The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 5

A nger warring with trepidation, Sarah stumbled to a halt and wrapped her arms about herself, as though that would be enough to ward off the blackguard who’d treated her so abysmally. Although her insides were quivering like a barely set blancmange, she would not be cowed…

Well, truth to tell, she might be cowed a little bit, considering she’d just attacked a woman in her kidnapper’s employ…

Alexander Black was a formidable sight indeed in the cold light of day. He’d changed out of his evening finery into plainer garb and of course, he no longer wore a mask. It didn’t matter one jot that he was as darkly handsome as a fallen angel—perhaps even Lucifer himself. To Sarah he was detestable, from the top of his raven locks to the tips of his shiny black boots.

When his wide mouth climbed into a wicked grin by way of a greeting, her fear fled. Pure rage washed through Sarah, lending her a fiery boldness she hadn’t known she possessed. “You! You despicable rogue,” she cried, starting forward and poking his hard-as-a-rock chest through the ruffles of his cambric jabot. “How dare you drug me and hold me prisoner? I knew you were up to no good as soon as I laid eyes on you, but I never imagined you’d...you’d go to these lengths. What do you think you’re about?” Bristling with indignation, chest heaving, she planted her hands on her hips. “Actually, I do not want to know. Just let me leave.”

Black pushed the door closed, then leaned back against it with his arms crossed. His shoulders seemed to take up the whole doorway. “Dressed like that, Miss Lambert?” he asked, cocking a black winged brow. Sardonic amusement danced in his dark gray eyes as they insolently raked over her scantily clad body.

Sarah felt a furious blush scorch her entire face. She might be dressed in only a thin shift and stays but she wasn’t backing down. “Of course not. I’m not some doxy even though you are treating me like one. Worse, actually. Incapacitating a woman and then tying her up, it’s appalling.”

Black’s attention slid past her and his expression softened. “Are you all right, Aileen?” he asked.

“Aye, sir, I’m verra sorry aboot this. The lass caught me off guard. Ye were right. She is a wee bit feisty. And cunning.”

“Stop talking about me like I am not here,” fumed Sarah, anger burning through her chest. “I want my clothes and I want to go back to Tay House.”

Black’s gaze narrowed in judgment as he looked down the strong blade of his nose at her. “You really want to go back there? After what you witnessed last night?”

Sarah bit her lip so it wouldn’t quiver. Don’t think about it. “My aunt and my possessions are there,” she managed even though it felt like a boulder was lodged in her throat. “Besides, it’s none of your business what I do.”

Black uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, his flint-like gaze locking with hers. “I’m afraid it is my business, my dear Miss Lambert. You are not going back to Tay House. You are going to get dressed in the garments I have provided and you are coming with me.”

“No.” Sarah resisted the urge to step away from him. She wouldn’t be bullied and abused. “I won’t.”

Oh dear, now I’ve done it.

The expression in Black’s eyes grew colder and a muscle twitched in his lean jaw. He reached into the pocket of his navy wool frockcoat. “I didn’t want to make you take this again,” he said, withdrawing a familiar silver pocket flask. “But if we have reached an impasse...” He shrugged.

“No.” Sarah stepped back. “I won’t drink it, you—you wicked devil. You cannot make me.”

“I can and I will,” said Black darkly. But then he spread his hands in a placatory gesture and added in a gentler tone, “Look, we can avoid all of this unpleasantness if you would just do as I ask and get dressed.”

Sarah scowled at him. It seemed she had no choice but to comply. She could hardly resist him and Aileen. And part of her really did want to put some clothes on. Facing down Black was difficult to do in a state of dishabille. She’d never felt so naked and vulnerable in her entire life.

Nevertheless, the stubborn side of her insisted she make a last-ditch effort at trying to extricate herself from this intolerable situation. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded hotly. “Are you a fortune hunter trying to compromise me? To extort money from me? Socially ruin me to force me into marrying you? Because if you are, I can offer you?—”

Black snorted. “I know exactly how much you’re worth, but I don’t want or need your money, my dear. Although”—he reached forward and wound one of her disheveled locks around his finger—“now I’ve seen you in next to nothing”—his gaze dropped pointedly to the low, scooped neckline of her shift—“ruining you does seem rather appealing.”

Her pulse racing faster than a startled hare, Sarah batted his hand away. “Don’t jest so.”

“What makes you think I’m jesting?” Black’s gaze was intense. “You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah Lambert.”

Oh no, she’d woken the predator . Sarah swallowed. Surely he wouldn’t really take her by force. But what if he tried to? She wouldn’t be able to stop him. She’d been tethered to the bed before and he could easily tie her up again. Cold dread trickled down her spine as visions of Black taking her just like Malcolm had taken the blond woman at the ball filled her head.

A loud “ahem” came from somewhere close behind her and Sarah released a shaky breath.

“Let me help you with yer gown, lassie. Here are the petticoats.”

“You’re despicable,” Sarah shot at Black, before turning to Aileen.

“You said that before,” he returned dryly.

“When Lord Tay finds me—” Her throat convulsed. Why did she keep forgetting that Malcolm was not the man she thought he’d been? “Never mind,” she murmured in a voice that was noticeably husky.

Closing her eyes, Sarah submitted to Aileen, letting the woman fuss over all the tapes and hooks and ribbons that needed to be done up as she got dressed. When she was suitably attired in the claret-red riding coat and matching skirts, with her hair brushed and tied at the nape with a black velvet ribbon, she slid on her own cream satin pumps then turned back to Black. “Are you happy now?” she asked with an arch of her brow. She was surprised to find the clothes fit so well. It was as if they’d been made just for her. Another bizarre occurrence she’d rather not dwell on at this point.

Black had moved to the fireplace whilst she’d dressed, but at her words, he ceased twisting his distinctive gold and onyx ring around his finger and lifted his gaze from the dancing flames. His face was in shadow, his expression inscrutable as he ignored her question and said, “You look well, Miss Lambert.” He approached and offered his arm as a gentleman would. “It’s time to go.”

Sarah glared at him, bunching her fists in the riding habit’s woolen skirts to stop herself slapping his arrogant, deceitful, too-handsome face. “I cannot believe you are acting so when there is nothing remotely civilized about this entire situation.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “By rights I should be screaming and hammering at the windows, entreating someone to rescue me from whatever this is. But I rather suspect you would try to subdue me in whatever reprehensible manner you saw fit.”

Black’s mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “You are correct. Don’t try me, Miss Lambert. Because you will not like the consequences.”