To Tame a Highland Earl

by Tarah Scott

  He loosened the lace on the left boot and, one hand grasping her stocking clad ankle, gently tugged off the boot. He laid her foot back on his lap, then removed the other boot with as much care. He set the second boot beside its mate, but didn’t release her foot. Instead, he stared at it.

  Eve was struck with the memory of how he had tickled her silly last night, and said, “If you tickle my feet, I swear to avenge myself while you sleep.”

  He slanted her a wicked glance. “I would like to see you try and make good on that threat.” He lifted her foot higher. Eve tensed to yank free, then froze when he kissed the top of her foot. He then kissed the end of her toes.

  A strange tickle raced up her ankle. “My lord,” she whispered. “You can let me go.”

  He nipped at her toes and the pleasurable sensation connected like lightning to the juncture between her legs. Holy God, what was he doing to her? He was only kissing her stocking-clad toes with the barest brush of his lips against her flesh. The warmth of his fingers around her ankle didn’t help. She’d lost her mind if all it took was his hand around her ankle to make her feel weak as a kitten. He grazed another kiss on the top of her foot, then pulled up her skirt a few inches. Eve held her breath as he kissed the spot just above her ankle. He then gently set her foot back on his lap and looked at her, his hands resting on her legs.

  “Perhaps you need to stick your toes in the water after all.”

  Eve blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I need to douse myself head to toe in cold water.”

  “I—” Her heel, she abruptly realized, rested against the hard bulge that had sprung up between her foot and his abdomen. She dropped her gaze to that area and a devilish impulse caused her to rub her foot against the steel rod.

  He seized her foot. “Eve.”

  She heard the gravely note in his voice and knew exactly how he felt. The mere second her foot had remained in contact with his erection had been enough to freeze all rational thought. Lord Rushton lifted her feet off his lap and laid them on the sand, then stared out over the water. She pulled her knees up under her skirt and dug her toes into the cool sand. It did feel very nice, though not as nice as when they’d rested on his lap. It occurred to Eve that their ride had been relatively short, and Lord Rushton had clearly set out with the intention of coming to this cove.

  “Do you come here often?” she asked.

  A fond smile softened his face. “This was a favorite spot of mine when I was a boy. We are too far inland to ever see a ship here, and this is part of Ravenhall land, so only our closest relatives dare hunt here. I spent many a night camped under these stars.”

  “Why stay here overnight?” Eve could well imagine that even in summer the nights were cool. “You are only twenty minutes from home.”

  His smile turned into a boyish grin. “For a teenage boy who is angry with his father, this cove is preferable to even the labyrinth of rooms at Ravenhall.”

  Eve laughed. “Did you plan to run away from home?”

  On several occasions, as a matter of fact. Though no captain would have allowed the Marques of Rushton’s son aboard without his father’s permission.”

  He braced his palms on the sand behind him, then lifted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes. Eve shifted slightly so she could see his face without making it obvious she was studying him, and allowed her eyes to drift from his dark hair down his cheek and square jaw to the tanned neck that brought back the memory of her face pressed against its warm curve. She hadn’t realized the pleasure looking at a man could incite.

  “You have grown quiet,” he said.

  Eve jumped, and was thankful he didn’t open his eyes.

  “Are you plotting my murder?”

  “It would be nothing less than you deserve,” she replied.

  He smiled.

  “Was it difficult growing up here in Mull?” Eve asked.

  “I had everything a boy could possibly want.”

  Except a father’s love, she wondered? The marchioness clearly adored her son, but Eve had no sense of the marquess’ feelings. He was a man of duty, that was easy to see, but did he nurture affection for his son?

  “I haven’t seen my father today. Have you seen him?” Eve asked.

  “He and my father rode into Tobermory this morning.”

  “Why did they go?”

  “They didn’t tell me.”

  “I feel as though I should be worried,” she said. “But I cannot imagine what I would have to worry about. They have done their worst.”

  He looked at her. “Is marrying me that bad?”

  Eve stared, uncertain what to say. “I do not understand why you would ask. You had no desire to marry me and I’m not taking it personally.” But she suddenly wondered how she would have felt if he had preferred Grace over her as Lord Somerset had.

  He gave her an odd look. “We are married. Do you hate the situation so much that you will be miserable?”

  He used the word ‘situation,’ but Eve couldn’t help think he meant ‘me—Do you hate me?’

  “Why have you avoided marriage with such determination?” she asked.

  He sent her a reproachful look. “Now who is avoiding the subject?”

  “Perhaps your answer relates to the answer I would give.”

  He seemed to consider, then shrugged. “I suppose because I had not met a woman who made me want to give up other women.”

  Eve’s pulse jumped. Had rakehell Lord Erroll Rushton considered the possibility of cleaving to only one woman?

  “So,” he said, “does my answer affect your answer?”

  Her heart squeezed. It did. “I think our answers are similar. I had hoped to incite those feelings in the gentleman I married.”

  “I am certain Somerset would have been faithful. Why did you refuse his offer?”

  “I had hoped to marry for love.”

