To Catch a Highlander (10 page)

"Sophia, what are you offering as a wager?"

"You first," she said calmly, bold amusement glimmering in her gaze. "What do
you
have to offer?"

He was even more aware of the seductive line of her shoulders and the tantalizing curve of her breasts, hidden by that damned piece of lace. "I have funds in my London bank. I could draw markers against that."

"No, thank you."

He raised his brows.

"I have no plans to travel to
London
anytime soon, to gather the funds from a marker."

"So you won't take my markers."

"No, but…" Her gaze sharpened, though her voice remained soft. "You could use the deed to this house, such as it is. I'm sure you must still have that in your possession?"

There it was. "Of course."

Sophia deftly shuffled the cards, her fingers flying.

"Well, MacLean? Will you be willing to play for the house?"

He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I might,
if
you are willing to offer something of equal value."

"Equal to this house?" She flicked her fingers in the air. "Considering its condition, I think I might come up with something." Her fingers came to rest on her necklace. It sparkled against her pale skin, like dew on a flower. "What about this?"

He eyed it from across the table. Though it sparkled beguilingly, he knew better than to trust mere flash. "No."

She smiled serenely. "Why not? It's a lovely piece."

He regarded her through narrowed eyes, considering this, then held out his hand. "Let me see it."

Her fingers tightened over the necklace, her smile faltering. "You don't trust me."

"No. And you'd be wise not to trust me."

Her hand dropped from the necklace, and she said stiffly, "I have changed my mind. I don't wish to wager my necklace after all."

"Because it's fake?"

Her eyes flashed. "No. Because my father gave it to me, and it's precious."

Dougal crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, then. If you won't wager your necklace, what
will
you wager?"

"I suppose a marker is out of the question."

He shrugged. "You wouldn't take mine."

"But I don't have any jewelry I wish to part with."

"Not unless you'll allow me to examine it. I have quite a good eye for jewelry."

"I'm certain you've bought many pieces." Her voice held delicate sarcasm.

"I like a woman in diamonds," he replied softly. "And nothing else." He pursed his lips, regarding her through half-closed eyes. "I wonder if…"

"If what?"

"I'm not willing to wager the house… yet."

Her eyes sharpened. "Yet?"

"I need to see more of it, get a better sense of its worth. Once that's done—" He shrugged. "I might be willing to wager it."

She tried to look disinterested but couldn't mask her disappointment. "I suppose that makes sense."

"However, I have something else to wager: the necklace from the diamond set your father lost to me."

Her eyes glittered with interest. "Against?" she asked quietly.

"The sight of you wearing it—naked."

A delicate blush touched her cheeks, but her gaze never wavered. "You were right; you aren't a gentleman," she said huskily.

"And you aren't a lady of quality. I'd say that makes us a matched pair."

"I may not be the daughter of a duke, but neither am I a light skirt. I won't wager my virtue," she said sharply.

"I wasn't asking for your virtue. Just a moment to appreciate your charms in their natural state. But if the thought frightens you—" He waved a hand in the air dismissively.

Sophia regarded him stonily. She would not fall for the oldest manipulation in the book; she was no child to be double-dared into doing something she'd regret.

But neither was she the sort of woman to quit. If she wished to win back her house, she had to inflame this man, make him desire her beyond the bounds of common sense.

Her heart thudded as she dropped her gaze to the cards beneath her fingertips. "I won't disrobe."

His gaze locked with hers. "No?"

One word had never sounded so persuasive. She shook her head. "Not for a mere necklace."

"I see. What will you do for a mere necklace?"

She considered this a moment. "I will let down my hair."

His gaze locked on her hair, a stillness to him that made her uneasy. Finally, to her surprise, he nodded. "Very well."

She blinked. "You agree?"

A smile flickered across his face. "I love a woman's hair—it is one of my weaknesses. I think seeing yours unbound, streaming over your shoulders, would be one of the most sensual things I've ever witnessed."

Well, when he put it like
that
, it made her wish she'd held out for the entire set, not just the necklace.

"We are decided, then: the necklace against my hair. Only… you must promise you won't touch. That's not permitted."

