Maclean Curse - How To Abduct A Highland Lord Part 14

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, d.a.m.n it. Then they would arrive and ruin his evening.

Jack scowled. "The MacLeans can be d.a.m.ned. 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 d.a.m.ned 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.

"Campbell. I didn't know you would be here."

He smiled, and she had to admit he was indeed fairly handsome. Pity he had no wealth. He might have

been an acceptable flirt otherwise.

He leaned a hip against the narrow marble table, standing uncomfortably close. "Surprised to see me?"

She shrugged. "A little."

His smile grew unpleasant. "You didn't think I merited an invitation to such an august gathering."

She smoothed her gown, pleased to see his gaze follow the rise of her creamy b.r.e.a.s.t.s over the top of

her decolletage. "The duke of Devonshire is plain in his likes and dislikes. You are one of his dislikes."

"Devonshire is upset over a land proposition gone sour. He accused me of making a profit off his loss."

"Did you?"

"Not that he can prove in court."

"Then I am doubly surprised to see you on his guest list. Or are you?"

He laughed, though his gaze flared with an odd mixture of anger and l.u.s.t. "I am, indeed. The charming

d.u.c.h.ess and I played cards last week at the May-fields'. She was moved to invite me."

"Ah, she lost, and you forced her into it. They say her gaming debts are extraordinary."

"Yes, I hear the duke is going to have to do something to avoid embarra.s.sment."

"How perfectly dreadful," Lucinda drawled. She regarded Campbell from under her lashes. Though his

manners were impeccable, there was something about him that bothered her.

Yet she couldn't help but picture the two of them reflected in the mirrors she had around her bed. His

darker skin would augment the remarkable whiteness of her own, her blond hair and his black hair perfect foils. They made a beautiful couple. A pity they also would make a poor couple.

Lucinda had lived with enough poverty. She wanted money. A life of leisure and wealth. Campbell was

good for a momentary distraction; that was all.

Campbell stepped forward, his gaze dropping to her lips, so close his chest almost touched hers. "You

should not look at a man like that. It encourages them to think you mean something...dangerous." Hislips twisted, a cold gleam to his eyes. "But then, you know that." She lifted her chin. "I don't know what you are talking about." "Don't you?" He captured her loosened tendril and threaded it through his fingers. The faintest scent of cologne engulfed her. "We are creatures who crave comforts. Who luxuriate in our own sensuality." He

was so close she could see his eyes, the centers black and velvety. She should move away, for he was taking liberties she allowed few. Yet she still smarted from the slap Jack had given her vanity, and Campbell's admiration poured a balm over her spirit. But he was still a poor subst.i.tute for Jack Kincaid. Very poor. Lucinda turned away, pulling her hair free from his fingers and repinning the curl. "We are alike in some ways, but there is one big difference." "What's that?" "Our birth. I am not of common stock." Lucinda could feel the icy cold rage that filled him. A flare of power flushed through her, making her nipples peak, her breath quicken. This was the true rush: to control the actions and feelings of another, to incite them to painful pa.s.sion or the anguish of rejection. She loved it. His smile was cold. "I beg to differ. I am not of common stock." He threw up a hand before she could reply. "I did not seek you out to engage in a flirtation. I came for another reason."

"Oh?" she said in a disinterested voice. "And what is that?" She took a step toward the ballroom, expecting him to follow. His hand closed over her wrist, halting her. "What I have to say should not be said in public." "Then send me a letter. Let me go." "It's about Kincaid." Lucinda eyed Campbell for a long moment. "What about Jack?"

"Ah, that caught your interest, didn't it?"

"What do you have to say? I cannot stay here forever, listening to you. I am to dance the waltz with Lord Selwyn during the next set."

"He can wait. This cannot. Not if you wish to know the dirty details of Kincaid's marriage." She'd known something was amiss! "What about it?" "Kincaid did not marry Fiona MacLean willingly." Lucinda's heart pounded an extra beat. "No?" "Fiona had Kincaid trussed and bound, brought to the altar like a sacrificial lamb." Her mind roiled with this new information. "I cannot see him allowing such a thing to occur. He has too much pride."

