In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (26 page)

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “You can just agree to marry me.”

“Tell me,” she said, looking away.

If she didn’t see him, she wouldn’t feel so . . . Her thoughts trailed away. Womanly. That was the word, and it startled her, not because it was wrong but because it was so right.

Lennox always made her conscious of being female to his male.

Suddenly he was in front of her, reaching down with both hands on her waist, picking her up and sitting again with her on his lap.

Her hoop bent up toward the ceiling, revealing her undergarments. She slapped her hands down on her skirt and made a squealing sound. Not a sophisticated woman of the world sound but one more like the girl she’d been.

He laughed, which made her frown, then crushed her skirt and the wayward hoop with one hand.

“First,” he said, as if she hadn’t just shown him her lace pantaloons, “there’s the mill. Being married to me would allow Duncan to take a loan or a gift, help him make his payroll, and keep the mill from shutting down. I’d be family and he would have to accept help.”

She was still thinking about the fact he’d seen her undergarments, but she nodded.

“Secondly, there’s my marital status. People are hinting it’s time for me to wed. With the increase in our business, I don’t have time to go looking for a bride. I know you. You know me. Marrying you would be a relief. Look at all the time I’ll spare myself having to meet someone, establish any kind of relationship, get to know their parents, their family, and finally wed. A good two years.”

A relief? Marrying her would be a relief? She stared at him, pushing away the impulse to put her palm against his cheek, even now showing a hint of beard.

She had to stop wanting to touch him constantly. Or noticing he smelled of the sea and of wood, as if sawdust clung to him.

“So marrying me would prevent you from being a spinster?”

His smile broadened.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Third point,” he said. “There’s your reputation. Our reputation,” he corrected. “All of Glasgow believes you’re my mistress, so why not marry?”

Mistress? She’d gone from gamboling in the garden to becoming his mistress? Lucy Whittaker had been busy.

“I never thought you the sacrificial lamb, Lennox.”

“While I always thought you obstinate,” he said, a small smile curving his lips.

She probably should have taken umbrage at that remark, but it was too close to the truth. She looked away.

“There’s another matter,” he said, his smile vanishing. “As my wife, you would be safe from Matthew Baumann.”

She froze, her gaze on the fireplace. She bit her lip and told herself to keep breathing. Finally, she gathered up her courage and looked at him, though she found it difficult.

“There’s something between the two of you, Glynis. Do you deny it?”

How did he know? Her mind flew from one idea to another, coming to rest on the thought that he was guessing.

She should tell him. Right now, before any more time passed, she should tell him about Washington. If she did, he would withdraw his offer. He would smile that cool, polite smile of his, as practiced as any politician, and excuse himself.

“I could always leave Glasgow again,” she said. “That way, no one would talk about me. Or, if they did, I wouldn’t have to hear it.”

“You could try.”

He sounded perfectly affable and he looked calm if you ignored the glint in his eye.

“What does that mean?”

“I would come after you. I would hunt you down to the ends of the earth, Glynis.”

“Are you that desperate for a bride?”

His lips quirked. “I am.”

She would have pulled free if he’d let her. Her hoop, however, decided to slip free of his restraint and pop loose again, pointing at the ceiling.

He laughed again, a sound transporting her to the past when she’d tried to amuse him. She wasn’t trying at the moment.

She frowned at him again and slapped both arms down on her skirt.

He had marshaled his arguments well, especially the one about the mill.

Her mother would be spared any further worry. They’d be able to keep the household without losing Mabel, Lily, and the upstairs maid.

“For the love of all that’s holy, Glynis, would you just answer?”

She blinked at him, uncertain why he was so suddenly irritated.

Despite all his talk of being pressured to marry, she didn’t believe him. In addition, he could as easily give her the money and she’d tell Duncan the amount came from the diplomatic service and they’d been mistaken about Richard’s estate.

She didn’t make those arguments for one reason: this was Lennox. Who cared if he offered for her out of misguided pity? What difference did it make what the reason was? She’d be Lennox’s wife.

But he hadn’t listed the one reason that would have tipped the scales. He hadn’t said he loved her.

What did he feel about her?

She was his childhood nemesis. She’d trailed after him endlessly as a girl. She’d annoyed, exasperated, and amused him. But she was no longer a child.

Then there was that kiss in the garden.

She wanted him in her bed. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her. She wanted to feel the passion she’d felt that moonlit night at Hillshead. If she were his wife, no one would tell tales. No one would dictate her behavior. She would be Lennox’s bride, free to kiss him awake and fall asleep with him holding her close.

How long had she wished for that? How many years had she dreamed of it?

Her cheeks warmed as she nodded, acceptance in a gesture.

He simply watched her. Did he want the words? Very well, she’d give them to him.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Lennox.”

He kissed her before she could move or even think. Suddenly, his lips were on hers, his arms around her waist.

She was trapped by having to keep her recalcitrant hoop from flying in the air, so she had no choice but to submit to his embrace and his kiss.

She had no choice at all.

His thumbs were pressing against her corset at the base of her breasts while his lips tasted hers. His tongue was entirely too brash, darting into her mouth and out again, forcing her to chase him for a taste.

She wanted to hold his face still, rain kisses over his bristly cheeks and his eyebrows, his ears, his chin, and his lovely throat.

What a pity she couldn’t take his shirt off and feel the expanse of his chest.

