by Lucy Monroe
“Annabelle, sit down. Your pacing is going to wear a hole in my carpet.” Aunt Griselda sat near the empty fireplace working on garments for a soon to arrive grandchild.
Annabelle smiled at her aunt’s irritable tone. The dear woman hated fancy work, but forced herself to complete a perfectly gorgeous christening gown for each of her grandchildren.
“I’m sorry, Aunt.” Annabelle sat down at the spinet and trailed her fingers across the keys aimlessly.
The older woman harrumphed. “If you are going to make noise at least make it pleasant.”
Poor Aunt Griselda. She must be tatting lace to be this cranky.
“Very well.” Annabelle began to play a soft Scottish ballad.
“That’s nice, dear.” Her aunt worked in silence, letting Annabelle play first one, then another song from the North. “Have you discovered that Laird MacKay is the best you are likely to do for a husband, yet?”
A discordant note sounded as Annabelle’s fingers slipped on the ivories.
Aunt Griselda lifted her gaze from her tatting and frowned. “He is a good man. If you let him go looking elsewhere, I’ll wash my hands of trying to find you a proper mate once and for all.” The deep concern in her tone belied the severity of her speech.
“He is a good man.” Annabelle spoke the truth quietly and let her fingers still above the keys of the spinet.
Ian was a good man. He was also a stubborn man, an arrogant man and a man who affected her equilibrium by walking into the room. There was nothing simple or straightforward about her feelings toward the maddening Scottish laird.
Aunt Griselda set the fold of snowy white fabric in her lap. “I only knew your uncle a week when I decided he was the one for me. However, it took another month to bring him to the same conclusion. Men can sometimes be dense.”
Annabelle felt a faint stirring of hope. “Yes, it took Robert two seasons to discover he couldn’t live without Diana.”
Returning to her work, Aunt Griselda nodded. “Just so.” Annabelle remained silent. Could Ian live without her? Or, was she just a means to an end? She was certain of only one thing. She was approaching the condition when she could not live without Ian.
He was all that she wanted in a husband. He turned her insides to butter when he kissed her. He listened when she talked. He did not criticize her views or her cause. He might criticize his perception of her putting herself in danger, but even that was a nice change from being ignored. He lacked only one thing, the proper view of love. Oh, she knew he cared, but did he care enough?
How could she marry a man who did not love her, and yet how could she not when she loved him so much she ached with the strength of it?
“You’ll work it out in your mind, my dear. Just do not take too long in doing so. I would hate to see that dear boy go looking elsewhere.” The thought of Ian as a dear boy brought a small smile to Annabelle’s lips, but her aunt’s other words filled her heart with dread. Would he go looking for another wife, a more tractable woman?
She read similar concern in her aunt’s eyes and knew the source was not Annabelle’s status as a spinster. Aunt Griselda loved her and wanted her to be happy.
A rush of warm feeling toward the older woman spread over Annabelle and she got up from the music bench to give Aunt Griselda’s shoulders a squeeze. “You have been a rock since Mama and Papa died. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Her aunt’s eyes were suspiciously misty, but she said, “Enough of this maudlin talk.
Just see that you don’t ruin your chances at happiness, gel.” That was exactly what Annabelle did not wish to do, but what way would lie happiness? Marriage to a man who did not love her or the desolate years stretched out ahead of her without the man she loved?
She was no nearer a solution to her dilemma when Creswell announced Ian’s arrival an hour later. Ian gave her aunt a perfunctory greeting and then turned to Annabelle.
“Belle, do you still have the list you made for me when we first met?”
Annabelle felt a lead ball forming in the pit of her stomach. He wanted the list?
Now? Surely, not. She took a fortifying breath to steady her voice before speaking.
“Yes.”
“I would like you to fetch it for me.”
Her heart contracted painfully. He had given up. He was ready to move on to more easily wooed ladies. She could not help herself. She asked, “Do you need it now, Ian?”
“Aye, Belle, now.”
She felt her world constrict around her until she was conscious of only the overpowering man before her and the shattered sensation in her own heart. She inwardly cursed her own stubbornness. She had started this by making the now hated list for Ian.
She had even been proud of herself when she had successfully introduced several of the ladies on it to him, but then she had fallen in love.
None of the women whose names were on the list would make Ian a proper wife.
How could they? They did not love him as she did. They would not ache to help him rebuild his lands and improve the lives of his tenants.
She felt like cursing and crying at once. She didn’t want him to give up. She wanted him to love her, to care enough to demand marriage to her and her alone. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. She could cry later. She would not lose her composure now and become an object of his pity.
He waited silently, his face expressionless, for her to do as he bid. She could think of no alternative, but to get the list.
Turning to her aunt, she excused herself. The look of disappointment in Lady Beauford’s eyes sliced through Annabelle like a blade.
