Dreams in The Mist                  Deb's Main Page|    Debra's Romance Fiction |  Highlander Fiction

NC-17 Rated.  Sexual situations and language.
Characters:  Duncan, Connor & Amanda
 Chapter 1

Flashback  – London 1775

     Josette idly surveyed the ballroom, her face set in a look of fashionable boredom.  Dissatisfaction was the order of the day, and Josette felt she had no need to pretend in order to achieve the look.  Slowly she unfurled her fan and lazily began to use it while her cool green eyes continued to study the meeting.  Heavens, what a multitude, she thought contemptuously; if Carolyn had only told her how many people she had invited, Josette would never have come.  But now she would have to make the rounds and flirt and banter wittily, or else everyone would speculate on what was wrong with Lady Josette.  She envied, Walter, who had been wise enough to refuse to come and instead had gone off to one of his gambling hells.  She would have to spend at least a couple hours here before she could slip away for a bit of gambling herself.
     At the thought of the excitement of the cards, a little smile curved her generous mouth, and her green eyes took on a glitter.
     “Is it too much to hope that that smile is for me?” a male voice sighed nonsensically in her ear, and Josette laughed.
     “Jeremiah, dear, how could that be, since you stole up behind me so mysteriously?”  Josette turned and favored the man with one of her most dazzling smiles.  Jeremiah White, resplendent in a coat of puce satin, his face a mask of adoration, had long been Josette’s most faithful admirer.  He had attached himself to her when she first came out and had followed her faithfully ever since, even after her marriage to Walter.  Josette had never taken him seriously.  She often declared that Jeremiah’s devotion to her was the result of laziness; finding a new object of worship would require too much effort from him.  Privately, Josette suspected that his true preferences lay elsewhere and that he used her as a safe excuse for his lack of interest in other women.  Whatever the reason, Josette nevertheless found Jeremiah amusing in his cynical way, and she enjoyed his company.
     “Thank God you’re here,” she said to him now.  “I thought I was facing an evening of total boredom.  But now at least I know you will amuse me with all the gossip.  Tell me, who is in love with whom today?”
     Jeremiah laughed and gracefully brushed at an imaginary speck of dirt on his lapel..  “Well, why not start with our lovely hostess, the Countess of Lindsey?  You know, I suppose, of her handsome Guardians caption?”
     “Jeremiah, you disappoint me–that news is weeks old!”
     “The affair is, of course, but not this: She planned this soiree tonight for him, to show him off to everyone.  But it seems the captain turned stiff-necked about it and refused to attend.  So Carolyn has gathered this dreadful crowd simply to witness her humiliation.”
     “Poor, poor Carolyn,” Josette’s mouth curled downward in mock sympathy; it was a gesture she had practiced for may years, knowing full well the sensuality of it. Like so many other little things she had practiced over the years, it came to her unconsciously now.
     Jeremiah in his ingenious way continued to regale her with the latest scandal– that of the misadventures of a certain earl on his latest excursion to Paris. The poor man had fallen in love, but for some unknown reason had attempt to jump overboard to the water depths of the channel on the small vessel that was returning him to England.
     “Luds, that’s love for you!”
      Josette gay smile froze on her face.  She tried to ignore the pain in her stomach.  Funny to think that after all these years she could feel again the fear and the tightening of her stomach that she had known as a child when her beautiful, remote parents stormed at each other in icy rage.  She had learned long ago what marriage for love meant: tearful, angry battles over a mutual lack of funds; regret that they had not married to please their parents; jealous tirades over a suspected affair; passion so intense that there was no room for a child in their affections.  That was way she had married Walter, for his name and inheritance, and because she could never love him.  And even that course had proven to be a mistake.  Walter’s grandfather had fooled them all by living to be eighty-four and still kept Walter on an allowance that left them constantly in debt.
     Josette smiled at what she hoped was the appropriate time, for she had not heard a word of what Jeremiah had been saying.  Suddenly Jeremiah stiffened and looked across the room in amazement.  His movement caught her attention as his story did not.
     “What can have riveted you so?”  Josette asked with amusement and followed the direction of his gaze.
     “Oh my God!”  Jeremiah exclaimed.  “Look at that tempting fellow!  He is too wondrous to be from earth and must have descended upon us from the bliss of heaven!”
     It was then that she saw the stranger.  She wondered how she could have kept from noticing him earlier.  Amongst the crowd of richly dressed aristocrats, he stood out in solid black.  His skin was tanned by the sun to more than a few shades darker than the milk-white complexions of those around him, and his dress could only be called plain as it lacked the ruffles and lace and even the fluent embroidery that was the style of the day.  His unpowdered chestnut brown hair was pulled back carelessly into a long queue and tied with a black ribbon.  He was a tall man, towering head and shoulders over Sir Edward Jonas, standing beside him.  He wore none of the powders or ornamental aids, and the perfect symmetry of his face, the rich healthiness of his complexion was so startling to Josette that if he had stripped away his clothing she could not have been more shocked, nor more moved.
     “What a shocking man!” Josette exclaimed.
     “He looks much like the statue of David I have in my gardens,” Jeremiah said avidly, and Josette giggled nervously at his remark.
     At the bell-like sound of her laugh, the man looked straight at Josette and narrowed his eyes.
     “Why, Josette, my love, I do believe you’ve captured the fellow’s attention.  That’s precisely how I envisioned David looking at Goliath!”
     Josette rolled her eyes behind her fan, even as she watched the object of their conversation over the top, her green eyes greedily taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the slimness of his waist, the length of his legs.  Now the man said something to his companion, and the other man glanced at her and frowned.  They seemed to be arguing, the large man insisting and the well-dressed man demurring.  Finally the shorter man shrugged and the two of them started across the ballroom toward the steps on which Josette and her gentleman friend stood.
     “Goodness,” Josette gasped behind her fan, her voice gurgling with sensual laughter.  “They are coming over here?  What shall I do?  And will I be able to restrain myself???”
     Jeremiah adjusted the froth of lace at his cuff and said, “Of course you will restrain yourself, ma dear, or I shall have to fight you for him....and in this crush, we will become the next enjoyable tidbit on everyone’s tongue!  It has been a long time since I have been so...”
     “Aroused?”  Josette countered with another gurgle of laughter.  “Do you suppose he will read our thoughts and feel even a little embarrassed by appearing before us so...revealingly!
     “Oh, bother, Josette, what does it matter what he thinks?  Isn’t it obvious that even though the man is a dream come true, he must be a little touched in the head to be dressed as he is.”
     “Shhh, he’ll hear you.”
     The men were coming up the stairs now, and the large man’s gaze was suddenly fixed upon her.  Josette set her face in a cool, haughty mask and lowered her fan.  The steady, burning intensity of the man’s caramel colored eyes disturbed her.  Why did he not conceal his interest in her?  Quite obviously he knew nothing about sophisticated manners: even a lad green from Oxford knew enough to mask his feelings a little.
     “Lady Josette Kennington, Mr. Jeremiah White,” Sir Edward Jonas said, nodding his head at them jerkily.  It was evident that he did not like the task of introducing his companion to a pair he clearly regarded as featherheads.
     His attitude stung Josette a little; she was not used to being the object of scorn.  She raised her eyebrow a trifle and said, “Sir Edward?”  In a tone that conveyed her total indifference to him and the stranger.,
     Sir Edward had the grace to flush a little at her tone, although his companion seemed to take no notice of it. Sir Edward went on grimly, “May I introduce you to Mr. Duncan Macleod, a friend of mine from the American colonies?”
     Jeremiah rolled his eyes as if to say–there, he’s not only backward because he is a Scotsman, but he’s a colonial as well!  Josette’s lowered her eyes from Jeremiah’s amused gaze, and it was all she could do to keep from laughing again.  She said with false brightness, “Really?  Why I never would have imagined!”
     “Lady Kennington,” Duncan Macleod said solemnly with a slight Scottish burr, and Josette’s eyes widened momentarily.  Abruptly she brought her fan up to hide the wanton thoughts his too sensual voice made her contemplate.
     Duncan Macleod was anything but backwards, and while he knew he was not dressed for the festive soiree taking place here this evening, he never would have thought these two beautifully dressed people would judge him on his appearance alone.   He did not, of course, realized how very shallow their lives were, nor that dressing as they did was done as a matter of course and for them to appear in anything less meant being near to naked.  He did interpret the sexual tension in the air that reached out to encompass him, but had no idea that he was the stimuli which had nurtured it.
     Josette Kennington had been lovely from a distance, but up close she was dazzling.  She stood there, cool and remote in a pale-gold satin, the swooping decolletage of the fashionable gown revealing the gently rounded tops of her full breasts and the wide, stiff panniers on the skirts turning her waist into a mere wisp. A reddish gold peered out at him from amongst the hair powder covering her intricately styled coiffure.  Looking at her, Duncan saw only to clearly the desire in her eyes as they glinted at him from over the top of her fan, beckoning, promising, and keeping him at a distance all at once.
