Bewitching the Earl

by Lauren Smith

  Lachlan plucked one nipple, the gentle tug making her hiss out a soft moan. She arched her back, clutching his shoulders as she offered him her other breast. He bent his head and fastened his mouth to it, kissing, sucking, nibbling until she couldn’t stop from trembling. Everything he did was thrilling, even frightening, but exquisitely wonderful. She reached for his erect shaft, needing to touch him as intimately as he was touching her, but he caught her wrist.

  “There will be plenty of time for that, lass, but not yet. A man needs to pleasure his woman thoroughly before he sees to himself.” He slid his hands down to her bottom and lifted her onto his lap. His shaft slid between her wet folds and she whimpered as a hard edge of need rolled through her. She needed him to do something to her, to ease the hunger she barely understood.

  “Lachlan, please, I want you to—”

  “Shhh…” He kissed her hungrily, their lips melding as he clenched her buttocks and rocked her against him in his lap. She arched, her knees sliding on the bedding on either side of his slender hips. Daphne was desperate to feel him inside her, even though she was afraid he wouldn’t fit, that he was far too big, but her hunger was stronger than her concerns. They broke the kiss and she implored him with begging eyes to give her what she needed, what they both did.

  “Aye. You’ll be the death of me, wife.” He fell back on the bed with her before he rolled them over so that she lay beneath him. Her knees gripped his hips, trying to close even though his body lay between them. Blood surged from her fingertips to her toes.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, and his kiss burned like morning light through the darkness of her weary soul and she surrendered everything to him. The unexpected pinch she felt as he slid inside her faded beneath the fire of his kiss. He spoke to her between kisses as he withdrew and thrust back inside her. She recognized the words, the Gaelic from the wedding ceremony.

  “Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.” She closed her eyes as the tension building inside her broke in a sudden crest. The pleasure was as pure as it was explosive. Daphne gasped in sweet agony. She clung to him, her inner walls fluttering around him and she pressed frantic kisses along his cheek, lips and chin as he thrust twice more and collapsed on top of her, his weight heavy but welcome.

  Lachlan kissed the shell of her ear, smiling as he lifted his head to gaze down at her. A deep peace settled inside her, as if she stood in a meadow at dawn, with the birds beginning to chatter softly, sunlight beginning to bathe the ground, and a breeze rustling the grass.

  There was something about a beginning. It seemed to fill one’s soul with hope, with love. What she and Lachlan had shared this night was a new dawn, a beginning all their own.

  Lachlan brushed stray wisps of hair back from her face and swallowed hard. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Daphne smiled, feeling like her whole body could float away. “As though you gave me wings to fly.”

  With a chuckle and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve not even showed you the best parts.”

  “Oh?” She couldn’t possibly imagine that what they had just done could get any better.

  “Aye, there’s a few hours yet before we should sleep. And I know just how we can pass the time.” He kissed her, and she was swept away by his embrace, his touch and his passion. Lachlan had given her the one thing she longed for above all else. Happiness. She would cling to it as long as she could.

  9

  “You’re in love with her.”

  Lachlan tensed. He and Cameron leaned against the short wall of the terrace. Before them, in the field between the gardens, Daphne and Eliza played with a sheepdog that belonged to one of the tenant farmers who had come to speak with Lachlan’s groundskeeper.

  “No, I like her. She’s a bonnie lass and—”

  “You can lie to yourself, old friend, but never to me.” Cameron’s teasing tone softened, “I know you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve love, not after losing William, but you’re wrong. You deserve her. You deserve joy in your life. It’s what he would have wanted for you.”

  Cameron touched Lachlan’s shoulder. The truth of his friend’s words seemed to reverberate through his body with the sound and clarity of the bells hanging in the tower of the Kirk of Huntley.

  He loved Daphne.

  He should’ve known the first time he spoke with her that she would leave a burning imprint upon his heart and soul. Lachlan was finally seeing things clearly. It mattered that her father had driven William to his death, but she was not her father. His sins were not hers, and would never be hers. She was a victim, just like William, yet she hadn’t surrendered, hadn’t given up, even when she had reached the end of her rope. She’d agreed to marry a stranger, and done her best to fit in here. She had even fallen in love with him. Even now, without knowing it, she had changed him, dragged him kicking and screaming from the hollow hole in his heart and forced him back into the light of the living, How could he not love her?

  Daphne tossed a red ball and the sheepdog scampered across the lawn, stumbling to a stop as he nearly tripped over his prey, then clutched it in his mouth and returned it to her. He shook his black and white coat and pawed the ground before dropping the ball, his tail wagging so hard that his whole body shook. Even at this distance, Lachlan could see the joy on Daphne’s face.

  “There it is again,” Cameron said. “That love-struck look you made fun of me for when I first told you I planned to marry Eliza.”

  Lachlan couldn’t resist a smile. “I suppose I am owed this teasing, aren’t I?”

  “Indeed, you are, and more.” Cameron chuckled. “I think it’s time Eliza and I went home. You need a proper honeymoon with your bride, and should not spend it entertaining guests.”

  Lachlan grinned. “As much as I like you, I would prefer to return her to bed and not leave for days except to eat.”

