Karen Hawkins

“You learn a lot about a person by the way he plays cards."Then it was a good thing no one had seen her play.”

“He couldn't have eaten that horrid soup!""He did,and he even pretended to like it.""Pretended?""No one could have liked that meal." She wrinkled her nose. "Mary was mortified.""Mary can be mortified all she wishes; we can't have MacLean da-"Sophia slipped the spoon into his mouth and dumped the contents.Red choked, his face contorting, and he looked around wildly."Do not spit that out."He glared at her, and after what appeared and sounded like a heroic effort, he swallowed the laudanum. "Blech! There! I hope ye're happy!" He grabbed up a hand cloth and began rubbing his tongue vigorously. She calmly replaced the spoon and recorked the bottle. "As I was saying, MacLean swore that he liked every dish at dinner, even the turnips. They were so hard it almost broke my knife to cut one.""Hm.That's very odd,it is.”

“Did you bring money with you, or shall we play for markers?" She flipped the stack of cards to the table with a professional twist of her wrist. "I don't play for less than a guinea a hand."His lips twitched. "The question is not if I have money. The question is, do you?""I don't need funds, as I don't plan on losing," she said, her gaze mocking.For a moment, he thought he'd heard her incorrectly. Slowly, he said, "I beg your pardon, but are you saying you could beat me at a game of chance?"A dismissive smile rested on her lips. "Please, Dougal, let's speak frankly," she drawled softly. "Naturally, I expect to win; I was taught by a master."Dougal was entranced. He'd been challenged to many things before, but no one had so blatantly dismissed his chances of winning. "A giunea a hand?""At least.""I didn't realize I'd need a note from my banker, or I'd have brought one with me."Her eyes sparkled with pure mischief, which inflamed him more. "If you've no money with you, then perhaps there are other things we can play for."The words hung in the room, as thick as the smoke that seeped from the fireplace. Like a blinding bolt of light from a storm-black sky, everything fell into place. This was why she and her minions had worked so hard to convince him that the house was worthless. If he thought it of low value, he'd be eager to wager the deed.Of all the devious plots!Yet Dougal found himself fighting a grin. He'd been feted and petted, fawned upon and sought out, but until now, no one had gone to such lengths to fleece him.Dugal couldn't look away from Sophia. He knew his own worth; women had paid attention to him for so long that he took it for granted. He'd dallied and toyed, taken and enjoyed. But never, in all of his years, had he so desired any woman as he did this one. The irony of it was that she desired him,too-but only for the contents of his pocket.Dougal didn't know whether to laugh or fume. He should be insulted, but instead he found himself watching her with new appreciation.”

“Do you prefer burned or raw?""I'll have the burned portion, thank you.""Excellent choice. The turnips will complement them perfectly." He winked at her and filled their plates with such amused spirits that Sophia found herself watching him through her lashes.What was wrong with this man? Surely he wasn't used to such horrid meals? Yet to watch him eat with such enthusiasm, you'd think he was starving.”

“To make matters worse, he added in a deep voice that made her shiver, "I love turnips."It was indecent that the man could make a sentence as abhorrent as "I love turnips" sound like an improper proposition.But Dougal MacLean managed it.”

“On the platter sat the roast, half of it black, the other half bloody. A wilted sprig of parsley sat beside it, as if Mary couldn't quite allow the roast to leave her kitchen without trying to disguise it.Silence hung over the table.Dougal set the cover to one side and removed the covers from the other dishes: a bowl of something green that sat in an oily liquid; a thick slab of pork in the middle of a large, chipped platter; some turnips floating unappetizingly in water; and a basket of undercooked bread.Sophia thought the turnips were a nice touch. No one liked turnips.Dougal picked up the carving knife. "Well, my dear?" he asked pleasantly, an amused glint in his eyes. "How do you like your meat? Raw? Or burned to a charred mess?”

