The Book of Love (Books 1-3): A Regency Romance Collection

by Meara Platt

  He shrugged. “Ye’re set on Wycke then?”

  The gesture was casual, with no noticeable pain to the shoulder he had been rubbing earlier. She was relieved she hadn’t maimed him permanently. He had lovely shoulders, big and broad. The sort a girl could lean her head upon.

  And if he wrapped his arms around her…oh, her heart skipped beats.

  Although she would never admit it to Thad, there was something quite magnificent about him. He moved with a natural poise and powerful grace. He was not a man she could ever best unless he allowed it. And those memories! They tugged at her heart and made her wistful for those innocent times. But war and the passage of years had changed everything. “Yes, I’m set on Wycke.”

  “Fine.” Was it her imagination, or did he appear disappointed? Now he was frowning at her again. “Why must it be only one Season? Are ye in that much of a hurry to wed?”

  “No, but…” This wasn’t at all what she wished for herself. “Poppy and Olivia are now married.”

  “And ye have no wish to be left behind?”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but pursed her lips instead. Thad wasn’t off the mark. And he’d asked the question gently. She didn’t have to respond like a Harpy every time he engaged her in conversation.

  “They look so happy,” she admitted. “It isn’t merely that they now have husbands or have elevated their status. They’ve found love. The right sort of love that has opened up a world of possibilities for them. Have you noticed? Poppy and Olivia glow. They’re like incandescent stars. They’ve married men who will be true partners to them, who will appreciate their hopes and dreams, and encourage them to reach as high as they wish.”

  “Loopy, lass. I don’t think anyone can hold ye back once ye set your mind to do something.”

  She glanced at the book now open on her lap. “It isn’t true. I am constantly thwarted, especially by you.”

  He laughed. “Are ye serious? Ye’ve bested me at every turn and have been doing so for years. Pip isn’t the only diabolical Sherbourne. The lad is a saint compared to you.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that? Other than the tadpole incident, I’ve mostly been on my best behavior.”

  “Hah! Who was it that stole my clothes while I was swimming in this very pond?”

  “That was eight years ago. I was a mere child.” She struggled to suppress the bubble of laughter threatening to come out.

  “Ye were an imp who led her own friends astray. Poppy and Goose, those sweet girls, would never have thought to do such mischief.” He tucked a finger under her chin and gently nudged her mouth closed. “But there ye were, still a skinny, little thing no bigger than a curly-haired pixie, daring them to take on yer brother and his friends. Ye left us naked and stranded in the water.”

  “It was a prank, that’s all. Harmless, as it turned out since Goose refused to steal Beast’s clothes.” She rolled her eyes. “She neatly folded them instead. Can you believe it?”

  “Aye, that’s because she’s too good-hearted ever to consider doing anything wicked. Poppy, too. But ye got her to steal Nathaniel’s clothes.” He laughed again, a merry rumble that rose from deep within his chest. “I don’t know how ye managed to bring out the evil in that gentle girl.”

  “It wasn’t evil. It was daring. I knew she had it in her.” She raised her gaze to his, proud that she’d brought out the strength in her friend, even if it was for a silly prank.

  “Och, Loopy. Ye’ll make yer mark on the world and no one’s going to stop ye.”

  She shook her head and her smile faded. “A husband could stop me, couldn’t he? That’s why I need to get this right.”

  He put his arm around her. “All the more reason why ye should take yer time. Go on, read me the chapters. We’ll make certain ye get it right.”

  Her gaze fell back on the book, but she felt Thad studying her. She liked the weight of his arm around her shoulders, so solid and assuring. She understood what he was thinking. Don’t leap into anything. Choose wisely, Loopy.

  She wanted to do just that, but her thoughts were in a muddle. The Book of Love claimed one’s brain controlled one’s feelings, but if that were so, then why did her heart respond every time she was near Thad?

  Logically, he was wrong for her.

  But her heart wasn’t following her brain’s instruction. The traitorous organ cried out for him and ached whenever he wasn’t around.

