She bit her lip.
She was going to change her mind. He was going to have to—
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Go quick.’
Courage shone in her face. And a great feeling of tenderness swept through him, but there was no time to think about what it meant. She arched beneath him, destroying all thought, and he surged forwards into her heat, felt the pressure of tight silken flesh around his shaft and her gasp of pain. She tensed, rigid.
He’d hurt her. It was a stab to his heart. ‘I am sorry.’ He started to withdraw. ‘I should never have—’
‘No,’ she said, still clutching at the sheets. ‘It is nothing. I am all right now.’
Body shuddering with the strain of holding himself back, not touching her anywhere but at the point of their joining, he sought the truth in her face. Bravery, yes, but he had hurt her. ‘I—’
‘Really. It feels strange...but nice. Please, Niall.’
Nice. It needed to feel better than merely nice and the plea was more than any man could handle. Slowly he pressed deeper and watched her eyes widen and her lips part on a gasp with deep satisfaction.
‘Oh, my,’ she said.
He withdrew and pressed deeper yet. Her eyes, forest-dark and glazed with desire looked up at him slumberously. She wrapped her legs about him, pulling him closer as he once more slid deeper. Unable to stop himself, he picked up the rhythm, driving harder, faster and deeper, listening to her cries and moans of pleasure, longing for the moment when he knew she was there, so he could bring them both to climax.
He was too close to the edge to wait for her. He burrowed between them, seeking and finding the little nub high and deep above where they were joined, pressing and rubbing, feeling his vision darken, his breathing an unsteady rasp in his ears as he drove home to the hilt over and over. She cried out. Her inner muscles gripped him hard. She was there. He tightened and he broke through into brilliant light, soaring with her.
It lasted for hours and was over in seconds, the aftershock of her climax squeezing his pulsing shaft. Leaden-limbed, he collapsed. On her. On her tiny fragile body. He groaned and rolled to the side. To his blissful delight, she curled against him, breathing hard, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand splayed across his sweat-slicked chest.
What the hell had just happened? Never in his life had he felt so shattered during or after. He could scarcely move. He could barely keep his eyes open. Somehow he managed to cradle her close against him with one arm, his other hand enfolding the one on his chest and lost himself in warm peaceful darkness.
* * *
Jenna awoke with a start. An unfamiliar movement beside her. A deep sigh blowing against her ear. Niall. It all flooded back. The overwhelming desire. The pleasure. It seemed almost like a dream. But the evidence lay large and warm and sated beside her.
What did it mean for the future?
The sun was high in the sky, casting little sunbeams into the room through the windowpanes. Sparrows chirped in the eaves. A dove cooed softly. How long had they slept?
The room itself was filled with shadows growing shadows.
Lying there, staring at the ceiling, she listened to the even sound of his breathing. Should she wake him or not? Finally she risked lifting her head to look at him, asleep, a darker shadow curled partly around her, one arm across her chest. As if he would keep her safe while they slept.
What had she done? The pleasure of the flesh was why she had done it, the desire and attraction she felt for him, but what havoc had she wrought by giving way to her passion? To her sense that if she did not take this opportunity, she would always regret it?
A man with a strong sense of honour, he would offer her marriage, whether he wanted to marry her or not. Her heart squeezed. She would like nothing better. To be married to him, she realised, startled. To have his children. Here at Braemuir. A hand crept to her belly. Even now, his seed might have taken root. Because if she wasn’t mistaken, it was more than attraction that had made her take such a risk. She was falling in love.
A cold wave of fear washed through her. No. Love did not come into this. Attraction. Friendship. Liking, even. But the idea of love was too painful to contemplate. No, indeed. That she might have chosen him, had he been one of the suitors approved by her cousin, didn’t mean she loved him.
She couldn’t. One way or another she would have to let him go. And losing those you loved was far too painful to be borne.
Nor did she imagine he loved her. He was simply doing his duty and, like any man would, he had slaked his lust.
So what would she say if he asked? She wanted to say yes.