     As he openly admired the lady, an awkward silence fell upon the group, for Josette was near to melting from the look in his eyes and Jeremiah, totally amused by the tableau, was watching the byplay and thoroughly enjoying Sir Edward’s discomfort.
     Sir Edward cleared his throat, saying, “Mr. Macleod is visiting me while he is here from Boston on business.”
     “Boston?”  Josette repeated blankly.  “What is it?”
     “It is a city in the Massachusetts Bay Colony,” Sir Edward explained with unconcealed irritation.  He pointedly ignored the snicker that came from Jeremiah.
     “Oh, and what is your business?”  Josette asked sweetly, dropping her fan away so that the full force of her emerald gaze was turned onto her current prey.
     “I write for the Boston Gazette.  However, I came here to settle some matters for a friend.  And Sir Edward told me that I might have an opportunity to speak of the colonial’s case before Parliament.”
     “Surely, their case, is not yours–you are a Scotsman!”
     “Aye, I was born in Scotland and understand the ways the English government has always used to control a people.  That is why Sir Edward believes I should attempt to speak to your Parliament.”
     “Oh,” Josette murmured, thoroughly uninterested.  She batted her eyes at him again, and allowed her pink tongue to come out and lick sensuously across her bottom lip and then the top.  She smiled in satisfaction as those caramel colored eyes followed her teasing ploy.  It would be great fun to get this Scottish Colonial alone, so that she could see just how much temptation he could withstand before succumbing to her–preferably on some comfortable couch out of this crush of people.
     I say,” Jeremiah interrupted, “I know of a good tailor so you needn’t go about nearly unclothed.”
     Duncan’s eyes shifted to meet Jeremiah’s mocking expression, and a hard looked burned across the space between them for several tense moments.  “Surely, you jest– I am fully clothed,” he said, and for a moment Josette felt a peculiar little thrill of danger–was the strong, virile stranger going to take exception to Jeremiah’s remark?  And more to the point, would he call Jeremiah out as a gentleman would, or would he take those large fists of his and pound Jeremiah to the floor right here in the middle of this gathering?
     But then, Duncan Macleod’s lips relaxed into a lazy smile, “Powder and fluff is for the English, mon, and I am both Scottish and a colonial.   I have no need to add anything to my appearance.”
     Josette gave a soft gurgle of laughter as she tapped his arm, “Ah, truer words have never been uttered, sir.   I am humbled that I was not forced to guess–that is, about anything pertaining to you.”
     Duncan turned his face toward her, and she realized that he had somehow read her more intimate thoughts.  He was smiling at her, and there was a kindness and liking for her in his warm smile.
     “I would reveal much more to you, milady.”
     Josette was thankful for the heavy makeup that hid her blush.  Heavens, she had not blushed in years!  Somehow this man’s ease of manner and his desire to accept her made Josette feel unhappy with her way of life.  Embarrassed by it.
     “Perhaps another time, sir,” she answered stiffly.  “Now if you will excuse me, I must greet our hostess.  Gentlemen.”
     Head high, Josette went down the stairs, aware of Duncan Macleod’s caramel-eyed stare steadily on her back.  She would not let herself turn to look at him until she was well engulfed in the thong of people on the floor.  But then, when she turned, she found Duncan Macleod was still looking at her, and his eyes met hers with a steady, demanding gaze, that pushed through all her pretense and aplomb and left her as exposed as Jeremiah claimed his appearance had been earlier.

     Jeremiah excused himself soon after Josette had left the group. It would be utterly demeaning to stay standing beside this man after he had made it only too clear that he was amorous of Lady Josette. Jeremiah bid each man a polite goodbye and scurried off to find something less degrading and more amusing.
     "Lord, man," Sir Edward said in vexation. "I would never have dreamed that you, of all people, Duncan, would be infatuated with that empty-headed chit."
     A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face as he looked down on his friend. "Come, Edward, you knew me in Paris. Surely you must remember that I was not entirely immune to the fairer sex."A short laugh escaped his companion, who well remembered his days in Paris, when he had befriended Macleod. "How could I forget? There was, Amanda, wasn’t it? Then, a lovely little thing by the name of Daphne–ah, and then Amanda again!"
     Duncan grinned. "Amanda! She does tend to rush in, then flee almost as quickly."
     "Hmm, she wouldn’t be about now, would she?" Edward asked quickly, then colored a little at his friend’s loud chuckle. "I did a little consoling when you were with Daphne...."
     "As I remembered it, you tattled on me to Amanda which put a swift end to Daphne...."
     When Amanda arrived on the scene, most of the relationships Duncan had would soon dwindle down to friendships or nothing at all. Duncan rarely tried to understand his relationship with her. He just knew it could never be more than it was. He also knew that Amanda was not to be trusted entirely.
     "Well, the lovely Amanda is quite beside the point, anyways," Sir Edward said, attempting to turn Duncan’s mind away from such memories. "I do remember that besides the ladies you rather took to gambling, too."
     Duncan shrugged, and he glanced away from Sir Edward to survey the room casually, his caramel eyes again seeking out the lovely form of Lady Josette. Sir Edward gave a snort of disgust.
     "Really, Duncan, you are a grown man now, with great responsibilities. You haven’t the time to attempt a romance with some coquette who’s broken more hearts than you can name."
     "Aye, yes, "Duncan sighed. "My duty to the colonial colony of Boston. Very well, Edward, introduce me to some more of these lords who will politely decline to help me bring the colonial cause before Parliament."
     Edward frowned a little at Duncan’s words. He knew that Duncan was growing discouraged here–and well he might. All the weeks Macleod had been in London, he had relentlessly plodded around, being rebuffed by every official Edward had hoped could help him. In the whole time, he had been unable to secure a hearing before Parliament. Sir Edward, although a friend of Duncan’s, was also a firm believer, as were a few others, that the American Colonies were being shabbily treated. He feared that the stubborn attitude of Parliament toward even reasonable men like Duncan would soon lead them all straight to disaster.
     Macleod forced himself to walk around with Edward, being introduced here and there to some haughty lords who might listen to his cause. However, now and then he could not help but scan the room, searching for the lovely gold and white form of Josette Kennington.
     Finally even Sir Edward grew discouraged, and the two men left the ballroom, signaling for their carriage. "Bah," Duncan said in disgust. "I don’t know why Warren and Adams thought I could get the English people to listen to me. The English bloody well hate the Scottish, and have no respect for the colonials...and here I am now both."
     "I can see Warren and Adams reasoning; and why they would think you might understand our ways."
     Duncan snorted. ‘There are even some who claim I am too friendly with England, having come from Scotland. If only they understood how completely a Scotsman can be ignored..."
     Sir Edward shook his head sadly and stepped into the carriage that pulled up in front of the steps. Settling back against the plush squabs, Duncan stared out the window, his thoughts obviously far away.
     "What is so horribly wrong with Josette Kennington?" He asked suddenly, startling Sir Edward.
     "Are you back to her again?" Sir Edward exclaimed irritably. "Gad, Duncan, what ails you?"
     "The need to bed her, I should imagine, "Duncan said lightly, but his caramel colored eyes were dark and unreadable. "She’s very desirable."
     "Well, forget her," Sir Edward said sternly. "There are far easier way of satisfy that–safer, too. For one thing, Duncan, she’s married."
A shadow crossed Duncan’s face. "Oh? And who is the lucky husband?"
     "Those two are a matched set, believe me. Walter Kennington is one of the greatest rogues in the city. He is the heir to a wealthy duke, though one would never know it. He never stays within his allowance, and is constantly in debt. It is rumored that he tries to keep his creditors off his back by duping young fools and cheating them at cards. He keeps at least two mistresses, and I have heard that his tastes run to the. . .uh . . . perverse."
     Duncan’s face hardened. "Then it sounds to me as though the lady is to be pitied, not scorned."
     "Huh!" Sir Edward’s laugh was mirthless. "She is no better than he. She is a Delaplaine, and not one of them has ever been worth anything; they are a careless, self-indulgent lot. Her parents have long been the scandal of England with their affairs and raging fights. As for Lady Josette, who do you think it is that lures the innocent lads to her husband’s table? She flirts and makes promises of great delights to come and gets them so befuddled with drink and lust that they never see Walter’s tricks and eagerly come back for more."
     "I don’t believe it," Duncan said, tight-lipped.
     "Don’t be a fool, Duncan. You know nothing of the lady’s character; you barely met her. Surely you don’t think you can establish true character after those few words you had with her?"
