Finding Miss McFarland

by Vivienne Lorret

  Delaney watched her disappear through the door leading off the foyer and caught sight of her own reflection in an oval mirror. Her simple day dress hosted a ruffled hem at the bottom and satin sash beneath her breasts but not a single flounce. Her small bosom was not disguised in any way—although, there was no one to notice it or to think she was perfect anyway. Ever again.

  She sighed, wondering when she would stop thinking about Griffin Croft. How long does it take to fall out of love with someone?

  Mrs. Shaw came out of the parlor and stopped beside Delaney, but her gaze was fixed on the door. “I guess it isn’t Douglas, after all. I wonder who . . .”

  The housekeeper’s next words fell on deaf ears as Delaney turned and saw a figure emerge in the doorway. Her heart sputtered. The air left her lungs in a rush. “Mr. Croft!”

  Beneath the archway, he bowed in greeting, his gaze never leaving hers. Somehow, he’d found her. And by the state of his windswept hair, poorly knotted cravat, and muddied boots, it hadn’t been an easy journey.

  She regretted every trial he’d gone through to get there.

  But then he had to open his mouth and ruin everything.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Croft.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Ye’r married,” Mrs. Shaw said, her Scottish burr rolling over the words so long they started to sound like church bells. Then, a wide grin filled her face, as if she suddenly understood a riddle.

  Delaney shook her head. “We are not married.”

  “Perhaps not in the truest sense . . .” Griffin interrupted, a look of supreme triumph flashing in his gaze. “Yet.”

  If he thought that traveling all this way meant she would simply change her mind, he was sorely mistaken. Still . . . he said the words with such heated certainty that she had to blush.

  “Ye poor wee lass.” Mrs. Shaw sidled up to her and draped the heavy shawl around her shoulders. “Now I understand why ye looked so frightened and alone yesterday. Many a young woman has fled out of fear . . . and then regretted it later.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t—” Delaney attempted a denial, but the housekeeper had a dreamy look in her eyes and wasn’t listening anyway.

  “That happened wi’ Mr. Shaw and me, so many years ago. I was so young ’n’ unsure that I ran away. He didn’t find me for nigh on a month. Ah, but when he did, I was glad he was my husband already.” She cast a knowing glance to Griffin, earning a chuckle that made Delaney’s cheeks burn.

  He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, as if he hadn’t any control over the older woman’s incorrect assumptions.

  “Though I cried for shame, because I’d wished that had been our wedding night.” Mrs. Shaw nodded sagely and then took Delaney by the shoulders and turned her to face Griffin. “Now, what ye need to do is walk over to the smithy’s ’n’ say yer vows over the anvil. Ye can still have your weddin’ night with nae regrets after.”

  Griffin smiled and proffered his arm. “And where is the nearest blacksmith?”

  “Back toward town.”

  Ignoring his bent elbow, Delaney skirted around him. “Mr. Croft, might I speak with you in private for a moment.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Croft.”

  Delaney drew in a quick breath. In the same instant, she felt a familiar warmth ignite deep within her. Her inner flame had returned.

  Griffin followed her out the door, fighting the urge to take her in his arms with every step and every angry swish of her braid. He wanted to kiss her until the crazed unrest that had claimed him this past week faded away. He wanted to slip that shawl from her shoulders, strip her bare, and make love to her right here, right now. He wanted to prove to her and to the world that she was his.

  Suddenly, she turned on her heel, violet eyes blazing. “Stop this at once. I am not part of a cat-and-mouse game. You cannot chase me across the country as if you’ve the right. I am not yours.”

  Those last words came out as a taunt, testing the last of his control. “If you did not want me to chase you, then why did you run away? You could have remained in town and made your point perfectly clear by refusing my suit directly to your father.”

  “And risk his not listening to me, the same way you haven’t?” She scoffed.

  “It’s not the same at all.” He took a step closer and gently shook his head. “I listen to every word your lips speak. I hear every secret your eyes tell. I know exactly why you fled London. We both know.”

