Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “Lady Rushton sent an invitation. We wished to offer our congratulations,” Connor replied.

  “Of course,” he said. “How are my grandsons? Are they here?”

  Connor smiled with affection. “I am sorry, they are not. Next time, perhaps.”

  It seems you need not worry that our son will eventually inherit Ravenhall, my lord,” Lydia said. “An heir is most assuredly on the way.” She directed a questioning brow at Lord Rushton.

  “You go too far, Lydia.” The harsh note in Connor’s voice startled Eve and should have frightened his wife, but the woman went on as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “The wedding was so unexpected I assumed a child must be on the way.”

  “The marriage took place three days ago.” Lord Rushton said. “It is possible.”

  “Wedding? I understand you stood before a Registrar. “

  “Marriage, then,” he drawled.

  She gave a derisive snort. “Anything to ensure that Ravenhall doesn’t fall to me.”

  “One cannot blame a father for wanting his family home to remain in his family,” the earl said.

  Lydia’s eyes shifted onto her father. “Is that what it is, you want Ravenhall to remain in the MacLean family? Or is it that you are simply determined I shall not inherit the estate?”

  “This is not the place or time to have this discussion,” he said, and Eve agreed. Despite the privacy of the alcove, if the conversation became too heated, the guests would be privy to a family squabble. Something she feared was taking on a life of its own.

  “Tell me, my lord, where is a good place and time to discuss the fact that you tossed aside my mother for your mistress?” Lydia demanded.

  “We have discussed this a thousand times,” the marquess said. “You know that wasn’t the case.”

  Her eyes flashed. “The ink is barely dry on the marriage certificate and already there is talk of how long it will be before Erroll, like his father, sires a child out of wedlock.”

  “Bloody hell—” Lord Rushton cut his gaze onto Connor. “I am sorry, Connor, but she must leave.”

  Connor gave a brusque nod and grasped his wife’s arm, pulling her to her feet.

  She shook him off. “Are you afraid of the truth, Erroll? Or perhaps you attempt to shield your wife from the truth?” She looked at Eve. “Surely you know his reputation.”

  Her husband seized her arm. Eve feared he would drag his wife from the room in front of their guests, and quickly replied, “It is impossible not to be aware of Lord Rushton’s reputation. But he isn’t the first rake to marry.”

  “Then you don’t mind that he will carries on his father’s legacy?”

  Anger and fear rammed through Eve. “I never asked him to change.” She’d never had the chance—never seized the opportunity.

  A malicious glint appeared in Lydia’s eyes. “Well, well, Erroll, a woman who doesn’t care that you have bedded half the women of the ton. What will she do in the nights ahead while you bed the other half?”

  “By God, Lydia,” the marquess began, but Lord Rushton cut him off.

  “You are mistaken, Lydia.” He took Eve’s hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, then covered her hand with his. The tremble inside her traveled down through her legs. “Eve did not ask me to change. I made that choice.”

  Eve jerked, but his hand kept her fingers firmly wrapped around his forearm.

  “Never say London’s most notorious rakehell married for love,” Lydia sneered.

  He smiled at Eve and she was certain her heart would break when he said, “It had to happen eventually.”

  “I wish you luck, Eve,” Lydia said. “His affection will last until you return to London.”

  Eve recalled Laura Greenwood. His attention hadn’t lasted even that long. “Whatever the case, I only pray I don’t become as embittered as you.” Eve shook her head. “What happened to you, madam?”

  Lydia gasped.

  “Simple,” Ash cut in. “Olivia and I were born to our father’s mistress, Moira MacLean, while he was married to Lydia’s mother.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Lydia hissed. “There is much more to the story. He abandoned my mother for your mother, left her to die when I was but six years old. Even now, the rumors about how she died of heartbreak are repeated.”

  “That is enough,” the marquess snapped. “Put those malicious rumors to rest. If anyone perpetrates them, it is you.”

