Her Scottish Groom (20 page)

That small move sent him over the edge. Bracing
himself on stiffened arms, he drove his thick staff into her repeatedly as his back arched and he threw his head to the rear. She joined his wordless moans at the glorious sensation and reveled in the release of his hot seed deep inside her.

Panting, he collapsed on top of her. As he pressed kisses onto her neck, her collarbone, her face, she stroked his sweat-slicked back until her own breath returned. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Without a word, he moved onto his side and gathered her close. Her eyes drooped and she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

At some point during the night, Diantha roused, vaguely aware of a sweet kiss and a tender whisper before Kieran left her bed. By the time Florette’s entrance woke her up fully the next morning, the rumpled sheets on his side of the bed had grown cold. “Good morning, milady. I trust you slept well.” As the maid opened the drapes to admit the morning light, the younger woman stretched her feet toward the bottom of the bed, seeking her nightgown. Brushing her foot against some lace, she grasped with her toes and stealthily bent her leg to bring it within reach of her hand.

“Very well indeed, thank you.” Gripping the bedclothes firmly around her naked body, she grabbed the cambric and pondered how to pull it over her head before she had to leave the bed. The mussed sheets proclaimed her husband’s presence in her room last night as surely as if she shouted it from the rooftops, but protocol demanded that even married women maintain the polite fiction that they never indulged in conjugal romps.

The ever-tactful maid solved her dilemma. “I shall personally oversee the heating of milady’s bathwater.” A twinkle in her gray eyes belied the stiff formality of the words.

Lips quivering, Diantha nodded her head graciously. “Thank you, that would be most appreciated.”

After their playacting, the maid pulled out a muslin bed jacket and placed it on the bed. Curtseying, she disclosed the information that the family ate breakfast in the north back parlor. “Chef says that the aunt orders that only milord’s mother is permitted to take breakfast in her room, but that he awaits your directions.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Convey my thanks to—?”

“MacAdam, milady.” Florette grimaced. “A Scot, of all things. At least he studied in France.”

   When she finally located the north back parlor, she discovered both Uptons ensconced at the breakfast table. Barclay instantly rose and begged her to allow him to prepare a plate for her, while his mother delivered a look which conveyed a poor opinion of females who slept until the shocking hour of nine o’clock.

Diantha had given some thought to dealing with Kieran’s aunt as she sat in her hip bath earlier. It would not do to divide the household into armed camps, but she had settled on a few small steps to start with.

“Good morning, Cousin. Good morning, Aunt.” She ignored the indignant muttering from Iona’s end of the breakfast table. Declining Barclay’s offer
of assistance, she strolled over to inspect the dishes on the sideboard.

Seeing the offerings, she understood the reason behind the family’s choice of chef. Certainly the temperamental individuals who ruled her mother’s kitchens would have resigned before preparing porridge with cream, bannocks, or venison pasty.

Her cousin by marriage pulled out a chair for her. “I heartily recommend the fried trout; it’s fresh from our own loch. The venison is ours as well.”

Odd that one who claimed to feel like a stranger here referred to each thing as
ours
. Making her selections, she moved to the table and smiled her thanks.

Kieran breezed into the room just then. Dressed in a riding habit, hair blown into waves, he exuded vitality. Watching his muscles bunch under the tight breeches, she swallowed.

Aunt Iona frowned. “I am quite sure we have sufficient servants to ring for a bath before coming to breakfast in all your dirt, Nephew.”

He waved her objections aside. “I’ve eaten already, Aunt. I shall only have a cup of tea.” Helping himself to tea, two rolls, and marmalade, he bent to kiss Diantha’s cheek before seating himself. Barclay’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Iona looked ill.

As he sipped his tea, his eyes twinkled at her over the rim of the cup. “What a delightful dress, my dear. You look every inch the lady of the manor—this morning.” He lowered his voice on the last two words, conjuring a memory of just how unladylike she had appeared and sounded last night.

She darted a glare at him, then bent to her meal until the heat faded from her face and neck.

