The Scottish Duke Page 23

  “Because I was a maid and she was the daughter of an earl?”

  She turned again, facing away from him. He placed his hand on her waist, drawing her back.

  “I never wanted to sleep with her,” he said. “I never wanted to sleep with anyone else,” he added, sounding chagrined at the admission. “Not until now.”

  She wished she knew what to say to that. Finally, long moments later, she said, “I’ve never slept with anyone. I didn’t have brothers or sisters.”

  “I did,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, placing her hand on his where it rested on her waist. “Do you miss them?”

  “Every day,” he said. “Especially Moira. She and I were only thirteen months apart. We fought a great deal. You remind me of her a little.”

  “I do? Why, because we fight?”

  “No, because you have the same spirit as Moira. She was brave and daring, just like you.”

  “I’m not brave and daring.”

  “Oh, but you are. Who else would have come to a fancy dress ball?”

  There was that.

  “You went off to live in Wittan by yourself, braving the censure of society.”

  “That’s because I was foolish. I didn’t know I’d be so reviled. But I had no other choice.”

  They each remained silent.

  “Thank you,” she said a few minutes later. “For the box. It’s the most wonderful present you could have ever given me. Other than Robbie, of course.”

  Their son snuffled in his sleep, a reminder of the bond they shared.

  “I don’t want you moving to another room,” he said.

  She didn’t have an answer for that, either.

  “Sleep,” he said softly in her ear.

  She smiled again, patted his hand, and allowed herself to do just that.

  “You’ll wear out the carpet, Mary,” Thomas said, taking a sip of his whiskey as he watched the woman pace Blackhall’s library.

  He could, as the expression went, tune his pipes to Mary’s wailing about Alex’s marriage. She had been complaining about it for months now, and it wasn’t getting easier to stomach.

  He really should go back to London. He’d created his own identity there. He was the Earl of Montrassey. No one knew him as the uncle of the current Duke of Kinross, nicely sliced out of any hope for the dukedom by an almost illegitimate infant.

  “Look at it from my angle, Mary. If I can condone the marriage, with all its ramifications, then surely you can.”

  She stopped her pacing long enough to send him a fulminating glance. “She’s a maid, Thomas. Do you condone someone like that being the Duchess of Kinross?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, Mary. Nor does your opinion matter one whit in this instance. She is the Duchess of Kinross and nothing you or I could say will change that.”

  “He should never have married her,” she said.

  He silenced his first response. Alex could never have married her, which he knew was her secret hope and wish. She’d had the bad luck to be Ruth’s sister. However, if she hadn’t been Ruth’s sister, she’d never have come to Blackhall in the first place.

  He’d often thought they’d all have been better off if she hadn’t.

  Mary was a chattering little bird, as he’d occasionally thought of her. She gathered up information the way a nesting female collected twigs, fitting all the divergent pieces together to create a story here, a story there. Then she sat on a branch or, in her case, a chair in the parlor, and shared what she knew with anyone who was unfortunate enough to pass by. Maid or footman, housekeeper or the Dowager Duchess, it mattered not. Mary spread her tales.

  One of her favorite sources of information was her own maid, Barbara, a rather scrawny female with an unfortunately long nose and thinning hair graying at the temples. Whenever he encountered her, he had the impression that the words she spoke had no resemblance to what she was thinking. Even her “Good morning, your lordship” was laced with a tone that made him think she was wishing him to perdition. No, the disgust in her gaze was tangible enough to feel.

  Barbara was the perfect foil for Matthews, another obsequious servant at Blackhall. The two of them were like adders, slithering through the corridors and rooms of the castle, striking at any poor little mouselike creatures they discovered.

  He disliked them both, and wasn’t altogether fond of Mary, either.

  None of his hints had fallen on fertile ground so far. She was still pacing and still grumbling.

  He’d come into the massive library to procure a book, something to occupy his mind, only to be waylaid by Mary. The woman was still pacing and still grumbling, unwilling to accept a fait accompli. Alex had married again.

  Sooner or later she had to acknowledge that fact.

  Granted, the marriage had been startling, but he didn’t reveal the depth of his surprise to Mary.

  Alex didn’t trust the world, and why should he? He’d been shown exactly what could happen in life at an early age. No wonder the boy had shuttered himself off from emotion, from feeling. If Lorna had broken open Alex’s self-imposed cocoon, then he’d salute her.

  Mary, however, was having none of that. In the true fashion of others of her ilk, she only saw the world through the prism of her own feelings. What she wanted was paramount. What she felt or thought was more important than what anyone else could possibly feel or think.

  She was excessively tiresome in her selfishness. Not to mention excessively boring.

  “She brightens him, Mary,” he said.

  Anything he said would simply bounce off the woman, so why not barrage her with the truth? He’d seen the change in Alex himself over the months. His nephew had been infuriated, curious, angry, and then bemused. He’d been bested without even knowing he was in a contest of wills.

  “I believe that the dear boy is on his way to being happy. Surely you don’t begrudge him that?”

  “Happy?” She rounded on him again. “Why did he remain in Edinburgh for months? Why did he only now come home? Or do you consider it normal for a bridegroom to marry and immediately leave his bride?”