     "No, of course not, "he replied roughly. "It is just that I sensed something in her, some humanity, some caring, that the oaf with her did not possess."
     "It would not take much to possess more humanity then Jeremiah White." Sir Edward said drily. "Really, Duncan, you are thinking with the wrong head here, man. Josette Kennington is a flighty, indolent wastrel, who cares nothing for anyone but herself."
     Duncan envisioned the woman in question, remembered her in detail from the tips of her pearl-studded slippers to the top of her towering, powdered hairdo. There was no way he could deny it. She was the picture of idle aristocracy, the sort of person he had always mistrusted. And yet. . .
     "Perhaps," Duncan said, a faint smile playing upon his lips, "perhaps you are right. I saw her for only a few moments in a crowded ballroom; I could not judge her properly. I think I should call on the lady tomorrow afternoon and observe her more closely, for a longer period of time. Surely her tarnish will show then."
     Sir Edward gave a muffled groan. "Oh, Duncan, that is ridiculous!"
     Duncan smiled sardonically. "Is it, my friend? But, where is the harm? I am accomplishing nothing in tramping around from politician to politician, office to office. My cause will suffer no harm, I think, if I take a few moments out for my own enjoyment. I must leave soon; already the captain of the ship grows restless and tells me that he and his men wish to leave soon. They are worried about their loved ones back in Massachusetts. So I told him that we will set sail Wednesday morning. How complete a fool can I make of myself in that short a time?"
     "Only complete enough to break your heart, I fear," Sir Edward replied heavily, "and lose money at Walter’s game, as well."
     Duncan chuckled. "You needn’t worry about that. Gambling no longer interests me. Besides, I believe I am accomplished enough at it to protect myself. Don’t forget that Amanda taught me...."
     "Yes, well, whatever tricks she taught you, you will need."
     They were silent for a few moments as the carriage rumbled nosily through the cobblestoned streets. At last Duncan spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "You think I don’t know that the lady is not for me? I know what she thought of me this evening. She found me amusing...because of the way I was dressed..." Duncan broke off abruptly, adding, "but, you know, Edward, when I saw her tonight, standing there so icy and beautiful, something stabbed through me. Call it lust, love, whatever you will; I felt a trembling in my soul that only Debra was able to make me feel. I must see her again, if only to satisfy myself that I was wrong."
     "Debra? And who might that be?" Sir Edward shook his head the next moment as if deciding it was unimportant. "This is not like you....have a care, my friend."

     Lady Josette was sitting in her drawing room with her brother Julian Delaplaine the following afternoon when her butler stepped into the room to ask if she was at home to a Mr. Duncan Macleod.
     "Macleod? Scottish, isn’t it?" Julian asked, knitting his brows. "I should think shed ’have nothing to do with that lot! Am I not correct, Josey?"
     Josette grimaced, destroying the lovely line of her mouth. "He is wonderfully made, but a bit unaccomplished, I would think. I met him at Carolyn’s last evening. No one you would want to meet him, Julian." She turned to the servant. "Please tell him I am not at home."
     "Yes, milady," the butler intoned and stepped back out into the hall.
     Josette rose and walked across the room to the decorative Italian mantel, tapping her closed fan against her dress in an impatient tattoo.
     "Wondrously made, did you say, Josey? It would seem this unaccomplished Scotsman has rattled you," Julian said, idly placing a pinch of snuff on the back of his hand and sniffing it.
     Josette sighed. She could hardly tell him of the strange, smothering guilt that rose in her at having refused to see Duncan Macleod. Doubtless Julian would see through any lie, and know that she did not turn Macleod away because of him. But how did one tell your brother that she feared being liked...actually liked! Nobody, even her own husband, liked her. How did she explain to him that even though Duncan Macleod was a virtual stranger, she wanted him to continue to like her. Would "he" guess that the excuse she had given countless times before to a visitor was a lie? Why should she care what Duncan Macleod thought?
     Josette swung around, her eyes lit with the fierce green light that often rested there. "Let’s do something exciting tonight, Julian. I feel unbearably bored."
     Her brother’s matching eyes danced with amusement; he rarely disagreed with Josette’s wild ideas. "Shall we mask and go to the Vauxhall Gardens?"
     Josette made a face and shook her head. "Too tame by half, Julian."
     "I know. There’s a new gambling hell that I went to the other night. Of course, your reputation would be in shreds if I took you. You should have seen some of the types who were there."
     Josette’s eyes sparkled. "Julian, that sounds like just what I need. I can dress up in a boy’s costume, as I did once before–remember? I still have the clothes, I wore."
     "Capital!" The two siblings smiled at each other, the same fear-heightening excitement coursing through their veins.
******************************

Josette yawned and opened her eyes sleepily; her head was pounding cruelly and she felt as if she had hardly been asleep. She cast an accusing glance at her maid, who had shaken her awake.
     "What the devil do you think you’re doing, Marjorie?" she snapped fiercely. "I can’t have slept three hours, I know."
     "No, milady, it’s barely eight o’clock. I’m dreadful sorry to wake you up, but it’s his lordship. He wants to speak to you. Right away."
     Josette sighed. She could hardly blame the girl for obeying Walter; he was a wicked man to cross, and at the very least it would mean the girl’s dismissal if she did not fetch her mistress to him.
     "All right, don’t look so anxious. I will come, and I promise I won’t bite your head off either. But what is Walter doing up at this hour himself? Surely he went out last night."
     "Oh, yes, milady, he did, and he just now came in. He said he wanted to talk to you before he went to sleep."
     Josette grimaced. Trust Walter to think of no one but himself. "Well, fetch me my dressing gown, then."
     She sighed and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Hammers were pounding in her head, and her mouth felt as dry as cotton. Last night she and Julian had gone gambling as planned, and stayed out too late and drank far too much. She did not know why exactly; but she had felt the need of some distraction after the wretched gathering at Carolyn’s the night before last, and after Duncan Macleod had come calling yesterday afternoon. Not that she could be criticized; he had gotten what he deserved–how could he think she would openly receive, not only a Scotsman, but a Colonial as well? My heavens, imagine what Mother would say to her, the descendant of Norman lords, a Delaplaine, no less, entertaining some sheep herder–no, merchant–from the New World.
     Marjorie brought her a pale-blue French sacque dress, which tied up the front with white satin bows and hung loose and flowing in the back. Because Walter was an impatient man, she did not bother with her hair, but slipped into shoes and went straight down the hall to his sitting room.
     "Gad, you must have been asleep like a rock, the time it took you. I would have said that the chit must have found you en flagrante with a lover, but then, we know that wouldn’t be like you, would it, my love?" Her husband said, his voice soft and sneering.
     From years of experience, Josette ignored his taunt and merely sat down across from him. Walter, his thin frame richly dressed and as immaculate as always even after a night of revelry, studied her thoughtfully. One hand, with a bright blood ruby flashing on his finger as it moved, tapped softly against his cheek. Josette knew his tactics well enough by now to realize that he was trying to unnerve her before delivering some blow. Well, he had never yet managed to defeat her, she thought defiantly, let him see that he never would. She returned his gaze with apparent calm, though her mind raced, turning over possible reasons for the summons.
"A bad night?" He asked smoothly, his voice offering false sympathy even as he implied a criticism of her appearance.
     "I am use to more than three hours of sleep, Walter; I am rarely up at this ungodly hour."
     "I understand that you have a new admirer." His voice was silky; it amused Josette that she had once thought it soft with affection. She had found out since that his voice softened when his cruelty expanded.
     "Who? What are you talking about”
     "I learned last night that you met a colonial who was enchanted by you. Why didn’t you inform me of it?"
     Josette affected a yawn. "Is that what you have awakened me for? To ask why I did not tell you I met some colonial boor at Carolyn’s party? If I had known you were so interested in colonists, I would have brought him home and introduced him.
     Walter chuckled. "Josette, you learned to bite. You know, I think you are far more interesting than you once were. Perhaps I shall sample your wares again some night soon. Have you new tricks in bed as well?"
     A shiver ran down her back at his words, but she hid it and said tartly, "Not enough for you, milord."
     Her husband smiled, reminding her of a cat with its prey. "Josette, if you had but thought of it, surely you would be aware that I am always interested in a fool with a great deal of money."
     "Oh, you mean you want to cheat Mr. Macleod at cards? Well, I doubt he has the wealth for you, Walter; he certainly did not show it in his clothes."
     "You never look beyond appearances. No doubt you thought me as handsome inside as out."
     "Silly of me, wasn’t it?" she retorted coolly.
     "Well, it happens that you are very wrong about your Mr. Macleod. It would seem he is heir to one of those atrocious clans that Scotland has...and he has wealth spread throughout France, Italy and the New World...can you not see the benefits now? Are you not grateful that Mr. Macleod holds you in such esteem?"
