“Thank you. I shall hurry.” She had a gratifying last glimpse of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes glimmering with unfulfilled passion as he watched her go.
Fiona hurried to the chambers where two maids helped with such emergencies as torn flounces and unpinned hair. One of them quickly set Fiona’s hem to rights, and she was soon headed back to the ballroom.
A soft voice came from behind her. “If it isn’t the lovely little bride. I’ve been looking for you.”
Fiona turned around.
Standing in the hallway behind her was Lucinda Featherington.
Chapter Thirteen
They say the MacLean curse will be broken when every member of a generation performs a deed of great good. Can ye imagine that? All seven of ye and yer brothers, out lookin’ fer dragons to fight and maidens to save? What a bonny adventure life would be then!
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
Fiona felt the urge to wrap her fingers around Lucinda’s neck and squeeze.
She lofted her chin in the air and said as calmly as she could manage, “Lady Featherington. How do you do?”
“Ah, Fiona MacLean,” the woman purred the name.
Fiona’s jaw tightened. “Actually, it’s Lady Kincaid.”
She wished the woman were not so breathtakingly beautiful, with her thickly lashed eyes and outrageous figure. This was exactly the type of woman one could imagine with Jack. They must have turned heads every time they were together, the woman so blond and Jack with his auburn hair and dark blue eyes.
“Welllll…” The woman walked slowly around Fiona, looking her up and down. “So you are the lucky woman who managed to snare Black Jack Kincaid. I can’t imagine Jack getting married.” The woman’s gaze narrowed. “And here I thought he would only go to the altar kicking and screaming. Or perhaps…unconscious?”
Blast it, why had Jack told this wretch how they’d wed? She imagined Lucinda’s shocked expression. Or worse, perhaps she’d laughed. Laughed at Fiona’s desperateness. Laughed that Jack had been caught.
“Really, Lady Kincaid—” The woman made a mockery of the words, her smile as false as she was. “But somehow, you don’t look like a Lady Kincaid.” As her eyes dropped over Fiona’s form, Fiona suddenly felt…fat. Fat and dumpy and just plain unattractive.
Which was patently untrue. She might be a bit plumper than she should have been, but that did not make her fat. Furthermore, Jack seemed to like her well enough.
His reaction to her in the garden just ten minutes ago was proof of that. Though she wasn’t fool enough to think he wouldn’t have the same reaction with another woman, it was reassuring to remember the heat of his hands, the quickness of his breath as he caressed her.
“Poor Jack! He was quite humiliated by the whole ordeal.” Lucinda leaned against a marble-topped table that held a flower vase. “Jack is pained that he has to spend so much time with you.”
“Oh?” Fiona said sweetly. “He certainly seems enthusiastic in his…enjoyment…when we are private.”
“You don’t know how close Jack and I are,” Lucinda hissed. “If you had not pulled this trick on him, he would have married me by now.”
Fiona lifted a polite brow. “What a shock that would have been for Lord Featherington.”
Lucinda curled her lip. “I cannot believe a little mouse like you thought to capture a man like Jack Kincaid. He needs far more than you have to offer. He needs a real woman, someone who understands his wants and needs. Someone like me.”
Fiona’s nails bit into her palms and a faint rumble of thunder arose from outside. The broad doors rattled against a sudden onslaught of wind.
“It must be difficult for you to know you won your husband only through force and deception,” Lucinda said in a falsely solicitous voice. “That you literally dragged the poor man to the altar. I don’t know how I would hold my head up if it were me.”
Fiona pasted a fake smile on her face. “How amusing to hear you speak of deception. At least Jack has a wife he can trust. That’s more than your husband can claim.” She turned to leave, her entire body rigid with anger.
Lucinda stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“Move,” Fiona bit out.
“I am not through speaking to you,” Lucinda said, her eyes flashing angrily.
“You will move now,” Fiona said.
“Nobody tells me what to do.” Contempt roiled through Lucinda’s voice. “Especially a country bumpkin like you.”
Lightning crackled outside as fury bubbled through Fiona’s veins. She picked up the flower vase and removed the flowers. Lucinda shrieked as the water hit her full in the face.
Lucinda gasped, her hair hanging in clumps about her head, kohl streaking down her face. “You—you—I can’t believe you—”
Fiona leaned forward. “Do not attempt to spread your poison to me or mine. I am a MacLean, and the MacLeans protect what is theirs. The next time I ask you to move out of my way, I suggest you do so.”
The door to the hallway opened, and two gentlemen appeared, talking animatedly about the merits of snuff over cigars.
They stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing Lucinda standing sopping in a puddle in the middle of the hall. Their startled gazes fell on Fiona. Smiling stiffly, she replaced the vase on the marble table and calmly began arranging the flowers.
“Good God! Lady Featherington! What happened?” The taller man hurried forward.
He had left the door open, and now several other people were peering out at them as well.
Fiona dipped a curtsey to Lucinda. “Good evening, Lady Featherington. If you wish to find the repairing chamber, it is down the hall to your left.”
“Oh! You—you—” Lucinda’s voice cracked.
