Startled, she blinked. Of course. He was no ordinary Highlander.

And that explained why he lived in this castle. Why he carried himself with an aura of command. "If you're the laird, then where are your people?" "They live in the village."

"But they must have lived here once. That pitiful dining table-"

"Enough of your bletherin'." His expression hardening, he levered himself to his feet. "Women like to natter on about matters that dinna concern them. 'Twould seem you're the worst of the lot."

In half-naked magnificence he towered over her, and Helen could scarcely think. "I merely wondered-"

"Then take your wondering back to your own bed." He snatched up her shift and tossed it at her. "Now."

As she sat up, the chill of the air seeped into her, chasing away the warmth and lassitude of their lovemaking. "How can you speak so harshly after what we just shared?"

"I had my pleasure, and you had yours. But 'tis over, and I've no stomach for useless chatter." Pivoting away, he turned his attention to adjusting the folds of his kilt.

Despite her determination to see the good in him, his rejection hurt. How could she explain her longing for romance, for soft words and parting kisses? She hadn't anticipated this brutal ending to her night of discovery. It left her feeling vaguely used and unclean.

With trembling fingers she donned her clothing, covering herself with the cloak. She paused a moment, looking at Alexander the MacBrut, who had shown her such ecstasy.

He stood gazing into the fire, one of his hands braced on the stone chimneypiece. She had a hundred questions she'd like to ask him, to enable her to understand him better. But he acted as if he'd already forgotten her presence and the deeply personal experience that had seared her soul.

After tomorrow, she would never see him again. The knot in her throat prevented her from saying good-bye. She left quietly, slipping out into the cold, dark corridor and feeling her way back to her bed, where Miss Gilbert still snored in blessed oblivion. M'lord awakened and wagged his tail, and Helen hugged him briefly before crawling beneath the covers. She closed her eyes, remembering the joy and beauty the MacBrut had shown her. No, not the MacBrut. Alexander.

Alexander had made love to her. With his tender touch, he had transported her to paradise. Belatedly she realized the folly of believing she would be content after learning the mystery of it. Once was not enough. Already she missed the warmth of his arms and the excitement of his kisses. Already the place between her legs ached to be filled by him. Only him.

Alexander.

She turned restlessly, hugging her pillow. It was foolish to desire the unattainable. She would leave here on the morrow and never return. She'd had her adventure and now it was over.

Yet as she fell asleep, Helen wished with all her heart for the chance to charm him into doing it again.

Chapter Four

He wanted to do it again.

That was Alex's first thought the next morning on seeing her emerge from the stone keep, the little spotted lapdog trotting at her side. Alex was returning from the stables where he'd tended to the horse, using physical activity to block out all memory of his mistake the previous night. Now that mistake was walking straight toward him.

Lady Helen Jeffries.

He stopped dead in the middle of the snowy courtyard. Half of him wanted to turn and run, but not his lower half. The sight of her transfixed him: the sunshine gilding her fine blond hair, the jaunty spring to her steps, the crimson cloak skimming a figure that had haunted his dreams.

He should never have touched her. He should have listened to logic instead of thinking with his cock. The last complication he needed in his life was a freshly deflowered female-especially when she was a fashionable English lady.

He should stride away in the opposite direction. Better he should follow her lapdog that bounded away to examine the perimeter of the yard. But Lady Helen waved a gloved hand at Alex, and the smile brightening her face caught him with the force of a steel trap.

"Good morning," she called gaily as she picked a path through the drifts. Her boots crunched on the snow, and a band of white bordered the hem of her cloak. Without warning, she skidded on an icy patch.

Alex sprang to save her from a nasty tumble. His arms shot around her, and he found himself holding her close to his swiftly beating heart. Despite his resolve, he was seduced instantly by her slim, curvy form and womanly scent, her rosy face and dancing eyes.

"Goodness," she said, laughing. "I didn't know the ground was so slippery."

He grunted, hoping she would take the hint that he didn't want her company. But even as he stepped back, she chattered on.

"What a fine day it is." Opening her arms wide and tilting her head back, she turned to survey the blue sky. "There isn't a cloud to be seen, and the wind has died down. Have you checked the road yet?"

He gave a curt nod.

"And? Is it covered in snow?"

"Aye," he admitted grudgingly.

"Oh, do let's have a look."

She took hold of his elbow, and he had no choice but to walk her to the arched gate. He felt the softness of her breasts as she leaned into him for support. He glanced at her suspiciously, wondering if she were play-mi; the seductress again. But she was gazing ahead, mak-iii!', sprightly comments on the weather and the scenery.

He had ruined her. With no more than a twinge of ‹ on science, he had plucked England 's fairest flower. Lust and a twisted need for revenge had overridden his scruples, and he had seized the chance to claim a prize from the country that had stolen so much from him. If anyone in London society were to find out, she would be shunned, ostracized.

Never would he forget his shock on finding her standing outside his bedchamber. Or his swift, searing response to hearing her hesitant explanation: I came to see you. To be with you.

There was no need to feel at fault. She had, after all, sought him out.

Yet guilt sank its teeth into him. She didn't deserve to be punished. She'd had nothing to do with the pain in his past.

"Oh, dear," she said. "You're right."

Alex blinked, realizing they stood at the verge of the steep, downward slope. Snow sparkled on the forested mountains as far as the eye could see. "Right?" he said cautiously.

"The road looks quite impassible. We are snowed in." She sounded cheerful, like a child freed from performing her daily chores. "We daren't transport Mr. Abbott down this slippery hill. That means we shall have to remain here for at least another day. Don't you agree?"

Being stranded here in the company of Lady Helen Jeffries only made Alex more testy. Rather than admit she'd surmised correctly, he said, "The snow willna last. 'Tis beginning to melt already."

He could hear the drip-drip of icicles from the castle walls and the surrounding trees. Gold and red leaves peeked from beneath the blanket of white. It was far too early in the season for the freezing temperatures to continue. By tomorrow, the road would be clear.

In the meanwhile, he had no intention of enduring the company of an Englishwoman. Especially not one who posed a damnable temptation to him. He had been too long without a woman, that was all.

"I've work to do," he muttered, and stalked away.

"Wait," she called from behind. "Don't go yet. I wanted to tell you something. It's about last evening."

He froze. "There's naught to tell."

"Please, Alexander. This is important."

The husky way she said his name made him turn uneasily to see her standing in the opening of the gate. The high stone arch and iron portcullis made her appear more dainty than ever.