“You lied to me,” he said.
“What?”
“You told me you danced no better and no worse than any other young woman in London. I would say you are vastly superior to your rivals.”
“Certainly, you would know,” said Sophy flatly.
“Perhaps I have not danced with very young woman of late, but I am not so aged I cannot recall when I did. You cast them all in the shade.”
“What of the older women you have danced with?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Them as well.” Ranulf’s hand tightened just slightly on her waist. “You are very accomplished.”
“I can’t say I am necessarily flattered, Colonel Stirling. The thought of being compared to your numerous conquests leaves me cold.”
“Oh, I think you quite beyond comparison, Sophy.” Ranulf gazed down at her. “You drive me quite mad with frustration, but you are not like any other woman.”
“I make you mad? You have no idea, Colonel Stirling, how you make me feel,” retorted Sophy.
“Then perhaps you would like to tell me about it.”
Sophy realized that he had gracefully carried them across the room to the open French doors leading onto the terrace, and, before she could understand his intention, they were outside in the golden-pink twilight.
Ranulf stopped, still holding her. “Walk with me in the garden, Sophy,” he said.
She looked up, startled. “It would be completely improper.”
“No, how can it be? I am a friend of your family’s, and there is still enough light to see. Surely it would do no harm for you to show me the flowers.”
Sophy glanced from the dying light on the terrace into the candlelit drawing room, where her family and friends still danced and chatted. She felt suddenly removed from them all and very aware of the man before her. He smiled at her slightly, his golden-brown eyes rich with promise.
“I—I suppose no one would mind.”
“They won’t miss us at all,” promised Ranulf.
Sophy cast one more doubtful look over her shoulder before allowing Ranulf to lead her down the steps and onto the graveled path that wove between the flowers. They walked a ways in silence, and Sophy, looking up at her companion, noted with some annoyance that his expression was perfectly calm, while she had begun to think that he must notice how quickly her heart was pounding.
“The vistas are beautiful,” Ranulf said eventually. “Is Glencairn’s gardener as much of an artist as Begbie?”
“You surely did not invite me out here to discuss the relative merits of the local gardeners,” said Sophy with a touch of temper.
Ranulf looked down at her, his eyebrows raised. “What would you rather talk about, Sophy?”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” she snapped.
“I believe you were going to tell me how I make you feel.” He paused to admire a particularly fine topiary. “Were you not?”
“I was not,” rejoined Sophy. “You proposed that I do so, but I did not agree.”
“Ah.” Ranulf began to walk again. “This would seem to be your best opportunity to express yourself. After all, you can hardly tell me what you think of me in your mother’s drawing room, with your family in attendance.”
Sophy looked back at Glencairn Castle. They had come some distance, and she could no longer hear the sounds of revelry. There was a slight glow of candlelight through the shrubbery, but she realized she was quite alone with Ranulf. Indeed, they were as solitary as they had been a week before at the excavation. She caught her breath at the thought.
“Did you say something?” asked Ranulf.
“No.”
“Very well. We shall stroll a bit more, and see if you find your tongue.”
“Why do you care what I think of you?” asked Sophy curiously.
He paused for a moment. “Truthfully, I don’t know. Indeed, I’m not sure I care. I do want to know, however.”
“Then you should tell me what you think of me,” suggested Sophy.
An amused expression crossed his face. “I think you’re lovely, and maddening, and far too pert.”
Sophy digested his statement. “Is that a compliment?”
“Perhaps.”
They had reached the end of a path, and a lawn opened out in front of them leading down to an ornamental lake. On the shores of it stood a classical folly, its white columns glowing in the long, golden rays of the sun. It was reflected in the still water, a shimmering, ghostlike version of the graceful building on the shore.
“How beautiful,” said Ranulf. “I didn’t know this was here.”
“You’ve spent more days riding and fishing with Douglas than exploring the grounds,” said Sophy. “This is a memorial to my mother. Papa asked Isobel to design it when I was just a girl, and it was built the summer that he began to court my stepmother.”
