Claimed by the Laird (17 page)

“Allegra is the one you should be speaking to, not me,” Christina said, a little more sharply than she had intended. Gertrude’s complacent assumption that she would chaperone her daughter was deeply irritating. She had not asked her, and whilst Christina would have enjoyed a trip to the capital, the price of being at Gertrude’s beck and call was a high one.

“Have you asked Allegra what
she
would like, Gertrude?” she continued. “You should consider her feelings for once, since her marriage is a decision that will affect the whole of the rest of her life. Perhaps she does not wish to marry, or at least not immediately. Or perhaps she would rather have a man who has a genuine regard for her than make a dazzling match simply to gain a duke’s coronet.”

Gertrude stared. Her mouth fell open a little in what Christina assumed could only be shock at having her opinions challenged. “Don’t be absurd!” Gertrude snapped. She stood up, equally snappily, and walked off, her back ramrod straight with outrage as though Christina had suggested something improper. Christina smiled faintly. As someone whose father had comprehensively ruined her own prospects of marriage, she felt a little warm glow of pride to be standing up for Allegra and her future happiness. With any luck Gertrude would also realize that she was an unsuitable chaperone. Christina had heard her telling various people that it was an act of kindness, to give her something to do.

She had been deplorably lax in the past in allowing Gertrude to get away with her barbs, but not anymore. Lucas had helped her to see that her sister-in-law’s attitude need not be tolerated.

She watched Thomas Wallace trying to serve the tea and cakes. Galloway was training him, but he was all fingers and thumbs, cake crumbs scattering, cups tilting at dangerous angles. Christina sighed. She had tried to do the right thing in giving Thomas the footman’s job. His father had recently suffered from illness so severe that he could not longer work his croft. But Thomas was not cut out to be a footman. Lucas Ross would have served tea so much more elegantly. Lucas was not cut out to be a footman, either, but for very different reasons.

Tea at Kilmory was not usually as busy as it was today. There had been an unexpected influx of visitors, including the doctor and his wife and daughter, a sweetly pretty blond girl of seventeen who was talking with modest shyness to Lachlan. Lachlan never normally took afternoon tea, and it was a tribute to Miss Cameron that he was present. Christina sighed. Lachlan had always been a ladies’ man, the indulged younger son and not the steadiest of characters. She wondered again whether she should write to Dulcibella, Lachlan’s wife, begging her to come back to him, but the prospect of begging Dulcibella for anything was not appealing.

A burst of laughter drew Christina’s attention back to Allegra. Allegra was looking exceedingly pretty, her blue eyes sparkling, leaning close to Richard Bryson as she made some emphatic point in their discussion. For a moment Christina thought, but could not be sure, that Allegra’s fingers had brushed the back of Bryson’s hand in a gesture that had looked very intimate. She frowned, feeling the first stirring of concern. It was surely impossible that any intimacy should exist between the two of them, and yet Allegra sparkled as though she was in love. As though they were lovers.

Christina had been astonished earlier in the afternoon when Allegra had returned from a ride, pink cheeked and full of repressed excitement, with Bryson in tow. She had said they had met on the cliff path and ridden back down to Kilmory together and that she had invited him to stay for tea. Gertrude had been almost speechless with outrage. Christina had not been certain that she would not rescind the invitation on the spot, and so she had stepped in quickly to reinforce Allegra’s invitation, even though she did not want Bryson in the house. She supposed it was not his fault that he was a riding officer and she was the criminal he was sent to capture. He seemed to be a very pleasant young man and he had his way to make in the world. But if his future plans involved Allegra—if they were already involved—that put a very different complexion on matters.

Christina watched them again, uncertain, irresolute. Bryson was behaving with absolute propriety toward Allegra. Yet Christina’s own heightened emotions told her that there was something between them. But surely she had to be mistaken. Allegra would never take a lover.

There was a commotion in the doorway. Galloway was attempting to maneuver what looked like an enormous marketing basket into the room. It was full of roses—deep red roses and white rosebuds tinged with the most delicate blush of pink. They overflowed the sides of the basket in a wonderful cascade and brought with them a scent of summer.

“Roses for Allegra!” Gertrude rushed forward, a smile emblazoned across her face as she elbowed Bryson aside and appeared to be about to snatch the basket. “An admirer! Who can it be?”

Galloway held the basket away from her. There was an expression of furtive triumph on his face that he quickly wiped away.

“The flowers are for Lady Christina, ma’am,” the butler said. “They were left on the doorstep with a card.” He crossed the room to where Christina was sitting and bowed deeply. “My lady.”

