by Fiona Neal
High-mind principles aside, one irrefutable fact remained. Deirdre wanted Ian Campbell in the age-old way a woman desires a man. That would not change soon.
Her soul a battlefield of conflicting emotions, Deirdre flung herself face down on her big, lonely bed. Shoving her face into the pillow, she silenced her wrenching sobs.
* * * *
“Damnation!” Ian hurled his empty whisky glass into the fireplace. The shattered glass tinkled as it struck the floor. His manly inclinations thwarted, Ian paced his room like an enraged bull. The potent spirits had failed to alleviate the pent-up sexual tension tearing at his guts and making mincemeat of his nerves. “It is no way to spend a wedding night,” he snarled to himself.
But as much as he wanted Deirdre, as steadily as she had denied his accusations, there was just something about her that he did not trust. The woman measured her words more carefully than a pettifogging shyster. Why?
Then she added insult to injury when she accused him of conspiring with The Flame. And after his sister had been murdered by a highwayman!
Ian clenched his teeth against the agony of the loss. Dear God, he had been responsible! He had lunged for the knave, but Janet had jumped between them, stopping the pistol ball intended for him. If he lived a thousand years, he would never forget that horrible day. He simply could not bear to think of that just now.
He must concentrate on something else—like his new bride in the next room.
In all fairness, Deirdre pled a plausible case when she accused him. Any jury would take pause and examine her assumptions.
He strode to the table and poured himself another dram, bolting it back. Damn! Why wasn’t the drink calming him? He had never imbibed this much whisky. His usual allotment comprised one dram after dinner. The woman was driving him to drink—nay—to madness.
He wanted her much too much. Hot need sliced through him like a sword through flesh, cramping his gut and compressing the breath from his lungs.
The mantel clock chimed midnight. Would he spend another sleepless night? Ian realized he had not enjoyed a good night’s rest since he arrived at Ballanross Castle. Beautiful though the estate was, he would be glad to leave it.
To escape the sore temptation of her body, Ian considered leaving Deirdre at Kilbraeton and going post haste to Edinburgh. Still, he could not desert her. She remained in grave danger, although she had no knowledge of it. He must inform her. At the moment, she would not be receptive to anything he had to say. Drained, the thought of another confrontation depressed him. He fell into bed, hoping for sleep.
Sometime later, he woke, feeling the sun, warm and bright, on his face. He also heard footsteps in the corridor. The maid would be bringing early morning tea, and she would discover Deirdre alone.
In the time it took to whisper, the fact that Ian spent his wedding night alone would sweep through the house like wildfire. So would all sorts of speculation about his virility. He wanted no one to know that they had not consummated their marriage. He and Deirdre would resolve their differences without any interference from others.
On the other hand, if he wanted to petition for an annulment, this absence from her bed would lend evidence to his case. Still, if proof was needed, a doctor could testify that her maidenhead was intact…if she continued to remain chaste. Deirdre possessed a passionate nature, and men found her attractive.
The thought of another man touching her made Ian insane. He bolted from bed. Grabbing his banyan, he burst into her room.
Eyes wide, Deirdre sat up abruptly.
“Deirdre, we must be found together when the servants come,” he declared, putting his banyan on the foot of the bed.
Mischief sparkled in her eyes, reminding Ian of the summer sun dancing on the waters of a loch.
“Would you have me aid and abet you in a deception? Last night you insisted on honesty. You also declared you would shun my bed until I invited you.” She smiled seductively. May I remind you that I have not yet extended that invitation?”
She was toying with him the way a cat tortures a mouse. “All right, Deirdre, I deserve that, but I want to prevent gossip. This situation should stay between us. I don’t want news of our private affairs to race through this house like a raging conflagration.”
“Just what will you say?” she smirked. “Will you tell them you were ill or that you just could not rise to the occasion?”
“Me?” His face registered astonishment. “I shall let you explain it all to your uncle.”
