The Highlander and the Wallflower

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘Lord Mallencourt, I think it would be in your best interests to drop these charges,’ Brevershire began. ‘Your brother had a dreadful reputation in society, and it would be terrible, if everyone learned what he did to Lady Camford.’

  Before Mallencourt could answer, the earl went on. ‘I also thought you should know that my son and I have made many investments over the past few months, and last week, we purchased the Larkin Factory and the properties at Melford. I believe they represent most of your family’s assets.’

  Dalton hid his smile, thankful that the purchase had indeed been successful. He hadn’t known for certain until just now.

  Lord Mallencourt’s expression turned shocked. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘Oh, it was my son’s idea,’ Brevershire remarked. ‘I understand that your family has been undergoing some financial difficulties. We have now purchased the property and your businesses. I think we may be able to help you rebuild. I look forward to a profitable arrangement between us.’

  The magistrate’s expression still revealed his confusion. The earl smiled warmly. ‘I don’t think this discussion needs to go any further. I do believe that all will be well, and there is no need to pursue any unpleasantness. Am I right?’ He sent a pointed look towards Lord Mallencourt.

  The unspoken message was, Let the matter go. For they had effectively purchased every source of income the Mallencourts had. One breath of scandal, and it would all end.

  Lord Brevershire then turned to Lady Anne. ‘And as for you, I am certain that a lovely young woman like yourself would not want to be embroiled under the accusation of blackmail. It would certainly undermine your hopes of finding a husband. I suspect that you and your sisters could benefit from some assistance—that is, if you mend your ways and if all charges are dropped.’

  Anne shook her head. ‘It was a misunderstanding, indeed.’

  Lord Mallencourt echoed the sentiment, his expression wary. ‘I agree that all charges should be dropped.’

  Lord Brevershire smiled broadly. ‘Excellent. Now that we are all in agreement, let us put an end to all of this. Harold, would you and your wife like to join me for a supper party this evening?’

  The magistrate sighed and shrugged. ‘I should be glad to.’

  Dalton breathed a sigh of relief when the magistrate dismissed them all, effectively rendering no case of wrongful death. Mallencourt’s face had gone pale, but it did seem that the baron wanted to avoid scandal and protect his family’s assets.

  Dalton took Regina’s hand in his, and she embraced him hard. ‘Everything will be all right.’

  She pulled back to look into his eyes, her smile filled with love. ‘Yes, it will. And soon, we will return to Scotland.’

  Against her ear, he murmured, ‘We have a wedding to plan.’

  Laughing softly, she squeezed his hands. ‘So, we do.’

  Two weeks later

  The sky was a brilliant blue, and the weather was starting to grow warm. Regina walked through the gardens, which were filled with roses. Colourful ribbons streamed in the wind, and she saw her bridegroom waiting beside the minister. A fiddler played a merry tune, leading the way down the path. Her heart swelled with happiness, and she held back her tears. Her father and mother were there, along with Dalton’s grandfather and father. The entire village had come to celebrate, and Mrs Howard was beaming from her seat.

  This was the wedding she had dreamed of, as a young girl, before her life had fallen apart. Not a ceremony of wealth and pomp, but instead one with her closest family and friends. She wore the same blue wedding gown as before, but she let her hair hang down loosely about her shoulders. Around her throat, she wore the amethyst necklace Dalton had given back to her.

  Her mother was smiling at her, and even her father’s face had softened. Ever since he had learned of Dalton’s means of gaining control over Mallencourt, the earl had heartily approved of the marriage. It had been a strong risk—and yet, there would never be any threat against her again. Of that, she was certain. She had spoken to Dalton’s father in private, reassuring him that she loved his son and would do anything to make him happy. Lord Brevershire had softened, and for that, she was grateful.

  Her dog, Arthur, sat beside her husband, patiently waiting. They spoke their vows, and Regina promised to love Dalton with all her heart. When he kissed her, she laughed when he swept her off her feet and carried her away to the cèilidh. Arthur scampered alongside them, following them to the celebration.

  There was music, and she danced with his grandfather and her new father-in-law, who was surprisingly spry. Her own father was too weak to dance, but she saw the broad smile on his face and the joy at seeing her happiness.

  Dalton brought her to sit beside him at the high table, and he fed her choice pieces of roasted chicken and soft bread. ‘At least now our marriage is legal,’ he said.

  ‘It always felt legal to me,’ Regina said. ‘Even without the licence, I spoke my vows before the first minister and witnesses. You were always my husband, in my heart.’

  ‘You were the wife I’ve been waiting for, all my life.’ He caressed her cheek, and she held his hand to her face.

  ‘You taught me not to be afraid,’ she said softly. ‘And how to love.’

  He took her hand in his. ‘I find that I’m wanting to leave our wedding feast, Regina. At least, for a little while.’

  She met his gaze and nearly caught her breath at the desire blazing in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I will come with you.’