“So it has great significance to you,” said Ranulf.
“I come here when I want to be alone—and some of my very first paintings were of this scene.”
Ranulf led her across the velvety lawn to the folly, which he gazed at admiringly. “It’s beautiful. A suitable tribute to your mother, who I presume was also lovely.”
“There’s a painting of her in the Long Gallery in the castle,” said Sophy. “Papa loved her very much.”
“I’m sure he did, if his emotions drove him to erect this in her honor.”
They climbed the few stairs to the folly and entered it. The deepening twilight seeped in between the classical columns and the tiled roof arching above their capitals, revealing a pedestal on which stood a marble statue of the goddess Flora seated in a bower, a wreath of flowers crowning her regal head. Carved on the pedestal were words picked out in gold. Ranulf leaned forward to read them.
“Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp’ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th’ unfolding rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymenals sing,
To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.”
“Alexander Pope. A lovely choice,” he said softly. There was a pause. “Do you miss her very much?”
“I don’t know,” said Sophy hesitantly. “I don’t think so. I barely remember her, and Harriet has been so kind to me, loving me as though I were her own. No one could ask for more than she has given me. But I do sometimes wonder what my mother would have thought of me.”
“She would have adored you, I’m sure, and been very proud of you,” Ranulf said.
“I hope so. I sometimes wonder if she would have thought me silly for not wanting to marry. She was only nineteen when she and Papa were wed.”
“Did she love him?”
“I’m told she did,” said Sophy quietly. “Papa certainly worshipped her. He was much older than her, and fell in love at first sight.”
“Then that is why she married at nineteen, not because it was her duty, but because it was her joy,” Ranulf replied quietly. “You mustn’t question yourself. I doubt she would have wanted that.”
“Do you think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
They stood for a moment in companionable silence, then Ranulf walked to the other side of the folly, where a bench looked out over the deep blue waters of the lake. Sophy followed him slowly.
“I know you are much loved here at Glencairn, Sophy, and I understand why you do not wish to leave it,” said Ranulf quietly. “But do you never wish for more?”
“More?” echoed Sophy. “What more could there be?”
In answer, Ranulf grasped her shoulders gently, his thumbs massaging her collarbone as he turned her towards him. He paused a moment, then pressed his lips to her forehead, before allowing them to slide sideways to her temple, where he paused, feeling the little pulse there beat against his lips. He shi
fted slightly to allow his forehead and nose to rest softly on hers and whispered, “I think you already know.”
Sophy didn’t answer, but waited in silence, and Ranulf lifted his head to feather little kisses along her cheekbone, before his lips took possession of hers. She could feel her breasts swell against her bodice and the unfamiliar pooling of desire lower in her body, as it responded to the memory of his previous kisses with unbidden anticipation. He coaxed her to open to him, and with a tiny sigh of acquiescence, she welcomed him, as his skillful tongue tangled with hers to create a heat that quickly blazed to a conflagration. Ranulf’s hands rose to her frame her face as he adjusted his head to achieve the perfect mating of their mouths, first licking at the cupid bow of her upper lip, and then softly nibbling and pulling at her lower lip, then soothing the swelling pout of the sensitive tissues with his tongue. He sealed his mouth to hers and claimed it, the subtle strokes exploring, exciting Sophy until she felt almost boneless, and found herself stepping closer, allowing him to support her suddenly trembling legs.
Ranulf, no stranger to the reactions of a woman moved by passion, allowed his arms to slide down her back to her waist, pressing her close to him, and sliding a leg between hers, as he continued to kiss her fervently. Sophy, caught in the grip of unfamiliar pleasure, raised her hands to the back of his neck, and then ran her fingers through his cropped curls as she sought more of the delights he was offering. She pressed even closer, stopping when she felt his thigh against a spot that she hadn’t realized could be so exquisitely sensitive. A bolt of sensation rocketed through her, so shockingly delightful that she involuntarily pulled back.
