When a Scot Loves a Lady (40 page)

“Yes,” she breathed. Then again, “Yes,” when he came inside her with his finger. And again, “
Yes
,” when he made her come with only his hand, slowly and beautifully, his mouth caressing her breasts, the need inside her now perpetually longing for him.

Then he gave her more. And he made it last even longer than before, until she was nothing but liquid pleasure to do with as he willed. Which she had been from the start, in any case, in a tiny inn in Shropshire when she had believed the worst thing in life could be surrendering her reason to a man who went about with great shaggy dogs.

When it was over, he settled her against his chest in the circle of his arm.

“I trust I needn't repeat that you have promised.” He spoke against her hair, and it seemed so intimate and familiar.

“You blackmailed. I promised. It seems fairly clear which of us has had practice convincing others to do as we wish.”

“Not in precisely that manner.” He sounded as though he were falling asleep. But his words pleased her far too much. It seemed, perhaps, she had something of a jealous nature too, after all.

After a time she felt certain he slept. She stroked two fingertips along the taut sinew of his forearm. He did not stir, his breaths even, the hollow plane of cheek to jaw and the sensuous curve of his mouth holding her rapt. She whispered, “I want to go back to Shropshire,” because longing filled her heart with a sorrowful sort of joy and she could not hold it inside any longer. And because she could say foolish things to him now and he would not hear.

But he said, “As do I.” He wrapped her hand in his and drew it to his chest. “Now go to sleep.”

“Why? You will be leaving soon, won't you?”

“Too soon. And as much as I enjoy your conversation, tonight I wish the pleasure of sleeping beside you, even for a short time.”

What could she say to that?

He pressed a kiss onto her brow. “Happy birthday, Kitty.” He held her, and remarkably soon she slept.

When she awoke, he was gone.

W
hen the dowager appeared at the breakfast table, her eyes were lively, her gaze on Kitty keen. Unfortunately Kitty could do nothing to hide the flush on her cheeks or anxious cold of her palms. By now the meeting between Leam and Lord Chamberlayne had taken place. She had only to wait, praying he would send word.

“I did not expect you up for hours yet, Kitty dear.” Her mother lifted a cup to her mouth. “Mrs. Hopkins told me of your late visit from the Watch. An incident with dishes in the kitchen, apparently.”

Kitty's cheeks flamed. “She told you that?”

The housekeeper came into the chamber with a fresh pot of tea. “Lady Katherine was very kind to pick up those broke dishes before she turned in.” She poured tea for Kitty and handed it to her with only a flicker of a winking eye and a lightning-quick smile. “Monsieur Claude was most appreciative. Myself as well, ma'am.” She curtsied.

“You are welcome, Mrs. Hopkins. It was my—” Her throat stuck. “Pleasure.” Had he cleaned up the dishes before leaving? She wouldn't disbelieve it of the strangest nobleman she'd ever known. She forced her attention to her plate. “How is Serena, Mama? Your note did not say how ill she was feeling.”

“I did not stay at the other house last night, Kitty. I told you that so you would not worry.” Her mother shuffled through the small pile of the post at her elbow. “Mrs. Hopkins, you may go now, and close the door.”

The housekeeper cast Kitty a quick glance and left.

Kitty held her breath. “Where were you, Mama, if not at Alex's?”

“With Douglas.” The dowager lifted her regard, her face serene with contentment and sparkling with happiness. “We are to be wed. Will you wish me happy, my dear daughter?”

“Oh, Mama.” How could she wish her anything of the sort? “
Mama
.” She stood and wrapped her arms about her mother's shoulders and held on to her. “I thought you indifferent to his offer.” Her voice shook.

The dowager drew her away and studied her face.

“Only cautious. Kitty dear, what is amiss?”

Kitty gripped her hands together. “I wish only for your happiness.”

“You are not happy with this, then? I had hoped you would be. You and he seem so comfortable with one another.”

“Oh, but Mama, you see—” Kitty cast about for words to begin. She should not have waited to tell her. She should have been brave. She could not bear her mother's steady regard and dropped her gaze. On the table beside her cup was a sealed note, her name on it.

Like a schoolgirl with a
tendre
, she had memorized Leam's hand from the envelope in which he had sent the music. Her heart thumped. She grabbed up the note and tore it open.

“Kitty?”

“Mama, I—” A whoosh of air went out of her. Lord Chamberlayne was innocent of wrongdoing. But the note said little more, only that she was to come to the park at eleven.

She glanced at the clock on the sideboard, and leaped up. “Mama.” She went to her mother, grasped her hands, and kissed them one after the other. “I am so very happy for you. I like Lord Chamberlayne very much and am thrilled he is to be part of our family.”

“Kitty, this is highly unusual.”

“Perhaps. But now I must go.”

“Katherine.”

“Truly, I have an appointment.” She went toward the door, flashing John a speaking look as she went. He was doing a poor job of concealing a grin.

Her nerves raced. Why did he wish to meet her at the park? Why not come here to tell her? He had never been shy of calling before. Not exactly.

“Mama.” She pivoted around. Her mother stood as though bemused. Kitty returned to her, threw her arms about her, and held her tight. “Mama, I love you dearly. You know that, don't you? Of course you do. And I am so very,
very
happy for you.”

