Free Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page A

. . .”—he kept his words deliberate, pausing to let the qualification sink in—“I’ll have to change your mind.”
    â€œAnd just how do you imagine doing that?”
    The words were flung at him, a challenge, a taunt. Brows slowly rising, his gaze intent, locked on hers, Richard held her trapped—and raised one hand. And deliberately caressed the curl quivering by one ear.
    Her ice shattered—she gasped, shivered, and stepped back. The blood drained from her face, then rushed back as she stiffened.
    And threw him a sizzling glare. “Forget it!”
    She whirled, skirts hissing; spine rigid, she stalked out.
    And slammed the door behind her.

Chapter 4

    T hat night, Catriona slept poorly, bedevilled by a vision of a warrior’s face. Forced to view that same vision, in the flesh, over the breakfast table, she inwardly sniffed and decided to go for a long ride.
    Heading upstairs to change, she met Algaria at the top of the stairs. Algaria’s black gaze swept her, then fastened on her face.
    â€œWhere are you off to so early?”
    â€œI need some fresh air—how can a place so cold be so stuffy?”
    â€œHmm.” Looking down into the hall, Algaria sniffed disparagingly. “The atmosphere is certainly less than convivial”—she shot a shrewd glance at Catriona—“what with this unnecessary charade.”
    â€œCharade?”
    â€œAye. It’s plain as a pikestaff that bastard from below has no real intention to wed—not you, nor, I’ll warrant, any woman.” Algaria’s face was set, the lines deeply etched. “It’s clear he’s a wastrel and just enjoying himself at our expense. Even Mary holds no hope other than that he’ll eventually decline to be a part of Seamus’s wild scheme and go back to London. She thinks he’s making a show of considering the issue out of politeness.”
    Catriona stiffened. “Indeed?”
    Algaria’s lips twitched; she patted Catriona’s hand. “No need to take offense—it’s what we want, after all.” She started down the stairs. “Him to go away and leave you alone.”
    Catriona stared at the back of Algaria’s head; her answering “Hmm” was supposed to be approving—somehow, a hint of disappointment crept in. She shut her ears to it; swinging about, she marched purposefully to her room.
    It was the work of a few minutes to don her riding habit, a snugly fitting jacket and full skirt in jewel green twill. Serviceable, it was not especially warm; she hunted through the wardrobe for her old-fashioned fur-lined cloak. Her hair was a problem—in the end, she braided it and looped the braids about her head.
    â€œThere!” Satisfied her hair would not come loose no matter how hard she rode, she swung the cloak about her shoulders and headed for the door.
    The stables huddled between the main house and the mountain, sheltered from the incessant winds and, at present, the lightly flurrying snow. The day was overcast, but the clouds were too light to deter her; she was accustomed to riding in all weather, whenever her duties called. The views might be grey, but they were visible; the hovering clouds kept the temperature above freezing. While the snow on the bare fields was hoof-deep, on the paths and tracks, the cover was less, and none of it was dangerously icy.
    All in all, a perfectly acceptable winter’s day to go riding in The Trossachs. That was Catriona’s determined thought as, atop a strong chestnut, she clattered out of the stable yard and headed into the trees. She’d ridden often in the few weeks she’d previously spent here as an escape from the battleground of the house; she remembered the tracks well. The one she took wound its way through stands of birch girding the rocky mountainside, eventually meeting another bridle path leading to the summit. Looking forward to a brisk gallop