How to Abduct a Highland Lord

  After a while, Fiona tired of playing. She collected her winnings and made her excuses to her partners, who all begged her to stay that they might recoup their money. But the room had gotten hotter over the last hour, and she wished to stand by a window for some fresh, cool air.

  A small orchestra had begun to play somewhere else in the house, and Fiona tapped her foot unconsciously as the orchestra played a lively Scottish reel.

  A warm hand wrapped around her elbow, and Fiona turned to find a stranger holding her arm. He was tall, with black hair and vivid blue eyes. They weren’t as bright as Jack’s, or as deep in color, but the contrast with his hair was startling.

  Fiona didn’t think him precisely handsome, though he was certainly striking and had presence.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, removing her elbow from his grasp. “Do I know you?”

  Her companion smiled ruefully, his relaxed manner setting her instantly at ease. “I was going to say something witty, but I can see you don’t even remember me.” He bowed. “My name is Alan Campbell. I know your brothers and your husband.”

  That was a relief. “How lovely. I am sorry I did not recognize you.”

  He shrugged. “We’ve only met once before, and it was long ago. I’d heard you were in town and had married Kincaid. I should have called, but…I have no excuse.”

  “I have only been in town a few days.”

  “I know.” The man’s wry smile grew. “Your husband has been keeping you close.”

  She wished that were true. “How do you know Jack?”

  “Kincaid and I have known each other a long time.” He glanced around, his gaze finding a nearby alcove with a thickly cushioned settee. “Would you like to sit?”

  “Yes, please,” she said gratefully. Soon they were settled on the settee. She peeped at him through her lashes, noting how elegant he appeared in his blue coat and buff breeches. With his dark hair, he reminded Fiona a bit of Gregor.

  Campbell’s gaze followed the bustle of the crowd. “This is a nice little entertainment, isn’t it?”

  “Little? It looks as if every person in London is here! I never thought a gaming hell would be so crowded.”

  He laughed. “A gaming hell? What gave you that idea?”

  “Why…I thought…The coachman said Jack sometimes comes here.”

  “The Harringtons always have cards, but they are hardly a gaming hell.”

  “Oh,” she said, a bit disappointed.

  He chuckled at her expression. “If you’d like, I would be glad to take you to some gaming hells.”

  “Will they be scandalous?”

  “Some are, and some are quite respectable. I think you might find the scandalous ones a bit much. Others are quite unexceptional except for the level of play. They can be steep.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “I take it you like to play cards?”

  Fiona triumphantly held her reticule aloft so that it swung heavily from her wrist. “I won a good bit tonight already!”

  He laughed, moving a little closer, his shoulder against hers. “I shall have to take care that I do not lose my funds to you. It’s a good thing we met; I can sponsor you for some of the better hells.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Sponsor?”

  “Yes, someone must vouch for you. It’s the only way to keep the lower classes out. I am certain you’ll be admitted.” A faintly bitter twist touched Campbell’s mouth. “Black Jack is received everywhere. Once people know you are his wife—” He shrugged.

  “And you?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Are you received everywhere?”

  “Everywhere there is not an anxious mama with a marriageable daughter.”

  Fiona laughed. “I can see you are a dangerous man.”

  Something flickered behind Campbell’s eyes. He did have amazingly blue eyes, all the more vivid for his black hair. They weren’t as piercing as Jack’s, though. Jack’s eyes robbed one of speech, stole one’s breath, and made the most intimate thoughts invade one’s brain. Campbell’s eyes were just…a lovely blue.

  He regarded her for a long moment. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  She pursed her lips. “Not today, no.”

  He chuckled. “That is a crime. What is that husband of yours thinking?” He leaned forward, his breath brushing her ear. “If you were my wife, you’d hear that every day.”

  “Which would make it ever so tedious. Repeating compliments cheapens them.”

  Campbell glanced about the room. “Where is Kincaid? I did not see him in the card room.”

  “He had another engagement this evening,” she said with credible nonchalance.

