He used to hate this room. Yet now, thanks to his friends, and especially Claire and her talent with a paintbrush, the chamber had been transformed from a place of horrific memories to a place where hope existed. It was more than just fresh paint and a cleaned floor that had transformed this room and his life as of late. It was Claire.
Jules swallowed to ease the tightness from his throat. It was Claire, not Jane, who filled his thoughts. Not two weeks ago he had cursed God for the terrible unfairness of his life for having taken Jane and everything else that had ever mattered away from him. Yet now, he could see the bigger picture, the divine plan that He had put into place. God was always fair and just and good, in his own time.
Jules smiled at the thought that that time was now. He turned toward the doorway of the ballroom as a stillness came over the room. “My God,” Jules breathed as Claire appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed in an emerald-green gown with elegant wide skirts and long, full sleeves that were fashionably cut to reveal a gold chemise beneath. The golden light caressed the silky texture of her loose red hair and played on the smoothness of her breasts revealed by the low cut of her bodice.
Her color was high, her step bold as she entered the chamber. And Jules had never seen her look so beautiful, or more compelling.
“Merciful heavens,” David murmured beside Jules. “She is a woman any man would find hard to ignore.”
Jules did not intend to ignore her this night, if ever again. He caught her gaze, and she returned it as though he were the only other person in the room. She came forward, as regal as a queen, as alluring as a goddess, as defiant as a warrior going into battle. Yet he could still see a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
That uncertainty moved him like nothing else ever had. This woman was as rare as they came—honest, true, and innocent. His body hardened, the blood rushing to a part of him that always responded to her nearness.
She stopped before him and smiled. Her hand came up to flutter across the swelling at his cheek and what remained of his black eye. “Does it pain you much?”
“I hardly notice.”
“I am glad to hear that,” she replied tenderly as she held out her hand. “Would you care to escort me to our wedding feast, my husband?”
She was asking for more than an escort.
He knew this moment of decision would come since he had returned home a few hours ago. He fully understood the consequences of what would happen if he let her into his heart tonight. He knew what was at risk if he gave in.
He looked down at the hand she extended. So strong, so small, so capable, and so very talented.
And yet, her fingers trembled.
Without further hesitation, he closed his fingers around hers. “My lady,” he said, loud enough for those gathered close to hear. He held her hand as they moved toward the tables that had been set up at the far end of the room. “You are beautiful tonight,” he said close to her ear.
“You are stunning yourself,” she said with a smile of appreciation at the creamy white shirt he wore beneath the MacIntyre tartan. He had dressed for her tonight, and for the first time in a very long while he was actually proud of his family’s heritage, proud of the MacIntyre name—a name he had passed on to her through their marriage.
He stopped in the center of the chamber and studied her face. “You, milady, have not been entirely honest with me.”
She stiffened, then paled. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“I’m no fool, Claire,” he said gently. “I knew you were up to something in this chamber the first time I found you here.” He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, at the incredible painting she had begun. “Why did you not tell me then that you wished to paint?”
She forced a laugh. “You wanted nothing to do with me when I first arrived. Had I asked you then, you would have said no. I could not risk that. I had to do something to this chamber to rid it of all the painful memories.”
“You were right.” For the first time in years Jules did not feel the anger, resentment, or even the fear that usually came to him whenever he thought about this room, his stepmother, her murder, or his incarceration. He remained silent a moment then said, “However, when you told me about your work as an artist, you seriously understated your talents.”
She shrugged. “I learned long ago that most people do not believe a woman can paint.”
“I would say they are wrong.”
“You would be one of the few,” she said softly.
He smiled then. “Tonight, no one can argue with what they see.”
Again she shrugged. “I have already heard two people say they believe I had help from a painter in the village. A man.”
“Did you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
Jules squeezed her hand and started walking again toward the head table at the front of the room. “Then who cares what they say. We know the truth.”
Instead of his support making her happy, that ever-present sadness came back into her eyes. Regardless, she forced a smile. “Thank you for saying that. I don’t know what I would have done had you made me stop painting.”
“You can paint every wall in this old house, and when you are done here, I will buy you more walls to paint.” They reached the head table and Jules pulled out a chair for her to sit beside him. Jane and Nicholas were seated to his left. David was seated on Claire’s right, then Margaret and Hollister.
The rest of their guests had found their seats at long tables that ran perpendicular to the head table. Space for dancing remained in the back of the room for when the banquet ended. Jules marveled at the feast Claire and the new cook, Mrs. Jarve, had been able to pull together in such a short period of time. Roast venison and turnips, boiled capon, salmon, shrimp, sausages, quince pie, frangipane, and custard tarts were served by the new servants Jane and Margaret had hired in the village.
Jane. Jules watched as she talked, her features animated, with the husband at her side. She laughed and Nicholas brought his arm up to curl around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. For once, the act of affection did not bother him. Instead, Jules smiled and turned back to Claire.