“Dougal lifted his spoon and slit it into his mouth. Immediately, a frozen look came over his face.Sophia tensed.He removed the spoon from his mouth.Sophia gripped her own spoon tighter.A slow red crept up his face, his eyes watering slightly.Ha! Mary's soup was working its magic. Pleased, Sophia pretended to eat some soup.Dougal slapped a hand on the table.The dishes and Sophia jumped. "What's wrong?"He pointed to his bowl with his spoon. "That.""The soup? Why, whatever's wrong with it?""Nothing.That is the best soup I've ever had."Sophia blinked. Surely he hadn't just said-He dipped his spoon back into his bowl and took another large bite. Though his eyes watered and his face turned a deeper red, he continued to eat, murmuring, "Excellent!" every third bite or so.Sophia looked at her own soup, which reeked of garlic and pepper and onion. Mary had added a large amount of salt, as well. But watching MacLean eat with gusto made her question her perceptions.What if Mary's natural ability to cook had overcome her attempts to provide an inedible meal?Sophia dipped her spoon into herbowl and gingerly sniffed the contents, grimacing at the strong odor. Casting a puzzled look at MacLean, who was about finished with his soup, she put the spoon into her mouth.The burning sensation of pepper mingled with the rancid taste of uncooked garlic and what could only have been salted dishwater. She jerked the spoon from her mouth and grabbed her water goblet, pouring it into her mouth to wash down the horrid taste.Gasping, she glared with watery, accusing eyes at MacLean.He seemed not to have noticed anything, too busy scraping the bottom of his bowl, as if afraid some succulent tidbit might have escaped him. Finding nothing more, he placed his spoon on the table and sat back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "That was the best soup I've ever been served. I believe I'll have more.""More? Are you...are you certain?""I'm positive.”

“Gor," she breathed when she picked up the nearly empty tureen. "Someone done eat the soup!""Never!" Angus said, his eyes as wide as saucers."All of it," she said, holding the tureen toward Angus.He peered into it as if expecting to see a hole in the bottom. "Well, I'll be.""It was excellent," Dougal said.Angus sent Dougal a look of respect. "Ye must have an iron stomach.""Indeed," Mary said, a worried look on her face. "I beg yer pardon, me lord, but do ye feel well? There was a bit of pepper in that soup."Dougal shrugged. "I'm fine. And I must get that recipe to give to my own chef.""Gor!" Mary blinked at him, unable to look away.Angus did the same.Dougal smiled inquiringly at Sophia. "I feel as if I've become an exhibit at the British Museum.”

“She watched beneath her lashes as his chair rocked with his weight. MacLean scowled and grabbed the edge of the table. Angus had cut varying lengths from each chair so that some rocked, while others were at a distinct forward slant so that you had to press back to keep from sliding into the floor."Is something wrong, Lord MacLean?""This chair." He scooted forward and slipped a little. With a scowl, he stood and pushed his chair to one side, selecting another."Lord MacLean-""Dougal," he said firmly, sitting down in the new chair. This one rocked backward, and he lurched, as if afraid it would topple over completely.Sophia coughed to cover her amusement. From the dark scowl turned her way, she hadn't succeeded. "That's it." Dougal shoved back the chair and stood,glancing about the room. "Ah!" He strode forward and picked out a thin book of sermons from a set on a side table. He lifted the back of his chair, placed a book beneath one leg, and sat down. "Much better."Sophia wished he weren't quite so enterprising. She and Angus ha worked for hours to make every chair a uniquely uncomfortable experience.”