Her smile disappeared, and a diffident rap sounded on the door.
Ian hurriedly slid into bed. Pulling her into his arms, he called out, “Come in.”
She tried to resist, but he made quick work of her protests by stopping her mouth with a hard kiss. Deirdre continued her efforts to pull away, but he continued his siege until he heard the servant set down the tray and make a hasty withdrawal.
Her soft, writhing body caused his manhood to surge. Reluctantly, he released her.
“How dare you!”
“Quiet.” He put his fingers over her mouth. “The servants will hear you.”
Deirdre pushed away his hand. “You hypocrite!” she said through clenched teeth.
“Not entirely. I enjoyed the kiss, and from your body’s reaction, you did not find it repugnant either. Making his point, he dragged his fingertips over her erect nipples.
“It is because I’m cold.”
“The hell you are!” He kissed her again, plundering her mouth, exploring the ripe curves of her body as he slid his hand very deliberately to the hem of her shift and lifted it. Exultation surged in his heart as he discovered the moist heat between her creamy thighs. Probing deeper, he found her sensitive nub.
Her hips jerked upward. “Ian!”
Summoning every ounce of willpower, he tore himself away and sat up, seeing a deep blush staining her skin. “Now who is the hypocrite, Deirdre?”
“All right, I admit I am attracted to you.”
“That is probably the first honest statement you’ve made to me since I arrived here.”
“What game are you playing, Ian?”
“No game.” Exercising restraint would be impossible if he remained close to her, knowing how eager and ready she was for him. He stood and walked to the window. “I want to settle our problems without family interference.”
“There is bound to be family interference when you petition for an annulment,” Deirdre stated.
He swung round and stared at her. Though he had planned that strategy, hearing her articulate the words, froze his heart. Suddenly, he could not bear to lose her.
He strode to her bedside. “Is that what you want?”
“I?” She placed a hand over her heart. “You are the one who shuns our marriage bed.”
“And you know why! You are involved with The Flame. You are protecting the man.”
“I do not know any man called The Flame. But I think it is your aunt who is besotted with him. She nearly swoons every times she talks about him.”
Deirdre stated the truth. In the minds of some people, the highwayman cut a dashing figure.
“Deirdre, I want complete honesty between us. I see no good coming from outside influences. I am not telling an untruth by allowing the rest of the family to think we are…”
“Shamming our marriage?” she interrupted him.
“I am simply keeping the truth between us.”
“That is the most incredible example of sophistry I have ever heard, Ian Campbell. You twist everything to suit yourself. Here we are not wed a whole day yet, and we are snarling like two contentious dogs over a bone.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Since we must be married, let us at least find some way to exist in peace.”
He hated it when a woman cried. He never knew what do to, and that made him feel so uncomfortable, so helpless. “Deirdre, please do not weep.” He went to her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew her into his arms. “Please let us find our own solution without involving ot
hers.”
She sniffed, nodding. “But you also must be honest. Why did you marry me if you had doubts?”
They were both upset, and he did not wish to reveal the kidnapping plot until she arrived within the safe walls of Kilbraeton Castle. Then he would tell her.
Her expectant gaze informed him that she awaited his answer. He took her into his arms again, kissing her. Her response made him forget all resolve to remain aloof from her until a sharp rap on the door interrupted them.
Releasing her, Ian stood and shouted, “Enter.”
Chapter Ten
Morag bustled in. “Please forgive the intrusion, my lord and lady, but Connor has the kitchen staff in an uproar.”
Deirdre frowned. “What is amiss, Morag?”
The maid shrugged and shook her head. “He cannot stop crying, my lady. Cook is afraid he’ll have a fit. Otherwise, we would not think of bothering you on this of all days.” The maid’s face flushed deeply.
“Hurry to him, Morag, and tell him to wait for me in the library. I shall be there soon.”
“Aye, my lady, but I need to help you dress.”
