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

by Meara Platt

  Once again, she had no chance to protest before he closed his mouth over hers, his lips warm and demanding. They felt rough and dry as they crushed against her mouth, but she knew it was the fault of the laudanum and not because of any lack in his magnificent kiss.

  She ought to have dabbed the moist handkerchief on his lips since the laudanum had obviously left them parched. She meant to ease out of his arms and attend to the task, but he deepened the kiss.

  Her body responded like kindling, for his touch, the sensation of his mouth on hers, the slide of his tongue along the seam of her lips, and the arousing weight of his body ignited a fire within her that she had no desire to douse.

  She doubted she could, even if she wanted to…which she decidedly did not.

  Yet, the proper part of her was telling her to get up off the bed at once before her reputation wound up in tatters. The proper part of her was telling her to remember the reason she’d come in here in the first place.

  Retrieve your necklace and leave.

  How could she when she was hardly able to move with his big body weighing her down? And what harm could there be? His eyes were glassy, and she suspected that he was sleeping… Perhaps a waking sleep induced by the massive dose of laudanum he’d been given.

  His hand drifted up to cup her breast.

  Sweet mercy!

  Who knew a big, calloused paw could feel so good?

  When she made no protest, he began to knead her breast, his touch fiery despite the layers of silk gown and linen corset between them. When she still made no protest – how could she when she’d forgotten how to speak – his touch grew bolder.

  Fireworks exploded inside her body as he stroked his thumb across–

  She really had to stop him, but… Oh my.

  More fireworks. He didn’t know what he was doing.

  Well, he did.

  His touch was exquisite.

  But he thought he was lost in a dream. Touching her breast in a dream. She ought to… What did she mean to say?

  Oh, yes. She ought to stop him. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him, but the words simply melted away.

  She moaned instead.

  She might have uttered, “Don’t stop,” or perhaps it was “Don’t ever stop, you big, handsome Scot,” and arched her back to better accommodate the position of his hand to her breast.

  No, she couldn’t have said something so absurd aloud.

  “Ye did, lass.” Which explained why he continued to run his thumb over its tautening bud, and then his mouth closed over the hard peak, suckling and nipping through the fabric. Oh, even sweeter mercy! She’d have to change out of her gown, of course. She couldn’t very well walk down to supper with a stain over her breast, a big, wet circle that looked like the bull’s eye on a target.

  Silk hid nothing.

  The slightest drop of water would cause a stain.

  “Loopy, is it really you? It canno’ be,” Thad said with a raspy groan that tore from the back of his throat. “Ye’re so soft and beautiful. My beautiful dream.”

  His mouth moved to her other breast, his lips closing over the peak of that mound. Twin targets. She felt the dampness of his flicking tongue seep through the fabric layers down to her skin.

  Oh, goodness.

  She meant to stop him. “Don’t stop,” she whispered instead, and wound her fingers in his hair as he continued to work his magic. Who was more depraved? Him or her? It had to be her, for he was an unconscious beast struggling to wake and believing she was only in his fantasies.

  She was a coward who wanted to know his touch, even if it meant making a fool of herself. Even if it meant sinking to this base level.

  She knew it was wrong, but never experiencing his touch was unbearable. She wouldn’t marry him unless he truly loved her. Laudanum-induced passion did not count. If not drugged, could he ever look at her the way Beast had looked at Olivia? Or the way her brother had looked at Poppy?

  She could accept no less from Thad.

  His hand trailed lower to find its way under her gown. At the same time, he kissed his way up to the little pulse that was wildly throbbing at the base of her neck. “Ye taste so good, lass, just like a–”

  “Don’t you dare say it!”

  “—sausage patty.”

  Even when dreaming, he could not stop thinking of food. Couldn’t he be a little more romantic? She slid out from under him and stumbled to her feet.

  She wanted to leave, but her hair was a mess, half the pins fallen out and probably sticking into the ribs of the big oaf sprawled atop her bed who now appeared to be passed out and snoring again.

  Only he wasn’t a big oaf.

  His touch had felt so good.

  His kisses still had her body in a hot tingle.