  Cameron slapped Lachlan’s shoulder. “Let me collect my wife. We should arrive home in time for dinner.”

  Lachlan shook hands once more with his friend. As he watched Cameron walk away, he realized he’d neglected their friendship for too long. William’s death had robbed him of so much: his joy, his friends. Marrying Daphne was already bringing his life back into focus. He wouldn’t let the things that truly mattered escape him again.

  Lachlan remained on the terrace, watching Daphne chase the dog, who now barked excitedly and dodged her in a game as old as time. The heartache in his chest was nearly gone, something he never thought possible.

  “My lord?”

  Lachlan turned away from the terrace. His groundskeeper stood there before him, hat in hand.

  “Yes?”

  “The farmers said the black fallow deer herds are in need of thinning. I thought we might give them permission to go shooting on our lands, if you approve.”

  “Of course. You’ll see to it they get the meat they need?”

  His groundskeeper nodded, then laughed. Lachlan followed his gaze back to the field. Daphne held the dog’s front paws, making him stand on hind legs. The furry beast was licking her face enthusiastically.

  “Oh, I’ll see to it. You got a bonnie bride to tend to quickly, or else you might be replaced in her affections.” The groundskeeper chuckled as he walked away.

  Lachlan leaned against the stone terrace railing and watched his bride. Her hair blew loose in the breeze, her face flushed. She waved at him and he waved back, a boyish giddiness growing inside him. After so much darkness, so much pain, he had a moment of pure contentment.

  Daphne left the dog and walked up to the steps.

  “It’s a wonderful day. Come and walk with me.” She held out her hand.

  He descended the stairs and took it, loving how their fingers intertwined, and headed toward the gardens. Once there, he tugged her against his body, delighting in her gasp and sigh as he covered her mouth with his. Daphne gave freely of herself and he whispered soft words of enco
uragement against her skin when she clung to him. The velvet warmth of her kisses cocooned him inside a private heaven that he never wished to leave.

  He wasn’t sure how much time passed before they broke apart. That single kiss had seemed endless. He never knew that simply kissing a woman could fill him with such pleasure.

  Lachlan grasped her hands and grinned. “Let’s go inside and continue this.”

  She giggled. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  As they walked back to the house, Lachlan had to stop himself from whistling. In the distance, he heard the crack of gunfire.

  “What’s that?” Daphne asked, looking over the fields beyond the castle.

  “The farmers are hunting deer. The herds need thinning. I have quite a few on Huntley lands, and I let the tenants hunt during the winter to keep the poor beasts from starving. The extra meat will be a welcome for the tenant farmers come wintertime.”

  “Can I meet the tenants?” she asked. “I would like to know as much as possible about your life here.”

  “Our life,” he corrected.

  “Our life,” she echoed with a blush.

  “I can take you to meet them tomorrow.” Lachlan paused as he reached the door and stole one more kiss before he gestured for her to precede him.

  “Lachlan?” His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  Moira stood in the hallway, her face pale. She clutched a piece of paper. She stood only a few feet from his study, or rather, William’s study. Moira’s eyes darted to Daphne, a mixture of horror and pain so stark it made him suck in a breath.

  She knew.

  “Moira, are you all right?” Daphne let go of Lachlan’s arm and started toward her. Moira retreated a step as though Daphne would attack her.

  “I need to speak with you, alone.” Moira told him, refusing to look at Daphne.

  “Lachlan, should I…?” Daphne began.

  “Go upstairs to my chambers and wait from me.” He moved toward his wife.

  “But—”

  “Go.” He pushed her gently toward the stairs.

  Once he was sure Daphne had reached the upper floor, he escorted his mother into William’s study and closed the door.

  “You hid this from me.” His mother shoved the paper at his chest and he caught the slightly crumpled letter. “I found it locked in his desk drawer. You knew, didn’t you? William never locked those drawers, but you did.” Moira’s eyes were rimmed with red as she looked at him, then she collapsed into a chair in front of William’s desk, her head bowed.

  “I couldn’t let you know the truth.” He set the letter down on the escritoire, his throat suddenly tight. Why hadn’t he burned the letter? He should have, but he’d foolishly been unable to let go of it. They were William’s last words and he couldn’t let go.

  His mother lifted her head. “He said he was involved in something with Sir Richard Westfall. That’s Daphne’s father, isn’t it?” It was less a question than an accusation.

  “Yes.” He wanted to lie to her, but he couldn’t.

  “You knew before you married her, didn’t you?” Moira sniffed. Tears trickled down her cheeks. His mother’s agony cut through him hard enough that he could feel his heart bleeding.

  “Aye. I knew.”

  “But ...how could you? The daughter of the man who-- Why? Did you think to find some justice in it or did you have other designs for her? What were you thinking?” her words crumbled into a breathless inhalation as she fought off a sob.

  “I married her to hurt her, to hurt him. I didn’t love her, mother. It was a marriage arranged from spite and vengeance. I wanted to make her miserable. It was my only way to hurt him, through her.” A great weariness settled on him.

