by Karen Ranney
He couldn’t undress fast enough. Nor could she. Her fingers fumbled on buttons and tabs. Whoever had designed the newest style of dress evidently wanted to preserve a woman’s virtue. She was half tempted to simply raise her skirts up and be done with it.
His hands were as active as hers, flying over tabs, bows, and the busk of her corset. She heard something hit the floor and guessed that she’d been a little too fevered in unbuttoning his shirt. She pushed his jacket from his shoulders while still kissing him.
Off, off, she wanted all his clothes off. She needed to be next to him, her skin against his. The day in his drawing room, the day that felt as if it had happened ages ago, was the first time she’d ever felt as complete. Or happy. Or satisfied.
She honestly didn’t care if the entire staff of Hearthmere knew that they were here, making love. Let them talk. Let them speculate. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was Logan lifting her up in his arms and carrying her to her bedroom. He dropped her onto the mattress, then joined her there a second later.
They rolled together, still wrestling with clothing. Shoes fell to the hardwood floor with a thud. His shirt went flying onto the floor. Her dress got wound around one of the four posters. She thought she saw one of her stockings land on the sconce near her vanity, but couldn’t be sure.
They were laughing by the time they were naked.
She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.
“I love you,” she said against his shoulder before kissing his skin. “I love you, Logan.”
He pulled back and looked into her eyes. He’d charmed her when she hadn’t wanted to be charmed, bedeviled her when they were opponents, if that’s what they had been. With him looking at her now, she realized that he didn’t have to say anything. Still, he gave her the words, soft and sweet in Gaelic and then in English.
“I love you, Eleanor. My dearest love.”
The world, which had been alien to her so very long, slipped into place, into its rightful order.
She put one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his cheek. She’d never thought she could feel so much that it was painful. Her heart was filled to overflowing. Her mind was so engrossed with thoughts of him that she had no room left over to think about anything else.
His skin and hers were touching and yet they still weren’t close enough. She wanted to melt into him.
Every care that he had she wanted to smooth away. Every worry, every concern, every aggravation—anything that marred his life—she wanted to erase, expunge, and eliminate.
If she had ever given a thought to the reason for her life, she would have an answer after this day. To be here. To touch this man. To love him.
He was kissing her from her throat to her feet, paying special attention to her breasts.
Their loving was like a whirlwind, passion, need, desire, laughter, and desperation all mixed up together.
She slid over him, kissing and nipping her way down his body. His hips arched as she took him into her mouth, shocking herself with her actions.
There wasn’t anything to stop her from doing whatever she wished. She could explore, experiment, and test the limits of her own behavior. Logan would only congratulate her on her courage.
All the various places on his body that intrigued her from the last time were places that she investigated now: the beautiful curves beneath his arms, the breadth of his chest, the triangle of hair at the base of his manhood. Her fingers stroked along the curve of the arch of his foot, up his ankle, and through the dusting of hair on his legs.
Everything about him was special and perfect and masculine. There wasn’t one thing about Logan that she would change.
She wanted him atop her, unwilling to wait any longer. She’d never known this hunger, this need. When he entered her, it was as if they’d been lovers forever. Her body already knew his. He lowered himself over her, then raised her hips with one arm so that they were even more tightly joined.
Neither was dominant, but each surrendered.
Joy had only been a word until this moment. As pleasure swept through her, she clung to him. One thought managed to pierce the haze that surrounded her: this was home. This was family. Not Hearthmere. Not even Scotland, but being in the arms of this man.
Chapter Forty-One
An hour or so later there was a knock on the door.
Eleanor managed to put on her shift, corset, and dress. She tucked the corset cover and her stockings beneath a pillow, slid on her shoes, and made it to the door in record time.
“Yes?” she asked, opening the door a sliver.
“There’s a man here to see you, Miss Eleanor. He says he’s Mr. McKnight’s secretary.”
Although Mrs. Willett hadn’t said it, the housekeeper evidently knew Logan was with her.
How very odd that she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.
“Would you please put him in my study, Mrs. Willett? Tell him it will be just a few minutes.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Fred has made good time,” Logan said.
Eleanor turned and faced him. He wasn’t in a hurry to find his clothing. For a moment she thought about convincing him otherwise. She loved looking at him naked.
“Did you expect him?”
He nodded. “Eventually.”
“I’ll go on down, then,” she said. Although she would much rather stand here and watch him dress.
She left the room first, Bruce at her heels. Logan would follow in a few minutes. Until then she would make his secretary comfortable in the study. Hopefully, Mrs. Willett would bring tea.
