Mrs. Ross was tending to her husband’s injuries. The servants, having built the fire and given her a glass of brandy, had left her alone, no doubt to comfort each other and discuss the bizarre events of the evening.
Etta slid off the chair to kneel on the rug before the flames. She felt she’d never be warm again. She sipped her brandy. At least it heated her insides.
The drawing room door opened and closed. Etta glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Mrs. Ross and quite prepared to tell her to retire. She would at least say that she’d be happy to wait until morning to hear and understand everything that had happened. Even though she wanted very badly to know everything now.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Ross. It was Rob Ogilvy.
He wore the same rough working clothes as when he’d crashed so spectacularly through the parlor window. His knuckles were grazed and he looked thoroughly disreputable.
Her heart turned over.
He walked across the room and crouched down in front of the fire beside her. His intense eyes searched her face for an instant, and then his breath caught and his arms went around her, holding her close in to his damp person.
“I was so afraid for you,” he whispered into her hair.
“I was so afraid for you…” The rest was lost in his mouth as it seized hers. With a sob, she threw one arm around his neck, pressing closer with sheer need. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her into him as though he couldn’t get enough of her.
His open mouth left hers and pressed kisses to her cheek, her throat. One fumbling hand took the glass from her and pushed it onto the hearth, where it fell over and spilled. Etta didn’t care, and Rob didn’t even seem to notice. He pushed her back until she lay full out on the rug and his hand swept the length of her body, making her gasp. He kissed her mouth again, and then her throat before dragging his lips down to her chest.
She arched into his caressing hands as they swept over her body, from her breasts to her hips, seeking and finding the comfort of his hardness . He drew a breast free of her bodice and fell upon it like a starving man, kissing and nipping until she moaned.
She pushed urgently at his rough coat until he shrugged it off. He loomed over her, and slid his hand under her skirts to her thigh.
“Let me love you,” he whispered. “Let me…”
“Let you?” she repeated on a sobbing breath, as his fingers found the hot wetness between her legs. “I insist upon it.”
Etta had been used to the civil duties of her husband, and then to the sophisticated seduction of her noble lovers. This wild, desperate need was altogether new and utterly irresistible. In the candlelight, without even undressing her, he took her, driving into her as if he owned her. And God, she wanted to be owned. She clung to him, meeting everything and begging for more. He gave it until the pleasure exploded into something far beyond any she’d ever known. This, this was the culmination of love.
Love…the beautiful, terrifying word flooded her as waves of joy crashed through her. He collapsed on her, sinking his mouth to hers, perhaps to muffle his desperate groans as he found his own release.
Their hearts thundered together and slowly, gradually calmed. He dragged his open mouth across her jaw to her ear. “I didn’t mean it to happen quite like that.”
“What if someone had come in?” she murmured, almost surprised that her lips could still move.
“We’d have been caught in flagrante and would have to marry.” Slowly and reluctantly, it seemed, he smoothed down her skirts while she righted her bodice, and then he sat, drew her into a sitting position and fastened the buttons of his breeches.
But that was as far as he went toward respectability. He’d already closed the drawing room door. If they were discovered thus, she would be compromised, whatever they had or hadn’t done. Presumably, that was his reasoning, too, for he rose and poured himself a glass of brandy before he rejoined her by the fire. He slipped his arm around her.
Smiling into the flames, she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Something huge was happening. Something that went beyond the girlish adoration she’d once harbored for Derwent, overwhelming even the greatest comfort and pleasure she’d found in clandestine liaisons.
Love.
But she couldn’t and wouldn’t say the word. Instead, she said, “How did you know to come here? Was Mrs. Ross in on your plan?”
“My men and I went to the caves by the waterfall, where I was sure your villains had to be hiding out. They weren’t there, but Ross was, and he knew they were coming here for you. I’ve never covered that distance so quickly.”
“I sent everyone out looking for Mr. Ross,” she confessed.
“I know. I’d probably have done the same. We met up with them and we were making plans when Mrs. Ross bolted out of the house. So, we devised a better plan. The Rosses slipped around to the back of the house and came in through the kitchen to distract your captors with fake treasure. My old friend Alastair knocked on the door and took care of the villain who was stupid enough to answer it. Then he gave the Rosses the signal to enter the parlor. I was watching from the window. I apologize for the window, by the way.”
“I forgive you,” she said lazily.
“James and Archie have boarded it up for the night. I’ll send for someone to repair it in the morning.”
He drank a little of the brandy, then offered her a sip. She took the glass, feeling his eyes warm on her face. Every inch of her responded to his closeness.
“What?” she asked lightly, although his scrutiny deprived her of breath.
“I was just wondering.”
“What were you wondering?”
“If you would allow me to escort you to your bedchamber… and there make love to you for the rest of the night.”
Her body heated in instant response. “For the rest of the night?” she teased. “Don’t you want to sleep?”
“We can sleep in the morning.”
Oh God. “You’ll ruin what’s left of my reputation,” she managed. At that moment, she didn’t care.
“I have a plan for that,” he assured her, rising to his feet and drawing her with him. “Are you saying yes?”