  “So you came alone? You and Kincaid must be one of those modern couples who do not forever lock arms when you go out.”

  “We have our own lives,” Fiona said coolly.

  “If you were my wife, you would not be here alone.”

  “Then it is a good thing we are not married, Mr. Campbell. I would greatly resent being told what to do.”

  “A woman of spirit. How amusing.”

  “A man of improper address. How boring.”

  His laughter rang out. “Jack clearly has his hands full. You are a lovely, spirited woman, Lady Kincaid.” He took her hand. “I enjoy that very much.”

  She pulled free, noticing that some couples had begun to dance. “I love the Scottish reels. Do you dance, Lord Campbell?”

  His smile told her he had noticed her change of topic, but he said, “I do indeed. Would you like to join the next set?” He bent closer and said in a low voice, “I would be honored to partner the loveliest woman here.”

  She’d thought it would be exciting to be admired, but in all honesty, she was finding it annoying. Rather like listening to one’s aunt tell one how pretty one was. Of course, it wasn’t merely being admired that was nice; it was being admired by someone you admired in return.

  She looked at Campbell. “I wonder that Jack has never mentioned you.”

  Campbell shrugged. “Your husband has no love for me, nor I for him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “A little disagreement over a woman.”

  “Oh?”

  Campbell’s gaze flickered past Fiona to the other side of the room.

  Fiona followed his gaze. Surrounded by a crowd of men was a tall, blond, striking woman. “That woman?”

  “Yes. Lady Lucinda Featherington.”

  Fiona gripped her reticule tighter. “You had an argument with Jack over that woman?”

  “Yes. We both wished to be her…friend.”

  “And?”

  “She did not choose me.”

  Fiona’s heart sank. It could not be. Surely Jack would have said something. But how? She’d abducted him and married him so quickly. What if his heart had been already engaged?

  The thought struck her with the force of a blow. “Is he…Is Jack still—” She could not finish the sentence.

  Campbell must have sensed her distress, for he immediately said, “I believe he ended it…” He paused for a significant amount of time.

  Fiona’s imagination raced. Oh, God, what had she done? She could not look away from the woman’s blond perfection. She was beautiful, cultured, fashionable—everything Fiona was not.

  Campbell’s hand came to rest over hers. “Lady Kincaid—Fiona. Don’t allow Lucinda to worry you. It’s obvious Jack cares more for you than he ever did for her.”

  Hope sputtered to life. “Do you think so?”

  “Absolutely. He married you, not her.”

  Fiona’s heart sank to the bottom of her jeweled slippers. Suddenly, she wanted to move, stop thinking, stop imagining Jack with that woman. “They are beginning the new set. Did you wish to dance?”

  “Absolutely!” Campbell took her hand. “Come, let’s—”

  “No.” A deep voice came from behind Fiona. “I believe this dance is mine.”

  A heated shiver raced down her body and pooled in her stomach.


  “Kincaid.” Campbell gave him a thin smile. “What a surprise.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Jack said, slipping a hand around Fiona’s waist and neatly pulling her to him. “If you don’t mind, Campbell, I plan on dancing with my wife.”

  “Well, well, well,” Gregor said, arriving next. “If it isn’t Alan Campbell, the scourge of Scotland.”

  Dougal took in the situation at a glance. “Making up to our sister, were you? I suppose you didn’t realize we were in town.”

  Campbell’s face turned a mottled red. “No,” he said stiffly. “I did not.”

  “Pity,” Dougal said. “You might have saved yourself some trouble.”

  “And some bruises,” Gregor added cheerfully. He leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, “I have to keep an eye on my sister, you know. Scare off the scalawags.”

  Campbell sent him a dark glare. “I was just leaving.” He bowed to Fiona. “I hope we may speak again sometime.” He turned on his heel and left.

