While he wouldn’t rule out the possibility that a guest was responsible for the room’s condition, his gut shouted otherwise.
This chaos had Lorne’s revenge written all over it.
But what had he been searching for, and how had he gained entrance?
He and Bothan knew Keane didn’t keep money or other valuables in the study. They were tucked away safely in a locked chest, somewhere neither his cowardly cousin nor sly uncle would ever discover.
A quick inspection revealed the tall window at the room’s far end stood partially open. Since it latched from within, someone had either used the opening to escape or unlatched it to permit someone to enter.
He’d wager on the latter.
No doubt, the spy in his midst had done so, which reaffirmed his suspicions about Lorne. By damn, before week’s end, he’d know who the traitor was and just how long they’d been working for his cousin and uncle. And he’d start locking his study when not in use.
“Perhaps you ought to see to this first, Keane. Our discussion can wait.”
Marjorie crouched and started gathering documents, her crimson hair swinging over one shoulder. She’d left it down today except for the sides pulled back into a loose knot at the back of her head.
“There’s nae need for ye to do this.” Taking one knee beside her, he collected the papers from her grasp.
His fingers brushed her hand, and she inhaled sharply, dropping her gaze.
A satisfied grin pulled the corners of his mouth upward.
He gathered her hands in his, and she brought her gaze up to meet his. “Keane?”
“Leave it,” he said, helping her stand. Still holding her hand in his, he led her to the sofa facing the fireplace. Unlike the great hall’s fireplace, a fire snapped and crackled its blue and white tiled, freshly swept hearth. “Please sit.”
Eyebrows knitted, Marjorie settled onto the plump cushion.
When Keane sat beside her, his thigh brushing hers, her chest rose with another swift intake of breath. She licked her lower lip and then, as if realizing what she did, ceased abruptly.
“You had something you wished to say to me in private?” she asked.
“Aye.”
But where to begin?
Just come out with it?
Would that be too bold and put her off?
“Marjorie…”
She went still suddenly, her stricken dark-honey gaze colliding with his. “Have my daughters done—”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her lips and nearly groaned aloud at the sensation of the warm, moist pillows beneath the pad. “To my knowledge, the lasses havna done anythin’.”
Visibly relaxing, she gave him a weak smile. “Oh, good. I feared they’d managed to embroil themselves in a spot of mischief. They do so with frustrating and clever regularity. Not that they’re deliberately disobedient…”
She clamped her mouth shut as if fearing she’d said too much.
Those minxes would keep him on his toes, to be sure. But after practically raising Branwen and Bethea, he felt up to the task.
Keane turned her hand over, resting the back upon his thigh. Tracing a finger along the lines grooving her palm, he said, “There’s somethin’ ye need to ken. Somethin’ verra important.”
She studied his face, uncertainty replacing her earlier consternation. “What is it?”
Meeting her inquisitive gaze, he peered deep within those captivating, dark brown pools. A man could lose himself in them. He wanted to lose himself in them as he made love to her.
“I mean to court ye, Marjorie.”
Chapter Eleven
Keane hadn’t intended to blurt his intentions, but gazing into her fathomless brown eyes, the words had wrapped around his tongue, and he’d forgotten himself.
“What? What?”
Marjorie’s mouth went slack, and she blinked several times, the coppery tips of her lashes fluttering. But not in the manner of a practiced flirt, coyly batting her eyelashes. No, Marjorie sought to rein in her astonishment and bewilderment.
She was quite adorable in her bafflement.
“Court me? As in…?” Her bewildered gaze probing his, she cleared her throat. “Um, courtship usually leads to… That is…”
She drew a deep, quavering breath, and Keane forced his eyes to remain on her face and not the rise and fall of her bountiful bosom, which in her agitation rose and fell rapidly.
Pressing her palm to her forehead, she said, “Leads to—”
“Aye, lass. I ken what courtship leads to.” Cradling her jaw in one hand, he savored her petal-soft skin against his calloused palm. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her near. “And yes, I mean to marry ye, if ye’ll have me.”
