Tall, Dark and Wolfish (4 page)

Then she nearly threw herself into his arms, right after she cal ed him beautiful. It was times like this that he loved his beastliness. His heightened sense

of smel and hearing had served him wel in the past. And they served him wel now. Wel enough that he had a fiery redhead tucked in his arms, and he'd

only just arrived in Edinburgh. And she thought he was beautiful.

"I-I," she stuttered. "Ye can let me go, sir."

The melodic lilt of her voice made Ben's mouth go dry. But she was gazing at him with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen, and he somehow found the

strength to gently put her down. "Are you al right, miss?"

She blinked at him. "Ye're Sassenach?"

The derogatory term for English slipped easily from her lips. Oh, the Scots would never admit the word was derogatory, but it was the way they said it

that gave them away. Ben grinned at her. Being English was the least of his sins. "My family has land in Dumfriesshire, if that makes the circumstances of

my nationality more palatable for you."

Miss Campbel 's cheeks flamed at his words and she looked away. It was always too easy to make a redhead blush. Alec stepped forward, concern

etched across his brow. "Miss Campbel , are you al right?"

She nodded, but refused to look back at Ben. "I'm dreadful y clumsy, Mr. MacQuarrie. Perhaps I should stay here this evenin'."

Her friend, a slight blonde, gasped at the pronouncement. "Sorcha Ferguson would never forgive ye if ye missed her bal ."

"Think nothing of it," Alec replied smoothly. "We al make a misstep one time or another. Miss Macleod, Miss Campbel , may I present my dear friend

Lord Benjamin Westfield."

"Lord Benjamin." Miss Macleod curtsied. "It's so nice ta make yer acquaintance."

"The pleasure is al mine," Ben replied, though he kept his eyes focused on the flame-haired lass in front of him. "Shal we, Miss Campbel ?" He offered

her his arm.

Her green eyes flickered up to him as she nodded and placed her gloved hand on his forearm. Even through his sleeve her touch was cold, and Ben

fought the urge to cover her hand with his to warm her up.

To warm her up
. He nearly laughed at himself. He wanted to do a lot more than warm her up. Perhaps whatever was wrong with him had righted itself.

He hadn't felt such pul , such lust, since the jaunt to Brighton, before he was broken.

Miss Campbel cleared her throat and looked up at him. "Lord Benjamin, aren't we ta fol ow Mr. MacQuarrie?"

Ben pul ed himself from the spel of her eyes and noticed that his friend was halfway out the door with Miss Macleod at his side. "Yes, of course."

She looked away from him, tugging at her dress to pul the hem from the floor as they started for the doorway.

And that's when he saw it.

In her mass of red hair sat a pewter wolf disguised as a hair comb. He nearly stumbled. It was an unusual piece. Most women didn't wear wolf

adornments, not unless her lover was a Lycan.

A wave of something akin to jealousy washed over him. Some other wolf had claimed her. Some other wolf that was
capable
of claiming had done so.

He stopped in his tracks, unable to move.

Miss Campbel turned, confusion on her lovely face. "Lord Benjamin?"

He heard her words, but he couldn't take his eyes off her bare neck and shoulders. His gaze raked one side then the other. He didn't see any evidence

that she'd been claimed. She had perfect alabaster skin without a blemish of any kind. Not even a freckle marred her skin. Had she been claimed, he

would see evidence of it. He knew what to look for. There was nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sir," she pressed, "are ye al right?"

Ben nodded, forcing what he knew was a charming smile to his face. "My apologies, Miss Campbel . It was a long journey to Edinburgh, and I'm

apparently more tired than I thought."

Compassion settled on her face. "Perhaps ye should rest, sir. I'm certain my friend wil understand if I miss her bal ."

"Elspeth Campbel !" Miss Macleod cal ed over her shoulder. "Ye ken as wel as I that Sorcha Ferguson would be put out for at least a fortnight. Stop tryin'

ta wriggle out of attendin'."