  Penelope stared down at herself and groaned.

  She was the oaf and the fool.

  Her gown was wet around her breasts, but since it laced up the back, she couldn’t reach the ties to undo them. She went to her armoire to grab another gown, perhaps a scarlet one to mark herself as a wanton, because had Thad not bothered to speak and merely concentrated on teasing her body into a passionate frenzy, she would not have stopped him.

  Thankfully, his comment had reminded her of what he truly thought of her. A side of pork. And that had tossed ice water on her hot, little body with sufficient force to cool it off.

  She stared at the gowns arranged neatly in her armoire and selected a delicate, tea-rose silk. Of course, she had only delicate colors, no vivid scarlets, since she was a sweet, young thing, and the palest hues were all that were deemed proper for sweet innocents to wear for more formal affairs.

  She was so busy staring at the gown she’d selected, she did not realize Thad had come up behind her.

  “Lass, ye’re real,” he said in a reverent whisper, stealing his arm around her waist and drawing her up against his overly warm body. Oh, she was going straight to hell. He was running a low fever.

  She’d taken advantage of a drugged, sick man.

  “Why are ye in here? What happened?”

  She set aside the new gown. Don’t be naked. Don’t be naked. And turned to face him.

  His eyes widened in surprise, for his gaze had shot to her chest and there was no mistaking what he’d been doing to her to create those stains.

  And she’d allowed it.

  But her own expression was one of relief, for he’d had the presence of mind to don his breeches.

  “Did I do that to ye, lass?” He ignored her shame and distress, casting her a tender grin. Indeed, the fiend was grinning from ear to ear. “No wonder I woke up with a mouthful of lint.”

  A fiery heat roared into her cheeks.

  “I’ll help ye into the new frock.”

  She shoved his hand away. “I don’t need your help. You’ve done quite enough. I’ll manage it myself.”

  “All those laces? And it took two of us to do ‘quite enough.’ Dinna turn prim on me, lass. Oooh, Thad. Ye big, sexy, Scottish devil. Don’t stop.” He turned her around so that her back faced him and then he kissed the nape of her neck.

  She felt a big ball of humiliation lodge in her chest. “I know. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. Please don’t make fun of me.”

  “Blessed saints, lass. Is that what ye think I’m doing?” He swallowed her in his arms, drawing her firmly against his chest. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for months now. How could I possibly dream of anyone else when I’ve loved ye for years?”

  “What?”

  “Ye heard me, lass. I love ye.”

  Was this the laudanum speaking? Or did he truly feel this way?

  “Thad, I’ll forgive you if you remember none of this in the morning. You’re drugged. Your mind is hazy.”

  “It’s clearer than it’s ever been.” He kissed her on the neck again, a perfect kiss with just the right amount of passion and tenderness. “I’ve felt this way all along. But I never intended to act on it, for ye’re an English earl’s d
aughter and I was a cast-off, forgotten lad. The closest thing I had to a mother was toothless, ill-tempered Fiona.”

  Penelope closed her eyes and stilled against him, soaking in his warmth and the honey richness of his voice.

  “Then I met my schoolmate’s sister. A little girl with the biggest green eyes and a smart mouth who reminded me of a wild strawberry growing amid the hedgerows. A little girl who showed me the only tenderness I’d ever known.” He kissed the top of her head. “That little girl is my heaven, I said to myself. I knew it then and there. When I grow up, I’m going to marry her.”

  Penelope dared not release the breath she had been holding.

  “But as I got older, I realized the impossibility of such a match. A big nobody daring to offer for a little princess?”

  “Thad.” Tears stung her eyes.

  “I’ll love ye till the day I die, Loopy. How can anyone else ever claim my heart?”

  “Oh, Thad.” If only he meant it. But how could she trust his words in this drugged state?

  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He turned her to face him and placed his hands on either side of her face. “No tears, lass.” He gently wiped them away with his thumbs.

  She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Please don’t say anything more. You don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t give me hope today and then crush it tomorrow.”

  “I won’t.”