  The ache sprang from somewhere deep within her, some sort of eternal fountain bubbling inside of her. If circumstances were different, her choice would be easy. Thad. He would be the one she could love.

  But falling in love with him meant giving up her family and friends, giving up the life she’d been raised to live, the only one she knew. All these years, she’d been trained to step into the role of countess and move about in Society.

  What did she know about sheep?

  Or life in the Highlands? Could she live on some barren hillside? That she adored the countryside was of no moment. The gentle Cotswolds was not the same as the cold and barren, windswept Highlands.

  “We’ve already explored the sense of sight.” She buried her face in the book, pretending to scan the chapters while trying to bring her scattered thoughts under control. His arm was still wrapped around her.

  Of course, it meant nothing to him. But, oh, sweet heaven! It felt nice. “The sense of touch is next, but I’ve been warned it is dangerous. Shall we skip over it for now?”

  “As ye wish, lass.” He removed his arm from her shoulder and held his hands up in mock surrender.

  “I wasn’t complaining. I appreciate your attempt to console me. There, I’ve given you a compliment. Try not to fall off the log in a swoon.” She already missed his touch, even though he hadn’t meant anything by it. “Scent is next.” She nudged him playfully and grinned. “Don’t you dare tell me I smell like a sausage patty. Be serious now. What scents-that are not food-appeal to you?”

  He shook his head and groaned in jest, but after a moment, she saw that he was giving the question serious thought. “I like the scent of pine. It fills the Highland air. It’s a naturally pure fragrance. I like the scent of leather and horses, of course. They’re familiar and comforting to me. I suppose I’d be a failure as a dragoon if I didn’t like them.”

  She stifled a smile, realizing why this big Scot tugged at her heart. She’d been trying to get him to think about love, and he was going on about the Highlands and his horse. “I meant scents of a woman,” she said gently, hoping to nudge him in the right direction.

  He chuckled. “Och, I see. Well, if she doesn’t have dog’s breath or smell like mare’s sweat, I would be satisfied.”

  “You’re doing it again.” She frowned at him.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Doing what?”

  “Being dense, of course.”

  “Loopy, ye’re asking me to give opinions on matters I know very little about. My time hasn’t been spent in a London ballroom arranging trysts with unhappy, overly-perfumed women. Or sniffing every debutante paraded before me. I’ve been around men mostly. And the few women I’ve…met, they’re not fine ladies and certainly not the sort I would ever consider courting.”

  “I thought you had a sweetheart.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you said so.”

  He frowned. “Och, lass. I never said any such thing. What made you leap to that conclusion?”

  “Obviously, my mistake. But you’re of marriageable age, and…” Handsome as sin. “I’m sure the Earl of Caithness will be securing a wife for you upon your return.”

  His frown deepened. “He’ll be doing no such thing. I’ll choose for myself.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest…” She tamped down her inexplicable elation and returned her thoughts to the task at hand. She nibbled her lip, wondering how to get the right answers out of him. “Let’s try this again.” She tipped her head to give him access t
o her neck. “What scent am I wearing and what do you think about it?”

  He leaned close and inhaled. “Och, that’s nice. A hint of lavender.”

  She tried not to melt into a puddle as he began to trace his finger along the curve of her neck. Then he gently cupped the back of her head and slowly drew her toward him. His lips were so close…was he going to kiss her? She felt his warm breath caress her ear. It felt playfully seductive and ticklish. “What else, Thad?” she whispered, hardly able to speak.

  Please, kiss me.

  “Lavender, that’s your soap. But your natural scent is…” His lips grazed her neck when he inhaled once more. “Strawberries.”

  “Food? Seriously?”

  “Ye asked me, lass. And that’s what I’m telling ye.” He drew away, but only slightly. “As a little girl, yer scent was wild strawberries. That’s what ye reminded me of back then, an impertinent little strawberry growing wild among the hedgerows. Tart on the outside, but when ye bit into it, ye found something unexpectedly sweet.”