“I daresay he is not happy that his daughter is now unchaperoned. A gentleman would bid his adieu.""You can't leave!"The words hung in the air.Sophia hid a wince and said again, in a more measured tone, "I'm sorry. I'm distraught over my father."MacLean gave her a devastatingly sexy half-smile. "You misunderstood me; I said, a gentleman would bid his adieu." His voice, low and soft, rolled over her senses like liguid silk. "Fortunately for us both, I am not a gentleman.""No?" She flicked a finger at the lace on his wrist. "You dress like one.""I dress like a dandy. Or,as my oldest brother, Alexander, often says, like a 'damned dandy.'"Her lips quirked. "Your brother sounds a bit harsh.""You have no idea." He smiled. "As I was saying, dressing fashionably does not make me a gentleman.""Fine.You are not a gentleman, and I am far from a child," she returned with a lofty wave of her hand. "I don't need my father's presence for protection.""But perhaps I do."She had to smile. "You don't need protection from me, Lord MacLean. I don't bite-though if I don't get something to eat soon, I may change my mind."His eyes sparkled with laughter. "By all means, then, let us eat." He led the way to the dining room, standing aside to allow her to enter.As she brushed past him, a hot sensation told her that his gaze was lingering on her posterior. She glanced back and found that she was correct. "Lord MacLean!"He reluctantly lifted hia gaze. "Yes?""Is something wrong with my gown?""No.There's absolutely nothing wrong with your gown. Or what's in it."She should have been shocked by his impropriety but instead was pleased he'd noticed. "Thank you. I must say..." She allowed her gaze to travel across him. "You fill your clothes well, too.”

“I suppose you heard him yelling as the doctor set his leg.""I never knew there were so many rude words in the English language. Or French, German, Italian, Latin,or....there was another language I didn't quite recognize.""Greek.”

“Yes,I was thinking about a nap,then..." He shrugged and glanced away. He didn't have to wait long."Oh,dear! The mattress was too lumpy, wasn't it?" Her rich voice lowered with false compassion. "I'm so sorry about that. Red refuses to purchase new mattress ticking when-""You misunderstood," Dougal said. "I didn't intend to take a nap, just to rest. However, the bed was so comfortable that I fell asleep anyway."Sophia opened her mouth,then closed it. She'd spent hours stuffing his feather mattress with straw, wood chips, stones,and sticks. How could he posibly have slept? "How...how fortunate for you.My bed is as hard as a rock."He leaned forward, so close that his lapel brushed her cheek, the scent of sandalwood engulfing her as he whispered in her ear, "Perhaps you need another opinion...about your bed.”

“It near broke my heart to treat such a good piece of meat in such a way.""Aye," Red said with feeling. "I watched ye do it, and it near made me cry,too."Sophia laughed and hugged her father. "When this is over,Mary will cook you an entire leg of mutton, perfectly roasted and seasoned."His eyes brightened. "With mint sauce?""Aye," Mary said, beaming.”

“Sophia had been hard pressed not to laugh when MacLean had tripped over one of the floorboards she and Angus had pried loose. Better yet, MacLean had ripped his lace-edged sleeve on a broken nail in the doorframe of his bedchamber. She knew because she'd heard his loud curse from the hallway.Sophia had expected him to roar at the servants and demand things be repaired, but all he did was ask Angus for a hammer to protect himself from the loose boards and stray nails that seemed to plague MacFarlane House.To Sophia's delight, Angus had gloomily replied that there weren't enough hammers in the whole of Scotland to do that.Since Angus had left MacLean in his bedchamber, they hadn't heard a word from him. Perhaps the man was sleeping, although how could anyone sleep in such a damp room and with such a lumpy mattress and smoky chimney?More likely, he was awake and seething at being forced to endure such horrid conditions. She wished she had been there to witness his reaction to the threadbare furniture with broken springs and flat cushions, the inadequate bed coverings for the chilly chamber (it faced north, where the wind was fiercest), a window that was nailed slightly open, and more.”

