It Happened One Bite (8 page)

“
Lorg freagair timcheall
Kettering.” She chanted as she dipped the baron’s gold chain into the cauldron, letting it bond with the concoction. “
Lorg freagair timcheall
Kettering.
Lorg freagair timcheall
Kettering.” With her free hand, she dropped a moonstone into the mixture, which bubbled. Her heart soared. She just might get her answers yet.

As a flash of light lit up the room, Blaire tossed the pocket watch to her bed, wrapped a rag around her hand, and retrieved the cauldron from the fire. She placed it on the hearth and peered inside. But no vision appeared, and no answers leapt to her mind. All she was left with was a mixture that looked disgustingly like a vat of blood.

Damn it to hell. She crossed the room, raised the window, suppressed a shiver from the frigid air, tossed the contents of the cauldron to the ground below, and cursed herself for being a fool. She’d known the ceremony wouldn’t work when she was alone, but what other choice did she have? It wasn’t as though Kettering was going to tell her all his secrets.

Just then she heard the two Englishmen’s voices filter down the corridor as the pair apparently made their way toward their borrowed quarters. Then their footsteps slowed outside her door. “Do you smell that?” Kettering asked. Had she not had her ear pressed to the door, she’d have missed his comments completely.

“Blood? In Miss Lindsay’s room?” the earl replied with a question of his own.

“They’re not here yet. You’d feel them, wouldn’t you?” Another quick murmur from Blodswell that she couldn’t make out. “Then what
is
that smell?” Kettering asked.

Certainly, they couldn’t smell her concoction. It was simply by chance that the earl thought there was blood in her room.
Who
could smell blood? What did blood smell like, anyway? She’d hunted for years and often found herself dressing the animals. Yet she couldn’t remember any
strong
odor that came with the letting of blood. It was highly unlikely that Kettering could pinpoint an odor like that either, especially through her closed door.

Before she could take a step, her door burst wide open. She was forced to dodge it to avoid being knocked over in Kettering’s haste to enter her chambers. She landed on her bottom with a grunt.

“What the devil…?” Blaire complained as she came to her feet. She shook her nightrail and wrapper so that her legs were covered and dusted her hands together.

Kettering stopped inches from her and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. Like a ninnyhammer, she froze. The powers-that-be should take away her supernatural abilities, the ones she received simply by being battle born, because she was completely and totally unworthy. That much was quite obvious. She bit back a curse.

“Are you all right?” Kettering asked, his voice rumbling across her like a caress.

Blaire shook her chin loose from his hold. “Of course, I am. Why would I no’ be?” She noticed the earl as he raised one hand and quietly squeezed Kettering’s shoulder. The baron relaxed, but not by much.

“I’ll be along in a moment,” Kettering said quietly to his friend, still not removing his gaze from her person. Had she not known better, she would have again thought he could look directly into her soul. The man’s dark eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen, and Blaire fought back a shiver.

She vaguely noted when Blodswell stepped out of the room, bowed a quick farewell from the doorway, and vanished down the corridor. Her attention was centered on the man who still stood much too close for comfort.

James looked down into the most liquid eyes he’d ever seen and tried to force himself to concentrate. How unfortunate that he failed so miserably.

“Is there a reason why ye’re in my room, sir?” the mesmerizing witch asked, with a tilt of her head. But she nearly vibrated there standing in front of him, so she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. To a casual observer, she would have succeeded in her desire to portray ambivalence. But Miss Lindsay was very much aware and at the ready.

“I thought there might be a problem,” he said as he stepped back and allowed his gaze to slide down her body. “You’re not injured?”

She held out both hands. “No’ that I’m aware of,” she snipped at him.

He took her hand in his and turned it over in his palm, searching for wounds. He’d smelled blood. He was sure of it. He never mistook the coppery scent of the life-giving essence. Yet she appeared to be unharmed. She jerked her hand from his grasp. He reached for the other one, but she put it behind her back and took one step away from him.

“Are you hiding something from me, Miss Lindsay?” he asked. “If you’re injured, I may be able to help. It appears as though your brothers are asleep.”

“I am no’ afraid ta wake my brothers if I need assistance.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, where it hung like a dark curtain down her back. James wanted nothing more than to bury his face in it and inhale her essence. He shook away the errant thoughts. One would think a meal like he’d just enjoyed would have quelled this insatiable thirst for the girl. One would, apparently, be wrong.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked quietly.

“I could ask ye the same question,” she said without hesitation.

He couldn’t fight the smile that her comment provoked, but he crooked a finger and tugged at his nose, hoping she wouldn’t notice the corners of his lips tip up. He appreciated her gumption. But there was no need for her to know that. “I was out with Blodswell,” he explained, watching her face as he spoke. He lowered his voice, softened his expression, and set out to entrance the witch. But she was having no part of it. She spun to face the other direction, the edges of her nightrail spinning around her legs. He nearly groaned aloud. “We went for a walk.”

She spun back to face him quickly. Every movement showed a good bit of her ankles. When did ankles become so erotic? “Where did ye go?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Just out by the loch. Does it matter?” he asked her, just as plainly. If he couldn’t entrance her, perhaps his forthrightness could put her off the scent of the chase.