  Lydia fisted her hands at her sides. “Is it a rumor that you loved Moira MacLean? You sired two children with her. Even your Sassenach wife means more to you than my mother did. Four children you sired on her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch my mother after I was born.”

  The marquess stared in stunned silence. “My God,” he finally whispered. “Where did you concoct such a story?”

  “She told me.”

  “She told you—her six year old daughter--that your father no longer…” His eyes misted as if he were remembering long ago. “I had no idea the illness had corrupted her mind so thoroughly.” His focused cleared. “Lydia, it wasn’t true. Yes, I loved Moira. Your mother knew as well as I that ours was an arranged marriage…we agreed. I never lied to her. But to say that I couldn’t… it was not true. She became ill and we—I—simply couldn’t force her to—”

  “You deserted her,” Lydia’s voice trembled. “She told me how much she loved you and how you were always with your mistress. I remember—”

  “You remember a child’s desperation,” the marquess interrupted. “Your mother was ill, she wasn’t herself. Surely you can see that. Oh, had I but known then what she had said. Perhaps I could have made you understand the truth and this bitterness wouldn’t have devoured you.”

  “Nothing you say can change what you did,” Lydia spat.

  Eve stood stunned. Here sat a reflection of her future self if she wasn’t careful. “I am sorry for you,” she said.

  “Sorry for me?” Lydia gritted out. “I am not the one you need be sorry for. Pity yourself, for you have married a man who will abandon you just as his father did my mother.”

  “He has not abandoned Lady Rushton,” Eve said.

  Lydia’s mouth twisted in distaste. “Sassenach. Perhaps that is what it has been all along. Moira was but your mistress and my mother meant nothing to you. Both were Scottish women.”

  Eve gasped, and saw the marquess take a step toward his daughter, but it was Connor who seized her arm and gave her a hard yank.

  “This is beyond the pale even for you.” His head snapped up and he said to the marquess, “We will be leaving. Never fear, Justin, I will deal with her.”

  Everyone stood aside and watched as he hurried her out of the alcove.

  “She’s damned angry that she can’t get her hands on Ravenhall,” Ash said.

  Eve tore her gaze from Lydia, who nearly tripped while attempting to keep up with her husband’s long strides, and looked at Ash. “Surely, she knew that Lord Rushton would marry?”

  “Val didn’t return from war,” Ash said. “It was just as possible Erroll wouldn’t return either. Since his return, she has probably been stewing about how she was robbed of her revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Eve repeated.

  Lord Rushton squeezed her fingers and Eve realized her hand still rested on his arm.

  “It seems you were right, sir.” Lord Rushton looked at his father.

  The marquess still stared at the door through which the two had disappeared. He glanced at the group. “I have business to attend to.”

  Eve’s heart twisted at the pain she heard in his voice.

  Lord Rushton tensed beneath her fingers and she sensed he wanted to say something, but his father strode from the alcove.

  The earl released a long breath. “I believe I need to rest. Come along, my dear. Ash, we will see you later?”

  “I wouldn’t miss the rest of your wedding party for the crown jewels.”

  The earl nodded and before Eve could think of a prot
est, he led her from the room. Her heart sank as they headed for their suite.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Erroll closed the door to their suite, his wife whirled on him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why am I not gone to England, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because I realized what a fool I am.”

  She barked a laugh. “It is I who am the fool. By the by, what was all that drivel out there?”

  Ah, here was the crux of her anger. She wanted to know why he’d professed love in front of his family.

  “You certainly put your sister in her place,” Eve went on. “And you put me in an untenable position.”

  “I have?”

  “How much more of fool will I appear when you leave for England and I stay behind? I won’t do it, which means I cannot stay here.”

  “Indeed?” he murmured.

  “The least you could have done is warned me you were going to say such ridiculous things. Your family wasn’t fooled for an instant.”

  Erroll frowned. “You make it sound as if a declaration of love is impossible.”