“You know I am.”
***
Several hours later, she lay curled against him, her cheek resting on his naked chest, her body finally sated and yet still singing with joy. She had believed the world could hold no greater pleasure than the wild fulfilment he’d given her in the drawing room, but the last few hours of slow, tender loving had opened the door to new levels of sensuality she’d never dreamed of. She adored Rob’s hard, lean body…and all the delicious things he could do with it. All the delicious things she’d done to it. She’d found so much joy in pleasing him.
Now, the short, Highland night was over. Dawn seeped through the curtains around the bed. Rob was still here, and she didn’t think she could keep her eyes open for a moment longer. She had never slept by a lover’s side before. But it seemed he had no intention of leaving. She was glad. There was comfort and sweetness in lying naked with him like this.
Memory of his words in the drawing room came back to her and she smiled against his skin.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Exactly what is your plan for dealing with our inevitable discovery?”
He smiled into her hair--she could hear it in his voice. “It’s irrefutable.”
“You’re going to bribe my maid?”
“Would that work? No, my plan is better.”
“Then what is it?”
“Marry me.”
She closed her eyes, waiting for a new pain that never came. “I don’t want to be married.” She seemed to be reminding herself as much as him.
“You want to be married to me,” he assured her. “We’ll have fun together. We can travel—to London and the rest of the world, if you like. And we can come home whenever we wish.”
His hand stroked her hair. She felt his lips among it again. “I believe you belong here, He
nrietta. With me.”
Now the tears came. “I don’t, Rob. I’m not the woman you think I am. And I won’t do it again. I won’t marry without love.”
He moved, looming over her. “Don’t you love me?” he asked ruefully. “Even a little?”
Her heart thundered, but curiously, she wanted to make the declaration. She didn’t want to hide it. She wanted him to know.
“I do love you. I don’t know why or how it has happened so quickly. But I love you.” His intense eyes bored into hers with renewed turbulence. Apparently speechless, he cupped her face between his hands.
She touched his cheek, his lip with her fingertips, and smiled. “It’s not my love that concerns me. It’s yours.”
His smile was instantaneous and dazzling. “Then the plan is perfect, for I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on your masked face at the ball.”
“No, you haven’t,” she denied shakily.
“Yes, I have,” he said, kissing her firmly and thoroughly. “Now,” he said breathlessly, “we have to get married.”
***
The wedding took place the following week, in the little church at Lochgarron village. It was a quiet ceremony, with only a few of the Ardbeag and Lochgarron households present. And the Duke and Duchess of Roxburgh. The Duke gave the bride away, an honor Etta had bestowed upon him with the words, “I am told this is all your fault, so it’s the least you can do.”
The Duke smiled. “I didn’t even introduce you.”
“But you made sure we were under the same roof at the ball, and sure to meet again over the sale of Ardbeag.”
“I merely made such encounters possible. You and Robert did the rest.”
“Why?” she asked, bluntly. “Why did you throw us together?”
He hesitated, then flicked a speck of imaginary dust from his immaculate cuff. “I sensed a subtle, restless unhappiness in you. I have long sensed an unfulfillment in him.” He smiled faintly. “And you have a similar sense of fun. I thought you might suit. How gratifying to be proved right.”
The simple ceremony was remarkably short, but even so, she couldn’t help the sudden attack of panic as she spoke her vows. She remembered only too well the last time she’d made those promises. Derwent had made them too and kept them no more than a day. What was she thinking, giving herself into another stranger’s power?
Just because she melted in his arms. Just because he made her laugh and…
And it was over. No longer Lady Derwent, she was Mrs. Ogilvy, the lady of Lochgarron and Ardbeag. As they walked out of the church, she gazed up at him with something approaching dread, even regret.
“What is it?” he murmured, frowning, as they led the way back up to Lochgarron House where the wedding breakfast awaited.
“Nerves,” she said honestly. “I was fine until I said, I will. And then I realized all over again that I couldn’t bear it if I didn’t. If you didn’t.”
His frown deepened. “Didn’t what?”
“Love me,” she blurted.
He stopped dead on the road, took her in his arms and kissed her before everyone. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I always will. It isn’t the vows, Henrietta. It’s the feeling. I’ll show you. Later. Just as soon as we’re alone.”
Abruptly, her spirits soared, for his desire shone clearly in his eyes. Her worry stemmed, she suspected, from the fact that they hadn’t made love since the night of the “treasure.”
By the time they arrived at the house, she’d relaxed enough to enjoy her wedding breakfast and the company. However, she was glad no one seemed inclined to linger. Except Mrs. Ross, who remained when the other guests had all gone.
“Are you quite well, Mrs. Ross?” Rob said with a trace of impatience.
“Of course,” she said at once. “Come with me. I’ve something to show you.”
“Mrs. Ross—”
“It’ll only take a minute and you won’t be disappointed.”
Humoring her, they followed her out of the dining room and across the hall and downstairs, past the servants who were enjoying their own wedding breakfast now that the guests had gone, and into the empty main kitchen. Mrs. Ross closed the door behind them.