“Just curious,” she replied as she flopped into a chair and tucked her legs beneath her. Well, almost. The big toe of her right foot stuck out from beneath her hem. James had an instant and absurd desire to kiss it. Yes, it was official. He’d lost his bloody mind. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to wipe the errant thoughts away. If Blodswell knew, James would never hear the end of it.

“Did ye at least have a nice time?” she asked quietly, resting her chin on the heel of her overturned hand. She looked absolutely adorable.

“I haven’t seen Blodswell in quite some time. So, yes, it was very nice to become reacquainted. Thank you for allowing him to stay for the night.”

She waved a hand breezily in the air. “A day, a fortnight… Stay as long as ye like. Both of ye.” She paused briefly and then smiled at him. “Please,” she offered last.

“You are a conundrum, Miss Lindsay,” he murmured to himself.

Her eyebrows lifted as she grinned. “I doona believe women are supposed ta be easy creatures ta figure out. I’m simply upholdin’ my end of nature’s bargain.”

He chuckled. The witch could make him laugh, something he needed just now with his mind focused on his problems. There was something about the woman before him. Something magical, and not the fact that she was a witch. He stared at her for the longest while, just soaking in her stunning silver eyes and delectable figure. When she cleared her throat, he shook his head, regaining his composure. “I’ll bid you good night,” he said then.

“Is that a question? Or a statement of fact?” the witch asked as she came to her feet.

She was a cheeky little thing. “You’re certain you’re well?” James asked again. He knew he’d smelled blood. It was unmistakable. And he didn’t
want
to go. He wanted to take her place in that chair and pull her down into his lap.

She lifted her arms out to the sides and sighed heavily. “Do ye need ta search my person for wounds so ye can get a good night’s rest?”

James immediately hardened at the very thought of running his hands all over Miss Lindsay’s body. “I trust that you would tell me if you needed assistance,” he said instead.

“Do ye, now?” she asked quietly.

“No, actually I don’t,” he scoffed. “But it sounded good in my head before it came out of my mouth.” He turned away from her to hide the evidence of his desire. Despite her bravado, he’d scare the life out of the little innocent if she had any idea how much he wanted her. When he turned to face her, his gaze immediately landed on the bed—and on his gold pocket fob, which lay atop her counterpane. “That’s my watch,” he said as he approached the bed and reached for it.

“Aye, I found it doin’ the wash,” she said quickly.

“Shouldn’t you have someone else do the wash for you?” He wasn’t quite sure where that came from. She was a brazen little thing, one who clearly made her own decisions; but there was still a prideful air about her. She might not be a typical lady, but she was a lady just the same. One who shouldn’t be reduced to menial household chores. “I have it on the highest authority that the Lindsays are quite rich, after all.”

His statement had the satisfying effect of making her stammer. “A-aye, well we’re hirin’ a staff tomorrow. But for now ye’re left with me.”

“I like being left with you.” He’d like his watch back, too. He turned back toward her bed and scooped the fob up in his hands. The chain was coated in
something
, and he nearly dropped his own heirloom. “What the devil’s on it?” he growled.

James spun to face her, ready to throttle her if she’d ruined his watch. He’d had it for ages. And ages. More than one lifetime, to be sure.

Miss Lindsay plucked it from his hand and began to wipe it with a soft cloth, rubbing until it shone brighter than any sun he could remember. “I was just cleanin’ it up for ye. Ye caught me right in the middle of it.” She dried the chain and then passed it to him.

He turned away from her and flipped the catch, opening the watch so he could be certain it was in the same shape as when she’d stolen it. And he knew she’d taken it. Why, he had no idea.

A lock of her hair fell over his forearm as she leaned over his arm, peering at the open watch face. James nearly groaned aloud. Instead, he simply raised his brows at her and tried to appear amused. Aroused was more like it. Highly aroused. “Is there something you wanted to see, Miss Lindsay?”

She had the nerve to blush. Color seeped into her cheeks. Could she be any more charming? “I was just admirin’ yer watch,” she murmured. “I dinna realize there was an inscription. What does it say?” One of her hands lay flat on his back where she steadied herself to lean around him. He’d feel that touch for days. Years, probably.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” he teased, attempting to sound unconcerned.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Yer watch has a quote from Shakespeare?”

She was as intelligent as she was beautiful. He turned and tweaked her nose, which provoked a scowl from her. “Shakespeare performed it. Ben Jonson wrote it.” Thirty years after James was born. What might she think if she knew his age?

“So, that’s what’s written in yer watch? ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?” He had to give her credit for being tenacious.

“No, it’s not,” he said crisply as he closed the watch and slipped it back into the pocket of his waistcoat. The heavy weight of it felt right. She muttered something that sounded very much like
insufferable man
. He chuckled as he crossed his arms and leaned against her bedpost. “I suppose I should leave. The dawn will arrive before we know it. Have you slept at all, Miss Lindsay?”