  “This is ridiculous. Look at me?” She glanced down at the front of her gown. “And look at you?” His hair was spiked where she’d run her fingers through it to keep his head at her breast. He still looked magnificent.

  “Ridiculous,” she repeated, for he was not only drugged and feverish, but likely talking in his sleep.

  “Aye, lass. We’ll never be a staid or proper pair. This is the way it will always be for us. Silly. Ridiculous. Passionate. Imperfect.”

  “Embarrassing.”

  “How else can a big, stubborn Scot with enough laudanum in him to fell a horse and a smart-mouthed Sassenach with the most beautiful breasts in all of England ever be? Och, lass. Do ye think I care what anyone thinks? I love ye. All of ye. Yer smart mouth and yer luscious body. Lord, ye have a luscious body. Don’t make me shut off my low brain. I canno’ do it, not around you.”

  He meant to kiss her, but a scratch at the door followed by a high-pitched bark caused them to quickly separate.

  Penelope rushed to the door. “Periwinkle, what are you doing in the hall?” She lifted him into her arms and laughed when he began to slobber her with licks and kisses.

  A minute later, a breathless Emily hurried down the hall toward them. “Oh, m’lady! Thank goodness you’ve found him. Your aunt was so afraid he’d run out of the house. But look, he’s wet the front of your gown. Oh, bad Periwinkle!”

  Thad cast her an innocent look.

  Penelope cleared her throat. “I merely came in here to fetch a new gown for myself. The tea-rose silk. Let’s take it back to Aunt Lavinia’s bedchamber. I’ll change into it there.”

  “Aye, m’lady.” Emily was too busy taking in Thad’s body to think about the gown Penelope was holding out to her.

  “Emily, let’s leave Laird Caithness.” She turned to Thad, trying to maintain a prim expression. “I’m sorry I disturbed your slumber.”

  He leaned his good shoulder lazily against the door frame and cast her a sleepy, utterly devastating smile. “Ye didn’t disturb me, lass. I was dreaming of ye anyway.”

  Emily erupted in a fit of giggles the moment he shut the door behind them. “Oh, m’lady! Did you hear that naughty man?”

  Penelope sighed and hurried down the hall. “I heard him.”

  “And him wearing only his breeches. Nothing but a few buttons between–”

  “Emily!” Penelope stopped to gape at her.

  The girl gave a lusty moan. “If that big Scot were dreaming of me, why I’d have my hands on his buttons so quick, he–”

  “Enough!” She continued down the hall, now at Lavinia’s door.

  Emily was still muttering. “If I had an itch, he’d know how to scratch it proper. I’m just saying, m’lady.”

  “I’m a lady, Emily. I can’t have an itch.” Although there was no other excuse for what she’d allowed Thad to do to her just now. “I’d have to be married to Laird Caithness to allow him to scratch it, wouldn’t I?”

  Her maid shrugged. “Well, what’s to stop you?”

  Penelope shook her head. “What?”

  “What’s to stop you from marrying that big Scot?”

  Nothing, she supposed. But what if his admission of love had only been a drug-induced fantasy that he would not remember in the morning?

  She would find out tomorrow. Thad was in too much of a stupor to dine with them this evening. Would he wake in time to meet her at the pond after breakfast tomorrow?

  Once the drug was out of his system, she doubted she’d get a confession of love out of him.

  Would she have the courage to admit she loved him?

  Chapter Thirteen

  A light mist still lingered over the pond the following morning. Penelope had skipped breakfast and walked down there early, her stomach too tied in knots for her to attempt to eat. She hadn’t slept well either, tossing and turning all night. Periwinkle hadn’t helped, for the dog continued to show his displeasure of her presence in his side of Lavinia’s bed.

  He’d constantly poked his nose where it didn’t belong, sniffing her and then following it up with a snuffle of indignation.

  She patted the faded red leather binding of The Book of Love she’d brought along with her. “Does he truly love me?”

  She set the book aside on the fallen log and began to stroll along the bank. She’d worn her walking boots and a gown of russet cotton with a shawl of matching swirls of russet and gold. Her hair was loosely plaited in one long braid down her back.