“For Christina!” Gertrude recoiled as though the flowers had bitten her. “How inexplicable!”

Christina brushed the rose petals with her fingers. She was rather inclined to agree with Gertrude. Such an extravagant gift seemed extraordinary. Admirers were in short supply in Kilmory. And now she looked more closely, she thought she had seen that marketing basket before, in the potting sheds. Mr. Hemmings had been using it for his seedlings.

Peering closer, she saw a gleam of bronze beneath the tangle of stems. It was her pistol.

Lucas.

She swallowed hard. She had almost forgotten that he had not returned the pistol to her and now here it was, delivered in full public view, swathed in roses, brought into the drawing room by the butler. Anyone might have seen it. But that was typical of Lucas. He liked to take risks. She sensed that in him every time they spoke, that edge of danger, and it attracted her like a moth to the flame.

Something hot and arousing tugged deep inside her and she closed her eyes for a second. She had taken the dangerous step between wanting a lover and taking one, and now that she knew how pleasurable it could be, she wanted that pleasure again. She hungered for it, for Lucas.

Belatedly she became aware that everyone was looking at her and cleared her throat rather self-consciously.

“The flowers are from Mr. Grant,” she said. “I asked him to send some roses to refresh the arrangement in the library.”

“Ah.” Gertrude’s face cleared. “I had thought it quite impossible that you would receive roses from an admirer, Christina.”

“I’m sure you did,” Christina agreed.

The tea party was coming to an end. The doctor, belatedly aware that Lachlan’s attentions to his daughter should be firmly squashed, was gathering up his family and making to leave. Richard Bryson excused himself with every appearance of deep regret. Gertrude scowled as Allegra gave him her hand and said airily that she would see he was invited to dinner. No sooner had the drawing room door closed behind the guests than she rounded on her daughter.

“You are
not
to encourage him, Allegra. Do you hear me? He is nobody. He is beneath our notice. How can you be so foolish? You have every advantage of birth and fortune. Use them to catch a husband worthy of the MacMorlan lineage.”

All of the bright, happy color faded from Allegra’s face and she stormed out of the drawing room, slamming the door behind her. Gertrude turned on Christina. “And do not think to encourage her, Christina, by inviting that young man to dinner!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Christina said truthfully, taking the wind out of her sister-in-law’s sails.

“Oh, well...” Gertrude sounded mollified. “I am glad that you share my views on Mr. Bryson’s lowly antecedents.”

“I don’t care whether Mr. Bryson comes from the top drawer or the sheep byre,” Christina said, “but I will not dine with a man whose work requires him to persecute my tenants and villagers. Excuse me, Gertrude. I have things I need to do.”

She picked up the basket of roses. “Please put this in my bedroom, Galloway,” she said, passing the basket to the butler on her way out the door. “I don’t think I shall waste the flowers on the library—Papa never notices these things.” On an afterthought, remembering the pistol, she added, “Please don’t water them. I will do it later.”

“Ma’am.” Galloway bowed.

Christina went out into the gardens. The sun felt hot even though it was getting toward evening. Or perhaps she was the one feeling hot and flustered. She had come out without bonnet or parasol. Her mind had been on other things. She walked along the terrace, looking at the dazzling sparkle of the sun on the sea. Only the slightest of breezes stirred the pines.

At the corner of the walled garden, she got a stitch in her side and was obliged to stop and rest one hand against the wall, doubled over, whilst she tried to regain her breath.

“Lady Christina? Are you quite well?”

It was Lucas’s voice. She felt him take her elbow gently as he assisted her toward a seat in the arbor. She felt like an ancient dowager. Her gown was sticking to her in the heat. She knew her face was flushed. She had never felt less attractive in her life. “I am quite well, thank you,” she said. “The heat...”

“It is very hot today,” Lucas agreed seriously.

“Thank you for returning the pistol,” Christina said.

He smiled. Her heart did a little flip. “My pleasure,” he said.

“It was ingenious,” Christina said, “if foolhardy. You must not do such a thing again.”

Lucas shrugged. “The matter will not arise unless I am obliged to disarm you again,” he said. He spread his hands. “I could not simply walk into the parlor and present it to you on Galloway’s silver tray.” His voice changed, deepened. “Besides, you deserve roses. Red roses that smell heavenly, and delicate white ones with a touch of pink that look as though they are blushing.”

If she had not already been in love with him, Christina thought that was the moment when it would have happened. She felt a great wash of love for him steal her breath, leaving her feeling weak. The arbor was surrounded by honeysuckle that smelled sweet and strong. It made her head swim. She looked at Lucas and felt even dizzier. He was watching her with a smile in his eyes, but behind that gentleness she saw a harder light of desire that both fascinated and almost scared her with its intensity.

