A Laird for All Time

by Angeline Fortin

Emmy’s fingers came down on the keys hard as she halted startling the others in the room. “Perhaps someone else would like a turn for a bit?” she said to the room in general. She pushed back from the piano and stood as did Connor though she veered around him and headed for the door.

  “Heather,” he called following her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing!” she answered as she started up the stairs away from him though he followed catching up with her easily at the top since he was unencumbered by heavy skirts. “I’m just tired, Connor, I just want to go to bed,” Emmy lied avoiding his eyes.

  “No, that’s not it, not at all.” Connor caught her arm and pulled her down the hall to the privacy of their sitting room before he turned her toward him. “Tell me what is bothering ye?”

  “This! All of this!” she yelled waving her hands around her. “You!”

  “What about me?” he asked softly.

  “You don’t know the Phantom of the Opera, Connor!” she cried unable to express herself more clearly.

  “I certainly can see it, if you like.” He tried to grasp what her outburst was about but could not think of anything that had set her off.

  “No!” she wrapped her hands around her skull and groaned in frustration. “You can’t, Connor. There is no chance in your entire lifetime that you’ll see it!” She turned and stared up at a painting over the fireplace. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered more to herself than to him. “It’s not real. Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here! I should never have come here.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to swallow the hysterical sob that welled up in her. She failed and another sob soon followed the first, then another and another.

  Connor turned her into his arms and held her tightly as she cried into his shoulder, clinging to him desperately. He had no idea why she was crying but only knew he could not stand to see her so upset. Still he did not know how to fix it at all. “Tell me what ye want me to do, sweeting, and I will try to do it.”

  She hiccuped a laugh. “Just like a guy always wanting to fix the problem. I don’t think you can this time, though.” She realized how close she was to him then, how warm and stepped back wiping her eyes. “I just shouldn’t be here. I want to go home and I’m scared I’ll never get there.”

  Connor narrowed his eyes irritably. “If ye don’t want to be here, then why did ye come? Why did ye ever come back?”

  Caressing his cheek lightly, Emmy shook her head ruefully. “Don’t get your back up, Connor. To use a horrible cliché, it isn’t you, it’s me. You just wouldn’t understand.”

  Biting back his frustration, he covered his hand with his and looked down into her bright blue eyes. “Then tell me,” he insisted, “and I’ll try.”

  Emmy stared up into his warm dark eyes and tried to pull together a reasonable thought. “I think I’m afraid, Connor.”

  “Afraid of what?” He cupped her cheeks in his hands rested his forehead against hers.

  Emmy savored the feeling of his hands on her face and the heat of his nearness. She closed her eyes and swayed closer to him. “You.”

  “Me?” he whispered.

  “I’m afraid the way you make me feel,” she admitted. “There was a moment down there that I was actually content with where I was. I’m afraid the longer I stay here that I might never want to leave.”

  “And I’m afraid that ye will want to leave,” he responded, his thick brogue deepened seductively. “Ye are a completely different person now.”

  “You have no idea,” she snorted but was unable to look away.

  “Every moment I am with you I want to touch ye,” Connor stroked her cheek and down her neck. “I want to kiss ye.”

  Compelled by his words and the power of his voice with its alluring burr, Emmy leaned in and raised her lips as his mouth came down to meet hers lightly. His lips brushed her top lip, then the bottom before they caught hers fully, passionately. Emmy gasped then returned the kiss fully parting her lips for him and catching his lower lip between hers and running her tongue across it.

  Their mouths played passionately, desperately meeting time and again. Emmy clung to him digging her nails into his back as desire overwhelmed her. He backed her to the chaise and lowered her down never breaking the kiss. Keeping their lips together, he shrugged off his jacket while with heavily lids, Emmy worked his tie. He pushed her dress off her shoulder moving his lips down to her neck finding a particularly sensitive spot that pulled a deep moan from Emmy as he cupped her breasts. He lips found another spot just below her ear causing her to shudder as she clung to his shoulders savoring the feel of his thick muscles below her hands.

