How to Abduct a Highland Lord by Karen Hawkins

men, a fond but absent husband, several lovely homes. And yet something had been missing. Until she met Jack Kincaid, she hadn’t known what that was.
     
     She stole a glance at the strong slash of his jaw, the deep auburn of his hair, the familiar slant of his lips. She shivered. None of her numerous lovers had touched her, shaken her, the way Jack Kincaid had. There was something about him, an air of inaccessibility, almost of indifference.
     
     All her life, Lucinda had demanded and received the constant attention of those around her. Jack was different, which made life frightening and exciting. Oddly enough, the more he pulled away, the more she felt this demanding tug of attraction.
     
     His attention was even now wandering to the card tables. Coldness seeped through her. Had she done something to lose him forever? He’d seemed upset when she’d asked him to leave through the window. Had she wounded his pride? “Jack, perhaps I should tell Featherington about us so we can—”
     
     “Don’t be ridiculous. Would you also tell him about Melkinridge and the others?”
     
     She flushed. “No, of course not. I just think it’s horrid you had to leave in such a manner. It pains me to think of it.”
     
     His eyes darkened, an unknown thought flickering across his face. “It was a bit painful.” A secretive smile touched his lips. “But only at first.”
     
     What did he mean by that? She eyed him narrowly. There was something different about him. What was it? “Jack, did you—”
     
     “Ah, Kincaid!” came a deep voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
     
     Lucinda stiffened as a tall, elegantly dressed man with black hair and blue eyes took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “And the lovely Lady Featherington. How nice to see you.”
     
     Jack nodded, wondering why he found every acquaintance so irksome this evening. “Campbell.”
     
     “Ah, Black Jack! I haven’t seen you in forever.”
     
     Lucinda’s brows rose. “Ah, yes. Black Jack. I wonder how that name came to be?” Her chilled tone indicated that she thought she knew.
     
     Campbell smiled, his gaze never leaving Jack’s. “It’s an old childhood name. One given to him by his own mother when he fought his stepfather down the steps of the stately Kincaid manor.”
     
     “I don’t remember,” Jack said tersely.
     
     Campbell shrugged. “That’s how I remember it, anyway. And the name has stuck over the years, which I find very telling.”
     
     Long ago, Alan Campbell had been a playmate of Jack’s. That had changed when Alan had reached his majority. Determined in his ambition to restore his family to greatness, Campbell became a less and less enjoyable companion. He spent his time gathering properties the way some men collected snuffboxes, stepping on quite a few people along the way.
     
     Campbell bowed to Jack, but his gaze lingered on Lucinda. Jack ignored the look; every man present had a fondness for Lucinda. They could have her; he was discovering that he preferred women more spontaneous in nature.
     
     “You look lovely,” Campbell was saying to her.
     
     She withdrew her hand and placed it on Jack’s sleeve. “How are you this evening, Campbell? I trust you are having a good run of luck.”
     
     The man’s mouth twisted. “Since when did the Campbells ever have any luck? Of course”—he slid a sly glance to Jack—“our luck is nothing compared to the MacLeans’. Jack, you know the MacLean family, don’t you?”
     
     “I know them,” Jack said shortly.
     
     “I thought you might.” Campbell’s gaze dropped to Lucinda’s hand on Jack’s arm. “By the way, Kincaid, I forgot to congratulate you.”
     
     “Congratulate him?” Lucinda looked from Jack to Campbell. “What for?”
     
     “On his marriage, of course.”
     
     Lucinda’s hand convulsively tightened, her nails digging through his sleeve.
     
     Jack sent a cold look at