Claimed by the Laird by Nicola Cornick Page A

ruthlessness, such uncompromising strength in a man would be too much to handle.
    It seemed ludicrous that Lucas Ross was a servant. He was too tough, too in control to be at the beck and call of others. She pictured him more as a soldier, or a sailor, an adventurer, someone who gave orders rather than took them. He was a man born to lead, not follow. But she was being fanciful. A man could not choose his station in life, nor could he necessarily change it.
    A shiver skittered down her spine. Lucas had descended the castle steps and was striding across the lawn toward them. He looked very purposeful, and she suddenly felt a desperate urge to run away. It was ridiculous, but even so the panic clogged her throat. He had not followed her instructions from the previous night. That should have told her something about the man he was and she should have thought twice before refusing to allow Galloway to appoint him.
    Well, it was done now, and Lucas would simply have to accept it. She was the Duke of Forres’s daughter and she did not expect to be confronted by a servant or be required to justify her decisions. All the same, as Lucas approached the three of them, the breath caught in her throat and she had to stop herself from pressing a hand against her bodice where her heart was tripping crazily, as though she had run too far, too fast.
    Suddenly Lucas was standing directly in front of her. His physical presence was so powerful that Christina took a step back even though there was nothing remotely threatening in his manner. Their eyes met. His were so brown they were almost black, dark as a winter’s night beneath those straight black brows, his expression impossible to read. The rest of his face was equally daunting. There was no warmth or softness in it. It was all hard angles and darkness. He held Christina’s gaze; she tried to look away and found that she could not. She was floored by the same physical awareness, fiercely intense, that had possessed her the previous night.
    Then it was over, as though it had never been, and he bowed most elegantly.
    “Lady Christina?” he said. His tone was deferential, in contradiction to the expression in his eyes, which was anything but respectful. “My name is Lucas Ross. I do not believe we have met, unless you have the advantage of me....” He let the words hang for a moment and Christina’s heart gave a wayward thump.
    He had recognized her. He knew she was the woman he had kissed the previous night.
    She straightened her spine. “No,” she said coldly. “I have not had that pleasure, Mr. Ross.”
    A spark of amusement gleamed in Lucas’s eyes as though he was remembering just how pleasurable it had been, how she had melted in his arms, her lips opening beneath his as he had kissed her with heat and skill and passion. She felt a flash of that same sensual heat low in her belly. Damn him. The only thing she could do now was to act the aristocratic lady, disdainful, dismissive—even if cold was the very last thing she was feeling.
    “This is very irregular,” she said. “In what way may I help you, Mr. Ross?”
    Lucas smiled, quick, appreciative. It transformed his whole face, giving it warmth for one brief moment.
    “I applied for the footman’s post,” he said. “Unfortunately my application was not successful. I wondered if you would be good enough as to explain why?”
    “The appointment of servants is Mr. Galloway’s job, Mr. Ross,” Christina said. “You would need to apply to him for an explanation. Now if you will excuse me—”
    “But you were the one who refused to offer me the post,” Lucas said. “I heard you tell Mr. Galloway not to appoint me.”
    There was a sharp silence, during which Christina ran through any number of unladylike epithets in her head. She had not realized that they had been overheard.
    “I am sorry, Mr. Ross,” she said eventually. “I am not in the habit of explaining my decisions to anyone.”
    The quizzical lift of