Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

this

man wore the mark? She shook her head to dispel such foolish thoughts. "Ye shouldna be here. I have things ta do."

"What things could you possibly have to do in the middle of the night?"

Elspeth retrieved her pail of tar. "People will start comin' to see him in the mornin'. I need to blacken the door and—"

"Blacken the door?"

"'Tis tradition, Lord Benjamin."

"You Scots and your traditions," he said with a smile and reached out his hand toward her pail. "I'll do it."

She motioned toward the house with her hand. "I already stopped the clocks. But I havena covered the mirrors yet," she said absently, but she let him take the pail from her.

"You should rest."

Elspeth swiped a tear from her eye. "I'm tired of everyone tellin' me ta rest. I'm just fine."

"Yes," he said, his deep voice rumbling over her like a caress. "I can see you don't need anyone." Lord Benjamin closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Elspeth couldn't help but sag against him, even though she knew she shouldn't. It was heaven not to support her own weight, so she let him do it for her.

"I canna stop," she said, unable to keep her voice from cracking. "If I do, I'll no' be able ta start again."

"I know," he said softly. He didn't even pull away

when she began to sob against his chest. "It's all right," he crooned, his voice soft and melodic, and he rubbed her back with the flat of his palm.

Elspeth clutched the lapels of his coat in her hands as she pressed her forehead into his strong chest. "I'm sorry ta be such a bairn."

He tried to tip her chin with his finger so that she would look up at him, but she didn't move her head. By now her eyes were probably all red and her nose puffy. But he didn't give up. His hand cupped her face and tilted it toward him.

Her eyes met his with a jolt. "You're not a baby," he said softly. "You're human, that's all." The pad of his thumb stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry your grandfather died."

"I'm sorry I wasna here," she whispered.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to suffer, too, love. I'm sure of it."

She knew his words were meant to be comforting, but they simply started another storm of emotion. When he bent and slipped one arm beneath her legs to pick her up, she didn't argue. She just wrapped her arms around him. She couldn't even find the strength to protest when he sat down on the bench outside the front door and placed her on his lap.

His strong arms enfolded her and pulled her close as his hand pressed her head into his shoulder. He reached into his pocket with the other, retrieved his handkerchief, and handed it to her.

"Tired of me drownin' yer shirt, are ye, Lord Benjamin?" she asked quietly.

A chuckle rumbled through his body. She moved to sit up, but his arms still enfolded her. "Not yet," he said. "I was just getting comfortable."

"My friends would say this is highly improper, what with me sittin' on yer lap and all."

"Then I'm really glad they're not here." Another laugh moved through his body. Then his lips touched her forehead.

"They're all angry with me anyway," she said as she blew the hair from her eyes.

"I'm sure they're not angry," he tried to assure her.

"Ye dinna see the look on Caitrin's face. Do ye ken she tried ta make me leave with her?"

"She wouldn't dare!" he cried in mock dismay.

Elspeth simply raised her head and swatted his chest with her fist. "Ye're no' so funny, ye know," she mumbled. "Ye're mighty handsome. But no' so funny."

"I can't be perfect," he said, his eyes dancing with mirth when they met hers. He brushed her hair back over her ear. "Your hair is beautiful down around your shoulders."

Elspeth's hands flew to the top of her head. "My combs!" she cried. "My combs are gone." She jumped to her feet. How could she have lost them? Tears stung her eyes again as they started to fall. How could she have lost her grandfather and all she had left of her mother in the same night?

She rushed into the house and spun around. Thankfully he hadn't followed her. Elspeth closed her eyes and opened her hand. "

Faigh, faigh, faigh. Còmhnadh

."

Then she peeked open one eye. Nothing sat in her palm. Wherever the combs were, they were too far away for her summoning spell to work. Then again, she was distraught; perhaps her concentration was off.

Lord Benjamin stood in the doorway, watching her. She didn't have time to think about what he thought. She checked the floor and the small table. She searched beside her grandfather's bed, by the mirrors she'd covered, and by the windows she'd opened. But the combs were nowhere to be found. How could she have been so foolish?

"They're gone," she cried, as the last bit of hope escaped her.

"It's all right." He took her shoulders in his strong hands and forced her to look at him.

"It's no' all right. They're all I have of her."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "I'll find them," he promised.

"The ball?" she asked as she motioned toward the door.

"You had them when we left the ball. I'll go back and find them." The strength in his gaze startled her, leaving her speechless. "I'll find them. No matter what."

All she could do was nod. Then he was gone.

Ten

Ben ran across the meadow behind her house. He ran as fast as he could. The haunted look in her eyes was fresh in his mind. He knew it was the loss of her grandfather, not her hair combs, that she was truly concerned about. The trinkets were something for her to fret over, but he was bound and determined to find them anyway. They meant the world to her, and he'd make sure it was one less thing she had to worry about.

Ben followed his nose into the woods, tracking Miss Campbell's scent and his own, retracing their steps. The night closed around him like a shroud, the trees blocking all evidence of the moon. But he knew it was there. He finally

felt

it. He finally felt something.

He searched the darkness, looking for the glitter of the pewter combs, hoping they would present themselves. If not, he'd look all the way to the light of day. He wouldn't let her down. He simply could not.

He was a bit ashamed to admit how much he'd enjoyed holding her in his lap, feeling the soft angles of her body pressed against him. He'd tamped down his desire and simply allowed himself the pleasure of comforting her. She had needed him at that moment. But for some reason, he felt he needed her, too.

Then something caught his eye against a large moss-covered rock. He bent and picked up one pewter wolf. He smiled up at the crescent moon. One down. One to go. He pocketed the comb, then knelt beside the rock and patted the ground.

Nothing.

He finally stood and dusted the dirt from his knees. What were the odds that the two combs would have landed in the same place anyway? He went back to following their scent, heading in the direction of the Fergusons' mansion.

Just as the sun broke the horizon, he heard church bells ringing off in the distance. Then he spotted the second comb. It must have fallen from her hair as soon as they'd started to run. He picked it up with a smile and added it to his pocket with its mate. He was gratified to feel the heavy weight of the pewter wolves in his pocket.

He ran at a leisurely pace back to her home. The sun was up now, so he took in the tidy but small appearance of her cottage. But what caught his attention was the coach out front. He slowed to a walk and peered around the corner of the house.

The young dark-haired chit he'd met the night before, the one who didn't appreciate him lumping all of Scotland in as part of Britain, was just reaching the door. Her big lummox of a brother was at her side.

"I doona ken why

we