She lay back and gazed at the ceiling. But what of Braemuir? Had she abandoned her solemn promise to marry well and fulfil her father’s dream of returned wealth and glory to the name of Aleyne? Was her father looking down on the daughter who should have been a son with sorrow in his heart?
If she married Niall, the title would continue, there might even be a son, but her home, the house she’d sworn to rebuild, would crumble to dust. Her shame. Her failure. Her broken promise.
The ceiling blurred.
‘What is it, mo gràdh?’ Niall murmured, leaning over her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. ‘Why are you crying?’
My love? A casual endearment, surely? She looked up into his handsome face with its new growth of beard and his worried eyes, and tried to smile.
He cursed under his breath. ‘Regrets, I suppose.’
‘No,’ she said. And that was the truth. She had no regrets about what they had done. None at all.
His lips twisted with disbelief. ‘Why else would you be crying?’ His voice sounded harsh.
Only the truth would do. ‘I was thinking about Braemuir.’
‘It is only a house, Jenna. A building.’
‘It is my home. My father’s home and his before him. I swore I would care for it.’
His lips thinned. ‘A house is not a home unless it has a heart within it.’
She stared at him blankly, annoyed by his easy dismissal. ‘You know nothing.’
‘I know that Dunross Keep was naught but empty stone walls on a hill until Selena and Ian moved in.’
She dabbed at her still-moist eyes. ‘Your brother and his wife?’
‘Aye.’ He pushed himself back to sit up against the headboard, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. ‘Many a Gilvry lost his life to the cause of getting it back. The most recent, my older brother. For what? Bricks and mortar. We were poor, practically landless and happy. Trying to get it back ruined one life for each generation. My mother can’t bring herself to speak to Ian, because she blames him for what happened to Drew.’
Never had he revealed so much about his family. ‘Do you blame your brother?’
He shook his head and looked at her, his eyes bleak. ‘I blame myself.’
A loud knocking sounded below. ‘Lady Jenna,’ a voice called. ‘Are you there?’
Her mouth dried. She looked at Niall in horror. ‘Mr Hughes.’
Niall shot out of bed.
‘Don’t let him see you,’ she said, and wished she’d bitten her tongue when she saw the hurt in his eyes. ‘Please, Niall. He was my father’s friend. And he is a vicar.’
‘Lady Jenna,’ Hughes yelled, banging again.
‘I’m coming,’ she called back. She looked at Niall. ‘Help me dress.’
Silently, brusquely, he did as she asked. He was angry, but she did not have time to smooth his ruffled feathers.
‘You’ll have to go out of the window on the other side. There’s a tree there you can use.’
He paled. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Oh, no, of course not. But you will have to stay out of sight. I have known him since I was a child. I will not lose his friendship for a little inconvenience.’
His jaw hardened. ‘So it is an inconvenience I am.’
‘That is not what I mean and you know it.’
‘You’d best tidy your hair,’ he said.
&n
bsp; She put a hand to her head and turned to look in the glass. She looked as if she’d gone through a hedge backwards, or been well-bedded. ‘Hand me my cap.’
Somehow it had ended up draped on a bedside candlestick.
He tossed it to her and she made a quick knot of her hair with pins and tied the cap on tight. Curls escaped it all around her face, which was fiery red from embarrassment at being caught, and trying to hurry, and from the disappointment in Niall’s eyes.
‘Please, do not come down until he is gone.’
He glowered. ‘I won’t embarrass you, Jenna.’
‘Oh, Niall,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You will be more than sorry if he decides to come upstairs to find you.’ The wry twist to his lips made her feel a little better. She turned and ran downstairs, breathlessly trying to smile. ‘Mr Hughes. I am sorry to keep you waiting.’
His mouth pursed in disapproval as he glanced around the kitchen. ‘I’m very glad you came home, Jenna. I wanted you to see for yourself what was happening here. But I really think you should leave all of this work to your future husband.’
‘Mr Gilvry is being a great help.’
