The Highlander Is All That Read online

  Small and elegant with a spritely smile and bouncing black curls, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  It was a damn shame he was here to help find her a husband.

  It was a damn shame she was the duke’s cousin.

  It was a damn shame he wasn’t rich.

  He had nothing to offer a girl like her. He had no business even thinking about her like that.

  But damn, she was beautiful.

  “Well, what do you think?” Ranald asked after the butler had unceremoniously shown them to their rooms. They stood by his window and stared out at the gray London sky.

  “Hmm?”

  “How long do you think it will be before we can go back home?”

  Hamish made a face. “The season is three months.”

  “But if we get them all married off, our work is done. I say, having had a look at them, it shouldna take long.” He fingered the hem of the curtain. “That one is quite a stunner.”

  Something in Hamish’s gut clenched. He had nothing to offer Elizabeth, but Ranald did. His friend had a title and the majority share in the business they ran with some of their friends. While the duke might balk at having Hamish wed his cousin, Ranald would be welcomed with open arms.

  The thought made him want to pummel something.

  Probably Ranald.

  “They’re all lovely,” he grumbled.

  “Aye. But Anne is exquisite.”

  Anne?

  Anne?

  Relief gushed through him. He had no idea why. “Och. Aye. That she is.”

  “Of course, they are all verra lovely.”

  “Aye.”

  “We’ll probably have to be beating off suitors with a bat.”

  They grinned at each other. Whacking Englishmen was always a pleasant proposition.

  “Though I’m no’ looking forward to standing guard at fancy functions,” Hamish said.

  “I doubt the English are looking forward to that either.” They both laughed. “Just stand tall, stay quiet, and look fierce.” Ranald’s expression darkened. “And for God’s sake, don’t bash anyone without provocation.”

  Hamish shrugged. “Provocation is often a matter of opinion.”

  “Too true. Do you know what I think?” He did not give Hamish time to answer. “I think we should wear kilts to these fancy English balls.”

  “That should provoke them.”

  Ranald’s expression was wicked. “Just so.” They shared another grin, and then Ranald sighed. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I plan to get unpacked, find a book, and then rest until dinner.”

  Hamish nodded. The last leg of their journey had been particularly trying. But he wasn’t tired. In fact, he craved movement after having been stuck in a smallish carriage for weeks. “I think I’ll have a look around the grounds.”

  “Very well. I will see you tonight.”

  With that, Hamish headed back into the hall and wandered around for a bit, lost, until he found a staircase leading downstairs. It was, no doubt, a servant’s staircase, but what was he if not that?

  He emerged in the kitchens and, after greeting the plump and friendly cook—and snagging a scone from the cooling tray—he followed her directions out into the garden.

  Ah, yes. This was what he needed. The scent of mown grass, a hint of flowers, fresh air, and sunshine. He turned his face up to the sky and soaked it in.

  Granted, it was a watery sunlight, and it struggled to shine through the haze of coal dust, but it beat the hell out of a musty carriage. He strolled along the path, studying the immaculately trimmed hedges, perfectly arranged rosebushes, and the affected pond in the center of the garden.

  Everything was prim, proper, and utterly controlled. How British.

  He missed the wild heathers of the Highlands, the raw scraggly trees that clung to the cliffs of the coast, the cold breeze gusting from the sea.

  While he had been honored that Lachlan had entrusted him with this mission—for it clearly was important to the duke to support this family he had not known he had until recently—Hamish hated being away from home.

  He had a business to run and had been in the process of seducing the lovely widow Dunn when the duke’s summons had come. But when a duke commanded one’s presence, one responded.

  Ah, well. The lovely widow could wait.

  Hamish stilled and the little hairs on his nape prickled as he caught the trail of a tantalizing song. Like a sailor called by a siren, he followed the sound. As he rounded a corner, a whimsical gazebo came into view. There, leaning against a column, was his angel.

  Her face was exquisite, delicate, and finely formed, utterly classical but for the button nose. Her hair, curly and glossy, skimmed her shoulders, and her dress pinched in at the waist, highlighting a fine form.

  His breath caught as she tipped up her chin and warbled a few more notes. Then he must have made a noise, for she abruptly stopped singing and turned.

  As she saw him, her cheeks turned a charming pink, and Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Doona stop,” he said before he could halt the words.

  “Oh dear,” she said with a delightful laugh. “I’ve been caught out.”

  “You have a lovely voice,” he said, stepping closer.

  He should not step closer. He should not be alone with her, here in the garden. This he knew to the depth of his being. But, to the depth of his being, he could not resist.

  Her grin was entrancing. “You are a very kind liar.”

  “I’m no’ a liar.”

  “Well, thank you, sir.” She gifted him with a mock curtsey.

  “Do you often sing in the garden?” he asked.

  “Only when I am certain no one can hear.” She turned away and stepped into the gazebo. He couldn’t help but notice the seductive swish of her skirts.

  Hell.

  He clamped down on his lustful thoughts. She was a girl. One who was far too young to know a thing about seduction. Obviously, his imaginings were born of his own desire, and it would behoove him to remember that. He was here to see her wed. To be her protector. Not to pursue her.

