“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?”

“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.”

“What's the matter, MacLean? Are you afraid?"His brows snapped down, his eyes glinting dangerously. "What did you say?"She lifted her chin. "I asked if you were afraid. If that is why you're sneaking out like a thief in the night?""It's morning,and I'm no thief.""No,but you are afraid,aren't you? Afraid of me." Dougal's expression darkened even more. "You don't know what you're saying.""Yes,I do." She leaned close to say dismissively, "You are afraid of what our card games might cause you to lose."Dougal's body tensed at the words, making Poseidon jolt forward. How dare she accuse him of being afraid? The thought of it raged through him.Yet in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered, She's right. You are afraid of what you'll lose, only it's not about the house. It's about your self-control.Dougal slung himself down from the horse and faced Sophia. She refused to back away but stood her ground so that he was but a few inches from her.She glared at him. "I saw your face last night. You want me, MacLean. Admit it. You're afraid I'll offer myself for the house, and you won't be able to resist it.And then..." She smiled smugly. "And the you'll lose.”

“Fiona, my love, as much as I adore you, I cannot stand your brothers. Any of them.""Gregor is much nicer now that he's married. Even you must admit that.""Only when Venetia is with him. When she's not, he's as annoying as ever."Fiona's lips quirked into a smile, her green eyes gleaming. "Rather like you, I hear.""Who has been carrying tales?""Everyone." She placed her hand on her husband's cheek and smiled up into his blue eyes. With his dark auburn hair and devastating good looks, "Black Jack" Kincaid had once been the scourge of London's polite society. Now he was her own personal scourge, one she couldn't imagine living without.”

“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.”

“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 invited Miss MacFarlane because I could see that there was something between the two of you.""Something that I longed to avoid."Fiona eyed him a moment, obviously fascinated. "Would you explain what you mean?""No."She pursed her lips. "What if I promise to name my next child after you?"Dougal lifted his brows. "Won't Jack dislike that?"A smile quivered on her lips. "Yes. Which is why I though it a wonderful inducement for you.""I don't believe you'd do that.""Well,I would," Fiona said firmly.”