     Josette shrugged. "He is a friend of that dreadfully dull Sir Edward Jonas, and I frankly don’t see how you will get him into a game with you, with his friend to advise him against it."
     "Ah, but that is where you, my charming wife, come in. I want you to invite the idiot to a small, intimate party here–without Jonas, of course. And you shall ply him with wine and soft, sweet words; let him fumble at your breasts if you must. Then, when he is eating out of your hand, we will suggest a friendly little game of cards. How can he refuse? Especially when you pout so prettily and ask it of him?"
     "No! I won’t do it!" Josette snapped, leaping to her feet.
     "What? Don’t tell me you have a fondness for this colonial?"
     "Don’t be idiotic, Walter. I simply refuse to go along with you any longer. I will not be a lure to you to snare some poor, ignorant man into a card game so you can strip him of everything he owns. I think it is loathsome, and I refuse to help you again."
     She whirled and started for the door, but Walter’s lazy voice brought her to an abrupt halt. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come to your bed, hasn’t it, Josette? I know how little it pleases you, so like a gentleman, I have stayed away. And how long has it been since you’ve had a lover?"
     "Lover!" She faced him furiously. "I never had a lover! Just some man you forced upon me, and whom I hated as much as I hate you!"
     Walter laughed. "Come, come, is that any way to speak about your husband? After all, Josette, I do have a right to your bed."
     "You have no right to force me into the bed of some old rogue like Danbury, just so you could–" She broke off, choking back her furious words.
     "I hardly forced you, Josette. I simply explained to you that I owed old Danbury so much from cards that we would be ruined if he collected, disgraced before all the world and reduced to abject poverty. And since the senile fool was so hot for you that he was willing to forego the debt for one night in your bed, I advised you to take him up on his offer."
     "Oh, yes, I had a lot of choice, didn’t I? To let him take me, or spend the rest of my life in everlasting hell with you!"
     He raised his eyebrows contemptuously at her tone. "Really, Josette, it isn’t as if you had any morals. Or any love for me. Why should you care whether it is I or Danbury or that other fellow, what was his name?"
     "Lloyd Casselman," Josette said colorlessly.
     "Yes, that’s right. Got me that position with the government. That brought us a few pounds, didn’t it? Anyway, why carry on so? You despise me, so why should you be faithful to me?"
     "Believe me, my reluctance is from no desire to be faithful to you."
     "Surely you can’t claim to have principles? Scruples? A Delaplaine? Don’t make me laugh. There isn’t a soul in London who hasn’t had an affair or two, including your esteemed parents, my love."
     "You think I don’t know that?"
     "And since you do nothing but lie like a stick anyway, I can’t see why it should be any worse with one fellow than the next."
     "I am not a whore, Walter!"
     "No?" Again his eyebrow lifted lazily. "All women are whores, Josette, but only the poor, honest ones are named so."
     "Why are you saying all of this? Surely you aren’t suggesting I sleep with Mr. Macleod to bring him to your card table."
     "No, I am just pointing out that for well over a year, I’ve left you all alone in that great bed of yours. But if you cross me, if you refuse to go along with me–well, that just might change. God knows, I prefer my mistresses to you; they have more passion in one finger than you do in your whole bloodless body. But wait, perhaps I shan’t have to make the sacrifice myself. The other day Sir William offered me his matched pair of bays in exchange for a week with you at his hunting lodge."
     "How dare you discuss me in that way with that filthy–I won’t do it, Walter. I promise you, you can threaten me with anything, but I will not do it."
     "You won’t have a choice, my love. Someday when you are out riding in our carriage, the driver will simply leave London and take you to your rendezvous with Sir William. He wouldn’t mind your unwillingness; he always likes a little resistance, to stir the ardor. And of course I shall not report you missing." Her husband smiled at her coldly, baring his teeth without humor.
     "Damn you, Walter!" Josette hissed, seething with fury and frustration. How she hated men–all men. Their clumsy pawing, their painful domination of her body. Old Danbury had been bad enough, and even Casselman–she had endured that night as if in a trance. But Sir William! He was like Walter; she could tell from the way he looked at her and his furtive pinchings of her breasts and buttocks. He liked pain in his lovemaking, and that was the worst kind of man, she was convinced.
     "All right. I will have a party next Tuesday and invite Mr. Macleod," she said tightly.
     "Good girl. I knew you’d see the light." Walter stood and walked to the door of his bedroom, then turned to look back at his wife. "Poor Josette. We made a bad bargain, didn’t we? You married me for my money, and I married you because I desired you. And here we are; my damn grandfather refuses to die, so I am penniless; and you--you are the coldest woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to bed down."
     With a dry laugh, he left the room, and Josette turned away, blinking back hot tears. It was useless to cry. Besides, A Delaplaine would never stoop to tears. Head high, she sailed out of the room. Poor Mr. Macleod, he was about to be thrown to the wolves, she thought sadly, and as much as she would like it to be otherwise, she had little choice at the moment, but to join the pack that would fleece him of every last shilling he could lay claim to owning. She pushed the thought away that this man had liked her for herself, that she wanted to have him continue to like her. She feared her husband’s plans for her far more than she feared losing the admiration of a man she would never see again after Tuesday evening.



Chapter 2


     Lazily, Josette’s fan moved through the air, as she stared vaguely at the wall, only half aware of what the other three people in the room were saying.  She was thinking of the warm note she had penned to Duncan Macleod that morning, apologizing for being out when he called and asking him to allow her to fix that by coming to a small party she was giving this Tuesday evening.  She wondered if Macleod would have the sense to smell deceit there; she hoped he would send her back a note regretting that he could not attend.    That would spoil Walter’s plans nicely.  Perhaps she should have worded the note more sweetly, so that its falsity would seep through.
     “What do you think, Josette” Carolyn asked.
     Josette looked at her, startled, and her fan snapped shut.  “What?  I am sorry, Caro, I’m afraid I wasn’t attending properly.”
     “That’s obvious,” Carolyn laughed.  “What is it, Josette?  Are you dreaming of a future meeting with that new admirer you have acquired?  I heard he is quite different from most of the gentlemen of your acquaintance, but Rebecca tells me that when she spoke to him he was quite charming, and if her eyes are to be believed, he rivals even Apollo when it comes to ....”
     “Yes, yes, Mr. Macleod is quite the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on,” Josette snapped in vivid irritation.  She had never been in such a quarry before.  She felt almost overwhelmed with jealousy that another might covet him, and yet in the reverse thinking that people commonly indulge in, she disliked Duncan Macleod and was uncomfortable even speaking about him because she knew she would be doing him a wrong.
     She didn’t know whether she was even going to be able to do the deed, after all was said and done...and the very real fear she had of the consequences of not doing it, made her wonder if Duncan Macleod’s infatuation with her might extend to him actually ignoring the fact that she was married, and rescuing her from the horrid life she had come to accept as her fate!   But once rescued by the handsome cavalier, would he then take her to Scotland, or to live in some backwoods of the New World?  
     He was a very virile man, more so than poor Walter could ever hope to be!  Josette might very well be leaping from the hot kettle into the fire.   She was far to worldly to think that just because Duncan Macleod looked upon her with kindness, did not mean he did not want to bed her.   She feared men because of the bedding.  All the foreplay and romancing that came before it, she was an expert at, but when the foreplay reached a certain point, she actually looked for Walter to come to take the man away...so that she would not have to endure the brutality of having sex with him.....
     Good Lord, she thought wildly.  Tuesday was only a day away!  Whatever was she to do?
The thought continued to haunt her, even as the Tuesday evening of the small party dawned.  Josette sighed as she examined her reflection in the mirror.  She did not like what she saw.  She had had trouble sleeping lately; her sleep had been full of angry disturbing dreams, and she would awaken feeling little better rested than when she had gone to bed.  For some reason she seemed to be subject more and more to bad feelings that plagued her since she was a little girl: The bitter rush of loneliness, the sadness and emptiness, the desperate lack of love and shaking doubt of her own worth.  Since she had grown up and married, she had evaded such feelings by flinging herself into the social life of London, dancing and gambling and drinking to escape the dark demons of her youth.  But recently the usual remedies had not been working.  Her activities merely made her more tired and they enlarged the dark circles under her eyes.
     The only remedy was to thicken the heavy white makeup beneath her eyes and pray that in the soft candlelight the smudges would not show.  But now, as she looked still closer at her reflection, it seemed to her that she looked not only tired, but also far older than she was.   She was only twenty-five years old, she cried to herself.  But, her mind went on relentlessly, wasn’t she remembering the way she had looked at eighteen, when she had left her country home for London, taken the season by storm, and ending the year in triumph by marrying England’s most eligible bachelor?  Seven years had passes since then, years haunted by creditors always nipping at their heels, years tainted by Walter’s demands.  That lovely, fresh-faced girl had vanished, and in her place sat a harden, bitter sophisticate, a woman whose knowledge extended far beyond her age, and whose eyes reflected it.
