Page 71 of Dark Seduction

Now, too late, she wished they hadn’t come.

CLAIRE FOLLOWED MALCOLM into a huge hall and blinked in surprise. She was faced with so many beautiful furnishings that did not come from the fifteenth century or any century even close to it. Then she saw a Picasso on the wall. Her eyes widened as she recognized a Renoir, a Constable, a Pollock. She stared at the room again. Aidan’s home could have been furnished for the twenty-first century with the finest European antiques and furniture, except for the fact that there were no lamps.

He stood at a towering dark walnut buffet with clawed feet and gilded leaves creeping up the unit’s sides. He was pouring wine from a crystal decanter into crystal wineglasses. Claire saw a modern corkscrew.

It made her dizzy. He was dressed in boots, bare legs and a leine and brat of emerald green, blue and black, and his attire was a glaring contrast to the room. Having poured several glasses, he faced her with that seductive and frankly amused smile she remembered just a bit too well. He knew he was irresistible to the opposite sex, she thought.

“A glass o’ wine, Lady Claire,” he murmured, approaching her as Royce and Ironheart came inside.

“No, thank you,” Claire said, flustered. His eyes were gray like Malcolm’s, and filled with the same appreciative heat. Worse, he slid his gaze over her from head to toe. Claire was certain he was stripping away every item she was wearing and was mentally enjoying a very private view.

His smile widened. “’Tis from Bordeaux,” he said softly.

She met his gaze, aware of heat in her cheeks. His tone was silken and she was sure he used it on women to get them into bed. She somehow knew he was thinking about what she would be like in his bed, too, and that his thoughts were terribly graphic. “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she said hoarsely, turning away, uncomfortably shaken. His beauty and masculinity did not help matters.

Malcolm stepped between them. “Ye look at my woman that way again an’ I’ll take yer head an’ send it across the floor, then put it on a pike.” His eyes glittered with rage. He carried his helmet now, but his right hand rested on the hilt of his longsword.

Claire couldn’t even think about calming Malcolm now. Aidan had thoroughly discomfited her, and he had known what he was doing. He had enjoyed making her uneasy and embarrassed.

“How can I nay look at a beautiful woman?” Aidan said softly and Claire knew his gaze had drifted back to her. “I have eyes in me head, Malcolm.”

Glass broke.

Claire whirled and realized Malcolm had struck the wineglass from Aidan’s hand.

“Ye show respect,” he said tersely.

Aidan’s smile remained, but his eyes had turned cold. “I have invited ye into me home. I chose not to throw ye in the tower. I dinna care fer red wine to be spilled on me fine rugs.”

“I’ll clean it,” Claire cried, but she did not leap between the two men. Malcolm had his hand on the hilt of his sword and she was afraid he was going to unsheathe it. If he did, she knew Aidan would welcome the fight.

Ironheart settled into a chair to watch the drama, apparently nonplussed. Royce strode forward and laid a hand on Aidan’s shoulder, stepping right between the two men. “Enough!” He was annoyed. “Ye provoked Malcolm. Ye deserve a cuff on the head like a lad of ten, not a grown man o’ yer years.”

Aidan looked at Royce without hostility and walked away from them both. He paused to stand before the hearth, staring into its flames. Terribly relieved, Claire went to Malcolm and took his hand. “You must try to ignore him,” she began.

He gave her an incredulous look.

Claire leaped away, realizing her mistake. In this man’s world, a woman had better keep her mouth shut until the appropriate time. Later, when they were alone in the chamber they would share, she could try to get him to see things her way. It was so hard to control her impulse to tell him when she knew exactly what he should do. Couldn’t Malcolm see when he was being manipulated by Aidan? He had to take the high road.

Aidan had returned to the sideboard, pouring more wine, his hands rock steady. He handed a glass to Royce, who accepted it, and then he looked at Ironheart. The earl of Lachlan shook his head, otherwise not moving a muscle.

“Have ye met Lachlan?” Royce asked.

“Nay formally,” Aidan said, not taking wine for himself. “His reputation is great.”

“Then ’tis time. He’ll be a good ally fer ye, when ye decide yer too old fer tricks an’ ye decide to obey the Brotherhood more often than not.”

Aidan looked at Royce without hostility and Royce stared back. Claire realized they knew each other better than in passing, and that Aidan would accept criticism from Malcolm’s uncle, although they were not related at all. She felt certain that Royce had cultivated the relationship out of his love for his nephew. The tension in the room softened and she breathed.

“Actually, I’d love a glass of wine,” she lied. She smiled at Aidan and Royce and walked over to the sideboard to help herself, hoping that an act of normalcy would further lighten the atmosphere. Having poured it, she faced the room. “You have a beautiful home,” she said to Aidan. She was uncertain as to how to address him.

Aidan’s smile began. He was pleased, and somewhat amused. “’Tis made far more beautiful by yer presence,” he returned.

Claire glanced at Malcolm, who just shook his head in disgust. Claire felt like telling Aidan that in her time, women would laugh at such lines. But maybe not; he was so seductive, no woman would want to miss her chance with him.

Malcolm gave her a dark look and said to his half brother, “Ye ken why we be here.”

Aidan faced him. “Aye.” He set his glass down and reached inside his brat, producing a rolled-up and tied parchment page.