Other people crowded into the hallway. A number of men looked upset, even angered, but every woman within sight had a smile on her face.
Fiona lifted her skirts and stepped over the puddle. “Excuse me. Jack is waiting.”
Lucinda sent Fiona a look of such venom that the gentleman hovering nearby took a hasty step back. “You will regret this.”
“Try your best,” Fiona said coldly. “I shall be ready and waiting.”
She found Jack by the refreshment table. He made his excuses to the gentleman he’d been speaking with, and then escorted her to the main hall. A crowd at the other end obscured Lucinda from view.
“I wonder what that’s about?” Jack asked as they gathered their cloaks.
“I believe a cat had a mishap with a vase of water.”
They stepped outside to find the wind gusting, lightning flashing overhead, and the telltale scent of lilacs.
Jack looked up at the sky, his expression suspicious. “Fiona?”
“Gregor must be about,” she said smoothly.
“I’ve never smelled lilac during one of his storms.”
“Really? How odd.” She was glad to see the carriage rumbling up.
Jack didn’t look convinced, but soon they were on their way home, rain beginning to spatter before they reached the end of the street.
Jack looked up at the carriage roof. “Are you certain everything is well?”
“Positive. I’ve never felt more invigorated in all my life.”
He frowned. “Invigorated? That’s an odd choice of words.”
She smiled. “I am glad we’re going home.” She slid across the seat until her thigh pressed against his.
Though his expression was difficult to see in the flickering light, Fiona could feel the change in the air. Emboldened, she placed her hand on his knee, trailing her fingers up his thigh, then down.
Jack’s hand abruptly caught hers, and he pulled it toward him, pressing it between his legs. Her eyes widened at the bulge beneath her fingers. “Oh, my! I can see you’re glad we’re going home, too.”
Jack’s eyes darkened, and he swept her into a passionate embrace that lasted until the coach r
eached Kincaid House. Fiona was hard-pressed to get her gown set to rights before the footman opened the door.
Once they alighted, Jack hurried her inside and up the stairs, his hands moving over her beneath the cover of her cloak in a way that left her breathless and panting.
Hours later, Fiona was snuggled against him as he slept, his broad chest rising and falling, his skin still warm from their exertions.
She sighed contentedly. Let Lucinda Featherington smirk. Let Alan Campbell insinuate all he wished. She would not allow anyone to come between her and Jack. They might not have love, but they had trust and an undeniable passion that made their lovemaking astonishing and memorable.
Fiona closed her eyes, Jack’s warmth and closeness lulling her to sleep. For now, that had to be enough.
Chapter Fourteen
The White Witch thought to tame the arrogant MacLeans with her curse, and at first she was right. They nearly destroyed themselves. But she did not count on the MacLean gift fer stubbornness. They never quit, do the MacLeans. Not in love, and never in war.
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
Late the next morning, Fiona carried her sewing basket into the sitting room. After a leisurely breakfast, Jack had announced that he was going out, and she’d felt some trepidation. She had no doubt that her confrontation with Lucinda Featherington would be on everyone’s lips that day.
She moved a chair near the window to take advantage of the light, then pulled out a small piece of lace and began to work.
Time passed, and when she looked up, the sun was high overhead. Fiona glanced at the clock over the mantel. Heavens, it was growing late. Gregor and Dougal had sent word that they’d like to ride in the park with her, and it would be nice to spend some time with her brothers. Now that Callum was gone, she wished she’d spent more time with him.
At the thought of Callum, she smiled wistfully. He would have loved London. He’d always wanted to visit.
A wave of sadness washed over her, but she resolutely focused on the little muslin and lace bonnet she was working on, regarding it with a critical eye.
“It’s beautiful.”
She started, turning to find Jack leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in riding clothes, his coat smooth over his broad shoulders, his buff breeches tucked into Hessians that had been polished until they gleamed.
Fiona searched his expression to see if he had heard about her run-in with Lucinda, but his face revealed nothing. “I didn’t hear the front door,” she said.
He pushed himself from the doorframe and walked into the room. “That’s because I came in through the back, from the stables.”
“Ah.” She put the bonnet back into her sewing basket, feeling a little self-conscious.
He pulled a chair up across from hers, then sat, one leg over the chair arm. “Fiona, I must ask you a question.”
She became very busy untangling a knot of thread she found in her basket. “Oh?”
“Yes. I heard a most interesting bit of gossip.”
Blast it. She kept her head over the tangled threads.
“Fiona, did you forget to tell me something last night?”
“Forget? No, I don’t think so.” She dipped her head and began digging through her sewing basket. She needed…blue. Yes, blue thread. Now. “Oh, dear! I have completely run out of blue thread.” She jumped to her feet. “I shall send the maid to the market to fetch some.”
“Fiona.”
She caught Jack’s firm gaze, sighed, and sat down again. “I suppose I shall just work on the initials on the hem. I have a good bit of yellow thread—”
“Fiona,” Jack said more firmly, “put down that blasted sewing basket.”
