Chapter Three

S adie was done with naysayers. For all that Lord Heath had impressed her—and he was a very impressive man—he did not know what she wanted for her future. But rather than argue, she gestured to the right.

"This is my home. You have shown me safely here. Thank you for your help, Lord Heath. I shall travel the last way by myself."

He frowned as he looked at the dark house. "You cannot mean to knock on the front door."

"There is an entrance in the back. I have the key."

"I shall escort you there."

His tone left no doubt as to his determination, and she was vulnerable enough to allow it. She did not like being alone in the dark, and she trusted that no footpad would attack while he was standing guard.

Plus, now that the excitement of the evening was done, she was feeling uneasy. His concerns for her future were real, and she could not deny that she did indeed court disaster. So she kept him near because he made her feel safe. And that made him very attractive.

"Very well," she said, trying to give in with grace. "This way."

He followed her closely, his large presence thrilling her more than it should. The sheer power in his body made her own respond. He was exquisitely male. She even slowed her steps to stay close to him.

That was new. She couldn't remember doing such a thing before. Not even with a Scotsman since her earliest explorations when she was twelve.

When she finally stopped beside the dark doorway, he was nearly atop her, but he didn't move back. He leaned against the wall, his eyes sparking in the moonlight.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"You will not hurt me."

"I won't," he agreed. "But how can you know that?"

Because his every action from the first moment they'd met was to protect her? Certainly, he'd gone about it the wrong way, but she could tell his intentions were honorable.

It was her own that were not.

After all, in her first season, she'd accepted the fact that she would be no man's wife. And he'd all but stated that she was not an acceptable role model for his daughters. So there was no harm in lingering here in the moonlight. In looking into his eyes and smiling as she appreciated all the ways her body responded to his.

It was madness, but her breasts were heavy and her belly liquid. Her lips were dry, and she moistened them as she thought of having his mouth on hers. They were deep in the shadows. No one would see, no one would know if she allowed a kiss or three. A taste of what she would never have as a spinster.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"Why aren't you looking at me like that?"

She meant, why hadn't he touched her the way she was aching to be touched? Why hadn't he moved to kiss her, the way every man in London had tried at one time or another? She was a Scotswoman and therefore deemed fair game for nearly every man she met…except this one.

And so she looked at him with all the yearning in her heart. She wanted his touch, and so much more.

She heard him suck in a breath, then shake his head as if struck dumb. But at long last, he touched her, stroking a single finger along her cheek.

"You are a contradiction. I would have sworn you'd cut me off at the knees if I'd tried anything."

More like kneed him in the balls, but he hadn't tried anything. He hadn't done anything, and so—perverse creature that she was—she wanted it with an ache that was unbearable.

"One kiss," she whispered. "Please."

"One kiss," he echoed, as if speaking to himself. "One roguish act for a man who has worked excruciatingly hard to remain above reproach."

She smiled. "Yes."

He mirrored her expression. "Yes."

And so he kissed her, moving slowly against her lips, teasing his tongue along the seam, and slipping inside as if stealing something she was giving freely. She opened for him, loving the thrust of his tongue and the way he teased the roof of her mouth. Their tongues dueled as her body came alive.

Such fire he stoked inside her. Her blood pumped, her skin heated, and the moment she thought about his hands on her breasts, they were there. She was no ignorant English miss. She knew what men and women did together.

But never had it felt like this. His hands on her breasts, squeezing them as he pinched her nipples. Such large hands, fitting her perfectly, and yet it was not enough.

She felt his organ between her thighs, thick, hard, and hot. She wanted it inside her. She wanted to feel him penetrate her.

She did not hear the banshee wail at first. Who thought of such things in tame London? Banshees were a thing of Scotland, and it had no business here. And yet, the wail grew. Louder and louder, until it vibrated in the air around them.

Lord Heath did not hear it. He continued to kiss her, and she wanted to enjoy it. She loved what he did to her skin, her breasts, and between her thighs. But the wail, the pure shriek of evil consumed her until she dropped to her knees and screamed in agony at the sound.

Lord Heath did not understand. How could he when the thing was of Scotland? But didn't he have ears? She looked at his confounded expression, but soon her gaze focused on the thing.

The banshee.

