But Ian knew Hero was not.
Despite her eight years of marriage, there might have been a naïveté about Hero but there was also an extraordinary passion there that sent his own pulse racing with lust and left him burning with the need to bury himself deep within it once again. Today they would wed, and tonight and for every night in the future, she would be his.
Daphne stared at the marquis’s bedchamber door as it closed behind her. Leave? She thought darkly. Thrown from Cuilean like so much rubble?
Who did Ian Conagham think he was? Who did he think he was dealing with? Daphne’s hands clenched with rage. For three months Cuilean had been hers. She had ruled it and loved every moment of being something more than life had allowed. Daphne wanted that back. Wanted it enough to do anything to have it. Of course, marrying the heir to the Ayr marquisate wasn’t much of a sacrifice for a good cause, Daphne conceded. It would have been the perfect solution.
But no! Daphne turned across the hall to the State Chamber. No, Hero Conagham had stepped right in and scooped him up before Daphne had even had a chance to win him for herself. It wasn’t fair. Hero had already had her time as marchioness. Now was Daphne’s time.
But Ayr was going to wed Hero? Daphne screeched with rage. Perhaps instead of seeking to injure Hero back in Glasgow, she should have tried to kill her after all; then none of this would even have been an issue.
It was all her fault.
Before she even knew what she was about, Daphne found herself at Hero’s chamber door and reaching for the handle, determined to face her rival, to let her know that she would not win after all, that Daphne would not let her win again.
“Whoa, there!” A masculine hand covered hers as she reached for the handle. “What are you doing, Daph?”
With a start, Daphne looked up at her brother. He must have seen the fury in her gaze because his brows rose inquiringly. “We’ve been dismissed from the castle, Cam.”
“Dismissed?” he asked in surprise.
“Aye, dismissed!” she sneered. “We must pack our bags and leave within the hour and it’s all her fault.”
Kennedy chuckled sardonically and pulled his sister away from Lady Ayr’s door before anyone saw them there. “What were you going to do? Charge into her room and drown Lady Ayr in her bath?”
Daphne’s eyes gleamed. “Now there’s an idea!”
“So you drown her and then what?” Kennedy asked, then scoffed. “Ayr falls neatly into your arms and plans? He’s so hot for her he’ll not turn to another until he’s had her. Men are like that, you know.”
“He’s already had her!” Daphne told him, nodding at his surprised look. “And now he says he’s going to marry her and I’ll never have Cuilean!”
“Did you ever consider that it was never destined to be yours after all, Daph?”
“Never,” she said matter-of-factly. “I can only hope that their bed grows cold before the wedding ever takes place. It would take a lot more work to win Cuilean if I have a marriage to contend with.”
“How far are you willing to go to get it, Daphne?” Kennedy asked. “Are you willing to damn yourself for it?”
“No, but I’m willing to damn them for it.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There were a half dozen guards stationed around the gazebo, each one charged to secure the area for the wedding and to do so discreetly while protecting Hero at all costs. Ian nodded to one of the men grimly and received a nod in return. He would not have this day ruined by any more attempts on his life. He’d be damned if he would let Daphne win or take malicious glee from having him hide like a coward.
Protecting home and hearth was what he had been trained to do, and Ian knew well how to defend Cuilean from an outside threat. She might hire the best henchmen in all of Britain to do her evil works but they would not find a way into Cuilean again.
A violin drew a long note to capture the small gathering’s attention, and his starchy butler, Boyle, began to play with surprising emotion as an open carriage came to a halt across the bridge and a footman stepped forward to assist in Hero’s descent.
Plots and conspiracies forgotten, with a single smile, Hero took his breath away as she walked across the little bridge on her father’s arm to marry him on the very spot where Ian had proposed to her. Ian had thought that the expediency of his decision might at some point prick at his nerves or waver his resolution, but as a becoming blush graced his bride’s cheeks, Ian felt only pride and anticipation.
Never had there been a lovelier bride. Hero wore a white day dress in the fashion Queen Victoria had made popular, but the sheer white voile overskirt and bodice were embroidered with blue, green, and yellow florals that seemed to grow from the bottom of the belled skirt, creating a bountiful garden around it. Over the rest of the gown, the flowers and leaves were more sparse. Aqua blue ribbon trimmed the cuffs of the long sleeves and neckline at the base of her throat, but with the linen underlayment of the dress stopping just above the peaks of Hero’s breasts, Ian could see the ivory flesh of her chest, shoulders, and arms as easily as if she were bare.
Ian knew Hero had most chosen the gown as a compliment to the location of the ceremony but couldn’t help but wonder if Hero was aware of just how provocative it was to a man when a woman covered herself from head to toe in a manner that still revealed so much. Like a gift wrapped in nothing but the air.
And she would soon be his to unwrap.
He couldn’t help but smile at the possessive thought. Ian had first woken in the early grey of dawn that morning to the pleasure of Hero’s warm body pressed against his, her bottom against his groin, her arm over his as he hugged her even in his sleep, her hand curled trustingly in his. He had looked down at her with wonder, astonished by her beauty even at rest.
