She blinked several times. “An answer?”
“As to whether or not yer consenting to marry me. It’s all right if ye don’t want to, but it does mean we’re going to have to find ye another suitor very soon.”
Surprise widened her eyes even as the words filled his mouth with a bitter taste. He hated the very idea of turning her over to another man even as he knew he shouldn’t be taking her for his own.
Too late.
He’d passed the point of return.
“Sophie,” he said again as she stared at him. What had happened between now and her proposal to make her hesitate so? Was she regretting what she’d asked? Was she upset that he’d been avoiding her company? She’d been fine all morning. “Do ye wish to marry me?”
She swallowed, her fingers splaying out on his shirt. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to marry you.”
He gave a single nod, relief flooding through him. Which came as a surprise. Was he that concerned she’d say no? Or did he just want her that much? “Verra good.”
Looking into the blacksmith’s open-air shop, he waved at the man. “Mr. McCallister,” he called as the man straightened. “Good to see ye.” Ewan knew the man a bit. Not well. But he’d chosen this blacksmith because he’d done some business here, so the man was unlikely to refuse him. “Is there any chance ye can perform a ceremony fer us today?”
The man looked from Ewan to Sophie and gave a single nod. “Course,” he grunted. “Ten shillings and yer hands will be tied over my anvil.”
Sophie gulped, an audible sound that echoed in his ears. “Now?” she asked in a low whisper.
They could wed on the boat. Most of the men would not raise a brow at him marrying a distant cousin, but somehow a wedding here and now seemed easier and more efficient. And, honestly, gave him less time to think through the decision he’d made.
Not that he’d change his mind, but all the same, best to just act.
He turned away from the blacksmith. “What better way than this? Everyone will assume we eloped from the start.”
She gave a tentative nod. “Will I stay in Scotland afterward?”
That was an excellent question, and one he’d yet to decide. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned much beyond the next five minutes. “We’ll discuss all of the living arrangements as soon as we return to the boat.”
She gave a tentative nod. “I trust you.”
Those three words calmed his rolling gut. She’d be his wife. His to have, to protect. He’d make certain her trust wasn’t misplaced. “Good.”
Then he stepped into the shop and dug out the shillings. The blacksmith took the funds and stepped over to a water pump washing his hands and face. Somehow, that seemed worse, watching the man who was about to wed them bathe. It was a reminder that this was no church ceremony. Banns had not been posted, and no witnesses would attend.
He looked at Sophie in her ill-fitted wool dress and his frown deepened. She should be wearing the most beautiful gown of pale blue silk or taffeta, not a dress he’d purchased second hand at a market in Grimsby.
Sophie was a diamond of the first water. She deserved the best and he’d have to find a way to rectify that in the future.
Her fingers trembled slightly in the crook of his arm. “Are ye all right?” he asked, bending close.
She nodded. “I’m wonderful.” Then she smiled, large and wide, but the grin didn’t make it to her eyes.
He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but the blacksmith returned with a ribbon in hand.
Waving them over to the anvil, he swept off the black block and pointed down. “Lass, put yer hand down first.” Then he looked at Ewan. “Yers on top.”
They did as he bid and with his hand on top of hers, the blacksmith tied a ribbon around both their wrists.
He started to speak, of love and commitment, the words pelting Ewan like tiny blade cuts. The decision had been a rash one, but the consequences were for the rest of his life.
Something Sophie was familiar with, he’d reckon. She’d run away wearing nothing but a ballgown, changing her future forever.
He said his vows and Sophie followed, her gaze cast to the ground.
Then the blacksmith clanged his hammer on the side of the anvil. “Ye’re man and wife now.”
Ewan’s fingers clutched Sophie’s.
He’d not planned this, but he wasn’t sorry she belonged to him either.
He’d care for her. See her situation righted. Give her every luxury he could offer.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to her that he’d offered her a loveless match, but then again, it was far better than what might have happened to her.
This marriage of convenience would have to be enough.
With that, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.
Soft and warm, her lips were like pillows, her breath sweet and clean. He inhaled her scent, closing his eyes. He hadn’t had a choice. He’d saved her, he told himself.
When he pulled away, he looked down into her worried gaze. Did she know about his uncertainty about his decision? Had he done the right thing in taking her for his own?
It was too late to question his actions now. But as he returned the ribbon, he wondered if he should have given her more time, more choice?
Would she grow to hate him exactly as his mother had his father?
Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
It was a distinct possibility.
Chapter Nine
Sophie stared at… She swallowed, her head shaking. Well, she was staring at her husband.
How could a person start a day with one set of expectations and then have it end up in another direction entirely? Then again, that seemed to be happening a great deal as of late.
Ewan sat at his desk, completing paperwork.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Ewan grimaced. “It’s a document I’ll have the blacksmith sign, confirming our marriage.”
Sophie looked over his shoulder. “I see.” She’d never given much thought to the legalities of marriage. “What does that mean?”
“It means that we’ll have actual proof that we’ve wed.” He continued scratching on the paper as he talked.
