When she'd walked into the drawing room and seen him there, his blue gaze direct, as if he'd been waiting for her, she had, for the first time in her life, literally felt faint. Dumbfounded. And… something else. Something more akin to searing excitement, something that had made her nervous, aware, set alive in a way she'd never been before.

For the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure she could control her world, her situation. She was not at all sure she could control him.

Which, first and last, was the crux of her problem.

She watched as he set their empty cups on a side table, and wished he'd been forced to keep them in his hands. Hands she'd already spent some time studying; long-fingered, elegantly made, they were the hands of an artist, not a warrior. At least, not a simple warrior. Standing beside him, she was all too aware that her bedevilled senses had reported accurately on the man who had stolen a kiss-several kisses-from her. He was large and strong-not the strength of sheer brawn, but a more supple, skillful strength, infinitely more dangerous. There was intelligence in his eyes, and something else besides-the embers of that hot, prowling hunger glowed behind the blue.

He straightened. And nodded to the rest of the company. "Is this all Seamus's family?"

"Yes." She scanned the room's occupants. "They all live here."

"All the time, I understand."

"They have little choice. Seamus was a miser in many ways." She glanced about the room. "You must have noticed the ambience-hopefully, once Jamie and Mary and the others finally realize it's theirs now, and they no longer need Seamus's approval for every penny spent, they'll make it more livable."

"More like a home? Amen to that."

Surprised by his acuity, Catriona glanced up; his polite mask told her nothing.

He trapped her gaze. "You clearly didn't like Seamus. If you won't consider moving here to live, why have you come?"

"I'm here to pay my final respects." She considered, then added, more truthfully: "He was a hard man, but he did as he deemed right. He might have been an adversary, but I did respect him."

"Magnanimous in victory?"

"There was no battle."

"That's not how the locals tell it."

She humphed. "He was misguided-I set him right."

"Misguided because he wanted you to wed?"

"Precisely."

"What have you got against the male of the species?"

How had they got onto this topic? She slanted her tormentor a sharp glance. "Just that-they're male."

"A sorry fact, but most women find there are compensations."

She humphed again, the sound eloquently disbelieving. "Such as?"

"Such as…"

His tone registered; she turned and met his eyes-and the glow that danced therein. Her breathing seized; her heartbeat suddenly sounded loud. With an effort, she found breath enough to warn: "No teasing."

His lips, untrustworthy things-she tried hard not to focus on them-lifted; his eyes glowed all the more. "A little teasing would do you good." His voice had dropped to a deep purr, sliding over her senses; Catriona detected the power in the words, although she hadn't met its like before. It was… beguiling; instinctively, she resisted. She felt like she was swaying, but knew she hadn't moved.

"You might even find you…"-his brows quirked-"enjoy it."

Behind her back, screened from the company, his hand rose; Catriona sensed it with every pore of her skin, every nerve in her body. An inch from her silk-encased form, it rose, slowly skimming without touching, until it reached her neckline and rose…

"Don't!" The word was a breathless command; his hand halted, hovering, close, very close, to her quivering curls. If he touched them again…

"Very well."

A seductive purr, with no hint of contrition; he was being triumphantly magnanimous now. But his hand didn't disappear-it reversed direction. Slowly, so slowly her skin had ample time to prickle and heat, his hand traced her back, down over her shoulder blades, over the slight indentation at her waist, then, even more slowly, over the curve of her hips.

Not once did he touch her, yet when his hand dropped away, she was shaking inside-so badly, as she stepped away and, half-turning, inclined her head in his direction, she could barely form the words: "If you'll excuse me, I should retire."

She left him without meeting his eyes, quite sure of the male triumph she would see there, unsure of her hold on her temper if she did.

Meg had returned; she was sitting, wan-faced, in an armchair. Catriona stopped before her. "Come to my room when you go up-I'll have that potion ready."

"Are you going up now?"

"Yes." Catriona bit off the word, then forced a smile. "I fear the journey here was more fatiguing than I'd thought."

With a regal nod, she swept from the room, conscious, to the very last, of a blue, blue gaze fixed unwaveringly on her back.

Chapter 3

A few minutes before eleven o'clock the next morning, Catriona made her way to the library, whence they'd been summoned to hear Seamus's last testament. She'd breakfasted in her room-because it was warmer there.

The attempt at self-deception worried her, as did its cause. She'd breakfasted privately so she wouldn't have to face Richard Cynster and the power he wielded. Whatever it was. She knew, of course, but she wasn't game to let herself contemplate it. At all. That way lay confusion.

A footman stood before the library door; he opened it and she glided through. And gave thanks that some sensible soul had given orders for the fire to be built up above its usual meager pile. The cavernous fireplace filled one end of the monstrous room, the largest in the house, stretching the length of one entire wing. As the walls were stone and the narrow windows uncurtained, the room was perpetually chill. She'd dressed appropriately in a dress of blue merino wool with long fitted sleeves, but was still grateful for the fire.

Jamie and Mary sat on the chaise; the others sat in armchairs on either side, all the seats arrayed in a semicircle facing the fire and, to one side, the huge old desk behind which Seamus had habitually sat. Now, a Perth solicitor sat in Seamus's chair and shuffled papers.