  Jack caught a look of sympathy on Fiona’s face. “Damn it, Dougal,” he growled. “I didn’t need your help to take care of Campbell.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem.” Gregor waved a hand. “Besides, we’re glad to see our sister.” He kissed Fiona soundly on the cheek. “Hello, lass. I hope you’re doing well.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said in a decidedly frosty tone. “I am surprised you have not yet visited me.”

  “We were going to do that tomorrow,” Dougal said a bit uneasily.

  Fiona met his gaze. “At ten?”

  Dougal and Gregor exchanged surprised glances, then nodded. “At ten,” Gregor agreed.

  She turned to Jack. “I would like that dance now, my lord.”

  Jack immediately took her hand. “So would I.” With that, he swept Fiona into the dance.

  Fiona tried not to compare Campbell’s rather slack grip to Jack’s firm one and failed miserably. There was just something right about Jack. Which annoyed her very much. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.

  He looked down at her, his glance hot and possessive. “I didn’t. I’ve been to three other places. I was fortunate to find you at this one.”

  He turned her swiftly, his arm firm about her, his hand warm clasping hers. Her skirt whirled, a faint swirl of air tickling her bare skin, and the colors in the room softened and blurred.

  The air flowed from the terrace door, the music flowed around them. And there she was, no longer alone but with Jack. She frowned. And with Lucinda Featherington.

  “Fiona, we must talk,” Jack said in a grim tone. “It is not safe for you to go about town alone.”

  “I came with the coachman and two footmen, so I hardly think I was in any danger.”

  “Fiona, you know what I mean.”

  “Indeed I do. You think that you should be able to do what you want to do, when you want to do it, while I should wait at home and not want at all.”

  He frowned. “No, that is not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean? I can make no sense of your complaints at all.”

  He glowered down at her. “You are being difficult.”

  “If taking action when I am unhappy is being difficult, then that is what I am.”

  There was a pointed silence.

  “Jack?”

  “What?”

  “Who is Lady Featherington?”

  Jack stopped dancing, ignoring the other dancers who stared. “What about her?”

  “Campbell said—he said that you and she—”

  Jack led her to one side of the dance floor. “What did that scoundrel tell you?”

  “That you and he wanted the same woman. And you won her.”

  “That bastard. He had no right.” Jack took a calming breath. “Very well. Lucinda and I were once friends. Now it’s over.”

  “Over?”

  “Yes, before we married. I just hadn’t bothered to inform her of that.”

  God, what a horrid evening. He’d been harassed by Fiona’s brothers; then he’d spent a good hour dashing about town, trying to find her; now Campbell was making mischief for him. When he had the chance, he’d make the troublemaker pay dearly.

  Slowly, Fiona said, “Very well. I believe you.”

  “Good. Then shall we dance again?” He placed his hand on her waist and pulled her a bit closer, forcing himself to smile. “I enjoy holding you.”

  Her cheeks pinkened and she nodded.

  They merged back into the swirling crowd. Jack twirled Fiona faster this time, her skirts flaring about her, the silk brushing her legs, tickling her skin. Fiona looked up at him and laughed, her teeth white between her lips, her eyes shimmering with amusement.

  Her husky laugh was like soothing, cool water over his seething irritation. He looked down at her and admired the sparkle in her eyes, the joy that shone in her expression.

  Jack held her tightly and swirled her so that her skirts fanned out behind her. People were beginning to watch, for they were dancing a good bit faster than the music required. He didn’t care. He only cared that his wife was with him, where she should be.

  Jack didn’t know why he had been so furious to see Fiona being led to the dance floor by Campbell. He only knew that he was. Something about seeing her on Campbell’s arm had stirred emotions he couldn’t contain or explain.

  Jack slowed Fiona into a gentle glide. She laughed again, her eyes sparkling at him. Suddenly, Jack wanted to be away from the crowd; he wanted her all to himself.

  He guided Fiona toward the open terrace door, bringing their dancing to a graceful halt as a breeze stirred the sheer curtains flanking the French doors.

  Fiona fanned herself energetically. “That was so enjoyable! We must dance more often.”