A mischievous smile lit Elspeth's face and she shrugged. "Wel ," she whispered conspiratorial y, "it was worth a try."

A laugh escaped Ben's throat. "Miss Campbel , I do believe you need close watching."

She pretended to pout as he led her out the front door. "That's a fine thing ta say ta me. I was only concerned for yer wel -bein', my lord."

"I'm concerned enough for both of us, lass."

He helped her climb inside MacQuarrie's coach, and his eyes dropped to her perfect little bottom, which he'd already had the pleasure of squeezing.

The men in Scotland were fools if they let a little thing like the circumstance of her birth keep them from her.

Ben settled himself next to Miss Campbel on the bench before a prune-faced Macleod maid squeezed herself inside the coach as wel . Ah, a

chaperone. Apparently Alec's reputation must have fol owed him north.

Elspeth's eyes adjusted to the darkened coach quickly. She tried to steady her breathing, which was a difficult thing to do considering Lord Benjamin had

pressed his leg against hers and rested his arm on the seat behind her head.

Mo chreach
! He was like no one she'd ever encountered before. She would certainly have weathered Sorcha's il temper for missing her bal if she

could have kept herself from the handsome Sassenach at her side. There was something dangerous about him simmering beneath his surface. She

could feel it. She felt the danger as clearly as she did the heat that radiated from him.

Caitrin managed to find idle things to chit-chat about until they reached the Fergusons, though Elspeth couldn't quite fol ow the conversation. She could

do nothing but stare out the darkened window and wish the evening were already over.

She felt his scorching gaze on her. How she managed to keep from shivering she had no idea, but continuing an acquaintance with the man was to be

avoided.

When the coach final y rumbled to a stop, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would find Sorcha as soon as she stepped inside the Fergusons' sprawling

home, and then she'd make her excuses and return home to her grandfather. Caitrin had MacQuarrie wel under control, so she wasn't truly needed.

Besides, she abhorred societal functions. She was only marginal y accepted at these sorts of events, and only because the Macleods and Fergusons

were loyal to her.

Lord Benjamin climbed out of the coach then turned and offered his hand. She accepted his assistance and tried not to stare into the light hazel depths

of his eyes. Dangerous. He was definitely dangerous.

"I do hope you'l save me a dance, Miss Campbel ," his gravel y voice rumbled in her ear as they fol owed Caitrin and MacQuarrie toward the Fergusons'

bal room.

Elspeth forced a smile to her lips. "I never dance, my lord."

"Never?" he echoed, a wolfish grin on his face. "I have a hard time imagining that."

No one had ever asked her, though she'd rather not divulge that sort of information. "I'm terribly clumsy," she said instead. "Perhaps ye noticed."

He laughed. "I do believe I'l take my chances."

A squeal erupted once they entered the bal room adorned in heather and white roses. Elspeth was glad for the interruption. She knew that squeal, and

the faster she wished Sorcha a happy birthday, the faster she could leave this event altogether. She dropped Lord Benjamin's arm, spun on her heels, and

smiled at the
Còig
's youngest witch.

Dressed in a pretty rose silk, Sorcha's dark hair was piled high on her head, and her dark eyes danced as they swept over Elspeth. "Oh, El! Ye came! I

thought for certain ye'd find an excuse."

So much for trying to leave early. Elspeth shook her head. "Sorcha, ye ken I'd be here ta wish ye the best on yer birthday."

The young witch squealed again as she threw her arms around El's neck. "Who's the handsome devil with ye?" she whispered in her ear.

Stepping away from her friend, Elspeth gestured to the strapping Sassenach. "Miss Sorcha Ferguson, this is Lord Benjamin. Sir, I'm afraid I've forgotten

yer last name."

He smiled a dangerous smile. "Westfield."

Sorcha sucked in a breath. "As in the Duke of Blackmoor?"