She wasn't certain why she added that caveat. Perhaps because she was afraid of herself, of the effects if she touched
him
. One of them had to be in control, and she was determined that it be she.

He didn't move, but she sensed a change in him. He was intent, focused on her as never before, his green eyes burning brightly. "I would never touch you unless you desired it."

Sophia's fingers trembled. Could she do this? Did she dare?

She felt a strange exhilaration, almost a hunger. He was playing right into her hands. "I agree, then." The words feathered over her lips, a breath and yet more. "The diamonds were my mother's."

"And of exceptional quality, I might add. I was quite pleased with them."

She nodded and shuffled the cards once more. Oddly, she felt no fear, only a wild desire to see what might come of this madness. If she wished to win back the house, she had to become bolder, had to prove to him that she was his equal in daring, as well as everything else.

She straightened her shoulders, the gesture lifting her bosom and drawing his attention. "Shall I deal, MacLean? Or will you?"

He chuckled, the sound low and seductive. "You are an intriguing woman, Sophia Beatrice MacFarlane."

"But not a lady, as you so eagerly pointed out," she said with a sniff.

"There are many definitions of the word
lady
."

"Yet I doubt any of them apply to me."

Dougal raised his brows. There was something exquisitely provoking at the way she said that, looking like every man's image of an angel, all blond beauty and angelically sweet smile. Yet in her eyes lurked an entrancing gleam of deviltry.

His body leapt at the sight, not just in response but in recognition. He was so bored with
London
's amusements, women, wagers and cards and brandy. Bored with following a mindless cow path of propriety, that stifled the air and attempted to rob him of his sensual nature.

More than anyone else he knew, he luxuriated in the niceties of life. He enjoyed the sultry fragrance of an unlit cigar, the warm tincture of good brandy as it slid over his tongue, the silky slide of satin sheets, the crisp outline of a woman's naked figure reclining against his pillows, the seductive clink of ice in a waiting glass…

When he'd first arrived in
London
, he'd experienced such a wealth of sensory stimulations he'd thought they'd never pall.

Yet less than a year later, he knew his error: newness wasn't enough—he needed originality, as well. With Sophia, he might have found both.

She was breathtakingly beautiful to behold, her hair soft as silk, her voice rich and melodious, her skin exotically scented with rose and jasmine, her body lushly formed.

She was the perfect woman in all ways but one: she was doing her damnedest to fleece him out of MacFarlane House.

Thank God he'd discovered her devious plans; he wasn't certain he'd have escaped whole, otherwise. She drew him in as effortlessly as a candle draws a moth, just by being. Had he ridden in unaware, he could have been duped. The thought stung a bit more than he'd have liked.

She laid the cards on the table before him, her eyes aglow in the candlelight, a faint tremble in her voice. "Well, MacLean?" she asked, her voice teasing, daring, and excited all in the same breath. "Do you dare?"

So there he was, the laird of Clan MacLean, facin' the dreaded White Witch. She'd already placed her curse upon him, but he hadn't given up yet, thinkin' he could sweet-talk her into takin' back the curse. What he didn't take into account was that he might talk sweet, but she tasted sweet. And that's another power altogether
.

Old Woman Nora from
Loch Lomond
to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

Sophia's entire body tingled, her gaze drawn to MacLean's lips. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin against the back of one of her hands. "Do you have my mother's diamonds with you?"

"I do." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch, untied the string, and tipped it over. A river of diamonds and gold spilled onto the table.

Sophia reached for her mother's necklace, but his large, warm hand covered hers.

"
Tsk, tsk
," he drawled, his eyes bright. "You know the rules."

"I do," she said pertly. "And the first one was no touching. I wish to examine the set in the light—unless you fear I might discover you've traded them out for fakes?"

He grinned and placed a kiss on back of her fingers. "Very well. You may examine the items."

She'd never felt so alive and so amazingly clearheaded. It was as if she'd been asleep for years and was only now awakening.

Was this how Red felt when he gambled? If so, it was a wonder he'd been able to quit when Mama had died. For the first time, Sophia wondered what else her father might have given up all those years ago.

She picked up the necklace and trailed it between her fingers. The metal was warmed from resting in Dougal's pocket.