  “Of course it’s impossible. The only person who didn’t see through the ruse was your sister.”

  “I think my declaration of love was the only thing she did see clearly.”

  “Let me make something perfectly clear, sir. I am not like my sister.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And I thank God for that every day.”

  “Ah, yes,” Eve said. “You did say all along you wouldn’t marry Grace. She clearly was not to your liking. Women like Laura Greenwood are more to your liking, are they not, my lord?”

  Erroll grimaced. “Not more to my liking at all.”

  Anger and hurt sparked in her eyes.

  “What is it, love? Surely, you aren’t still thinking of the fact that she visited me in my hotel in Manchester? I told you there was nothing to that.”

  “How interesting, my lord, that you should so highly prize honesty in your wife, but are incapable of it yourself.”

  “Eve, if Laura said something to you—”

  “I am not such a ninny as to take as gospel anything your past paramours might say to me. Your sister is another story, however. She has given me a glimpse into what it is to have bitterness consume you. I will not allow that to happen to me.”

  “Eve, I will not do that to you,” he said with emphasis.

  “I think I misspoke,” she said, as if not having heard him. “I cannot live with you.”

  “But you said you couldn’t stay here at Ravenhall.”

  She shook her head. “France perhaps, or the Colonies.”

  Erroll startled. “I won’t let you go to France, much less the Colonies.”

  Eve shrugged. “You really cannot stop me.”

  She couldn’t be serious. “You said you were coming to England with me,” he said.

  “Yes, but I spoke in haste. It is only a matter of time before…”

  “You are allowing what Lydia said to sway you,” he insisted.

  She gave a deprecating snort. “Only two hours ago you were returning to London and leaving me here. How can you say that your sister’s words are the thing that swayed me?”

  Guilt stabbed soul deep and fear pumped through him. “Eve,” he began lamely, “I-you were making plans to stay and I...”

  It was a ridiculous response. He hadn’t planned on leaving Scotland for a week, maybe two. In fact, he could have stayed a month before returning to Norfolk to begin work with the thresher. But the truth was, he’d been struck with the fear that she would gladly have stayed in Scotland with his family—without him—so he had…he had been an idiot.

  Erroll reached for her. Her eyes widened and she retreated a step, but he caught her arm and drew her close. Erroll wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. She stood within his embrace, rigid, arms at her sides.

  Erroll closed his eyes. “I made a mess of things, did I not?”

  She didn’t reply and he envisioned her on a ship bound for France, then lost in the Parisian city, beyond his reach. His chest tightened. God help him, in a week’s time, he’d fallen hopelessly and completely in love. Erroll tightened his arms around her. If he stayed in Scotland, would she promise not to leave? Could he rest easy with that promise? What would she do when he returned to England for even short periods of time? Would she leave with him? Would she be here when he returned?

  He would live each moment they were apart in fear that he would return to find her gone. His heart hammered. He couldn’t seclude himself on Mull forever. He had to return to England, had to face his responsibilities there. But an incident like Laura Greenwood coming to his hotel room could drive a wedge between them that could separate them forever—even if they lived in the same house.

  A lump formed in his throat. “Eve,” he rasped.

  She shifted and he grasped her chin and tilted her face upward. She stared, and Erroll found himself lost in her dark eyes…found himself lowering his mouth. Their lips touched and she stiffened, then gasped when he brushed her mouth with a feather-light touch. She gave a small cry and threw her arms around his neck.

  Blood roared through his ears. He slipped a leg between her legs and the heat from her thighs caused his heart to thunder. He tugged down her bodice, then covered one ripe breast with his hand. Gently, he kneaded the creamy flesh until her nipple pressed hard and insistent into his palm. His cock throbbed with blinding need, and when she thrust her tongue into his mouth, desire swamped his senses.