Having retrieved the list and gotten a measure of control over her emotions, she returned to the drawing room.
In a final effort to stave off the inevitable, she babbled, “I made the list before I knew you well, Ian. I’m not sure any of the names would be that helpful to you now. It’s probably not at all what you are looking for.” Ian wordlessly put his hand out for the list. She handed it to him, trying to control the fine tremor in her hand as she did so. Ian took the paper and began to methodically rip it into shreds. She watched stupidly while he reduced the heavy stationary to nothing more than a pile of bits. He then threw it into the dustbin near her aunt’s chair.
“I told her it was no use making it. When a gentleman of character makes his plans, he does not change them.” Her aunt’s words were complacent, but she had not been able to mask the relief in her voice.
“Aye.” He nodded toward Aunt Griselda and then turned to face Annabelle. “Are ye ready to leave now?”
She nodded wordlessly. After the past horrifying moments when she thought she had lost him, she was more than ready to discuss their future.
She met him in the hall. He did not say anything, but led the way to his carriage without a word. Hardly the day for a drive, gray clouds filled the overcast skies and an unseasonable chill filled the air. She shivered in her light muslin clothing and wished she had thought to bring her Kashmir shawl.
Ian pulled a soft carriage blanket from the seat of the carriage and wrapped it around Annabelle so that it not only covered her shoulders like a cloak, but it also draped across her legs. She smiled her thanks.
He nodded, then climbed to the seat beside her and flicked the reins. The horses started forward. The intensity of the silence between them added to her already somewhat overwrought state.
“Are we going back to the park with the pond?” she asked in an attempt to break it.
Ian shook his head.
“Are we going to Hyde Park?” She did not think he would do so willingly, but she couldn’t think of where else he might be taking her.
He again shook his head without uttering a word.
Her nerves stretched taut from the events of the past two days, felt ready to explode in the face of Ian’s silence. “Is it too much to expect you to tell me where we are going, then?” Her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.
“Aye.”
A boy ran into the yard to help with the horses. Ian swung down and lifted her out of the carriage. The carriage blanket slipped off from around her shoulders and he tucked it more securely against her.
He led the way into the inn and when they entered the private parlor, she realized that Ian had planned their meeting to the smallest detail. Two worn but comfortable-looking chairs sat before a cheerful fire blazing in the grate. She moved nearer the fire and unwound the blanket from her shoulders. She folded it neatly and placed it over the back of one of the chairs before noticing a cold collation on the table between the two chairs.
“How long do you think this discussion is going to take? It looks as if you have prepared for a siege.”
Ian did not laugh at her attempt at humor. “As long as necessary, Belle.” His answer had not reassured her. Ian could tell from the look of worry in her eyes.
He sighed. Evidently, she had not reconciled herself to their future yet. He removed his greatcoat, taking the keepsake box with her ring out of the pocket before laying the coat across the other chair.
Turning away from her, he put the small box down and poured himself a glass of port from the bottle on the table. “Belle, I asked you once to be my wife and live your life with me in my Scottish home.” He turned back to face her and took a sip from his glass of wine. “At the time, you made it clear that you expected to be courted.” He waited for her to acknowledge his words.
She nodded.
“I have courted you.”
“Ian, the courting is but a small part of the picture.” The earnest expression on her face told him she believed what she was saying. “I want an abiding love in my marriage.” Love. He cursed and her eyes widened. “I have proven to you that you are not immune to me, Belle. It should be obvious that I am not immune to you either.” Her gaze flew to his and seemed to ask a question.
“I want you more than I thought possible to want a woman.” Heat stole into her cheeks, but at the look of warmth in her eyes, he knew his words had pleased her. He put his wine down and picked up the ring box. Pulling her into a chair, he knelt on the floor in front of her. “Will you be my wife and share my life with
me, making my days bright with your quick wit and my nights warm with your generous heart?”
She didn’t answer him immediately. He wanted to press her, but knew the time for that was done. He placed the box on her lap and waited for her to answer.
She opened it and gasped when she saw the ring inside. She touched the filigree rose with the tip of her finger. “Do you love me, Ian?” The words sounded torn from her.
He stiffened, but resisted the urge to jump to his feet and put distance between them.
“I care for you and want to be with you. The passion between us is too strong to deny, Belle. Say you will marry me, lass.”
Would it be enough? He did not know. Looking into her face and seeing the sadness there, he wished he could give her the words she wanted to hear. He could not be weakened by love.
She was convinced that love would guarantee happiness; he was living proof that it did not. Jenna had vowed her love for him, but it meant nothing. She married his younger half brother when he ascended to his father’s title. His brother loved him, but that had not stopped him from betraying Ian.
“Will you be faithful?”
The words were barely more than a whisper, but had the effect of a bucket of water from the lochs back home being tossed in his face. His head snapped back as if she had struck him. Did she not ken him better than that?
