Secrets to Seducing a Scot by Michelle Marcos

him down?”
    “No need of that,” Serena drawled. “Just draw a pentagram on the floor and shout ‘I summon thee.’ That should do the trick.”
    Zoe giggled. “Come now, Serena. I can see that you don’t dislike Mr. Slayter as much as you pretend. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you feel for him what I feel for Monsieur Leveque.”
    “Don’t be absurd, Zoe. I feel nothing warmer than indifference to him. To either of them.”
    Just then they spotted a horse and rider galloping down the path toward the house. Even from the distance,
she could tell it was Malcolm—he was a man of singular size. But as the distance closed between them, she noticed something altogether different about him: his clothing. The man was wearing a kilt. A black one.
    The horse skidded to a halt on the gravel behind the carriage. Malcolm threw one leg over its giant neck and slid to the ground. Serena caught a glimpse of a long, muscled leg, all the way up to the thigh, before the folds of his kilt draped back down to his knee.
    Her heart began to flutter. Here she was, expecting to be upset at him, but all she could do was marvel at the change he presented. Until now, he had dressed in coat and trousers, even a cravat—clothes befitting an Englishman. The man standing before her now was completely alien to her. A coarse white linen shirt, a black woolen kilt, a black plaid draped over a wide shoulder, and a sporran made from brown hide resting between his legs. A head-to-toe Highlander.
    He patted down the horse, soothing the great animal as she caught her breath. He gave instructions to the groom, who led the animal away. Finally, he turned his attention to Serena and Zoe, who stood in the doorway.
    “Mornin’,” he said, touching a finger to his forehead.
    Serena cocked an eyebrow. “Where, may I ask, have you been?”
    He gave her a sidewise glance as he checked the harness on the two horses pulling the carriage. “Canvassing your path.”
    “Canvassing it? For what?”
    “Making certain it was strewn with rose petals. What do ye think, woman? I was checking it for brigands. Highwaymen. Cutthroats. Assassins.”
    Finally, he turned around and gave her the full measure of his attention. He leaned against the horse and crossed his arms at his chest. Audaciously, he looked her
up and down, which gave Serena satisfaction … and a secret thrill.
    “Ye look fetching,” he said. “Ye both do,” he added with a nod to Zoe.
    Against her will, Serena blushed. “Thank you,” she replied with as much archness as she could muster.
    “Planning to find a champion at the Games?”
    “Perhaps. Does that make you jealous?”
    He cocked a smile. “Just stay out of trouble. That’s all I ask.”
    It was not the answer she had hoped for. As if to echo her ire, a distant rumbling in the sky was followed by a spittle of rain. Serena ducked back farther into the doorway, opening her green parasol and raising it heavenward. Malcolm, on the other hand, was completely indifferent to the rain, the drops adhering his shirt to his body.
    A look of consternation crossed Serena’s face. “Perhaps we should postpone our trip until the weather clears.”
    “No!” cried Zoe piteously.
    Malcolm shook his head. “Just a smirr of rain. Come over to the carriage with ye.”
    The skies opened up, and the rain turned into a downpour in a matter of seconds. She gave her lace parasol a distrustful glance. The decorative accoutrement was useless.
    “Even a sheep bleats in complaint when it rains. It’s not my fault if you haven’t its sense.”
    Zoe tugged on Serena’s sleeve. “If we make a mad dash, we won’t get too wet.”
    “No, Zoe. These are new shoes.”
    Malcolm stamped over to her. “Och, woman, ye do get yeself into a state over naught.” He took the parasol from her and set it on the floor. He slipped the plaid
from his shoulder and, unfolding it, wrapped her in the wide swath. It was a thick wool cloth, resistant to the