“Mr. Ross,” she said. “Really. You should not say such things to me.”

“I know,” Lucas said. He did not apologize, nor did he look remotely regretful. Her heart gave another flutter of hopeless longing.

Damn it. Simply by existing he was making this very difficult for her.

“You are well, I hope,” he said. “I have not seen you lately.”

“I am very well, thank you,” Christina said. “There has been a very great deal to do. And you?” She added politely. “Is all well?”

She saw the smile deepen in his eyes at the ridiculously formal tone of their conversation. “All is well with me, too,” he said gravely. He paused, smiled at her again. “I must go and finish my work,” he said. “The grotto is almost complete.”

She watched him walk away with his long, lithe stride. She was tempted to run after him and simply throw herself into his arms. The strain of maintaining such an unnaturally decorous conversation had left her feeling strangely exhausted. It was so far from what she wanted, and yet she had made herself a promise and she could not break it. She had to keep Lucas at a distance.

With a little sigh, she walked slowly back toward the castle. Inside there were so many things to do, yet she rebelled at the thought of each and every one of them. She felt restless and hot. Seeing Lucas had just made matters worse; she really should not seek him out again. She wandered through the maze—it was cooler there between the high hedges—and down to the avenue where the limes led to the fountain.

Trailing her fingers in the water, she thought what a perfect afternoon it would be for a swim. Down on the beach there was the Round House, a small stone building that her father had had constructed as a changing room for swimming. The duke had stopped sea bathing after contracting a chill the previous year, and Christina was the only one who used it, except when her sisters visited. A dip in the water was precisely what she needed. Perhaps it would help to soothe the desire she had for Lucas. Or perhaps not.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
HE
R
OUND
H
OUSE
was cool and dim after the heat outside. The duke, always mindful of his comfort, had furnished it with a great deal more luxury than his servants’ cottages. There were soft rugs on the floor and fluffy towels in a cupboard, along with the rather shapeless gowns the ladies wore for bathing.

Christina slipped out of her clothes with a sigh of relief as she released the tight laces and rolled off her stockings. The long voluminous bathing chemise swathed her like a shroud. It was the last word in respectability, floor length and as thick as hessian. She would be fortunate if she did not sink under the waterlogged weight of it. For a moment she considered swimming in the nude as Mairi had done the previous year, but she lacked her sister’s uninhibited ways.

On the seaward side, the doors of the building opened directly onto a deep pool scoured by the waves for centuries. Christina opened the door and the low sun struck across her eyes, dazzling her. She jumped in.

As always, the coldness of the water made her gasp. Even in the hot summer it contained an icy chill. The water grabbed at the chemise and pulled her down. She could feel the weight of the current, strong today, pulling at her. She struck out for the surface, feeling the hessian gown float out like a huge heavy balloon around her. Really, this was ridiculous. She would be drowned at this rate and all for a few scruples of modesty. She rolled around in the water, pulling at the stubborn material, floundering like a beached seal, until she was free of the wretched gown and it floated away on the tide.

It was then she heard the laughter.

Shaking the water from her eyes, smoothing her hair back, she blinked into the sun. There was someone there, someone who was floating in the pool at her side; someone who most certainly should not be there.

“Mr. Ross!” she said.

“Good afternoon again, Lady Christina.” Lucas’s deep drawl seemed even more pronounced than usual.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Christina said. “I thought you were working.”

“I’ve just finished,” Lucas said. “I needed a bath.”

“But why?” Christina wailed. She was acutely aware both that she was naked and also that he had seen her thrashing around in the water like an ill-coordinated porpoise. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Lucas’s teeth flashed white as he smiled. “It’s a hot day,” he said. “I needed to cool off.” He paused. “You yourself can take part of the blame for that, Lady Christina.”

Oh.

He was looking at her and just the looking made her feel so hot and self-conscious that she thought she might sink under the weight of it.

“I thought,” she said, trying to sound normal, “that it might have been because digging the garden is a dirty job.”

“That, too,” Lucas said. “Mr. Grant told me I could come here to bathe, although he seemed to disapprove of the idea. He thinks that a dousing under the pump is quite good enough.”

“A lot of people think sea bathing is unhealthy,” Christina said. “You could have called out when I jumped in,” she added. “I could not see you here because of the sun.”

“If I had called out, you would not have joined me,” Lucas said with maddening reasonableness. “I had no incentive to stop you.” He grinned. “Particularly when you started to undress.”