     Angrily, Josette whirled away from the mirror.  What idiocy she was indulging in–and all because she felt bad about deceiving Duncan Macleod.  If only he were not so trusting.  The note he had sent to her home accepting her invitation had read as if he was placing his heart in her hands!  Well, it wasn’t her fault if he was a fool!  He would just have to go back to wherever he came from a little wiser.  She could not risk Walter’s wrath in order to honor Duncan Macleod’s trust; After all, she had to live with her husband the rest of her life.  Besides, what if it was wicked of her to deceive him?   Hadn’t the Delaplaines been successfully wicked for decades?  Why, it was tradition!
     She remembered what Julian use to say when she described her troubled feelings to him: “Bad?  My dear, Josey, what other way should you feel?  We Delaplaines have been an unprincipled lot ever since we came over with the Conqueror and stole land from the poor Saxons.  Why people use to joke that our family motto was ‘For Ourselves.’  Look at our parents!  You might as well own up to it–we always turn out to be the bad apple in the barrel.”
     Josette swept from the room and went quickly downstairs to make a last-minute tour of the dining room.  Everything had been laid out to perfection.  As always, the butler had followed her instructions to the letter, including her order to place Mr. Macleod’s name card at the seat next to hers.  Then she firmly fixed a slight smile on her face and went toward the drawing room, where Walter was already conversing with the guests that had arrived.
     Duncan Macleod had been almost the first to arrive, and had spent an excruciating half hour with Walter Kennington.   Duncan had disliked the thin, elegantly dressed Kennington on sight.  He had, up till then, rather successfully kept the thought of Lady Josette’s husband out of his mind, but once presented with the man in the flesh, he had to admit his existence and therefore the insuperable roadblock he presented to Duncan’s feelings for Josette.  Moreover, Duncan had to face his violation of his own strict moral code: He lusted after another man’s wife.  Worse of all, Kennington seemed to him --a snake, and oily, evil man.  Now Duncan could well believe all Sir Edward had told him about the man, and it made his fist clench to think that the lovely Josette had to endure living with him.   Was he cruel to her as his nature seem to deem him to be?  The thought caused him to feel helpless rage.  There was nothing he could do.  No doubt Josette had been forced to marry Kennington by her parents; arranged marriages were common amongst the aristocracy of England.  But since she was his wife, no one could protect her from him; Duncan could in no way help her to escape.

     Of course, Sir Edward would have laughed at that thought and assured him that the lady had no desire to escape her husband.  “A Matched set,” he had called them.  But there Sir Edward was wrong.  He had to be.  Josette was stunning, yes, but there was something more to her; there must be.  Surely there was some sweetness, some goodness in her nature that attracted him!
     Josette entered the drawing room, pausing at the doorway for effect, and Duncan sprang to his feet, dazzled all over again by her colorful beauty.  She was dressed in a stiff emerald brocade, the skirt flattened in front and held out to the sides by a hoop, making her waist appear ridiculously fragile.  The boned bodice pushed up her breasts, making them swell temptingly above the oval neck of the dress, A diamond drop lay against her bare chest, diamond bobs danced in her earlobes, and here and there a diamond winked in the intricate swirls of her powdered hair.
     She spread out her white and gold fan and held it before her mouth in mock embarrassment, her eyes glinting above the lacy semicircle.  “Can you ever forgive me?”  Her voice implied that they already had, simply because she was charming.  “I am horridly late, as always.  But then I could hardly appear without trying to make myself pretty for you.”
     Immediately the men chimed in that she could not help but be lovely, no matter how little time she spent at her dressing table.  She gave then a tinkling laugh in recognition of the expected compliment, while her eyes obviously circled the room, as if looking for something.  They paused on Macleod, and she smiled.
     “Mr. Macleod, how glad I am you came.  I was afraid after having missed your visit, you might take exception to visiting with me.”  Her voice was gently teasing and her green eyes sparkled at him.
     Duncan stepped toward her and said in a low voice, “Lady Josette, I am honored you wished to see me at all.”
     She touched him playfully on the cheek with a fingertip.  “Why, Mr. Macleod, take care.  If you stay here much longer, we shall turn you into an English cavalier, and then what will they think of you in Scotland?”
     He laughed.  “I have little care for what people might say...I only hope not to displease you.”
     “Oh surely you jest.  You, displease me?”  She said, her voice plainly mocking.
     Duncan flushed and said, “I realized you were shocked by the attire I wore the other evening.  Your friend made that only too clear.  However, since I had not intended to go to that party and was rather dragged into the gathering, you must forgive how I appeared and perhaps look beneath to find something more to your liking.”
     Something softened in her eyes, and there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice as Josette said, “I am afraid that even though I am very shallow, I did see much I found to my liking.”
     For a moment they looked at each other, and it seemed to Duncan that the lady’s eyes were dark pools of sadness.  He moved to take her hand, but they were interrupted by her husband, and behind him a servant with a tray.
     Here, Macleod, try some of this.  I vow it is the best wine I’ve had smuggled in from France yet.”
     Chagrined at the intimate moment they had been discovered in, Duncan took the wine and sipped at it while Josette resumed her inconsequential chatter.  Time and again a servant returned to fill his glass, but Duncan was too engrossed in Josette to bother with drinking, and he turned him away.
     As the company moved into the dining room for their dinner, Walter took his wife’s arm in a cruel grip and whispered, “What is the matter with you?  The fellow has hardly had two glasses all evening.  Have you lost all your ability to charm?”
     “I tried!”  Josette snapped back.  “Whenever the footman comes by, I urge him to fill his glass, but he always refuses.  Can I help it if he isn’t a man of drink?”
     Walter tightened his grip painfully.  “Just try harder.  You’d better persuade him to gamble with me, or I will be enjoying a match set of Bays very soon.”
     Tears started in her eyes at the pain of his grasp, but Josette said nothing, just nodded her head briefly.  At the table, she turned her full charm on the man beside her, listening intently to what he said, showing by her eyes and her posture that he was the most interesting of men.  In truth, while she enjoyed the soothing sound of his voice, she heard not a word that Duncan said, for all the while her brain was registering the level of his glass and the look of desire in those caramel colored eyes and the effect of her every move and glance on him.  Flirtation was an art in itself, and Josette could orchestrate an enticing conversation to perfection.  There was no room for feeling in the delicate planning she did; a mind racing to analyze the gleam in eyes that were deeply seductive.  Josette had never seen such sexy eyes.  They made her feel flushed with excitement and uneasy with the fear of the unknown!    With this man, perhaps she wouldn’t mind it, if Walter allowed things to go beyond the stage of heavy excitement.  Her eyes watched the movement of his lips and she wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him.
     Although she cunningly kept his glass filled with wine, she could not make him drink much of it, and as the meal progressed, he remained sober.  Duncan, stunned by her avid attention, had no interest in food or drink.  He was completely wrapped up in the woman beside him.  She was amusing, charmingly frivolous, and utterly ravishing.  When she leaned close to him, the subtle scent she wore was heavenly, and once she accidently brushed her bosom against his arm; his skin flamed where she had touched it, even through the cloth of his coat.  
     Sweet heaven, but she was delicious–her soft white breasts, bound by the stiff bodice, always seeming about to burst out of their confinement; the pink mouth that parted slightly in her interest, the lower lip full and sensual, begging to be kissed; the graceful hands, with their long slender fingers, that slid idly up and down her wineglass until he envisioned them sliding up and down over him.  Only one other woman had ever affected him like this; halfway through a dinner conversation surrounded by other people, he was stiff and pulsing with passion.  At that moment he felt he would gladly have consigned all else to hell, to be alone with Josette and free to make love to her.
     After dinner, the group retired to the drawing room for after dinner drinks and conversation.  Josette, recalling her duty to her other guests, said that she must circulate among them, and left Duncan.  But wherever she moved, his eyes followed, so intent on her slender form that she held his attention as fully as if she sat with him, and all the while he ached to have her back.
     The party broke into small groups of two or three as the evening progressed, and Josette flitted back and forth among them.  It was her intention to let him feel her absence, so that when the gaming started, he would stay to be near her.  Once caught up in the game, surely he would be unable to leave.  It was always Walter’s trick to catch an opponent’s interest by letting him win at first.
     Her ploy worked.  Shortly after she returned to Duncan, Walter suggested that they retire to the gaming room.  Everyone assented eagerly but Duncan.  He remembered what Sir Edward had said, and he had no wish to get involved in Walter’s nefarious activities.  But when he demurred, Josette turned to him, her large eyes liquid with regret.
