A Convenient Engagement

by Kimberly Bell

  Magnus tilted his head. “I have.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I knew something was living out there. Well, I’m glad yer nae a bear.”

  Gavan interrupted their exchange with an outburst of affront. “You have been here for three days and you did not report to me?”

  “I chose not to, my lord.”

  “Why the hell not?” Her fiancé looked like he wanted to throw something.

  Magnus maintained perfect composure. “I thought you might feel compelled to involve the authorities.”

  Gavan flung his hands in the air. “What’s wrong with that?”

  The butler’s eyes flickered to her for a brief moment. “I promised Miss Howard I would find the man responsible, my lord.”

  Angus and Auld Ian nodded in understanding.

  “He’s a lord. Might be they’d just let him off with a warning, on account of he hadn’t actually killed anyone,” Auld Ian said.

  Fiona was outraged by the idea. “He meant to, though. He was going to kill both of ye, and me, if he’d had enough shots.”

  Angus agreed. “Aye. Yer man had the right of it, lad. Someone would have had to put an end to him. Easier done without a magistrate involved.”

  “What I don’t understand is why he was after you at all,” Mathilda interjected. “Not that you’re not perfectly lovely, dear, but this is a bit extreme.”

  “Lord Powell was a depraved villain. What does it matter?” Jane was certainly not crying over Powell’s demise.

  “It was the money,” Hannah said quietly. She was disgusted all over again. Who could do such horrible things for mere money?

  “What money?” Ewan asked.

  “My father left me his estate. He was very good with investments.”

  “He would have to be bloody brilliant to make it worth this kind of trouble,” Gavan scoffed. “How much are you worth?”

  Hannah closed her eyes and did a quick estimation based off her last accounting. “Four hundred thousand? Maybe a bit more. The investments bring about seventy-five thousand annually.”

  “Good Lord. You’re richer than Croesus,” Mathilda said with a shocked laugh.

  Ewan gave a low whistle. “It’s a shame she willnae marry ye, Gavan. She might be the only person on earth that can afford ye.”

  Half of the room wasn’t aware of the nature of Hannah and Gavan’s engagement, and they exchange puzzled looks. All of Hannah’s attention was for Fiona, who had gone completely still.

  “Yer nae . . .” The girl shook her head, to clear the thought. “Yer nae going to be my sister?”

  Hannah felt the pit in her stomach turn to jagged rocks. “No, I’m not.”

  “But ye’ll stay and live here with us,” Fiona said hopefully.

  “I—” Hannah bit down on her lip and forced herself to say the words. “No, I won’t. We’ll be leaving tomorrow, now that it’s safe.”

  Gods, she was a terrible person. Why had she never told Fiona? She knew the girl was growing attached to her, knew they had a bond that was special to them both. Why hadn’t she just explained, early on?

  “Ye said ye liked him, and he likes ye. Why do ye have to go?” the girl said, full of confusion and not a little anger.

  “It’s complicated. I’m so sorry, Fiona.”

  “No, yer nae. If ye were sorry ye’d stay!” Fiona shouted, fleeing the drawing room.

  Silence remained in her wake.

  “I’ll go make sure she doesnae shoot anyone,” Ewan said after a moment, heading for the door.

  Morag had leveled a serious stare at Gavan. “Are ye leaving tomorrow as well?”

  Gavan shook his head. “No.”

  “And the day after?” she demanded with suspicion.

  Gavan’s sigh was exasperated. “Castle Rhone will be my primary residence, Morag.”

  The relief in her nod was blatant. “Come along, then, Magnus. I imagine ye’ll be needing a tour of the place.”

  The majordomo followed her out.

  “I suppose I’d better start packing,” Betsy said practically.

  Mathilda stood up and gestured to Jane. “We’ll help you.”

  Angus looked around at the remaining occupants of the drawing room. He nudged Auld Ian with his elbow. “C’mon, Ian. What happens next has got naught to do with us.”

  The old men departed without their characteristic bickering, leaving only Hannah and Gavan.

  * * *

  “Tomorrow?” Gavan said.

  Hannah nodded. She had her head down, but he knew there were tears sneaking their way across her cheeks. He had to resist every impulse he possessed not to get up and wipe them away for her.

  “That’s it, then,” he said quietly.

  Hannah sniffled and looked up at him with watery eyes. “Gavan.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s awful!” Hannah scoffed.

  “Certainly none of us are having much fun now, but it will sort out eventually.”

  Where had that come from? Even more bizarre, he had actually meant it. Life without Hannah would be completely dismal, but in amongst the misery, there would be bright spots. Resuming his friendship with Ewan. Watching Magnus try to outmaneuver his intractable kinsmen. Spending time with Fiona.

  “You’ll take care of Fiona, Gavan? You’ll make sure she’s all right, and she starts having a normal life like she’s supposed to?”

  “I will. I’ll make sure she grows up happy and healthy and doesn’t end up hanged for murder.”

  Hannah smiled, nodding tearfully. “Good.”

  It was good, and Gavan would see it through, even if everything else fell apart around him.

  “And Lord Courseclay?” she asked.