  “Ah, yes. You did mention that. Is that all it would take?” he asked.

  Eve had to laugh. “If it were simple, everyone would be happy, but few married couples are.”

  A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Perhaps they did not court one another properly?”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “What would you know of courtship?”

  In a flash, his good humor morphed into a hard expression. “I suppose nothing.”

  Eve realized her mistake and grasped his arm. “Oh, Erroll, I am sorry.”

  He seemed to turn to stone and her heart twisted with the realization that she had wounded him. She let her hand drop away and started to turn, but he caught her chin with his fingers.

  “You are not completely wrong, Eve. But a man can change.”

  “He can?” she said stupidly.

  “Do you believe it is out of the realm of possibility?”

  In Eve’s experience, people seldom changed.

  He leaned close and brushed his lips against hers. She closed her eyes and allowed her senses to revel in the soft warmth of his lips.

  He drew back and released her. “Perhaps we should return to Ravenhall?”

  “Now?”

  “You did say you weren’t a lady who allowed a man to tumble you just anywhere.”

  “You pointed out that man would be you,” she retorted. “You said you would be a stickler on that point.”

  “And I will be.” He rose and pulled her up with him. “And you are not to forget that.”

  It made no sense. If he didn’t want her, why would he care?

  Chapter Twenty

  Erroll awoke early the following morning to find that his mother had whisked Eve and her sister off to the home of the only decent dressmaker on Mull. He’d purposely stayed away from her room last night—a feat which had taken Herculean effort—but was fast regretting the decision. It was evening, sixty guests already milled about the ballroom while the orchestra played a Scottish reel, and he had yet to see his wife—or his mother.

  He caught sight of his father entering the ballroom from the east corri
dor, which led to a massive sitting room for their party guests. Erroll had a feeling the guests would surpass the two hundred the ballroom could hold, and would spill into the sitting room. He strode toward his father, who had stopped just inside the ballroom.

  “Good evening, sir. Have you by chance seen the ladies?”

  “They arrived home two hours ago, and locked themselves in your mother’s chambers.”

  “I suppose they will make an appearance when they’re ready,” Erroll said.

  It seemed they were ready, for the three ladies entered the ballroom from the north entrance, and Erroll’s heart stopped. Eve wore a simple muslin gown adorned with exquisitely embroidered flowers sewn in cotton and silver thread with tiny gold sequins.

  His mother spotted them and led the two sisters across the room. Erroll’s gaze snagged on his father, who stared at his mother with unabashed desire. Erroll had long known that his father still desired his mother and bedded her regularly, and had hoped that he would enjoy the same fate with his own wife. Given the way Eve looked tonight, he had no doubt that would be the case.

  The ladies reached them and the marquess said, “You ladies are looking particularly fine tonight,” though his gaze rested on his wife.

  She looked at him from beneath her lashes—Erroll also knew that his mother was well aware of her effect on her husband—and the marquess clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. He released her, then bowed over Eve and Grace’s hands.

  Then Eve’s gaze shifted onto Erroll. “Good evening, my lord.”

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers. “I missed you today, madam.”

  He glimpsed the surprise in her eyes, then it was gone and she said, “I would think you were busy all day preparing for the party.”

  “That is my mother’s affair, not mine.”

  “I’m sure you found a way to amuse yourself,” she replied.

  “Perhaps.”

  “And what of me?” Grace asked. “Will you ignore me now that I am your sister instead of a prospective bride?”

  Erroll bowed over her hand. “You were never a prospective bride, Grace, but that does not mean I ever ignored you.”

  “Of that I am certain. Will you make introductions tonight, my lord? I suddenly find myself back on the marriage mart.”

  Erroll laughed. “My dear sister, one always knows where they stand with you. As for introductions, my mother will, I am sure, see to that, but you will find us less formal than London Society.”

  She looked at his mother. “I shall rely upon you, ma’am, for direction.”

  The orchestra began playing a country dance.

  “There’s Ash,” his mother said. “And Olivia.”

  Erroll’s sister and brother threaded their way through the crowd that had grown in the few minutes they’d been talking.

  When the two reached them, Olivia threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Ash told me what you did for Grant,” she said into his coat.

  Erroll sent Ash a frown over her head, then drew back. “It was more Val than me, love, but I put the final screw to the admiral.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I thank you both. Now, introduce me to your wife.” Her eyes rested on Eve. “This is she, I imagine.”

  “Eve, this is my sister, Olivia Cunningham.”

  Olivia pulled Eve into a hug, and Erroll heard her whisper, “I wondered who would catch him.”

  They separated, Eve’s cheeks a very pretty pink with embarrassment, then Ash stepped up and slapped Erroll on the back. “I still haven’t heard that story. I think it must be quite interesting.”

  “I suspect you’ve heard a great deal of it,” Erroll said dryly. “By now, the gossip has likely reached the Outer Hebrides.”

  “I see you made sure she was clothed this time.” His gaze shifted onto Grace. “And this one too. Though the nightshift was pleasant.”

