A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (22 page)

In one quick motion, he managed to tether the horses and catch Laurel in his arms as she slid off the saddle. Ignoring the hot jabs of pain that tore up his leg with each step, as any mindless, idiot male would, he carried Laurel to an empty stall. His leg was already in spasms by the time they reached it, and he scattered hay and smacked his shoulders against the wooden boards as he fell against them for support.

He didn’t care, only needing the one good leg to stand on anyway.

“Graelem, I—”

His lips closed on hers and his hands cupped her buttocks to draw her firmly up against his arousal, so that she knew how hot and hungry he was for her, how desperate he was to drink her in, to devour her.

She gasped against his mouth.
“Oh, Graelem.”

He loved the sound of his name on her lips, loved everything about her. His hand moved up to cup her breast, his fingers teasing the already hardened nipple through the thick velvet fabric.
“Oh, my goodness! Graelem!”

“Goodness has nothing to do with it, sweetheart.” He would have stopped had she flinched or tensed, but she was grabbing at his jacket to shove it off him and he knew in the next moment she would be ripping at his shirt, sending studs and buttons flying everywhere as she tore it off him to touch his bare skin.

He’d be doomed if she actually knew what she was doing, but there was no seductive art or finesse to her actions. This was Laurel, the wanton innocent who responded with all the passion in her heart.

“Lass,” he said, grunting and panting as he kissed her, almost exploding as she kissed him back with a breathless, moaning ardor and began to rub her hip against his hard, throbbing heat. She’d stopped tackling his shirt, the studs too stiff to manage while her fingers trembled, and was now tugging at his breeches.

He was aroused beyond measure by this innocent girl who still didn’t know what she was doing and didn’t understand the sensations she roused each time her fingers grazed his erect tip—which they did quite often as she fumbled in exasperation with the buttons of his breeches, unaware that her haphazard strokes were driving him over the edge.

He caught her hands in one of his and turned their bodies so that her back was now leaning against the boards of the stall, her arms pinned over her head, trapped in one of his big hands. He used his other hand to explore her body, his fingers sweeping across the lush curves hidden beneath the soft velvet. He traced every sweet swell and curve.

Laurel, as ever, didn’t hold back. Instead she responded with a breathless eagerness to each caress, grinding her soft, generous lips against his mouth with ardent desperation.

“Graelem,” she said in a whisper, closing her eyes and arching her back so that the hardened tips of her breasts pressed against his chest, the sensation so exquisitely hot and intense that he forgot that his leg was still in spasms and there were still layers of velvet and crisp cotton lawn between them. “Release my hands, I want to touch you.”

This was the clumsiest sex he’d ever had, standing off balance and in pain while an inept but exquisitely passionate virgin struggled to get in his pants, and—damn it—couldn’t seem to manage it on her own. In her own defense, she couldn’t manage to do anything but breathlessly moan his name while she writhed between his legs and he ground his throbbing member against her hip.

Lord, everything about this moment was awkward and perfect. Laurel made it so.

Despite the numerous layers of fabric between them, she still managed to stir him to a roaring heat, one that bubbled his blood and brewed within him until he could bear no more. His pleasure was heightened by Laurel’s soft cries as she climaxed, her eyes closed and kissable mouth slightly open as she absorbed the powerful sensations flowing through her body in hot waves of pleasure to match his own.

He drew her shuddering body against his and caressed her until she calmed.

She splayed her hand across his chest, resting it against his heart as it throbbed to a steady beat. He felt hers still beating out of control as she leaned against him. “I love you, Graelem.”

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, a sweet, gentle smile that he didn’t deserve, for he had yet to respond to this startling admission just sprung from her lips. In truth, he’d known how Laurel felt about him for a while now, but to hear her say it openly had him raising his eyes heavenward and giving thanks for this miracle.

She felt incredibly good, even though they stood together, both hot and panting and disheveled. He swallowed her in his embrace. “I don’t want it to be like this any longer, Laurel. I don’t want to be stealing kisses in a stable or in a stately parlor, worried about your reputation if we were to be discovered. I want the right to kiss you, to take you into my arms and carry you to bed. Our bed. Every night. Marry me, lass. Now. Today.”

