To Catch a Highlander (13 page)

"Aye, there's a neatish mare." The groom rubbed his chin. "There's six good mounts in the stables. Ye'd think there'd be fewer, this place being so run-down and all."

"Are the stables in bad condition?"

"They're as solid as can be, with new hardware on the front paddocks. The rest of the place is a bit dusty, as if it hasn't been used in a while." He frowned. "Seems odd someone'd have such a kick-up barn and yet the house be so appallin'."

Indeed, it was. "Perhaps the lady has a softness for horses."

"I'd guess it's the lady's father. Most of the mounts are rather large, and she's knee high to a fairy."

Dougal choked a laugh. "She may be knee high to a fairy, but she's large with determination and willful trickery." It would be pure delight beating Miss MacFarlane at her own game.

He reentered the house through the terrace door and found the breakfast room by following the murmur of voices.

He paused outside the door and heard Sophia's soft voice. "Angus, you did an excellent job last night."

Angus's gloomy voice replied, "I don't know nothin' about coats and gloves and such. I'm a groom, not a butler."

"I know you are, and the best head groom in the entire county. I shall have to take the squire some of that nice
London
tea in thanks for lending you to me."

"He'll want no thanks. Ye know the squire's partial to ye, as are all of us. He'd give ye the shirt off'n his back if ye asked him."

Was the squire an admirer? Dougal's jaw tightened. The man was probably thick-necked and red-faced. Of course, such a lout would be drooling over Sophia—she was beautiful.

"The squire's been so kind," Sophia said in a warm voice. "I should ride over and see him this afternoon."

Dougal realized his hands had tightened into fists, and he stared at them, frowning. Bloody hell, was he actually
jealous
? Of a woman he'd just met?

He shook his head. He was easily irritated until he'd had breakfast. That was what made him so ill tempered, not the thought of some country bumpkin panting after his future mistress.

Dougal paused, one hand on the doorknob. Future mistress? Where had that come from? But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it.

Sophia MacFarlane was clearly no innocent; she grew up consorting with gamblers and other risqué types. And she carried herself with the air of a woman of the world, exuding the confidence of the experienced. It was one of her most attractive traits.

Dougal had never been interested in an innocent; he didn't have time for the drama, the tears, and the recriminations. He loved women who knew who they were and what they were and who luxuriated in that fact.

He turned the knob and opened the door. Sophia spun around at the sound, her skirts flaring about her, her eyes bright as they found his.

Good God, she was lovely. It was more than just her golden hair and startlingly blue eyes. It was the way her cheeks rose to meet her temples, the way her full lips curved when she smiled, and the contrast of her milky-white skin against the tan lace at her throat.

She looked fresh and tempting, dressed in a very fashionable morning gown of blue muslin trimmed with lace and adorned with a striped blue and tan sash that tied neatly under her breasts. Her blond hair was put up in a simple manner that left little tendrils curling before each ear. A blue rosette was pinned in her hair, and small pearl earbobs dangled from her lobes.

She dipped a curtsey. "Good morning, Lord MacLean."

He bowed. "Good morning, Miss MacFarlane. It's a lovely day."

Last night, he'd wondered at his curiously strong reaction to her, but in the light of day, he realized that it was merely a natural reaction to such an incredibly beautiful woman. Added to that was the shock of discovering what his little angel of trouble had planned.

Yet no matter how he'd met her, or when, he'd have had the same powerful reaction. Any man would.

She turned to Angus and said in a husky voice, "That will be all."

Angus's mouth tightened, but he gathered some empty platters and left.

Dougal waited until the door had closed. "Your servant is… quite unusual."

Sophia sighed. "Here in the country, one can't be too choosy. I've had better luck finding help in town."

He'd had better luck in town, too. Or so he'd thought until he'd come to MacFarlane House and met a golden angel with nimble fingers waiting to pluck his winnings from his waistcoat pocket.

Sophia took her chair, gesturing for him to do the same.

Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.

Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.

He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.

Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.

Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under his knife. He lifted a piece and regarded it on the tines of his fork.

Sophia sighed. "It's wretched fare, isn't it? There's no stove, just an old fireplace with a spit. It's not what Mary's used to."

Dougal set down his knife, apparently giving up on the thought of breakfast. "We are to ride out this morning, I hope? I slept so well I've been looking forward to the ride."

Sophia's smile froze. "You… you slept well?"

"Better than I have in weeks. It must be the fresh air."