Ranulf raised his mouth from hers for a moment. “I will do you no harm. I want only your happiness,” he whispered as he lowered his hands to her buttocks, lifting her slightly and settling her more closely, so that her hips rested against his. Sophy froze for a moment as she felt the firm swelling in his breeches, but when Ranulf’s lips touched hers again, all thoughts spiraled away as the fire within her kindled again.
As he felt Sophy relax against him, Ranulf let his lips move to the smooth skin of her neck, nibbling at the responsive spot beneath her ear, before taking the lobe between his teeth to bite lightly. She moaned in response, and he left a trail of kisses down her neck before dabbing his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone. His hands slid up her sides, and came to rest just below her breasts, and Sophy caught her breath, wondering how she could feel such delight, while at the same time being almost lightheaded with anticipation.
As Ranulf’s fingers rose to lightly cup her bosom, she felt her nipples pucker with a yearning for more, and then he rained little kisses across her chest, while she clasped his head, pulling it down to her as she sighed with desire. His palm moved smoothly over one ripe mound and back again, the artful touch stimulating a sensual heat that threatened to swamp her emotions. His other hand rose to loosen the tape at the back of her dress, and, as he pulled the delicate fabric of her bodice gently lower, he allowed his chin to push down her dress and chemise. Soon, an engorged, dark pink bud was uncovered, and he took it in his lips, licking and sucking. As Sophy gasped, wondering if her legs would give way, Ranulf eyed the bench next to them and then put one leg across it, straddling it and pulling her down to sit with her back against his broad chest. Before she could form a coherent thought he had slipped her entire bodice down, exposing the plump, firm rise of her breasts to the golden rays of the setting sun, and cupped them both in his hands. He gazed at them raptly for a moment and then rolled the nipples gently between his fingers.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “Look and see how lovely you are, Sophy.”
She looked down for a moment, at first embarrassed, but then mesmerized by the reaction her body had to this man to whom she seemed to be dangerously attracted. Her nipples hardened and elongated, and as he squeezed them gently she gave a little cry and tipped her head, clutching the intriguingly strong muscles of his thighs with her hands to support herself as he caressed her. He rained more kisses down the side of her neck as she moved her bottom back against him, seeking greater contact.
Ranulf chuckled and, continuing to caress one breast, reached down and gently drew the heavy silk of her skirt up. The slithering sensation seemed almost unbearably sensuous, and she squirmed as he slid his palm over her knee and along the tender skin of her inner thigh. Only when she felt a rush of moisture between her legs did her common sense come crashing back and she clamped her thighs shut, straightening her back and straining against his enfolding arms.
“No, no, we mustn’t,” she exclaimed.
Ranulf let her go instantly “Why not, my sweet? “I can bring you a great deal more of that without harming you, if that is your concern.”
“No” she cried, frantically struggling to pull her bodice up.
Ranulf watched her for a moment and then stilled her hands, drawing her dress closed and slowly retying the tapes while dropping a warm kiss on the nape of her neck. “I suppose I should be more restrained too, but I am starting to find you irresistible.”
“Don’t be nonsensical. You have no wish to wed, and I have no desire to be married or to be ruined!” Sophie cried. She stood up, shaking out her skirts and glowering at him.
“The prospect of matrimony is becoming more attractive by the day,” Ranulf assured her.
Sophy gaped at him. “How am I meant to take that?”
Ranulf shook his head. “Sophy, there is something here. Surely you can see that.”
“I see only that you are pleased to trifle with me,” snapped Sophy. “I have a great deal more to lose than you do.”
Ranulf considered her words. “Perhaps you do. But maybe you will wish to share it with me one day. We need to find out what it is that draws us together. Will you come to Spaethness willingly? I saw how unhappy you were at the thought. Is it because of me?”