“Oh!” Christina had never previously had the experience of her face radiating heat whilst her body was chilled. She did not dare look down. She had no idea how clear the water was here, but she was sure that Lucas could see every naked inch of her. Somehow it did not make an iota of difference that he had already made love to her. In fact, it only made her more ill at ease, more aware of the prickle of excitement running over her skin and the pulse of arousal deep inside her.

This was not good.

This was precisely what she had been trying to avoid.

“At least I know you are not armed at present,” Lucas said. “Or I assume not.”

Christina gasped and almost swallowed a mouthful of water. “Mr. Ross!”

“My apologies,” Lucas said. He shook his head. “I am afraid I find the thought of you with a pistol almost too erotic, Lady Christina.” He tilted his head toward the hessian gown, which had snagged itself on a rock on the other side of the pool. “Why on earth were you even attempting to swim in that sack?”

“It’s what ladies do,” Christina said, relieved that the conversation had taken a slightly less improper turn. “We swathe ourselves in material for respectability.”

“And then you promptly unswathed yourself.” Lucas sounded amused. “I cannot blame you. Another moment and you would have drowned. I really thought I was going to have to rescue you.”

“Fortunately there was no necessity,” Christina said. “I can swim like a fish.”

“An unusual skill in a woman,” Lucas said. “Girls are not normally taught to swim.”

“We can all swim well,” Christina said. “We learned as children. I know the sea and the lochs around here as well as my ancestors did.” She turned away and swam toward the other side of the pool. When she looked back, Lucas was nowhere to be seen. A moment later he surfaced beside her, rivulets of water running down his torso, his black hair plastered to his head like an otter’s pelt.

“I suppose it is forbidden for servants to swim with members of the family,” he said.

“Certainly it is not encouraged,” Christina said.

“Then I had better leave you.” Lucas placed his palms on the rock and started to haul himself out. The sun caught the water streaming down his back and gilded his skin to bronze. Christina stared. He was magnificent. The muscles bunched smoothly in his broad shoulders. Her gaze swept down to his narrow waist and lower...

She gave a squeak. It had not occurred to her that he, like she, might have been bathing in the nude.

“You are naked!”

Lucas paused, then continued to pull himself out onto the rock. Christina floundered, almost swallowing a mouthful of seawater.

“Men do tend to swim naked,” Lucas agreed, turning to face her. “There are no foolish rules about clothing as there are for women. Put your hand down,” he added as Christina shielded her eyes. “You will go under if you do not swim properly.”

He was laughing at her. In response she dived down deep into the clear water, feeling it close over her head, enjoying the shock of it on her skin, the sting of the cold. When she surfaced, Lucas had disappeared. She saw a shadow moving about in the interior of the Round House. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, a towel slung low about his hips. He settled himself on the flat rock above the water, watching her.

“Are you going to stay in there forever?” he asked. “You will catch an ague.”

“I cannot come out until you are gone,” Christina said. “It would be unseemly.”

Lucas made no reply, only raised his brows, and she was reminded of all the downright unseemly things she had done with him the previous week and ached to do again.

She wondered why temptation was so very difficult to resist. It seemed unfair when she was trying to do the right thing that Lucas sat there looking the epitome of dark masculinity and perfect musculature. She shivered and realized for the first time that the water was very cold and she was getting chilled.

“I am giving you a direct order to put your clothes on and go away now, Mr. Ross,” she said.

Lucas grinned. “Alas, I am so very bad at following orders.”

“Please,”
Christina said, her teeth starting to chatter.

His smile vanished. He stood up and without another word disappeared into the Round House. Christina started to pull herself out of the water. Only now, as her muscles locked and she started to shiver almost uncontrollably, did she recognize quite how cold she had become. Her knees buckled and for a moment she teetered on the edge of the pool, terrified she was going to slip back into the water. Dizziness gripped her; she reached for a handhold on the rock and felt it slide beneath her fingers.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Lucas was beside her, lifting her to safety. Material enveloped her, rough against her chilled body. For a moment she could barely feel it, then the rub of toweling against her skin woke her senses, half painful, half welcomed as her blood started to beat warm again. Lucas carried her into the Round House and set her on her feet, securing the towel more firmly about her.

She felt horribly embarrassed. Common sense might have prompted her to keep Lucas at a distance, but her dreams and fantasies had been quite different. She had wanted to appear elegant and alluring, a mermaid rather than a beached seal. Taking one end of the towel, she wiped the water from her eyes with fingers that were numb with cold. Her hair was a heavy weight about her shoulders. It was impossible to untangle it. For some reason that was the final straw. It made her eyes smart with tears of frustration and annoyance.