He was entranced by her expressive golden eyes, the smoothness of her skin, her scent, the way she held her chin just slightly to the left when she was uneasy or uncertain. Was she uncertain about him? His change of heart? Every aspect of his life had changed in the past few days.
Because of Claire.
Music and laughter filled the chamber—both things Jules had never expected to feel in this house again, much less in this very room.
When they had eaten, Jules pushed away from the table and held out his hand to Claire this time. “Dance with me, Claire.”
She stood then hesitated. “I’m not certain that is wise.”
He frowned. “Why not? Everyone here is expecting us to celebrate our nuptials.”
Her face grew pensive. “Have you ever wanted something so badly—something that was within your grasp—and yet you were afraid to reach out and take it?”
He knew the feeling well. “What is it you want, Claire?” He reached up to brush a wisp of hair away from her cheek. Her hair was softer tonight, less severe than it had been when she’d first arrived. And he liked it.
“You.”
His heart stilled even as the noise of the room rushed around him. His fingers pressed reflexively against her back, pulling her closer. “What did you say?” he asked in a strained voice. He’d heard her, but he needed to hear those words again.
She smiled, and the unrestrained pleasure in her face lit her eyes. “I want you, Jules. Only you.”
Claire stared into Jules’s eyes, watching them darken with desire. The music swirled around the two of them, filling her with triumphant exhilaration. A light breeze came in through the open windows and touched her cheeks as though the very wind was celebrating this moment. That wind brought with it the scents of earth and mist that were part of Kildare Ma
nor, part of the man holding her in his arms.
“They have accepted you, you know,” Jules whispered next to her ear. A shiver raced across her flesh as the warmth of his breath ignited her sensitive skin.
The crowd moved aside for them as they danced, watching them with approving eyes. As Lady Kildare, she had won their hearts tonight. She would be a part of their lives, Jules’s life. And she wanted that reality to go on forever.
Before the thought had fully formed, the crowd parted yet again as the refrain of the song came to an end. Jules placed his hand at the center of her back to guide her not back to the table, but toward the door. “I thank you for your efforts tonight, but I would rather be alone with you right now than anywhere else in the world.”
She turned to look at him when she saw something familiar out of the corner of her eye. A familiar face. A dark head of hair. Penelope.
Claire gasped. Her ward.
Penelope stood at the edge of the crowd wearing a dusty-pink gown that was far more mature than her sixteen years should have allowed.
Jules stopped his progress forward. He gazed at her curiously. “What is it, Claire?”
Claire darted forward. She had to get to Penelope. But the crowd shifted as a new melody began, and Penelope disappeared from view. A heartbeat later, the bodies before her shifted, revealing her young charge once more. Her gaze connected with Claire’s. In her frightened blue eyes Claire saw a plea for help before the young woman stepped back into the crowd and was lost.
With an anguished cry, Claire hurried through the dancers to the spot where Penelope had stood moments before.
She was gone.
Claire searched the crowd frantically and found no sight of the girl. She breathed a desperate sigh. Had it been her own imagination that tortured her now? Had she wanted this whole nightmare of kidnapping, blackmail, and lies to end so badly that she had conjured the sight of Penelope in this very room?
Jules joined Claire at her side. His hand went to her waist, pulling her against him. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw someone I knew,” she said, her words raw. Come back, Penelope. Come back. Oh sweet heavens, I’m so sorry you are caught in all of this . . .
Claire staggered, suddenly feeling hollow and lifeless and sad. Then she felt herself being swept up into Jules’s arms. He pulled her against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, indulging herself in the scent of him, the feel of him. He was a safe harbor in a storm that suddenly didn’t make sense.
Penelope.
Curious eyes watched them, and a few suggestive comments were tossed their way as they left the chamber. Instead of heading toward the tower bedroom, they went the other way. “My chamber?” she asked.
“You no longer sleep there, Claire. From this night on, you will sleep in my bed, next to me.”
Claire tried with every fiber of her being to ignore the haunting memory of Penelope’s face. No matter how hard she tried, the effect of seeing the young woman’s face, or imagining that she had, left a heaviness inside her.
“You have nothing to say about these new arrangements?” he asked teasingly.
“I hope to not be saying anything before long,” she replied and was rewarded with a grin.
He stopped outside his bedchamber door and pressed the latch open with his elbow. Slipping inside, they moved to the huge bed in the center of the room, where Jules set her down on the sheets that had been sprinkled with pink rose petals.
The memory of Penelope’s face slid through Claire’s mind, and she thrust it away. “Your doing?” Claire picked up a delicate petal and brought it to her nose, inhaling the heady, sweet scent. She looked up at him, then her breath hitched at the spark flaring in his blue eyes.
“Most likely ’twas Jane. I hear I have you to thank for finding the roses amongst all the weeds.” Jules sat on the bed beside her and, slowly, he removed the pins from her hair, allowing the length to fall to her shoulders and down her back.
“Your hair is glorious. You should leave it loose about your shoulders, not tied back and hidden from sight,” he said, coiling a long strand around his finger and bringing the length to his lips.