Sophy sighed. “It does sound beautiful. It is just that—well, surely you can see that—I mean to become a painter, and you—,” her voice trailed off. “Well, I have no idea what you mean by your behavior.”
“Are you asking me my intentions?” he asked with a touch of humor.
“That isn’t amusing,” said Sophy. “I do not mean to marry, as you well know.”
“I know,” answered Ranulf. “But we appear to enjoy one another’s company a great deal.”
“That—was not enjoying your company,” protested Sophy. “When we are together and not—doing that—we quarrel.”
“Come to Spaethness, then, and we shall spend time together,” urged Ranulf.
“To what end?”
“Must there be an end?”
Sophy shrugged. “I very much think there must.”
“Then let us find out what that end might be.”
Sophy shook her head, but he spoke before she could answer.
“Stop fighting this—stop fighting me, Sophy.”
“But there is no resolution to it,” she protested. “I do not mean to marry—nor do you, from what I have been told. Oh, perhaps now that you are the heir you will need a wife, but I have no desire to be a mere wife.”
“I have no answers,” said Ranulf. “Trust me, and come to Spaethness.”
“I have no choice in the matter—Mama and Douglas will drag me there whether I will or no,” Sophy replied, a touch of grim humor in her voice.
“Come because you want to, not because you are forced to.”
“Very well,” she murmured after a pause.
Ranulf took her hand in his and raised it slowly to his lips. “I promise I will not argue with you, if you will do the same.”
That made her laugh. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”
“Very well. If we argue, then we must agree to make up afterwards.”
“Like that?” asked Sophy.
“If that is your preference,” he said agreeably.
She felt a tremor of desire shoot through her, and repressed it. “We should return to the pa
rty. They will wonder where we have gotten to.”
“Do you think so?” Ranulf looked around. “It is so beautiful here.”
Sophy looked up at the sky, and the slowly deepening twilight. “It is lovely. But we must go back.”
He looked at her speculatively, then took her hand, lacing her arm through his, and led her from the folly. As her feet touched the grass of the lawn, she gave a little sigh of relief and regret. They walked in silence through the verdant garden, and he escorted her calmly up the stairs to the terrace into the drawing room. The room looked the same, the candles bright and the couples in their bright clothing moving through the steps of a country-dance. There was much laughter and chatter, and Sophy noted that no eyes turned their way as they rejoined the group.
“There you are, child,” said Harriet, moving to her side. “Mr. Daughtry has this next dance with you.”
“Colonel Stirling and I strolled in the gardens,” said Sophy, a shade defiantly.
“Did you so?” asked Harriet absently. “How charming. They are so lovely just now, and I daresay dear Ranulf has spent little time in them. He is always off fishing with your father and brother.”
Sophy did not know whether to be glad or annoyed that no one had noted her absence. She allowed Mr. Daughtry to lead her out into the dance, observing that Ranulf had asked the daughter of the neighboring estate to join him on the floor. With a twinge, she looked away and devoted her full attention to Mr. Daughtry.
Dear Philippa,
I have sorely neglected you these past weeks, but such a whirl it has been here at Glencairn! We have been far livelier than is our wont, for the presence of Colonel Stirling in the neighborhood seems to have stirred us all to greater activity. I have no idea why that should be so, but we are forever picnicking, or riding out for an adventure, or visiting Dargenwater Cottage for dinner. Indeed, only this past week we had a party at Glencairn, with dancing in the drawing room! It was delightful, as you can imagine, and I myself danced very nearly every dance, which you know is not something I usually do! But the company was so charming, and the music so beautiful, that it could not be resisted. I even waltzed with Euan, and you doubtless know that I still feel that dance is somewhat scandalous, despite it having been accepted at Almack’s these many years now. To be held so closely to a gentleman! But I do go on, and it can make no difference, as I am married to Euan, but the young ladies! Sophy danced it with Colonel Stirling, who is a perfect gentleman, of course, and Sophy has sworn she will not marry, so perhaps she does not think of such things.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 11