     “But you can’t mean that you are leaving?  Please, Duncan, do stay!”
     Put to him that way, he could not help but play.  He had no desire to leave Josette, indeed felt that he could not tear himself from her, but if everyone else retired to the gaming room for cards, he could hardly remain and not play.  Besides, he doubted that it would do him much harm.  Amanda had, after all, taught him well.
     Tonight he played well and won consistently, for the skill came back to him quickly, even though he had used it little since he’d left France.  However, he found himself at the table with Walter and several strangers, while Josette was at another table.  He soon grew impatient, since his only interest in staying was to be near Josette.  Away from her, his head cleared a little, and he recalled that the ship he was sailing on in the morning would leave early and it would be wise of him to find his bed soon.   Abruptly he stood and took leave of his host, gathering up his winnings.
     “Come now, man,” Walter said cheerfully, his smile wolfish, “you can’t leave while you’re winning.  Stay, and give us a fair chance to win back some of our money.”
     Josette watched, fascinated, as Duncan refused her husband’s blandishments and the cajoling of the others at the table.  She had never before seen a person strong enough or canny enough to escape Walter’s grasp, and she felt a giggle rising up in her at his defeat.  Apparently neither his easy gains nor the opinion of the others at the table would sway him, and a strong spurt of admiration darted through her.  He bowed to her, solemnly taking his leave, and his hungry bedroom eyes swept over her, as though he wanted to hold her in his mind forever.
     On impulse, she sprang up and hurried after him, catching up with him in the entry hall. “Duncan!”
     He turned toward her, and his caramel colored eyes were warm with affection.  “Lady Josette.”
     “Will I see you again?”  She stopped, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy.
     His eyes darkened.  “No, I am afraid not.  My ship sails tomorrow.”
     “So soon?”  Josette felt strangely downcast.  Without thinking, she said, “Then take this parting gift from me,” and stretched up on her tiptoes to gently brush her lips against his.
     At the touch of her mouth, all Duncan’s restraint crumbled, and his arms shot out to draw her against him.  He bent his head to kiss her hard, deeply, passionately, as if to draw her very soul from her.  Josette could feel the trembling of his body against hers, his raging need barely held in check, She had been kissed by other men, but never had she felt a kiss quite like this mingling of violent desire and gentleness.  His mouth pressed against hers, warm and velvety, yet brooking no resistance, and she heard a barely suppressed moan from deep within his throat, as though he were torn.
     Suddenly he released her and stepped back, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.  For a moment he hung in the balance, his reason fighting the wild hunger within him.
     “Really, Macleod, how brash of you,” came Kennington’s lazy, mocking voice from the doorway, and they both whirled to face him.  “You won our money, insisted on leaving without giving us a chance to get it back, and now I find you fondling my wife.  Did no one in that barbaric country of Scotland ever tell you that was rude?”
     Josette felt the color drain out of her face as she looked at her husband.  He would take out on her his frustration at Macleod’s leaving.  A spasm of fear shook her.
     “You’ve spent the evening making sheep’s eyes over my wife; the least you could do is grace the poor husband’s card table,” the mocking voice continued.
     Josette wet her lips nervously and said in a colorless voice, “Yes, please stay.”
     Duncan looked from Kennington to his wife, and suddenly suspicion pierced the haze of desire that had befogged him all evening.  Firmly he turned Josette to face him, and on her coldly set white face, he saw stamped the confirmation of his suspicions.
     “So it is true, then what Sir Edward told me: You are the lure to entice green boys into your husband’s net.”   He thought back on the evening and saw how she had made him dance to her tune, how she had stroked his ego, stroked him, until he was pounding with desire for her...and when he had been about to flee the net she had laid out for him, she had used her soft lying lips to ensnare him.  “How can such beauty hide such deceit.”
     Anger flared in Josette, and she raised her flushed face to stare at him.  “You are a coward, Mr. Macleod,” she said coolly.  “As my husband said, a gentleman would settle up.”
     “Oh, I  plan to settle up, my dear, Josette,” he said, and his voice was deadly cold.  “Just how much settling I intend to do is yet to be seen.  I hope you both,” and he turned to glance at Kennington, “can afford it.”

     Macleod played shrewdly and calmly.  He possessed a collected calculation that he had learned long ago, through countless battles in the Highlands of Scotland, through numerous encounters with other immortals.   He saw Lady Josette as coldly beautiful, and untouchable stone statue, standing behind her husband as he played, and he despised them both with the heat he had earlier felt in desire for her.  His anger was only another tool he used to concentrate on Kennington’s weaknesses and play upon them.  It wasn’t long before he began to recognize the methods the man used to cheat, and find a way to cleverly block them.
     The frustration of the man across from him was tangible as the pile in front of Macleod grew larger and his own dwindled.  The others at the table gradually dropped out, declaring Macleod too clever, but Kennington was like a man obsessed.  The irony of losing heavily to the fool whom he had plotted to shear was too much for his pride to bear.  In frustration and anger the man began to make mistakes: bet too high a stake for cards he held, and threw away cards that he should have kept.
     They went from Whist to faro to loo and even though Macleod had little experience at the last game, Kennington was being led by his rage, and the many mistakes he continued to make only added to the coin Duncan received from him.  Walter’s eyes glittered threateningly as they began their last hand; he was certain he could win this one.  The only problem was that his stack of money was too small to bring much of a win; he needed a big wager on this hand to recover the large chunk he had lost.
     Casually he said, “It seems I am temporarily out of funds.  May I give you a chit for it?”
     Duncan laughed.  “You think I’d trust a piece of paper with your name on it?  I’ve heard of the worth of your debts, sir.  No, thank you.”
     Kennington raised his eyebrows contemptuously, indicating that he might have suspected such rudeness from a churl like Macleod.  He stripped the ruby ring from his hand and held it up to the light.  “Then perhaps you would take this bit of jewelry as a pledge.  You can see it is a valuable gem–“
     Duncan was tired, and if he was to get any sleep before the ship left, he needed to return home.  Besides, the bitter anger that had driven him had drained away, leaving him cold and sick inside.  “No.  Haven’t you had enough?  I won’t take everything from you.:
     The casual contempt in the man’s voice stung Kennington past bearing, and he snarled, “Then perhaps you will take something I neither want nor need.”
     He reached back and grabbed his wife’s wrist, pulling her forward abruptly.  Duncan stared at him in disbelief.  At last he said, “You mean–you are putting up your wife as a wager?”
     “Why, yes.  You seemed to like her well enough earlier this evening.  What would you say she’s worth to you?  A thousand pounds?  That sounds fair enough to me.  You put up a thousand pounds, and I will put up the fair Josette.”
     Josette swallowed and stared fixedly above Macleod’s head, rigid with humiliation.  Walter had done many vile things to her, but none so degrading as this: To offer her like an object, an animal or thing, as a wager to a man who must despise her, a man whose pride and heart she had cruelly hurt just hours before, and before a roomful of acquaintances, too.  Only her pride kept her upright, as it had done when she was a child, frozen in dread and mortification, facing the punishment of her nurse or governess.
     Macleod looked from the thin-lipped, arrogant face of Kennington to the woman beside him, who stood as still as a statue, her face revealing nothing.  How could any man be so lacking in decency as to subject his wife to this treatment?  Or perhaps she did not mind; Edward said she had slept with many men; perhaps she regarded it as no more than an adventure.  Revulsion shook him.  Did they think themselves so noble, so far above the common herd that anything they chose to do was unquestioningly correct?  Or did they do it to gain a little more amusement from him, to laugh at his morals when he refused the bet with horror?
     “I hardly think a thousand,” Duncan said, his tone purposely cutting, “but if that is how you wish to value her, I will accept.”
     Walter bared his teeth in a thin smile, and picked up his cards.  Beside him, Josette was aware of nothing but a roaring in her ears.  Dear God, what was she to do?  If the Highlander won, and he seemed bound to, would he take her with him?  Could he be so cruel, so vengeful?  But how silly–of course he could; he was a man after all.  Walter would let her go, would throw her out, in fact; she had no doubts there.  He would be so angry at his loss that he would hate the sight of her.  So she was to be passed from her husband to another man.  Oh, he had done it before, but not so publicly.  And she was to suffer the very fate that would have awaited her had she refused to lure the Highlander into Walter’s clutches!
     There was a loaded oath from Walter, and his chair turned over with a clatter as he jumped up.  “Damn your eyes!  I’d swear you are a sorcerer, the way you’ve won tonight!  Take her with you then, and I wish you well of her.  I would as well take an icicle to bed!”