  God, how was he going to show her what was in his heart if he couldn’t think? Erroll sparred with her tongue, thrusting in quick bursts. She drew a stuttered breath and he felt drunk with the knowledge that she wanted him. He rolled the nipple between his fingers. Her hands slid around his back, searing a path downward until they cupped his arse. Erroll undulated his erection against her abdomen. Her fingers tightened into his backside and he feared he would spend himself in his breeches.

  She released his buttocks and slipped her hand between their bodies. Erroll realized she was undoing the falls on his breeches and he stilled, heart thudding until his cock sprang free. When she grasped his engorged member, pleasure rammed through him. Erroll thrust into her slim fingers. He was going to spew his seed into her hand and God help him, he wanted that as much as he wanted to be inside her. But not yet. The resolution didn’t stop him from thrusting again. He would have this from her and so much more in the years to come. This moment, however, was for her.

  Erroll broke the kiss and, in one quick move, tugged her dress and chemise up, forcing her to release him as he pulled the garments over her head. He stared at her, blood heated at the sight of her vulnerability. In an instant, he kicked off his boots and shucked his clothes. Her gaze dropped to his erection and satisfaction pulsed through him when her eyes widened. This was, he realized, the first time she’d taken in the sight of all of him.

  Erroll grasped her hand and backed up, guiding her with him to the bed. His calves bumped into the edge of the mattress and he held her close as they fell backwards onto the mattress. Her body tumbled onto his and he gave her a long, languorous kiss before scooting back on the bed. He pulled her knees up alongside his hips and urged her to straddle him. Eve looked down at him, eyes dazed, hair tumbled across her shoulders.

  He swallowed. She’d never looked more beautiful. Eyes locked with hers, he slipped a finger between her wet folds. She jerked, and seized his forearms. He gently massaged her sex and she began to rock against his finger. Her movements quickened and Erroll yanked his finger away and seized her hips, grinding his rod against her.

  Eve moaned and continued to rock. Pleasure radiated through him as she crashed onto his rod over and over, but he forced back the urge to climax. When she cried out, Erroll arched as she bore down and her heat flooded his member. He bolted upright into a sitting position and hugged her close. She went limp against his chest.

  “Wrap your legs arou
nd me,” he whispered.

  She pulled back and looked at him, eyes unfocused. Erroll grasped her legs and eased them forward so that she no longer knelt but sat on his lap.

  “Now wrap them around me.”

  She locked her legs around his waist. Erroll grasped her buttocks, lifted her then drove into her channel. She tossed her head back as he lifted, then brought her down onto him over and over again. Blood roared through his ears, but he forced himself to slow, carefully stroking her inner walls with each rise and fall of her body.

  He detected the shift of her hips. She began to pant, and Erroll felt his resolve slip as climax rolled closer and closer to the surface. He couldn’t halt the compulsion and arched as he brought her down onto him, moving faster until she cried out and he exploded with a bone-deep shudder that blocked out all light, all feeling, except for her.

  *****

  Erroll awoke the following morning alone. He rose and searched the suite but Eve wasn’t there. After dressing, he searched the usual rooms she’d frequented the last few days, and found his mother and Grace.

  “Have you seen Eve?” he asked.

  “I saw her at breakfast early this morning,” his mother said.

  “Not since then?” Erroll asked.

  She shook her head. “I assumed she went back to your suite. Is something amiss?”

  “I do not know,” he replied in honesty. He hadn’t thought so after what had passed between them last night.

  “Eve often takes walks,” Grace said. “Particularly in the morning.”

  “Perhaps we should help find her.” His mother set aside her embroidery.

  Erroll shook his head. “I’m sure I will find her.” And when he did, he was going to lock them in their suite and make love to her until she was too weak to go anywhere. Apparently he hadn’t accomplished that last night.

  “Have you tried the kitchen?” Grace said. “She has an odd infatuation with that part of the castle.”

  “Yes,” Erroll agreed.

  Minutes later, Mrs. Henderson lowered a cup of tea from her lips when he entered the kitchen. “Morning, Laird. Have you come for tea?”