“And why do we need that?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I’m not certain yet. I need to think out all the details yet, but while we’re here, I want to shore up as many ends as I can. Preparation fer whatever comes.”
She twisted her hands together. Somehow, him saying he wasn’t certain made her more nervous. Ewan usually had all the answers. “What ends are concerning?”
He stopped scratching at the paper, sprinkling it with dust. Then he sighed. “I don’t wish to leave ye here with my mother. Nor am I certain about bringing ye back to London. While our marriage is legal in Scotland, yer father could attempt to have the union annulled. I’ll need to speak with him.”
That made her gasp in a breath. “You’re going to see my father?”
He stood then, taking her hands. “Of course I am.”
“But,” she looked up into his dark eyes, “wouldn’t it be better if we just stayed here?”
He shook his head. “That might have worked if not fer Mr. Tidemore. But he kens where ye are and he kens who I am. There is little else to do but meet the problem head-on. Ye said yer father prizes propriety above all?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Most certainly.”
“Then he may very well agree to allow us to remarry in England. I have good connections and a great deal of wealth. I daresay I’m a fair bit better of a catch than Hughes.”
“In every way,” she said, the words popping from her mouth.
He chuckled then. “Thank ye, sweetheart.” He squeezed her fingers lightly. “But my hope is that he’ll consent to legitimizing the match in England and then ye can travel back and forth between both countries and move about society as is yer right.”
She gasped. Because he did have a plan and it was a good one. “T
hen I’ll travel with you?”
“I’ll go to yer father on my own. Tell him I’ve left ye in Edinburgh with my mother. Not that I’d ever actually do that to ye. But he needn’t ken ye’re tucked on my boat.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “That is an excellent idea. I’d like to be able to see my mother in the future.”
“I’ll do my best fer ye.”
She let out a long, slow breath. He would. In that she could trust him completely.
Ewan smiled too, leaning closer. Sophie was so sweet, endearing, and strong in her own way. He wanted to kiss her again. And he needed to talk to her about consummation—the only other requirement needed to make their match legitimate, at least in Scotland.
But a knock interrupted him before he could take his wife’s lips with his own.
“Aye,” he called.
“It’s me, my lord. Cutter.”
Ewan’s teeth snapped together. Cutter rarely brought good news. “What is it?”
“I’d like a word.”
Releasing Sophie’s hands, he started for the door, stepping out into the hall and shutting the thick wood panel behind him. “What?”
Cutter grimaced. “A man came around while ye were gone asking questions.”
“Damn it all to bloody hell,” he swore as he straightened. “What kind of questions? Who was the man?”
“Tidemore,” Cutter said. “Wanted to ken if there was a woman on board. Who she was. A few of the men started answering before I stopped them.”
“Answered what?” He shifted scrubbing his face. It didn’t matter. He’d wed her just after, but still. He needed to know.
“Wilkes might have mentioned she was yer distant relative and—”
Ewan let out a growl. He wanted Tidemore to return to London certain Sophie was Ewan’s wife. Hearing a contradicting story led the man to take action. “What else?”
“And Cunningham told him ye shared yer cabin with her.” Cutter winced.
But Ewan relaxed at that. “Tell all the men she’s my wife now. In fact, make sure it gets all over the docks.”
Cutter’s brows lifted. “Yer mother is going to be powerful mad when she finds out ye’ve wed in Edinburgh without telling her.”
Ewan shrugged. “She likes topics to complain about above all else. I’m giving her a gift.”
Truth be told, his mother was the least of his concerns.
Protecting Sophie, that was what mattered now.
Chapter Ten
Sophie sat in the room waiting for her husband, the name still sounding strange on her lips. Husband. Just like that she’d married him.
And despite her fears, she realized, just like that, she’d been saved.
He’d speak with her father. He would provide for her and care for her. Hughes couldn’t touch her now.
A long breath exited her lips. Perhaps in time, he’d even grow to care for her the way she did him. She’d never felt anything like it before, but she imagined this was how it felt to fall in love.
How could she not? He’d swept into her life, rescuing her from danger, keeping her safe and… She wrapped her arms about herself. He touched her with such gentleness, he stripped away her fears a little more each time they were together.
A sigh escaped her lips as the door opened again. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping toward him as he entered the room.
“Nothing,” he answered with a smile. “Tidemore came to the boat after we saw him. But since we’re already wed, it matters little.”
She gave a nod, trusting Ewan. “Thank you. For everything.”
He stepped up to her, his large palm cupping her cheek as his fingers slid into her hair. “There is a detail we need to discuss.”
She nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yes?”
He paused, his hesitation causing her to straighten. He grimaced. “We’ll have to consummate our marriage before we return to England.”
Her mother had discussed the particulars of consummation with her. In that she’d told Sophie it was her duty to submit even if the act pained her. What the act was, she couldn’t say. “Will it hurt?”
He rubbed her arms with his hands. “I hear that it does the first time. And I ken ye’re scared after what he did.”
She shook her head. “I’m not scared of you, Ewan. I trust you.”