“Nay, I shall fend for myself. Just go to the lad.”
Morag made a hasty departure.
An apologetic look on her face, Deirdre’s gaze met Ian’s as she rose from bed. “Forgive me, Ian, but I must tend to Connor. I promise to return quickly.”
Deirdre hurriedly wrapped a robe about her and stepped into her slippers. Running a brush through her gleaming tresses, she rushed out the door.
As she exited, Ian looked with longing at the coppery locks flowing down her back, wanting to wrap himself in them.
Tired, hungry, and frustrated, he poured himself a cup of fortifying tea. The brew braced him, and he drained the vessel. Putting it down, he slipped on his banyan, deciding to follow Deirdre.
What the devil ailed Connor? Ian wondered, hurrying down the tower steps. Standing at the side door, he watched Deirdre pull her robe tighter. She stepped closer to the heat of the fireplace as Connor, red-eyed and hiccupping, stood before her.
“Now, tell me what this is all about, lad,” she requested. “And remember to speak English.”
Sniffling, the boy replied, “Well, my lady, you’ll be leaving Ballanross today.” He bowed his head, but even at a distance, Ian saw the child’s shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
Deirdre dropped to her knees, enfolding the boy in her arms. The sight caused Ian to feel a tug at his own heart. She was a kind woman with strong maternal instincts.
“But Connor, I told you that you are coming with us,” she explained, her voice soft.
“I thought you forgot about that, my lady.”
She drew back. “Connor, I will never desert you.”
Ian entered the library and dropped to his haunches beside them. “We apologize, Connor. Lady Kilbraeton and I have been, uh, very busy.” He exchanged a meaningful glance with her. “Of course you will make your home with us.”
Deirdre stood, and Ian looked up. Her lovely countenance brightened with a smile when the lad’s eyes grew big with wonder.
“And you will continue your lessons.” Deirdre patted the child’s curly dark crown.
“We expect you to study hard.” Ian smiled.
“I shall, my lord. I want to go to the university in Edinburgh and become a doctor so I can help poor folk like my mother from dying.”
Ian stood and Deirdre took his hand, squeezing it. He felt warm inside, knowing that he had pleased her and the boy.
“Quick, now, Connor. Run and ready yourself,” Deirdre ordered. “We must leave soon. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“Aye, my lady,” the lad said.
“And be sure to apologize to everyone in the kitchen. You caused quite a stir.”
“Aye, my lady,” Connor replied as he scampered away like a playful terrier.
She put her arms around Ian’s middle, resting her cheek on his chest. “Oh, Ian, thank you for helping me.”
“I was happy to do it, Deirdre.”
She tilted her beautiful face upward. “The bairn holds a special place in my heart.”
“And he is entirely devoted to you.” Ian fingers played with the ringlets at her hairline.
“Aye, he is such a sweet child.”
“You are good with children, Deirdre.”
“I am good with that one.”
“You will make a wonderful mother.”
She drew back and gave him a coquettish look. “I will need some help with that endeavor.”
Her words hit their mark hard and true. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and take her straight to bed. “I am well aware of the mechanics of the act, Deirdre. I shall give you all the aid you need once I am certain you are truthful with me. If I were you, my lady, I should not let me wait too long.”
“On the contrary, my lord, it is you who postpones the inevitable.”
* * * *
Ian walked into Sir Robert’s study, apprehension gnawing his gut. The last time he had met with his new uncle, the man had given him bad news. He hoped things would turn out differently now.
Sir Robert stood at the bookcase, an open book in hand. Looking up, he smiled. “My Lord Kilbraeton we are now related.”
For a moment, his resemblance to Deirdre startled Ian. “Indeed, we are, Sir Robert.”
Reading the man’s mood, Ian concluded that this private interview would have a pleasanter outcome than the last one.
“I shall get right to the point since you likely want to return to your bride.”