Elspeth's eyes flashed to her escort. Even
she
had heard of Blackmoor's scandalous exploits. His brothers were rumored to be even more debauched.

Lord Benjamin's smile faltered. "It seems my brother is known in every corner of Britain."

"
This
is Scotland," Sorcha informed him with an arrogant tilt of her head.

"So it is," he said quietly. Then, as the first strings of a waltz began, he squeezed Elspeth's shoulder. "I do believe this dance is mine, Miss Campbel ."

Without a way out, she looked up at him and accepted his outstretched arm. Lord Benjamin led her to the middle of the floor and slid one arm around

her waist. His light eyes twinkled in the chandelier light, and Elspeth suddenly found herself unable to look away from him. He was mesmerizing.

"You're light on your toes, Miss Campbel ."

"Ye lead wel , my lord."

His hand splayed against the smal of her back, and he pul ed her closer to him. "Your hair combs are unusual."

What an odd thing for a gentleman to notice. "Is that a compliment?"

"I find myself drawn to them."

"Ta my hair combs?" She couldn't help but giggle. "That has ta be the strangest thing a gentleman has ever said ta me."

He wasn't even fazed by her words. "Where did you get them?"

"They were a gift."

A muscle twitched in his jaw and Elspeth swal owed nervously. Why should he be so concerned with her hair combs? It didn't make one bit of sense.

"From whom?" he asked with a darkening frown.

She tilted her head back to see him better. "My mother."

Five

Ben was so taken aback that he couldn't avoid a misstep. "Ouch!" Miss Campbel softly cried as he stepped on her toe. She stopped dancing long

enough to wiggle her toes within her slipper. Her eyes met his. Was that a twinkle within the depths? "I think they're al stil attached, thank goodness," she

continued.

"My apologies, Miss Campbel . I don't usual y clod upon the toes of my dance partners."

"Does that mean I should consider myself ta be special?" she asked as he led her back into the dance.

"Quite special," he admitted. Special enough to have wolf hair combs that had been passed to her from her mother.

"Where did your mother get the combs?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, yet aware that he probably was failing miserably.

Her brows knit together. "Why are my combs so important ta ye, Lord Benjamin?"

"My brothers tel me I'm a curious sort." He attempted a smile. He real y wanted to pul the combs from her hair so that he could inspect them for a

maker's mark. He might find their origin that way.

"My mother had a liking for dogs." She shrugged.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had never been insulted so rudely. "I did you a good turn, yet you look me in the eye and insult me?"

"Pardon?"

"You don't pretend ignorance very wel , Miss Campbel ."

Ben fought the rage that suddenly built within him. Normal y he only felt such tendencies at the moonful, in the days before the change happened. But

tonight he was feeling it in ful force. The intensity of it scared even him.

It was terribly bad form to leave a woman on the dance floor. But Ben felt a sudden and intense need to escape. He led Miss Campbel away and then

dropped her hand and bowed respectful y to her. "Thank you for the dance. Regrettably, I must take my leave."

He didn't wait for a response, but turned and skirted quickly around the room. Fresh air. He needed fresh air. Quickly.

Ben's senses were in overload. He smel ed the perfume of every woman he passed, the shaving lather of the men. He heard the whispers around him,

most of which were normal fodder for the scandal pages. But they sounded like screaming to his ears. He burst through the terrace doors. Ben leaned as

far as he could over the terrace wal as he looked down, gauging the distance between the terrace and the ground. Not too far to jump. He raised one leg

over the wal .

"Did I say somethin' that offended ye?" Miss Campbel asked from behind him.

Ben stopped his climb and closed his eyes tightly, wishing she would disappear. Because if she didn't, she would be the most obvious source of

release, the only outlet for his anger. For his beast. For himself.

He swung his leg back to the right side of the terrace wal . He was before her in seconds.

"You insult me and then seek me out?" he growled.

"I doona ken how I insulted ye," she breathed.