He leaned down then brushing his lips against hers. The touch was soft, light, and achingly sweet. Any fear she might have felt vanished as he brushed his mouth over hers again. How could such a large, fierce man be this kind? But he’d always been that way with her.
And despite her worries about her heart, she’d meant what she’d said. In his hands she was safe.
His lips caressed hers again, a bit firmer, but no less tender. She brought her hands to his chest as she sank deeper into his arms. His touch was slow as he wrapped his arms about her back, stroking up her spine.
Tingling worked its way through her limbs as she wrapped her arms about his neck and sighed into his mouth. This was lovely.
They kissed for longer and longer, minutes stretching out until she lost all sense of time. All she could feel was him, all she wanted was his touch.
And when his fingers began to work open her buttons, she wasn’t afraid. In fact, she had the distinct feeling that she wished to be closer to him. Feel his skin with her hands.
Her dress fell away, and he pulled her close again. There was a deliberate slowness to every touch that made her both wildly excited and eased any worry. She was being worshipped, not accosted. And as his hands slid to her breasts, she didn’t shy away. In fact, she arched into the embrace; exquisite pleasure rippling through her as his thumbs lightly brushed her nipples through her chemise.
She gasped at the pleasure and he pulled away a bit looking down at her. “Are ye all right?”
“Yes,” she managed to push out through shallow breasts. “I didn’t know touching could feel this…good.”
That made him chuckle. He brushed back a stray lock of hair as he whispered in her ear. “Ye tell me if anything worries, bothers, or hurts ye Promise?”
Her insides turned to pudding. “Promise.”
And then he was kissing her again, his hands roving up and down her body, causing a riot of sensation. She was at ease in his arms and free to enjoy his touch. Her hands traced his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, but she couldn’t feel them with his shirt on and she tugged at the fabric.
He chuckled, and taking a step back, the shirt was over his head in a single tug. She drew in a jagged breath. She’d known he was muscular, but as she looked at him, he appeared even stronger as his chest rippled down to a tapered waist.
She stepped toward him, her hands running along his chest. He stood still, allowing her to explore his arms, back, and chest. Only the rapid rise and fall of his chest alerted her to the effort he made to hold back for her.
When she slid her hands around his neck, he pulled her closer, loosening the strings of her corset.
Once it was off, he picked her up, carrying her the short distance to the bed. As he lowered her to the bed, his weight on top of her, she had a moment where she wondered if being with him would frighten her. That feeling of being trapped. But this was Ewan and as his hand brushed back her hair, she wasn’t afraid in the least. She smiled up at him, realizing that with this man, the press of his body was exciting and comforting and not the least bit scary.
As she went to say all of this, his lips slid to the sensitive spot on her neck and then lower to her collarbone, blazing a trail across her chest.
He reached for the hem of her chemise and lifted it up over her breasts. When his lips sucked in the sensitive peak of her breast, she cried out, her hands threading into his hair.
But he kept moving lower still, pushing her pantaloons down as he kissed a trail across her belly, placing a tickly kiss in the crease of her leg and stomach.
And then he kept going. Brushing her thighs apart, his thumb trailed through the hair at t
he juncture of her legs along her most sensitive flesh.
She cried out, the pleasure so intense she was gasping for breath.
And when his tongue replaced his finger, her entire body pulsed and hummed with a building need.
Ewan had never experienced such exquisite torture.
His body was taut as a bowstring as he forced himself to go ever-so-slowly, increasingly gentle. He loved every moment of the sweet, torturous exchange.
With slow gentle strokes, he moved along her intimate flesh, feeling the tension building within her.
Satisfaction rippled through him. No matter what else he did, he’d see her pleasured. He’d erase the fear that Hughes had left, and he’d teach Sophie that lovemaking was full of wonderful emotions.
He ignored the voice that said he was being so careful because he cared deeply.
He told himself it was for his own benefit. He’d married her, she’d bear his children. That may as well be an enjoyable process.
But even he knew his thoughts rang hollow.
Ewan cared for her. He wanted the best for her.
He closed his eyes, her scent wrapping around him.
Hell. He loved her.
Her fingers dug into his scalp, her moans and sighs growing frantic with need as she pulled him even closer.
Ewan growled out his pleasure as she tightened, clearly so close to coming undone.
He tried not to think about what his feelings meant. Emotion was not part of the bargain. He hadn’t even intended to marry this soon in his life and to allow himself to couple that with such strong emotion.
He was destined to be hurt.
Sophie tugged on his hair, pulling at his scalp, her touch anything but gentle, and he nearly laughed, loving the feel, the sound of her.
He put his thoughts aside as she shattered in his arms. He couldn’t worry about the future now, the present was too delightful, his emotions only making his desire stronger.
He climbed back up her body, kissing his way back to her lips as her legs wrapped about him.
And when the head of his manhood pressed into her slick folds, he let out a loud groan. Her hands skimmed down his back. “I’m ready,” she whispered in his ear.
Laird of Longing: Regency Romance Page 6