  “Ohmigod,” she moaned as his lips traveled lower.

  “I love yer breasts,” he whispered huskily. “So perfect. So lovely.”

  “I always heard,” she panted, “more than a handful was a waste.”

  His deep brogue rumbled near her ear, “I have big hands.”

  “Oh, Connor!” she pulled him down over her reveling in his weight as he pulled her bodice lower exposing a breast. His lips fastened over the nipple nipping and licking before drawing it into his mouth. He lingered there suckling deeply as his other hand traveled up her skirts teasing along her ankle and then the garter that held her stockings up. He stroked her bare thigh and higher before meeting her nearly bare bottom.

  “What do ye have on?” he murmured as he fingered the lace edge of her panties.

  “What?” What was he talking about?

  “I have to see,” he whispered and pulled her skirts high kneeling between her legs. He ran a big hand up either thigh pushing the skirts and petticoats as he went. Her thighs were long and smooth and where there would have been pantelettes on any other lady of his acquaintance he found only a scrap of ivory satin and lace. Intrigued, he ran his fingers under the edge. “This is …fascinating,” he whispered leaning over to press a kiss just below the lace edge.

  “Why?”

  “They cover nothing,” he whispered pressing more kisses to her inner thigh. He groaned and ran his hands up inside the panties cupping her bottom. “They bring all kinds of thoughts to my mind.”

  “Like what?” she whispered propping herself up on her elbows.

  “Like what ye would look like wearing nothing but this,” his accent was so thick Emmy could barely understand him. She wondered as similar scenarios flowed through her mind if lust could make a man forget how to even speak.

  “Help me take off the dress then,” she offered breathlessly, “and you can see.”

  Connor drew back and his dark gaze penetrated hers full of need. Pushing back he rose and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. Her mind was abuzz with want and she felt dizzy as she stood. She wavered for a moment before finding her balance. “I want to see you too, Connor. Take off your shirt.” Obligingly he loosened the top buttons and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. Emmy ran both hands up his broad chest as he shuddered under her touch. She marveled over the heavy muscles that rippled and flexed under her hands. The rough texture of the dark hairs that sprinkled his chest. His skin was hot. “Mmmm,” she hummed in appreciation.

  “Yer turn,” he turned her and worked the buttons on the dress quickly before pulling it to the waist. He then set to work on the corset and ties for the petticoats she wore under the dinner dress. Just as the whole of it was about to fall to the ground, Emmy caught it to her chest and glanced over her shoulder through lowered lashes before allowing it to drop to the floor. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward him forcing her to turn and step out of pile leaving her in nothing but her lace panties, stocking and garters and heeled ivory shoes.

  She was so lovely, so perfect in her near nudity that Connor fell to his knees with a moan before her running his hands up to her hips and pulling her to him. Pressing a heated kiss to her belly, a flash caught his attention and his focus shifted. “Is that a jewel?

  “What?” she murmured in confusion, her attention focused solely on the feel of
his hot mouth against her skin. “Oh you mean my belly ring!” She looked down at it and up again at him with a frown. “Don’t you like it?”

  The delicate crescent of silver looped through the skin above her naval ending in a large crystal. It was not a diamond or even a paste imitation, he noted absently examining the larger one dangling from the lower end of the crescent. It drew attention to the center of her muscled abdomen and was erotic, aye, but too erotic, too provocative. It reared to his imagination many thoughts he didn’t want to have. “No, I don’t,” he answered gruffly.

  “Really?” she asked in amazement. “Most…” She was going to say ‘guys’, but managed to stop the thought before it came out and she had to explain bikinis and midriffs to him. Luckily he was too enthralled by the jewelry to notice.

  “Why would ye do that to yerself?”

  “I went through a rebellious faze after my mom died,” she confessed in truth. “Multiple piercings, belly, nose and five up the ear, tattoo, hung out with a bad crowd.” She shrugged it off. “I was an angry youth, mad at the world for taking my mom from me.”

