To Tempt A Scotsman. Victoria Dahl
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to study him as well.
He stood as tall as her brother but wider. Wide shoulders, broad chest. Definitely no padding in that coat. His body wasn’t bulky though. He was, in a word, solid.
His face looked purely masculine. Not handsome exactly, but stark and compelling. The slightly crooked nose spoke of an old fight, but his high cheekbones and wide mouth turned the mind to more pleasurable pursuits. She glanced back to the clear gray eyes that studied her so intently and saw his pupils tighten when he met her gaze.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“Prescott, would you have tea brought to the office, please? Mr. Blackburn?” Gesturing back toward the hall, she spun on her heel to lead the way. Her long red coat opened as she turned, and she felt the hem brush against the buff riding breeches that hugged the curve of her thigh and hip. There was no mistaking the widening of his eyes, even at the corner of her vision. He’d had quite the view.
Gritting her teeth against the thrill that chased through her, Alexandra buttoned the coat and hurried toward the door of her cramped office. The morning room would be more appropriate, she supposed, but not dressed like this. Her men’s clothes would be a startling sight against a backdrop of flowered upholstery.
Alexandra stepped into the office and waved Blackburn toward a pair of chairs by the window. He waited until she took the chair opposite his, then sat and crossed a booted ankle over his knee.
“What did you wish to discuss with me, Mr. Blackburn?”
He let a heartbeat pass, then another. He watched her and frowned. A lock of hair fell over his brow when he finally inclined his head. “I’m here to ask a few questions.”
“Questions?”
“About Damien St. Claire.”
The name tightened the muscles of her jaw in a painful bunch. Blood rushed to her ears, roared like crashing waves. She couldn’t move for a long moment, couldn’t make her throat work. A deep breath forced it open. “I think that you should leave,” she said very carefully, very evenly.
Blackburn shook his head, began to protest, but she stood and stabbed a finger at the door. “No. It’s obvious my brother did not send you here. Leave. You can find your way out.” She pushed past him to the desk and dropped into the seat behind it, hands frantically shuffling papers. A rush of hurt surged in her chest. Why would she think he’d be different from any other man?
Standing with slow purpose, he stepped toward her and leaned to rest his fists on the desktop. His jaw looked as hard as hers felt. “Lady Alexandra, I need to know what happened between you and St. Claire—and John Tibbenham.”
“Really? How does it involve you?” Making an obvious show of widening her eyes, she looked up at him with mock dismay. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must have been one of my lovers. I find it so hard to recall them all.”
His eyes narrowed as if her words had been a slap, then a sneer twisted his mouth as he leaned close. “Believe me, my lady. If I’d been one of your lovers, you’d remember it.”
“Truly?” Alexandra let her gaze drift down to rest on the front of his trousers.
His fists tightened to rock on her desk. “Dinna think—” he began, but she cut him off again.
“You are not the first man to come here on the scent of easy prey. A ruined woman who just happens to be an heiress? Is that what you were thinking? Not very original, Mr. Blackburn. Please get out of my home.”
“John Tibbenham was my brother.”
Alexandra stared at him for a moment, rage trapped like ice in her chest, cracking against her ribs. When his words sunk past the roar of blood in her ears, she flinched and looked down, back to her rumpled papers, away from the hate in his eyes. The heat that had rushed to her cheeks drained away.
John’s brother. He had mentioned a half brother once, as they’d trotted through a long country dance. Not the night he’d died. Perhaps the night before.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed and braved a glance at him.
“I didn’t realize.”
He only stared at her until she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, until she flinched in shame. Her fingers smoothed the corner of a letter over and over again. “I am so sorry about your brother,” she said more loudly and clasped her hands tight together to cease their movement.
“I’m looking for St. Claire. I would see him brought to justice.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“The man murdered my brother.”
Alexandra took a deep breath and tried to gather her courage. She was not a cringing woman. It was just this one thing, this one night, that shamed her. Straightening her spine, she forced herself to look him in the eye. “His death was terrible. The duel was ridiculous. Still, your brother was the one who issued the challenge. I have no idea what happened afterward, but John challenged St. Claire.”
“Regardless of your opinion, St. Claire is a criminal. Killing a man in a duel is still killing.”
“I can’t help you. I don’t know where he is. It’s been…It’s been more than a year.”
The office door opened and a maid poked her capped head inside, nodding toward the tea tray she held. The interruption should have been a relief, but Alexandra could not bear to extend this visit even a moment longer than necessary. She waved the tea away, and the thud of the closing door drummed against the silence of the room.
“You are telling me that this man was your…special friend, that he fought a duel over you—a duel that left him a fugitive—and he has never once contacted you?”
Was there any blood at all left in her veins? Her heart fluttered desperately. “Yes.”
“St. Claire arranged for my brother to walk in on the two of you.”
“What?”
“He wanted to be caught in an indecent position with you.”
She blinked several times, felt the twist of her heart regaining its strength, and shook her head. “That’s absurd.”
“My brother was in the middle of a game of faro when he told his friends he had to meet St. Claire. William Bunting said John went straight to that study. He did not just happen upon you.”
“But…That cannot be true.”
“St. Claire used you.”
Alexandra clutched the edge of her desk and surged unsteadily to her feet.
“He told my brother to meet him because he wanted to be caught with a hand up your skirts. It’s the truth. John’s father looked into this quite thoroughly, I assure you. You needn’t protect St. Claire. He is a man without scruples.”
Oh God, that was far too easy to believe. She’d been so young when she’d met him, only seventeen, and so thrilled to be running with a fast crowd. A true gentleman would never have accommodated her, but that had been the point, hadn’t it? To dance on the edge of respectability?
“I did not wish to involve you in this. Your brother and John’s father were both quite clear that I leave you out of it. But I’ve been after him for nine months and all my leads have run out.”
Alexandra shook her head. She could not do this. How could he throw these foul ideas at her, then expect her help? “I’m sorry.”
She looked past him, past the dark wood walls of the office, and focused on the brightness of the sun in the window. A full minute passed before his rough sigh filled the room.
“I’ll be at the Red Rose tonight. I’d appreciate a note if you’re willing to help.”
Tipping her head in a nod, Alex lowered herself to her chair.
His