She pulled back with difficulty, blinked up at him, gratified to see his gaze wasn’t as focused as it had been a moment earlier.

Passion had them both in its snare. She was trapped in a web and Lennox was the spider. For once she didn’t mind feeling like a fly.

Come and get me.

“When?” she asked.

“When?”

She nodded. How long must she wait until he came to her? How many months until they could be man and wife?

“A week.”

“A week?”

Her mother wouldn’t understand. Or maybe she would. Still, all of Glasgow would be shocked, but then they already thought she and Lennox were racing through the garden like Adam and Eve, didn’t they? Lucy had been their snake and was now doing everything in her power to ensure a scandal.

“Why so soon?” she asked.

“Why not?”

She couldn’t think of an objection. If they were going to wed, why not immediately?

“A week,” she said. “As long as you don’t invite Lucy Whittaker to the wedding.”

He frowned at her. “Or Matthew Baumann.”

She nodded.

Before she knew what he was going to do, he stood, still clasping her waist with both hands. Her hoop twanged as it assumed its proper shape.

Why were women fitted with all these clothes ensuring they couldn’t move easily? One day hoops would be outlawed and she’d cheerfully take hers into the backyard and burn it.

She leaned forward, constrained by the damnable garment, and placed both hands on his chest.

Words didn’t come as easily with Lennox as they had at one time. Was it because she had so much
more to hide? Or because she felt vulnerable around him?

It was one thing to tell herself she felt nothing for Lennox. Quite another to discover she’d been lying all this time.

She wanted another kiss. She wanted to stay here for hours kissing Lennox. She might even tumble to the floor in front of the cold fireplace with him.

The knock on the door put an end to that idea.

“Glynis,” her mother called out, nervousness in her voice. “Charlotte is leaving.”

Charlotte.

She bowed her head and sighed.

“I forgot all about Charlotte,” she said.

Lennox grabbed her hands, raised both to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

“She couldn’t be here at a better time,” he said. Moving past her to the door, he opened it wide.

Her mother stood there flanked by a scowling Charlotte.

Lennox glanced behind him, stretching out his hand for her.

“I hope you’ll congratulate me,” he said, smiling.

She stepped forward, put her hand in his and stood at his side.

“Glynis has agreed to be my wife.”

Her mother took a deep breath, released it, and looked upward.

“Thank the saints,” Eleanor said, although she was a good Presbyterian.

Charlotte’s eyes just widened. How many times would this story be retold at the confectioner’s?

Glynis was certain within hours the tale would be spread about how her engagement occurred after only moments alone with Lennox. No doubt Charlotte—or her husband—would regale their audience with how
well-kissed Glynis looked when the door finally opened. How Eleanor MacIain, long despairing of her daughter, looked relieved enough to cry.

At least she was fully dressed.

She blew out a breath, held onto Lennox’s hand tightly, and realized it was a great deal easier playing the role of a proper Washington matron than it was being herself.

G
lynis realized her mother was looking up at her.

“Did you hear nothing of what I said, Glynis?”

“I didn’t, Mother,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm. “I was thinking of other things.” She’d been remembering Lennox’s kiss and wondering if he was as superb a lover as he was at kissing.

Her mother was seated before her as she stood on a crate. They’d decided to alter one of her mother’s dresses to serve as her wedding gown. Although the garment had to be taken in at the waist, let out at the bodice, and hemmed, it was better than marrying in mourning or dark blue.

“I’m so glad you chose this one,” Eleanor said, handing a pin to Lily. “The cream color was always too young for me, but it will serve admirably. Of course, it would have been nice to order something new. Time being what it is, we didn’t have that option.”

“You don’t mind it being so soon?” she asked.

Tonight she was going to be married. Tonight she was going to marry Lennox. Tonight Lennox would come to her bed.

The thought was terrifyingly wonderful.

“Of course not, my dear. It’s seven years too late, now, isn’t it?” Eleanor smiled up at her. “My darling daughter, you’ve always loved him. To the detriment of your good sense, I think. But love is that way. It
grabs hold and shakes your mind until you have no sense left.”

She glanced down at her mother, surprised. “Is that how it was with you and Father?”

Her mother’s smile held a tinge of sadness. “From the very day I saw him. There he was and I couldn’t look away. I made my sister find out who he was but he didn’t wait for an introduction. He stepped up to me, proud as you please, and introduced himself as a MacIain.”

Glynis had heard the story before but she never tired of listening to it.

“‘A MacIain?’ I said. ‘Aye, from the Highlands.’” Eleanor smiled. “Your father was the most handsome man I ever saw in his kilt.” She picked up the hem of the dress and smiled again, this time with more amusement. “I think the women of our family must love deeply and well. That kind of love brings great happiness, but there must always be a trade. You must sacrifice something for it.”

“Pride,” Glynis said.

Her mother looked surprised. “Perhaps it is pride,” she said. “The ability to cast aside anything but love. To give without thought of return. Whatever it is, loving the way we do requires some sacrifice.” She smiled. “I’m so glad for this day. You claimed him when you were five years old.”

Her mother stared at the hem, sighed and finally spoke.

“I was not adverse to Lucy’s talk,” she said, surprising Glynis. “I hoped it would lead to just this conclusion. I know it’s a terrible thing to admit and I hope you’ll forgive me for it. I didn’t want you to leave again.”