Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

Ben settled himself next to Miss Campbell on the bench before a prune-faced Macleod maid squeezed herself inside the coach as well. Ah, a chaperone. Apparently Alec's reputation must have followed him north.

Elspeth's eyes adjusted to the darkened coach quickly. She tried to steady her breathing, which was a difficult thing to do considering Lord Benjamin had pressed his leg against hers and rested his arm on the seat behind her head.

Mo chreach

! He was like no one she'd ever encountered before. She would certainly have weathered Sorcha's ill temper for missing her ball if she could have kept herself from the handsome Sassenach at her side. There was something dangerous about him simmering beneath his surface. She could feel it. She felt the danger as clearly as she did the heat that radiated from him.

Caitrin managed to find idle things to chit-chat about until they reached the Fergusons, though Elspeth couldn't quite follow the conversation. She could do nothing but stare out the darkened window and wish the evening were already over.

She felt his scorching gaze on her. How she managed to keep from shivering she had no idea, but continuing an acquaintance with the man was to be avoided.

When the coach finally rumbled to a stop, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would find Sorcha as soon as she stepped inside the Fergusons' sprawling home, and then she'd make her excuses and return home to her grandfather. Caitrin had MacQuarrie well under control, so she wasn't truly needed. Besides, she abhorred societal functions. She was only marginally accepted at these sorts of events, and only because the Macleods and Fergusons were loyal to her.

Lord Benjamin climbed out of the coach then turned and offered his hand. She accepted his assistance and tried not to stare into the light hazel depths of his eyes. Dangerous. He was definitely dangerous.

"I do hope you'll save me a dance, Miss Campbell," his gravelly voice rumbled in her ear as they followed Caitrin and MacQuarrie toward the Fergusons' ballroom.

Elspeth forced a smile to her lips. "I never dance, my lord."

"Never?" he echoed, a wolfish grin on his face. "I have a hard time imagining that."

No one had ever asked her, though she'd rather not divulge that sort of information. "I'm terribly clumsy," she said instead. "Perhaps ye noticed."

He laughed. "I do believe I'll take my chances."

A squeal erupted once they entered the ballroom adorned in heather and white roses. Elspeth was glad for the interruption. She knew that squeal, and the faster she wished Sorcha a happy birthday, the faster she could leave this event altogether. She dropped Lord Benjamin's arm, spun on her heels, and smiled at the

Còig

's youngest witch.

Dressed in a pretty rose silk, Sorcha's dark hair was piled high on her head, and her dark eyes danced as they swept over Elspeth. "Oh, El! Ye came! I thought for certain ye'd find an excuse."

So much for trying to leave early. Elspeth shook her head. "Sorcha, ye ken I'd be here ta wish ye the best on yer birthday."

The young witch squealed again as she threw her arms around El's neck. "Who's the handsome devil with ye?" she whispered in her ear.

Stepping away from her friend, Elspeth gestured to the strapping Sassenach. "Miss Sorcha Ferguson, this is Lord Benjamin. Sir, I'm afraid I've forgotten yer last name."

He smiled a dangerous smile. "Westfield."

Sorcha sucked in a breath. "As in the Duke of Blackmoor?"

Elspeth's eyes flashed to her escort. Even

she

had heard of Blackmoor's scandalous exploits. His brothers were rumored to be even more debauched. Lord Benjamin's smile faltered. "It seems my brother is known in every corner of Britain."

"

This

is Scotland," Sorcha informed him with an arrogant tilt of her head.

"So it is," he said quietly. Then, as the first strings of a waltz began, he squeezed Elspeth's shoulder. "I do believe this dance is mine, Miss Campbell."

Without a way out, she looked up at him and accepted his outstretched arm. Lord Benjamin led her to the middle of the floor and slid one arm around her waist. His light eyes twinkled in the chandelier light, and Elspeth suddenly found herself unable to look away from him. He was mesmerizing.

"You're light on your toes, Miss Campbell."

"Ye lead well, my lord."

His hand splayed against the small of her back, and he pulled her closer to him. "Your hair combs are unusual."

What an odd thing for a gentleman to notice. "Is that a compliment?"

"I find myself drawn to them."

"Ta my hair combs?" She couldn't help but giggle. "That has ta be the strangest thing a gentleman has ever said ta me."

He wasn't even fazed by her words. "Where did you get them?"

"They were a gift."

A muscle twitched in his jaw and Elspeth swallowed nervously. Why should he be so concerned with her hair combs? It didn't make one bit of sense.

"From whom?" he asked with a darkening frown.

She tilted her head back to see him better. "My mother."

Five

Ben was so taken aback that he couldn't avoid a misstep. "Ouch!" Miss Campbell softly cried as he stepped on her toe. She stopped dancing long enough to wiggle her toes within her slipper. Her eyes met his. Was that a twinkle within the depths? "I think they're all still attached, thank goodness," she continued.

"My apologies, Miss Campbell. I don't usually clod upon the toes of my dance partners."

"Does that mean I should consider myself ta be special?" she asked as he led her back into the dance.

"Quite special," he admitted. Special enough to have wolf hair combs that had been passed to her from her mother.

"Where did your mother get the combs?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, yet aware that he probably was failing miserably.

Her brows knit together. "Why are my combs so important ta ye, Lord Benjamin?"

"My brothers tell me I'm a curious sort." He attempted a smile. He really wanted to pull the combs from her hair so that he could inspect them for a maker's mark. He might find their origin that way.

"My mother had a liking for dogs." She shrugged.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had never been insulted so rudely. "I did you a good turn, yet you look me in the eye and insult me?"

"Pardon?"

"You don't pretend ignorance very well, Miss Campbell."

Ben fought the rage that suddenly built within him. Normally he only felt such tendencies at the moonful, in the days before the change happened. But tonight he was feeling it in full force. The intensity of it scared even him.

It was terribly bad form to leave a woman on the dance floor. But Ben felt a sudden and intense need to escape. He led Miss Campbell away and then dropped her hand and bowed respectfully to her. "Thank you for the dance. Regrettably, I must take my leave."

He didn't wait for a response, but turned and skirted quickly around the room. Fresh air. He needed fresh air. Quickly.

Ben's senses were in overload. He smelled the perfume of every woman he passed, the shaving lather of the men. He heard the whispers around him, most of which were normal fodder for the scandal pages. But they sounded like screaming to his ears. He burst through the terrace doors. Ben leaned as far as he could over the terrace wall as he looked down, gauging the distance between the terrace and the ground. Not too far to jump. He raised one leg over the wall.

"Did I say somethin' that offended ye?" Miss Campbell asked from behind him.

Ben stopped his climb and closed his eyes tightly, wishing she would disappear. Because if she didn't, she would be the most obvious source of release, the only outlet for his anger. For his beast. For himself.