  “Courseclay?” How did he have anything to do with anything?

  “He wasn’t behind the attacks, Gavan.”

  Oh no. Absolutely not. “That is hardly my only reason to hate him, Hannah. We have a long history of despising each other.”

  “He’s your brother, as much as Fiona is your sister, and no more responsible for the actions of his parent than she is or you are.”

  “And his own actions? Is he not responsible for them?”

  “Is what’s between you two any harder to forgive than what is between you and Fiona?” Hannah demanded. “She forgave you instantly. That’s what you do with family, Gavan. You forgive. Promise me you’ll make amends with John.”

  “If you’re trying to reconcile me to your leaving, you are going about it the right way,” he said.

  “Promise me,” she repeated.

  “Fine. I promise.”

  Gods. The woman couldn’t be happy ruining what sections of his life she had claim to. She wanted to muck up the entire thing.

  He leaned his head back against the armchair. “Is there anything else, or is that all of it?”

  The silence from the sofa was not comforting. He waited.

  “I would like you to change your mind about making love to me.”

  He almost laughed. His mind, just like every other part of him, was fully in favor of taking Hannah, any and every way possible. Gavan could only credit the denials that had left his lips as divine intervention. “I have wanted to make love to you from the moment I met you.”

  “But you haven’t, and you’ve had plenty of opportunity,” she accused.

  He should offer some deflection and end the conversation, but his will to deny her was gone. Instead he offered her truth, knowing it wouldn’t dissuade her. “I don’t want you hate me, after.”

  “Why would I do that?” Her curiosity was genuine.

  “I know the consequences of what you’re asking.”

  She voiced the unspoken implication. “And I don’t.”

  “Not really, no,” he said honestly.<
br />
  “I won’t hate you for a decision I’ve made willingly.”

  “You should,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  Gavan leaned forward and held her gaze. The conclusion was foregone. “Because, Hannah. When I make love to you, it will not be a casual entertainment. I will brand you, body and soul, and ruin you for any man that comes after me. It will be selfish and it will be deliberate.”

  Her lips parted as he spoke, and her breathing quickened. “I am likely ruined already.”

  He had no willpower left to refuse her. “Meet me in the foyer at midnight.”

  Chapter 22

  Hannah was there to meet him when the clock struck midnight. Wordlessly, he led her out of the house and down the path to the lake. The crisp night air cut through her thin walking dress, causing her to shiver. Gavan put his arm around her, pressing her against his side. Without the usual hoops and layers, his body heat radiated into her like a furnace.

  They rounded a bend, and a soft glow appeared in the darkness.

  “Do you remember the bathhouse I told you about?” he asked.

  “The one Seamus made into a greenhouse?”

  Gavan nodded. “My mother hated being inside. Winter was the worst. She would prowl the hallways like a caged animal. On their fifth wedding anniversary, Seamus turned it into a greenhouse for her so she could have summer all year long.”

  He led her through two sets of doors, and the damp heat hit Hannah like a wall.

  “Gavan, it’s beautiful!”

  The summer Seamus Dalreoch had given his wife was not the gentle summer of the British Islands. It was a lush, tropical summer bursting with scents and color and sounds. She heard the splash of tumbling water and saw a bright flash of red as a bird flew past.

  “Is that a parrot?” she asked.

  “It is,” Gavan said. “He had things sent from all over the world to make it perfect. He did it all himself, too. He didn’t let anyone touch it until it was finished.”

  “I thought Maggie and Seamus—” Hannah stopped herself. There was no right way to ask that question.

  “Had a marriage of convenience?” Gavan finished. He smiled. “They did, at first, but Seamus fell madly in love with her, like everyone else. She loved him, too, eventually. I remember them being happy together here.”

  Gavan led her down a short stone path set into dirt, past ferns and flowers she had never seen before. There were candles hanging in holders from the ceiling, giving the whole place a warm glow. She looked higher up and saw that the ceiling was glass. She could see the stars and her reflection in the panes at the same time.

  The path ended at a little clearing, where a large bed was situated like a mirage of pillows. It sat near the edge of a gurgling pond, with giant white and yellow fish sleeping quietly in the bottom.

  Hannah ignored the bed, for now. “How does the water work? How does it run?”

  “I know it uses the mechanisms from the bathhouse to circulate the water. Beyond that, I have no idea,” he admitted. “There’s a stream on the other side, away from the path.”

  “I’ll have to investigate it la—” She wouldn’t investigate it later. There would be no later. She was leaving tomorrow.

  Gavan didn’t say anything at all.

  Hannah stepped forward, slipping off her shoes. She let her toes flex in the grass, enjoying the feel.

  She felt his breath next to her ear, its heat barely discernible in the humid warmth of the greenhouse. It lifted the hair at the base of her neck and whispered across her earlobe. His hands touched down on her waist. They slid forward, shaping themselves around her hip bones.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he murmured as his teeth scraped her earlobe.

  Hannah ignored the voice inside her that cried out in agreement. She pushed all thoughts of tomorrow from her mind and focused on what she felt—the rigid proof of his arousal against her backside. He had barely touched her, and already she was consumed with lust. She responded by pressing back against him.