  Jack had a sudden image of dancing with her before the fire in the master bedchamber, dancing slower and slower, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips within reach…His body raged with the need to feel her, if just for a moment.

  Her gaze met his, and the fire in her eyes rose to match his. Jack’s body responded immediately. He gripped her hand and leaned toward her, toward her lush mouth, her lush—

  “Jack.” Her breathless voice reminded him that they were in full view of the room.

  Damn it, what did a man have to do to kiss his own wife? He took Fiona’s hand. “Come. We need fresh air,” he said, moving through the French doors to the flagstone terrace.

  Jack led Fiona down the wide steps and out into the garden. His shoes sounded on the stone path, the trees above whispered, and somewhere nearby a fountain gurgled. The scents of jasmine and orchids filled the air.

  It was madness, this desire for yet another taste of her. He’d thought that once she was his, he’d tire of her. Instead, his desire seemed to grow with each encounter. He wanted to taste her and explore her, discover every inch of her silky skin, taste the lines of her thighs and hips, smell the lilac of her hair, and lose himself in her heat.

  “Jack, where are we going?”

  He turned at a low hedgerow, the light from the house no longer illuminating the path. He heard the murmurs of other couples but saw no one on the narrow pathway.

  “Jack—”

  He pulled her into a private alcove made by two narrow benches. The area was shielded from anyone coming down the pathway by an effusion of shrubberies.

  “What are you doing?” Fiona asked, her voice slightly breathless.

  He peeled her glove from her hand and tucked it into his pocket. “I am stealing a kiss.” He traced his lips to the tip of her finger, brushing the inside of her thumb.

  Her breathing was ragged, the pale moon’s glow reflected in her eyes.

  “This is silly,” she said in that breathless tone that told him she was as affected as he. “You don’t have to steal a kiss from me. I am quite willing to give you one.”

  “Just one?”

  Her lips curved into an amused half-smile. “Did you want more?”

  Something qu
ivered through him. He didn’t know what he liked better, the innocently wanton fullness of her lips or the pure line of her cheek and chin. He wanted to trace them all with his lips, taste the freshness of her, the wildness of her passion.

  He ran his hands down her back to the curve of her buttocks as their lips met. He swept his tongue along the line of her bottom lip, raking her teeth.

  She moaned, her arms coming up to clasp around his neck, her body pressed hard against his. For a mad moment, he did not think. Did not care. He just tasted, took, drank from her.

  And she did the same to him, pressing closer, her hips unconsciously rocking against him, her moans deep in her throat.

  He paused, his heart thundering in his chest, his body rigid with desire. “We should leave, my love. While the stone bench behind your knees offers some interesting possibilities, we have a perfectly good bed awaiting us at home.”

  She shivered against him, her arms tight about his neck, her voice husky and as mysterious as the moon overhead. “Jack, I don’t wish to wait.”

  “That bench is not only hard, but it would scrape your tender skin. I won’t allow that to happen.”

  She reluctantly dropped her arms from him and eyed the bench with distaste. “Someone should put cushions on it.”

  “I agree. Unfortunately, they do not have our understanding of how things should be in a garden.”

  One of the benefits of being married, he realized, was that one could take one’s leisure. He used to think that the urgency of a clandestine relationship was all the piquancy he needed. Now he saw that much of the excitement had been in the clandestine nature and not the relationship itself, which was why they’d swiftly palled.

  Anyone who thought being married to one woman would be boring did not know a woman with Fiona’s rich passion. The more he drank of her, the thirstier he became.

  Jack bent and pressed a kiss to Fiona’s brow. “Fix your hair, and we will say farewell to our host.”

  She smoothed her gown. “Oh, blast. There’s a tear in my flounce. I shall have to stop and pin it, or I might trip.”

  He nuzzled her cheek. “Just be swift. I cannot wait too long.”

  Jack escorted Fiona inside. “I shall be right here when you return.” He kissed her hand, then released her.