And the Bride Wore Plaid (3 page)

Half an hour later, Devon had to admit that he had a certain inclination toward petite, very feminine types of women. Women of birth who knew the benefits of guile.

Devon decided he wouldn’t have too much difficulty staying away from vixens of that particular cut. He would instead amuse himself with only ineligible, hoydenish women.

There. That should take care of that blasted talisman ring
. Life was not too difficult after all. His eyes slowly slid closed and he fell weightless into a deep, deep sleep.

Devon St. John is no better than any other man. It’s true, I suppose, that he is quite handsome. And everyone knows his family is both wealthy and well connected. I suppose it is also accurate that there is something charming about a man who knows his own value and is so very willing to appreciate yours. And God knows I’m not immune to that smile of his; it quite melts me where I stand. But other than that... oh blast it! I suppose he is better than other men.

Miss Clarissa Fullerton to her sister-in-law, Viscountess Mooreland, while watching the waltz at Almack’s

Morning dawned, and with it a fresh, stiff breeze that rippled the grassy moors and chased the rain clouds to distant regions far beyond Kilkairn. Sunlight shone through the narrow windows of Devon’s room. Full of golden mischief, a beam slipped through the single crack in the curtain to tickle his nose.

Devon rubbed his face with both hands. He yawned, then blinked into the sliver of light, slowly becoming aware of where he was. The standing ruins of Kilkairn Castle. He was suddenly glad for the shroud of bed curtains that kept out most of the sunlight. It would have been dismal indeed to have to face the wrack and ruin of his surroundings before breakfast. The door banged open, and footsteps sounded as someone entered his room.

Ah, Tipton! Thank goodness. The valet had a knack for making things pleasant. By now he would have everything hung and ready for the new day.

Devon lifted on one elbow and raised the edge of the curtain. But it wasn’t Tipton at all. A woman stood with her back to him, a housemaid from the look of her rather nondescript clothing.

She threw open the wardrobe, the door banging against the wall. Just as he began to ask her what she needed, she sighed aloud and ran a hand through her hair, moving ever so slightly into the sunlight. Her hair gleamed brightly, red and gold threads vying for the light.

Devon was caught by the sight, the color almost mesmerizing. He wondered if her hair was as soft as it appeared, so thick and curling, as if it had a life of its own. She bent over to drag a bandbox out of the bottom of the wardrobe. She yanked off the top and then began digging through a tangled waggle of ribbon, muttering as she did so.

Devon raised his brows. From his vantage point on the bed, he was now at eye level with her rump. That was enough for the moment, for this particular rump was outlined very prettily by the thin, homespun material of the maid’s gown. It was almost as if she were tempting him.

The red-gold hair ... that lush rump. Was this what the arse of pure temptation looked like? It was certainly well rounded, he decided, cupping his hands at the approximate size of her cheeks. Lush. Sensual. Generous. Fleshy enough to make even his sleepy body stir to life. His manhood tightened in anticipation.

His curious gaze dropped lower. Her rump, in addition to being full and curved, was attached to a very long pair of legs. An instant image began to form in his mind—of the maid’s firm, well-fleshed body against his own, of holding that rump while those long legs clutched at his waist. Beneath the covers, his manhood hardened even more.

A warm smile crossed Devon’s face. This was something indeed! He’d gone to bed with the desire to pursue only the most ineligible women available, and then had awakened to find the perfect candidate within arm’s length—a simple housemaid with hair the color of fire and a rounded, curvaceous body. She was so unlike the sophisticated, petite women he’d pursued in the past that she could well be his salvation. He’d be so busy entertaining her in his bed that he’d have no thoughts of love or anything else, for that matter.

He eyed her with new appreciation, suddenly anxious to get through the awkward first moments. She was deliciously different from his usual flirts. Not only was she a good head taller, but she was also wider of shoulders and hips. Quite a magnificent specimen, if he said so himself. Better yet, he’d never bedded a woman with quite that shade of red-gold hair. All told, it would be a daring, exciting new experience.

“St. George’s dragon,” the woman muttered, her voice rich and husky, like the smoky roil of fog across a morning moor. She kicked the bandbox as if utterly disgusted before turning toward the door, her profile presented against the deep cherry wardrobe.

