Everlastin' Book 1 (16 page)

Ten days left. She had to
make enough memories of Scotland to last her a lifetime.

A droll smile lifted the
corners of her full mouth as she realized she had already made a
hellacious start on those memories.

Unbidden, Lachlan crept into
her thoughts and she looked up again at the peacocks.

Carlene and David owned the
house, but it was Lachlan who gave the impression he was its
master. Maybe Lachlan did own it, and Carlene and David were
renters sharing the estate.

After what they had shared
last night, perhaps Lachlan wouldn't take offense to her
questioning him on the animosity between him and Agnes. From what
Beth could gather, it seemed to stem from what had happened to
Lannie Baird.

“That's ridiculous, she
mused. Lannie Baird died one hundred and forty-nine years
ago.

Lachlan had to be a
descendent, but could a grudge remain between two families for over
a century? If so, why would Agnes continue to work at Baird House?
Out of loyalty to Carlene and David?

“So, Lachlan, if Agnes
didn't see you this morning, how does she know we slept together?”
Beth murmured, shivering as the morning's dampness seeped through
to her skin.

“Maybe I misinterpreted what
she said. Her accent is so thick. I can't imagine why you would
tell her about last night, unless....”

Beth frowned. Had last night
been a game, a conquest for Lachlan?

Where was he?

Did he usually abandon his
lovers in the cold light of dawn?

Her temper surfaced as she
ran the possibilities through her mind. She didn't like the fact
she'd awakened alone, in her own bed, her nightgown on, as if last
night had been nothing more than a dream.

She still couldn't fathom
why she had given herself to him with such abandon. He was
attractive—no, incredibly handsome in a way she couldn't quite
analyze to her satisfaction. She had wanted him to kiss her in the
moonlight the first night, and he had. And it had been a kiss
unlike anything she'd imagined in her wildest fantasies. She had
wanted him to make love to her, and he had.

When she'd gone to his room
last night, and he'd turned to stare at her, impulses had swooped
down on her and she had surrendered to them. Her physical needs,
she had discovered, possessed such utter energy and fire that she
found it hard to believe they were an actual part of
her.

A feeling of being watched
made her turned abruptly.

“Good mornin'. Didn't mean
to startle you.”

The sight of a man standing
a few feet away unnerved her. Closing the blanket even tighter
about her, Beth shriveled within the wool fibers.

The man smiled in a lazy,
self-assured manner then dipped his head to one side. “A bit nippy
to be ou'.”

Beth offered a strained
smile, her gaze flitting to a pair of hedge clippers held in his
hands. Tall and lanky, thirtyish, with light brown hair and blue
eyes, he was a pleasant-looking man, but a man who watched her as
if expecting her to run back to the house.

“Good morning. Are you here
to work in the gardens?”

He grinned, closing the
distance between them. “His Nibs summoned me. You must be Beth
Staples. I'm Borgie Ingliss, Aggie's boy. Pleasure to meet you. Ma
mum said you were a fine lookin' womon, itherwise I'd been tempted
to tell old Lachlan to stick his demands in his ear. I say a mon
has to draw his lines.”

Beth was beginning to wonder
if she wasn't still asleep.

“Arrived recently, did
you?”

“Umm, yes. A few days
ago.”

“And the missus went off and
left you, aye?”

“Carlene? Yes. She went to
pick up her husband in Edinburgh. They should be back today.” She
kept,
I hope,
to
herself.

To her unease, the man
laughed. “So tha's wha' she told you. You'll know soon enough, I
guess.”

“Know what?”

“It's no' for me to
explain.” He started to turn away. “If you start gettin' stir
crazy, let me know. I wouldn’t mind rescuin' you and takin' you ou'
to Shortby's. It's the finest pub around.”

In stunned disbelief, Beth
watched the man disappear beyond the high bushes across from her.
If this morning was any indication of what her day was going to be
like....

Ruefully, she considered
climbing back into bed and waiting for Carlene to return, but the
ever-growing list of innuendoes were beginning to wear on her
nerves.

Deciding to have a long talk
with Agnes, she went back into the house.

One straight answer was all
she needed to put her nerves at ease. One simple,
understandable,
straight
answer.

Were the employees simply
having fun with her, or was there something darkly amiss going on
right under her nose?

Beth didn't like mysteries,
and she had a difficult time understanding the depth of hostility
that existed between the two Inglisses and Lachlan.

“Damn,” she grumbled, seeing
the kitchen empty of the cook's presence. Turning on a heel, she
walked into the dining room and found her breakfast arranged on the
table.

“Agnes! Agnes, I would like
to talk to you, please!”

Silence.

Muttering under her breath,
she drew out a chair and lowered herself onto it in front of the
aromatic dishes of eggs, sausages, a small chicken pie,
strawberries in thick cream, and a freshly baked loaf of
bread.

Beth's stomach unexpectedly
churned.

She wasn't hungry for food.
Just straight answers!

Placing her elbows on the
table, she lowered her chin into her upturned palms and scowled
down at the repast.

She was tired of eating
alone, tired of trying to entertain herself.

Fed up with the daily
disappearing acts Lachlan and Agnes had perfected to a fine
art.

Baird House was rapidly
losing its glamour.

C
hapter 6

The light was lessening in
the house when Beth arrived on the third floor and saw Lachlan's
bedroom door open. Walking to the threshold, she noted first the
stoked fire, then the lambskin throw rugs in front of the hearth.
To the far side of the rugs, a bottle of champagne sat in a silver
ice bucket atop a silver, monogrammed bed tray. Alongside two
crystal glasses were bread and cheese, a bowl of luscious
strawberries, and a silver container of cream. She stepped further
into the room to the edge of the rug and looked over the blatant
seduction scene with contempt blazing in her eyes.