  Perhaps she ought to have made herself up more fashionably, but Thad was never one who cared for style, although his casual attire always looked magnificent on him and never out of place, even at the fanciest ton gatherings.

  With his rugged good looks and commanding aspect, he created a style all his own.

  “Loopy, there ye are. I thought ye were still in the house,” he called out, striding toward her like a conquering hero, his saddlebag slung over his good shoulder. As expected, he was not properly attired, merely clad in brown breeches and a white lawn shirt, as well as his tall brown boots.

  She pursed her lips as her gaze settled on the saddlebag. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No. Just here.” He dropped the bag atop the fallen log under the shade tree where she’d earlier set down her book. “Come, lass. Sit beside me and let’s talk.”

  She nodded and settled on the log. “Thad, I’m so sorry for–”

  “Hush, lass. I’m not.” He sat down beside her. “Ye look beautiful,” he said in a husky rumble, tugging lightly on her braid. “I like yer hair down.”

  She couldn’t help but blush. “So do you. Look handsome, that is.”

  He grinned at her.

  And continued to grin at her.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I canno’ stop thinking about what ye let me do to ye, was it only yesterday? I’m still picking lint off my tongue.”

  Her cheeks caught fire. “Gad, you’re impossible.”

  “Why? I’m speaking the truth. And do ye hear me complaining? No, not in the least.” His gaze turned smoldering and his voice husky. “But the next time I touch ye like that, it won’t be through layers of clothes. It’s the taste of yer sweet skin I’ll be wanting to feel on my tongue.”

  “Thad!”

  His eyebrow was still quirked upward in that devilishly appealing way she’d come to know well. “There will be a next time, Loopy. A lifetime, I hope.”

  She glanced away to stare across the pond. The mist was melting away, and a mother duck and her ducklings were bobbing along th
e shimmering water. “You said you loved me.”

  “Aye, lass. I remember. I meant it. I have no intention of taking it back.”

  She dared herself to turn back to him and look into his eyes, but her cheeks were still on fire and she suddenly felt like the biggest coward ever to exist. “Are you sure, Thad?”

  His grin faded. “More certain than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. This is real, Loopy.” He sighed and shook his head. “Och, I suppose I should stop calling ye that. Ye always hated the name.”

  She placed her hand on his arm as she turned to face him. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think I’d respond to Penelope if you ever called me that. In truth, I never minded. I just said I did because you were so irksome at times, and sometimes I merely wished to irk you in return.”

  “Perhaps a compromise is in order. How about I call ye mo cridhe?”

  “What does it mean?”

  “My love.” He turned away and began to rummage through his saddlebag.

  “What are you doing?” As her hand slipped off his arm, she placed it over her heart to still its rapid beat. Mo cridhe. My love. Was it possible?

  “Ye need proof that I’m not lying to ye about my feelings.”

  “I know you wouldn’t lie to me.” Her eyes grew wide, for she was startled by the comment. “I trust you.”

  “Verra well, then ye’re afraid I’m lying to myself. Ye think I was dazed and rambling last night. Ye think I told Caithness and Hume I had offered for ye merely to save my own hide.” He leaned forward and cast her an achingly tender smile. “It was to save my heart not my thick Scottish hide. Ye’re the only girl I’ve ever loved or ever will love, and here’s the proof of it.”

  He dug into his pouch and withdrew a handful of what appeared to be letters. “Every one ye ever wrote me, lass. I have them all right here. I carry them with me always. To the Highlands. Into battle. Here with me now.” He handed them to her.

  She took them in her shaky fingers. “You kept them?”

  “Every last one.”

  She opened the top letter and chuckled as she read it. It was one of her first to him and she couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. “Dear Thaddius, I hope you are well. We missed you at Easter. I wanted to save you a slice of ham, but Nathaniel ate it. I was so angry I kicked him. Father sent me up to my room without supper. I would do it again because I know you like food. Cook says you eat like a wolf starved through winter. Cook sent up some raisin scones for me. I saved them for you instead. Nathaniel promised to give them to you when he returned to school. I hope you like them. Your friend, Penelope Sherbourne (Nathaniel’s sister).”