  Her perfect bosom rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. That haunted look he’d witnessed before flashed across her gaze. He regretted being the cause of it. Yet at the same time, he knew the cure.

  “I realize now that my initial proposal did not convey the . . . the depth of my obligation to marry you,” he said before taking a deep breath. Had he known how difficult it would be to tell a woman he loved her, he would have practiced on the way here. He felt his tongue thicken. His heart was beating so fast, he feared it would climb up his throat, fall out of his mouth, and drop onto the ground at her feet.

  He was so concerned with his next words that he hadn’t even noticed the alteration in her expression.

  She took a step toward him and pushed the tip of her finger into the center of his waistcoat. “I believe we explored those shallow depths quite succinctly when I stated there was no obligation on your part.”

  He reached for her hand to press it flat over his chest, intending to for her to feel what he was trying to say, but she pulled away from him. Again.

  “You’ve misunderstood,” he said, frustration adding bite to his words. “I did not come here to continue this cat-and-mouse game, as you’ve called it. I came here to tell you—”

  “Mr. Croft,” the housekeeper called from the doorway. “Will you be needin’ a room prepared?”

  Delaney’s gaze rounded, flitting from him to the door and back to him.

  A sudden realization struck him. Here he stood, exhausted, covered in mud and filth from his journey, and steps away from an eager audience inside the house. Perhaps this was not the time to profess his undying love.

  He dropped his head back toward the sky for an instant, exhaling deeply, and then he turned. “Thank you, no. I have a place nearby.” And then to Delaney, he bowed. “It is probably best that I leave you now. I must warn you, however, that if you choose to flee before dawn on the morrow, I will find you again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I thought yer husband would hae returned yesterday,” Mrs. Shaw said as she hung Delaney’s clothes in the wardrobe the following morning. “Though perhaps he had a time findin’ a room at the inn.”

  “I’m sure he managed quite well.” Delaney refused to feel an ounce of guilt or attempt to explain that he wasn’t her husband and that his remark had been said to incite her temper. Nothing more.

  Nothing more? Even she had a difficult time believing there was nothing more between them. Griffin Croft wouldn’t have come all this way merely to incite her temper. Then it stood to reason that obligation wasn’t his sole purpose either. Yet that was precisely what he’d said.

  “We get a terrible lot of travelers from London when it’s near the end of spring, and the London Season starts to dwindle.” The housekeeper draped a fresh petticoat and a lavender muslin dress, embroidered with yellow poppies at the hem, over the foot of the bed. “For some, love is a great race. They hae to get there as fast as they can. But they dinna ken how patient it can be. True love stands back ’n’ waits for the rush to subside.”

  Delaney ignored the fluttering in her stomach. “Arrogant men will do that too.”

  “Aye.” Mrs. Shaw laughed. “But I doubt many arrogant men will chase a woman across the country ’n’ then let her hae time to gather her bearin’s.”

  “No,” Delaney admitted quietly.

  “Not unless . . .” the older woman mused, rocking back on her heels.

  “Unless, what?”

  “He expects you to go to him this time.” She gave an absent shrug before
she walked to the door. “Perhaps he only wanted to make yer distance shorter, savin’ ye the humiliation of drivin’ all the way back to London.”

  Delaney’s mouth fell open on an argument, but the woman had already closed the door. “He’s not my husband,” she hissed. Throwing the coverlet aside, she scrambled out of bed.

  Saving me the humiliation, she harrumphed. With a quick jerk, she tossed her dressing gown to the bed and donned her fresh clothes. She wished she’d brought sturdier stockings because she planned to be out walking the entire day. That way, if Griffin Croft had a notion that she was waiting here, pining for him, he would quickly learn differently.

  Now that her determination had returned, she wasn’t about to squander it by moping about as she had yesterday. In fact, the only reason she pinned his handkerchief beneath the bodice of her gown was to act as a barrier against the cool breeze. Nothing more.