  “Then I hope the picture is burned into your mind,” Grace said, “for you shall never see it again.”

  Ash looked at Erroll. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Beware,” Erroll said. “My wife might—”

  Eve elbowed him in the ribs—hard—and Erroll jerked his head in her direction.

  “That is enough gossip for the night,” she said.

  She was right. It was best if his parents never learned she had pointed a gun at Ash. Erroll realized the guests seemed to have doubled while they spoke. “Have you any idea how many guests are coming?” he asked his mother.

  “As I said, I invited four hundred.”

  “I believe you said three hundred.”

  “Did I?” She shrugged. “I am terrible with numbers.”

  “Is that Hilary?” Olivia asked.

  Erroll turned to see his cousin dancing alongside a young man. She had grown at least four inches, and the woman’s body beneath her muslin ball gown would, in another year, rival the beauties in London.

  “Good God,” Erroll said.

  “I told you she had grown,” his mother said.

  She had. Erroll suddenly realized something. “Has anyone seen Tolland and Somerset? I expected them tonight.”

  “I saw them together in the refreshments room earlier,” the marquess said.

  “Rush,” his mother said, “do not make any plans with Eve just yet. Olivia will want to make her better acquaintance, and we ladies will be introducing her and her sister to all our guests.”

  Erroll looked at Eve. “Do not say I never warned you about the MacLean relatives.”

  “You will remember that I said I am well equipped to deal with them.”

  With that, his mother led her and the other ladies into the crowd.

  Ash stepped up beside him. “I would guess she is a handful.”

  Erroll watched her disappear into the crowd. “You would be right.”

  *****

  Erroll stopped short at seeing Rebecca Reid talking with two other women. He hadn’t seen her since he left for the Navy. He’d thought of her in those first months after he’d returned, wondered if she remembered him as fondly as he did her. Her eyes shifted from the woman she was speaking with and rested on him. For an instant she didn’t move, then her mouth curved upward in a soft smile and he relaxed, then started toward her. Erroll was suddenly sure every one of the four hundred guests his mother invited had attended the party. When he finally reached Rebecca, her female friends all looked expectantly at him.

  “Lord Rushton.” Rebecca extended her hand.

  Erroll clasped her fingers and bowed over them, then looked at the other ladies. “Marianne, Jane, a pleasure to see you ladies.”

  They murmured greetings in response, then Erroll said to Rebecca, “May I have this dance?”

  She acquiesced with a nod and he excused them from the other two ladies then led her toward the dance floor.

  “I wondered when you would return,” Rebecca said.

  He smiled at her. “Who would have thought it would be under these circumstances?”

  “I am not all that surprised,” she said.

  “You expected me to marry?” he asked.

  “I expected you to get yourself into trouble.”

  Erroll laughed. “You know me too well.”

  “Well enough to know you did not intend to marry.”

  “That was no great secret.”

  They neared the dance floor and she said, “I believe everyone on Mull is here. The dance floor is over-full. Would you mind if we got some fresh air instead?”

  “Rebecca, you are an angel.” He steered her around the dancers and a moment later stepped out onto the balcony and into the cool night air.

  “That is wonderful,” she said.

  Erroll nodded at the bench near the railing. “Shall we?”

  “Yes. I would love to rest a bit.”

  They crossed to the bench and sat down.

  “How have you been?” she asked. “You look well.”

  “I am very well, thank you, and
you look wonderful. I don’t believe you have aged a day.”

  “No need to charm me, Erroll.”

  He covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. “I mean it. You are as beautiful as you always were.”

  “Thank you.” She gazed out across the garden. “I’m very sorry about Val.”

  He released a breath. “It’s been over a year. I have accepted his death.”

  “I saw him a week before he left.”

  Erroll kept his gaze straight ahead, beyond the light that spilled from the ballroom. “He served on one of the ships in the fleet at Trafalgar. I was there, but didn’t speak with him. How was he before he left?”

  “You know Val. As serious as usual.”

  Erroll nodded. He knew.

  “He was in very good spirits,” she said. “Unlike most young men, he didn’t romanticize the war.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Erroll said.

  “He actually wrote me while he was away.”

  Erroll looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t know you two were close.”

  “We were…friends.”

  “Friends?” he repeated.

  She smiled. “Incestuous, I know. But after Glen died and you left…” she shrugged. “Val was a very charming man.”

  Erroll wasn’t sure what to think. “Did you care for him?”

  “You can’t be jealous,” she said with a laugh. “You and I cared for one another, but I had no illusions where you were concerned.”

  “You are ever practical,” he said. And she would be, for he had made it plain there would be nothing beyond the sweet friendship they shared. They’d grown up together, shared a first kiss, then she’d married only to lose her husband early on in the war. Erroll had been there, comforted her, worshiped her body, then went off to do his part in the war. It was grossly unfair that of the three men she had cared for, he was the only one who returned.

  “Would you like to read the letter?”

  Erroll started from his thoughts. “Good God, no.”

  “It’s not personal, at least not as personal as you might think.”

  “It is better I do not.”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “Are you certain?”