As Ranulf explored her mouth, Sophy felt herself melting into him. She found herself biting at his lips, and running her fingers through his thick black hair, to bring pull him closer. As she did she felt his knowing hands slide up her sides, to rest just under her breasts, which suddenly prickled with a longing for his touch, as though they yearned for him to slide his palms up to grasp her sensitive flesh.
She drew back. “No, we can’t do this here. Francis or Isobel might return, or they may see my parents and tell them to come here to look at the finished portrait.”
Ranulf groaned in protest, but he lifted his head, and used his grip on her ribs to put her back down on the floor. Sophy swayed a moment in his hold and then stepped back from him, looking at him with wide eyes.
As though he could not resist her Ranulf closed the distance between them, grasping her waist and drawing her close once again.
“Sophy, you cannot leave here next week,” he whispered into her ear. “Please stay.”
“I—I don’t know,” she murmured, dazed. “I did not mean this to happen.”
“But it did. I, for one, am very pleased.” Ranulf kissed the hollow of her throat. “Are you?”
Sophy didn’t respond, and Ranulf chuckled. “Answer me, Sophy, or I’ll have to kiss you until you’re breathless.”
She laughed softly. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
“So you are pleased.” Ranulf took her face in his hands and kissed her again, a dark, dangerous kiss that she felt she might never emerge from. When he finally raised his head, she gave a little whimper and pulled him closer.
“Very pleased, I’d say.” Ranulf drew her into his arms, cradling her head on his chest. “Darling, think about what I’ve said. The party is tomorrow, and your family means to return to Glencairn soon after. Think what that means. We will no longer have these moments together. I think we would both miss them, don’t you?”
Sophy nodded slightly, unwilling to say anything.
“You don’t have to leave with them,” said Ranulf. “Promise me you’ll think on it.”
“I promise,” Sophy whispered.
Chapter 23
Sophy wafted down the stairs of Spaethness Castle, a dreamy smile on her lips. She wore a dress of white satin sheathed in a white silk gauze overlay ornamented with celestial blue leaves of flossed silk. The hem and puffed sleeves were trimmed with ruffles of silk net, looped up by blue silk bows, and silk flowers of the same shade were interlaced among her glossy curls. Her family and Ranulf awaited her, and she looked down to see a look of frank admiration on his face. She colored slightly as his eyes lingered on the neckline of her gown, and then she continued down the stairs to join them.
“Don’t you look lovely, child,” said Harriet approvingly.
Sophy opened her mouth to quibble with the use of the word child, but decided it would do little good. Harriet, she realized, would always think her a girl. She looked up and, catching Ranulf’s eye, detected a smile there. He stepped forward and took her hand, raising it lightly to his lips.
“Not a child at all,” he said. “Don’t you agree, Lady Exencour?”
Isobel gave him a warning glance. “Indeed, we all think of Sophy as young, but perhaps child is no longer the correct word for her.”
Douglas scowled. “She looks just like Sophy to me,” he said.
Sophy allowed her hand to rest in Ranulf’s a moment longer, then stepped forward. “It is rather silly, isn’t it?” she said. “I suppose it is simply the dress, and the jewelry, and Wallis put my hair up in a new style. I imagine I will always be a youngster to all of you.”
“Now you are implying we are old!” said Isobel gaily. “Come, let us go into the drawing room and cease to contemplate anyone’s age.”
They turned into the drawing room, Francis escorting Isobel and Glencairn his wife. Ranulf offered Sophy his arm and she took it with a smiling glance. She could feel the muscles under the fine cloth of his coat, and allowed her thoughts to wander to the last time he had held her in his arms. A flash of excitement shot through her, as she pondered whether it might be possible to get him alone in the garden that evening.
“You look as though you are contemplating mischief,” said Ranulf under his breath.
“Perhaps I am,” she murmured. They shared a significant look.
“Later,” he said softly, and she felt her body react strongly to the single word.
Once in the drawing room, Sophy found herself chatting with her family as Ranulf fetched her lemonade. Soon the guests began to arrive and the room filled with curious locals, all eager to meet the laird’s guests. The introductions left Sophy’s head in a whirl, and before she knew it, she was whisked into the dance by the son a neighboring landowner.
She smiled on her partner, though she kept one eye on Ranulf, noting that he had led out Harriet, who seemed delighted. The next hour passed in a whirl, as she danced with gentleman after gentleman, only a few of whose names she remembered. She eventually collapsed onto a settee, and, declining the pleas of the local curate that she join him for a quadrille, sat contentedly sipping a claret cup. She looked up as a shadow fell over her, and found herself gazing into Ranulf’s smiling face.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said.
“It’s wonderful,” she breathed. “Spaethness seems to be a happy place.”
“I never thought of it so; I’ve considered it rather forbidding, though beautiful. You’ve brought a new light to it, Sophy.”
She shook her head. “It is not me. It has always had that quality. It just took guests and friendship to bring it out.”
“I think a great deal of it is you.” Ranulf sat down next to her and looked around the room, lit with dozens of candles and filled with music and laughter. “This would not have happened without your presence.”
“But my parents, and the Exencours—” began Sophy.