Devon was given a glimpse of a straight nose, full, sexy lips; and long lashes shadowing eyes of an indeterminate color. Well! This was looking better all the time.

Grinning, he pushed back the curtains. “Good morning, love.”

At the first rustle of the velvet, the woman whirled to face him. “Who are you?” Her brows snapped lower as she seemed to regain her breath. “And who let you in here?”

She didn’t have the rich brogue he’d expected. Indeed, her tone would not be amiss in London. But what really caught his attention was her eyes—a deep and verdant green, they sparkled angrily.

Devon took the time to collect himself. “I am a friend of Strathmore’s.”

She returned his look with a flat one of her own, completely unimpressed. “Does he know you are here?”

Devon shrugged. “I sent him a letter, though it seems he kept the information to himself. No one seemed to know I was to arrive.”

“And who are you?”

“Devon St. John.” He waited to see if there was some flicker of acknowledgment in her gaze, but none came. Good. Curse or no curse, he’d be damned if he’d trade on the family name in an effort to win a chit to his bed. He’d never had to do so before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He gathered the pillows and piled them behind him so that he could lean back and still see the woman’s expression.

She eyed him cautiously, but made no move to dash for the door. “Who let you in?” she repeated.

“The housekeeper, I believe. Short woman, rather thin.” He held out his hand. “About this tall, with big feet and a thick, gray braid.”

“That would be her,” the maid said grimly. “I wonder why the devil she didn’t show you into one of the guest chambers.”

“None were ready.”

“That is not surprising. Still, she had no right to give you this chamber.” She met his gaze and said stiffly, “It is mine.”

The housekeeper had said that it was the room of a lady’s maid, which would explain the green-eyed woman’s rather polished tones. “So this bed is yours, is it?” He smiled his most winsome smile. “I love the scent of lavender.” And would have loved it even more if he had been inhaling the sweet scent from her bare skin and not just her pillows and sheets.

“How pleasant,” she said in a tone that implied the information was anything but. “I’m certain someone has by now prepared a room for you. It is time you left.”

The maid was as hospitable in manner as the housekeeper from the previous night. The help at Kilkairn Castle were poorly trained. They were, in fact, the worst Devon had ever experienced, with the exception of his brother Brandon’s coachman, a not-quite-reformed thief.

Still, it behooved Devon to jolly the maid along, especially if he wished to visit her bed with her in it. He let his gaze travel across her, touching on the fullness of her breasts, the round curve of her hips. Rich like an oversoft mattress, her body beckoned him to while away a few pleasant hours. He imagined what she’d be like between the sheets and had to shift to get comfortable again. He didn’t know if it was the faint air of challenge that clung to her very generous curves or the curves themselves, but he was quite ready to sample her bounty.

He stretched a bit, letting the sheet slip a touch lower. As soon as her eyes traveled over his chest, to his lap, he said, “This is a wonderful bed. The mattress is firm, the sheets sweet-smelling. Perhaps I should just stay here.”

Her gaze jerked back to his face, and she plopped her hands on her hips. “Nay, you will not.”

There it was, the faintest hint of a Scottish brogue. Apparently when my lady’s maid was irked, her accent began to show. Devon hid a smile and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“We won’t see anything. You will leave now.”

He looked down at his lap, barely hidden from sight by the thin sheet. “Now?”

Her gaze followed his to where his obvious reaction was visible against the folds. Her cheeks heated, a lush pink color beneath the creamy white. “Nay,” she said hastily, “not now. But as soon as I’ve left. Then you can put on your clothes and be on your way.”

He was not going to leave without at least a kiss— or something more—to give him the strength to fight off whatever enticements the blasted talisman ring had in store. He glanced down at the bandbox she’d been peering into. “What are you looking for?”

“A ch—” She snapped her lips closed, glaring at him as if he’d committed a sin of some sort. “None of your business.” She bent down and plunked the lid back on the bandbox. Then she picked it up and returned it to the stuffed wardrobe, slamming the doors closed. “I’ll leave you to dress and then I’ll return and finish what I was doing.”