     A dull flush mounted in Josette’s cheeks, and Macleod was sure he had never in his life hated a man as much as he hated the sneering Kennington.  It was all he could do to keep from leaping across the table and seizing him by the throat.  Barely in control, he swung on his heel and left the room, summoning Josette after him with a brief motion of his hand.
     Humiliated further by his summary gesture, Josette followed him from the house, hating him and all men, but especially Walter.  Once outside, Duncan walked rapidly and in silence, in to much turmoil to speak.  Josette was too frightened to pay much attention to their surroundings, but when Macleod came to an abrupt halt, she was surprised to see that they were at the door of an inn–and one near the docks, too, if her nose told her anything.
     “What is this place?  I thought you were staying with Sir Edward?”  
     “You want me to bring you to my room at Sir Edward’s house?”  He said coldly,  “Is your reputation so worthless that it doesn’t matter?”
     Josette glared at him in silence.  A fine thing for him to be sneering at her reputation, when he was set on blackening it.  Her head high, she stepped past him into the inn.
     Macleod must have paid the fellow well, for the inn keeper, with a sly glance at her, showed them to a large, well-kept room.  To hide her embarrassment, Josette strolled to the window and looked down.  The inn was indeed close to the docks, for she could see the ships’ masts from the window.
     “Which is your ship?”  She asked, stalling for time to recover and think her way out of this.
     “It’s the Mary Rose.  You probably can’t see it from here.”  His tone closed the discussion.
     Josette drew in a deep breath and turned to face him.  There was no point in hiding now.  Macleod still stood across the room from her, his hands on his hips as his eyes studied her.
     “Do you do this often?”
     “What?” she retorted, her face defiant.
     “Sleep with men to pay your husband’s debts.”
     Josette curled her hands into fists to resist the urge to slap him.  “I have no choice in this.  It is a matter of honor.”
     “Honor?”  His voice was derisive.  “You call it honorable to commit adultery?”
     “Walter gave you his word.  I could not dishonor a gambling debt.”
     Macleod shook his head in wonder.  “You people here have a strange sense of honor it seems to me.  But then, what do I know?  After all, you thought me a fool, didn’t you?  I have no knowledge of the finer things in life–like trying to fleece novices at cards, or seducing a man so your husband can cheat him, or offering your wife’s virtue as a wager in a card game.”
     Josette wanted to burst into tears at the bitter contempt in his tone, but she bit her lip to stop the trembling, and blinked away any telltale moisture.   All she had was pride; all she had ever had to sustain her was pride.  She had endured Walter, and she had endured the men he had forced upon her.  She would endure this man, too!  Why did he not just take her....she didn’t think she could stay standing much longer.
     Duncan started toward her, and she saw the dark passion in his eyes.  Her fingernails bit deeper into her clenched hand and she shook, but she waited like a trapped animal for her fate.  His large hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he pulled her to him slowly.   Duncan’s handsome shadowed face loomed larger and larger in her vision, and then his mouth was upon hers, the sensual lips digging into hers, hot and insistent, opening her mouth to the possessive and intimate touch of his tongue.  Josette felt helplessly carried away by the riveting passion that sprang up inside her.  She found it confusing, and even more frightening than the fear she had held of being physically hurt.
     Where was the revulsion she had expected to feel?  His hands moved caressingly across her back, one hand settling on her buttock and cupping it.  His touch was so firm, but gentle, and when she felt his other hand cup her breasts, she moved into the caress, rather than away from it.
Despite all her fear of sex with men, she had contemplated what his lips would feel like.  She had wonder how his kiss would make her feel.   She knew now that it did not make her cringe in terror, or tremble in revulsion.  The light teasing of his touch only made her want to remain pressed up against the warmth of his body while he made her quiver with a feeling she had never truly felt before–the pleasure of a man’s touch.  This man’s touch..
     Duncan raises his hand and took her chin firmly in his grasp, tilting her head back until she was forced to look into his eyes.  “So, because of your honor, you are now mine to do with as I will.  Suppose I take it into my head to take you with me when I sail tomorrow?  Would you like to see the New World.  There is Boston, New York and Philadelphia.   Would coming with me stretch your honor too far?  Or if I should tire of you and decide to sell you to another, will your honor send you with him?  Or is your honor served only by being subject to my command, to undress if I say so, to pleasure me now–and in any way I tell you I want it.”
     Josette could not speak; her mouth felt as dry as cloth, and her heart thudded sickeningly in her chest.  Why could he have not continued to kiss her, caress her–make love to her.   It was what he wanted to do.  And she had found that she did not mind his touch–that she actually had begun to enjoy it.   But now, with his contemptuous, degrading words, he had reminded her of how very low of an opinion he had of her.
     His hand dropped from her chin, and with a disgusted sound, he stepped away from her.  “Go on, get out.  Go back to your snake of a husband.”
     Josette stared at him in disbelief, unable to stop the shivering that shook her body.  “You–you mean, you aren’t going to–“
     His face turned thunderous.  “Of course I am not going to take you.  Did you actually think that I would force you to bed me because your husband was so crude as to wager you in a card game?  Good God, among all you aristocrats, have you never known a gentleman?  Well, no matter what the men of your acquaintance would do, I am not one to terrorize a female.  I only wanted to unsettle you a little, to make you look at the consequences of the rash things you do.  Perhaps next time, you will remember me, and think twice before tricking another man into loving you.”
     Josette hesitated for a moment, then scampered to the door.  She turned to look back at him, and wanted desperately to say something, to beg his forgiveness, but the words stuck in her throat.  Quickly she turned the knob on the door and left.
     For a moment Duncan stared after her, his heavy-lidded caramel eyes pools of pain.  Then slowly he drew himself together and followed her.  He was angry with her, repulsed by the seediness of her life, but he still wanted to protect her.  The London streets was no place for a woman on her own.  Besides, after he saw her home, he might as well get his bags from Sir Edward’s house and board the Mary Rose.

Chapter 3

     The eastern sky was paling with the approaching sun when Josette wearily let herself into the house by a side door.  She felt tired and despondent, despite Macleod’s generous release, and she thought with longing of leaving her home and going to the country.  She must get away from here, away from Walter: she could not stand another day here.
     Softly she went up the stairs and down the hall toward her room.  No doubt Walter was either gone from the house or soundly sleeping in his room, but she did not wish to take the chance of him hearing her and waking up.  She was far too tired to deal with him–and too brimming emotionally.  All kinds of strange feelings were alive inside her–gratitude at Macleod’s releasing her, yet anger that, knowing he would release her, he had frightened her so; fear and horror as she had hurried home through the dock area of London, sidestepping sleeping beggars and tramps; hatred for her husband and the cruelties he inflicted on others; vague dislike of herself and her life; a longing to be different, to be away.  She was desperately confused, but too tired and frightened to sit down and try to sort out what she felt.
     She needed to sleep; things always looked better in the morning.  However, she was not to be so lucky.  As she tiptoed past his door, Walter whipped it open and stood looking at her, his grey eyes as icy as death.
     “So, he sent you back,” he said, and laughed cruelly.  “He found he did not want you after all, eh?  No doubt he liked your coldness no better than I.”
     Anger welled up in Josette and she snapped, “Oh, shut up, Walter.  He let me go because, unlike you, he is a gentleman.”
     “A gentleman?  He’s a highlander–they are all little more than sheep herders and rustlers.  And your Mr. Macleod even supports the causes of those merchants that live in the New World–and actually calls himself a colonist....”
     “Jewels and satins don’t make a pig a gentleman.”  Josette interrupted, then soon regretted it as his nostrils flared at her remark, and one hand flashed out to take her wrist tightly in his grip.
     “You have gotten us into a fine fix!  The creditors will be beating down our door by noon!  Surely you know that our guest will all talk. . . .will tell everyone that the highlander has taken the last shilling to our name!  We need to make some plans, my girl!”
     “I have gotten us in a fix!  It was you who insisted on playing cards with Duncan.  I was against it, if you will remember.”
     “You did not do as I instructed, and get him fuzzy with drink.  And you sat down at another table, instead of hanging over him and distracting him.  And then you revealed our trickery to him.”
     Walter pulled her inside, his voice hissing her wrongs.  Josette tried to pull free, but he was too strong for her.  “I am sending you to Sir William,” he said peremptorily.  “Doubtless he will give me enough cash for your favors that I can flee to the Continent.”
     “The Continent?”
     “Yes, the Continent.  God, Josette, what is the matter with you?  If I remain here, I will be in debtor’s prison.  Do you understand?  We are completely, utterly destitute!”
     “Where is it that we are going again?”  Josette asked wearily.  She was so tired, so confused.
     “I am going to the Continent.  You are going to Sir William.  Now get yourself packed.  Go quickly!”
     “No, I won’t go.”
