Free The Laird Who Loved Me by Karen Hawkins Page B

estates, where she was scrubbed, tutored, and polished until even he sometimes forgot where she came from. The marriage was not one of great passion; she had no love for him nor he for her. Theirs was a simple marriage of convenience. Roxburge gained a young and beautiful wife who excited envy among his peers. In return, Georgiana received a title and a generous monthly allowance. The birth of a healthy, handsome son with the family birthmark on his left elbow sealed the deal.
    When the time came, the duke presented his lovely duchess to London society, which, as he’d expected,she took by storm. When anyone asked about Georgiana’s heritage—as a few did—he let it be known that his wife was from an ancient family in the northernmost reaches of Scotland, hinting at a lineage linked to that delicate and tragic beauty Mary, Queen of Scots.
    Georgiana navigated the murky waters of the ton with a sure step, welcomed for both her beauty and that faint air of superiority that she’d developed to keep the more curious at bay. This intriguing combination opened more doors for her than her husband’s lineage and money ever could. She was quick to see that to truly advance, she’d have to choose her lovers wisely, develop a reputation for discretion, and select only the most discriminating of friends. She did just that and was soon one of the leaders of the ton.
    She had everything she wanted and more, and she’d enjoyed it. But lately, something didn’t feel quite right. Her beauty was beginning to fade, and her husband was now a doddering old fool who leered at the upstairs maid and fell asleep at the dinner table with his mouth wide open.
    Georgiana found herself restless for something more, for the one thing she’d never had—true love. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d found it in Alexander MacLean, that mysterious, maddeningly handsome, and damned elusive Scottish laird; a man with black hair and a blacker soul and dark green eyes that hinted at both deep passion and the ability for cold cruelty.
    As if sensing her thoughts, he finally dragged his attention from the hallway and turned her way. “Yes?”
    His voice held only boredom. Already frayed by his inattentiveness, Georgiana’s temper sparked to life. “Watching Miss Hurst and her conquests? Or wishing you were one yourself?”
    His gaze narrowed, his eyes shimmering like green ice.
    She snapped, “How unlike you, MacLean. I’d never saw you as the sort to chase schoolgirls. I’d have thought Humbolt’s demise might have been a lesson.”
    A cold smile touched his lips. “What’s wrong, Georgiana? Jealous that Dervishton has forgotten to worship at your altar?”
    Chilled by the icy gleam of his eyes, Georgiana swallowed a sharp retort.
    Alexander’s gaze had already returned to the open door. Outside, Georgiana watched Caitlyn Hurst, who looked positively ravishing as she laughed up at Dervishton. The chit’s gowns had a deceptive simplicity that was instantly recognizable as having come from a modiste of the first water. Where had she gotten such a wardrobe?
    Georgiana tapped her fingers on the table. “MacLean, you told me you’d decided to teach Caitlyn Hurst a lesson.”
    He shot her a bored look. “What I do or don’t do is really none of your concern.”
    “It’s my concern when I work to get the chit invited to
my
house, and then have to sit and watch you fawn over her like all of the other men here. You’re infatuated with her! Admit it!”
    His eyes blazed hot green, his mouth white with anger. Outside, a roaring wind slammed against the house; the sunshine blotted by the sudden appearance of a roiling bank of clouds.
    Georgiana shivered, frightened and aroused. To own a man like this … How had she let him escape? He was gorgeous and overwhelmingly masculine, but his power was what made her bones melt. She touched his arm and leaned forward, her blue silk morning gown cut provocatively low. “Alexander, please . . . I