To Tempt a Scotsman by Victoria Dahl

had thought half a dozen times of riding down to Somerhart and claiming her, had picked up a quill more times than that to write a real letter. He'd had an excuse, could've asked about St. Claire, but then she might have taken insult. She'd given her word, after all, to pass on new information.
    The lust would fade, he'd told himself. He'd had the strength to walk away from her ready body, he could wait for this too to pass. And it had begun to fade, just barely, over the past few weeks. And then he'd heard her voice yesterday, above the din of the fair crowd. He'd swept the lines of people and saw her face, lit up by the sun and her own glow. He would have thought her an illusion if he hadn't heard her name, a laughing censure from the woman beside her.
    And now he couldn't find a damned trace of her. And he needed to find her. He was done with being responsible. He'd measure her by the same standard he'd measured his other lovers. If his seed caught, could he stand to marry her? Aye, he could.
    Bastard born, he would not leave a child of his to be raised without a father, so he never slept with a woman whose companionship would be unbearable. But Alexandra would be far from unbearable. Ach, if he'd seen the girl walking to market in Scotland, he'd have had her in the church within a fortnight. But she was a far cry from a simple Scottish lass, and he was little more than a stable boy. . . had, in fact, been a stable boy at one time. No, he did not fancy himself good enough to marry her, but good enough to go to her bed?
    Collin smiled humorlessly at the thought. She had assured him he was good enough for that; he'd only needed time to convince himself.
    Thousands of candles glittered above, magnified by the sparkling crystal of the chandeliers and drawing a smile to Alex's face. The light threw off heat, and there existed the startling danger of burning drops of wax, but she much preferred candles to gas, especially at a ball. Balls were meant to be magic and she desperately needed a little magic tonight. The candles were a good omen.
    Anxiety bubbled through her veins like champagne. Champagne bubbled in her veins also, but it didn't seem to be helping to calm her. No, now she just felt a little sick. She would certainly get Collin's attention if she vomited at first sight of him.
    But she truly wanted to relax and enjoy herself. This was her first evening out since the scandal and her first foray into Scottish society. The murmur of voices riding the air had a slightly different rhythm, the barest twist of cadence that spoke of the Scots burr.
    Not that all the guests were Scottish, by any means, but she hadn't yet seen anyone she knew. Nor was she likely to. The Season was in full swing in London. The ton did not travel to Scotland for balls, not during the Season.
    "Lady Alexandra."
    Alexandra jumped, grateful her glass was empty when she spun awkwardly toward the woman's voice. "Oh, Lady MacDrummond. Thank you again for the invitation."
    "My pleasure, dear. And may I say what a beautiful dress that is? Far more in the French fashion than most young Englishwomen have the sense for."
    "My mother was French, you know. Perhaps it is something I learned at her knee."
    The woman nodded, the blood rubies in her ears sparking with the movement. "Well, do not let that French blood get you into any more trouble."
    Alex's eyes flew wide in surprise. Before she could think what to say, Lady MacDrummond winked in sly conspiracy.
    "Oh, I am aware of your little indiscretion in London, my dear, but we all have our indiscretions, private or public. I would not hold it against you."
    Alexandra wondered if her eyes were in danger of falling from her head. She blinked hard. "Thank you."
    The grandmotherly woman leaned in, scarlet skirts brushing against Alex's blue dress. "If it had been a Scotsman, dearie, he would've thought to lock the door."
    "Oh," she murmured dumbly. "Of course."
    Lady MacDrummond glided away in a cloud of