Free Kathleen Harrington by Lachlan's Bride Page A

unconvincingly, he nearly broke into laughter.
    “You may tell her highness that I appreciate her thoughtfulness in sending one of her own ladies-in-waiting to wait upon me. I’d never have expected such singular attention.”
    She frowned, clearly unhappy with his intimation that he, a dastardly pirate, warranted any special treatment from a member of the royal family. Or from her, either. Yet, that’s exactly what she’d suggested as her reason for entering his bedchamber uninvited.
    While Lachlan waited for the vivacious female to realize she’d been caught in her own trap, he made use of the opportunity to admire her loveliness.
    She was the very picture of femininity, all soft curves and creamy complexion. Her blue morning gown, with its low neckline and tight-fitting bodice, revealed her lush figure. A locket hanging on a silver chain drew his gaze to the shadow of her cleavage, which beckoned enticingly. A round headdress trimmed with semi-precious gems permitted a glimpse of golden-brown hair, parted in the middle and pulled back beneath its folds of fine wool.
    She slowly raised her eyes to meet his and offered a wide, beguiling smile. An adorable dimple appeared in one cheek.
    By God, there was no doubt about it.
    Lady Francine Walsingham could charm the gold sovereigns right out of a tax collector’s fist.
    “Well, you are the official representative of King James,” she declared, as though that explained everything, and then immediately changed the subject. “By the by, I hope you enjoyed the dancing last evening.”
    “I did,” Lachlan replied, more than willing to follow her lead. “But ’twas unfortunate you left early with the other widows after your disagreement with the marquess.”
    “Why unfortunate, pray tell?”
    He shrugged in feigned nonchalance. “I’d hoped to dance with you more than once. And ’tis always a shame for a bonny lass to sleep alone.”
    Her lips curled upward in an impish smile. Her eyes twinkled impudently. “Your concern for me was totally misplaced, Laird Kinrath,” she replied with a lighthearted laugh. “Just because I quarreled with Lychester doesn’t mean I slept alone.”
    This time, as she started to move around him toward the door, she met Lachlan’s eyes with a frank, open gaze. A feeling deep in his gut told him, for once, she was probably telling the truth.
    Perhaps it was the impertinent gaiety.
    Perhaps the cloud of lavender drifting by.
    Or perhaps ’twas that pair of dark sparkling eyes which seemed to mock and entice at one and the same time.
    Whatever it was, unfamiliar talons of jealousy ripped asunder Lachlan’s facade of detachment. The thought of her in another man’s bed awoke the primal beast slumbering inside. Carnal desire surged through his veins and flooded his heart. He wanted to claim sole possession of this captivating female whom he’d met only the day before.
    As she sailed past with her pert little nose in the air, Lachlan reached out and caught her in his arms. He slid his hand beneath the soft folds of her headdress, threaded his fingers through her long silken curls, and imprisoned her head in his cupped palm.
    “Sleep with me tonight, Lady Walsingham,” he said hoarsely, “and I’ll make you forget any other man you’ve ever known.”
    Their faces only inches apart, she stared up at him in stunned silence. Her dark, curving lashes framed eyes wide with wonder. Her mouth parted slightly. She ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, then swallowed nervously.
    The temptation of her nearness, the feel of her curvaceous body ensnared in his arms was more than any sane man could resist. And at the moment, Lachlan was feeling far from rational.
    He drew her closer, till the soft mounds of her breasts were pressed against his naked chest, bent his head, and covered her mouth with his own.
    Francine didn’t struggle in the powerful Highlander’s embrace. She was too mesmerized by the feel of his warm lips.
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