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pursue the moment, and the girl; his body pulsed, and by her sweet response, she wanted more of this, too. Yet he should never have let things go even this far. Steeling himself, inclining his head, he stepped back. “Good day.”
    With a murmur, she glided away, then glanced back, her eyes haunting somehow. He would not forget their beautiful color and depth, or their provocative owner. A moment later, she vanished into the glittering sea of people.

Chapter 3
    J ames heard the shriek as he stepped over the threshold. Unexpected, unnerving, the sound seemed to come from vaguely overhead in the foyer where he stood. Somewhere in the large, drafty old house, a dog howled as if in answer. James set down his leather satchel, straightened, and looked upward. A creaking door or old floorboards, he thought, or hinges in need of repair—
    The eldritch moan sounded again, ending on a shrill note that sent shivers down his neck. Once more the dog howled, and a second one barked. James looked around the dim, quiet foyer. “What in blazes,” he muttered.
    His introduction as Struan’s sole owner and viscount was not particularly promising: ghostly shrieks, dogs baying, and here he stood, drenched by a chill September rain with no staff greeting him. If the work awaiting him proceeded smoothly, he promised himself, he need stay only a few weeks.
    Once again, as he had done too often lately, he wondered if he would see Elspeth MacArthur while he was at Struan. She had said that her family home wasin this glen, and try as he might, he had not forgotten her. She lingered in his thoughts, his dreams.
    He was haunted by the memory of a few simple kisses, of sparkling, seductive eyes. He could almost taste her lips under his, could almost feel her in his arms—not enough to satisfy, and thankfully not enough to fall in love like a damn fool. Yet inexplicably, enough to drive him mad with wanting to see her again.
    Sir Walter had not helped the matter any. “Miss MacArthur is an intriguing young lady. When you go to Struan House, be sure to seek her out. Find that one, James.”
    Well, James told himself, he had come to Struan House for other things, and would have no time to locate or visit Kilcrennan. Pulling off his gloves, he crammed them into a pocket, brushed the rain from the shoulders of his coat, took off his hat and shook it a little. Far too much damned rain lately, he thought.
    Eyes gray as rain—there, his mind did it again, made that little leap when his thoughts were nowhere near the matter of the girl. He was obsessed, and disliked it.
    Perhaps he would seek her out, he told himself, to ask what mad spell she had put on him, and why she had pulled a despicable ruse on his friend Scott. The poet was the one obsessed with finding her—not James. There. Though seeing her in ordinary circumstances, when she was not all got up like a fairy princess, would certainly dissolve this damnable distraction.
    “Halloo!” He glanced around the foyer, a spacious area floored in slate and lined in dark wood paneling. A wide stairway against one wall was balanced by a huge marble fireplace on the other. Above the mantel,the heads of stags and hares contrasted with the angels carved in the fireplace surround. The foyer walls were hung with antique weapons as well, and some small paintings of landscapes and dog portraits.
    He thought of the beasts who had howled as he entered, and remembered the stories of ghosts and eldritch creatures he had enjoyed when he had visited here as a boy. He had forgotten how spooky Struan House could seem. But he was an adult now, a thorough skeptic, a calm and unruffled soul who allowed nothing to make him anxious. Not even this place.
    “Halloo!” he called again, his voice echoing. When he moved forward, the shrieking came again, a distant, bloodcurdling sound that lifted the fine hairs along his neck. He glanced up, turned around, and wondered what the hell was going on.
    Days earlier, he had traveled