The Highlander's Yuletide Love (16 page)

“I am not
telling you to do anything,” said Isobel briskly. “You must give serious
thought to what you want. If you do, you must remember that marriage might very
well be the ultimate end. I thought I was simply embarking on an
affaire
,
and, here I am, married these past seven years and with a babe. Things do not
always turn out as you expect.”

“I don’t wish to
marry him,” said Sophy, aware that her voice lacked conviction.

“Well, you must
do as you think best.” Isobel stood. “Your mother is waiting for me so we can
stroll in the gardens. I hope I have given you plenty to think about. Oh, and
please do not repeat to Harriet what I have told you! She would be shocked
beyond belief.”

Sophy smiled at
that. “Of course I won’t.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Isobel.”

“I’m not at all
sure you should be thanking me. Indeed, I may have just made things much worse.
But I do want you to be happy, Sophy. Think about what it is you truly want.”

Isobel left the
room, and Sophy leaned back on the settee, a thoughtful look on her face.

After leaving
Sophy, Ranulf strode angrily through castle, eventually repairing to the
library. Inside this sanctuary the linenfold Jacobean paneling glowed softly
from centuries of polishing as the rays of early afternoon sun slanting through
the gothic arched windows touched it, and made the gold stamped titles on the
book spines glisten. He dropped down heavily into a leather wing backed chair
next to an Indian brass table bearing glasses and a decanter of whiskey. He
snorted.

“Is something
wrong?”

Ranulf jumped,
and turned his head to see that Francis was sitting behind the desk, a book in
his hand.

“Oh, lord,” he
said.

Francis put down
his book and stood up leisurely, strolling over and seating himself in the
chair opposite his friend. He silently poured two fingers of the amber fluid
into each of two tumblers, and handed one to the colonel. Ranulf accepted it
gratefully, and the men sipped in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“This is an
excellent whisky,” Francis murmured with satisfaction.

“Och aye,”
Ranulf responded with an exaggerated accent. “Awa’ wi’ your Border country
whiskey. Ye’ll not find a wee dram like that outside o’ the glens and the
islands.”

Francis laughed.
“I can see I’ll need to visit Spaethness more often.”

“I find I really
enjoy having visitors here,” Ranulf said, reverting to a normal tone. “I hadn’t
expected to.”

“It’s a
beautiful place, and an even more beautiful home. I’m glad you were able to
convince Isobel to abandon her digging for a few days so we could see it.”

“I suffer from
familiarity, and don’t always realize what a treasure Spaethness is, so I’m
grateful for the chance to view it through your eyes,” Ranulf answered. “It’s
also more of a home when there are friends here. I don’t feel the restlessness
I did when I was immured here last winter with only my father for company.”

“As delightful
as it is in the summer, I do understand how a winter alone here could make a
man chase the neighboring ladies,” Francis remarked with a lazy grin.

“Perhaps you
realize that I no longer have an interest in neighboring ladies, no matter how
lovely?” Ranulf asked obliquely.

“You mean Sophy,
of course.”

“To be sure.
When I met her, I was not impressed, but I’ve learned she has a strength of
mind that I admire.”

“She’s lovely
too,” Francis pointed out.

“That’s
certainly part of it,” Ranulf admitted. “But I have enjoyed the charms of a
number of ladies, and not considered wedding any of them.”

Francis swirled
the whiskey around in his glass. “Sophy claims to have no interest in marriage.
Have you been able to change her mind?”

“No, that is the
devil of it. I have hopes that this visit will alter her views, but have no
notion of how to go about it.”

“And you think I
do, because of my long pursuit of Isobel?” Francis asked.

Ranulf looked a
bit sheepish. “I hoped you might. She swore she wouldn’t give up her studies
for matrimony, just as Sophy now says she would rather paint than marry.”

“I hope you are
feeling patient, my friend,” Francis responded ruefully. “It took me a year to
coax her into it.”

“What was it
that brought her around?”

“There were two
things. The first was that I convinced her she would be able to pursue her
studies, and that I would not mistreat her.”

“Mistreat her? Why
did she fear you would do such a thing?”

“Her friend,
Letitia, who is now the Marchioness of Eynsford, was trapped in a very bad
marriage at the time, and Isobel was very aware of the iniquities of marital
law. Sophy was so young then that she knew little of the details of the
situation, so I think your problem lies largely in overcoming her fears you will
prevent her from painting.” He paused a moment. “Of course, there is also the
matter of persuading her marriage has advantages. That is the second thing that
convinced Isobel.”

Ranulf digested
this in silence for a moment. “I, uh, have reason to believe that Sophy is
aware there may be certain pleasures to be found in marriage.”

