To Catch a Highlander (4 page)

"Very well, miss." Angus turned to the doorway. He took a step forward and then froze.

Something about his stance made Sophia pause, too. She followed his gaze to the glazed windows that flanked the front doors. Outlined in the bright sunlight was no short, scrawny lad but the figure of someone tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably masculine.

"
He's come
," she breathed, her heart thudding so loudly she was certain it was as audible as the thundering knock upon the door.

"Blast it," Angus swore. "And yer pa's nowhere to be found."

Red had gone to borrow a good coat from the squire. The local seamstress had worked night and day to produce six new gowns for Sophia, along with chemises, petticoats, and pelisses, and she hadn't had time to sew up a new coat for Red.

The knock thundered again.

Angus tossed her a glance over his shoulder. "Upstairs, miss! Ye can't see him like that."

Sophia looked down at her worn, ash-dusted gown. "Dear me, no! But… what about you?" She gestured toward his black-streaked breeches.

"If he says aught about it, I'll tell him I fell into the coal bin chasin' after a cat."

"It will have to do." She turned toward the stairs, ordering over her shoulder, "As we've practiced it, Angus! Let him in, and fetch him a glass of that horrid port we purchased in the village. When you're done, send Mary upstairs right away with a bucket of water. I need a bath."

Angus paused, one large hand on the doorknob. "Now? But MacLean's already here…"

She lifted her chin. "I waited for MacLean; now
he
can wait for
me
."

Angus grinned, "Very well, miss."

She swept up the stairs, turned down the hall to her room and entered swiftly, undressing as she went.

Downstairs, she heard the sound of voices murmuring. Soon Mary was at the door, carrying a bucket of water. Sophia washed vigorously, shivering while Mary clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Ohhh," Sophia said, wincing as she bent down to pick up her dropped towel. "My sore back."

Mary, plump and gray, shook her head. "I dinna know what ye are thinkin', miss. 'Tisn't right fer a lady of yer standin' to be doin' such work."

"Someone has to do it," Sophia said firmly. She dried off, glad she'd washed her hair the night before.

As soon as she was dressed in her chemise and stockings, Mary worked her magic with brush and pins. In an amazingly short time, Sophia's hair was twisted into a sophisticated style, one thick ringlet dangling before each ear. That done, Mary opened the new jewelry box Red had given Sophia. It contained what looked like a king's ransom in jewels but in reality would barely have paid the fine to spring a pickpocket.

Mary pulled out an ostentatious set of fake sapphires and clasped the necklace around Sophia's neck. Twin earrings soon hung from her ears, and a wide bracelet glittered from her wrist. That done, Mary crossed to the wardrobe and removed a silk gown of palest yellow, trimmed with ribbons and tiny flowers of Regent blue.

As Mary tied the last bow, Sophia turned to regard herself in the mirror. She was a small woman, smaller than most. Her pale yellow gown was smooth over her shoulders, the small sleeves topping her slender arms, the bodice decorated with tiny blue rosettes. The gown was fastened below her full breasts with a wide blue sash, her skirts a graceful drape of yellow silk.

Sophia wished her heart weren't thudding so hard. It was a pity MacLean had come today, when Red wasn't nearby to lend his support Still, it was up to her to lure her victim to the rocky shore of loss by appealing to his vanity and challenging his manly pride. She smiled at herself in the mirror. "It isn't perfect, but 'twill have to do."

"Och, miss! Ye looked as pretty as a princess." Mary opened the door and stood to one side. "Careful going down the stairs; yer pa pried up a board in the third step."

"On the
steps
?. Someone could get injured."

"So he's hopin'."

Sophia frowned. "I'll have Angus fix it. I want MacLean to hate the house, not die in it."

"Men never think, miss. 'Tis a sad fact o' life."

"Tell me about it," Sophia muttered. "Wish me luck. I've heard a lot about MacLean, none of it good."

"Good luck, miss. Ye'll be able to deal with the likes o' him, I've no doubts about that. Now, off with ye! The man's waiting."

"Thank you, Mary." Sophia went to join their guest, her stiff back protesting. She paused on the top step and took a deep breath, willing away her anxiety.
I can do this
, she told herself. But another part of her whispered,
If I fail I'll lose mother's house
—my
house
.

Her throat tightened, then she straightened her shoulders and continued down the stairs, careful to avoid the loosened board.

What Sophia didn't know was that her guest had seen it all: her graceful approach down the hallway, her pause at the top of the landing, her hesitation at the first step, and her change from tense to calm in the space of one movement.

