by Fiona Faris
Ethan felt self-conscious about his stubble, realizing that he hadn’t used his razor that morning. He caught her hand as it brushed over his day-old beard.
"Sorry, I’ve not shaved this morning..."
"Don't be concerned, it's not too prickly yet," she grinned, leaning in to place her lips on his. "And I think it creates its own type of sensation when I brush my cheek against yours and feel the stubble scratch over my skin."
Ethan swallowed. He hadn’t missed her fondness for that too...
"As for the rest of your face," she continued running her hand over it, "I love it. I love that you're covered in freckles... and that you have this long strong body to hold me with."
"Ye do, eh?"
"Oh, yes... I do indeed. Every part of you."
Georgiana moved her hand down to his shoulder and drew light patterns on his skin, before dropping her head to follow up with kisses. She slowly moved her lips over his skin, from his shoulder along his collar bone, then continued on down his torso.
She took her time peppering his chest in little nips and kisses, licking at his nipples and savoring his reactions. A hot shiver ran down his spine.
His arms moved of their own volition, tracing her arms and moving slowly upward until he could cradle the nape of her neck and bury his fingers in her soft brown hair.
"Georgiana..."
She jerked upward, an apologetic smile marring her perfect features. "Forgive me, I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
He shook his head and chuckled, surprised that this was her first thought on why he stopped her. As knowledgeable as she seemed, sometimes, he had to keep reminding himself that she was very innocent in the ways of men. He needed to make sure they did not outpace her level of comfort. That began by reassuring her that kisses were never on the list of things that made him uncomfortable.
"It didn't. But ye see, there isna any need to make me feel better aboot mysel’ like this... Ah'm really quite happy with my looks."
Yes, he was comfortable in the way he looked and wouldn't want to change anything about himself, freckles and all. It was one thing entirely though not to think of himself as a comely gentleman deserving of her admiration. That she felt differently was simply a blessing from God.
"As am I," she traced a tender finger along the mark, running down his side smiling cheekily. "Freckles and all. Nevertheless, I haven’t yet had the chance to simply...sit back and appreciate you like this."
Ethan smirked. "Have ye no? Actually, few times come to mind when ye did just tha’ though, yer hands and mouth all over my skin... appreciatin."
She giggled and looked up at him again. "True. Still, I don't get to do that quite as much as I'd like to. You usually prefer making it all about me when we're together... Apparently, Ethan Buchanan strongly dislikes being the center of attention even in the privacy of a bedroom."
He let out a low chuckle and retracted his hand from her neck to rest it behind his head instead. "Then I'll try my best to not make it aboot ye the noo... Dae go on, please?"
She grinned and returned to placing kisses onto his skin, licking at his freckles and tracing the prominent bones of his clavicle before lapping her way along the planes of his belly.
She dipped her tongue into his navel repeatedly, until he could not help but moan, tensing his muscles at the pleasant sensation. She loved to tease him so... and that was slowly but surely breaking down his self-control.
Georgiana glanced up at him, eyes dancing at his reactions. She splayed her hands over his tensed muscles. "Your body is a wonder to me," she stated. "I am glad no one but me knows this." She narrowed her eyes at him, “It better be nobody but me.”
He looked down at her and found her smirking. "O’ course, it’s only ye. And I could say the same for ye, Mrs. Buchanan. Ye're soft skin, and tempting curves are just the tip o’ th’ iceberg..."
"And I'm glad no one, but you actually knows that," she replied.
For a moment, they beamed at each other before she resumed nipping gently at his hip bone before nuzzling his upper thigh. There were plenty of freckles to find and connect in abstract patterns...
He was beginning to react strongly to her touch. His member hardening and lengthening against her stomach. They started out with no intention other than to slowly appreciate each other’s bodies. But it was slowly turning into the beginning of more intense interaction between them.
* * *
Lachie’s head was pounding as they set off the next day. His mother was there to wave them off, as was Mrs. McDonald. Lachie barely spared them a glance and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for his father. Finally, they were on their way, riding mostly in silence.
“Did ye send a letter to the duke saying we will be there early?” he asked after miles of silence.
“Nay. I told ye that the letter would arrive just about at the same time as we would.”
“Oh, aye.” Lachie looked away, feeling irritated but unable to fathom why. “I expect she shall be pleased t’see me. It canna be easy being the subject of ridicule.”
His father gave him a sidelong glance. “I dinna think ye cared.”
“I dinna. Ah’m just glad it willna be too hard to persuade her tae come along wi’ us.”
“Ye mean ye’re glad her faither will fork over the cash wi’out too much fuss.”
“Aye. There’s that.”