“I did it to amuse you.” Ranulf looked surprised. “Everything I do these days seems to be for you.”
Sophy colored slightly. “I find myself doing things for you as well,” she murmured.
“I am grateful for that.” Ranulf looked about. “I’d kiss you if I thought I could do so without shocking everyone. Don’t look so beguiling, or I might go ahead anyway.”
Sophy turned pinker, and Ranulf grinned. “Will you meet me in the garden later?”
“I’d like that very much.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “If you promise to reward me.”
“I promise.” He took her hand briefly, pressing it slightly. “Now, if you don’t mind, there is someone who very much wishes to meet you.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see.” Ranulf drew her to her feet and led her across the room. In a high backed chair by the fire, set well away from the swirl of dancers was a very old gentleman. His pure white hair was still thick and full, and while he was hunched forward, she could tell he had once been tall and athletic. She looked up at Ranulf inquiringly.
“Lady Sophia Learmouth, I’d like to present my father, the Laird of Spaethness,” said Ranulf gently.
The older gentleman looked up, his eyes, dark like Ranulf’s, still sharp with intelligence. “So this is Lady Sophia, is it?” he demanded. He waved a hand at his son. “Away with you. I know how to talk to a young woman.”
“Then you are a better man than I,” said Ranulf with a smile. He turned to Sophy. “Don’t let him frighten you. His bark is worse than his bite. I’ll fetch you in a bit,” he whispered, and rejoined the crowd.
“Sit, sit,” said the laird impatiently, indicating the chair next to him.
Sophy perched on the edge of it, faintly apprehensive. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said formally.
“I doubt it.” The old man gave her a piercing stare. “Talking nonsense socially has never been my strong suit.”
“Then you are very much like your son,” replied Sophy promptly.
He gave a snort. “At least yo
u’re not a mealy mouthed thing like so many of your generation.”
“I presume that is meant to be a compliment?”
He laughed reluctantly. “I suppose it is.” He watched her for a moment, and seemed pleased when she did not rush into speech. “Tell me, Lady Sophia, what do you think of Spaethness?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her sincerity apparent. “It’s not only the castle, which is lovely beyond words—I could spend weeks exploring it and not know every corner of it—but the land itself is so gorgeous. The lochs, and the trees, and hills rolling away before you….” Her voice trailed off. “It is very hard to describe.”
“Hence the painting, I gather?”
“You know that I paint?”
There’s very little I don’t know, Lady Sophia. My body might be failing me, but my mind’s as sharp as ever.”
“I can see that.”
The old man folded his hands and stared at her. “So, you mean to be the next Lady of Spaethness.”
Sophy jumped. “What? Why would you think that?” she demanded.
“I’m not dead yet, and the servants talk. I know what you and my boy have been up to.” He nodded, satisfied, as she turned slightly pale. “Not that I care, my girl. You may do as you choose. Indeed, the women in my day had a great deal more bottom than they seem to have today, and made it known where their preferences lay. But he’ll be asking you to marry him, or he’s no gentleman.”
“I have no idea what you may have been told, but I do not mean to marry your son,” said Sophy firmly. “Indeed, I have no intention of marrying at all.”
“Nonsense. You’re a gently bred female. You’ll marry—they all do, unless they’re ugly or foolish.”
“Your son does not wish to marry,” persisted Sophy. “Or, if he does, he prefers a woman who will give him no trouble.”
“Do you think you will cause trouble?”
“I have no doubt at all that I would.”
The laird cackled, seemingly pleased by this statement. “You’ll be welcome here at Spaethness, my girl. You’ll give my son something to keep him occupied. It gets lonely up here, especially in the winter. Lord knows my wife wasn’t a cozy armful, and my deceased son’s bride was like a white mouse, all big nervous eyes and hand wringing. They never seemed to care much for each other and she ran back to her mother as soon as he died. But you—you might have the gumption to take on Ranulf.”
Sophy smiled at his enthusiasm. “Thank you for your kind words, sir—though I am not sure that you mean them to be kindly—but I have no intention of becoming your daughter-in-law.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl.” The laird clutched the arms of his chair with his bony hands. “I came down here tonight solely to meet you. I’ve kept to my room since your arrival, as I’ve no stomach or stamina for visitors, but when my valet told me that my son seemed to be heading for the altar with Glencairn’s daughter, I needed a look. I think you’ll do very well. Your family’s not from the Highlands, and I’m not all that fond of those from the border country, but you seem to be just the thing.”
“Then it would be best if your son married another Highlander,” said Sophy pertly. “I would not wish to sully the bloodline.”
“Ha! Very good, very good indeed.” He grinned. “Don’t think you’ll dissuade me, child. I could see when you came over here how you feel about my son. The two of you appear quite taken with each other.”
Sophy shook her head. “I will not argue with you, sir. You are pleased to think that this marriage will occur, but I must encourage you to abandon such a notion. I mean to return with my family soon to Glencairn.”
“We’ll see.” The laird leaned back in his chair.
There was a pause. “Did Ranulf tell you that he means to marry me?” asked Sophy finally, unable to conceal her curiosity.