“Don’t leave yet.” He patted the bed beside him, watching her from beneath his lashes. “Stay and talk a bit.”

One brow raised in skeptical disbelief. “Talk?” Her gaze dropped pointedly to his lap. “That’s not what you appear to be wanting.”

He choked on an unexpected laugh. She was a brazen one with a wit to match. It was a pity he had so little time, for it would have been wonderful to luxuriate in that deliciously decadent body of hers. As it was, he was forced to immediate action.

Devon met her gaze directly. “I wish I had more time to spend here at Kilkairn.”

“You aren’t staying long?”

He ignored the satisfaction that threaded her voice. “I’ve business to attend to for my brother, so I must leave in three weeks. Which is a great, sad pity.” He peered at her from beneath his lashes and waited.

She shifted from one foot to the other, curiosity rampant in her gaze. After a moment, she asked in a rush, as if the words were forced from her, “Why is it a pity?”

“Because if it were not for that wretched fact, I would stay here and spend days, weeks, slowly seducing you, teasing and tormenting away your frowns until you had nothing left but ecstatic gasps and contented sighs.”

If she’d colored before, it was nothing compared to the blaze of pink that heated her cheeks now.

Devon leaned forward. “More than anything in the world, I want to kiss you. Right now. May I?”

She blinked, and he realized that her lashes were so long that they tangled at the corners. “A kiss?”

It wasn’t an invitation exactly. But it would do. In one smooth movement, he slid to the edge of the bed, swung his feet to the floor, grasped the woman’s arm, and pulled her into his almost-bare lap. It was unfortunate that the sheet had tangled about his hips or there would have been naught but her skirts separating them.

Without giving her time to react beyond a simple gasp, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, his mouth opening over hers, his tongue pressing between her lips. He tasted, teased, poured every ounce of his longing and desire into that one touch.

She stiffened, but didn’t move, neither welcoming nor fighting off his embrace, though he could feel her heat thundering beneath his hands as he held her close. Could taste the wanton desire that answered his own.

A soft moan sounded in her throat, and Devon deepened the embrace. But even as he did so, she went limp in his arms, her face turning away from his as she gasped for breath.

It was an unbelievably sensual moment, the feel of her in his arms, her taste on his lips, her heart beating so fiercely that his own raged in response.

Devon held her tight and didn’t move. After a long moment of fighting off the heavy wave of desire that made his loins ache and his throat tighten with need, he caught his breath enough to lift his head and look down into her face.

He expected shocked surprise. Or perhaps a pretense of outraged virtue, all of which he was prepared to kiss away.

But instead, despite her flushed cheeks, she met his gaze directly enough and said in a rather breathless voice, “Bloody hell, not again.” To his further astonishment, she seemed to school her expression into one of supreme disinterest.

Of all the hundreds—nay, thousands—of kisses he’d delivered, none had met with a reaction anywhere close to this—disinterest tinged with boredom. Nor was he used to seeing a tedious expression on the faces of the women he gifted with his expertise. Bemusement, yes. Wonderment, yes. Even awed excitement. But boredom?

He pulled back a little more so that he could see fully into the maid’s face. “I beg your pardon, but did you say ‘Bloody hell, not again’?”

“Aye,” she said, her gaze even with his. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen slightly, her chest still moving rapidly up and down—those few things assured him that she was a pretender.

But still, it was intriguing that she could manage such a disinterested look and tone. “What do you mean ‘again’?” he demanded.

She struggled to sit upright, but when he refused to loosen his hold, she merely sighed, her breath sweet, brushed with cinnamon. “Every time Strathmore has a guest, I get mauled. I am damned tired of it.”

Devon’s lips twitched. The maid’s breath might be sweet, but her language was not. “If you don’t wish to be mauled, then perhaps you should try to be a little less tempting.”

“Tempting? Me?” Kat Macdonald blinked into the blue, blue eyes of her captor, fighting a losing battle to appear unaffected. Her mind whirled around the fact that the handsomest man she’d ever beheld had swept her into his lap and bestowed an expert, passionate kiss on her astounded lips. Then she’d had to fight the fact that her body had immediately softened, her heartbeat had tripled, her chest had tightened with an unfamiliar emotion.