He did not look any happier. ‘I can’t say I approve of you spending all day with only that young man for company, Lady Jenna.’ He harrumped, then held out a note. ‘I accepted an invitation to tea for you and Mrs Hughes for tomorrow afternoon. News of your arrival has travelled quickly. Gilvry can drive you over in the gig.’
She blinked at him. ‘It was kind of you to come out of your way to tell me, but surely it could have waited until I came home for dinner?’ Heaven help her if he had arrived an hour or so earlier. She would have been ruined. ‘But I really don’t think—’
‘Drummond sub-leases your pasture for his sheep from your lessee, Mr Fraser, from the next glen.’
The leasing convolutions were hard to follow, but the resultant money should have been spent on the house. It hadn’t, for some reason only Carrick knew.
‘But still—’
‘There is a small matter of apparel, Jenna. Mrs Hughes has it in mind to alter a gown of hers to fit you. But she needs your presence. Which is why I am sent here post-haste.’
She glanced down at her cast-off gown with a smile. ‘Mrs Hughes is a gem. She thinks of everything.’
He gave her a smug smile. ‘I think so, too. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a parishioner further up the glen who is expecting my visit. A sad case, you know. Not likely to last out the year. But my visit brings him comfort.’
‘Then I am doubly grateful for you taking the time to relay the invitation.’
He bowed and left. She watched him climb in the gig and drive away.
Niall clattered down the stairs and joined her in the kitchen. ‘News?’ he asked.
‘I am invited with Mrs Hughes to take tea with a neighbour tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime I must hurry back to the vicarage to be fitted for a suitable gown.’
He raised a brow. ‘Then we are all done here for the day?’
‘Yes, I believe we are. Would you mind driving us in the gig tomorrow?’
‘You didn’t think I’d be letting you go by yourself, did you?’
‘There is no danger, surely?’
He gave her a teasing smile. ‘Nothing but the usual footpads, lame horses and gypsies.’
She laughed. ‘I hope not.’
He shook his head. ‘No, there is no danger. Not here. And hopefully not at Carrick either if Dunstan has done his duty.’
‘Then let us hurry and tidy up. Mrs Hughes is waiting.’
Chapter Fourteen
Stubborn to a fault. The woman was impossible, even if she was amazingly sensual and passionate. Niall shifted on the hard seat of the gig and forced himself not to think about what had occurred the previous day. What? Had he thought making love to him would make her forget all about her quest for a rich husband?
Hardly. He glared between the cob’s ears at the lane winding between the heather-clad hills at the end of the glen. Why could it not be raining this afternoon? Then he would be spared the task of driving two ladies who had done nothing but share local gossip since they departed from Braemuir an hour ago.
Niall glanced over his shoulder. She looked beautiful. The borrowed forest-green gown, though modest, fitted her slim figure to perfection, and a jaunty little hat with a curling feather, while not fashionable, played to her elfin looks.
If she hadn’t decided to visit her neighbour, he would have spent the afternoon convincing her to marry him as she really should. Or, since he didn’t actually expect that she would agree to wed a man with so little to offer, convincing her to return to Carrick Castle where she would be safe.
From him.
A glen opened in front of them. A loch gleamed like polished steel, reflecting on one side the steep hills rising like a craggy spine and on the other a huge mansion, all round turrets and pointed roofs at varying levels fronted by an enormous columned portico set above a rustic lower level.
Behind him, Jenna gasped. ‘I don’t recall this house.’
‘The land went to pay off your father’s creditors,’ Mrs Hughes said. ‘Mr Drummond must have purchased it.’
‘Lord Carrick sold it?’ Jenna sounded disappointed.
‘A ninety-nine-year lease, as I understand it. The glen was always too narrow for farming. The gypsies camped here beside the stream every summer.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Jenna said. ‘There was no loch then.’ She stared at the house for a long time. ‘The house is huge. Does Mr Drummond have a large family?’
‘He is no married yet, though it is well past time,’ Mrs Hughes replied. ‘Every time he returns from Edinburgh or London we expect him to come back with a wee wifey, but he never does. Still, he is a man in the prime of his life. There is plenty of time.’