“He didn’t have to. I can see when two people can’t keep their hands off each other. Don’t argue with me,” he continued, as she appeared about to reply. “I won’t believe your denials.”
“Then I suppose there is no point in my trying to convince you otherwise.”
“None at all.” The laird watched her as she sat quietly, saying nothing. “You don’t seem to be frightened of me.”
“No, should I be?”
“Most of the folk around here are.”
“Of course, they think of you as their laird,” replied Sophy. “I am a newcomer, and owe you no debt. Truth to tell, you remind me a bit of my father—he has formed the habit of autocracy from long indulgence, but is a kind man underneath it. None of us fear him, though we love and respect him. Besides, I can see how very much you care for your son, and that makes me think well of you.”
“Bah! He’s spent years from home and has scarcely paid me any attention. Now he returns, waiting to take my place. Why should I care for him?”
Sophy smiled gently. “You are very proud of him. He made his own way in the world because he was the younger son, but I’m sure he has always been brave and thoughtful, as he is now. It pains him to think he will have to replace you.”
“You seem to know a great deal about my son!”
“You’re the one who told me that you know what we’ve been up to,” Sophy pointed out. “Why would I not know him well?”
The laird glared at her a moment, but then his gaze softened. “I see that you will be a very good wife to him.”
She said nothing, but only shook her head. She could see Ranulf approaching and stood as he did so. He took her hand in his.
“That’s a fine girl you have there,” snapped the old man. “A bit too pert my taste, but she’s well enough.”
Ranulf smiled down at Sophy. “She’s certainly more than well enough,” he said. “Come, I believe I have this dance.” He looked at this father. “You seem fatigued. Would you care to return to your room?”
The laird closed his eyes. “Aye, I should go. Not because I’m tired, mind you, but because this group of nitwits is boring me to tears.”
“Of course.” Ranulf signaled to a servant to come help his father, and, after a few murmured words with his parent, he took Sophy’s arm and led her back to the main part of the room.
Chapter 24
As they rejoined the party, Sophy looked sidelong at Ranulf. He had a serious look on his face, but it softened as he turned his head towards her.
“He likes you a great deal,” he said.
“Your father does?”
“Indeed. You stood up to him, as I knew you would, and he appreciates that.”
Sophy looked perplexed. “Was this by way of being a test?”
“Not at all. I meant it when I said he had asked to meet you. Apparently he had heard—certain remarks from the servants.” Ranulf glanced down at her. “I am glad to know you can hold your own against him.”
“So it was a test.”
“It was not. Do you think I would take his opinion to heart if he disliked you?”
“I don’t know why any of this was necessary. It is not as though we mean to marry.”
Ranulf grimaced. “I meant to dance with you, but that can wait.” He led her to the tall terrace doors, and, after a quick look around, led her out, whisking her to the side, where no one looking out through the glass panes could see them.
The last rays of the sun were still lighting the hilltops, and the sky was a striking deep blue, the golden stars just beginning to shine. Sophy looked up, admiring them.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said. She recalled herself to the present. “What do you want to say to me?”
Ranulf slipped an arm around her waist. “I thought I wanted to talk, but now I think perhaps there are better things to do.” He placed his lips on the side of her neck, his breath warm and enticing.
“Don’t try to distract me,” protested Sophy, though she did not pull away. “Your father thinks we plan to marry.”
“I’ve not told him so. He came to that conclusion on his own,” said Ranulf. He placed a kiss o
n her temple, then slid his lips along her cheekbone. “But would it be so bad?” His hands grasped her waist and drew her toward him, until she nestled against him.
“Why should I marry you?” asked Sophy, but her voice was soft as she melted into him. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of her head, while the other pressed against her bottom so she could feel his excitement growing.
“Because you love Spaethness, and you love this.” Ranulf took her lips in an intoxicating kiss, his lips warm and urgent against hers, consuming her, making her forget anything but the feeling of his mouth on hers and his hands gently caressed her. She opened to him, responding blindly, wrapping her arms around him and drawing his head down to hers. He laughed softly and lifted his head, watching as she fought her way back to reality.
“That’s not enough,” she protested faintly. “I’ve told you I mean to paint, and be independent. Were I Lady of Spaethness, my time would be yours and the estate’s, not my own.”
“Sophy, were you Lady of Spaethness, you could do anything you pleased. I would make no demands of you—outside of this, of course.” His lips caught hers in a searing kiss as a stream of liquid fire trickled down her spine. She opened her mouth to him as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling it gently as she whimpered, raising her hands to run them through his dark hair.
“This I could never give up—but you would not want to, either. Think of it, Sophy,” he murmured, his lips against her throat, the hand that held her to him gathering up her skirt so that she could feel the night breeze on her silk-covered legs, “think how it would be to have this every night—and every morning—and every afternoon.”
She sighed, pondering the sensual delights he offered her and she reached one hand into his coat to feel his warm skin through the fine linen of his shirt.
“So soft,” he murmured as he pushed her skirt aside, his hand meeting the flesh of her bottom. He kneaded it gently as he licked his way across her cheekbone to nuzzle at her ear. His hand slid between her buttocks to cup the soft down between her legs as he held her firmly.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 17