“I've been waitin' for you,
love.”

Beth looked over her
shoulder to see Lachlan standing at the threshold, a lace gown
draped over his left arm.

Slowly turning her body to
align with her head, she gawked at the man through a crimson face.
“You're...naked.”

In response, he grinned
broadly and gave the gown over his arm a shake. “For you. A belated
birthday present.”

After taking a moment to
analyze Beth's deadpan expression, he stepped further into the
room. “It was purchased for Tessa, but she impaled old Lannie afore
he could give it to her. You've a better figure than her, anyway,
and I know how much you like old thin’s. Put it on, sweets. I've
been achin' to behold you in it.”

A slow transformation
befell Beth. Anger heightened her color, and her posture stiffened.
“Of all the nerve.... You arrogant, smug...
jerk!”

“Me?” He looked genuinely
surprised. “Wha' have I done this time to brin’ abou' tha'
beautiful flush to yer face?”

“Done?
Done?”

Fuming mad now, she grabbed
a black poker from a stand at the hearth and wielded it shoulder
high. “Just for the record, my birthday was two days
ago!”

“Tha' long?” he muttered
absently, looking aside through a mild frown.

“Where the hell have you
been?”

Lachlan recovered his wits
with the aplomb of a master. “Busy.”

“That explains
everything.”

The bitterness in her tone
caused him to flinch. “I saw you talkin' to Borgie the ither day,”
he said with feigned lightness. He stepped closer to Beth. “A word
to the wise, darlin'; stay clear o' him. He's a foul
mon.”

“And you're not?”

Beth sucked in a breath and
partially lowered the poker. She couldn't help but let her gaze
roam over his magnificent white body. Muscular and perfectly
proportioned, his arousal beckoning and taunting her to try to deny
the powerful chemistry between them.

“I'm not a whore! And I
refuse to be treated like one!”

Genuinely flabbergasted, he
gushed, “Ye're the grandest womon I've ever known, Beth! I've
waited a long time for you. I wouldna do aught to hurt
you.”

Growing more furious by the
moment, she dropped the poker before her anger prompted her to
swing it at him. “I'm getting damned tired of your
blarney.”

“Tis the Irish who lay
claim to blarney. Ah, Beth darlin'.” He came toward her, his arms
opened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling combination of
mischief and passion. “No fightin' atween us. Tis a terrible waste
o' ma energy, and I want it all—
need
it all—ta pleasure you.”

Beth stood her ground with
steely determination. When he was within arm's reach of her, she
twisted around, bent over, and lifted the container of cream into a
hand.

“Until Carlene and David
return—” Straightening, she glared at him. “—I want you to stay
away from me!”

“Hold yer wheesht!” he
boomed.

“If you're going to swear at
me, I would appreciate understanding what you're
saying!”

Lachlan rolled his eyes and
squelched his own mounting anger. “I said, hold yer
noise.”

“Make up your mind,
Lachlan,” she said in a saccharine tone. “One minute you're pushing
me to open up, the next, to shut up.”

A dubious expression
scrinched up his face. “Tis no' exactly wha' I meant,
love.”

“No?” Beth positioned
herself close to him, her upturned mouth mere inches from his chin.
“I'm not going to lay all the blame on your shoulders. I made
myself an easy mark.”

“Hold it—”

“What really galls me,” she
went on heatedly, “is that you believe I'm so gullible as to fall
into your arms again after you disappear for two days! Busy,
Lachlan?” She whacked his chest with such force, her palm stung.
“Whatever it was that kept you so occupied, had better be capable
of keeping you warm at night, because I'm through with you.
Understand?”

She attempted to shove past
him, but he caught her arm and drew her against his primed body.
“Look into ma eyes. How can you think I'd ever be wi' anither
womon? Canna you see how much I love you?”

His words caused a terrible
ache in the pit of her stomach. Love? Oh, God! She'd never known
the love of a man, but a man like Lachlan was incapable of really
understanding the word. She wanted to put as much distance between
them as possible. Already, her knees were weakening, and the touch
of his skin against her own was making her headier by the
moment.

“Let go of me.”

“Withou' a kiss good night?
Be sensible. You know you need me as much as I need you. Ma poor,
wee monhood here is abou' to snap tis so rigid. Give us a
kiss.”

Beth lifted the container
and poured the cream over his head. She stepped back, expecting a
burst of anger from him. But as his fingers tread through his
dripping hair, he looked up with eyes filled with
laughter.

Rankled by his mood, she
hurried to the bowl of strawberries and dumped these, too, over his
head. He laughed outright. Having caught two of the plump berries
in a hand, he popped them into his mouth.

“Could I possibly consider
this a bit o' foreplay, Beth-ma-lass?” he chuckled, red juice
trickling down his chin.

“Drop dead.”

With another chuckle, he
swiped the back of a hand across his mouth. Then swiftly, he
reached out and captured Beth's upper arms and pulled her against
his hard body. Stunned at how fast the man could move, she
stiffened in his hold. She was determined to retain her anger. She
needed it to find salvation from the treacherous longing igniting
fierce and merciless fires in her loins. But when Lachlan's mouth
took possession of her lips, she felt herself weakening.

Damn him!

She didn't want to give in.
He possessed an uncanny ability to awaken her every pore to his
presence, to vanquish inhibitions that had tagged her a shy girl
throughout her high school and college years.

She wasn't easy, and it
infuriated her that she found him so difficult to
resist.

What happened to her
willpower when she was around the man? Even just the deep quality
of his voice weakened her.