  Had he just given her a compliment?

  Penelope held her breath, for once not daring to speak. Thad was obviously in earnest, and though his words would not win accolades for poetic perfection, they captured her heart for their frank simplicity.

  He took another deep breath. His eyes were now closed and his lips remained temptingly close. Thank goodness, he could not see the effect he was having on her. “I don’t know, Loopy. Ye still have a little of the strawberry in ye. But now…ye also remind me of a sun-kissed lavender flower. That’s what ye are. Soft colors. Delicate petals. The prettiest bloom in an English garden.”

  Lavender also grew in Scotland, nourished by cool, mountain waters and gentle breezes. Surely, he was aware of that. So why not call her the prettiest bloom in a Scottish garden? Or any garden?

  Did they have gardens in Scotland?

  She didn’t know, because she’d never given it a thought until this moment.

  No matter. Thad was no fool. He’d mentioned English gardens on purpose, wanting to remind her she belonged in England and not with him.

  It pained her, but he was right. “So, lavender is a good scent for me.”

  He opened his eyes and studied her. His lips twitched upward in the hint of a smile. “Aye, lass.”

  She wanted to ask him what else, but this was Thad. He wasn’t a rake, didn’t consider women a game sport. Lavender and strawberries were all she’d get out of him.

  When he looked at her with those dark, gleaming eyes, and touched her with the rough pads of his fingers, it seemed enough.

  He shook his head and eased away. “What’s next?”

  He reached over to flip the pages to the next chapter, but she stopped him. “We’re still on scent. I haven’t had my turn yet.”

  “Ye’re thinking to sniff me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Be still my heart. I’m swept away by your romantic words.”

  “Fine, mock me if ye wish.” He gave a groaning chortle. “Why must we smell each other?”

  “Ugh, Thad! We aren’t rutting boars. Can you not phrase it more politely? The bond cannot be made if it only goes one way.”

  He tilted his head to give her access to his neck. “All right, give it a sniff. Be gentle with me. I’m delicate.”

  She smothered a laugh. While Thad had his elegant moments, mostly he was a plain-speaking, rough-around-the-edges Scot who would never be transformed into a gentleman. Nor did she wish him to be. She found his irreverent wit appealing.

  And despite his utter lack of poetic refinement, there was something quite romantic about his gruff cooperation.

  “Well, lass?”

  She placed her hands on his shoulder to balance herself as she leaned forward to breathe him in. Mercy. “Musk. Fresh lather from your shave. A hint of saddle leather.” She traced the line of his neck. “Your skin’s hot.”

  “I’m a Highlander. This Cotswolds heat isn’t for me.”

  Her heart skipped beats. Of course, why did it keep slipping her mind? He had no wish to stay in England. He wanted rugged mountains and icy lochs. Those were his natural scents, those of raw, rugged pine forests, their tree roots anchored to ancient mountains formed of earth and rock. He was also the cool waters of the Highland lochs that poured down from the mountains and stretched across the crags and hills toward the sea.

  “A musk deer and a lavender flower,” she murmured, wondering how those fit. Deer usually did not like lavender, considering the scent unpleasant. Did Thad feel the same?

  He seemed to understand what she was thinking. “Loopy, I’m merely wearing the scent. I’m not actually a musk deer.”

  “And I’m not a delicate flower? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Och, ye’re a stubborn lass. Dinna I just spend the better part of an hour complimenting you?”

  She laughed. “It wasn’t more than a minute or two, but yes. You were quite eloquent and I appreciate your helping me out. Thad, did the experiment really feel endless and suffocating to you?”

  “Endless? Yes. Suffocating? Perhaps, lass. I’m not good with expressing myself. Don’t know if any man is.” He glanced at the book. “And these pages are all about feelings. Men don’t like to talk of them, much less think of them. Most men would prefer to be kicked in the head by their horse.”

  She sighed.