Barclays snorted. “Well, if ye dinna want to marry so quick, ye shouldna have spent the profits should ye no?”
“Aye da, I said so, did I no?”
“Aye well,” his father humphed disbelievingly and spurred his horse on, riding at a canter and leaving Lachie behind. They had three days ride to Edinburgh and then two days on the water to London. A week on the road, and then he would have to make good with this little princess. Lachie was not at all looking forward to it. His father was ready to insist on a quick marriage so that they could get back before winter truly set in.
He knew his father had received a visit from someone that had discomposed him mightily the day before. The fact that he had not shared who it was with Lachie was worrying. Lachie assumed that it was the bank, and he really hoped his father had asked for enough time for them to get hold of the lady’s dowry.
Lachie had no wish to be out on the street. He had a feeling that not many would be disposed to help them should that happen, and he was not about to let that happen to him. Spurring his own horse forward, he tried to pay no mind to his throbbing head as he caught up to his father.
* * *
Georgiana sat down in the gazebo, a portable table in her lap. On it sat an empty page. She stared down at the beach where Ethan and Fergus were frolicking barefoot, laughing out loud and playing some game that involved throwing stones and watching to see if they bounced. She could tell it was some kind of competition from the way they whooped when their rock bounced on the water more than once.
She smiled indulgently before returning to her blank page. She needed to write to her father, but finding the words was not the easiest thing she’d ever done. Dipping her pen into the ink, she put it to paper.
Dear Father,
She stared at the words for a long time, wondering if there was any right way to tell her parents they had been tricked.
My love and greetings to you both. I write to you from the South of France, where my husband and I are discovering the joys of married life. Mama always told me that I would not know a man until we had our first disagreement. I fear that, in this case, it may take me a long time to ‘truly know’ my husband.
He is most delightful, always solicitous of my welfare, and concerned with my needs. I do feel wholly inadequate when I compare my own behavior to his. Such chivalry and care is deserving of reciprocation.
But I digress.
I wanted to inform you of a small fact you might not be aware of. My husband, while being the son of Barclays Alasdair Buchanan, whose middle name is Alasdair and therefore making our marriage quit
e legal – as he signed with his middle and last name - is not the man that I was betrothed to. That would be his half-brother Lachie Alasdair Buchanan. My husband’s name is Ethan.
Now I know you might feel upset for the subterfuge, but by all accounts, Ethan has saved me from marrying a genuinely awful man. I feel that things happened as they were fated to, and pray that you can forgive our small deception. We leave for Scotland in two days, where we shall spend the winter in the house that you purchased for us.
Give mother a kiss for me.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Your loving daughter,
Georgiana.
Chapter Twelve
When Georgiana came in from sending a messenger off with her letter, she knew Ethan was somewhere close by because she could hear him.
Her husband was many things, but quiet was not one of them. He was handsome, brilliant, compassionate, and protective, but she always heard him before seeing him. And at that moment, she could hear cutlery clinking as if he was on a mission to empty every cupboard.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked, coming around the corner with a smile in her eyes.
Ethan popped up from where he’d been kneeling on the ground and returned the grin. “Oh,” he said. “G’day to ye. Ye’re home. Where’d ye go tae?”
“I had a letter to send,” she answered cryptically, crossing the room to fold herself into his arms. She tipped her chin up for his kiss; it was casual, but something she had not yet learned to take for granted.
“What’re you up to?” she asked again, touching his chin with both index fingers. He had found time to shave, and his jaw was smooth and silky like a dolphin’s belly.
“Ah’m trying to make sangria.” he used both hands to slip the cap off her head and ran his fingers through her hair. It was curled today - loose curls that wove and spun down her back and framed her delicate face.
“Sangria?” she asked, trying out the foreign word. “What’s that?”
“Ye remember that the butler made us that drink the other day? I asked for the recipe, and he gave it me,” he unwound their bodies to get back to his task.
“Ah,” she said musingly. “Is that what it was called? I never asked.”
“Do I have to teach you everything?” he asked, playfully.
“Everything…” she trailed off. “Except for that thing I taught you about where to-”
“I get it,” he laughed. “Sangria is a Spanish drink. Its red wine mixed with lemonade, fruit, and spices.”
“I wasn’t aware you were that interested in the art of liquor making.”
“Maybe I should make ye some moonshine instead,” he quipped. “Will that make ye more comfortable?”
“That is a low blow, sir!” she giggled, leaning forward on the table with her chin in her hands.
He shot her an amused, sidelong glance and eventually found the pitcher he’d been relentlessly searching for. He put it on the table littered with cut fruits and bottles of wine, before mixing all the necessary ingredients. Georgiana watched, both amused and bemused.
