by Gill, Tamara
From all accounts, the once rakehell, most sought-after bachelor in London had eschewed the city's delights and secluded himself away at his country estate. She had not believed he would sell the estate next door, but within weeks the home was sold, and the new owners were already living in and enjoying their Scottish abode.
When the home had sold, and news reached her that Sebastian was safely back in England, and the distance gnawed at her like a cancerous tumor.
As the weeks turned into months, his absence weighed her down, and for the past few weeks, she had started to look at her situation a lot more clearly. See past her initial anger and disappointment and understand why he'd done what he had.
He may not have banked on falling in love with her, but he did, and she now believed that more than anything else. She had visited Moy several weeks into his departure and found out Sebastian had signed over any claim to Halligale. If she wished to, she could sell the estate and be done with the connection, but no matter how mad he had made her, she could not do that to him.
The estate had been his childhood home. The very walls, rooms and gardens she had come to love, she adored even more because of the boy who grew up within its stone and mortar.
She could not sell it just to prove that he loved her.
His leaving, giving up of the home, the despair she had read in his eyes the day out on the land when their paths crossed, told her his affections toward her were true.
He loved her. Had fallen in love with her despite his initial plan, and if it were the estate she had inherited that had brought about that love, then she would cherish the house forever.
The carriage turned into the gates of Wellsworth Abbey, and Elizabeth moved to look out the window at the large Georgian mansion that was Sebastian's English estate.
It was more formal than the wild, rugged one his mother had owned, and yet it was just as beautiful. Nerves tumbled in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again after so many months. Would he admit her? Did he still love her?
Elizabeth knew to the core of her being she loved him. Had missed him, no matter how much she may have tried not to at the beginning of their separation.
Their estrangement, no matter how painful, was required, however. She needed time to think, time to heal, and move past her hurt. To forgive him.
The carriage rocked to a halt, and a footman bounded up to the vehicle, opening the door. Elizabeth stepped down, stretching out the soreness in her bones that miles of travel had wrought on her body.
A gentleman rounded the corner of the house, his attention on the paperwork in his hands, his head down, and not looking where he was going.
Warmth ran through her like whisky at the sight of Sebastian. He was dressed in tan breeches and black hessian boots that were covered with dust. A shirt and waistcoat, no jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Had he been out and about the estate, looking in on his tenant farms, the fields?
As if sensing company, he glanced up and skidded to a stop, his eyes darting from her to the carriage and the abundant of traveling trunks stacked on the back of the vehicle.
"Hello, husband. Are ye not going to greet me?" she asked him, amused somewhat by his shock.
"Lizzie?" Her name came out with an exhaled breath, and her heart pinched at the disbelief that ran through his tone.
He had not thought she would come. Perhaps he never thought to see her again. Silly man. When women were angry, and especially Scottish women, one must understand that time is required to forgive and move forward in life.
She stepped toward him, smiling. "Sebastian. Ye look well," she said, aware that they were being watched by an abundance of staff.
"I am as good as I can be." He frowned, taking in her wrinkled gown, and Elizabeth knew she had several strands of hair loose about her face.
"You must be tired." He clasped her hand, kissing it. Without letting her go, he turned for the door, barking out orders for her trunks to be unpacked in the countess's rooms beside his own.
"Come, we can speak in my library."
Elizabeth followed him, taking in his home. Marble floors, family portraits, and rich tapestries hung on the walls. Dark-chestnut doors led into numerous rooms. She saw little of them before she was rushed into the library, where he closed and locked the door.
She strolled over to the fire, warming her sore muscles. She turned and found him staring at her with something akin to disbelief.
"Ye did not expect me," she stated, knowing that after months of separation, not many people would, certainly not after the way they parted.
A small frown set between his brows, and Elizabeth had the overwhelming desire to wipe it away, to take away his fear. "I did not think I would ever see you again. It has been so long."
He moved toward her, but not close enough that she could reach out and touch him.
"Our separation has given me time to think, Sebastian." She unhooked her pelisse, throwing it over a nearby wingback chair. "And while I dinna agree with how ye set out to win my hand, I am not unhappy that we're married. Not anymore."
She closed the space between them, staring up at him. He looked good enough to devour. His eyes burned with hope and fear both. His slightly disheveled appearance gave him an air of ruggedness that she liked. Not so much the lord of the manor, but a man, delightful, strong, husband of hers.
"You do not regret being my wife?"
She shook her head. "No. I want to be yer wife."
He reached out, clasping her hands. "But what about what I did to you? How I tricked you into marrying me?"
"Well, the fact that fate had you falling in love with the woman ye set out to fool, I consider myself the victor in this, for you are mine to command. Mine to love."
"I am yours," he declared, kissing both her hands in turn. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I have missed you so much." He pulled her against him, holding her tight in arms that locked about her, like an impenetrable band.