  Within the hour, Delaney had a good leg under her.

  Up ahead, she could hear water tripping over stones in the stream behind a bank of trees. Her stomach rumbled, and she was glad to have a luncheon packed by Mrs. MacRyrie. She could even use the pail to collect buckle berries later on.

  One thing was for certain, she would not spend another moment thinking about Griffin Croft. Or wondering if he’d found a room at the inn. A shiver brushed her as she thought of his being forced to ride into the next town to find shelter for the night. He had looked awfully exhausted.

  “No,” she told herself firmly as she lifted her skirts to cross over a fallen tree. “You will not think of Griffin Croft or worry for his welfare for another moment.”

  Just then, she heard a twig snap not too far from her. When she looked over her shoulder, her foot came down on a moss-covered stone and slid out from beneath her. Arms flailing, her body lurched. The pail flew from her fingertips. And then, all of a sudden, she found herself falling. Only not falling so much as being hauled against something. Or someone, rather.

  Griffin Croft held her soundly, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. As if this happened all the time, her hands settled naturally atop his very broad shoulders.

  Delaney blinked, disoriented. She’d been so distracted by her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed him. “Where did you come from?”

  “Over the footbridge, and just in time too,” he said with a smug grin. “Perhaps this rescue will earn me one more moment of your concern.”

  She pushed at his shoulders. “Mr. Croft—”

  He kissed her quickly. “Hold that no doubt well-deserved set-down. There is something I forgot to tell you yesterday, and I was hoping you might help me remember.”

  It was difficult to pay attention to what he was saying when she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. It was such a lovely mouth too—perfectly formed, the flesh ridged with a series of infinitesimal vertical lines. She wondered, should he kiss her again more slowly, if she would be able to feel each one. “How could I possibly help you remember?”

  No longer at risk of falling, Delaney realized she should probably demand that he release her. Even so, she found herself reluctant to leave his embrace, since this would be the last time. Falling in love with him had sealed her fate.

  It only made sense for her to return to London as he’d suggested, refuse his suit directly to her father, and then never see him again. But was that what she truly wanted?

  For now, she made a memory to take with her. She breathed in deeply. He smelled of clean linen and bay rum, his whiskers neatly shaven. His hair was thick and glossy from being damp. He didn’t seem to mind when her fingers toyed with the shorter strands by his nape. And his cravat was in a lopsided knot, as if he’d dressed in a hurry.

  “I’m so glad you asked.” He brushed his lips across hers, slowly this time. A puff of warm breath followed, teasing the tip of her tongue and making it tingle. Even her breasts responded in kind. “I believe this is helping me remember a great deal.”

  Entirely flattened against him, her legs tangled with his, her belly in intimate contact with the thick, growing length of him, she easily confirmed that this was helping a great deal, indeed. Immensely so.

  She followed his lips back and forth in a sort of mirrored pendulum. Then, he stilled so that her lips were the ones that brushed his. The soft friction shot spirals of heat through her body. And just like that, need ignited.

  She pressed her mouth to his, running the tip of her tongue over his lips, tasting him. He growled in response. With hands splayed over her back, drifting lower to her hips, he pulled her tighter against him. Instinctively, she tilted her hips against him. But the action did not bring her the pleasure it had when she’d straddled him a week ago. Had it only been a week ago? Eons seemed to have begun and ended in this time apart.

  Gripping her, he lifted her to her toes. This time, his hips tilted against hers. She groaned into his mouth. This was turning into more than a simple memory to take with her. A warning voice told her that if she continued, it would complicate matters immensely. And yet, try as she might, she couldn’t stop.

  Her tongue went on a frenzied exploration, tasting, flicking, suckling. She drank in the flavor and feel of him. Completely absorbed in the kiss, she paid no attention to how her hands stole around his neck to unknot his cravat. Not until she felt the warm flesh of his throat against her fingertips. But she couldn’t stop there, not with his shirt gaping all the way down to the buttons of his waistcoat. There was much to explore. Much to commit to memory.

