To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

Her fan struck his elbow with a satisfying whack. "You go too far."

"On the contrary."

She felt the hot slide of his fingers curling around her arm, gripping too tightly, but she dared not pull away— two faces had turned in their direction. There was enough talk already

about Collin's wife. She would not cause a scene over this snake's injured pride.

Smiling at the woman nearest her, she hissed through her teeth, "Unhand me."

"You'd give yourself to that scoundrel St. Claire and fall into bed with a damned stud farmer, but you turned me away like a supplicant, you little bitch."

"Let go."

"I hear tell that Blackburn is little pleased with you. Does he resent paying such a high price for ill-used goods?"

"Let go this instant or you'll regret it." Alex felt limp with shock when his fingers actually loosened and fell away.

"You're damned lucky your brother is a duke. You wouldn't be so—"

"Will you introduce me, Lady Westmore?"

Her husband's voice sounded so close that Alex jumped, spinning to find him only a yard behind her, his gray eyes flat. "Collin!"

"Yes."

She blinked, wondering if he'd heard, but no . . . He would be hot with rage if he knew. He stepped forward to join her and his eyes were positively icy when they swung toward Dixon. A thumping like a rabbit's heart took up inside her chest. What was she to say? Not the truth, cer­tainly, not unless she wanted a husband on trial for murder.

"Um." A glance showed her Mr. Dixon's pale face. "Yes. Of course. Mr. Robert Dixon, this is my husband, Collin Blackburn, Lord Westmore. Mr. Dixon is a friend of my brother's."

Collin did not take the man's hesitant offer of a hand­shake. In fact, he looked at the hand so fiercely that Dixon yanked it back and gave no more than a murmured pleas­antry before spinning away.

Alex's nerves hummed with anticipation of some-thing dire.

"Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes!" she gasped and slid her hand over his hard arm. "Yes, let's go."

They slipped past the guests, Alex trailing behind his straight back, mind spinning for a way to deflect his anger. It didn't matter, really. She wanted to leave. And perhaps he'd only sensed her dislike of the man she'd been speak­ing with.

Her heeled slippers pinched her feet and provided no cushion against the granite underfoot as they hurried past the milling crowd. By the time Collin retrieved her cloak and called the carriage, she could do nothing more than collapse into the cushioned seat with a sigh.

"I forgot to say good-bye to Jeannie."

"Who was that man?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Alex." "Why are you angry?"

"I don't know, perhaps it has something to do with stum­bling upon my wife in an intimate conversation with a man I've never met."

Her teeth ground hard together as she searched his face in the dim light of the carriage lamp, looking for a sign of. . . of something. Something that wasn't there.

"Was he one of your lovers?"

"What? Collin—" A hard shake of her head freed a spark of anger from all the guilt and self-pity she'd been hiding under. "That doesn't even make sense." She watched the frantic working of his jaw, the muscles that clenched and released, thrown into prominence by shadow. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just answer the question."