  “What about yer father?” he asked realizing she had not mentioned him.

  “You want to talk about that now?” Emmy questioned incredulously. Her dad had left her mom when she was just a little girl. She didn’t even remember him, but telling him that would only upset him and cause another argument, because he had known Heather’s father and would try to point that out…again. She didn’t want the same old fight. Not now. “Let’s just say, I just had some issues, no biggie. Unlike your baggage, I had learned to let mine go.”

  “I am learning,” he murmured as he twirled his tongue past the jewel and over to nip her hipbone lightly raking his teeth over the sensitive flesh their before moving farther down. She moaned as her stomach muscles quivered in anticipation and he answered in turn with a moan of his own as if her excitement and arousal aroused him in turn.

  Emmy grasped his head in both hands and held it to her staring down at his dark head in wonder. Such an incredibly passionate man! She should have known that as fully as he could be brought to anger, his lust would be just as fierce. And to have it directed at her! Emmy knew that this night would be one that she would never forget. “Connor,” she whispered as he raised his head and looked up at her with his chin on her belly. “Make love to me,” she urged. “Take me to bed and make love to me.”

  He stood running his hands up farther catching her by the waist and lifting her into the air as he went. Emmy gasped in surprise wrapping her arms and legs around him as he kicked open his bedchamber door and carried her over to his bed. He captured her lips in a fierce kiss as they went. Not releasing her, he bent over the bed lowering them both down until he pressed her into the soft mattress. As she ran her hands down his back, his moved up seizing her bare breasts and kneading them firmly. His lips found that sensitive spot below her ear once more and she shuddered in pleasure. “Oh, Connor,” she moaned, “this is incredible!”

  He had to agree as she spread her hands over his buttocks and pulled him closer to her heat. Her legs wrapped around him as well luring him to her core. He pressed himself to her center and they both moaned with pleasure. “Och, my love…” he moaned, “my darling Heather, I want ye so badly.”

  Chapter 16

  Emmy was so distracted by Connor’s fingers slipping up her panties to find her wet heat that it took a long moment for his words to penetrate the spell that enveloped around them. Not again! She pulled her arms between them and pushed forcing him up so she could face him. “Connor, I am not your wife,” she insisted determined to make her point this time.

  “Now is not the time for yer charade, my love,” he whispered and tried to kiss her again.

  Turning her head, Emmy rolled out from under him and stood by the bed crossing her arms over her chest. “I think now is the perfect time!”

  Connor rolled on to his back with a groan and stared up at her. His chest was heaving and already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looked so incredibly sexy. Emmy nearly threw caution to the wind and jumped back into the bed. She closed her eyes against the sight of him sprawled against the pillows and took a deep breath trying to control her emotions. Thank God he still had his pants on!

  “Ye shouldn't have started something ye dinna mean to finish, Heather,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, I meant to finish it, Connor,” she replied bringing a flaring heat to his eyes as he rose on his elbows in expectation. She held out a palm to him. “Whoa there cowboy, I’m not done. I do want you, I do. God knows I do. I have never felt anything like this in my life and a huge part of me just wants to jump right back in there and get it going.”

  “Then come,” he held out a hand in invitation.

  “I can’t,” she told him ignoring the hand and pulling a blanket from the bed to cover herself against the growing chill of the room. “Not until you understand that I am not your wife.”

  “Fine then,” Connor tossed out casually. “Ye’re not my wife. In truth, I have no wife at all.”

  Sidetracked abruptly, Emmy stared down at him in confusion. “You don’t?”

  Connor shrugged nonchalantly. “No one else knows of it yet, but I secured an annulment from ye two years ago.”

  Emmy’s brows shot up in surprise. “You did? Why didn’t you say something before?” Actually she was glad to hear it. She knew people did it all the time but she hadn’t been too hot over the idea of sleeping with a married man.

  “It wasn’t yer concern at the time.”