  He moaned, and his hand slid forward over her pelvis, pushing her back again. The other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head to the side as he placed biting kisses along the exposed column of her neck. Hannah closed her eyes, giving her attention over to her other senses.

  The hand in her hair caressed down, a lone fingertip along her spine. His other hand pressed back. Pressure. Release. Pressure. Release. Her pulse beat in a sluggish echo of the motion. Such a small movement, but it stole her breath with each collision.

  The top button of her dress released under his fingers. The second followed it. A third. Pressure. Release. The tip of his finger tracing up her spine and back with a featherlight touch. Her shiver had nothing to do with being cold now.

  He pushed the dress off her shoulders, baring her to the waist. He turned her to face him and pushed it the rest of the way over her hips. She stood naked in his tropical paradise as he devoured her with his eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful, Hannah.”

  The kiss that followed robbed her of a response. His arm came around her lower back, crushing her against him again. He claimed her mouth with a possessiveness that was overwhelming, bending her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. The sound of his approval was swallowed by the conquest of their tongues, each trying to claim victory over the other.

  He resumed the pulsing pressure that enslaved her heartbeat, dragging her thigh up over his hip. His hands gripped her buttocks, squeezing and lifting her against him in a steady rhythm of satisfaction and loss. Her teeth found his lip, communicating her need, and his laugh was a low rumble.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, returning her bite with one of his own.

  “You have far too many clothes on,” she said, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

  He captured her hand, placing a kiss in the center of her palm. “All right.”

  * * *

  Gavan let his jacket fall to the grass. He started undoing the buttons on his shirt, aware of Hannah’s unwavering attention. The shirt landed next to the jacket.

  He raised his eyebrow. “Happy?”

  She shook her head, reaching for the closure of his breeches. He captured her hands and spun her, tying her up in the cross of their arms with her back against his bare chest. When she protested, he chuckled again.

  He walked them forward, placing kisses on her shoulders. He let his hands wander, exploring the edge of her breast with his thumb, squeezing with his palms, teasing her nipples to attention. He played along the edge of the curls at the apex of her thighs, advancing and retreating to hear her breathing hitch in anticipation.

  The bed was before them, and he laid a playful slap on her backside.

  “Up you go,” he said, reveling in the surprised noise that escaped her.

  With a resentful look over her shoulder, she put a knee on the mattress.

  “Are you going to be this demanding the entire time?” she asked, pausing.

  “Yes.” He gave her a gentle shove, and she tipped forward.

  Holy hell.

  He took a series of stabilizing breaths. It was everything he could do not to take her just like this. Hannah was oblivious to his struggle as she grumbled her way up onto the bed. She looked at him expectantly.

  “On your stomach,” he instructed.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Please,” he added.

  She sank into the feathery mattress with an indignant sigh. Gavan removed his breeches and stretched out next to her on his side. He stroked the hair away from her face and leaned in. He kept the kiss shallow, apologetic. When she was strained toward him, he let his fingers drift down her back.

  He distracted her with kisses, deepening them into the battles of possession she preferred. All the while his palm traveled ever lower. Her lower spine. The
dimpled indentations at the top of her backside. The perfect swells of her buttocks. His fingers curled, finding the honeyed evidence of her arousal.

  He stroked a finger against the slick folds, and she moaned into his mouth. He repeated the motion, barely any pressure in the gesture. Her hips responded, demanding. His low laughter earned him another bite on his bottom lip. He kissed the tip of her nose and removed his mouth to safer territory. When his lips caressed the base of her neck, she let her head fall to the pillows.

  Hooking her calf with his heel, he pulled her leg toward him and trapped it there. The soft, teasing strokes of his finger resumed. A symphony of whimpers emitted from Hannah. She pressed her lips into the mattress and gave herself over to his attentions. He rewarded her surrender with an increased rhythm, then an increased pressure. Her arms came up to cross underneath her forehead.

  She was so hot, so wet, so responsive. Only Gavan’s resolve to make this one night last a lifetime saved him from his own response. He ached from the need to sink himself into her and feel her clench around him. His finger followed the path of his thoughts, sliding past her folds and into the molten heat of her. Her hips bucked reflexively.

  He let his hands have what he denied himself for the moment. He penetrated her with shallow staccato inquests. A second finger joined the first. His motions slowed, became an undulating curving that stroked the hot flesh gripping his fingers, no longer retreating. He felt a rush of liquid heat as her body responded.

  Gavan released her leg, letting her shift and search, pressing back against his fingers. He added a deep probing to the curling rotation of his fingers. Hannah’s cries became louder, more urgent. Her knees bent slightly, bringing her off the bed. She moved against his hand in a frenzy, and he matched his motions to her demand.

  He felt her find her pleasure. She clenched around his fingers, shuddering as he continued to push her over the edge. The tight heat of her squeezed him. She fell back to the mattress with a satisfied sigh. He massaged the base of her neck, running furrows through the chestnut locks that fascinated him with their softness.

  Her inhalations calmed, coming in shallower rises and falls. She had come back to herself.