Her lips were but an inch away, so damn sweet and so damn tempting. With a strangled groan, Keane took her mouth, gently prying her lips apart.
Marjorie didn’t object or resist but instead, sighed, and like dew-touched petals, her lips opened fully. Rotating until her torso was flush with his, she wound her arms around his neck and arched into him, kissing him hungrily.
A firestorm erupted inside him, and Keane couldn’t get enough of her taste or scent: roses and lemon. Hitching her skirts up her impossibly long, shapely legs, until they bunched atop her supple thighs, he nipped and kissed his way to the lush, creamy mounds balanced above her bodice which had tormented him unmercifully since she’d walked into the great hall.
In one deft movement, he delved his fingers deep into her cleavage, relishing her moan of pleasure when he captured a pebbled nipple. With his other hand, he explored her satiny thigh, moving ever closer to her sex.
Encouraged by her whimpers and guttural sounds of pleasure, he plunged his tongue deep into her sweet mouth, still tasting of the berry preserves she’d spread upon her bread at breakfast.
Marjorie rocked against him, one hand clutching his hair and the other gripping his back. She returned his kisses, matching each thrust and parry of his tongue. They breathed as one, giving and taking, seeking and finding.
He cupped the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs with his palm, and she groaned raggedly against his mouth. Slipping a finger within her moist channel, he reveled in her pleasure as his shaft pulsed demandingly against the fabric of his breeches.
His unruly member would have to wait.
This time was for Marjorie. To show her how damn good it could be between them. Keane slid another finger into her, and she buried her face in his neck.
“Keane,” she moaned throatily. “Oh, Keane.”
“That’s it, mo ghràidh, mo ghoal.” My darling. My love.
And then she was convulsing around his fingers.
He pleasured her, rapidly moving his fingers in and out of her slickness while whispering words of passion into her delicate ear. A few heartbeats later, she collapsed against him, spent, soft, and utterly feminine.
Only the tick-tocking of the ebony bracket clock atop the mantel and the fire’s occasional crackle and pop disrupted the contented silence. Several minutes passed as their breathing gradually returned to normal, though his cock continued to protest its confines.
“Had I known this was the conversation you wanted to have, I’d not have lingered over my breakfast,” she quipped before pressing her lips to his jaw in a long kiss.
Unfettered joy flooding him, Keane threw back his head and laughed. She was a wonder. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth ever so gently. If the stars aligned and the saints blessed him, she’d become his wife.
Marjorie palmed the granite lump in his groin, glancing up at him with a woman’s smile bending her kiss-swollen lips.
God help him. He wasn’t a bloody saint.
“Nae, no’ this time, love.” He lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles before helping right her skirts. “When I take ye fully, Marjorie, we’ll be in a bed where I can take my time and enjoy every exquisite inch of ye. Nae on a cramped sofa, fearin’ a knock upon the door any moment.”
The flush of passion still coloring her cheeks, she sliced a glance to the door. “Aye, that would be awkward, indeed.”
“I meant what I said, mo ghràidh.” He looked at her intently. “I want to make ye my bride, to have ye at my side forever.”
“But, Keane, we hardly know each other.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth before sliding away, and she leaned back. “How can you be certain of something so monumental in such a short time?”
He’d expected this argument from her.
“That’s where the courtship part comes in,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, not easily deterred. He’d give her as long as she needed. “No’ that I’m no’ certain, but I can understand yer hesitation as well as yer desire for caution.”
“I… I don’t know. ’Tis not just a decision that affects me. I have my daughters to consider, too.” She straightened, and he allowed her the distance she seemed to need. Forehead furrowed and hands folded in her lap, she shook her head, causing the loose coppery hair to brush her shoulders and back.
Someday, he’d run his fingers through those tresses and spread them over her naked form, and his, too.
“We clashed horribly when we first met.” She fingered her gown, distractedly. “I thought you an utter—erm—pig.”