  Alex’s actions had been strange, but perhaps understandable. They were the last dying gasps of a man who was fighting the inevitable, just like he was.

  Hadn’t he done the same thing by coming home to Scotland this last week? He’d escaped London with a feeling that the Hounds of Hell were on his heels because a certain woman named Gloria was tightening the noose with a smile, the sound of her laughter, and the sparkle of her blue eyes.

  When Louise had sent him after Alex, he went with the full understanding of how his nephew felt. What he didn’t know was how to convey it to Mary.

  “No doubt he’ll fill the nursery,” he said. “Louise will be ecstatic.”

  “She was complicit,” Mary said. “She’s as bad as Lorna.”

  He stared at her, the whiskey in his hand forgotten. His sister-in-law had his undying admiration, not to mention a genuine fondness. She’d adored his brother Craig, which had been obvious to a blind man. After his death and the deaths of her children, she refused to fall back into self-pity but had rallied to become the heart of Blackhall, beloved by everyone. Except, perhaps, this sour-faced, sour-hearted woman.

  “I won’t hear anything said against Louise. You should have better sense than that, Mary.”

  “She conspired to marry that creature to Alex.”

  “Watch your words, Mary.”

  “Why should I? The whole world will be talking about it soon enough. Did she care? No.”

  Louise had opened up her home to Mary with no reservations, and this is how the damn fool repaid her kindness?

  “Something should be done.”

  The tone of her voice struck him as wrong. He sipped at his whiskey, watching her. She had resumed her pacing the length of the library, turning, and retracing her steps. When she passed by the fireplace and the wing chair where he was sitting, she didn’t even seem to notice him. Her brow
was furled with concentration, her lips thinned.

  “Why are you so angry now? Because Alex has returned without a bill of divorcement? Or because Alex returned at all? Did you have fond thoughts of joining him in Edinburgh?”

  She looked startled at his words. Could that be the reason? Damn fool woman. Did she honestly think Alex gave a fig about her?

  “Something should be done,” she repeated.

  “What do you plan on doing, Mary?”

  That question stopped her. She glanced at him, her smile a poor rendition of a genuine expression.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Thomas. Whatever could I do? Alex is married, isn’t he? A union until death. At least in my poor sister’s case.”

  Mary hadn’t cared about Ruth all that much, he remembered, being so occupied with carrying tales about her infidelity to anyone who listened. Now, however, Ruth had ascended to the role of saint in Mary’s eyes.

  “Don’t you want Alex to be happy?” A foolish question, perhaps, to ask of someone so occupied with her own thoughts and feelings.

  “Of course I do,” she said brightly.

  A lie if he’d ever heard one.

  She blessedly left the room a few minutes later, taking his peace of mind with her.

  He didn’t like the feeling he was getting. It felt like an itch in the middle of the back of his neck, a hint that something was wrong and that he might be in danger.

  A talk with Alex in the morning wouldn’t be remiss. While he was at it, he’d speak to Louise. Perhaps there was a way to rid themselves of the busy bird in their midst, a bird with talons and a razor sharp beak.

  Chapter 26

  Alex woke to the sound of rain and wind against the window. The curtains hadn’t been closed completely, revealing flashes of lightning assaulting Loch Gerry. He was immediately grateful for two things, that he wasn’t out in it, and that the storm had awakened Lorna.

  Her hand was flat against his chest, a connection in the darkness.

  He turned his head, wished he could see her, but he wasn’t about to light the lamp for fear it would wake Robbie.

  Reaching out, he cupped her face, feeling the edge of her smile against his palm. He rose up on an elbow, bent, and kissed her softly, an exploratory kiss, one in which he tested his welcome.

  Her hand reached around his neck and pulled him to her.

  “Alex,” she said softly.

  Slowly, he pulled down the sheet, giving her time to protest. She didn’t say a word, didn’t jerk the sheet from his hand. Nor did she roll away in speechless repudiation.

  His hands slid over her nightgown, riding along the soft, womanly curves. He remembered her well. His fingers recognized the indentation of her waist, the flare of hips, the long, long perfection of her legs.

  The rain-cooled air should have been chilly, but he felt like a furnace roared inside him. He’d dreamt of this moment, of seducing Lorna. More than once he’d awakened heated, feeling like he’d been celibate for decades and both wanting and needing her.

  His cock hardened. His hands shook as he unfastened the buttons on the placket of her nightgown. He wanted to tear the garment from her but only slipped his hand inside the garment, feeling her breasts hard and filled with milk.

  She made a sound when he stroked his fingers over one nipple and then another. Bending his head, he softly licked each before placing his mouth on hers.

  Lorna deepened the kiss, her tongue dancing with his, her hands framing his face. Her fingers speared through his hair and kept his head still for her assault.

  His heart was racing. His cock hardened further.

  Suddenly Lorna sat up, ridding herself of the nightgown, the lightning outside momentarily revealing curves and shadows before vanishing and taking away his sight.

  She surprised him by exploring his chest, hips, then plunging her fingers into the nest of hair at his groin. He could swear he swelled even more when she wrapped her hands around him, stroking from base to tip.

