her bedroom window. Outside, lights from the house reflected off the snow. England was blanketed with the stuff, and it seemed it would never stop.
Her sister Mary knocked on the door, then entered. “I brought you some hot milk. I thought it might help you sleep.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“No, you’re not. My room is below yours, and I can hear you pacing most of the night.” Mary handed a steaming mug of milk to Caitlyn. “Drink this.”
Caitlyn dutifully did as she was told, though she felt like doing anything but.
Mary adjusted her shawl over her night rail and went to a chair by the fire. “Is it ever going to stop snowing? It’s done nothing else for two days.”
“It’s better than the rain we had last week.”
Mary made a face. “Rain, snow, I’m tired of it all.”
Caitlyn sighed, her breath making a circle of fog on the damp window as she watched the white flakes drift slowly down. “It was pretty, at first.”
“It’s still pretty, but we don’t need more. Father says we’ll have to shovel the walks again if this keeps up.” Mary shivered. “I wish he and Mother hadn’t had to travel in this sort of weather, but who would guess Aunt Lavinia would really succumb to heart palpitations? She’s been claiming that for years.”
“I’m just glad she’s recovering. Mother is very fond of her sister.”
“As are we all,” Mary agreed.
The cold wind seeped around the glass, and Caitlyn shivered. She pulled the curtain half-closed, then crossed to the fireplace and curled up in a chair across from her sister.
Mary’s dark brown gaze rested thoughtfully on Caitlyn. “Have you finished the reticule you were making?”
“No.”
“Did you read the book William gave you, about the abducted heiress?”
“No.”
Mary nodded as if she wasn’t surprised. “I suppose you haven’t also done any tatting, embroidery, or—”
“I haven’t done anything today,” Caitlyn interrupted shortly.
“We’re all worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t do anything but mope about the house. You barely even eat.”
“I’m perfectly fine. It’s just this weather.”
Mary lifted her brows. “I think it’s because of MacLean.”
Caitlyn closed her eyes and wished for the umpteenth time she hadn’t confided in her sister, but she’d had to tell someone. Of course, she hadn’t told her every detail—some were too private, and painful, to say aloud. Still, Mary knew enough, and what she didn’t know, she had probably guessed. “Mary, don’t.”
Mary sighed. “I know, I know. I just—” Her brow lowered. “Caitlyn, be sure you’re being completely honest with yourself. You shouldn’t feel so low, unless—”
“Unless what?” Caitlyn said in a challenging tone.
Mary hesitated, then said quietly, “Unless you care for him.”
Caitlyn’s heart swelled so much that her chest ached.
Mary sighed. “I just thought— I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I’m sure you’ll figure out what you feel as time passes. Perhaps then you’ll feel more like talking.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Mary.” Tears threatened, and Ca
itlyn hurriedly gulped the milk.
Mary stood and gave Caitlyn a hug. “Very well, then. Sleep well.”
The door closed, and with the quiet click of the latch Caitlyn’s feelings ripped through her, good and bad alike.
She loved Alexander MacLean deeply and passionately, with her entire being. Through a storm of tears she blindly found her bed, threw herself across it, and wept.
When she could finally weep no more, she rose, washed her face, put on her night rail, and turned off the lamps. Then she climbed back into bed and lay for a long, long time, wishing she could stop thinking, stop feeling.
Eventually she fell asleep, only to wake to the sound of a branch tapping on the glass.
She frowned sleepily. That wasn’t a branch. It sounded more like a pebble or small rock.
Click! Click! … Click! Click! Click!
She tossed back the blankets and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Had one of her brothers been locked out of the house again? They usually knocked on William’s ground-floor window, but perhaps he was sleeping too soundly to hear. She grabbed her robe from the bed pole, then looked for her slippers.
Crack! Glass shattered across the floor as a small rock sailed into the room, the chilled wind rushing behind it.
“For the love of—” Caitlyn yanked her robe tighter, stuffed her feet into her half boots, and ran across the room. Her boots crunched on the broken glass as she threw open the casement and looked outside.
The wind tugged her hair and made the tree by her window sway. Below, the snow was ruffled like the waves in the ocean. And there, standing directly beneath, his black cape billowing about his broad shoulders and booted legs, stood the man of her dreams.
Her heart thudded, her palms grew damp. Was he here to declare himself? Had he realized the emptiness of his life without her?
Alexander turned slightly, and she could see his expression. But he wasn’t smiling a loverlike sort of smile, he was . . . scowling!
“Are you wearing shoes?” he demanded.
“Shhh!” She glanced over her shoulder, hoping Mary wouldn’t burst through the door.
“I will not shhh!” he retorted, lowering his voice to a shouting whisper. “Are you wearing shoes? There has to be glass all over that floor and—”
“Yes, I’m wearing shoes,” she snapped back.
His expression was so harsh, his voice so unwelcoming, that her excited anticipation deflated.
Whatever he wished of her now, it had nothing to do with love. Disappointment left a bitter taste on her tongue. For one fleeting second, she’d hoped yet again. Hoped with all her life, all her being. And with that pure flush of hope, she’d expected a dramatic, loverlike gesture from him. Instead, she got a barking whisper suggesting she was stupid enough to walk on broken glass! Damn the man!
But … what was she thinking? This wasn’t a normal man she was thinking about. This wasn’t one of the dozens who had written sonnets to her eyes, or brought her flowers, or sent her pretty presents wrapped in silver paper.