In a faintly disapproving tone, Barclay asked her unrepentant spouse where he had ridden. They fell into a discussion about estate problems, relieving her of the necessity of speaking.

When they concluded, Kieran turned to her. “Diantha, have you formulated any plans for the day yet?”

Her blushes under control, she placed her knife and fork on her plate. “I hoped you might be able to take me over the house today. I would enjoy a closer look at it.”

His face clouded. “I’m so sorry; I have months of paperwork to catch up on in my study.” A sharp sense of disappointment filled her. “I’d offer Barclay’s services, but he’s going to be working with me. However, I’m sure Aunt Iona will be able to answer any questions you have.”

Her heart plummeted. The company of a woman who despised her would ruin any pleasure in examining her new home.

Iona dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I very much regret that my duties preclude jauntering all over the house. If you will excuse me, I must consult with the housekeeper and chef.”

Diantha inhaled sharply. Iona had just confirmed that she had no intention of giving up her hold on Duncarie. By doing so in front of Kieran, her adversary had made it impossible for her to protest without looking like a petty child. However, the woman had left an opening, which she seized on.

“Then would you be so good as to inform the housekeeper to come to me at her convenience? I should at least like to know how to find my way around.” Iona opened her mouth and shut it. Diantha gave her a smug smile; she had turned the tables on the older woman.

Kieran smiled and rose from the table. “An excellent notion. Send her to my mother’s rooms, Aunt. I wish Diantha to meet her and I’m sure we shall still be there when you’re finished.”

Iona left the room in obvious disapproval.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Diantha swung to face her husband, eyes wide. “I’m not prepared—that is, I wasn’t expecting to meet your mother so soon.” She winced as his eyes chilled. “Forgive me, I do wish to meet her. I just didn’t know it would be this morning. I gather she is feeling better?”

“She said she was when I sent a message this morning.” He unexpectedly looked older than his twenty-nine years. “We shall see.”

Barclay placed his napkin on the table beside his plate. “Kier, I know you’re anxious to see her, but do be careful not to tire Aunt Alicia.” He bowed slightly to Diantha. “If you wish, I could show you a little of the house while my cousin changes.”

Disarmed by his diffident manner, she accepted. While not particularly knowledgeable about architecture, Barclay proved informative about the history of Duncarie House.

“This house was built after the son of the Rossburn killed at Culloden in 1746 got himself into King George II’s good graces and got our land
back. The old castle was razed as part of the English retributions, you know.”

He slanted a glance at her. “A good many of the Highland families at the time called us traitors, but he was entitled to his position. And he proved a good landlord to his people, I suppose. He was popular at any rate.”

They stood in the library, a room of warm oak paneling filled with light from floor to ceiling windows. Diantha all but salivated at the rows of books lining the walls, their spines adding a note of muted color to the atmosphere. In the distance, the glen of Duncarie stretched away beyond the glass panes.

Barclay beckoned her to the window. “Cariford is north. That’s the one seaside village on our lands.” He pointed over her shoulder. “This house was built with the earnings from kelp ash. During the wars with France, it sold for as much as twenty-two pounds a ton.”

Diantha nodded as she looked over the expanse of ridges leading away from the house. She knew about the fishing ships her father was supplying in exchange for her marriage.

“The gallery is out here, you two.”

They turned, Barclay dropping his arm to his side. Kieran stood holding the door open. He had combed his hair neatly into place, but a few damp strands still curled along the line of his collar. In a tailored black suit and his cravat knotted into an ascot, he looked every inch the handsome aristocrat.

Then his eyes met hers, brilliant aqua darkening as a wicked smile curved his lips. More like a wolf in lord’s clothing, she thought, with an answering smile.

Remembering the kisses she had received the night before from that sensual mouth, she thought she just might have gotten the best of the bargain her father had struck.

“I shall wait for you in the office, then.” They both started when Barclay spoke.

Her husband nodded, approaching Diantha as Barclay closed the door behind him. “What were you looking at?”