  Dalton stood and took her hand in his, leading her towards the stables. He ordered the groom to prepare a horse for them to share.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘To the house I built,’ he answered. ‘I want to be alone with you.’

  She smiled at the memory, and he lifted her atop the mare, swinging up behind her. Then he rode towards the loch and the house he’d built. Although the breeze was cool against her cheeks, his body warmed hers.

  The thatched house was as tiny as she remembered, and her body flushed with heat when he dismounted and lifted her into his arms.

  ‘I love you, Dalton,’ she said as he carried her across the threshold.

  ‘And I love you.’ He lowered her to stand before he turned to close the door and bolt it shut. ‘I’ll build a fire so you’ll be warm when I make love to you.’

  She loved the idea of a fire, but she knew that her husband would warm her even faster. While he bent to kindle the flames, she unbuttoned the first few buttons of her gown and then removed her shoes and stockings. Once the blaze had caught, he stood and went to help her undress.

  With every inch of skin he bared, he pressed his mouth to her flesh. She was aching for his touch, rising to his call. He unlaced her stays while she helped him remove his shirt. And within moments, they were both naked in the firelight.

  She drank in the sight of his hard, strong body. ‘My Highlander,’ she murmured. ‘Come and love me.’

  He took her back to the bed, laying her back. With his knuckles, he grazed the cockled tips of her nipples, sending a flood of warmth between her legs. He kissed her gently, his mouth capturing hers. She sighed as his tongue slid inside, mimicking the lovemaking to come.

  Regina touched his chest, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat before her hands moved lower. Over the hardened stomach, down to the velvet shaft of his arousal. She cupped him, stroking her hand over his length.

  Dalton hissed with pleasure, and he rewarded her by covering her nipple with his warm mouth. He suckled gently, and she felt the wet surge of her own needs. He moved his hand between her legs, finding the nodule of her pleasure. And with his thumb, he gently stroked it, knowing how to draw out the sensation.

  Her breathing grew rhythmic, and she fisted his length, loving the way his face strained with need. When she touched the tip of his erection, he groaned and
dragged her hips to the edge of the bed.

  ‘Look at me, Regina,’ he commanded. He parted her legs, lifting her hips. Then in one swift stroke, he took her. The fierce invasion evoked an unexpected spear of desire. She lifted her hips, watching as he entered and withdrew. The vision of his body joining with hers seemed to arouse her even more, and she heard herself breathing more rapidly.

  ‘Can you feel me, deep inside?’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ she moaned, urging him faster. ‘Don’t stop.’

  And God help her, her words unleashed a frenzy of madness. His shaft was like iron, and she melted against him, revelling as he thrust inside. No longer was he gentle, but he claimed her as if he could never get enough.

  The wildness of his need pushed her off the edge, and she broke apart, her body seizing up with the spasms of pleasure. She squeezed him hard, and he continued to drive deeply inside, until her body quaked again, stroking his length. He lost control, uttering words of how much he loved her, how much he needed her.

  And with one final stroke, he flooded her with his release, his body shuddering as he collapsed upon her. She welcomed the weight, knowing that the years ahead would bring only happiness and joy. Perhaps even children.

  ‘Do you know, I never dreamed I could have this,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I wanted you, but I thought I would never be enough.’

  ‘You are everything to me,’ she answered. ‘Always.’ She touched his hair, still loving the feel of his body buried inside hers.

  He kissed her again and drew his hand over her face. ‘I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you, Regina.’

  ‘No,’ she answered gently. ‘You already are the man of my dreams. And I will spend the rest of my days loving you.’

  Epilogue

  Dalton walked through the cemetery with Regina, her hand clasped in his. She carried a small posy of roses, which she laid upon her father’s grave. Their daughter, Penelope, broke free of his grasp and went after the flowers.

  ‘No, those are for Grandpapa,’ Regina said gently.

  Dalton recognised the determined look on the little girl’s face, and it looked as if she would voice a protest. Instead, he plucked a single blossom from the posy and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Grandpapa wouldn’t mind giving you this one, sweetheart.’

  Regina braved a smile through her tears. ‘I’m so glad he got to see her before he died. I know he loved her.’

  ‘He did,’ Dalton agreed. ‘And she is loved by so many.’ Penelope had wrapped his own father around her little finger, crawling into John’s lap whenever she wanted a cuddle. ‘My father would wage war for her sake.’

  Fortunately, it had never come to that. The Mallencourt family recognised that their livelihood depended upon keeping the peace, and thus far, there had been not a trace of scandal. Even Lady Anne had disappeared, remaining quiet about what had happened.

  Dalton picked up their daughter and tossed her up, hearing her delighted laugh. She had transformed his existence, and he could not be happier than to have a wife he adored and a daughter of their own.

  ‘Dog,’ Penelope demanded, pointing at Arthur, who was sniffing at the ground.

  ‘Yes, that’s your dog, too,’ Regina said. She tucked her arm in Dalton’s and said, ‘I do miss Papa. But I am grateful for the time we had and for his blessing. I will always believe that the best day of my life was the day you switched places with Lachlan and married me.’