He’d vow she’d thought him an unmitigated, arrogant arse.
“Och, but I believe that’s because of the immediate, intense attraction between us that neither of us kent what to do about. I’ll admit, it scared the hell out of me, and so I acted the colossal asslin’.” With one finger, he turned her face to his. “Are ye afraid for yer lasses? That I’ll be rough and impatient with them? I willna, I vow to ye.”
“I…” Again, her focus slipped to his mouth, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lower lip. “No, I don’t think you’ll be unkind to them. I know Bethea and Branwen are devoted to you, even though they think you are overly strict. I suspect you’d be the same with Cora and Elana.”
“I would love them like my own.”
And he would. Already, the little darling minxes had captured the hearts of his cats as well, and no one had done that before.
“I never thought to marry again,” Marjorie admitted quietly, her expression solemn. “I have no dowry or properties to recommend me. Or even noble blood. My father was a gentleman farmer. I’d come to the marriage empty-handed.”
“I dinna care about any of that.” And he didn’t. Compared to love, such things were wholly inconsequential.
One thought niggled persistently, however. Just because her young, delectable widow’s body had responded to Keane’s caresses, didn’t mean Marjorie’s heart didn’t still belong to her dead husband.
Could he accept that truth and yet take her to wife?
Aye, he could, and hope and pray someday, she’d feel a modicum for him what he held in his heart and soul for her.
Keane paused, then ventured, “I ken ye loved Sion verra much.”
A wistful half-smile tilted her mouth as she stared into the frolicking fire. “I did. Sion was the love of my youth, back when I had stars in my eyes and still believed in fairytales and happily ever afters.”
Life’s experiences had stripped her of that innocence.
Her smile turned wry, and she breathed out a shallow sigh. “We only had four years together. It seems a lifetime ago. I see him in the girls.” She cut Keane a short glance. “They have Sion’s eyes and penchant for his precociousness.”
“Och, they do, and they possess their mother’s stunnin’ hair.” He grasped a tendril, looping the soft, burnished tresses about his fingers. “I adore yer hair.”
Surprise skittered over her face before a radiant smile illuminated her face. “Not everyone appreciates it. Many think the shade is a curse or a mark of the devil.”
“Codswallop,” he said firmly. “’Tis nothin’ of the sort. ’Tis a gift to treasure.”
“Thank you,” she quietly replied, her emotion-laden voice husky.
“All I ask is that ye give us a chance, Marjorie. I willna rush ye into doin’ somethin’ ye dinna want.” Unlike his predecessors. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use his considerable diplomacy and seduction skills to woo her.
Indecision played across her features. She was afraid to take a chance. A woman risked everything when she wed. She became her husband’s property, and the only rights she had were those he granted her.
Keane released her hair and then searching her eyes, took her hand and raised it to his mouth, pressing a hot kiss to the knuckles. “I dinna want us to miss an opportunity and perhaps have regrets for the rest of our lives.”
A heavy knock shook the door, and he tossed a frustrated scowl toward the din before asking her, “What say ye?”
“I’d like time to think about it, please.” It was her turn to put a palm to his face. “I find you devilishly attractive, Keane Buchannan, and I can hardly cobble together a coherent sentence in your presence. But that may well only be lust.”
With a cynical, self-conscious smile, she withdrew her hand.
“Ye dinna say.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Ye lust after me, do ye lass?”
Her cheeks reddened, but she forged onward. “Don’t look so confounded proud of yourself, Your Grace.” She poked his chest. “A gentleman never remarks on such intimacies or a lady’s private confessions.”
“Och, lass, I never claimed to be a gentleman where ye are concerned.”
A distinct twinkle in her rich brown eyes, she notched her chin upward and sniffed. “Hmm, I’m not certain whether to be flattered or insulted by your admission.”
“Keane.” The door reverberated again. “Open this door at once! I must speak to ye. ’Tis most urgent.”
Uncle Bothan?
