To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

Collin leaned his head back over the top of the wing chair, stared at the elaborate relief sculpted in the plaster of the ceiling. Cherubs peeked from behind plaster clouds, every tiny curl on their heads accounted for. Cherubs in the library. Oh, Alex would be very disappointed with her new home.

"Collin?"

"I guess . . . I guess that must be it then. St. Claire thought to beat him and regain his pride. And when he was beaten again, he compromised the woman John loved. I wonder if he knew that John would challenge him, or if killing him was just a bonus."

"I'll do everything I can to help find him. And when he's caught, he will be prosecuted."

"I'm not sure anything more can be done. My men in France are watching for his return. I've bribed his solici­tor. It's a waiting game."

He glanced to Hart to find the man staring at the ceiling as well. Perhaps the cherubs were functional, a distraction from troubling thoughts.

"Your Grace?"

They both jumped and looked toward the door to find Prescott standing at the threshold, his clothing more lord­like than anything Collin even owned. The man was im­peccable, as always, while Collin looked exactly like a man who'd spent a week in the saddle.

"Lady Alexandra has requested—"

Prescott shifted quite abruptly to the left, displaced by an outraged vision in lace and lawn.

"Hart, I don't need to stay in bed anymore. The doctor made quite clear— Collin!" She flew across the room, im­possibly alive for a girl only days out of her deathbed.

Collin could not get his knees straight before she was on him, her dressing robe flying apart to reveal the less con­servative nightgown beneath. Her warm bottom landed squarely on his lap as he hit his chair with a grunt, but Alex did not grant him a moment's reprieve. "How long have you been here? Why haven't you come

up? I'm dying of boredom, I tell you." She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his ear. "You look in need of a bath, and I do have that debt to repay."

"Your brother is sitting not three feet away," he responded as quietly as he could.

"So?"

"Alex. . ."

"Your loss," she countered, and bounced to her feet. She flashed Hart a sassy smile and sauntered across the room. "Just what are you boys up to?"

Collin gave his future brother-in-law a wary look, but Hart shrugged back at him and stood.

"We're negotiating your marriage contract, pet. Your assets must be assigned."

"Oh?" The hot wariness in her gaze burned through Collin's skin. "Well, it must be done I suppose."

"I think you'll find your new husband to be the soul of generosity."

"Of course," she answered, but he could see the relief that cooled her eyes.

God, he hated this whole situation. Why couldn't she have been a tavern keeper's daughter or the sister of a squire? Why had he fallen for a princess?

Her hand trailed over the large table, sliding over one of the working drafts of the contr

act. She stopped and straight­ened, then leaned in to peer closely at the words. Collin stiffened.

"What's this?"

He felt his jaw clench. He didn't want her to look at the numbers, felt as if his life had been laid bare on those papers, lined up to be judged. She had the right though. Of course she did.

"MacTibbenham?"

Collin cleared his throat, but not before he heard a dis­tinct snort from Hart's direction. "MacTibbenham Collin Blackburn? That's your name?"

"Ah. . ."