“Aye, yer stompin’ boots woke me when ye returned home.”

“Fibber,” he accused.

Her back straightened. “I havena gotten accustomed ta the new accommodations,” she said as she gestured to her room.

“I’m certain your new staff will make sure all is to your liking tomorrow.”

She snorted and shook her head, her black hair swaying across her back in one glorious mass. “If we’re able ta find someone ta take us on.”

Oh, they’d find someone, he had no doubt. She did nothing by half, and if she intended to staff Briarcraig, she’d have it done by the noon meal. “I like you, Miss Lindsay,” he blurted out. Then he bit back an oath. Where the devil had that come from? He could almost hear Blodswell cackling in his head.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Do ye, now?”

One step brought him toe to toe with her. “I do.” He said it loudly and clearly. And knew it was the truth. He lifted one hand to cup the side of her face. “How many daggers do you wear beneath that nightrail?”

Her voice trembled a bit when she replied, “Why are ye so concerned with what’s under my nightrail, Lord Kettering? One might think ye’d like ta inspect my person.”

“Oh, I’d like that very much, and you should call me James. May I call you Blaire?”

“That would be highly improper,” she reminded him, but she didn’t shove him away or attack him with darts or lances. Not even a sharpened hatpin.

“And propriety is something you worry about? Is that before or after you curse like a man?” Her gaze left his, and he immediately wanted to take back his words. She was positively enchanting. He liked her cursing. Wanted to hear more of it, in fact. He would particularly enjoy it interspersed with a gasp or two of pleasure. “How do you do it?” he finally asked.

“Do what?” She folded her arms across her chest, obviously annoyed with him. Good. It was safer for her that way.

“Manage to look so beautiful on the outside, and maintain so much strength and purpose on the inside.”

Before she could answer, he bent to quickly touch his lips to hers. She froze, her lips pressed tightly against his. He opened his eyes briefly, only to find her staring at him, her lips puckered against his. He chuckled against her mouth and drew her to him with his arms around her waist. She stepped toward him with no reservation at all and let him draw her close enough that her breasts pressed against his chest, close enough that his legs tangled in her nightrail.

“Lord Kettering,” she protested mildly when his hand slid down her back and cupped her bottom, almost as though it had its own free will. But she didn’t pull away. She should have pulled away.

“James,” he whispered as he briefly lifted his mouth from hers. This time, when he bent his head, he coaxed her lips apart with gentle nudges, and then he swept inside. She teetered on her feet, but he used her wobbliness as an excuse to pull her closer to him. He would draw her into him if he could. What he wouldn’t give for her to draw him into her.

The beating of her heart began to skip like she’d run a great distance, the soft breaths that escaped her nose tickling his cheek as she tilted her head to kiss him more deeply. The witch wasn’t afraid of him, that much was obvious. Perhaps she should be.

Their brief interlude was long enough to show his desire for her. But short enough that it wouldn’t scare her. It wasn’t nearly enough to quench his thirst for her, but it would do for now. He pulled back, looked down into the interminable depths of her eyes, and forced himself to release the little innocent. She wobbled slightly on her feet when he let her go, and one of her hands landed on her chest. “Dear me,” she whispered.

“Good night, Miss Lindsay,” he said as he turned and quit the room.

He strode quickly and quietly to his bedchamber and wasn’t a bit surprised to find Blodswell sitting back in a chair by his four-poster and wearing a huge grin.

“Oh, I believe you’re in trouble now,” the man gloated. He nearly glowed with glee. What was bad was that the damned blackguard was one hundred percent correct.

“Go to the devil,” James grumbled.

“You’d hardly be the first to wish me there. The poor devil will be waiting forever.” Matthew chuckled. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about Miss Lindsay?”

James scrubbed a hand across his face. “I already told you all I know about the lass.” Though he’d neglected to tell Matthew how she affected
him.
That was not particularly any of his friend’s business.

“Come now,” Matthew prodded, “I’ve known you all your life. Don’t think you can hold out on me. I know you too well.”

Too well, indeed. Matthew owned the estate neighboring his in Derbyshire. He’d been a friend of James’ father centuries ago. He’d even taught James how to sword fight when he was a boy, though at the time James had had no idea that the earl was so proficient with the weapon due to having actually been a knight in the Crusades. But most importantly, Matthew had been there when James most needed him, the night he’d been attacked by highwaymen and left for dead. And he would have died, had Matthew not come to his aid, had he not eased the way for James’ life-after-death.

He heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you. Something about her calls to me. That’s all.”

Matthew’s grin faded, only to be replaced by a grim expression. “Calls to you?”

“I just want to be near her.” He couldn’t explain better than that. He felt like a green lad. He scrubbed his hand against his forehead.

His friend nodded knowingly. “Developing an attachment for humans does happen on occasion.”

“Has it happened to you?” James asked, though he knew the answer. Matthew cared for all creatures and was the most loyal of men, but he’d never formed an
attachment
with anyone. Not in over six hundred years.

“There’s always the future.” Of which they both had an endless supply. Matthew rose from his seat and started for the door. “May I offer a suggestion?”