like Ian McCray would take your woman and use her as a bargaining tool. And,” he added with a chuckle, “use her in other ways, at a guess.”
“That whoreson bastard.” His vision obscured by his violent anger, Frankton could hardly see through the red haze that seemed to envelop the room. “We met in Edinburgh when one of my cousins had the poor taste to marry a Scottish earl. I sensed then his distaste for me. It is completely mutual.”
“You do have a certain reputation, my dear Frankton, that’s . . . er . . . how shall I put it? For the sake of diplomacy, perhaps I’ll just say rumor has it you usually get what you want, one way or the other.”
“You are no better,” Frankton answered.
“Indeed.” Falmouth lifted a brow—an irritating, supercilious mannerism. “That aside, my advice is to forget the winsome Miss Arlington. Given McCray’s status as an indiscriminate womanizer and the fact that she has been in his company—and undoubtedly his bed—for over a week now, she is no longer the tender, terrified virgin you wanted, not to mention she might have a McCray brat growing right now in her belly.”
Baron Frankton halted, arrested by the knowledge that his friend—if you considered an amoral man who could be bought for a bag of coins a friend—knew of his secret pleasures. Gruffly, he said, “Every man wants a pure bride.”
“But most do not anticipate with quite so much relish the notion of her terror and pain during her deflowering. Make no mistake, Frankton, I know exactly who and what you are.” Leaning back, looking like Lucifer himself in black robes superimposed against the bloodred fabric of the regal chair, Falmouth smiled in a parody of the real thing.
“I know you as well,” Frankton warned. “You speak of my secrets, ” he sneered. “At least I do not lust after comely young men, keeping them in my home disguised as footmen and scribes.”
His lordship looked unperturbed. “Robbie McCray was particularly tempting,” he drawled with introspection, one hand reaching for his glass of wine. “So young and intense, his good looks striking, his sexual prowess already the fodder for whispers among the ladies. Perhaps when you retrieve the girl, you can bring him along as well. For me.”
“I thought you advised me to forget her.”
“And leave her to McCray?” Lord Falmouth laughed out loud, the sound grating in the depths of the shrouded room. “You have no intention of listening to me. I knew it before I said the words. This young woman ”—he said the word with obvious distaste—“has aroused your lust to a level I have never seen before in all the years of our acquaintance, and besides, I believe you paid a small fortune for her, and your parsimonious soul would never give that up without a fight. Take a large force; that is all I advise, and stay out of the reach of McCray’s sword arm. He isn’t to be faced in hand- to-hand combat.”
“Oh,” Dartmus assured him, his mind still working out the details of his counteroffensive, “do not worry. Now that I know where Leanna is being held, I have a plan.”
Falmouth lifted a brow. “You always do, Frankton. It is one of the things I like about you.”
The water rippled and moved, the air hanging heavy with shadows, the wind very light and teasing. The day was lovely and warm, the breeze redolent with the earthy scent of heather and pungent earth. As she strolled along the edge of the long loch, Leanna sighed, lifting her face to the slight wind and inhaling deeply. After spending weeks in her tower and the past few days inside the castle, she found the fresh air intoxicating and the feel of the sun on her face a lovely luxury.
“Loch Cray is over ten miles long,” Robbie, walking next to her, informed her. “It has some of the best salmon fishing in Scotland, not that our clan lets anyone else test these waters with their lines. Of course, at least right now, it would be so difficult to
“That whoreson bastard.” His vision obscured by his violent anger, Frankton could hardly see through the red haze that seemed to envelop the room. “We met in Edinburgh when one of my cousins had the poor taste to marry a Scottish earl. I sensed then his distaste for me. It is completely mutual.”
“You do have a certain reputation, my dear Frankton, that’s . . . er . . . how shall I put it? For the sake of diplomacy, perhaps I’ll just say rumor has it you usually get what you want, one way or the other.”
“You are no better,” Frankton answered.
“Indeed.” Falmouth lifted a brow—an irritating, supercilious mannerism. “That aside, my advice is to forget the winsome Miss Arlington. Given McCray’s status as an indiscriminate womanizer and the fact that she has been in his company—and undoubtedly his bed—for over a week now, she is no longer the tender, terrified virgin you wanted, not to mention she might have a McCray brat growing right now in her belly.”
Baron Frankton halted, arrested by the knowledge that his friend—if you considered an amoral man who could be bought for a bag of coins a friend—knew of his secret pleasures. Gruffly, he said, “Every man wants a pure bride.”
“But most do not anticipate with quite so much relish the notion of her terror and pain during her deflowering. Make no mistake, Frankton, I know exactly who and what you are.” Leaning back, looking like Lucifer himself in black robes superimposed against the bloodred fabric of the regal chair, Falmouth smiled in a parody of the real thing.
“I know you as well,” Frankton warned. “You speak of my secrets, ” he sneered. “At least I do not lust after comely young men, keeping them in my home disguised as footmen and scribes.”
His lordship looked unperturbed. “Robbie McCray was particularly tempting,” he drawled with introspection, one hand reaching for his glass of wine. “So young and intense, his good looks striking, his sexual prowess already the fodder for whispers among the ladies. Perhaps when you retrieve the girl, you can bring him along as well. For me.”
“I thought you advised me to forget her.”
“And leave her to McCray?” Lord Falmouth laughed out loud, the sound grating in the depths of the shrouded room. “You have no intention of listening to me. I knew it before I said the words. This young woman ”—he said the word with obvious distaste—“has aroused your lust to a level I have never seen before in all the years of our acquaintance, and besides, I believe you paid a small fortune for her, and your parsimonious soul would never give that up without a fight. Take a large force; that is all I advise, and stay out of the reach of McCray’s sword arm. He isn’t to be faced in hand- to-hand combat.”
“Oh,” Dartmus assured him, his mind still working out the details of his counteroffensive, “do not worry. Now that I know where Leanna is being held, I have a plan.”
Falmouth lifted a brow. “You always do, Frankton. It is one of the things I like about you.”
The water rippled and moved, the air hanging heavy with shadows, the wind very light and teasing. The day was lovely and warm, the breeze redolent with the earthy scent of heather and pungent earth. As she strolled along the edge of the long loch, Leanna sighed, lifting her face to the slight wind and inhaling deeply. After spending weeks in her tower and the past few days inside the castle, she found the fresh air intoxicating and the feel of the sun on her face a lovely luxury.
“Loch Cray is over ten miles long,” Robbie, walking next to her, informed her. “It has some of the best salmon fishing in Scotland, not that our clan lets anyone else test these waters with their lines. Of course, at least right now, it would be so difficult to
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