  She was the duke’s cousin.

  Still, he followed her up the steps into the folly. She sat on a padded bench and he took a seat on the other side, far out of reach.

  “Have you recovered from your journey?” she asked politely.

  “Aye. A walk in the garden has helped immensely.”

  “I can imagine. Traveling can be so dull.”

  “Have you traveled much?”

  “A bit here and there. Brighton, on holiday. York, for a house party. We went to Scotland once, but I was young.”

  “Ah.” That caught his attention. “How did you like it?”

  “Oh.” Her face transformed to one of rapt excitement. An expression that grabbed him by the solar plexus and tugged. “I absolutely loved it.”

  “Did you?” How . . . intriguing.

  “It was so beautiful and wild. The people were lovely and the food was delicious.”

  “Even haggis?”

  Her adorable nose curled a little. “It has its . . . charms.”

  He had to laugh. Her lie was so blatant.

  “I would love to go back sometime.” He appreciated the wistful note in her tone.

  “I miss it already.”

  “I can imagine you do.” She sighed. “It must have been difficult to put your life on hold to come here and help us.”

  “The duke insisted.” He regretted his words immediately, as she flinched. “However, I’m certain we shall enjoy this adventure.”

  “I do hope your time here is pleasant.” Unfortunately, she’d gone all prickly and formal, which he couldn’t help but regret.

  “Thank you.”

  “It must be difficult for your family to have you gone as well.” She looked away as she said this, but he caught an odd glimmer in her eye before she did.

  “My family?”

  She cleared her thro
at. “Your . . . wife? Children?”

  Ah. That was it. The little minx was fishing for information. Something warm trickled though his veins, and he bit back a grin. “I doona have a wife, lass.” Why he invested the words with a low rumble, he did not know. Or perhaps he did.

  Her response was immediate. A slow smile blossomed on her beautiful face. Was it possible it made her even lovelier? “No wife?”

  “No’ a one.” He chuckled. Damn, if she wasn’t flirting with him. Though it was foolish, the prospect danced through him in ribbons of pleasure.

  “And the baron?”

  His mood plummeted. “What?”

  “Does the baron have a wife?”

  Blast.

  Aye, she was fishing for information.

  On Ranald.

  He shouldn’t be disappointed. He’d already acknowledged that his friend was a far better catch for her. “He is a widower.” A disgruntled offering.

  “Oh, how sad.”

  “He has a daughter.”

  “Oh, that is even sadder. A helpless little mite without a mother?”

  “Aye.” Though Catriona was hardly a helpless mite. She was more of a hellion.

  “Does the baron plan to marry again?”

  This was going from bad to worse. “He hasna spoken of it.”

  “I was just wondering, you know, because he is very handsome.”

  “Aye.”

  “And he seems very nice.”

  “Aye.” There was no call for such misery, but it swamped him nonetheless.

  “What a pity that Anne dislikes Scotsmen.”

  Anne?

  Hamish blinked. “Anne?”

  “They are of an age.”

  Indeed, they were. He cleared his throat. “Anne . . . dislikes Scotsmen?”

  “Oh yes. On account of the fact that she fell in love with one, and he broke her heart.”

  He barked a laugh. “She canna blame all Scotsmen for that.”

  “She can,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “And she does. Faithless philanderers, all of them,” she warbled.

  “That is no’ true. Scotsmen are the most devoted lovers!”

  “Really?” She fluttered her lashes at him, which sent rivulets of delight and alarm through him. Her expression was far too intent. And again, not intent enough.

  “I . . . ah. Aye. You’ll never find a more loyal man than a Scotsman.”

  Her smile was stunning. “Well, I believe you,” she said, coming to her feet. He followed suit. “But you will need to convince Anne of that.”

  He had no intention of doing any such thing.

  She held out her arm and he took it as a matter of habit, and then they headed down the stairs.

  He had no idea what happened next, other than the vague recollection of Elizabeth tripping on a stair, and his arms coming out to catch her.

  But then, there she was. In his embrace. Staring up at him with wide doe-like eyes. Lips parted. Breath soft and sweet on his cheek.

  She slipped a bit and gripped him closer, pressing her delicious body against his. His head spun. His cock rose.

  She’s too young, some small voice cried from the back of his mind. She is unequal to your experience. This is wrong!

  Ah, such a chorus of dissent.

  He ignored them all and lowered his head.

  The desire to taste her was far too strong, and try as he might to resist, he could not.

  He was going to kiss Elizabeth St. Claire, and he was going to kiss her now.

  Chapter Three

  Elizabeth shivered as Hamish’s arms tightened around her. Her heart pattered uncontrollably and her breath caught. She knew he was going to kiss her and the thought thrilled her to the point that her head spun.

  She’d been burning with curiosity since the moment she’d set eyes on him and aching for a moment just like this.

  His warm breath drifted over her cheek, a tantalizing scent, musky and manly. She sighed and nestled closer.

  His nostrils flared and he made a sound at the back of his throat, something like a growl.

  And then his lips took hers.

  It was a tentative kiss at first, an agonizing rub that made her want only more.