She sighed, folded her embroidery, and placed it in the basket, then clasped her hands in her lap.
“It was a bit disconcerting to discover your name on everyone’s lips, Fiona.”
She bit her lip. “I suppose I should have told you.”
“Good God, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. At least, not then.”
“And you couldn’t just walk away?”
Fiona stiffened. “I did not plan on making a scene, but she was determined to talk to me.”
“So? She can have nothing to say that would interest either of us.”
“She had quite a lot to say. She told me about…the two of you. She also knew I’d abducted you and forced you to marry me.” Fiona sent him a reproachful look. “It was painful to learn that you’d shared that information with her.”
“I have never told anyone how we came to be married. I don’t know how Lucinda came by that information.”
“Well, she knew of it. She was very ugly to me, and I am not in the least sorry I threw water on her. If she’d been outside,” Fiona added darkly, “she would have been much wetter.”
Jack shook his head. “I thought something had happened. The scent of lilacs was too strong.”
Her cheeks heated. “I am sorry for causing a scene last night.” She hesitated. “Jack, when did you stop seeing her?”
“The same night you and I returned to town.”
That was not what Campbell had said. Actually, he hadn’t said anything so much as implied that there was more. Much more.
“Did you love her?”
“God, no!” Jack frowned.
“She said you and she planned on getting married.”
“With Lord Featherington presiding over the nuptials?” Jack asked sarcastically. “Please.”
Thank goodness! “I suppose people are talking about me.”
He laughed shortly. “Yes, though not in the way you might think. I received no fewer than eight invitations today, three of them from society’s highest sticklers. You appear to have climbed a few notches in the estimation of the ton.”
“With the women, I am certain I have. I believe Lucinda is not much liked by them.”
Jack chuckled. “You might be interested to know that it has rained nonstop at Lucinda’s house since last night. I heard her roof has sprung a leak and her wine cellar flooded.”
Fiona unsuccessfully fought a smile.
“Oh Jack, don’t tell me that! I feel bad enough that I emptied an entire vse of water over her head!”
“She didn’t melt, did she?”
“No, Jack, but I didn’t mean to drag your name into this.”
“Sweetheart, we are married. Whither thou goest and all that.”
Their gazes met. Fiona could not breathe; the words were so rich with meaning, hinting at a future they both knew was not theirs.
He frowned and stood quickly, as if to get away from both his words and her. “Fiona, I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She gave him a tight smile. “It’s just an expression.” At least, that’s all it was for them.
The clock chimed the hour, and she stood and gathered her basket. “I must go. I promised my brothers I would meet them for a ride in the park, and I haven’t yet dressed.”
“Wait.” Jack crossed to her, captured her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “It’s a pity you are in a hurry.”
“Why?”
He bent his head and whispered against her ear, “We could leave your brothers cooling their heels for a few minutes, couldn’t we? Just long enough to…”
Fiona closed her eyes, her knees weakening, and leaned against him for support.
He removed the basket from her grasp and placed it on the table beside them, then pulled her toward him, sinking into a large chair with her on his lap.
Fiona slipped an arm around his neck and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips as he loosened his breeches. With a quick tug, his manhood was revealed, and Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. When she curled her fingers over the thick shaft and squeezed gently, his head fell against the back of the chair as he moaned.
Encouraged, she ran her hand up. With the end of her thumb, she ci
rcled the engorged head. A bead of wetness clung to the tip.
“Fiona.” Jack gasped, his hands tightening around her. “Please.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath was short, and her whole body quivered. As desperate as he sounded, she was more so. Every sinew yearned for him.
Jack slipped a hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his for a consuming kiss that burned through her.
God, how she wanted him. Now. She shifted, turning toward him, the chair creaking with their combined weight. His hands urged her on, and soon she was facing him, her skirts ruched up, with her stockinged legs straddling his powerful thighs.
There was something wanton about being on top, something powerful.
Her breasts tightened, and her body tingled in anticipation as his erection pressed against her intimately, her chemise all that separated them from each other. She pressed down and rubbed against him, sliding back and forth.
Jack’s breathing grew more ragged, his gaze locked on her as if she were the only woman in existence.
Still moving against him, Fiona unpinned her hair, the thick tresses falling down about her.
Jack’s hands tightened on her hips, and suddenly, she wanted more. She needed his lips and hands on her bare skin.
She untied her gown and pushed it down to her waist. Her breasts, covered only by the thin chemise, were level with Jack’s mouth. He immediately pulled her forward, his mouth hot upon them, his tongue laving her nipples to hardness, leaving the material wet and clinging. Fiona gasped, her head tossing back as he made her writhe with delight and need.
His hips moved restlessly against her, straining upward, then his hands reached under her skirt. He pushed aside her chemise, his fingers sliding across her wetness, tantalizing and teasing. Fiona clutched his shirt with both hands and gasped. His fingers slid over her harder, then into her.
Each stroke lifted her higher, closer to delicious madness. She rocked her hips against his fingers, until sudden waves of pure pleasure flooded through her, leaving her weak and leaning against his neck, gasping his name.