     “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
     “I will not do it.  Do you understand me, Walter?  You cannot make me.  You can divorce me and cause the biggest scandal you want, but I will not do it.  You can starve me or beat me or haul me up before the magistrate for wifely disobedience, but I still will not do it.  And more than that, I will tell everyone what it is you want me to do–friends, the judge, people on the street.  I don’t care any longer!  I’ll make your name stink to high heaven–“ her voice rose hysterically, and was abruptly cut off as Walter lashed out with his hand and slapped her hard across the cheek, sending her stumbling backward.
     He struck her again and again.  Like a animal at bay, she twisted and turned, trying to flee his reach, but it was no use.  He reached for her throat and bent her back over the desk.  Josette helplessly felt the redness obscuring her vision as she felt herself slipping away into eternal blackness.  Her arms started to flail and her hand touched something that was cold and hard as stone.  Her fingers curled around it and her hand flew up, crashing it into her husband’s head.  The grip on her throat eased slightly, and she struck again and again, sometimes missing, but hitting him once, twice....Suddenly the pressure on her throat was gone, and sweet, blessed air rushed into her tortured lungs.  She pulled herself up on the desk, her head spinning, her vision still unclear, and the roaring in her ears growing stronger.  Hardly knowing what she was doing, she staggered toward the door and grasped the cold knob, and slowly sank to the floor.  She was fainting, she knew, or was it that she was still dying?
     Curled up in a ball, she fought the weakness, and slowly it subsided, leaving her cold and nauseated, her head still numb and confused.  But at least the room was no longer spinning around her, and thought penetrated her brain.
     Dear God!  She swallowed hard.  She had killed him!  She had killed her husband!
But I did not mean to, she cried inside.  It was just that he was trying to kill me!  I had to do it!
But who would believe that?  And who would help her even if they did?  She scrambled to her feet, her mind racing.  She knew she stood no chance here in England.  Walter’s grandfather, the Duke, was a powerful man, and Walter was his only heir.  He had disapproved of Walter’s ways, but she also knew he would not rest until he avenged the blow to his family.  He had always hated her, anyways, blaming Walter’s wildness on his connection with the Delaplaine family.
     No, she could not stay in England.  She could catch a ship to the Continent–but no, that was not far enough away.  The authorities would be bound to catch her.  The Duke had quite a bit of influence in France, as well.
      First things first: She would dress up as a boy; that would enable her to move more freely, and keep her from being recognized.  She had done it before, just a few days ago, a wild lark with Julian, and she still had the boy’s costume she had made up for herself.
Next, she must find a destination.  Where could she hide?  Could she go to her brother?  He was good for a lark, but she didn’t trust him to see her through something like this.  Jeremiah?  Perhaps, but she knew he was in the middle of a rather stormy affair with his groomsman...and she rather doubted that Jeremiah would want to put that on hold to help her.
     Suddenly she thought of the highlander and his kindness in letting her go.  Oh, he had teased her and frightened her, to be sure, but when it came down to it, he had not hurt her.  And his desire for her had been obvious, until he discovered Walter’s plan.  Might he not help her through kindness–or in return for her favors?  He certainly had no reason to feel any liking for Walter.  And if he was going to this Boston in the New World, it would be a perfect place to escape to.  They would never find her so far away.  It was said that countless criminals had escaped there.
     To say that Duncan Macleod was surprised to see Lady Josette Kennington entering his cabin after knocking on the door would be a supreme understatement.  That she did so in boy’s clothing actually made him closes his eyes, then open them as if her being here must surely be a daydream.  He had settled into this cabin and was undressing to crawl into his bunk when the knock sounded, and the last person he expected to see enter the door was Lady Josette.  He had imagined she was home fast asleep, blissfully oblivious to his departure.  No doubt it would be some time before he could think of the woman without a churning barrel of emotion inside him, but he was certain that she was more than happy to see the last of him.  So to turn and see a stripling lad who tilted his head and pushed back the brim of his hat to reveal the face of Lady Josette stunned him past speech.  Could this be some outlandish charade?   And if so, why was it he, the lady insisted on picking at?
     Then the apparition spoke, and the soft, musical tones of Lady Josette convinced him that he was not mistaken.  “Hello, Duncan.  Pray, do no look so amazed.  It is just me, Josette.”
     “What the hell--” Duncan began, then remembered that he was undressing when she came in and was clothed in nothing but a loincloth.  Blushing, he broke off and hastily reached for his trousers and slipped them on.  Next he grabbed for his shirt.
     Even in her predicament, a giggle bubbled up from Josette at the sight of this huge man reddening like a schoolgirl and covering his naked torso modestly.  Her laughter made the flush rise even higher in his face.
     “Just what are you doing here, Lady Josette?” he said stiffly.  “This joke may rebound on you if you aren’t careful; we are due to sail any moment.”
     “But that is what I want,” Josette said soberly, cursing herself for that silly, half-hysterical laugh–there was nothing to be gained by setting his back up.  “I have come to ask you to take me to America.”
     His brows drew together thunderously. “I have had quite enough of your games this week!  I warn you, you should learn to curb these adolescent escapades of yours.”
     She wet her lips nervously.  “No, please, Duncan.  I am serious.  Have pity on me.  I–I am in grave danger, and I must flee the country.  I need to go to the colonies immediately.  Please take me with you.  Hide me, help me, save me!”
     “Hide you?  And what danger is it that you speak of?”  Macleod snorted.  “You must think I am a total fool.  Get out of here, please, or I shall have to eject you forcibly.”
     “No, you don’t understand!”  Josette cried, her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.  “Don’t send me away!  They will hang me!  You can’t, you can’t be so cruel.”
     Macleod glowered at her suspiciously.  He knew she must be lying, playing some idiotic trick on him, no doubt for a bet, but her voice was so plaintive that he had to hear her out.
     “What are you talking about?  Here, makes some sense.  Pull yourself together.”
     Josette clasped her hands together tightly, fighting for control.  She had to convince him to let her come; this was the most important task she had ever undertaken.
     “I–I killed my husband.”
     “What!”  Macleod exclaimed.  This had to be a jest–or else the girl had gone quite mad.
     “He was quite angry when I returned home.  He blamed me because I did not get you drunk or distract you while you played.  He said that we were penniless after his loss to you--”
     “Oh, so that is it,” Duncan said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.  “You came to persuade me to give back the money.”
     “No!  That isn’t it at all!”  Josette cried.  “We quarreled terribly, and he was vile, as always.  And he said that he had to flee the country to escape his creditors.  He said that–well, what does it matter.  What matters is that I defied his will, and he grew insanely angry.  He attacked me...and even started to choke me”
     When he simply stood there looking at her, mistrust clear on his face, she untied her cloak and pulled open the neck of her shirt to expose her neck, blotched by the purpling bruises Walter’s hand had caused.
     “My God,” Duncan breathed with horror and reach out to touch the livid marks, then snatched his hand away as through her skin burned him.
     “I managed to pick up a marble paperweight on his desk and I hit him on the head–more than once.  I did not mean to kill him, Duncan.  It was just that I couldn’t breathe.  He was killing me with his rage.  So I had to hit him, and he let go, and then I knew that I had killed him.”
     Josette stood before him, white as paper and trembling, bruised and broken, and suddenly he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, to kiss and caress away her pain, and assure her that he would protect her.  But he steeled himself against the treacherous feeling; that way was disaster, and he knew it– she had pulled the wool over his eyes before.  She was a clever actress, and she was even more heartless than Amanda.
     “It sounds to me as if you acted in self-defense.  You should go back and face up to it.  I can’t imagine a judge or jury executing a beautiful woman like you for defending herself against an insane husband who was trying to murder her.”
     “You don’t understand.  I have no money and no power.  My family has social position, true, but no influence and no wealth.  Besides, everyone knows that we Delaplaines have always been a bad lot!  No one saw what happened; we were alone, and the servants were asleep.  Why would anyone take my word?  Why not think I murdered him for the insult he handed me last night?  His grandfather hates me; he says I ruined Walter.”  She laughed shortly, scornfully.  “As if Walter could be ruined; he was utterly corrupt when I married him.  But the Duke would make sure the courts pursued me with a vengeance.  I know he would get me; I know it.  That is why I must flee.”
     “And what if, because you flee, they believe you guilty?  The smartest thing to do is to stay and face them down.”
     “That’s easy for you to say!  You are not the one who will feel the noose.  And you don’t know his grandfather like I do.  There is no way I could win against him.  I am lost if you refuse to help me.  Lost!”
     He looked at her, his face set and closed against her, and she felt as though the ground were giving way beneath her feet.  He did not mean to help her.  He was going to send her away.  Then what could she do?  She was lost, helpless!  The horrors of what she had just gone through–the emotional earthquake she had felt, the physical punishment and nearness to de