“I’m Eleanor Craig,” she said, entering the room. She glanced down at Bruce before introducing him to Fred.
“I’ve met Bruce before, Miss Craig.”
That was a surprise.
“Please, have a seat. Logan will be here in just a moment.”
“Thank you, Miss Craig.”
Logan’s secretary was a very tall young man with a prominent Adam’s apple and a physique that made her wonder if Logan was working him too hard. He didn’t look as if he’d eaten a full meal for years.
He was wearing a black armband. She would have offered her condolences on his loss, except that she didn’t know enough to say anything. Had he recently lost a parent or a sibling? He didn’t look old enough to have been married, but appearances were often deceiving.
This study had been her father’s base of operations. Paintings of various Hearthmere horses lined the walls. The large desk in the middle of the room had been carved with bas-reliefs of running horses, the detail so perfect that she could almost feel their hot breath.
Opposite the desk was a seating area consisting of a small sofa and two chairs. Her uncle had installed the furniture here when he’d taken over the room. She went to sit on the sofa, wishing she’d given her appearance more care. Her hair felt as if it was falling from its bun and she was embarrassingly aware that she wasn’t wearing stockings again. Hopefully Logan’s secretary couldn’t tell.
He chose a chair opposite her, gave her a quick smile, then placed his briefcase on the floor beside him.
The maid, carrying a tray, entered the room and placed it on the circular table in front of Eleanor.
The girl smiled, then whispered, “Shall I take Bruce out?”
“Not right now, Norma, but thank you.” Eleanor turned to Fred. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, no.”
She wagered that if she offered him one of the pastries on the tray he’d decline that, too.
Nor was he inclined to talk. Rather than force him into a conversation she sat as silent as he, occupying herself with petting Bruce.
At Logan’s appearance, Fred stood and bowed slightly.
“Your Grace, I was able to convey your note to Mr. Disraeli.”
Instead of answering his secretary, Logan turned to her.
“There’s one thing I need to tell you, Eleanor, and it won’t please you one bit.
”
“Your Grace?” she asked.
“That’s the part that won’t please you.” Turning back to Fred, he asked, “Did he have a response?”
“Not directly, Your Grace. However, I don’t think he was pleased.”
“Your Grace?”
Logan turned to her. “My uncle passed away two days ago.”
“I’m sorry. You never told me your uncle was a duke.”
“The Duke of Montrose.”
“He was the Duke of Montrose?”
Logan nodded.
“And now you’re the Duke of Montrose.”
Logan nodded again.
“That’s how you knew Old Ned.”
He smiled. “Yes. I used to steal away and go and visit him on the hills.”
He’d never told her he was related to a duke, and now he was one.
“My uncle deliberately kept our relationship quiet. He thought it would harm me politically. The nephew of a duke being elected to the House of Commons.”
No wonder he had a large house in London and never seemed to worry about money.
She was making sense of the news one tiny bite at a time. “Now you’ll be elevated to the House of Lords.”
“I will. You didn’t want to be a countess. How do you feel about being a duchess?”
She looked up at him. His eyes twinkled. Despite Fred standing there, he came and stood in front of her, holding out his hands. She put hers in them and let him pull her to her feet.
Strangely, she didn’t feel the panic that had accompanied the notion that she was to be a countess. How very odd. She was going to be a duchess.
Her aunt was going to be apoplectic.
“You agreed to marry me,” he said. “Has that changed? Will you become the Duchess of Montrose and my wife? Will you share my life and accept my love?”
Then, in front of Fred, he kissed her. When they finally parted she felt dazed. Whatever title Logan bore was immaterial. He was Logan. Logan, her nemesis turned friend, her lover, and her love.
What other choice did she have?
“Yes,” she said, smiling. She wound her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.
Bruce barked his wholehearted approval.
Author’s Note
Eleanor’s horse, Maud, was named for a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson: “Come into the Garden, Maud.” The poem was later used as lyrics in a Victorian parlor song.
Before 1868, wills could transfer only moveable and personal property (such as money, clothes, and furniture). After 1868 it was possible for someone to inherit land and buildings by way of a will.
Women lost all ownership over their property when they married. Basically, a woman lost her identity to that of her husband. He absorbed everything she owned.
I’d like to think that Logan was so incensed at what had happened to Eleanor that he fought for the law to be changed. In 1870 it was. The Married Woman’s Property Act stated that a woman’s inheritance could not be taken from her by marriage.