"Doom!" it wailed. "Disaster!" Then it lowered until its gaping maw was right before her face. "You kiss a Sassenach!"

Sadie trembled in terror. The demon spirit's white hair whipped about in a frenzy of hatred. The creature haunted the wicked, wailed at betrayers, and cursed those who destroyed women. But why did it target her?

"I have done nothing wrong!" she cried.

It pointed a skeletal finger at her heart, and then dropped it lower until she pointed at her womb.

"Betrayer," it hissed before glaring at Lord Heath. "Sassenash."

Then it flung itself at him. With claws extended and mouth agape, it threw itself upon Lord Heath while Sadie bolted forward to save him.

She was too late. Lord Heath screamed while his blood gushed.

And she…

She bolted upright in her bed, her scream echoing through her room.

The response was immediate. Her maid arrived first, eyes wide and hair askew. She was quickly followed by two footmen and the cook who was carrying a wicked cooking knife.

Sadie didn't know what to say. She was still reeling from her nightmare, still looking for a banshee in the corner with a bloody Lord Heath.

"A dream," she rasped, her words more for herself than anyone else.

"A dream?" the cook cried, still brandishing the knife. "A dream!"

Sadie closed her eyes, trying to banish the sight of a banshee devouring Lord Heath. Worse, beneath the nightmare images was a fire still sparking under her skin. Was it lingering terror or desire?

None of what she'd dreamed had happened last night. None of the touching, the kissing, or the banshee. He had escorted her to the door, bowed to her, and watched her enter the house unmolested. Perhaps there had been a moment when their eyes had locked. A long moment before he bowed and backed away. And perhaps she had gone to bed thinking of the thrill of having his hands on her body. She had wondered, just before sleep, what it would be like with him in her bed.

But it hadn't happened.

At least not until her dream. And not until a banshee woke her from her fantasy. She could still hear the scream in her head. Betrayer. Sassenach. All because she had kissed an Englishman in her dreams.

"Goodness, what is this about?" the dowager countess asked as she pushed her way into the room. "Sadie Allen, what have you done?"

Sadie swallowed and tried to face her sponsor. It wasn't this woman's fault that she was a failure in the marriage mart. Indeed, the countess had managed to marry off two other Scotswomen.

"I'm sorry, countess," she said as she tried to clear the fear from her tightened throat. "I had a dream."

"A dream?

"A nightmare."

"Obviously." The woman shooed everyone else out of the room. Then she folded her arms and settled on the bed. "In my experience, nightmares must be faced head on. What exactly did you dream?"

How much should she say? None of it. But perhaps she could go straight to the root of the problem.

"Countess, you have been kindness itself in sponsoring me. You have successfully launched several young ladies to brilliant matches."

"Two of them Scotswomen," she added with clear pride.

"Yes. It is no fault of yours that I have not taken."

"Certainly not!"

"Perhaps we should admit defeat. Keep everything my kinsman gave you for my come out and send me home. I will tell him that you did everything possible, but there was no husband for me in England."

The countess pursed her lips. "It is exactly as I suspected. You are afraid you will never find a decent husband. Well, I admit that you are a challenge, but we are not done fighting yet."

Sadie looked down at her hands where they were clenched in the coverlet. She consciously opened them and spoke, making sure her voice was composed.

"What if I am done fighting? What if I want to—"

"What? Go back to Scotland and molder away? Do you have a home there?"

"No. I thought to act as my laird's chatelaine. I would enjoy making his keep the finest in Scotland. And I'd see the clan children as they grow."

The countess leaned back against one of the canopy posts. "Well," she said, "never did I think I'd see a Scotswoman admit defeat so easily." She rolled her eyes. "Chatelaine! That's a housekeeper with more dust. You could have a home and children of your own!"

"I raised my brothers. I have no need—"

"Pish posh! When you're mistress of the house, you can hire a woman to do all the dirty work of babies. You have all the fun. It's vastly different from what you did in Scotland."

Sadie knew better than to argue, especially since the countess's words brought up images of Lord Heath's children. She had no idea what they looked like, but she would bet they had his twinkling eyes and sturdy build. That wasn't a disaster in a girl child. Indeed, sometimes it was downright necessary.