Ian had lived a good life thus far, privilege and achievement had graced him, yet never had he felt so lucky as he had in that moment. It was astonishing how rapidly it had all happened, yet Ian knew that if he hadn’t denied the intensity of their attraction straight away, it might have gone even more quickly. His male pride had fought against succumbing to Hero. Fought against the sentimental nonsense that he saw as an affront to his manhood. A sign of weakness.
But there was nothing weak in this. Nothing shameful in the love that filled his heart. Indeed, Ian had never felt more powerful or proud than he did in that moment. Now he would wed this woman who was witty and intelligent, a shy yet passionate lover. And she loved him.
Hero finally reached him, giving him a quizzical look, but Ian just shook his head and held out his hand to her. She slipped her hand into his so trustfully that he couldn’t imagine what he had done to win such a boon, but Ian knew he wouldn’t let that wonder slip away. He would embrace the gift he had been given as long as he lived.
“Are we ready to begin?” the bishop of Ayr asked and cleared his throat when they both nodded. “We are gathered here today in the presence of God and these witnesses to join together this man and this woman …”
Hero stared into Ian’s chocolaty eyes, fighting to keep her focus on the words that the bishop spoke. Words that she had heard before but never really cared to understand until now. She didn’t spare her attention for the servants gathered around them or for her father, who was swaying and humming at her side. She paid no mind to the hanging branches of the willow that swayed in the warm breeze or the ducks paddling on the water.
All she cared about in that moment was Ian and the words that would bind them together. It was the culmination of any girl’s dreams to have that moment. That one perfect moment.
“Ian Alexander Conagham, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” the bishop solemnly intoned the vow.
“I will,” Ian responded just as solemnly, though he punctuated the words
with a wink that made Hero smile even wider.
“Hero Margaret Victoria Ashburn Conagham,” the bishop continued, turning to her, “wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” she answered without hesitation, and the light in Ian’s eyes glowed. He hadn’t had to do this, she thought. Not just the proposal but the bishop and this ceremony. Marriage laws in Scotland were very lax even now. All they truly would have needed to do was declare their intention to be recognized as man and wife before witnesses and it would have been done. The handfast was the very reason Scotland was so popular with those from England and Wales intent on eloping.
Still, Ian had brought the bishop and arranged for this small ceremony at the most beautiful and fanciful location at Cuilean … for her. For her sense of romance and, he claimed with a wicked grin, so that no one could ever claim that she wasn’t legally his. Hero would even have included the word “obey” in her vows, but Ian had insisted that the words be removed. That way, he said, when she acted willfully, as he was sure she would, no vows would be broken. Hero grinned broadly at the thought and squeezed his hand.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
“I do,” Beaumont boomed promptly, and Hero turned in surprise to find her father’s attention firmly on the ceremony. He bent and kissed her cheek affectionately and smiled down at her with none of the wavering glassiness in his eyes that she had become used to. Indeed, he looked utterly focused. “You look just like your mother did the day I married her,” he whispered brusquely. “I hope you are as happy as we were.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes.
“None of that now,” he said more sternly. “You have more vows to repeat if we’re going to get this done and feast on that glorious cake Mrs. Potts has made.”
That was more like it. Hero turned back to Ian, seeing the smile in his eyes.
“My lord,” the bishop went on, “please repeat after me. I, Ian Alexander.”
“I, Ian Alexander …”
Yes, it was a perfect day.
Nothing could destroy it now.
“Would you care to dance, wife?” Ian asked with a wicked grin many hours later when they were finally able to break away from Beaumont and retreat to the privacy of their rooms.
Their rooms, Hero thought with a smile, since Mandy had returned her belongings to the marchioness’s chamber that afternoon. Theirs.
The sound of a crank turning caught Hero’s attention, and she turned to find Ian winding up the music box from the music room. “You had that brought up here?”
“How else was I to dance with my bride?” he asked with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to hold you in my arms all day, but the staff seemed intent on making the occasion far more festive … and prolonged … than I had planned.”
“They only wanted to please us,” she chided, though she was glad to know that her new husband was as anxious for her company as she was his.
Husband.
Hero couldn’t help but smile. She had smiled so much that day that her cheeks almost hurt. From the moment the bishop had pronounced them man and wife and Ian had kissed her enthusiastically to seal the bargain, she had been hard put to do anything else.
“They’ve certainly created a welcoming wedding chamber,” Ian said, nodding at the huge bed. All the bed hangings that had been tied back the night before were loose and drawn to enclose the bed. “Either winter has come without warning or the maids thought I might want to do my duty in blessed darkness when in truth I want to see you in all the detail I missed last night.”
Her smile broadened even more, if that were possible. She felt positively giddy, excited. Eager. Though it was past the dinner hour, with the summer solstice so near, the room was still awash in the light of the setting sun. Unless they were to enclose themselves within the bed, there would be no shadows to hide in this time.
Ian would be able to see her clearly, true. But she would be able to see him as well.
“Come here, wife,” Ian commanded, and Hero slipped into his arms as the strains of another Strauss waltz filled the room. He circled and dipped, twirled her until she was laughing and clinging to him for support.