  “And what’s this opening passage about? I still don’t understand it. A man’s sense receptacles. It sounds lewd. What the hell is that?”

  Despite posing the question, he did not give her time to respond before continuing. He began to recite the passage she’d already memorized since she’d read the book several times over. She’d read it to him earlier, but it had obviously stuck in his craw and not gone down well at all. “Love does not come from the heart but from the brain. It is the brain that sends signals throughout the body, telling you what to feel. Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal—”

  He looked up and scowled at her before reading on. “To stimulate a man’s arousal response, one must arouse his sense receptacles in a pleasing way. By touch, taste, sight, smell, and hearing.” He snapped the book shut. “Loopy, every man is different. What works on one will not work on another. If it did, we’d all be fighting over the same woman and have killed each other already.”

  He tossed the book down onto the grass and rose.

  She grabbed the book and scurried to stand in front of him. “You’re not leaving.”

  “This is bollocks.”

  “You promised to be my test frog.” She was clutching the red, leather tome to her chest, worried that he would do something rash and toss it into the water. Were all men such idiots when it came to feelings? “We haven’t performed the most important experiment yet.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “What are you talking about?”

  She clutched the book tighter and took a deep breath. “The kiss.”

  “Wycke’s kiss?”

  He could be such a dolt at times. She wasn’t thinking of Wycke, hadn’t thought of him until Thad mentioned him just now. Yes, she’d raised his name as the object of her marital desires, but it was the big, handsome Scot in front of her who’d captured her attention.

  Always.

  This exercise was more about forgetting Thad and less about finding another man to fill her dreams. Not that Thad filled her dreams.

  Well, only lately.

  In truth, all the time now.

  She hoped it signified nothing. After all, she’d always thought of Thad. She considered him one of the Sherbourne family. She’d looked forward to seeing him when he came home with Nathaniel during their school recesses. And most holidays. She missed him when he did not join them. And worried about him whenever Nathaniel returned home alone. If Thad wasn’t with him, it meant he’d stayed behind at school.

  The thought of him walking alone up and down those long, empty halls used to make her cry.

  Those times, she would go out of her way to wri
te to him and tell him about her holidays and how she hoped his had been jolly, too. She tried to sound cheerful and engaging, although she knew his holidays must have been terribly sad and lonely.

  Sometimes, she would include a drawing or silly article along with her letters. Once in a while, she would send a tin of raisin scones back to school with Nathaniel. But they were meant for Thad, and she’d had to extract a sacred promise from Nathaniel that he wouldn’t eat them.

  “Not thinking of Wycke,” she assured him.

  “Good.” He slipped the book out of her hands and set it aside. Then he took her by the hand, enveloping it in his big, rough paw, and led her toward the copse of trees by the water.

  She held back. “Why are you taking me there?”

  “So no one can see us. I’m not going to toss ye into the water, if that’s what has ye worried.”

  She wasn’t worried, just confused. She trusted Thad. “So no one can see us do what?”

  Was this it? His moment of revenge for knocking over his chair. “Thad, this is ridiculous. If you think to–”

  “I’m going to kiss ye, Loopy.”

  Her heart shot into her throat and her eyes popped wide. “What?”

  “Ye heard me. Isn’t that what ye were just talking about? We were getting to it next anyway. It’s the essence of this book, isn’t it? The sensations of love. The touch of love. I suppose a kiss is more the taste of love, because my mouth will be on yours and–”

  “A kiss? On the mouth?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do ye want me to kiss ye or not?”

  “Of course, I do.” Perhaps she’d sounded a little too eager, the sharp intake of air giving her away. “For the experiment, of course. Even if every man is different, I’m still me and I have to figure out who is right for me.”

  He nodded. “I agree. That’s the entire point. And while I’m kissing ye, neither of us needs to be talking.”

  “Gad, you’re an oaf.” She rolled her eyes again.

  “I know, lass.” He caressed her cheek. “But I don’t mean to force ye. We can put it off, or never do it, if ye don’t wish to.”