Until then, a husband could not sell his wife’s land or buildings, but he could dispose of everything on it, including animals, furniture, and personal property. She could not rent, lease, or otherwise dispose of her property without her husband’s consent, so basically she lost all control of what she owned.
Women had few protections in Victorian society. There are stories like Eleanor’s imprisonment that didn’t, regretfully, have a happy ending.
The Second Reform Act of 1867 gave the vote to men who owned property or who paid a rent of at least ten pounds for their rooms. Nearly a million more men were allowed to vote thanks to the Reform Act.
Abyssinia is the same country as Ethiopia. Europeans called it Abyssinia while Ethiopia was always the name within the country. The Battle of Magdala took place from April 9 to April 13, 1868.
White wedding dresses became popular after 1840 when Queen Victoria wore a white lace-trimmed gown.
All for Love Series Announcement
Don’t miss any of the other breathtaking romances in Karen Ranney’s All for Love series!
TO LOVE A DUCHESS
Undercover as a majordomo, spy Adam Drummond has infiltrated Marsley House with one purpose only—to plunder its mysteries and gather proof that the late Duke of Marsley was an unforgivable traitor to his country. At the same time, Adam is drawn to a more beguiling puzzle: the young and still-grieving duchess—a beauty with impenetrable secrets of her own. For Drummond, uncovering them without exposing his masquerade will require the most challenging and tender moves of his career.
That a servant can arouse such passion in her is too shocking for Suzanne Whitcomb, Duchess of Marsley, to consider. Yet nothing quickens her pulse like Drummond’s touch. It’s been two years since the duke lost his life in a tragic accident—and even longer since she’s been treated like a woman. But when Drummond’s real mission is revealed, and the truth behind Suzanne’s grief comes to light, every secret conspired to tear them apart is nothing compared to the love that can hold them together.
TO WED AN HEIRESS
Rebellion drove Mercy Rutherford to Scotland to escape the possessive grip of her fiancé. But it’s fate that lands her in the crumbling highlands castle of Lennox Caitheart. A dreamer with visions of inventing airships, he’s most certainly mad. Handsome beyond words, he’s also causing an irresistible flutter in her stomach beyond reason. When Gregory arrives to see their arranged marriage to its bitter end, Mercy desperately turns to Lennox with an offer of her fortune—and her hand in marriage.
The Earl of Morton has a reputation for being a daredevil eccentric, but even he is hesitant to engage in such a rash proposition—no matter how utterly beguiled he is by the wildly independent American heiress. And yet, with so much at stake, how can he possibly say no? But when their unconventional union grows into a passionate and inseparable love, more than Gregory’s obsession threatens them. Now, Lennox and Mercy will have to risk more than their hearts to save it.
About the Author
KAREN RANNEY wanted to be a writer from the time she was five years old and filled her Big Chief tablet with stories. People in stories did amazing things and she was too shy to do anything amazing. Years spent in Japan, Paris, and Italy, however, not only fueled her imagination, but proved she wasn’t that shy after all. Now a New York Times and USA Today bestseller, she prefers to keep her adventures between the covers of her books. Karen lives in San Antonio, Texas, and loves to hear from her readers at [email protected].
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By Karen Ranney
To Bed the Bride
To Wed an Heiress
To Love a Duchess
The Texan Duke
The English Duke
The Scottish Duke
An American in Scotland
Scotsman of My Dreams
In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams
Return to Clan Sinclair
The Virgin of Clan Sinclair
The Witch of Clan Sinclair
The Devil of Clan Sinclair
The Lass Wore Black
A Scandalous Scot
A Borrowed Scot
A Highland Duchess
Sold to a Laird
A Scottish Love
A Scotsman in Love
The Devil Wears Tartan
The Scottish Companion
Autumn in Scotland
An Unlikely Governess
Till Next We Meet
So in Love
To Love a Scottish Lord
The Irresistible MacRae
When the Laird Returns
One Man’s Love
After the Kiss
My True Love
My Beloved
Upon a Wicked Time
My Wicked Fantasy
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
to bed the bride. Copyright © 2019 by Karen Ranney LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition DECEMBER 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-284109-4
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-284108-7
Cover design by Patricia Barrow
Cover photo illustrations by Patrick Kang
Cover photographs © Michael C. Gray/Shutterstock (stairs); Eric Isselee/Shutterstock (dog); © lakelandvista/Shutterstock (castle); © Dilok Klaisataporn/Shutterstock (sky)
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