To Catch a Highlander (23 page)

"I will." She placed her hand on his forehead. "Sleep, Red. Mama's house will be safe."

He gave her a sleepy smile, his breathing deepening as he drifted off to sleep.

Sophia quietly closed the door and leaned against it. She'd win the game because she had to. She could do no less.

Holding that thought firmly in her mind, she walked downstairs to where MacLean waited.

Dougal replaced his glass beside the decanter of brandy. He'd found it sitting on the tray that usually held the sherry. He would have to ask Sophia about the wine cellars. If they were stocked with brandy like this, he might wish to purchase the entire stock.

He glanced at the clock over the mantel. She was late.

He frowned and turned and looked out the window, the glow from the candles reflecting his outline and the room behind him. If he moved to one side, he could see himself dressed in his best coat, the white gleam of an intricately tied cravat, his hair still damp from his bath, his face tense. Dougal rubbed a hand down his jaw, suddenly remembering the feel of Sophia's cheek beneath his fingers. His body hardened instantly, and he turned from the window and took a fast gulp of brandy.

It didn't help. Not even a little. He'd hoped the alcohol might burn some of the heat from his blood; he was so taut with suppressed desire that he ached with it. Tonight that desire would be answered… or destroyed.

A sound from the hallway told him that Sophia was approaching, and he smiled wolfishly. They'd have their dinner, and then… He walked toward the hallway.

Her nude-colored gown rippled in the light, caressing first her thigh, then her hip, as she moved down the stairs as light and graceful as a sprite. She looked like a sprite tonight, the color of warm skin and naked sky.

Unfortunately, seeing Sophia looking as dewy and innocent as an angel did nothing to assuage his roaring frustration. It just inflamed him even more.

Bloody hell, was he already so weakened by her that he couldn't even control his reaction to her mere presence? Angry at himself, he growled, "There you are. How lovely of you to display your wager so prettily for me." The sneer in his voice tasted like metal.

As he spoke, her bright smile disappeared, and her cool voice demanded an apology. "I beg your pardon?"

She should. She should get down on her knees right now and beg him to forgive her scheming soul. Unfortunately, the thought of Sophia on her knees before him incited his lust even more.

He would go crazed if he did not touch her, taste her,
possess
her.

Seeing her standing before him dressed as luxuriously as any princess, as beautiful and sensual as any courtesan, he knew without a doubt that one way or another, he
would
have her tonight. Then this infernal wanting would end, and they'd be free to go their own ways, back to normalcy.

She met his gaze now, her expression coolly composed. "You will be glad to know that Mary has made something special for dinner."

"Something edible, I hope."

Her lips twitched. "Absolutely."

"Then it's doubly a pity that I don't want dinner this evening." The hunger that roared through him had nothing to do with food.

"No dinner? But Mary—"

"Are you hungry?"

She gave an odd flicker of a smile. "I couldn't eat anything now if my life depended on it."

Her admission relaxed his taut nerves. She was as affected as he was. Good. That's how it should be.

He lifted a strand of her hair to his lips, the silken lock releasing a subtle fragrance that made his body tighten yet more. "Sophia, I am done waiting. Let us play our game and see where our futures lie."

She looked as if she might argue, but then her eyes narrowed. "Dougal, you've been drinking."

He shrugged.

She sniffed. "Brandy."

"It was on the sideboard when I arrived. I've only had two glasses, so I'm not shot in the neck yet."

A considering look flashed in her eyes, and Dougal knew what she was thinking: if he were drunk, she would have the upper hand. She didn't know that the MacLeans could hold their drink better than most.

She smiled and took his arm, leaning against him. "I'll send word to Mary that we've decided not to have dinner. She'll be upset, but it cannot be helped."

"To the library, then." Suppressing his excitement, Dougal savored the warm pressure of her breast against his arm, the faint scent of jasmine wafting from her hair. God, she was a tempting morsel. He looked down at her, his gaze caught by the gap of her gown over her breasts and the elegant line of her shoulders.

As they reached the library, Dougal pulled her hand from his arm and kissed her fingers. Her lips parted, a startled look in her eyes as she quickly stepped away, pulling her hand free.

Dougal watched her with interest. There were times when Miss Sophia MacFarlane seemed a cool, collected woman of the world. Then there were other times when he wondered if she'd ever been properly kissed.

He smiled. She'd been properly kissed at least once. "Allow me to find us both a bit of refreshment. There's nothing here but brandy."

"Brandy will do; Red has taught me the finer aspects of it."

Of course. Dougal crossed to the sideboard and picked up the decanter. "There's just enough left." He fixed them both a drink and brought them to the table where she stood.