"True, but she has convinced him it is for the best, to avoid a war between their families. Her brother was killed; his brothers were implicated..." He waved a hand. "You know a Scotsman's temper. Had war broken out, there would have been more deaths."

It made sense. Jack was not the sort of man to do something heroic, but perhaps, once married, he could see no way out of it without inciting the feud.

What delicious information! How he must hate the entire situation. No wonder he'd broken off with her; he probably couldn't bear to tell anyone what had happened.

She eyed Campbell with suspicion. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've seen how you look at him. I didn't wish you to lose hope." He smiled and turned toward the ballroom door. "I believe there is still hope for us both."

"What doyou want, Campbell?"

"I want it all. Jack's money. His position." Campbell's mouth twisted. "And to remind him that he cannot embarra.s.s my family without cost, I also want his wife."

"That plump thing?"

His gaze flashed. "There is much more to her than you might think."

"That stupid curse?" Lucinda smirked. She didn't understand how anyone could be attracted to such a dowd, but it didn't matter.

She smiled at her image in the mirror, imagining how she would turn this information to her benefit. She'd ever so gently let Jack know she was aware of his circ.u.mstances. She'd offer her sympathy, her companionship. Jack would see then that she was a much better companion for him than his frumpy wife.

"Don't worry, Campbell. I shall continue to remind Jack of my presence. Is that what you wished?"

"Of course." He grinned back. "Meanwhile, I shall make certain the lovely Fiona knows of her husband'

s past affiliation."

"I like how you think, Campbell."

"If things play out as I hope, we will both be rewarded." Campbell bowed and gestured to the door.

"After you, my dear. Lord Selwyn awaits his dance. But after that, you are all mine."

Chapter Eleven.

I've oft heard it said that men and women speak different languages, but 'tis not true. They speak the same language, they just hear it with different ears.

OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT.

Hours later, Fiona awoke, blinking sleepily in the semidarkness. The silence caught her, and she knew as she reached beside her that the bed was empty. Jack was gone.

Disappointment washed over her. What was her husband doing right now? Was he playing cards? Perchance he'd gone home with a friend? Maybe afemale friend?

Fiona's jaw tightened, and she threw back the covers. She could not just lie there and wonder; she would find out for herself. She had two feet and two willing legs. Wherever he could go, she could go. She'd warned him, and now she'd show him she meant it.

She marched to her wardrobe and found one of her new gowns, a beautiful green silk with a decolletage far lower than anything she'd ever owned. Jack had been insistent on purchasing it, declaring he'd been delighted to see her wear it. She hoped he'd think so when she walked into one of his precious gaming h.e.l.ls. It was probably tame, compared to what the other women would be wearing, but it was pretty and a little racy.

Racy. Yes, that's what she'd be. Racy and seductive and dangerous. Just like the women who frequented Jack's gaming h.e.l.ls.

"Blast him!" she said aloud.

It felt good, saying that. So she said it again. "Blast him, blast him, blast him!"

She dressed, pulling on stockings and then slippers to complement the gown. Then she crossed to the dresser and quickly put her hair to rights. She would not sit tamely by while Jack made a mockery of their marriage. She was through with waiting.

But how would she find him? She paused a moment. Perhaps there were certain places he frequented. The servants would know; they knew everything.

Yes, that was a good plan. Fiona stood back from the mirror, then tugged her neckline down to a more precarious level. Oh, yes, that would do. That would do very well. She looked stylish and determined, a powerful combination.

"Jack Kincaid, you had best have a care," she announced. "You have raised the ire of a MacLean. Woe betide you now."

Outside, there was a distant rumble of thunder. If she didn't wish to get wet in her own downpour and ruin her entrance, she had to maintain her calm. She didn't want to get angry; she wanted to get even. That required finesse.

With one last glimpse in the mirror, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Devonsgate blinked. "I-I beg your pardon, my lady?"

"I said I am going out." Fiona took her cloak from the hovering footman.

"Yes, my lady. I heard that. I just didn't-I mean, I wasn't certain-I mean, I shall-" The butler paused, then took a deep breath. "What I mean is, where shall I tell his lordship you are going, if he should ask?"

Fiona fastened her cloak about her neck. "Oh, he is not here, so it should not be an issue."

"But-but-he could return, and then what will I tell him?"