  “What?” Moira’s voice cracked. “You brought her here for that? Lachlan, I want her gone, I can’t have her here, not when...” she choked on a sob and wiped her eyes. “She’s a sweet girl and she doesn’t deserve to suffer your vengeance. She’s not her father, can’t you see? Living with a man who despises her isn’t fair to her, not when she’s innocent of her father’s crimes. You must send her back to London. Annul the marriage.”

  “It’s too late for that,” he whispered.

  His mother stared at him, horror filling her face. “Then you must live apart.”

  Lachlan was silent for a long moment. “No. I can’t send her away. Because… I love her. I love her wildly, Mother. I don’t care about her father, not anymore. I want to look forward, not dwell in the past. She’s the only thing that matters to me now. William would not have wanted me to forsake my love if he knew how happy I could be.”

  Moira rose from the chair, her blue eyes dull and her lips trembling.

  “You should have told me.” For a long moment they stared at each other, a chasm growing between them, one that he feared he could not repair. Then she turned her back on him and left.

  For a long while he didn’t move. He stood behind William’s desk, thinking back to the day he’d ridden up to the house and saw his brother in the window, heard the shot that rang out across the grounds, and the awful silence that followed. His heart had frozen in that instant as he had tried to reach his brother. Too late. Always, too late.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered to the silent room. He could almost feel William there, as though he paused on the other side of an invisible veil. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he closed his eyes, speaking again. “I love her. I can’t cling to both love and hate. She fills my heart, so there’s no room left for anger and pain and hatred.”

  He thought for a brief moment that a hand touched his shoulder. An infinitesimal pressure, one of reassurance and comfort. He reached up and placed his hand where he felt the slight weight.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” the words came in William’s voice.

  His mother would need time to heal, to understand. Right now, he needed to speak to Daphne. She deserved to know the truth. But first he had to prove his love for her. Only then could he confess the truth behind his original intentions in marrying her.

  As he exited the study, he heard something roll along the wooden floor. He glanced down and saw two dozen white beads that had scattered when his foot brushed them. He knelt and picked one up. They were pearls. Not his mother’s, because she hadn’t worn any.

  With a gasp, he frantically tried to retrieve the pearls, clutching them in his palm. Blood roared in his ears as he reached into the nooks and crannies of the hall, desperate to reclaim every precious orb. But Daphne had gone upstairs, so how…?

  “May I help you, my lord?” The young maid, Mary, knelt beside him, cupping her hands to receive what he’d collected so far.

  “Take these and put them somewhere safe. We must find every one,” he said. His voice began to fill with panic, trying not to think about the implications of this moment.

  The maid tucked the pearls into her apron pocket. “My lord, the countess is gone.”

  His stomach grew heavy as his fear began to materialize, but still he refused to believe it. “Gone?”

  “She was crying, and I feared you didn’t know. She called for a coach and left.”

  There was no more denial left in him. Daphne must have listened at the door. He stared at the floor where the pearls had fallen. She always touched them when she was anxious. She must have ripped them from her neck before she fled, when she heard the awful truth behind their marriage.

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Half an hour?” Mary guessed.

  “What? Why did no one summon me?” He stumbled to his feet.

  The maid stepped back but was brave enough to answer, “She was most upset when you were in the study and begged the staff who saw her not to say a word. But when I saw you come out, I knew someone had to tell you.” Her gaze shot to the open door behind him and he understood. No one bothered him when he was inside his study. They believed he went in there to seek peace, to feel close to William, and it was true.


  “I’ll take care of the pearls, my lord,” Mary promised, one hand touching the pocket of her apron.

  “Thank you.” Lachlan sprinted down the corridor and called for the nearest footman to have a horse saddled. He donned a coat and gloves as he rushed down the steps to the drive. He studied the road leading away from Huntley Castle but saw no sign of the coach carrying Daphne away from him.

  Lachlan nodded at the groom who brought him his fastest gelding and mounted. He prayed he would not be too late to reach the other half of his heart before it, too, was lost forever.

  10

  Daphne could barely breathe.

  She lay curled up in the coach, a fisted hand pressed against her mouth to mute the sound of her sobs. Why had she gone back downstairs? She had hoped to render aid to Moira in some way, who had clearly been distressed, but then the words she’d overheard had stopped her cold and eventually broken her soul.

  Until that moment, she’d survived everything. Her father’s scandal, the loss of her former life, her home and friends, but none of it hurt quite like losing her heart. Everything had been a lie. Every kiss, every look, every vow to love and cherish each other. All she’d had to hear was that her marriage to him was a lie and she’d fled the house.

  I was nothing more than a part of Lachlan’s vengeance.

  She reached for her neck. The skin was bare, yet it stung where she’d grabbed her mother’s pearls and ripped them off in panic as her world fell apart.

  She’d had recurring dreams of drowning in her youth, of being pulled down into an endless darkness, her mouth and lungs filling with water. Lachlan’s words were worse than those nightmares. They weren’t just pulling her down, they were burying her so far below the surface that she would never survive.

  “It was a marriage of spite and revenge.”

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she recalled the heat of his kiss, the whispered words of affection in her ear, and their bodies pressed close.