“Really, Mrs. R.,” Rob said flippantly. “Can’t a new recipe wait for a better day?”
Ignoring him, she marched past the kitchen table to the great fireplace at the far end. They followed, Etta with renewed curiosity.
Mrs. Ross passed a towel to Rob and pointed to one of the large fireplace stones on the left-hand side, just above the hearth. “Ross has loosened it already. Take it out.”
Frowning, Rob glanced from her to Etta, and then to the hammer which Ross had apparently left on the hearth. He crouched down, bending his head away from the heat, and with the towel protecting his hand from the hot stone, he grasped one side and pulled. It moved at once. He seized it in both hands and drew it out.
Bending down, he peered inside. “What the…”
He recovered his hand with the towel and reached into the gaping hole. A moment later, he clawed out a large pile of what looked like ash and rubble… and then a large bundle wrapped in dirt-streaked purple silk.
“What is it?” Etta wondered. “Is this a bizarre wedding gift, Mrs. Ross?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” she replied cryptically.
Rob strode to the table with the bundle and unwrapped the silk. It fell open to reveal a tumbling mass of golden rings and cutlery and spectacular, glittering jewels—diamonds, rubies and sapphires set in gold, pearls, gem-encrusted gold boxes…
“Prince Charlie’s gold,” Etta said in wonder. “But…but this is Lochgarron, not Ardbeag!”
“It was never at Ardbeag. At least, not after the Battle of Culloden Moor. Both families set about the rumor that it was at Ardbeag, so that the government wouldn’t try so hard to find it at Lochgarron. My father told me where it was before he died.” She looked directly at Etta. “I was coming to fetch it, to give it to those men before they hurt you, only I ran into Ross and Rob and realized I didn’t need to.”
Rob reached out, touching the treasure, running gold chains and strings of pearls through his fingers. “I never knew,” he said. “I had no idea. My father never told me any such thing.” He glanced at Mrs. Ross. “And neither did you!”
“Well, young people today have forgotten the cause, the king across the water…”
“There is no king across the water,” Rob said bluntly. “The Stuarts have died out.”
“I know. But still, I felt I should keep the secret—and the gold. In case things changed. In case…”
“In case some illegitimate claimant turns up to restart a pointless civil war?” Rob said. “It won’t happen. The cause is long lost. Even before the ’45, if the truth be known.”
“What should we do with it?” Etta asked, touched that Mrs. Ross had been prepared to give up the secret for her.
Mrs. Ross smiled and patted her hand. “You decide. It’s your wedding gift. I wish you long life and happiness together.”
They watched as she turned and walked away.
Hastily Rob rewrapped the treasure.
Half an hour later, they regarded it again. Most of it lay spread across his bed with the curtains drawn, but he’d fastened heavy diamond and ruby earrings to Etta’s ears and was winding a matching necklace around her throat.
“We can’t keep it,” she said regretfully. “It belongs to the government.”
“Well, I don’t know. The government took enough from this part of Scotland. We could use it to do good works.”
Etta sat up. “We could turn Ardbeag into a school, or an orphanage…or give it to the Rosses!”
“We’ll mull it over,” he said, sweeping the treasure back into its silk wrapping and stuffing it in the bedside table drawer.
She turned the back of her neck toward him. “Will you unfasten it for me?”
His fingers brushed her nape and stilled. An instant later, his lips followed, a
nd desire thrilled through her skin. “I don’t think I will,” he muttered. “Not yet. I want to make love to you wearing nothing but the jewels.”
One tug pulled the dress and petticoat down to her waist and she leaned back against him.
“Would you like that?” he whispered.
“Why don’t you try and see?” she said huskily.
###
Take a sneak peek at the next book in The Marriage Maker and the Widows collection—Seduction of a Widow by Tarah Scott and Laura Chandler
Evan MacLaren prefers to find his thrills on the high seas. Stormy waters might be fickle, but not as fickle as a woman—particularly a high-spirited widow. Yet Lady Carr’s adventurous spirit calls to him just as the sea does. Here is a woman who will never bore him. A woman who is as free and dangerous as any ocean. And he must have her.
Twice widowed, Lady Leslie Carr has never been in love. That suits her just fine. She is better off without a man. Oh, they can be very agreeable on a cold winter night or a walk in the garden. Beyond those pleasurable moments, however, they are a bore. So why does a young buccaneer haunt her dreams?
Chapter One
Something in the way the woman dipped her head and smiled stopped Evan MacLaren in his tracks. The breeze from the ballroom’s open terrace doors caught one dark ringlet and ruffled the lock against her long, elegant neck. From her pure Grecian profile to her lithe, narrow waist to the softly rounded flare of her hips, she embodied perfection.
She turned in her chair to face the turbaned matron she addressed, and her eyes met his. He caught his breath. Clear pools of honey-brown fringed by gold lashes seared his very soul. She was a goddess. He grimaced inwardly at the turn of his thoughts and offered a rakish grin in hopes of hiding his attraction. The touch of a smile on her rose-hued lips betrayed only tolerant amusement in the instant before she returned her attention to the woman at her side.
Widow's Treasure (The Marriage Maker Book 19) Page 7