  He kissed her lips softly with Penelope nestled between them. ‘I won’t be arguing about that, lass.’ His smile turned wicked. ‘But I think you may need to be carried off by a Highlander, a time or two.’

  ‘I think you may be right.’ She answered his smile. ‘How about now?’

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this book, be sure to read the first book in the Untamed Highlanders miniseries

  The Highlander and the Governess

  And why not check out Michelle Willingham’s

  Warriors of the Night miniseries

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander

  Forbidden Night with the Prince

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Vows to Save Her Reputation by Christine Merrill.

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  Vows to Save Her Reputation

  by Christine Merrill

  Chapter One

  Emma Harris looked longingly out the morning room window at the sun shining on the park of her father’s country estate. It was a perfect day for a stroll. It would be nice just to sit beneath a tree and finish her book. Or she could take her sketchbook instead and draw mediocre charcoals of the little animals scurrying across the lawn. There were many ways she might occupy the space between now and luncheon that were either pleasurable or edifying.

  But she would have happily stood in a downpour and done nothing at all rather than to be trapped here with her mother, undergoing the same quizzing that she got each day, as Mrs Harris tried unsuccessfully to turn her into the daughter the family wanted her to be.

  ‘Lord Weatherly,’ her mother intoned, staring at the piece of paper in her hand.

  ‘Baron,’ Emma replied, automatically.

  ‘Marital status?’

  ‘Never wed at forty-five,’ Emma replied. There were probably reasons that he had escaped women thus far. It was unlikely that the cause was homeliness, for she doubted that anyone who had risen to the rank of baron would be deemed too ugly to marry. It was probably temperament. She had met several of the men on her mother’s precious list and found some of them to be bordering on misogynistic.

  ‘Hobbies?’ her mother prompted.

  She could not, for the life of her, remember. In such cases, it was safe to guess, ‘Horses.’

  ‘Horticulture,’ her mother said with a frown of disapproval.

  ‘I always mix those two up,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘They have nothing in common other than the first letter,’ her mother said. ‘It is not confusion. It is evidence that you have not been studying the information I have gathered for you. Honestly, my dear, we shall never get you a husband if you are not willing to put in the effort necessary to catch one.

  Though it was possible she was wrong, Emma doubted that other young ladies who sought husbands were forced to memorise the names and descriptions of eligible men. ‘Can I not just meet them naturally, as strangers, and find out the details later in an organic development of our acquaintance?’

  ‘You could if your father had a title to match theirs,’ her mother replied. ‘Of course, then you would already know them. You would have vouchers for Almack’s and arranged introductions. But your father has a stocking factory. Since you have money rather than breeding, we expect you to work harder to overcome the artificial distance that society has placed between you and the husband you deserve.’ Mother always spoke as if being rich somehow entitled the family to the privileges normally afforded to people of rank.

  ‘I could always marry a man in trade,’ Emma said, trying not to sound too hopeful. In truth, she did not particularly want to marry at all. The last thing she needed was some strange man correcting her many flaws in a way that might be even more critical than her mother’s. But her mother seemed dead set on a match this year and on yoking her to a man with a pedigree.

  ‘We did not raise you to marry a cit,’ her mother said, as if it had been possible to breed her for matrimonial success. ‘If we had, we would not have wasted money on educating you. We wish for you to better yourself.’

  That made no sense. If she married, she would not be better. She could be the same, overly tall, clums
y, daughter of a stocking maker that she had always been. But if the right husband could be caught, she would be Lady something instead of plain Emma. And according to her father, when one wished to sell a product, having the right label mattered even more than the contents of the box.

  At least, that was all that mattered to her mother, who was referring to her list again, then looking back to Emma with a raised eyebrow. ‘You will have no husband at all if you do not do the work necessary to know who is available and who is not, so that you might cultivate the right people when you meet them. Now, tell me about Lord Braxton.’

  This one was easy. ‘Engaged,’ she said with triumph. ‘The announcement was in The Times this week.’

  Her mother said an unladylike word under her breath and reached for a pen to cross the name from her list. ‘I had such hopes for him.’

  Emma had felt nothing but dread at the idea. The man was over sixty and had buried three wives already. ‘It is unfortunate,’ she said, hoping to mollify her mother.

  ‘Worse than that,’ she countered. ‘That is the third loss this month.’ She spoke as if the men belonged to her, like a flock of unruly chickens that kept escaping before they could be butchered and brought to table.

  ‘There will be other years,’ Emma said, crossing her fingers.

  ‘For you?’ Her mother gave her a dubious look that was most disheartening. ‘Your major advantage is that you are young. You are also...robust.’ It was a most unfeminine word to describe her, but her mother probably thought she had found a charitable term to describe a girl who was nearly six foot tall. ‘Not every man is willing to have a wife taller than himself.’ Then, she spoiled what little compliment she had offered. ‘You are young, but youth is a fleeting thing, my dear.’