To Catch a Highlander (17 page)

Unaware of the fear in his heart, Sophia smiled, confident and composed as ever. "Red, I know you would be happier wandering about
Europe
, but I am not you. This house—" Her voice wavered, and she paused a moment before going on. "This house is not just my home, it's the last memory I have of mama."

"But she was never here," he said, frowning. "Lass, don't you have any dreams of your own?"

The question caught Sophia by surprise. Surely, the house was all she needed. "I don't know. I suppose I've never really thought about it."

"Once we have the issue of the house settled, I want you to think about it. Perhaps the time has come for you to live your own life, and let your mama's dream go."

Sophia stood. "I know what I want, Red. And I want this house."

"Of course you do; it's our dearest memory of your mama. But there's more to life than memories, and we'd both best remember that." Red smiled tiredly, taking her hand between his. "Stop looking as if you'd like to toss me from the window. Give me a hug, and go on to your dinner guest. Just remember that life does not begin and end with this house. If we win it back, good. If we don't, there's nothing that says we can't start again somewhere else and be just as happy."

Sophia forced a smile to her lips. "I'm certain we'll be happy here, where Mama wished us to be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to our guest." She placed a perfunctory kiss on Red's forehead, aware of his sharp blue gaze as she left the room.

Sophia closed the door behind her and leaned against it. What did Red mean? She was determined to win tonight. Then they could go back to their lives, while Dougal MacLean went back to his.

Strangely, she found herself overcome with an odd sense of loss. Today's ride had proven one thing: she and MacLean had more in common than she'd realized.

Sophie was beginning to think that in matters of the heart, she had more of her impulsive, romantic father in her than she'd thought. There was just something about Dougal MacLean that engaged her emotions.

She frowned. Perhaps the reason she experienced such a welter of confusing feelings was that he was a man of such contradictions—of lace and unapologetic masculinity, of humor and sensuality, of warmth and reserve. She sensed that despite his carefully presented exterior, he would ruthlessly do whatever he wanted. Which was why she
had
to win this wager.

She straightened her shoulders. Tonight would set the stage for her triumph. She'd lose the first few hands, though not by much; she didn't wish to raise MacLean's suspicions. That should be enough to draw him on. She'd already decided on the stakes, too.

Her heart thundering with a mixture of dread and exhilaration, Sophia smoothed her hair, adjusted her décolletage a bit lower, and sailed gracefully down the stairs, prepared to meet her enemy.

There might come a day when ye'll find yer pride battling yer heart. Fer some, 'tis as bloody and fiery as only a war fer true love can be.

Old Woman Nora from
Loch Lomond
to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

Outside, the rain poured, while the library was snug and dry. Dougal paused by the mirror over the fireplace and adjusted his cravat, ignoring the blue bruise and small cut beneath his eye.

Half an hour ago, he'd taken a hurried cold bath in a tub in the tack room. It was difficult maintaining his usual level of fashion without his valet, but even to his own critical eye, he appeared only slightly rumpled. With such a derelict house as a background, he doubted
rumpled
would be noticed.

He glanced about the room, noting again the exquisite molding that adorned the walls and mantelpiece. Miss Sophia and her minions had not been able to disguise that particular detail. Nor could they do much about the magnificent wood floors except cover them with badly worn carpets. He walked to the wall and ran his hand over the surface. A thick, waxy ash coated his fingers. "Clever girl," he murmured with a faint smile.

She certainly was that. Several times today, she'd surprised him with her knowledge, and not just of the land, though that was the topic for which she'd shown the most enthusiasm. Sophia MacFarlane loved her house and lands. Or, rather,
his
house and lands.

It was a pity they were vying for the same prize. Sophia had set them on a collision course with her nefarious plan to make MacFarlane House appear uninhabitable, and he was not a man to allow such chicanery to go unpunished. He owed Sophia a thorough set-down, and he was going to see that she got it.

A soft voice in the hallway made him look toward the door. He could see Sophia standing on the bottom step of the stairway, speaking in a low, urgent tone to Angus. The huge ruffian towered over her, every line of his body stiff with outrage. He was not enjoying whatever message she was delivering, and judging by the set of Sophia's shoulders, neither was she.

Though Dougal couldn't hear their murmured conversation, he had the distinct impression that it was about him. Quietly, he walked closer to the library door.

"I am serious, Angus. No interfering."

Angus's gravelly voice contained a petulant note. "But miss, ye can't mean that. Ye need me to—"

"I'm in charge here, am I not?"