The closer they got, the bigger and more imposing the house became.
‘It is like a palace,’ Jenna said wonderingly. ‘He must be exceedingly wealthy.’
‘Aye, so I understand,’ Mrs Hughes said. ‘And generous to the poor box.’
Again Niall glanced back. He did not like the thoughtful expression on Jenna’s face. He turned back and glared at the monstrosity before them. ‘Who would need a palace here in the Highlands?’
Neither Mrs Hughes or Jenna proffered an answer.
He followed the lane around to the front entrance and drove up to yet another imposing façade at the front of the house. He brought the gig to a halt.
Before he could jump down to help the ladies out, a footman in red and gold livery, followed by a tall gentleman, hurried down to greet them. The footman took the horse’s head. The gentleman, a hawk-faced man in his late forties or early fifties, judging by the grey at his temples and scattered among his thick brown hair, held out a hand to the ladies. ‘Mrs Hughes. And you must be Lady Jenna. What a pleasure it is to meet you again.’
A puzzled look filled Jenna’s face. ‘Have we met, then, sir?’
Mr Drummond put a hand to his heart. ‘And here was me, imagining you would remember. I visited your father on business in the months before he died. He introduced us once. Such an enchanting young lady you were then. I believe you were on your way to the stables. May I say the woman far outshines the lass?’
Niall wanted to gag.
Jenna, on the other hand, flushed scarlet and her lips curved in a pleased smile. ‘I am so sorry, I do not recall. It was a long time ago.’
‘So it was, my dear. Come, take my arm and I will escort you inside.’ He turned his piercing dark eyes to Niall, taking him in with a swift judging look. ‘Your man there can take the rig around to the stables. My stableman will set him to rights.’
Niall could see Jenna preparing to set the man straight. He touched two fingers to his hat. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He gave Jenna a hard look, a warning to let it be. For once, she did as requested without arguing. And for some reason that made him grit his teeth with annoyance.
&n
bsp; ‘Come, ladies, come. Tea is waiting, but first I would like to show you around my humble abode.’ He held out his arms and the ladies placed their hands on his sleeves and he led them towards the steps to the front door.
With a last glare at the man’s back, Niall clicked his tongue and set the cob in motion. The footman stepped back and followed his master into the house.
Had he been wrong? Should he have insisted on accompanying her inside? He wasn’t dressed for afternoon tea. He ought to have known what a poor figure he cut and expected the assumption he was a servant, no matter how much it stung. At least Jenna had been prepared to speak for him. He could take some comfort in that. But not much. Not after the way she had reacted to the sight of this man’s house.
In the stable yard, a snooty head groom came out to meet him. He looked down his nose at the gig. ‘You can put it over there.’ He pointed to a shed containing a couple of plough horses and some farming equipment. Not good enough to mix with Drummond’s blood cattle, no doubt.
‘When you are done, go round to the scullery door and the maid there will give you some bread and ale.’ He walked away, back into the finely appointed stables across the other side of the yard.
‘Snob,’ Niall muttered. ‘We don’t care, do we, old girl. Those shires look like honest hardworking fellows. And I’ll no be begging my bread at any scullery door.’
There was room for the gig in amongst the ploughs and the tillers and a stable for the cob beside the magnificently matched plough horses. Beautiful beasts, they were, all glossy and well fed.
Niall brushed his horse down and fed and watered her. Now for some refreshment.
‘So, Gilvry, you come at last,’ said a voice from the gloom at the back of the shed.
Recognising the voice, Niall peered into the shadows. ‘Sean. What the devil are you doing here?’
The gypsy stalked into the light cast through the open door, though only at its very edge, his knife flickering in and around his fingers. A threat? ‘I thought I would see how you and the lady were doing. How are you doing?’
‘Well enough.’ He glared at the gypsy. ‘But I have some questions for you.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And by the way, how did you know we would be here today? We didn’t know ourselves until yesterday.’
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