Dougal stood beside the library door, which was back from the stairs, so while he could not see her face, he could easily enjoy her graceful decent down the stairs. And he found himself enthralled by the sight of the one thing he hadn't expected—an extraordinarily well-designed woman. He'd almost hoped, when he'd first caught sight of her on the landing, that she would not be his hostess, the woman who only thirty minutes before had been sabotaging his house.

But as he watched her float down the stairs, her face turned away at a regal angle, her blond hair piled high on her head, he couldn't help but wonder how she'd be in bed. A pocket Venus, she was tiny, made just for a man's pleasure.

Oh, yes, he was going to enjoy this encounter very, very much.

All of his earlier irritation gone, Dougal waited until she reached the bottom step, then coughed lightly.

She slowly turned to face him. If Dougal had been entranced before, nothing had prepared him for this.

Her face was that of an angel, her lips pink and full, her nose small and up-tilted. But her eyes truly entrapped him. Thickly fringed by dark brown lashes that curled extravagantly, her eyes were a shimmery pale turquoise, light and yet vivid. It was as if he were looking into an especially pure pool.

By God, he would have this woman in his bed—he knew it with a fierceness that burned his blood.

The woman flushed, her hand coming up to her throat, a wary expression entering her eyes.

Dougal bowed, saying in his usual bored voice, "Miss MacFarlane, I presume."

She dipped into a curtsey, visibly gathering herself as she spoke in a rich, husky voice he instantly recognized. "Yes, and you are Lord MacLean, I believe. My father was so vague when he explained how he'd finally gotten rid of—" She stopped as if she'd said something wrong, then laughed lightly and shrugged. "That is, welcome to MacFarlane House!"

Och, me dearies! If ye must fight with the one ye love, it'll save ye all sorts of trouble if ye begin from the winnin' side.

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

Sophia fought the urge to step back. MacLean was nothing like what she'd expected. His hair was the gold of a lion's mane and he was so tall that if she went up on her tiptoes, her head would barely reach his shoulder. She'd expected the lace that adorned his cuffs and edged his cravat but not the dangerously masculine air that accompanied it. All the silk and satin in the world couldn't soften the harsh edges that made him what he was—sensually handsome, boldly masculine, and temptingly dangerous.

Yet all of that faded before the impact of his vivid green gaze. His eyes seemed to burn through her, sending answering quivers through her body.

She flushed as he continued to look at her, his deep green eyes traveling over her face. His gaze touched her lips and eyes, slipped down to her shoulders, lingered on her breasts, then fell to her waist and lower. The insolence of his gaze made her want both to hide and to throw back her head and dare him to continue.

But more than that, his arrogant stare made her want to best him, to take back not only her house but some of his confidence, as well.

"I suppose you know why I've come," he said, his voice deep and rich, with a hint of superiority that raked across her nerves. "I wish to view my new property."

Sophia kept her smile firmly on her lips. "My father informed me that you would be coming, my lord. We expected you much sooner."

His gaze dropped to her mouth. "I was detained."

Sophia curled her fingers into her palms. "How unfortunate. I am afraid my father is not here at the moment and won't return for some hours."

MacLean smiled, his sensual lips parting to reveal white teeth, his eyes twinkling lazily. "Then we shall have to do without him."

"So we shall. I suppose you wish to see the house now?"

He gave an indifferent look around that set her teeth on edge, before turning his gaze back to her. "Later, perhaps. For now, I'd rather speak with you."

"Oh?" She inwardly winced at the squeak in her voice. She was not a woman to rattle easily, yet there was something heady and dangerous about this man, something sensually lethal.

"I must admit that I never expected to find such beauty here." His gaze raked her again. "It quite takes my breath away."

Sophia quirked a brow. He didn't look breathless. He looked calm and collected—a bit predatory, perhaps, but nothing to suggest that her appearance had been anything more than a pleasant surprise.

She wasn't vain, but men had been reacting to her strongly for a long time, and it was annoying that the one time it would actually be beneficial to make a man breathless, that wasn't happening.

Something glinted in his gaze, and he slowly looked her up… and down, his lips curving into a smile as heated as his look. Sophia's breasts tightened as if she stood nude in a cold room, and she had to fight the urge to cover herself.

Good God,
she
was reacting to
him
! Never once in her twenty-seven years had that happened.

His gaze was as hot and immediate as a touch. "Had I known
you
were waiting, Miss MacFarlane, I would not have lingered, I assure you."