Blast it, that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"I'm glad you slept well. I suppose, then, that your chimney didn't smoke the way mine does?"

"It did at first, but I put out the fire. It's not healthy to be overly warm when one sleeps."

She frowned. Was that some odd belief he'd gotten from
London
? If so, it was inconvenient, to say the least.

He glanced out the window. "I am particularly keen to see the vistas and the hunting lands."

"Hunting lands?"

"Yes." He pushed his plate aside and said lazily, "It occurred to me that the best use of this property might be as a hunting box. I could abandon the house and build a smaller, more compact structure somewhere else."

Dougal had to fight a grin when her mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again, outrage plain on her face.

He couldn't help adding, "
Or
I might turn the place into a horse-breeding farm. I daresay with a little work, I could turn the bottom floor of this house into additional stables and—I'm sorry? Did you say something?"

Sophia choked, her face turning red.

Dougal lifted his brows. "Sophia, are you all right?"

She gasped, saying in a hoarse voice, "Yes! I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just seemed… upset."

She shook her head, her golden curls dancing in the warm sunlight. "I merely swallowed the wrong way." She took a deep sip of her tea as if it demonstrate.

Dougal found himself mesmerized as her lips touched the delicate porcelain cup. Damn, but she had a lovely mouth, full and red and made for kissing. He imagined what she'd taste like now, a hint of sugar and cream and ripe lust.

His body stirred, and he shifted in his seat, reminding himself to be patient. The longer they lingered on the cusp of the relationship, flirting and testing, advancing and retreating, the more satisfying their joining would be.

In Dougal's experience, it was after passion abated that the spark left and never returned. He'd had many relationships, but none had lasted beyond three months.

His brother Gregor said he couldn't focus on any woman long enough to fall in love. Recently married, Gregor was a fine one to talk about focus, given the leisurely way he'd finally realized he loved
Venetia
, whom he'd known since they were children.

Still, Dougal wondered if perhaps he was too quick to form relationships. Was it possible that he'd never been more then temporarily attracted to any woman because he didn't take the time to get to know her?

Surely not. He was a normal, healthy man with a normal, healthy appetite—one that was being thoroughly and deliberately whetted by Sophia.

He watched as she bit her lip, her brows drawn as she considered his statement about making her house into a stable. She was no innocent miss, this worldly trickster. Not once had she mentioned the awkwardness of being alone with him; not once had she completely rejected his advances; and, with the exception of one or two moments, she'd shown only the boldest character.

Dougal liked that about her; there was none of the silly games played by so many of
London
's ladies.

The door rattled, and Sophia sighed. "Angus."

The lout probably had his ear pressed to the door. Time to spirit his lovely hostess away, far from the watchful eyes of her servants.

Dougal stood and captured her hand, gently pulling her to her feet "Shall we ride?"

She smiled up at him with a warmth that made his body leap in response, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leaning against him. "It is a lovely morning," she said, her voice dripping over him like honey. "And there are plenty of places we can explore. I want to show you the entire grounds."

Yes, Dougal was discovering that a pretty face crowned with glorious golden hair and gifted with a devious, obviously intelligent mind was irresistible.

In fact, it took him a moment to remember what he'd been going to say before she'd pressed her breast against his arm. Dougal's gaze drifted over her, lingering on her lace-covered breasts. "I'd be delighted to see anything you wish to show me, Sophia."

Delicious color bloomed in her face. "You're quite flirtatious this morning. Are you this way every morning? Or just after a good night's rest?"

Dougal grinned. "Perhaps it's the company."

"Hmm," she said, peeping up at him through her thick lashes. She had the most entrancing habit of doing that, and it inflamed him every time.

She smiled as if aware of the fire raging through him. "I assume you know how to ride."

"Expertly. And you?"

"I can hold my own."

She sent him such a provocative look that he said, "Let me guess. You are actually the offspring of a gypsy princess, and horses hold no fear for you."

"I have many skills," she said airily. "Too many to name."

His heart quickened. "I daresay you do."

"You'll be the most impressed when you see me ride. That is my
true
skill."

Dougal had an instant vision of Sophia riding him. The image was so powerful that for a moment, he couldn't even breathe.

She breezed past him into the foyer, her skirts swishing, her legs outlined for a heart-stopping moment as she placed her foot on the lowest step. "I won't be long." With a flirtatious smile over her shoulder, she went up the stairs.

Dougal nodded, totally mesmerized by the delicious sway of Sophia's hips until she disappeared out of sight.