Lady Clare Napier Logan.
Everything genteel and graceful that was expected in a woman of the cream of society. A woman meant only for the best and highest of men.
Everything in a woman he wanted as much as he wanted anything else in his life.
Everything he’d craved from that single moment as he lay dying in that filthy street in Glasgow and rebelled against it to reclaim his life.
“Are ye ready, love?” His vision cleared and he watched as Tess leaned in to repair his torn flesh.
Thoughts of the lady, an example of everything he could destroy in but a moment or two, dissipated as he allowed the pain back in.
“Aye, Tess. Have your way with me.”
It was more than an hour later, but still by his three-hour deadline, that Sir Iain Buchanan climbed into his waiting carriage and drove back to the life he’d created. The life he’d earned through blood and flesh and loss and struggle. The life he was not finished building.
He settled back against the cushions and came to a realization.
No matter the lady’s beauty. No matter the intelligence he saw staring back at him as he insulted her or the way she accepted an apology they both knew he did not mean.
No matter the primitive desire he’d felt for her when she challenged him—a need to take her and claim her in every way possible and make her bend to his will.
No one would stand in his way. He would find a way to get what he wanted, as he always did.
And nothing and no one would change that.
Not even the headstrong, vulnerable, stunning noblewoman who made his flesh harden and his appetite soar.
Not even her.
Chapter Three
“You have aguest, my lady.” Poogan closed the door behind her and stood waiting there for her coat. “The Marchioness of Nairn is in your sitting room.” A glance at the clock in the hallway told her she was fifteen minutes late.
“Tea?” she asked, though her thorough butler would have seen to it as soon as her sister had been welcomed into the house.
“Just now, my lady.” Clare turned to see Emily, the younger of the housemaids, entering the sitting room carrying a tray.
She thought to remove her bonnet, but she was already later than was polite. Not matter that Caro would absolve her of the infraction. Rarely had a day gone by in their years growing up together that Caro had not had to rush her along because Clare never could finish preparing for anything when expected. Her mother berated her endlessly, her father complained and her sister... well, Caro just accepted her.
Still, impolite was impolite. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Clare followed the maid into the comfortable room where she hosted only family or friends. Her throat grew tight, and the lump would not ease. No family members came here to her house. Well, none but her sister.
“Caro,” Clare said, taking her sister’s hand and sitting at her side. “I have made you wait again.”
“Shorter than most times, but more than others,” her younger sister replied. “You look well, Sister.”
Caro always had a smile for her, no matter the turmoil surrounding them. Her deep green dress suited her sister’s coloring and made her eyes simply glimmer. Of the highest quality and designed by the most expensive modiste in Edinburgh, the gown accentuated both Caro’s height and curves. Clare almost covered her bosom in envy of her sister’s more bountiful one.
“And are you well, Caro?” A quick inspection noted good coloring in her sister’s lovely face. Every hair was perfectly in place, her posture was perfect, her smile was... perfect.
“I am well,” Caro said. “I have come in person so that a written invitation would not be misplaced or not delivered.”
Her slanted gaze and raised eyebrow reminded Clare of some of the excuses she’d used to avoid attending Caro’s soirees and gatherings and noted her sister’s disbelief in them. The only one to ignore their father’s command that Clare was no longer part of the family, Caro carried on inviting Clare and visiting her. It had not skipped Clare’s notice that a marchioness had precedence over an earl and Caro wielded that superior statue like an expert swordsman over their father.
And Clare loved her even more for that. Tears burned in her eyes.
“I would not have you suggest that Poogan does not do his duty, Caro. The man would be devastated to know you did such a thing.” She teased her way out of the threatening emotions.
“Oh, you! I know exactly where the blame falls, which brings me to you now.” Caro turned herself to face Clare. “I expect, nay demand, your presence at a small dinner I am holding tonight.”