She ran to change.

N
ever had a drive to the park taken so long. Beneath the clearing sky above, Kitty sat huddled into a corner of the carriage and chewed the tips of her gloves. She was fatigued from lack of sleep, sore in places she had never imagined she could be sore, and alarmingly edgy given all.

When they turned through the gates of the park her stomach somersaulted. She had thought of every possibility, even that the note was a forgery and she was walking into a trap. Strangely, she had not imagined Leam astride his muscular roan waiting for her near the entrance. The wolfhounds wandered close by, their heads coming up as the carriage neared.

She nodded. “How do you do, my lord?”

He drew his horse alongside the carriage and bowed from the saddle. “Good morning, my lady. Would you care for a stroll?”

“Thank you, yes.”

It was all highly civilized. Her heart hammered. The carriage halted, and by the time the coachman let down the step Leam had dismounted and was there to take her hand and assist her out. He did so with gentlemanly grace, holding her gloved fingers only as long as propriety allowed. Momentarily Kitty felt a pang of disappointment, but he could not very well ravish her in the park, and she had noticed his clothing. Elegant once more, tasteful and fine. She understood, or thought she did, and it excited her.

He offered his arm. She shook her head, too wrought with nerves to touch him now. She started away from the carriage and the curious servants. One of the dogs came alongside her and pushed its muzzle beneath her hand. She stroked it distractedly.

“He is not guilty of any crime?” she asked when they were sufficient paces in front of her maid not to be heard.

“He is not.” He walked close beside her, his hands folded behind his back. “He sought me only to beg me not to give over the cargo to the rebels, of which his son is the leader. He was ready to pay me to have it destroyed. He hadn't any idea what it was.”

“What was it?”

“It still is not clear. The Home Office wishes proof beyond his word before it is willing to trust him entirely. His son is a known instigator, but I believe in Chamberlayne's innocence.”

Kitty drew in breath through her teeth. “I have heard him speak of his son. They are quite close.”

“Apparently.” Leam's voice was sober. “He fears for him, and hopes to make this rebellion impossible by putting spokes in the way of it. But it was difficult for him to admit to it, although I believe he wished to and was glad for the opportunity. He is a proud man.” He turned to her. “Much like a young lady of my acquaintance.”

Relief trickled through her. “I am not young. Yesterday I turned six-and—”

“Twenty. Yes. You told me that almost immediately upon speaking to me in Shropshire. I wonder why.”

“Because you had called me a lass and I was endeavoring to put you in your place.”

His gaze lingered upon her lips. “Peculiarly done.”

“Could we return to the subject at hand, sir?”

He stopped and she was obliged to as well.

“Which is?” Beneath the soft blue sky his eyes shone with warmth.

“The innocence of my mother's beau, and, frankly, why you insisted I come here instead of calling on me at home to tell me this news. It gave me a frightful case of nerves and I think you are beastly to have arranged it this way.”

“Not mincing words this morning, are we?”

“We never do. Or at least rarely. Now have you anything else to tell me about Lord Chamberlayne? My mother and he have become betrothed—last night, in fact, although he asked her quite a while ago, I understand. So I should like to know if I shall be asked to tell my prospective father-in-law further horrid lies, which I won't in any case, you know.”

“It is the very reason we are here.” The amusement faded from his eyes. “I asked Gray to meet me.”

“You did not tell him I would be here as well?”

“Beautiful and clever,” he murmured, scanning her face.

“Why not?”

“He might have avoided it.” His gaze flickered over her shoulder. “Will you meet him?”

“I think you are trying to frighten me. You are not sufficiently chastened by my reprimand, it seems.” She turned in the direction of his attention. The viscount rode across the green in their direction.

“You have no need to be frightened of me, Kitty.” Leam spoke at her shoulder softly. “You never will.”

She looked up. A bright intensity lit his eyes. Delicious weakness slipped through her veins.

“Last night, Leam,” she said before she could halt her tongue, “when you told me—when you read the documents about Lambert Poole, what did you understand of my part in it?”

“That you had been hurt. That is all.”

Everything was forgotten—the park, their purpose. Nothing mattered but what she must finally say aloud for the first time, and to this man. She whispered, “He told me no other man would ever want me. Not for more than dalliance. He told me this when I was barely fifteen. Then he told me again when I was nineteen, many times. I was ruined, and I could not bear children. I was young and believed I was in love with him, and he said a gentleman would only take me for my dowry if he took me at all, and then he would find me disappointing.” She did not want to say these things. She wanted to say that the foolishness of her youth no longer commanded her and that she loved him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms because he was looking at her as he had the night before when he had been inside her and unable to speak.

“I want you,” he said.

She hadn't thought it possible, not after the night, everything, but she could no longer bear not knowing how greatly he wanted her. To what extent? But she could not find the words.

“Damn Gray and all of this,” he uttered low. “Kitty, this afternoon, will you be at home to callers? No, damn it. To
me
?”

“But, of course. Leam—”

“To
only
me. In your drawing room”—his eyes sparked—“with the draperies thrown wide, door open, servants poised upon the threshold?” He smiled.