“I believe I will sit,but not on this chair. The settee is the most welcoming piece in the room,especially with you sitting on it.""Yes,but-"He sat,his hip brushing hers.She scrambled to move to one side, but he'd deliberately sat on the edge of her skirt.Her gaze narrowed, and she said stiffly, "I beg your pardon,but you are sitting on my skirt."Dougal smiled and leaned back, resting his arms along the back of the settee so that she was closed in by him. He found himself charmed by the thought. "Lord MacLean, I have asked you kindly to remove yourself from my skirt. Please do so, or I will be forced to take more drastic measures.""Such as?""Calling for Angus," she said flatly. "In case you didn't notice, my butler is larger than the average servant. He could easily pick you up and break you in two."Dougal quirked a brow. "While that behemoth you call a butler could easily pick me up, he'd have to get close to me first."She smiled smugly, setting Dougal's pride on edge. "I wouldn't try him; he's faster than he looks." She cast a glancedown at Dougal's boot. "Plus, you'd have to race through the barnyard, which could prove fatal to your shine."Damn this woman! She taunted with every phrase, teased with every look. He shifted so that his hip was even more firmly pressed to hers.”

“Lord MacLean, pray have a seat. That chair is safe." And half the size of a regular seat. She dared him to be comfortable in it.He eyed the chair and shook his head. "I believe I'll stand.""As you wish." She smoothed her skirts, the movement of her slender hands drawing Dougal's gaze. She had the most kissable mouth and the most intriguing-and challenging-blue eues he'd ever seen.”

“I'm sorry your chair collapsed, but the furnishings are in as poor repair as the roof."He retrieved his abandoned glass of sherry."I assume the rook leaks.""Only when it rains."His eyes warmed with laughter as he watched her over the rim of his glass. "I'm surprised you countenance this place.""I'm here for my father. Once he returns and you take the house, I will be on my way.""May I ask where?""Italy,perhaps. Or France." She shrugged. "I haven't yet decided.""I love Italy." His voice deepened the faintest bit. "I imagine Italy would love you,too.”

“He moved to the faded red chair she'd indicated. As he lowered himself into it, there was a loud crack. One of the wooden legs snapped and broke, just as Sophia and Angus had planned when they'd sawed it half-through.A normal man would have been tossed to the floor, but with a little twist, MacLean shifted his weight forward and managed to remain upright, turning to regard the chair as it collapsed.Sophia swept to her feet. "Goodness! How horrid!" She narrowed her gaze accusingly at the chair. There was nothing like a little humiliation to set a man against a location, and it was a pity MacLean hadn't been thrown to the floor as she'd planned.MacLean bent and picked up a piece of the broken chair, his expression unfathomable. "Horrid, indead."Her desire to smile fled. Did he suspect something? Could he see where Angus had cut the chair let partway through?MacLean hefted the leg in his hand, his mouth thinned.Sophia cleared her throat. "I'll call the butler to remove that."His gaze locked with hers.The chair leg still in his hand,he walked toward her.Sophia licked her suddenly dry lips. She didn't know this man, not really. What was he going to do?She gripped the arms of her chair. Should she run for help? Surely not. Nothing she'd heard had indicated MacLean was a man of violence. Of course, everything she knew of him was mere heresay-He stopped before her and stook looking down into her face with the faintest of smiles. He didn't look angry; he looked knowing. As if he understood exactly what she'd done and why.A fear of another kind gripped her. Surely, he didn't. There was no way he could-MacLean leaned forward. Sophia's heart jumped, her skin warming oddly when his arm brushed her shoulder as he leaned past her...and tossed the chair leg onto the unlit fireplace.”

“Then you must also spend the night. We are miles from an inn, and I can promise you that the sheets are fresh and clean." And the beds are lumpier than those at any posting house.”

“Had I known you were waiting, Miss MacFarlane, I would not have lingered,I assure you."Flattery was something she knew how to deal with, and it was much better than this odd heat that simmered between them. "What a pretty compliment, Lord MacLean. I don't know what to say."He bowed. "I merely speak the truth. I daresay you've heard such before.""And I'm certain you've spoken such before."Amusement twitched his lips, though he said gravely, "I am sorry if you were left waiting on my arrival. I hope you were not bored.""Oh,I managed to keep busy.""I'm certain you did," he replied, almost under his breath.”

