Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

"Aye, I ken, ye love me," Elspeth grumbled. "Ye really just want ta keep me between ye and Alec MacQuarrie."

Caitrin laughed. "I need to use ye like a windbreak, in case of an emergency."

"Happy ta be of service."

Once the maid had Elspeth's hair pinned atop her head, she stood and shook her gown. "I'm afraid I willna have time ta hem my gown before we leave. It's a bit long."

"I told ye that ye could wear somethin' of mine. But ye refused."

"I think my gown is passable."

"All in the village ken ye've a gift with a needle, Elspeth. Yer gown will be one of the best at the ball, even if it is a bit long."

"I'll just have ta work ta keep from steppin' on it."

"Ye'll do just fine," Caitrin remarked absently as she nodded to the maid, who announced, "The gentlemen have arrived."

Caitrin and Elspeth glanced at each other. "Gentlemen?" they both asked at once.

Caitrin colored slightly. "I did ask Mr. MacQuarrie ta see if he could find an escort for ye." When Elspeth opened her mouth to complain, Cait replied quickly with, "Ye can forgive me later."

Then she walked past Elspeth and out the door, leaving El no choice but to follow in her wake.

The two women stopped side by side at the top of the grand staircase, which led to the foyer. They stopped and looked down at the men who stood talking casually at the bottom of the stairs, completely unaware of their presence.

"Oh, my," Caitrin breathed. "He's quite somethin', isna he?"

"Somethin'?" Elspeth whispered back. "He's beautiful." And much more. She gaped at the stranger with Mr. MacQuarrie. She'd never seen a man quite so tall. His evening jacket fit snuggly against the wide expanse of his shoulders. Light brown hair, a bit too long, touched the top of his collar. But it was the intensity of his eyes that caught her attention, a light color she couldn't quite make out from the distance.

Then she took a tentative step. Yet she was so enthralled by the man standing at the bottom of the staircase she forgot to lift the edge of her gown. Her foot caught in the material and she stumbled. She was able to do no more than flail her arms in the air and close her eyes tightly before she braced herself for the blow.

But no sooner did she stumble than she felt strong arms catch her in the air. She came to an immediate stop, safely and well caught within the grasp of the handsome stranger. How had he moved so fast?

Elspeth opened her eyes slowly and met the smile of the man who now clutched her so close. One hand was wrapped around her waist and the other pressed against her bottom. She gasped, far more discomfited by that hand than she had been by the fall in the first place.

The man spoke, a laugh coating his words. "'Beautiful,' you say?" he asked quietly.

Four

Of course he'd heard her. He had heard the footsteps down the corridor and smelled the beautiful scent of her long before she graced the top of the stairs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that another woman stood near. But he couldn't draw his eyes from the flame-haired beauty long enough to take the other in.

Then she nearly threw herself into his arms, right after she called him beautiful. It was times like this that he loved his beastliness. His heightened sense of smell and hearing had served him well in the past. And they served him well now. Well enough that he had a fiery redhead tucked in his arms, and he'd only just arrived in Edinburgh. And she thought he was beautiful.

"I-I," she stuttered. "Ye can let me go, sir."

The melodic lilt of her voice made Ben's mouth go dry. But she was gazing at him with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen, and he somehow found the strength to gently put her down. "Are you all right, miss?"

She blinked at him. "Ye're Sassenach?"

The derogatory term for English slipped easily from her lips. Oh, the Scots would never admit the word was derogatory, but it was the way they said it that gave them away. Ben grinned at her. Being English was the least of his sins. "My family has land in Dumfriesshire, if that makes the circumstances of my nationality more palatable for you."

Miss Campbell's cheeks flamed at his words and she looked away. It was always too easy to make a redhead blush. Alec stepped forward, concern etched across his brow. "Miss Campbell, are you all right?"

She nodded, but refused to look back at Ben. "I'm dreadfully clumsy, Mr. MacQuarrie. Perhaps I should stay here this evenin'."

Her friend, a slight blonde, gasped at the pronouncement. "Sorcha Ferguson would never forgive ye if ye missed her ball."

"Think nothing of it," Alec replied smoothly. "We all make a misstep one time or another. Miss Macleod, Miss Campbell, may I present my dear friend Lord Benjamin Westfield."

"Lord Benjamin." Miss Macleod curtsied. "It's so nice ta make yer acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine," Ben replied, though he kept his eyes focused on the flame-haired lass in front of him. "Shall we, Miss Campbell?" He offered her his arm.

Her green eyes flickered up to him as she nodded and placed her gloved hand on his forearm. Even through his sleeve her touch was cold, and Ben fought the urge to cover her hand with his to warm her up.

To warm her up

. He nearly laughed at himself. He wanted to do a lot more than warm her up. Perhaps whatever was wrong with him had righted itself. He hadn't felt such pull, such lust, since the jaunt to Brighton, before he was broken.

Miss Campbell cleared her throat and looked up at him. "Lord Benjamin, aren't we ta follow Mr. MacQuarrie?"

Ben pulled himself from the spell of her eyes and noticed that his friend was halfway out the door with Miss Macleod at his side. "Yes, of course."

She looked away from him, tugging at her dress to pull the hem from the floor as they started for the doorway.

And that's when he saw it.

In her mass of red hair sat a pewter wolf disguised as a hair comb. He nearly stumbled. It was an unusual piece. Most women didn't wear wolf adornments, not unless her lover was a Lycan.

A wave of something akin to jealousy washed over him. Some other wolf had claimed her. Some other wolf that was

capable

of claiming had done so. He stopped in his tracks, unable to move.

Miss Campbell turned, confusion on her lovely face. "Lord Benjamin?"

He heard her words, but he couldn't take his eyes off her bare neck and shoulders. His gaze raked one side then the other. He didn't see any evidence that she'd been claimed. She had perfect alabaster skin without a blemish of any kind. Not even a freckle marred her skin. Had she been claimed, he would see evidence of it. He knew what to look for. There was nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sir," she pressed, "are ye all right?"

Ben nodded, forcing what he knew was a charming smile to his face. "My apologies, Miss Campbell. It was a long journey to Edinburgh, and I'm apparently more tired than I thought."

Compassion settled on her face. "Perhaps ye should rest, sir. I'm certain my friend will understand if I miss her ball."

"Elspeth Campbell!" Miss Macleod called over her shoulder. "Ye ken as well as I that Sorcha Ferguson would be put out for at least a fortnight. Stop tryin' ta wriggle out of attendin'."

A mischievous smile lit Elspeth's face and she shrugged. "Well," she whispered conspiratorially, "it was worth a try."

A laugh escaped Ben's throat. "Miss Campbell, I do believe you need close watching."

She pretended to pout as he led her out the front door. "That's a fine thing ta say ta me. I was only concerned for yer well-bein', my lord."

"I'm concerned enough for both of us, lass."

He helped her climb inside MacQuarrie's coach, and his eyes dropped to her perfect little bottom, which he'd already had the pleasure of squeezing. The men in Scotland were fools if they let a little thing like the circumstance of her birth keep them from her.