But they would need the guidance of an equally sturdy woman to make sure they were not ashamed of their looks. They needed a mother who could show them how to have conviction in their minds and fire in their blood. In short, she would teach them to be Scottish, and the thought of Lord Heath's shocked face if she suggested such a thing made her lips quirk in a smile.

"There now," the countess said. "I can see that you're starting to listen. Good. Now tell me about this nightmare."

She flushed as she looked away.

The lady folded her arms across her chest. "Sadie Allen, you are not a girl to scream over nothing. Tell me about it."

Sadie felt her face heat as she spoke haltingly. "A gentleman walked me home. He was kind and sweet, for all that he grumbles at me."

"What is this man's name?"

"It's not important—"

"I'll be the judge of that. Who?"

There was no stopping the woman. "It was Lord Heath, my lady. He was very kind—"

"Until he wasn't?"

It took a moment before Sadie understood what the countess thought. "Oh no! Lord Heath was a total gentleman! It was the banshee."

"The what?"

Did the English know nothing? "It's a spirit. A woman spirit who wails for the betrayed."

"Did Lord Heath die in your dream? Were you the banshee?"

"No. Well, yes, but I wasn't the banshee. I was the betrayer. Because I…um…was with him." She swallowed. "Banshee have no love the English."

She looked at her hands. She knew it was just a dream, but she'd grown up on tales of banshees, kelpies, and the seelie court. How else was she to keep three brothers entertained at night? And for all that she was a practical woman, the nightmare had shaken her. Banshees were terrifying creatures and one had visited her this night.

One had killed Lord Heath before her eyes.

Meanwhile, the countess's thoughts were elsewhere. "You and Lord Heath were walking?"

"Yes."

"Or perhaps something that wasn't walking?" The countess chuckled. "Sadie, I was young once. I remember certain dreams. And suddenly, I am very interested in Lord Heath."

"What? No!" Sadie cried, her face heating to an inferno. "You don't understand! The man hates me. He said I'm not marriageable!" That wasn't exactly what he'd said, but it amounted to the same thing.

He would not countenance a wife who punished evil men, and she had no intention of stopping. Some ladies needed a protector. If they were desperate enough to ask a Scottish debutante for aid, then she would give what she could.

The countess snorted. "Men say all sorts of things. It's up to us to correct their misinterpretation." The lady eyed her sideways. "I believe you said something to that effect last Season."

Perhaps. Or definitely. She'd certainly voiced that sentiment when discussing Lady Vengeance's targets. Men could not be allowed to hurt women without consequences.

"I would not make a good wife to Lord Heath," she said flatly. "Did you know he's a widower with two daughters?"

"Oh yes. Terrible thing when a lady dies that way, though I can't say I'm surprised. His wife was a tiny waif of a girl. It was a miracle she survived the first child."

"You knew her?"

"She came out at the same time as my Gwen. Well, with Gwen's second season. Or was it her third? In any event, I have nothing bad to say about her. She was a lovely gel with a sweet disposition and a good family. Lord Heath was taken with her immediately."

Sadie felt her heart squeeze. "They were in love?"

"Love? I don't know about that. They were well matched between her dowry and his name. He appeared devoted to her." She was muttering to herself while Sadie grew even more uncomfortable. "I'll have to find out if he gambles. I haven't heard anything, but you never know. Perhaps a picnic."

The countess's words flowed together so fast, it took a moment for Sadie to realize what the woman was planning. A picnic specifically to set Sadie and Lord Heath together? "Countess, no! He and I cannot be within a foot of one another without arguing."

"Really? How very interesting."

"It's not!"

The countess waved her objection away. "I know several widowers of various ages with children. And ladies who would love to meet them. Yes, it would be charitable of me to have a picnic that brings those two sets together, don't you think?"

"No, I don't—"

"Matilda has caught a cough, you know."

She had no idea who Matilda was.

"It was just an afternoon tea, but one can't be too careful. I'm sure she'd let me take on the responsibilities of her event. Move it to a picnic with a very particular guest list. She'd want that, you know. Because of her health."

"I don't think this is a good idea. Lord Heath and I are not compatible!"

She might as well have saved her breath. The countess was already out the bedroom door still muttering. Which meant that the event was inevitable, and Sadie would have to explain to Lord Heath that despite appearances, she was not angling for a proposal from him.