“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.”

“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 look 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.”

“As we've practiced it, Angus! Let him in, 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 to wash."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.”

“A woman with a voice like that should have the face of an angel, the body of a Greek sculpture, and the skills of a courtesan. Chances were, she was a haggard old crone.The hulking workman began to gather his tools. "I hope ye and yer pa know what ye're doin'. Fop or no, no man takes well to losin' his belongings.""Psht," the woman said airily. "It's not as if we plan on knocking him in the head and peeling his pockets."That was something,at least, Dougal thought grimly.”

“Angus, when you're done with the brick, I shall add some oiled rags. That will make it smoke even worse."Angus turned an admiring glance at his partner in crime. "Miss,ye've a gift fer this,ye do."She chuckled,the sound just as seductive, except for the hint of mockery. "I'm becoming as adept at this as the new owner is at shirking his duty.""Now,miss,he might have a good reason not to rush here.""Like what?""I don't know.Perhaps he won several houses at the card game and has been visitin' them all.""It's far more likely he was waylaid by a lass with loose morals. From what I hear, the man's a lace-bedecked profligate."Blast the woman and her rude assumptions! He may have stayed in Stirling to sample the charms of a widow, but that did not make a lace-bedecked profligate.What burned the most was that she was correct in her assumption about what had kept him away from his new acquisition.”

“I want this chimney to smoke worse than Lucifer's own fire. Let's add another brick to be certain.Dougal stiffened. He'd thought they were repairing the chimney, but they wanted it to smoke. What in the hell was going on?”

“If'n I was ye,I'd do nothin' else but hunt.""I've no doubt you'd do just that, for a more lazy individual I've yet to meet-other than myself,of course."Shelton beamed. "Thank ye,me lord! 'Tis a rare day I can consider meself an equal with ye on any grounds.""You're welcome," Dougal returned gravely."Aye,ye've made bein' lazy a form o' art that few-look!" The groom pointed eagerly at the soft shoulder of the road, where a fox print appeared. "Cooee,looks fresh, too!"Dougal eyed the thicket beyond. "Fresh or no, it would take a better man than me to get a horse over this uneven ground without breaking a leg."Shelton shot him a sharp look. "Ye're many things,me lord, but unskilled on a horse ain't one of 'em.""You unman me, Shelton. I don't know how to react to such excessive praise."The groom's expression turned to one of long suffering. "There ye go ag'in with the nonsense, me lord. Are ye sure ye ain't a bit Irish?"Dougal grinned. "Not that my mother would admit to.”

“No soft-skinned, lace-covered, dandified profligate would ever take this house and make it his.Ever.”

“She eyed him uncertainly. “Very well. Nick wants me, but he’s decided not to… to…” She flounderedto a halt and the tears that threatened in her eyes became reality. One, single drop slipped down hercheek.Bloody hell. Anthony raked a hand through his hair. “Do you mean to tell me that Bridgeton is not… er,fulfilling his husbandly duties?”She nodded miserably. “Oh, Anthony, what am I to do?”He closed his eyes. God above. He was a decent man, one who took his responsibilities seriously. Hewas a good friend, an excellent landlord, and he never cheated at cards, unless it was with one of his ownbrothers. What had he done to deserve this?”

“Why would he bother? He has no more wish to wed than I.”“How do you know?” Anthony asked. “Did you ask him?”Her face heated, and Anthony covered his eyes. “Pray do not say another word. I don’t wish to know.”“Bridgeton had a choice, Sara,” Marcus said. “And he chose marriage.”“Get married or die. I vow, how did he make up his mind so quickly?”“I wanted to shoot him,” Anthony offered. “But Marcus would not allow it.”“You are both insufferable!”

“Well, it is a good thing he died young. Most men don’t have the good sense to knowwhen to quit this earth. At least your husband didn’t drag on and on like some do.”

“I am notmade of porcelain, Anthony. Nor do I need to be wrapped in wool and placed in a box for safekeeping.I don’t like boxes; I never have.”