Subsiding into the one vacant armchair, between Meg and Malcolm, Catriona returned the solicitor's polite nod, then acknowledged the others present, only at the very last letting her eyes meet Richard Cynster's.

He sat on the other side of the chaise, beyond Mary, filling a chair with an indolent grace in stark contrast to the tentative postures of the other males present. He inclined his head, his expression impassive; Catriona inclined her head in return and forced her eyes elsewhere.

One glance had been enough to fill her mind with a vision far more powerful than the one that had brought her here. He was wearing a blue coat of a deeper hue than her dress, superbly tailored to hug his broad shoulders. A blue-and-black striped silk waistcoat covered a snowy white shirt topped by a beautifully tied cravat. His breeches, of the finest buckskin, clung to long, powerful thighs far too tightly for her comfort; his boots she already knew.

She wished him anywhere else but here; she had to fight to keep her eyes from him. Malcolm, beside her, was not so restrained; slumped in his chair, he gnawed on one knuckle and stared openly at the lounging elegance opposite. Catriona suppressed a waspish urge to tell him he'd never measure up, not while he slouched like that.

Instead, she breathed deeply, and determinedly settled, drawing calmness to her with every breath. Hands clasped in her lap, she reminded herself that she was here by The Lady's orders; perhaps she'd been sent here to meet Richard Cynster to learn what it was she should avoid.

Masterful men.

Denying the urge to glance at one, she fixed her gaze on the solicitor and willed him to get on with his business. He looked up and blinked, then owlishly peered at the mantel clock. "Hurrumph! Yes." He glanced around, clearly counting heads, matching faces against a list before laying it aside. "Well then, if we're all assembled…?"

When no one contradicted him, he picked up a long parchment, cleared his throat, and commenced. "I read the words of our client, Seamus McEnery, Laird of Keltyhead, as dictated to our clerk on the fifth of September this year."

He cleared his throat again, and changed his voice; all understood that they were now hearing Seamus's words verbatim.

" 'This, my last will and testament, will not be what any of you, gathered here at my request, will be expecting. This is my last chance at influencing things on this earth-to put right what I did wrong, to rectify the omissions I made. With the hindsight of age, I've been moved to use this, my will, to that end.' "

Not surprisingly, a nervous flutter did the rounds of the listeners. Catriona was immune, but even she frowned-what was the wily old badger up to now? Even Richard Cynster, she noticed, shifted slightly.

Settling in his chair, Richard inwardly frowned and struggled to shake off the premonition Seamus's opening paragraph had evoked. He was only a minor player in this scene; there was no reason to imagine those words were aimed at him.

Yet, as the solicitor went on, it seemed he was wrong.

" 'My first bequest will close a chapter of my life otherwise long completed. I wish to give into her son's hands the necklace my first wife bequeathed to him. As I have stipulated that he, Richard Melville Cynster, must be here to receive it, it has now served its purpose.' " The solicitor fumbled on the desk, then rose and crossed to Richard.

"Thank you," Richard murmured, lifting the delicate strands from the solicitor's gnarled hands. Gently, he untangled the finely wrought gold links, interspersed with opaque rose pink stones. From the center of the necklace hung a long crystal of amethyst, etched with signs too small for him to make out.

"It was quite out of order for Mr. McEnery to keep it from you," the solicitor whispered. "Please do believe it was entirely against our advice.''

Studying the pendant, noting the curious warmth of the stones, Richard nodded absentmindedly. As the solicitor returned to the desk, Richard glanced up-from across the circle of seats, Catriona's gaze was fixed on the pendant. Her absorption was complete; deliberately, he let the crystal hang, then moved it-her gaze remained riveted. The solicitor reseated himself; Richard closed his fist about the pendant. Catriona sighed and looked up; she met his gaze, then calmly looked away. Resisting an urge to raise his brows, Richard pocketed the necklace.

"Now, where were we? Ah… yes." The solicitor cleared his throat, then warbled: " 'As to all the wealth of which I die possessed, property, furniture, and funds, all is to be held in trust for a period of one week from today, the day on which my will is read.' " The man paused, drew breath, then went on in a rush: " 'If during that one week, Richard Melville Cynster agrees to marry Catriona Mary Hennessy, the estate will be divided amongst my surviving children, as described below. If, however, by the end of that week, Richard Cynster refuses to marry Catriona Hennessy, my entire estate is to be sold and the funds divided equally between the dioceses of Edinburgh and Glasgow.' "

Shock-absolute and overpowering-held them all silent. For one minute, only the rustle of parchment and the odd crackle from the fire broke the stillness. Richard recovered, if that was the right word, first; he dragged in a huge breath, conscious of a sense of unreality, as if in a crazy dream. He glanced at Catriona, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, her expression one of stunned incredulity.

"How could he?" Her vehement question broke the spell; she focused abruptly on the solicitor.

A cacophony of questions and exclamations poured forth. Seamus's family could not take in what their sire had done to them; most of them were helpless, barely coherent.

Seated beside Richard, Mary turned a stricken face to him. "My God-how will we manage?" Her eyes filled; she grasped Richard's hand, not in supplication, but for support.

Instinctively, he gave it, curling his fingers about hers and pressing reassuringly. He saw her face as she turned to Jamie, saw the hopelessness that swamped her.

"What will we do?" she all but sobbed as Jamie gathered her into his arms.