From the gleam in Robert’s eyes, the man assumed that he and Deirdre had enjoyed the pleasures of the marriage bed. His new uncle would be very annoyed to discover the consummation had failed to take place, though Ian had strayed close to temptation this morning—too close.
“This meeting is about her ladyship.” Sir Robert clapped the book shut and returned it to the bookcase. “I suppose you have noticed that she tends to be, shall we say, impulsive. Her heart definitely rules her head.”
Noticed? He would have to be blind not to see her fiery nature. “Actually, I find her spontaneity quite charming.” Ian smiled.
“But that wild streak can be dangerous, Kilbraeton.”
Perhaps Robert had reconsidered his decision and intended to tell Deirdre about the plot. Ian hoped so.
“She needs to calm herself before she can assume responsibility for the Ballanross title and this estate,” Sir Robert continued.
“But she will have time. That will not take place for a year, Sir Robert.”
“And she needs every day of that time, and by then I hope she will be carrying your child. Impending motherhood has a calming effect on women. Perhaps by then, she can be trusted to handle things more judiciously.”
Ian flinched inwardly. If he did not learn the truth, he could not predict when Deirdre would have his child—if ever. “But the law is clear. In a year, she must receive her inheritance. I cannot dispose of any of her immovable property without her consent, but I do not wish to that. Legally, the property is hers.”
“That is true, but there is the matter of my mother’s jewels. They are Deirdre’s moveable property.”
Ian sat in the chair by the hearth. “I know. Where is this conversation heading, Sir Robert?”
His in-law pressed a button and a panel in the bookcase sprang back. He walked into the darkened space and emerged with a chest. “I wish you to take possession of them until her ladyship matures a little more.”
“I know I can legally dispose of them, Sir Robert, but I had planned to leave them in her care, just as I will with her immoveable property.”
“You are not confiscating them.” Sir Robert set the chest on his desk. “You are merely keeping them in your counting room for her. That way you will know where they are at all times.” He opened the chest. Inside there were a number of boxes. Robert lifted the lid of the first one, showing its contents to Ian. It contained a necklace of five
huge, round rubies. They reminded Ian of a bouquet of red roses.
“I feel so base, denying her these treasures, Sir Robert.”
“Please, dear nephew, I am afraid she may decide to wear them.” He snapped the box shut and placed it in the chest. “They will attract The Flame and his Jacobite kidnappers like magnets.”
“That is a definite possibility.” Ian nodded. “But this time, we are ready for him. The king’s men will be dressed as servants, but no one knows about that except Lieutenant Pickering, you and me. I’ve given orders to shoot the blackguard on sight.”
“I’ll have the jewels packed in an old barrel used to store salted fish,” Robert continued. “That should put the criminal off their scent.”
“Literally,” Ian said and grinned.
“The rest of her trousseau will be sent piecemeal, except for her clothes. That way, if there is a robbery, all of her valuables will not be lost at one time.”
“Good strategy, Sir Robert.”
“Do you agree to take the jewels into your possession, Ian?”
“Aye, but she will be unhappy to be denied even wearing them.”
“I will tell her what we have decided, Kilbraeton, without mentioning the Flame. It is best she vents her spleen on me. After all, we do not wish any discord between the two of you. It would be bad for breeding purposes.” Robert chuckled.
“As you wish, my lord,” Ian said and forced himself to smile. If Robert suspected his niece could be the unwitting accomplice of The Flame, he would have a seizure.
* * * *
“You did what?” Deirdre felt her fury mounting so that she barely resisted picking up the fine blue and white china vase from the drawing room mantel and hurling it at her uncle. Yet, she controlled herself, refusing to cause a spell that could possibly kill him. Still, her rage boiled, causing her to feel dizzy, and she sat on the red damask sofa.
“Why, Uncle Robert? Do you not trust me?”
“Of course, I do, my dear. But Ian will merely keep your jewels safe for you.” He took out an enameled snuffbox and began to turn it over in his hand.