"When my brother told me ye had signed any rights of Halligale over to me, I knew that ye loved me, for I knew how much that house meant to ye."
"It means nothing to me without you in my life." He reached up, pushing the loose strands of hair away from her face, his thumbs idly sliding over her cheeks. "I have missed you so much."
She blinked back tears. They could move forward, have a life together, a marriage. "I missed ye too. Once I decided to forgive ye your stupidity."
His lips twitched. Oh, she'd missed him, everything about the man in her arms. Even if he had been absurdly stupid, to begin with. "Are you here to stay with me?"
"I am," she said, looking about the room. "And when ye want, we can travel to Scotland to your home there as well. I want ye in my life, Sebastian, and from this day forward, I never wish to be parted from ye again."
"I love you. So much." He wrapped her in his arms a second time before pulling back and taking her lips in a searing kiss. Her body heated, liquified at the feel of him again, his warmth, the commanding way he took her mouth.
It did not take long for the kiss to turn from beckoning and sweet to hot and needy. The months apart acted as a kaleidoscope of need. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with undisguised desire.
His hands were everywhere, teasing and touching, stroking and tweaking. She moaned when one hand covered her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
"I want you," he gasped, bending to scoop her into his arms. He carried her over toward the fire, laying her down on the thick Aubusson rug beneath them. And then he was atop her. His powerful body settling between her legs, atop her chest.
Lizzie reached down, fumbling with the buttons on his breeches. One of his hands supported his weight, the other making quick work of her gown, wrenching it above her hips. He thrust into her, taking her with hard, deep strokes. She sighed. This was right, what she wanted. Had missed so very much.
Lizzie wrapped her legs about his hips, letting go and giving over to his desi
re, the desperation in each thrust, each touch, and kiss he bestowed on her. She ran her hand through his hair, clasping his nape, trying to calm him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sebastian," she said, slowing their kiss. "Not ever again."
He quieted his lovemaking, and it was more devastating than anything she had ever known. In every kiss, every touch, she could feel the reverence he felt for her, the care and love he had.
"I love you, my darling wife."
She arched her back, enjoying this newfound pace particularly. "I love ye too. Now and forever."
"Yes. Now and forever."
Epilogue
Halligale Estate, 1813 Scotland
Sebastian threw his son in the air, catching him as he giggled and screamed at the game. He was a strapping lad, already a young hellion and a handful for his mother. Ewan Sebastian Brice Denholm, Viscount Trent, future Earl Hastings, was the most perfect boy. Watching him stumble and run to his mama made Sebastian's heart twist in his chest.
Lizzie and Ewan were everything to him, and every day he thanked the stars in the heavens he had not lost his wife due to his own foolish actions.
"Stop throwing him in the air, Sebastian," she said, setting their boy back on his feet and watching as he ran back to him. "He'll be sick all over himself before Brice and Sophie arrive."
Sebastian inwardly groaned, seating himself on a nearby settee, content to watch his son pick up and play with the wooden blocks at his feet. Brice had eventually forgiven him for his conduct, but it had taken two years after their reunion. Still, even to this day, three years into their marriage, he sometimes wondered if the Scottish laird believed he loved his sister.
Not that he cared what Laird Mackintosh thought, so long as Lizzie loved him, that was all that mattered.
"He likes being thrown in the air. He will not be sick. He's too tough for that nonsense."
Right at that moment, his son coughed, spitting up some of his lunch over the front of his clothing. Lizzie threw him a knowing I told you so look and called for his nurse.
"No, I shall take him up and change him." He scooped his son up in his arms, leaning down to kiss his wife as he walked past. "I shall not be long."
"Good." she grinned up at him, laughing when Ewan reached for her face, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, my darling boy," she said, kissing him back.
Sebastian chuckled, pulling their son away.
He did not think he could have been any happier than the day she arrived at his estate, forgiveness in her heart, but he was wrong. Right now, every day since that day. had been better than the last.
The birth of their first child, her body rounding again with their second. Hell, he prayed for a girl, a wee lass with fiery red hair and brilliant, green eyes just like her mama. Their life was perfect, happy, and blissful.
When his brother had lost the estate, and he had set out to win the woman who inherited it, little did he know how much he owed his foolish sibling. He owed him his life. His happiness.
"Darling," Lizzie called as he started out the drawing room door.
"Yes?" He turned to her, counting down the hours until he had her in his arms once again. Alone in their room.
Her eyes warmed as if she knew what he was thinking. Understood the secrets of his heart. "Nothing really, only that I love ye."
He winked, tickling his lad when he wiggled on his shoulder, letting out a squeal of laughter for his efforts. "I adore you too," he replied to her. Reveling in her beauty and the love that shone from her eyes. And he always would.
His own perfect Highland Rose.