“Aye. I’ll be faithful.”
She searched his eyes, seeking an answer beyond his words. “You will never take a mistress? Not even for one night?”
Her words conjured up a fury so intense he had to get control before he answered.
The idea of taking any woman to his bed besides Belle was obscene to him now. She questioned his honor by asking again. Did she not understand that?
“You have my word.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
She bit her lower lip. Her gaze dropped to the ring in her lap. “It is beautiful.” Her eyes came back to his face. “The thought of settling for marriage without love frightens me.”
A cold wind blew through his soul. His father had taught him about his duty to the land and its people. His stepfather had taught him about many things, honor the most
important among them. Neither man had taught him about love. The only experience he had with the emotion had left him bitter. Love had caused his own brother to betray him.
He laid his hands over hers. She was trembling. “I canna promise you love, Belle, but I can promise you devotion. I will never take another woman to my bed.”
“But will you want to?”
Words were not going to convince her. Only one thing would show Belle that her fears were unfounded. Passion.
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. She remained stiff against him. He coaxed her lips with his own, tenderly kissing her until he felt her body relax. With a soft moan of surrender, her trembling hands stole around his neck. He rejoiced in her response to him. His lips moved more purposely over hers and he slid his tongue across the seam of her mouth, silently demanding that she part her lips for him. She complied and his heart filled with joy as his tongue slipped into the sweet recesses of her mouth.
Her fingers tunneled through his hair and he groaned. She made him forget his motive in kissing her. All he could think about was how much he enjoyed the feel of her tender lips under his and the sensation of her hands in his hair. He leaned completely into her, forcing her back against the chair. His hands moved to cup the sides of her breasts.
She squirmed against him, making erotic noises in the back of her throat.
She broke her lips away from his. “Ian.”
His name was a demand. He smiled. Love was a mystery to him, but this was not. He knew what she wanted and he was more than willing to give it to her. He deftly unbuttoned her pelisse and removed it. The thin muslin of her gown did nothing to hide the points of her erect nipples. Taking one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed. At the same time, he covered her mouth with his, swallowing the scream that his touch evoked.
Her legs spread and he pulled her body flush against his own. She moved restlessly against him and he felt his body heat with desire. He wanted her so much he would die of it. His hands locked behind her, holding her body prisoner against him. Breaking the kiss, he panted. “Do you truly believe that as long as I have you in my arms, I will ever want another woman?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand this, Ian.” She sounded like a bewildered child.
“Ah, but I do.” Once again he sealed her lips with his own. He kissed her until she writhed against him with abandon.
“Ian, you must do something. I cannot stand this.” Carefully, wanting only to prove to her that they did indeed have a physical bond strong enough for marriage, he drew the cap sleeves of her dress down over her shoulders. She groaned. With shaking fingers, he caressed her soft skin. She moaned, her head falling back against the back of the chair.
“Please, Ian. This is too much.” Her broken words only fueled his passion.
“Nay, ’tis not enough, Belle.” He stood up and she protested when he pulled away from her.
“Ian.”
Spreading his great coat on the floor before the fire, he said, “Just a minute, lass.” She stared at him, her eyes clouded with passion. He took off his cravat and waistcoat before pulling her to her feet. His hands shook with desire as he
undid the tapes on her gown. She made no protest as he slipped it off of her. She stood before him in a chemise of fine lawn. The dusky points of her breasts tantalized him through the nearly transparent fabric. He almost exploded then and there at the sight of her feminine body exposed to his view.
Reaching out to her, he drew her to the floor beside him.
“Are we going to make love, Ian?”
He couldn’t help smiling. She sounded both curious and passionate. “Nay, but I am going to prove to you that with you in my arms, I will need no other.” She stilled against him. “Truly?”
“Aye, lass, truly.” He went about proving it. Within minutes, he had her so hot she was tearing at his shirt seeking his bare skin.
He didn’t mind at all. He caressed her thighs, teasing her with little circles that drew ever closer to her feminine center. When he finally touched her there, her entire body came off the floor. She would have brought the innkeeper running with her shout if he had not covered her mouth with a passionate kiss. He gently massaged her with his fingers until she convulsed around him.
His breathing was ragged and he wanted to bury himself in her softness so badly that he almost gave into the temptation. He could not do that however. She would be his in name as well when he joined his body with hers in the complete act of making love.
Holding her tightly, he willed his body to relax. “Ian?”
“Hmm?” How she could talk now was a mystery to him.
“You didn’t experience what I did again, did you?” She sounded worried.
“I experienced it with you, Belle. Your pleasure is like taking my own.”
“So, you don’t particularly want me to do this?” He was unprepared for the rush of almost painful pleasure when she rubbed his hardness through his pantaloons.