Ian lifted her off the floor and spun her around before coming to a halt. Catching her breath, Hero wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled the scent of him, warm and spicy. “Mmm, you smell good.”
Nuzzling her neck, Ian said, “You do, too.” For some reason Hero couldn’t determine that made her giggle, and Ian lifted his head suspiciously. “Are you drunk?”
“On a day like this?” she lifted her brows haughtily. “Never!” But she spoiled the effect with another grin. “I’m just happy, dizzily ecstatic.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t spin you about anymore,” he said playfully, then grinned with a waggle of his brows. “Or better yet, perhaps you had better lie down.”
“Lie down?” Hero said with rounded eyes that twinkled mirthfully. “Do you think it’s that serious?”
“Mmm,” Ian nodded, guiding her toward the bed. “Very serious. Perhaps I should loosen your bodice as well.”
“So I can breathe better?”
“Of course,” he answered.
“I feel so faint,” Hero whispered dramatically. “I might not make it to the bed. Oh!”
Ian swung her into his arms with a grin. “I really do feel that you should be abed, Lady Ayr.”
“Whatever you say, Lord Ayr,” she agreed, curling her fingers in his hair and tousling his locks. “Might we go to my bed, though? In truth, the idea of making love beneath that portrait makes me oddly anxious.”
Looking up at the gigantic portrait over the fireplace, Ian smiled. “I love that painting but I shall accommodate you only because I’ve been fantasizing about making love to you in in your bed all week,” he said softly as he carried her through the attached dressing rooms and into the marchioness’s chamber. Her bed hadn’t been turned down, and the hangings were drawn back as they should be this time of year. Ian laid her down on the green counterpane. At her quizzical gaze, he continued as he plucked the pins one by one from her hair, “I imagined you here with your hair spread out over the pillows.”
Hero shook her head and worked her fingers through her curls. “Like this?”
Ian toyed with one of the long blond locks before placing it across her chest. “Aye, just like that, my love. By God, but yer a bonny lass.”
Hero’s heart pounded furiously at the emotion in his words, feeling that they said so much more. Already they had professed their love, but somehow the words did not say it all. His eyes said so much more. She felt the message to her core. Love, adoration, desire, need.
“Are you going to make love to me now?” Hero asked when Ian didn’t move from her side. Yet with only his dark gaze touching her, Hero was already throbbing with desire. Her breasts tingled and tightened, waiting for his hand, and she wasn’t even unclothed yet!
“Wi’ yer clothes still on?” he asked huskily as he took her hand and began unfastening the pearl buttons at her above her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. His brogue was heavy with barely leashed passion. “Nay, there will be moments for that in the days to come.”
Hero blinked at that. “Really?”
“Aye, I might come upon ye in the Blue Drawing Room one morning while ye are playing piano,” he began. “I would see ye there wi’ your head bowed over the ivories, the sun as bright as gold on your hair. I would pick ye up and set ye on the keys. I might push yer skirts up to yer waist and take ye right there and see what music we might make together.”
Hero swallowed deeply, her heart beating hard within her chest. Ian had finished opening her sleeves and pulled her to her feet. Turning her about, he gathered her loo
se hair and pushed it over her shoulder so he might begin unbuttoning her dress. “Or?” she asked hoarsely through her suddenly tight throat.
“Or,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her nape and sending shivers down her spine, “I might take ye against the balustrade outside the Round Drawing Room with the crash of the waves below. I would thrust into ye hard, so hard ye would have to hang on to me tightly so ye dinnae fall over.”
Her dress fell to the floor but Hero hardly noticed anything besides Ian’s lips against the side of her neck. Her head was swimming dizzily at the images he presented, and a dull ache tightened between her legs. “Or?”
Ian began tugging at the strings of her corset. “Or I might take ye out to our spot on the ramparts one night. But when I lift your skirts, the wind would caress ye as only I should. Would I mind, do ye think? Or would I simply bend ye over the wall and take ye with all the fury of the wind and sea? We might have to find out.”
A soft thud hailed the corset’s drop to her feet, and Hero felt Ian’s arms come around her to untie her pantalets. His hands smoothed them down as he knelt and untied her garters. As if he knew she was nearly speechless, Ian continued, “Or there is still the pagoda to visit. Not at night, though. Our time for a surreptitious rendezvous is past. I would make love to ye on the top floor wi’ the sun’s rays on us and with the birds and wildlife all welcome to watch. When ye came, yer screams would scare them away. Would ye scream, fair Hero?”
Hero could hardly keep a thought in her head. She was quivering from head to toe, her knees so shaky she was surprised to be upright. Ian’s palms smoothed up the back of her legs, then she felt his lips touch the back of her knee and Hero cried out softly. He stood once more and she could feel him behind her before he even touched her. An arm encircled her waist, drawing her back against his chest, and Ian bent his head to whisper. “There are a hundred days ahead of us, wife, when I will come upon ye and be so caught by lust that I must take ye then and there. When I will do little more than push yer skirts up so that I might ha’ ye. But not tonight. Tonight, I want ye naked with me.”
My Heart's in the Highlands Page 20