Claire watched as he intimately caressed her hair. An enveloping warmth burned at her core until she grew breathless just watching him. The sensation heightened as he traced his fingers up her arm, exploring her as though for the first time. Then his fingers vanished and his lips took their place, until he nestled into the curve of her exposed neck.
“You’re trembling,” he said in the gentlest of voices.
“I know,” she admitted with a nervous tremor in her voice. “I’m not sure why.”
His lips left her neck to work their way up her jawline to her ear, leaving a trail of heat behind. “Don’t you?” His fingers slipped around her back and started plucking one by one the small pearls that fastened her dress. “It’s because unlike the last time we were together, this time it will mean something.”
She stiffened. “You—”
“Were right. It meant something even then.” He captured her lips in a hard, insistent kiss and did not stop until the tension in her body vanished and she was breathless with anticipation despite the disjointed emotions that were tumbling through her. He eased the silken fabric away from her shoulders, leaving her sheer chemise behind. Slowly, he eased her dress down her ribs, across her hips, and onto the floor. Her shoes and stockings joined her dress, until she was clad in only her thin chemise.
He eased off the bed and gathered her gown, then set it on a nearby chair before he released his belt. The fabric of his tartan tumbled to the floor. She expected him to come to her wearing his shirt. Instead, he removed it, leaving him gloriously naked and aroused before her.
His body was perfect, and she wondered for a heartbeat why he had left the garment on the first time they had made love. But the thought vanished a moment later as he moved toward her. Golden candlelight bathed his flesh in a shimmering light as he strode back to her, confident and strong, then settled on the bed beside her.
Slowly, he eased the edge of her chemise up her legs, over her thighs, her chest, and finally over her head. The fabric caressed her skin, leaving her tingling and wanting as she lay bare before him. Desire reflected in his eyes, pounded in her heart, and filled the room with need. He put his hand on her arm, his thumb stroking soothingly.
Moments ticked by as he looked into her face. His eyes, dark with a promise she could not read, held hers, until he bent his head and his lips found hers once more. A deep-seated ache burned through her at the feel of warm, strong hands sliding over her bare arms, across her stomach, to her hip. Instinctively, she turned into his caress, her body on fire with need.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in the fresh, masculine scent that was only his. She ran her hands through the silk of his tawny hair, delighting in the way the waves curled around her fingers. His hands ran possessively over her breast, cupping its fullness, then teasing her nipple to taut awareness. He brought his mouth down and grazed the sensitive bud while his hands moved to the other. She moaned as he increased the pressure.
Her hands slipped across his back, exploring his flesh, when she suddenly stopped. The ripple of scarred flesh greeted her fingertips. Her chest tightened as she ran her hands up and down the multiple lacerations that marked his back. “Who did this to you?”
This time there was no shame, no apology, no fear in his eyes. “My jailers. They were convinced they could whip the evil out of me.”
“There is no evil in you,” her voice was ragged at the thought of what he had suffered.
“I used to believe there was.” He shrugged. “I still do to some extent.”
“I understand, but know that to me you are perfect, Jules.” His name fell from her lips in a breathless whisper of longing. She stared into his eyes, hoping he saw the truth. Proving her point, she slid her hands over the rigid muscles of his chest, watching as his muscles coiled and flexed beneath her touch. She
brushed her fingers against his nipples, then brought her tongue down to flick the sensitive bud as he had done and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from him. His hands stilled against her back as she continued sliding her hands lower until she stroked the length of his arousal, felt it pulse beneath her touch.
His hands splayed against her back as he held her to him, then shifted her beneath him, his rigid shaft poised at her entrance. Their gazes met. Across the few inches of heated shadows between them, their gazes held as she slid her arms up around his shoulders and Jules eased into her tight passage until he filled her with heat and strength. She welcomed his warmth, his weight, as he slowly drew back with agonizing slowness and controlled intent before he surged slowly forward again.
The friction was exquisite and intense as sensation after sensation rippled through her. Claire felt something wild and primitive building inside her as his slow caress continued. This time between them was different, though just as pleasurable; this time was more intense and all-consuming.
His rhythmic thrusts accelerated their tempo as he drove into her again and again, sending pleasure streaking through her in endless waves. She arched into him, in a fevered need to take him with her into that sweet abyss. Ecstasy overtook her, and she cried out her joy. At the sound, he released a groan and gave in to his own release. With earth-shattering glory, they climaxed together and tumbled headlong into the abyss.
After a time, they floated back to reality in each other’s arms. When some of their strength returned, Jules moved onto his side, taking her with him. Her hair spilled over his chest in a red, silken waterfall. He lifted a hand to smooth it back from her face and gazed into her eyes. “Even after all my searching, I have no idea why, exactly, you came into my life. But I am thankful. You belong here with me.”
Despite the satiation flowing through her limbs, Claire tensed and wished with everything inside her for a future together. Tears came to her eyes at the thought of what she had to do. He would never forgive her.
She would never forgive herself.
Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Page 14