This time Marjorie threw a startled look to the vibrating door. She’d recognized his voice and raised a hand to her throat in alarm.
“We’ll speak about my proposal later, Marjorie,” Keane said as he rose, mindful to keep his tone from revealing the anger and unease Bothan’s presence portended. “Lorne is the rotter who set the cottage afire yesterday, and I must speak to my uncle about the matter.” He glanced at the window, reminding himself to secure the latch. “Though, in truth, I dinna ken why he’s here.”
Should he tell Marjorie that he suspected Lorne was behind the ransacked study? No, it would only frighten her further. To be safe, he’d assign more guards to monitor the castle’s interior.
“I must leave anyway. I promised the girls I’d play with them.” Having gained her feet, she briskly shook out her skirts before adjusting her bodice. Once more, she appeared the serene, proper widow.
He caught her fine-boned hand in his, running his thumb back and forth across the top of the delicate, white flesh. “Will ye raise a glass with me when the clock strikes midnight? We can toast a new beginnin’ for us, too?”
Her expression inscrutable, Marjorie remained silent for so long, he feared she wouldn’t answer. Her eyes softened, and almost shyly, she said, “Aye. I shall be happy to.”
Triumph sluiced through him, but he contained the jubilant shout and victorious grin. He’d but won a battle, not the war.
In pensive silence, she accompanied him to the door, but before turning the key, he drew her near, inhaling her perfume. Who’d have believed roses and lemon could smell so erotic? He whispered in her ear, absorbing her woman’s heat and fragrance.
“I care deeply for ye, Marjorie. Verra deeply.”
He couldn’t say love yet.
He wasn’t ready.
She wasn’t ready.
“I know you do, and you honor me.” Touching his arm, her expression serious, she said, “I’m not without feelings for you, Keane, but I need a bit of time to sort things out in my mind. Even you must admit, this has been quite sudden.”
Och, she’d arrived but two days ago, and the arrows they’d shot at each other hadn’t been of Cupid’s variety.
“Ye can have all the time ye nee
d, leannan.” His sweetheart, forevermore.
If waiting meant a lifetime with her as his duchess, Keane would wrestle his impatience into submission. He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “Until I find out who broke into my office, I must ask that ye and yer lasses nae leave the castle without an escort. Nae even to take a walk.”
Which wasn’t likely since the snow hadn’t melted as yet.
She parted her lips as if to object, but he touched a fingertip to the soft mounds, and she promptly snapped her mouth shut. She might not have voiced her displeasure with his request, but her gaze revealed muted rebellion.
“Please dinna defy me in this, Marjorie. I’ll assign a guard to ye if I must.”
After the study break-in, he’d be assigning extra sentries in any event.
An endless moment stretched on and on, and at last, she gave a resigned nod. “All right. I trust that you know best.”
Turning his focus to the door, vibrating yet again with instant thumps, Keane asked, “Ready?”
“Yes.” She gave one short nod and squared her shoulders.
The key made a soft grating sound as he rotated it, but before he could press the latch, the door swung violently inward, almost smacking him and Marjorie in the faces. He grabbed her, yanking her out of harm’s way, prepared to defend her with his life if he must.
Bothan charged in and stumbled to an abrupt halt. Unshaven, his clothing disheveled, and great puffy pouches beneath his bloodshot eyes, he looked like he hadn’t slept since he left Trentwick. Or bathed or changed his clothing.
“I beg yer pardon.” Clearly abashed, he noisily cleared his throat and scratched his head. “I dinna ken ye werna alone.”
Keane didn’t fail to notice his uncle didn’t greet Marjorie, or in fact, in any way acknowledge her presence. Just like him to carry a grudge and wrongly blame her for Lorne’s foul behavior.
“I was just leaving, Mr. Buchannan.” As always, she displayed impeccable decorum, and by addressing Bothan directly, she’d forced him to acknowledge her. She’d make a splendid duchess.
He dipped his chin, muttering rather sullenly, “Lady Kennedy.”
To Defy a Highland Duke Page 10