Scandals Bride

lightly and grimaced. Other members of the family shot quick glances at Catriona, then rapidly looked away.

Richard didn't; he continued to study her. Her authority was remarkable, she used it like a shield. She'd put it up and Jamie, poor sod, had run headlong into it. Richard recognized the ploy; she'd tried the same with him with her 'Put me down,' but he'd been too experienced to fall for it-she'd been all woman once he'd got his hands on her, soft, warm, and pliant. The thought of having his hands on her again, of having her warm, pliant, feminine flesh beneath him, made him shift in his seat.

And focused his mind even more. On why, exactly, he found her so… appealing. She wasn't, in fact, classically beautiful; she was more powerfully attractive than that. It was, he decided, noting the independent set of her too-determined chin, the underlying sense of wildness that caught him-caught and focused his hunter's instincts so forcefully. Her aura of mystery, of magic, of feminine forces too powerful for simple words, was an open challenge to a man like him.

A bored rake like him.

She would never have been acceptable within the ton; that hint of the wild was far too strong for society's palate. She was no meek miss; she was different, and used no guile to conceal it. Her confidence, her presence, her authority had led him to think her in her late twenties; now he could see her more clearly, he realized that wasn't so. Early twenties. Which made her assurance and self confidence even more intriguing. More challenging.

Richard set down his goblet; he'd had enough of cold silence. 'Have you lived at this manor long, Miss Hennessy?'

She looked up, faint surprise in her eyes. 'All my life, Mr. Cynster.'

Richard raised his brows. 'Where, exactly, is it?'

'In the Lowlands.' When he waited, patently wanting more, she added: 'The manor stands in the Vale of Casphairn, which is a valley in the foothills of Merrick.' Licking trifle from her spoon, she considered him. 'That's-'

'In the Galloway Hills,' he returned.

Her brows rose. 'Indeed.'

'And who is your landlord?'

'No one.' When he again raised his brows, she explained: 'I own the manor-I inherited it from my parents.'

Richard inclined his head. 'And this lady you speak of?'

The smile she gave him was ageless. 'The Lady.' The cadence of her voice changed, investing her words with reverence. 'She Who Knows All.'

'Ah.' Richard blinked. 'I see.' And he did. Christianity might rule in London and the towns, and in the Parliament, but the auld ways, the doctrines of days past, still held sway in the countryside. He had grown up in rural Cambridgeshire, in the fields and copses seeing the old women gathering herbs, hearing of their balms and potions that could cure a large spectrum of mortal ills. He'd seen too much to be skeptical, and knew enough to treat any such practitioner with due respect.

She'd held his gaze steadily; Richard saw the gleam of triumph, of victorious smugness in her eyes. She thought she'd successfully warned him off-scared him away. Inwardly, his grin was the very essence of predatory; outwardly, his expression said nothing at all.

'Catriona?'

They both turned to see Mary rising and beckoning; Catriona rose, too, and joined the female exodus to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their port.

Which was, to Richard's immense relief, excellent. Twirling his glass, he considered the ruby liquid within. 'So,' -he flicked a glance at Jamie-'Catriona is now in your care?'

Jamie's sigh was heartfelt. 'Yes-for another three years. Until she's twenty five.'

'Are her parents long dead?'

'Six years. They were killed in an accident in Glasgow while arranging to buy a cargo-a terrible shock it was.'

Richard raised his brows. 'An especially big shock for Catriona. She would have been-what? Seventeen?'

'Sixteen. Naturally, Da' wanted her here-the vale's an isolated spot, no place for a lone girl, you'd think.'

'She wouldn't come?'

Jamie's face contorted. 'Da' made her. She came.' He shuddered and took a long sip of his port. 'It was horrific. The arguments-the shouting. I thought Da' would have a seizure, she goaded him that much. I don't think he'd ever had anyone argue back like she did-I wouldna dared.'

As he drank more port, Jamie's accent emerged; like many Scots of his age, he'd learned to suppress it.

'She didna want to stay-Da' wanted her here. He had plans afoot to marry her well-she needed someone to take care of her lands, he thought.'

'Her lands?'

'The vale.' Jamie drained his glass. 'She owns the whole damned valley from head to mouth. But she wasn't having any of Da''s plans. Said she knew what she was doing, she had The Lady to guide her, and she would, on her mother's grave, obey The Lady, not Da'. She was dead set against marriage. Mind you, when those lairds who'd offered for her on the strength of her lands actually met her, they sang a different tune. All the offers dissolved like mist in a strong breeze.'

Richard frowned, wondering if Scottish notions of feminine attractions were so different.

'Of course, everyone o' them was imagining bedding her, until they spoke to her.' Jamie's lips quirked; he exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Richard. 'She scared 'em silly-the beggars came from Edinburgh and Glasgow, or one of the cities, lairds in need of estates. They didna know about The Lady, and to hear Catriona tell it, if they displeased her at all, she wouldha' turned 'em into toads. Or eels. Or some such slimy creature.'

Richard grinned. 'They believed her?'

'Aye, well-when she wants to be believed, she can be that persuasive.'

Recalling the power he'd heard her wield twice, Richard had no difficulty believing that.

'And that other one, Algaria-Miss O'Rourke-was there to help. So,'-Jamie reached for the decanter-'after that, there were no more offers. Da' was livid-Catriona was unmovable. The fighting raged for weeks.'

'And?'

'She won.' Jamie set down his glass. 'She went back to the vale, an' that was that. Da' never spoke of her again. I didna think she'd agree to live here now, but Mary said we should at least ask. Especially after finding the letters.'

'Letters?'

'Offers for her lands, rather than her hand. Heaps of 'em. Some from the lairds who'd given up notions of bedding her, others from all over, some from her neighbors in the Lowlands. All, however, for a pittance.' Again Jamie drained his glass. 'I found the pile in Da's desk-he'd scrawled comments on many.' Jamie's lips twisted. 'Like 'Bah! Am I a fool?' '

'The land's good?'

'Good?' Jamie set down his glass. 'You won't find better in Scotland.' He met Richard's eye. 'According to Catriona and her people, The Lady sees to that.'

Richard raised his brows.

'Aye, well.' With a rueful grimace, Jamie pushed back his chair. 'We'd best get back to the drawing room.'

Entering the long room beside Jamie, Richard paused just beyond the threshold. To one side, Catriona stood chatting to one of Jamie's colorless sisters. Perhaps chatting was the wrong word-from her gestures, lecturing might be nearer the mark. The ever watchful Miss O'Rourke stood silently, hands clasped, by Catriona's shoulder; her gaze, black and expressionless, was already fixed on him. Richard resisted the urge to grin wickedly at her; instead, with his usual grace, he crossed to pay his compliments to his hostess.

Mary was easily flattered, easily flustered; Richard spent some time calming her, until she could smile at him and answer his questions.