Francis glanced
sideways at his friend and flashed a smile. “I found that Isobel’s resistance
to matrimony lessened considerably when she realized exactly how much pleasure
might be found in the marital bed.”

Ranulf blinked. “So
you and Isobel—before you were married—”

“Precisely.”

Ranulf took a
gulp of whiskey. “I take your point. At least, I think I do.”

“These
strong-willed women need to be shown that there are advantages to marriage,”
said Francis lightly. “I do feel I should point out, however, that good friends
or no, we will be meeting at dawn if you trifle with Lady Sophia with any other
intent than to persuade her to marry you.”

“You need not
speak to me in that menacing way, Exencour. My intentions are completely
honorable. It is the young lady who is trifling with my affections, if you ask
me.”

Francis looked
surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“The girl
propositioned me not fifteen minutes ago,” said Ranulf. “I proposed we marry
instead.”

“You did what?”

Ranulf looked
uncomfortable. “I could not take Lady Sophia while her father is under my roof!
Besides, I have need of a wife, and she would be more than suitable.”

Francis looked
horrified. “You didn’t say as much to her, did you?”

“I did.”

“I suppose she
must have turned you down cold.”

“She did.”

Francis shook
his head. “My understanding was that you have a way with the fairer sex, but I
am beginning to doubt you have ever talked to a woman in your life.”

Ranulf scowled. “Sophy
is not like the other women I know.”

“You are calling
her Sophy, are you?” Francis chuckled. “How far has this gone, Ranulf?”

“Not far enough
for Sophy, apparently.” Ranulf drained his glass and poured another. “She gave
me to understand that she would be glad to allow me any liberties I chose, but
she would not marry me.”

“If I were a
young woman and a gentleman expressed his opinion that I would make excellent
breeding stock, I wouldn’t marry him either,” said Francis.

“I did not say that!”

“No, but it’s
what she heard. Lord, Ranulf, I never thought you to be thick witted.”

Ranulf sank back
in his chair. “What do I do now?”

Francis regarded
him steadily. “That is up to you. But making her aware of what she would be
missing were she not to marry you might be a good start.” He drained his glass
and stood. “I will leave you alone with your thoughts, my friend.”

Francis left the
room and Ranulf sank back into his chair, his glass cradled in his hands and a
thoughtful expression on his face.

Sophy seemed to
come to a conclusion, for she stood suddenly and ran from the sitting room,
making her way to her bedchamber. The sun streaming through the large windows
made the polished marquetry of the bed and escritoire shine, while the straw
colored walls and bedclothes were gilded with the same light. As her footsteps
crossed the plush savonnerie carpet she felt some of her uncertainty drain
away, and went to stand at the window, looking out over the loch. Isobel’s
words flooded back to her, and she found herself contemplating the pleasure of
Ranulf’s company, and the desire for more he elicited in her. A smile flitted
across her face, and a moment or two later, she reached for the bell pull and
rang it vigorously.

When Wallis
arrived, Sophy gestured at the old dress she wore. “I think I will walk in the
garden for a bit, Wallis, but I must change my dress, as you can see. It is
quite warm this afternoon, so the pale yellow sarsenet dress with my Kashmir
shawl will do nicely.”

“What a wonderful
notion, Lady Sophia. That is quite your prettiest walking dress.” Wallis
disappeared into the dressing room and returned with the garments, and set
about removing Sophy’s paint-marked muslin gown. “I can hardly believe you let
Colonel Stirling see you in a rag like this,” Wallis said as she pulled it over
Sophy’s head.

“What would you
have me do? Ruin a better dress while painting?”

“Of course not,
Lady Sophia, but I’m glad to see you wearing such a becoming gown this
afternoon.”

“It hardly
matters,” Sophy replied nonchalantly. “After all, there is no one here to see
it.”

“But Colonel
Stirling--” the maid started to say.

“Colonel
Stirling’s opinion is nothing to me.”

Wallis turned
away to hide a smile. “If you say so, my lady,” she replied neutrally.

Sophy was soon
clad in the dress, which featured the new fashion for a slightly lower
waistline with a belt that emphasized her fine bosom and narrow middle. It had
a rather high neckline, with an attractive collar edged with lace, but since a
row of buttons marched down the bodice on one side, Sophy felt that it would
not be much of a deterrent to her plans. She allowed Wallis to settle a
fetching bonnet ornamented with tartan ribbons over her curls, and drape a soft
red Kashmir shawl with a floral border and fringe over elbows, before
inspecting herself in the cheval mirror.

“Perfect,
Wallis!” she exclaimed with a little clap of her hands.

Wallis watched
with a bit of a smirk as Sophy sailed out of the room.