  She must have clutched him, arched against him, whimpered perhaps, because, suddenly, that soft sweet buss became something more, something wild and raw. He opened his mouth against hers and, with a tremble, she followed suit. When his tongue touched hers, her knees collapsed, but he held her tight.

  Ah, God, what glory!

  He was large and warm and hard and he consumed her with a passion that stole her senses.

  This!

  This!

  This was what she wanted. What she’d dreamed of. What she craved.

  In her madness to get closer, she tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged. He grunted and changed his angle, deepening the kiss even further. He walked her back until she was braced against the column of the gazebo, and his lips traveled over her cheek to nestle in the crook of her neck. The bristles of his beard awoke every sleeping nerve to dance with delight.

  Elizabeth moaned. She had never imagined, never dreamed that something could feel so utterly wonderful.

  But what a fool she was, because just then, his large hand skimmed up her side and he cupped her breast.

  Shock took her as his thumb scraped over her nipple. Sensation rained down upon her like a summer storm, delight and agony and need all rolled into one glorious moment.

  “Hamish,” she sighed, digging her fingers into his scalp, raking him with abandon. “Yes. Yes.”

  To her horror, he froze. His hand stilled and that delightful worrying at her neck halted.

  It was cold there when he withdrew.

  Her heart ached as well.

  Damn. She should never have said anything.

  When he spun away, she nearly collapsed but managed to catch herself just in time. He took three long strides away from her and then tunneled his fingers through his glorious hair. “I shouldna ha’ done that,” he muttered.

  Something like annoyance slammed into her and she frowned. That had been the most wondrous moment of her life . . . and he regretted it?

  She fought for and achieved a ragged element of aplomb. “It was only a kiss.” Ah, but how the words burned, bitter and bile filled as they were.

  He whirled around, and she thought perhaps she saw a hint of outrage in his eyes. “Only a kiss?” he thundered.

  “A very nice kiss?” When he simply stared at her, she continued. “I enjoyed it very much.”

  His face went a bit red. “Do you often kiss strange men with no provocation?” A bark.

  Really, he had no call to be snippy.

  “You provoked me,” she pointed out.

  “I most certainly did no’.” Oh yes. Outrage indeed.

  “You smiled at me.”

  “You smiled at me.”

  “And when I tripped”—she had not actually tripped—“you caught me.”

  “That was the bluidy gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “But you kept holding me. And staring at me. And breathing on me. And, in fact, you are the one who kissed me.” Again, untrue. It had been a mutual thing.

  “This conversation is beside the point.”

  She gaped at him. Was it? Was it really? “What is the point, exactly?”

  “I shouldna ha’ kissed you.” She loved that as his dander rose, his accent became more pronounced.

  “It was a nice kiss.”

  “I am here to protect you from blackhearts who would kiss you like that.”

  “But I enjoyed it.”

  “Stop saying that!” He raked his hair again until it stood on end.

  “But it’s true.”

  “Elizabeth. Please. This canna happen again.”

  “All right.” She had every intention that it would, but for some reason, her quick capitulation seemed to annoy him even more.

  “We should go back to the house,” he said.
/>   “Of course.” He flinched when she took his arm as they started on the path, but then he settled into the expected role.

  They walked in silence for a bit, but mostly because Hamish was brooding. When he spoke, it was in something of a grumble. “So, do you?”

  She glanced at him. His expression was tight. A muscle bunched in his cheek. She noticed that the speckles of his beard caught the sun in glints of gold and red. “Do I what?”

  “Kiss strange men?”

  Ah. He was jealous. She hid her smile. “I do try to avoid the strange ones.”

  Oh! He did not like that. He bristled like a hedgehog.

  Her smile deepened.

  “How many men have you kissed?”

  She couldn’t tell him the truth, so she merely shrugged.

  “Can you even remember?”

  She could. The answer was one. “It does not signify,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

  “It most certainly does.”

  “You are here to help find us husbands, not catalog my kisses.”

  He seemed vexed by the reminder, but said, “Just so. I was sent here by the duke to do a job, and I assure you, kissing his cousin was no’ what he had in mind.”

  “I disagree. I think he should be pleased.”

  Hamish stopped short and stared at her. “What?”

  “How can I know what kind of husband I want if I don’t, ahem, test the waters?”

  His nostrils flared. “Egads, woman. Tell me you doona mean what I think you mean?”

  “I think I should kiss several men. You know. To get a feel for it.”

  His brow darkened. “You shouldna do this.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “When you allow a man such a liberty, he feels welcome to take more.”

  Was he really lecturing her? She felt the irresistible urge to goad him, to rile him as much as he was riling her. “So . . . do you?”

  “Do I what?” he snarled.

  “Do you feel welcome to take more?” She batted her lashes at him, but only because it made him uncomfortable.

  He paled and stared at her for a moment while that muscle in his cheek worked. “This conversation is highly improper.”

  “Is it? I feel it’s rather apropos. Did you enjoy that kiss, by the way?”

  His ears went red. “That is none of your business.”

  “I disagree.” She pulled away and propped her hands on her hips. “I think it is very much my business. I mean, how should I know if I even did it right?”