No—this was a man who couldn’t pay a compliment without also noticing that your slippers were a bit worn. This was a man who couldn’t look a woman in the eye when he should be declaring himself, yet could do nothing else when he seduced the chemise right off her.
Then you had his full attention: his gaze never flickered during those moments, but devoured you whole. Because then, he wasn’t vulnerable—you were.
But when the time came to say how he felt, what he felt, and how much he felt, he was as awkward as a youth.
Awkward because . . . he cared more than he’d ever cared before?
The thought crystallized in her heart, lifting it back up again. Was that it, then? Was he simply incapable of expressing himself because he cared so much?
“Move to another window.” He pointed to the window on the other side of her bed, then walked in that direction.
“No.”
He stopped and looked back at her. “What do you mean no?”
“If you have anything to say to me, then do it now.”
“Or?”
“Or I’m going back to bed.”
She could feel his irritation in the way the wind rattled the creaky house. But some of the harshness had left his face, and his eyes gleamed with a quiver of humor. “Still bossy, aren’t you?”
“It’s only been a week.”
“Eight days, fourteen hours, and thirty-two minutes.”
She bit her lip. “You … you’ve been counting the time.” Hope rose again.
“Yes, now move to the other window!” he ordered.
Caitlyn’s temper snapped. “If you’re here merely to fume at me, then save yourself the effort.”
“I’ve ridden nonstop through the most horrid weather, and won’t—”
She slammed the casement closed, more glass tinkling to the floor. Then she stomped to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and climbed under the covers with her dressing gown still on. Why had he come all this way just to yell at her? And what had taken him so damned long, too?
The wind picked up, blowing through the broken windowpane. MacLean would freeze if he didn’t seek shelter soon. She thought of tossing back the covers and peeking out the window, but forced herself to remain in bed.
If he decided to stand in the freezing wind with nothing but a cloak and caught his death of a cold, what was it to her? She might love him, but it was obvious he didn’t love her, so maybe it would be better if he just curled up somewhere and died.
She tried to imagine him in bed and weak, coughing, as his brothers lined up around him. That would irritate him to death, being hovered over like an invalid, even if he was one. It would serve him right, too. Still, a tear fell from her eye at the thought of Alexander being gone.
Blast it, she couldn’t even dredge up a good dislike of the man even after he’d broken her—
A noise sounded outside her window, and she sat straight up and stared. A hand wrapped in a muffler stuck through the broken pane, felt around for the latch, found it, and swung open the casement.
Then MacLean was inside her room, his cape swirling about him as he locked the window and closed the shutters over the broken pane.
He turned, tall and forbidding. “You just had to have a room on the third floor, didn’t you?” His gaze flickered over her, a greedy expression in his eyes.
She yanked her blankets to her chin, hot and cold at the same time.
Alexander’s blood thundered through him. He’d thought he was prepared to see her again, but he hadn’t been. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her leaning out her window, snow swirling about her, her hair a golden spill over her shoulders, her brown eyes wide and filled with emotions—irritation, wonder, curiosity, concern.
“What do you want?” Her voice, low and vibrant, warmed him far more than the faint fire in the grate.
He frowned. “It’s cold in here.”
“It wasn’t until you broke my window. Was that necessary?”
It was for his temper. “I didn’t mean to break the glass. I just wanted you to open it.”
“I was on my way. I thought it might be my one of my brothers. Sometimes they sneak out and the doors are locked.”
She shivered, and he immediately crossed to the fireplace and added a log, then stirred the flames until they were hotter. Then he walked to the door and stuck a chair under the handle.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving us a little time.”
“Good! I want to talk to you.”
“I, my love, don’t wish to talk to you. Not now, anyway.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He strode to her wardrobe and threw it open. “You’ll need a good heavy cloak. Here’s one.” He brought it to the bed.
“MacLean, I am not putting on a cloak.”
“Yes, you will.” He grinned, and she realized that he looked tired; deep lines were carved down each side of his mouth.
&nb
sp; Her heart softened, but she hardened it firmly.
“Hurst, what in hell did you dose me with that left me unable to move for two hours?”
“I don’t know. Mam gave it to me. She said it was safe so long as I didn’t give you too many drops.”
“I owe your grandmother a good talking to; I had a hell of a headache the next morning.”
So had she, but from crying. The memory stiffened her resolve. “Well, you picked that wretched task, not me.”
“I did, and I’ve been a damn fool a hundred times over.” He reached over and yanked off her blankets. “Put on the cloak and let’s go.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re getting married.”
Caitlyn’s heart quivered. “You want to marry me?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Because …” She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes.
“Because I need you in my life. I’m not the same without you, Caitlyn. When you’re not nearby I’m—” He raked a hand through his damp hair, a bemused expression on his face. “I can’t explain it. I’m just not . . . complete.”
Hope flashed blindingly, but she shoved it down. “What about Georgiana?”
His brows snapped down. “What about her?”
“She was your mistress.”
“Long ago. I haven’t touched her in almost a year.”
“She said—” Caitlyn couldn’t get the words past her lips.
“Damn it, Caitlyn, I don’t know what she told you, but the only truth is that I allowed myself to be flattered into her bed, but it didn’t last.”
Caitlyn’s heart eased. “She said some horrible things.”
“She’s a horrible woman. Once we’re married, I promise that we’ll never speak to her again. We’ll even cut her direct, if you’d like.”
Caitlyn liked that a lot. “We can invite Lord Dingwall over often, though. Georgiana would hate that.”
Alexander’s mouth quirked into a grin. “I’ve a feeling I won’t be so fond of it myself, but if it makes you happy, then I’ll do it.”