Sophy was soon
downstairs, and allowed a footman to open the door onto the terrace so she
could step outside. As she did so, she spied Ranulf on the lawn below, and
halted. She realized that if she stood on the terrace, slightly above the lawn,
she would be more visible and she therefore moved so she could stand near the
railing and look out at the loch, seemingly unaware of Ranulf’s presence.

She had only
been there only a few moments, when she heard the sound of feet on the steps
behind her, and she turned, her face showing surprise. Ranulf too seemed to
have decided that the afternoon sunshine required a change of clothing, for he
was looking extremely
tonnish
in a dark blue superfine coat, pale
biscuit pantaloons, and a pair of Hessians boasting a blinding shine that would
have been acceptable at the Hyde Park promenade hour during the height of the
Season.

He walked
towards her, and Sophy felt a shiver of desire run through her at the sight of
his lithe body. He drew near, and took her hand as though to kiss it
conventionally, but instead turned it over and raised her palm to his lips
instead. She flushed as his mouth lingered for a moment, and he finally raised
his head and smiled at her.

“I must
apologize for quarreling with you earlier,” Ranulf said. “Can you forgive me?”

Sophy looked up
at him through her lashes. “I can try,” she said, with a little smile.

“Let me see what
I can do to convince you. It is a fine afternoon; will you walk in the gardens
with me?”

“I was just
thinking of doing that very thing,” Sophy replied, taking his proffered arm. “It
will be pleasant to have a companion.”

The strolled
down the steps in harmony and, as he listened to Sophy make a general comment
about the portrait she was painting of him, Ranulf pondered Francis’s words of
that morning. He wondered if it was right to do what he was contemplating, but,
when he glanced again at Sophy, with her charming bonnet nestled on her curls,
her blue eyes sparkling with enjoyment, and her trim figure outlined by her
modish dress, he threw caution to the winds. A smile curved his lips as she
finished her remark.

“Have you walked
through the birches along the loch before?” he asked. He waved a hand in the
direction of the trees, and Sophy shook her head, making the tartan ribbons bob
sweetly.

“No, I’ve looked
at them often, because the white bark is so striking against the green leaves
and blue water, but I haven’t walked there yet. Is there a path?”

“Yes, it goes
through the trees and up the rock to look over the loch. Shall we go?”

At Sophy’s eager
assent, they headed to the edge of the gardens and down the path into the
birches. Here the sunlight was filtered through the trees, creating dappled
shadows, and their footsteps were quiet on the loamy ground. A cuckoo’s song
filled the wood, and Sophy stopped a moment to listen.

“How lovely. This
is a beautiful, I wish I had explored it sooner.”

“It is one of my
favorite walks,” Ranulf answered as they came to the other side of the birch
copse, and walked up a gentle rise to the top of a stone promontory reaching
into the loch. Sophy stood looking across the water, and then turned to see
whether the path went any farther. She saw it curve away from them and enter a
narrow band of birches again, to emerge on a lawn that led to a small, but very
pretty, Palladian cottage.

“What is that?”
she asked.

“That is the
dower house,” Ranulf replied. “Although it is very small, more of a cottage,
really.”

“It is lovely. I
suppose it is unoccupied at the moment?”

“Yes, my
grandmother lived there for a long time, but she died while I was in Spain.”

“What was she
like?” Sophy asked curiously.

“Oh, she was a
bit of a tartar I suppose, very clever, and direct. She wasn’t one to suffer
fools gladly, but she was more of a parent to me than my mother. I went there
often as a child to visit her.”

“May I see it?”
Sophy asked.

Ranulf smiled at
her. “Of course.”

A few minutes
later they were walking through the cottage garden in front of the dower
house’s door, its riot of blooms lending color to the grey native stone of the
house. Ranulf approached the entrance and reached behind a statue perched on a
pedestal to retrieve a key. He opened the door, which swung silently on
well-oiled hinges into a pretty hall tiled with black and white marble, its
arched ceiling supporting a wrought iron chandelier. Ranulf led Sophy into a
drawing room, with windows overlooking the cottage garden, and a fireplace
mantel carved with the Stirling coat of arms. Whitewashed, hand-hewn beams
spanned the large, airy room, which was filled with the delicate furniture of
the previous century.

“How charming,”
Sophy exclaimed. “I can almost picture your grandmother here, and you running
through the garden to visit her.”

“I spent any
number of afternoons here as a boy,” Ranulf said. “After I finished my lessons,
I often came here to share my youthful adventures with her.”

Sophy wandered
through the room, running her fingers over the desk, and a chair, before
stopping in front of the settee. “Did she read you improving stories?”

Ranulf chuckled.
“No, she was very much of the old school and did not feel it her duty to
improve me. We read selections from the novels of DeFoe and Fielding together. She
didn’t hold with what she called the namby-pamby views of the day.”