  “But now it is?” she asked. “Why now?”

  “Ye don’t want to admit to being my wife. Fine,” he snapped his fingers. “Now ye’re not my wife. Isn’t that what ye wanted?” The same old anger started to burn up in him. Now she wanted him. He knew she did! Even wanting like this, knowing that as her husband it was perfectly acceptable to make love with him without anyone looking askance at them, without scandal and she still wouldn’t admit it? What exactly did she want from him?

  “Let me make it simple once again,” sarcasm was heavy in her voice, “I am not Heather. Whether she is still your wife or not, I am not her. Not Heather!”

  “Ye are!”

  “I am not!” each word was enunciated slowly. “Why, Connor? Why would I continue with this if it were not true? Why?”

  “Most likely because ye’re ashamed of how you had to support yerself when ye ran!” he yelled sitting up on the bed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Obviously ye’ve been w’ a man before. Ye know what yer about!” His brogue was so thick Emmy could barely understand him. He gestured calling attention to her state of undress. “No pantelettes! How many men did ye have?”

  Emmy blinked and stared down at him dumbfounded. “You...you think I was a prostitute?” she stuttered in disbelief.

  “How else would single woman earn enough of a living to go to a university and buy her own camera?” he asked. The jealousy was raging inside him now the question had been asked and he wanted, no! needed to hear the answer. “How many, Heather?”

  “You think I was a prostitute!” she repeated ending in a near screech. “Is that why you wanted to have sex with me? You think I’m that cheap?”

  “Are ye saying yer a virgin still then?” he challenged insolently.

  Emmy opened her mouth and shut it with a snap. “No, I am not, Connor,” she took a step forward and poked him in the chest with a finger. “I am not, but don’t you ever, ever again make the mistake of thinking I have ever taken money for sex! Ever!” she hissed.

  “How then? How did ye support yerself then?”

  “I earned my living the really old-fashioned way, Connor MacLean,” she poked him again. “I worked for it. Worked real jobs. How dare you think otherwise?”

  “So ye slept with men for fun then? How many?” he asked again torn apart waiting for the answer.

  “That is so none of your business.” She threw up a hand in dismissal and
left the room anyway, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter 17

  Emmy managed to avoid Connor for most of the next day. In truth it wasn’t too difficult since it seemed he was avoiding her as well. He kept to his study and Emmy found safety in numbers with the other ladies of the house. She played the piano in the sitting room for nearly an hour while the other women talked over their embroidery. Emmy had little interest in sewing or even learning how and even less interest in conversation. Instead, she mulled morosely in her own thoughts as she played by rote for the six ladies who lived at Duart. Dory, aunts Millie, Lizzie and Eleanor, and cousins Gladys and Nora.

  But she couldn’t help but think of Connor. She wondered where he was, what he was doing and thinking about. Was he thinking about her? About last night?

  What a stubborn man! she thought darkly, throwing herself into the dark moody music of the Phantom. Thick-headed man! Did he really think there was no other way for a woman to earn a living? How did single women earn a living in this time? And what did he want from her anyway? Just a piece of ass? An admission? She would bet he didn’t even know. She had been so incredibly angry with him for thinking that of her and yet, looking back on it, he had seemed almost desperate to know. How many, he had asked over and over. Why was it so important? It made her wonder.

  And then besides nearly having sex with a man she had only known for three days, she had blubbered on and on about how she felt about being here. She was afraid she would never want to leave. Leave him. Damn right she was afraid! On one hand she had a nearly perfect life on paper. A doctor joining a medical practice that would bring her a great living. She owned her own house and had an IRA that should allow her to retire early someday. She had friends, well more fellow residents than friends, but they were people she enjoyed going to dinner with, games with or up to New York for an occasional weekend.

  So she didn’t have a boyfriend. So what? She was only twenty-eight for crying out loud! She was bound to meet someone in the next couple years and fall in love so she could have marriage and babies and all the good stuff that went with it. A perfect life.