She took the glass from his hand. "Now that we have our 'dinner,' shall we play?"

"By all means," he agreed. He pulled out her chair.

She smiled, an enigmatic smile that inflamed him. If she did not have a care, he would take her there on the table. Which he might well do anyway, once he'd won.

He ran his hand over the smooth surface, wondering if the legs were strong enough. He could picture her there, with her silken gown pushed up to her hips as he—

"Dougal?" Her husky voice brought him back to the present.

He forced the image away and assisted her into her chair, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to say near her ear, "May the better player win."

She turned her head, her lips but an inch from his. "May she indeed."

Dougal smiled, then took his seat opposite. "Shall we play whist, for a change?" At her nod, he added, "We should play a few hands to warm up a bit. Unless, of course, you're in a hurry to cede to me now."

She colored delightfully. "No. Let's play a few practice hands. Shall we say… three?"

That would give him more time to appreciate the picture she made in the provocative gown. And to imagine her without it. "Very well."

"Excellent," she said, regarding him from beneath her lashes. "I will be
very
nimble when we play."

Her words sent a flood of desire through Dougal, making him all the more determined to win.

The first hand went well for him, Sophia losing, but barely. He watched her expressions, noting the tension around her mouth. She desperately wanted to win, she couldn't help watching him the way he was watching her, a certain hunger in her eyes.

Which sparked an even deeper one in him.

The second hand went to Sophia, and he noticed that there was none of the hesitation that had marked her previous games. The little minx had been leading him along the entire time. Even though he'd known that, seeing it pricked his pride anew.

The last practice game was fraught with tension. Every card turned added to the palpable excitement in the room. Dougal was aware of every flicker of Sophia's eyelashes, every rise and fall of her breasts.

Dougal slowly but steadily gained. Finally, Sophia turned over her last card and let out a deep sigh. "I lost."

He heard the uncertainty in her voice. "You seem surprised."

Her frown was quick and fierce. "I am. No matter how much I play, I cannot get used to losing."

Neither could he. Dougal reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the deed, and tossed it onto the table. "Enough practice. Let's do this."

For a long moment, Sophia stared at the deed. Then she picked up the deck, shuffled the cards, and offered them to Dougal to cut. He did so, and she dealt the cards. Dougal watched her carefully but detected no irregularities.

When he picked up his cards and looked at them, a surge of delight raced through him. He would win; he knew he would. He glanced through his lashes at Sophia and noted her paleness. Perhaps her hand wasn't as good as she'd wished… or was she bluffing?

She asked him for discards, and Dougal waved her off. Her brows snapped down, and she looked at him suspiciously, then discarded two of her own cards and drew two more.

When the hand finally ended, Dougal placed his cards face up on the table. "I believe I take the trick."

She regarded his cards a long moment, then placed her own on the table beside his, saying nothing.

Dougal stared at her cards. Three queens. She'd won.

Disappointment and unfilled desire raged through his veins, his pride stinging bitterly. He'd lost it all—the house and Sophia. Damn it all,
Shelton
had been right; he should have left this morning.

Sophia couldn't believe it herself. She'd won—MacFarlane House was hers again! For an instant, pure and blinding triumph rushed through her. Then she caught Dougal's black gaze.

There was nothing left to keep him here now. The thought was as sudden as it was devastating. She was supposed to be exhilarated at her win, yet she felt as if she'd lost instead.

She reached for the deed and held it between her fingers, waiting futilely for a feeling of completion. Once Dougal left, life would go back to the way it was. She'd rise in the morning, fix breakfast for Red, then once he left to visit some friend, she'd work in her gardens. Then it would be time for lunch. Afterward, she might read a book or clean, dusting and such. After dinner, when Red returned, she would do embroidery or retire to bed with a book while Red tinkered with something out in the barn until late at night.

At one time, that had been all she'd wanted, but it was no longer enough. Now she wanted something more precious than a mere house.

Over the years, her sadness for Mama's death had been replaced by a deep loneliness. She hadn't realized it, but with Dougal's arrival, she'd suddenly had someone other than Red to talk to, someone interesting. Someone who would be leaving first thing in the morning.

She looked at the deed. Mama had wanted them to make the house into a home, but she wouldn't have wanted them to miss out on
life
. Her own vibrant choices were a testament to that.

A warm hand closed over her wrist, and Sophia looked across the table into Dougal's eyes. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her forward.

His face was grim; his gaze never wavered from hers. She should have been offended at his insistence, but instead, she found herself leaning toward him, bending across the table, the deed forgotten.

His green eyes met hers, unfathomable and cold, so dark that they appeared black. "One kiss," he said, seductive and intent. "Or… are you afraid?"