  When had she learned to do that?

  Her kiss was carnal and alluring, making him forget everything but this moment and her. The shape of her, the smell of her, the softness of her skin and the curves that commanded his hands to touch and stroke, remembering another stormy night.

  His memory hadn’t been enhanced by time or imagination. Tonight was just as magical as the night a year ago. She was just as fascinating, but this time she wouldn’t disappear. He could hold her in his arms and know that she would be there in the morning.

  He was the one who had vanished. That thought hit him with the force of a blow.

  He was the one who’d fled from her. Had he been afraid or just cautious? Had he known that this one woman would change the life he’d always known? Not only his life but his view of it. His very character would be altered.

  How did he make up for being a fool?

  She’d welcomed him with grace. Granted, she’d questioned him, but that was all. She hadn’t punished him with silence or petulance. Instead, she invited him into her bed and now welcomed him with open arms.

  Slowly he rolled over, taking her with him, his hands on her waist guiding her into position over him. He widened his legs and drew up his knees, creating a cradle for her.

  “Alex?”

  “It’s better for you to be on top,” he said.

  She bent over him. “Is it?” she asked, the words infused with something magical, given the husky nature of her voice.

  “I’ve been told it would be easier for you after giving birth.”

  She froze in position, her hair draped over him, her breasts grazing his chest.

  “And who would be telling you that?”

  Torture. She was torturing him. Did she know it?

  His hands were still on her waist. Guiding her into position, he rose up a little. When she lowered herself onto him, he closed his eyes, adrift in the sensation.

  “Who told you that?” she asked, her lips against his cheek.

  “Someone I consulted,” he said, the words difficult to speak, even in a whisper.

  She rose up a little, then down again. If she was experiencing any discomfort, she didn’t show it. He, on the other hand, was poised on a twin precipice of delight and agony. He had the disconcerting thought that she’d taken command.

  “You talked to someone about bedding me?” she asked, her voice taking on an odd tone.

  He shouldn’t have said anything, but now that he had, he needed to explain.

  “I sought out an expert.”

  “What kind of expert?”

  She sat up, which had the effect of seating him fully inside her. He wanted to savor the feeling but needed to answer the question.

  “A woman of ill repute? A prostitute?”

  His hands gripped her hips, wanting her to move, but knowing that he was doomed to finish this conversation first.

  “A doctor,” he said. “I wanted to ensure that the first time after Robbie’s birth would be pleasant for you.”

  She lowered herself over him, brushing a kiss against his lips, her knees tightening on either side of him.

  “Why didn’t you just ask me, Alex? There are certain herbal preparations that would have been ideal for this moment.”

  There was another note in her voice now, a hint of amusement. He was, no doubt, a fool. At the very least, a randy fool who was at the mercy of a woman who’d become a siren in his absence. No, she’d always been that, hadn’t she? Somehow, the confidence she demonstrated as a mother had transferred to the woman.

  Lorna Gordon Russell was not to be underestimated. As she slowly rose and lowered herself over him, he realized that he’d been wrong.

  He wasn’t seducing her. She was seducing him, and doing it so well that ecstasy was spiking through him, deadening his mind and making him an atavistic creature intent on only his needs and wants.

  He pulled himself back from the brink, focusing on Lorna. Her breath was coming faster, her skin was heating, and
she was making soft sounds in the back of her throat. His fingers danced between them, stroking her, urging her to completion so that she finished before him.

  He didn’t know how long he could hold out.

  With her, he had no skill, only need. With her, he was impatient to desperation.

  She suddenly slumped forward, her breasts pressing against his chest. Her hands clenched his shoulders as she tightened like a fist.

  She was hot and tight, stretching around him. He wanted to bring her pleasure even if meant waiting, and the last thing he wanted was to wait.

  He ducked his head to trail his mouth down her throat, feeling the rapid pulse beat there. He was lost in the sight and smell of her, the soft moans she was making as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She sighed into his mouth.

  Abruptly, vibrations traveled through her as her whole body clenched. A second later he had no choice but to come with her, his hips rising, every muscle and nerve focused on completion.

  He hoped to God that she’d found pleasure in their joining because he could no longer hold back. He’d never before felt anything like this, endless pleasure that catapulted him from one wave of sensation to another. His body bowed, every muscle tightening as he erupted inside her. Lights danced behind his lids, each sense centered on the feel of her constricting around him.

  His breath left him along with his strength. His eyes were probably rolled back in his head.

  A last thought before his vision grayed and bliss overwhelmed him.

  He had died and gone to Heaven, returned, and now lay here staring at the ceiling, incapable of speech.

  No wonder that stormy night had happened. He was surprised that it had ended. He remembered thinking that he wanted to continue, wanted a rematch, wanted to make love to this woman until the dawn came. If some of the servants interrupted them, oh well. Perhaps it was time they learned a little about the facts of life. Perhaps it was time they learned some biology.

  What had stopped him then? Oh, yes, he’d insulted Lorna. He couldn’t believe she’d been a virgin. He’d allowed his distrust of all things and all people to interrupt what might have been a marathon lovemaking session.