"Aye, but yer father—"

"Would agree with every word I'm saying, and you know it. You'll be of much more assistance this evening if you'd keep Red company. He's restless since his accident, and a hand or two of cards would settle him down."

Angus rubbed his neck, shirting from one foot to the other, reminding Dougal of a small boy. Finally, the large man dropped his arm and said with a noisy sigh, "Very well, miss. I'll do as ye bid."

Some of the tension left Sophia's shoulders, and she nodded, her golden hair glinting from the sconces that lined the foyer. "Very good. Now, pray tell Mary to serve dinner. I didn't have time to sneak any food from the kitchen earlier, and I'm likely to starve if we don't get this evening over with so that I can have some proper food."

Angus gave a reluctant chuckle. "Should I slip ye a piece of bread under the lamb Mary's burning?"

"Oh, yes, please bring me a slice with jam. Just disguise it on my plate."

"So long as ye don't think MacLean will see it."

"Him?" Her soft voice mocked. "He'll never know."

Dougal's jaw tightened.

Angus nodded. "Very well, then. Ye jus' remember that if things get out of hand, ye've but to yell, and I'll be there."

"I won't need you. I can handle MacLean." Her voice lilted with laughter.

Angus chuckled and turned away.

Dougal stepped away from the door. Bloody hell, the chit made him sound like a fool.

Outside, the rain thrummed on the roof harsher than before.

So, that was the way she wished to play it, he thought bitterly. Forget this morning, when she'd seemed so pleasant, her laughter softening his defenses. She wanted one thing and one thing only: to steal the house he'd legitimately won.

Jaw set, Dougal waited for her entrance into the library.

Within moments, he heard the whisper of her silk gown her light step, and then her honey-soft voice wrapped around him. "There you are!"

Dougal turned to face Sophia, and to his irritation, his body warmed in response. Her gown perfectly framed her delicate neck and throat, accentuated the rise of her magnificent breasts, molded her small waist, and draped sensuously over her hips, hinting at the perfection of her legs. The blue reflected the hauntingly lovely color of her eyes, and her golden hair shined magnificently in the evening candlelight.

She looked vibrant and gorgeous, her lips curved in a delicious smile, her eyes shimmering with humor and… caution, perhaps?

Her gaze met his, and she winced. "Your poor eye." She gestured helplessly, as if wishing she could make his black eye disappear.

He flicked an uncaring hand. "I'd forgotten it."

The faint scent of jasmine drifted up to envelop him as she regarded his eye with seemingly sincere interest "I'm sorry it happened, but I'm glad you're not in pain. It doesn't appear to be swollen, just bruised." Her voice brushed over him, soft and sensual.

His body quickened even more, and he damned the pull he felt whenever she was in the room. When she wasn't there, he could think of her in a logical, calm manner. But the second she appeared, his body flamed to life, and he had to fight for control.

Damn, but he hated this stirring of attraction. He usually enjoyed it, but because of her deceit, he felt betrayed, which was ridiculous. He was not given to excess emotion, and he had no intention of feeling anything but lust.

He forced his lips to curve into a smile, keeping his expression cool and distant. "I was beginning to think I would be eating my delightful meal alone."

She shrugged, the movement sending her breasts perilously close to leaving their thin silk prison. "I am sorry if I'm late; I spent some time with my father."

Normally, Dougal would have been displeased to have been kept waiting, but he found that he didn't care. Right now, he couldn't think past the lush curve of her breasts.

He proffered his arm. "Shall we dine?"

"Of course." She placed her fingers on his arm and smiled up at him. "I'm famished."

As was he, though not for food. Bloody hell, just the feel of her hand on his arm, the occasional brush of her breasts against him, sent heat crashing through his carefully held reserve.

He forced himself to ignore it and escorted her into the dining room. With a distinct sense of relief, he assisted her into her chair and retreated to the other side of the table. He had to regain his sense of control; he'd be damned if he'd let her see how strongly she affected him.

Why in hell
did
she? It wasn't as if he hadn't been with a woman recently; he'd stayed in
Stirling
for three weeks for just that reason. Perhaps it was because he knew all of her attention sprang from an ulterior motive? Would she even have given him the time of day if not for her desire to win back her house? In a way, it was a definite snub.

Dougal wasn't used to such treatment, and he found himself oddly fascinated. Attraction and denial made a heady combination, and he was burning with the desire to conquer it—to conquer
her
.