She spread her hands with a rueful smile. “I don’t know. I see the estate, of course, but I haven’t really
seen
it.”

Staring out at the glen, he linked his fingers with hers. “Do you like it?”

Nonplussed, she cocked her head. “That’s an awkward question. The estate comes with the marriage, just like—” She broke off before she went too far.

“Like me.” Kieran finished the sentence in a flat voice. The truth behind their marriage hung between them.

Diantha’s heart pounded, but she nodded. “I’m sorry. Doubtless you wanted a different answer.”

A glint entered Kieran’s eyes. “Perhaps I expected you to respond to me as enthusiastically as you did last night.”

For the second time that morning, embarrassment scorched her face and neck. She stared at the hem of her gown until he lifted her chin with his fingers. His expression revealed nothing.

If she told him how her attachment to him grew with every passing day, he would ridicule her. She summoned up her most composed manner. “I fail
to see why our duty to produce an heir cannot be pleasant for both of us.”

He drew himself up and sucked in a breath. “Duty? Is that what made you cry my name out last night?”

Something snapped within her. He asked her to expose her emotions while he guarded his.

“My feelings have no place in this marriage and we both know it.” She remained dry-eyed, but her voice shook with pent-up anger.

His fingertips brushed her jawline. “And yet you still respond to me—ardently.” His voice vibrated along her nerves and her heart pounded.

“Yes.” As mesmerized as a bird by a serpent, she raised herself on her tiptoes and touched the tiny cleft in his lower lip with her tongue.

Instantly Kieran gathered her close, a growl leaving his throat as he opened her mouth with his and kissed her deeply.

She shuddered at the contact. She should protest, but could not stop kissing him long enough to speak. When at last they paused, she could only close her eyes and mutter, “Why must you taste so good?”

At her words, he backed her against the side of a bookcase bordering the window. She gripped the tendrils at the back of his neck as his arms tightened around her. The edge of his teeth pulled gently at the skin at her jaw and her head tipped back to give him better access. Kieran wanted her too, and she reveled in the knowledge.

Their mouths gentled after a few moments and they broke the kiss. Diantha’s pulse raced as he
rested his forehead against hers. Beneath her hand, his chest rose and fell as he panted.

His breath warmed her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to pick a quarrel with you.”

“Compared to my parents, this was barely a spat.” Try as she might, she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. She gave him a wry smile. “And it did end rather well.”

He chuckled, but sobered the next instant. “I know we did not marry under auspicious circumstances.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But you should not think your happiness is immaterial. This will be your home now, and I hope you like it.”

Diantha could not seem to stay angry at the blasted man. “What I’ve seen of Duncarie is beautiful. I’ve never seen such wide stretches of land without buildings and roads. It’s almost frightening to see that much emptiness.” Her voice softened. “And yet it calls to me.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her in front of him as they both stared out the window. “Aye, it does that.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair as she leaned into the warmth of his body. “We’ll ride the estate together, you and I, and you’ll find it’s anything but empty.”

She chuckled. “You’ll find that tedious, I fear. I can just about stay on a horse.”

He stepped away and looked down at her. “You don’t ride?” He gave a small laugh of surprise.

She shook her head. “One doesn’t, really, in New York or Newport. Or in France.”

He hugged her closer. “I’ll have our head groom give you lessons. He taught me when I was a wee
laddie. We can find a suitable horse for you in the stables. You’re not afraid of them, are you?”

Her brow puckered. “No, but riding them is uncharted territory for me.”

He had the impudence to wink at her. “Well, we found out last night how much you like doing new things.”

A cough echoed in the high-ceilinged room. They broke apart to find a gray-haired man in a frock coat trying hard to repress a laugh as he watched them. Diantha wondered if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in a state of acute embarrassment. At least this time a deep blush covered her husband’s face as well.

“Your mother was wondering where you were, my lad. I said I’d hunt you down.” His shoulders shook with a gust of laughter before he regained control of himself. “I shall go and tell her you were delayed.”