  Griffin’s hands seemed possessed by the same desire because in the next instant, she felt a tug as he untied one of the hidden fastenings of her dress. At the same time, her nimble fingers worked apart each waistcoat button and spread it apart, before she dragged his shirt free of his breeches, drawing out a hissed breath from him.

  She pulled back to gaze down at what her hands had uncovered. He was glorious, all ridges and lines. A sculpture’s dream. A woman’s fantasy. This sight would be forever burned inside her mind.

  One more tug and her dress fell open, sagging on her shoulders the same way his coat and waistcoat had on him. Then, they moved apart as one, shrugging off their outer garments before coming back together with burning open-mouthed kisses.

  “How is your memory, Mr. Croft?” she asked as she lifted the hem of his shirt. With a quick movement, he jerked it over his head and tossed it to the ground. His flat nipples were much darker than her pale ones. Dusted with dark brown hair, his chest was firm as well and larger than hers. With anyone else, she would feel nervous and even ashamed by her lack of a bosom, but not with Griffin. He’d told her she was perfect. And now, she believed him.

  Her petticoat was the next to go, up over her head.

  “Improving by the moment.”

  Desperate to keep moving forward before her mind caught up with her actions and cautioned her against them, she stripped out of her chemise and leapt into his arms. He caught her on a groan. Lifting her so that her legs encircled his waist, his large hands cupped the very bottom of her . . . bottom.

  “Am I too heavy for your lovely arms to hold?” she teased, giving the bulk of his muscles a squeeze.

  “Not at all,” he said with a grin and a swat on her bare flesh. “Nor are you too eager. We are equally matched in that ring. Somehow, I knew it would be like this.”

  “Oh, you knew, did you?” She smiled, feeling as if a sun glowed inside her. “Of all the men in the whole of England, I had to choose the most arrogant to love—” She froze, staring fixedly into his gaze.

  The moment seemed to last forever. She held her breath. He held his. Had she said that aloud?

  And then a slow smile spread over his face that might have seemed soft, if not for the conceited lift of his brows. “I knew that too.”

  He kissed her quickly, not allowing her time to recover from her sudden embarrassment or the irritation that nearly sparked. In fact, the longer he kissed her, the less she cared that he knew the depth of her feelings. She didn’t want this
to stop. She wanted this soon-to-be memory to linger on for days. She wanted to have her fill of him, if such a thing were possible.

  The trees surrounding them concealed them from view. Directly overhead, the lacy canopy opened in a perfect circle, revealing a deep blue sky. The air smelled of clean shaving soap and the sweet scented water of the trickling stream beside them.

  Atop the pile of his discarded clothes, Griffin lowered her to the ground. She could feel the buttons of his coat beneath her shoulders. Lying on her back, she watched as his gaze roamed over her face and drifted to her breasts. And when he licked his lips, it felt as if he’d drawn her flesh into his mouth. Her nipples puckered and tingled. She pressed her hands over them to stave off the burning ache that followed.

  “Is that where you want me?” he asked as he moved to cover her, the short curled hairs of his chest brushing the backs of her hands.

  She made a sound of acquiescence as he kissed her lips. Her body arched off the ground to rub against his. Lifting her fingers, she trailed her splayed hands from his chest to his shoulders and then over every inch of his torso. Between their bodies, her fingers flitted down to his breeches. The length of his manhood strained against the buckskin, compelling her exploration. He was so perfect and beautiful in every way so far that she was eager for the rest of him.

  He tilted his head back on an oath, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “You test the limits of my control.”

  She smiled at that, pleased that she had this effect on him. “And you test the boundaries of my impulsivity. Apparently, I have none.”

  She wanted this. She wanted Griffin to make love to her. She’d wanted this for so long that she hardly imagined not always having felt this way.