“Is she always like that?”“Like what?” Sara asked absently, staring a^ the letter in her hands.“Floating about as if she was a blasted fairy.”

“Luck is a fickle creature. She lovesmany, but is faithful to none.”

“...then tossed the coat into the water. “Hurst! That’s a perfectly good coat!” “Yes, and I have a perfectly good life. One of those two things is not replaceable.”

“Jane, last night was” — he raked a hand through his hair — “nice.” Her expression could only be described as crestfallen. “No,”he hurried to say. “Don’t look like that! I didn’t mean ‘nice.’ In fact, it wasn’t nice at all.” Her brows lowered. “No?” “No.I mean, yes! Yes, it was nice, but it was also very, very—” He tried with all of his might to grasp a word that would encompass that heart - pounding exertion that even now was making his balls hum,but to his horror, he heard himself say once again,“ —nice. But really, really, really nice.”

“I’m surprised a person with your experience in telling elaborate fables should have difficulty in thinking up such a simple tale, but I suppose it’s a different issue when you have to think quickly rather than spend time thoroughly developing your story.” “I’m sure that’s it,” she replied blithely, cutting her bacon into small bits.“I’m also sure that my skills will grow over time. I just need to practice, practice, practice. Did I ever tell you about the dragon I owned when I was a child?”

“I wish we hadn’t kissed at all,” he snapped.“So do I, but we can’t unkiss, so we must deal with it as best as we can.”

“By Ra, you’re an impertinent, saucy—” “Careful, Hurst. We just kissed, so according to you, I shall now interpret every thing you say in a very negative manner and might burst into tears and run shrieking off to a convent.”

“I vow, is there no man who can talk about physical pleasures without exaggerating?”

“But what Jane hadn’t known about Michael Hurst until the day she stepped into his tent was that this adventurous, driven, gruff, brilliant explorer was also handsome. Blink-twice-and-try-to-breathe-and-still-think-you’re-seeing-an-angel handsome.”

“London is good for two things — excellent Scotch and leaving.I miss them both, especially as I often partake of one while doing the other. I find the company stifling, the streets foul smelling and overcrowded, the houses bland and without architectural merit, and the people banal and filled with their own consequence. No matter how often I leave London, I cannot wait to leave it again. My home is in my explorations. Those always welcome me.”

“Jane?” She lifted her brows. “Yes?”“If you so much as hum one word, I shall stuff one of your gloves into your mouth.” “Tsk,tsk.”She assumed an exaggerated sad look.“It’s like that,is it?”

“It’s the pure excitement of the find combined with the golden possibilities of what-may-be; one of bated breath, thundering heart,damp palms, and trembling limbs; a mixture of excruciating hope and the painfully exquisite fear of disappointment. It’s a feeling that only another adventurer can truly understand.”

“But that’s what happens when you allow a nice person to write a news paper serial for you; now the world thinks you’re nice, too, which is silly in the extreme. Sadly, it’s a burden that you must bear.”

“So he’s harmless, then.”“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”“No?” “I would n’t slip up behind him with a knife, for he might retaliate.” Michael shrugged. “But that’s to be expected. He kills only when necessary.”Mary covered her face with her hands and moaned.”

“One good thing that comes from living the nomadic life demanded by an expedition is that one sheds the fake skin donned from living too closely among society. For those of us who live for the freedom of such a lifestyle, that skin is dry and itchy and ill fitting. From my observances, that skin is much like a callus caused by the pure irritation of being forced to spend so much time with one’s fellow man. Thank God I am spared such nonsense.”

“You can get lost, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“...you savor the things we seek to avoid.”

“Pray don’t hold back,” Robert said politely. “You can tell me what you really think of my valet.” Stewart broke in to a reluctant grin.“Sorry fer bein’ so forward, sir, but that valet o’ yers is nothin’ but a Frenchified piece o’ lace.”