Sophy perched on
edge of the settee, and patted the spot next to her. She gave Ranulf a
flirtatious look from under her lashes. “I believe we discussed the namby-pamby
views of our time recently, and decided we might dispense with them,” she said,
feeling rather bold.

Ranulf
hesitated, but pushed away his misgivings about seducing a gently bred young
lady. His intentions were honorable, after all, and it was clear from Sophy’s
manner that she was not averse to his advances, and was indeed prepared to make
her own. He walked over to the settee and looked down at her, taking her chin
in her fingers, to lift her face towards his.

Sophy gazed into
his heated brown eyes and felt her heart beat faster, while an unfamiliar pulse
fluttered in the same sensitive spot Ranulf had so spectacularly stimulated on
the day of her arrival at Spaethness. She felt a tingling in her body that she
was beginning to welcome as Ranulf bent down to claim her lips, pressing her to
open them to him. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, with a passion that was
both controlled and stimulating. She clutched his wrist in her hand, and then,
when he finally broke away, pulled him silently down to sit next to her. Before
she realized it, he had lifted her onto his lap as he leaned back into the
corner of the settee, so she could feel the growing bulge in his breeches under
her bottom. She wriggled slightly in anticipation, and he put his hands on her
hips, stilling her.

“In a moment,”
he murmured. He surveyed her calmly. “I really think that this very appealing
bonnet must be the first thing to go.”

He untied the
tartan ribbons and lifted the bonnet from her head. He placed it rather
haphazardly on the table next to the settee and then took her face between her
hands, gazing into her eyes for a long moment before kissing her passionately,
parting her lips with his, and exploring the wet silk of her mouth, nibbling at
her lips gently before nipping the full lower one, and then soothing it with
his tongue.

Sophy turned
towards him, shifting one leg so that she straddled him, her yellow skirt
spilling over his lap. She lifted her aching bosom and tried to lean into him,
desperate for his touch. She felt as though she were dissolving as his lips
slanted over hers, coaxing a moan from her. One of his hands slid down her
side, to cup one breast and a little gasp escaped her as she felt her nipples
swell against the tight bodice of her dress, seeking the touch of his fingers
and the erotic sensations they could deliver. He flicked his thumb across the
peak, and she shuddered.

“So sensitive,”
Ranulf whispered appreciatively. He grasped her waist, holding her steady, and
looked into her face, flushed with passion. “This is a very flattering garment,
but I would much prefer a lower bodice,” he said. “Can you sit upright for a
moment?” When she nodded, he undid first one, then two, then three of the
buttons and slid one warm, knowing hand into the gap. Sophy gasped as his
fingers touched her through only the fine linen of her chemise, and then sighed
deeply as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, sending pleasure shooting
through her to that liquescent place between her thighs that seemed to be
longing for his attentions.

Sophy laced her
fingers into his thick dark hair and kissed him deeply before pulling at his
neckcloth to reveal the opening of his shirt. She leaned in, breathing in his
scent, and then nibbled at his neck, putting to good use the things he had
already taught her. With eager hands she pushed aside the elegant blue coat and
attempted to shove it down over his shoulders. Ranulf laughed, as he found his
arms bound by the tight sleeves with his coat only half off.

“You will need
to free me, my sweet, if I am to be of any use to you,” he said.

Sophy looked
down at the bulge in his pantaloons, and wished for a moment that she had a
little more knowledge of the matter at hand so that she could work her will on
him, but willingly helped him pull the coat sleeves down his arms and peel the
garment off. With his shirt exposed, she tugged on the fabric, freeing it from
the waistband, and Ranulf pulled it over his shoulders, dropping it on the
floor.

Sophy’s lips
made a little ‘O’ as she saw his bare chest, sprinkled with dark hair that did
little to hide the impressive size of his muscles. She followed the vee of his
abdominals to the little line of hair that started low on his torso and
disappeared into his pantaloons. Wonderingly, she pressed her artist’s hands to
his chest, lightly stroking, studying his musculature, and then leaned into him
to lick one firm male nipple. As she ran her fingers over his biceps and down
to his hands, she paused to examine an ugly scar that ran from his palm up past
his wrist.

“What happened?”
she asked lifting his hand to her lips and running her tongue along the scar.

“I was injured
at Waterloo. Shrapnel from a French cannon round that landed near me when I was
carrying orders from Wellington to Lord Uxbridge. Luckily, it was me, rather
than my horse; I was able to tie it up with cloth and deliver the dispatch.” He
shook his head to erase the memory. “We have more interesting things to think
of,” he murmured, taking her hand and placing it on his chest.