After the chopped-up fruit had been sitting in the alcohol mixture for quite some time, she dipped a hand in and stole an orange slice, popping it into her mouth with satisfaction.
“Careful mo chridhe,” Ethan said, only half paying attention while he cleaned up the mess he’d made. “Dinna think they won’t make ye guttered."
She chewed thoughtfully, her tongue flicking out as a bit of the juice dribbled onto her lower lip. “Hmmm…” she contemplated. “Seems just fruity to me.”
He scoffed and nodded to himself, entertained. “Aw richt hen,” he muttered.
She kept on eating the fruit from the pitcher, and as the minutes ticked by, became unsteady on her feet. Ethan took one look and knew she was slightly inebriated, having underestimated the amount of strong alcohol the fruit had absorbed. Her movements were clumsier, mouth looser, and hands grabbier.
“You’re so handsome,” Georgiana giggled, stepping over to her husband. “Where’s your cravat, darling? You know I love that cravat on you.”
“I dinna wear a cravat, except on our wedding day,” he said with a smile.
She ran her hands down his chest - tiny, lithe fingers covering as much area as they could.
“Go put it on for me,” she asked mischievously.
“Ye’re drunk,” his eyebrows raised. “What’d I tell ye aboot tha’ fruit?”
“And I didn’t listen,” she said emphatically, dropping a hand to her forehead. “There’s only one solution. One, two, three, four… one solution.”
“Mm-hmm,” he smirked in her direction. “Wha’s tha’?”
“You have to be drunk too. You cannot leave your wife to be inebriated on her own.”
He couldn’t resist her pout, even knowing that tomorrow was their last day, and she would likely spend it in miserable slumber. There was nothing to lose, only an entertaining night with his drunken spouse to gain.
“Aw richt but put down the pitcher, or ye’ll be spilling the drink everywhere.”
“You’re so authoritarian, and I like it.”
Ethan poured himself a generous glass of the liquor, savoring the twist of tangy and sweet. He still managed to drink fast, although he doubted it would make him drunk. He quickly followed that up with the four more glasses of the delicious drink.
When he was tipsy, he plucked an apple slice from the pitcher, and Georgiana opened her mouth. He placed the fruit on her tongue, and her lips curled around his fingers, as she chuckled darkly.
“Ye’re such a naughty lassie,” he said, shaking his head.
She chewed the fruit and puckered her lips, blinking slowly, drunkenly. “It feels good. The drink tastes wonderful.”
“Yer face is pink,” he pointed out.
“Yes, because I’m so warm,” she reached up and pushed her gown off her shoulders leaving them bare and perfectly showcasing the pale creaminess of her skin across her cleavage.
“It is still quite balmy in here,” she tapped her chin before shrugging her gown off the other shoulder in one swift motion.
Suddenly, Georgiana was practically exposed in the parlor. Ethan was glad he had sent everyone away as it appeared his wife wanted to get feisty outside of the bedchamber.
He ran his hand across her collar bone in fascination. “Yer skin is the softest thing I have e’er touched,” he whispered in reverence.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Nay…” he said, slurring a bit. “It’s the gospel.”
She giggled, crossed her arms, and skimmed her hands over her shoulders before pushing her gown further off her shoulders so that her breasts peeked over the top.
“I’m hungry,” she slid past him, dodging his roaming hands.
“There isna anyone to cook for ye, but I can ring for someone to bring ye something if ye like…” Ethan trailed off, reaching for her as she walked past him.
“Bad,” she scolded, batting away his hands. “Will you have the servants see me this way?”
“Never in life. Shall I get ye something?”
“More fruit perhaps?”
“Ah, ye like it. I shall make ye more.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of me.” She batted her eyes at him as she took a seat.
“Ye’re welcome, It’s been my pleasure.” He reached for the platter of fruit on the table and sliced some more apples and oranges.
“You’re so…” she sang, hand spinning as she tried to pin down the word. “So…”
“Efficient,” he said with a firm nod of his head. “Effective. Resourceful.”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” she said. “I was going to say…caring, considerate, beautiful.”
He stared at her in surprise. “Ye’re very drunk,” and tried to hide his smile as she turned away from him, flopping on the seat in loose-limbed gracelessness. He reached for her, placing his hands on her waist, sinking his fing
ertips into her supple skin, and pulling her back towards his crotch.
“Stop,” she whined. “I’m hungry. And I found…” she gasped as she looked to the table where the dishes were laid. “Biscuits and cream. Why didn’t you tell me those were there?”
“I thought ye wanted something cooked,” he moved her hair to the side to drop kisses onto her neck. Winding his arms around her front, he tightly gripped both breasts, earning him a soft moan and the relaxation of her spine against him.