Thank you for taking the time to read To Kiss a Highland Rose! I hope you enjoyed the sixth book in my Kiss the Wallflower series.
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If you'd like to learn about book one in my To Marry a Rogue series, Only an Earl Will Do, please read on. I have included the prologue for your reading pleasure.
Only an Earl Will Do
To Marry a Rogue, Book 1
The reigning queen of London society, Lady Elizabeth Worthingham, has her future set out for her. Marry well, and marry without love. An easy promise to make and one she owed her family after her near ruinous past that threatened them all. And the rakish scoundrel Henry Andrews, Earl of Muir who's inability to act a gentleman when she needed one most would one day pay for his treachery.
Returning to England after three years abroad, Henry is determined to make the only woman who captured his heart his wife. But the icy reception he receives from Elizabeth is colder than his home in the Scottish highlands. As past hurts surface and deception runs as thick as blood, so too does a love that will overcome all obstacles, unless a nameless foe, determined with his own path, gets his way and their love never sees the light of day...
Prologue
England 1805 – Surrey
“You’re ruined.”
Elizabeth stood motionless as her mother, the Duchess of Penworth, paced before the lit hearth, her golden silk gown billowing out behind her, the deep frown between her eyes daring anyone to follow her. “No. Let me rephrase that. The family is ruined. All my girls, their futures, have been kicked to the curb like some poor street urchins.”
Elizabeth, the eldest of all the girls, swiped a lone tear from her cheek and fought not to cast up her accounts. “But surely Henry has written of his return.” She turned to her father. “Papa, what did his missive say?” The severe frown lines between her father’s brows were deeper than she’d ever seen them before, and dread pooled in her belly. What had she done? What had Henry said?
“I shall not read it to you, Elizabeth, for I fear it’ll only upset you more, and being in the delicate condition you are we must keep you well. But never again will I allow the Earl of Muir to step one foot into my home. To think,” her father said, kicking at a log beside the fire, “that I supported him to seek out his uncle in America. I’m utterly ashamed of myself.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, catching her father’s gaze. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I do. I’m the one who lay with a man who wasn’t my husband. I’m the one who now carries his child.” The tears she’d fought so hard to hold at bay started to run in earnest. “Henry and I were friends, well, I thought we were friends. I assumed he’d do the right thing by our family, by me. Why is it that he’ll not return?”
Her mother, quietly staring out the window, turned at her question. “Because his uncle has said no nephew of his would marry a strumpet who gave away the prize before the contracts were signed, and Henry apparently was in agreement with this statement.”
Her father sighed. “There is an old rivalry between Henry’s uncle and me. We were never friends, even though I noted Henry’s father high in my esteem, as close as a brother, in fact. Yet his sibling was temperamental, a jealous cur.”
“Why were you not friends with Henry’s uncle, Papa?” He did not reply. “Please tell me. I deserve to know.”
“Because he wished to marry your mama, and I won her hand instead. He was blind with rage, and it seems even after twenty years he wishes to seek revenge upon me by ruining you.”
Elizabeth flopped onto a settee, shocked by such news. “Did Henry know of this between you and his uncle? Did you ever tell him?”
“No. I thought it long forgotten.”
Elizabeth swallowed as the room started to swirl. “So, Henry has found his wealthy uncle and has been poisoned by his lies. The man has made me out to be a light-skirts of little character.” She took a calming breath. “Tell me, does the letter really declare this to be Henry’s opinion as well?”
The duke came and sat beside her. “It is of both their opinions, yes.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “You need to marry, Elizabeth, and quickly. There is no other choice.”
“A good friend of mine, Viscount Newland, recently passed. His son, Marcus, who is a little simple of mind after a fall from a horse as a child, is in need of a wife. But because of his ailment, no one will have him. They are desperate to keep the estate within the family and are looking to marry him off. It would be a good match for you both. I know it is not what you wanted, but it will save you and your sisters from ruin.”
Elizabeth stood looking down at her father, her mouth agape with shock and not a little amount of disgrace. “You want me to marry a simpleton?”
“His speech is a little delayed only, otherwise he’s a kind young man. I grant you he’s not as handsome as Henry, but…well, we must do what’s best in these situations.”
Her mother sighed. “Lord Riddledale has called and asked for your hand once more. You could always accept his suit.”
“Please, I would rather cut off my own hand than marry his lordship.” Just the thought was enough to make her skin crawl.
“Well then, you will marry Lord Newland. I’m sorry, but it must and will be done,” her mother said, her tone hard.
Elizabeth walked to the window that looked toward the lake where she’d given herself to Henry. His sweet whispered words of love, of wanting her to wait for him, that as soon as he procured enough funds to support his Scottish estate they would marry, flittered through her mind. What a liar he’d turned out to be. All he wanted was her innocence and nothing else.