“Let me help you,” Lucas said gently. He turned her around, and after a second she felt his deft fingers sliding through her hair, straightening the tangles. She could feel the warmth of his body; she could smell him, too, a scent of fresh air and cold water and something that was Lucas alone. It made the last of her defenses crumble; she felt dizzy and shaky, as though her knees were going to give way again.

No one had ever cared for her like this since she had been a child. It was so gentle, so tender, and so irresistible. She turned to face him. He was very close; she was almost overwhelmed. There was a quality of stillness in him now that was intensely exciting. It made her shiver. She reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head down so that his mouth would meet hers. He hesitated for only a moment, and then he was kissing her with the same gentleness he had shown a moment before.

It was not what she wanted. She felt impatient. She wanted the heat and the urgency of their previous kisses. Greatly daring, she bit down gently on his lower lip, then slid her tongue over the swell of it and into his mouth. She could feel the tension in him and the self-control that was wound so tightly. He opened to her, allowing her to slide her tongue languorously over his, and then, just as she was wondering what she had to do to provoke a stronger reaction, he deepened the kiss and pulled her to him so that she could feel the hard ridge of his erection through the layers of material between them.

Desire exploded in her, the heat spreading out from her pelvis to wash through her entire body. She pressed herself against him and felt him shudder with an answering need. He took her mouth again and plunged his tongue deep, stealing her breath, ravishing her. She placed her palms on his bare chest and felt his heat and the thunder of his heart.

“Christina,” he whispered.

Her heart surged at the intimacy with which he said her name. It felt so right.

She slid her palms down his chest and lower, over the flat plane of his stomach to where the towel was still loosely knotted about his hips. His breath hissed in; he clamped a hand about her wrist, staying her.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” his voice was hoarse. “We agreed—”

“I know.” She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him again. She had never been surer of what she wanted. There was such longing in her for everything that he could give her. Dimly at the back of her mind, a voice warned her to caution. This time she ignored it. She had been shackled by duty for so long, so careful, so afraid to take the risk. Now she felt as though the restraint had snapped.

“I know what we agreed,” she whispered. She licked the corner of his mouth delicately and heard him groan. “But I cannot help myself.”

A laugh shook his chest. “Yes, you can,” he said. “We both can, if we try hard enough.” He sounded shaken.

“The truth is that I do not want to try,” Christina said. It was shameless of her, outspoken to voice her desires like this, yet she felt compelled to be honest with him.

His hands came to rest on her waist, holding her hard, away from him. In the shadows of the Round House, his face looked stern. “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll later regret—”

“Then don’t worry.” Her impatience almost overwhelmed her. She did not want to talk. “I won’t.” She tugged at his towel and it fell to the floor. She ran a hand over the small of his back, down to the curve of his buttocks, feeling the hot, smooth skin against her palm.

He crushed her to him then, plundering her mouth with his until they were both gasping. Her towel had slipped and fallen from her in the tumult and every last inch of their bare skin was now pressed together, hard against soft, hotter than she could have imagined. It was two steps to the wide sofa that stood before the window. The light flowed in, bathing it in a golden glow. Lucas laid her down on it and straightened to look at her as she lay tumbled in naked abandonment. She felt a flash of self-consciousness then and was about to cover herself with her hands but he caught her wrists again and spread her arms wide.

“How beautiful you are,” he said softly.

Her shyness fled. Beautiful? No one had ever called her that. No one had even thought it.

She reached for him but he shook his head, going down on his knees beside the sofa, running his hands softly down her body, from her shoulders over her breasts to the flare of her waist. Christina gasped, arching upward.

“I have so wanted to see you like this.” He repeated the caress and she writhed. “It was dark before,” he said. “I need to see you in the light.”

Christina made a little sound of desire and supplication and he smiled, kissing her collarbone, then taking one nipple in his mouth to suck and pull. She felt it clear through her body and it settled in a low, pulsing throb between her thighs. Each tug, each lick had her squirming until the sensations threatened to drive her beyond all thought. She had never known this, the slow, exquisite build of passion, the tantalizing way she hung on the edge of bliss.

Lucas’s fingers slid into her secret folds, found the entrance to her body and slipped inside. Her body twitched at the intrusion, welcoming it but wanting more. Then his thumb found her swollen nub and pressed down, sliding over her with wicked precision, and her body shattered as easily as that, spiraling into ecstasy so hard and fast that she cried out as a wave of blinding brilliance carried her away.