Her smile stole his breath away, as did the sparkle in her eyes. “Is that your lust speaking?”

He laughed and lowered his forehead to hers. “Hell, yes… and no. You set me on fire, you have from the first. I can’t look at you without aching or burning, or turning hot and hard. But at the same time, I can’t look at you without wishing you were mine forever. I can’t look at you without thinking how hopeless and empty my life would be if I could not wake to find your beautiful eyes, the color of a tropical sea, gazing back at me, or not feel your hand gently resting on my shoulder. This is about starting our lives together.” He eased back and ran a hand raggedly through his hair. “I’ve never forgiven my father for abandoning me, but I’m beginning to understand how he might have felt when losing my mother.”

Laurel put a hand on his arm and began to stroke it gently. He doubted that she realized what she was doing, but this is why she’d won his heart, this natural urge of hers to comfort him and soothe his pain. No one’s touch was as sweet as Laurel’s.

“Perhaps he knew that having to look at me would force him to confront his loss every day of his life and he simply couldn’t manage it. She was all that mattered to him, and everything else became meaningless.”

She frowned. “You always had meaning.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “I might, to you. That’s why you have my heart, Laurel. There’s about one week left until Midsummer’s Day. Say you’ll have me. In this I fear I’m too much like my father. If it can’t be you, then it will be no other.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise. Was he giving her a choice? “Graelem, what are you saying?”

“I want to build a life with you and no one else. Claiming the rest of the Moray holdings won’t matter if you’re not by my side to share it.”

She shook her head, still surprised. “But what of your popinjay cousin? You can’t let him win.”

“I’ll still be Baron Moray, of course. Hopefully, I will exert some power over him to keep him from destroying the Moray assets he inherits. With some guidance he might preserve the livelihood of those who’ve worked the land for generations. In truth, Silas put him in charge of some farms just outside of Aberdeen, and he seems to have done an adequate job with them. Not good, but adequate. If I were to marry in time to claim the inheritance, I’d consider turning those properties over to him. But I won’t shackle myself to just any female to gain the inheritance. It’s you or no one, Laurel. What do you say?”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He was asking for her consent again, no longer forcing her to bend to his will. “You know it’s the same for me. I think you had my heart from the first moment I set eyes on you, only I couldn’t admit it. Yes, I’ll marry you, Graelem. Now. Today. Any day ever.”

AS THEY
MADE
their way back to the Farthingale townhouse, Laurel walked slowly beside Graelem, worried about his leg, which was obviously bothering him although the stubborn man refused to admit it. “My leg is old news. Let’s discuss wedding arrangements.”

She let out a bubble of laughter, for it was obvious by his grimace that he’d rather talk about anything but floral bouquets, wedding pudding, her non-existent bridal trousseau (something easily cured by Madam de Bressard at an outrageous price), or how many Farthingales to invite if they expected to keep the ceremony small. “I’ll not torture you with the details since it’s something better discussed with my mother. You only suggested it because you’re eager to switch the topic of conversation away from your leg. It’s still hurting you. I can tell by the pinch of your lips. Nice lips, by the way.”

He shook his head and grinned at her. “So are yours. If you keep looking at me that way, I’ll have to capture them again right here for the world to see.”

“How am I looking at you?”

His grin broadened. “As though I’m one of the gods of Olympus and you worship me.”

“Worship you! Hah!” She paused to face him and tilted her chin upward in challenge, but quickly gentled. She couldn’t maintain the slightest indignation toward him. “Perhaps I do a little whenever you kiss me.”

He reached out and caressed her cheek. “Lass, the feeling is reciprocated.” There was a smoky huskiness to his voice that shot tingles through her body.

They were standing in the mews courtyard and about to turn onto the main street so there would be no more stolen kisses, although by the gleam of amusement still in Graelem’s eyes she knew he was definitely contemplating the possibility. By the wicked smile on his lips, she knew it would not be a genteel kiss.

She backed away slightly and wagged her finger at him in warning. “But I’m still hot-tempered, so you’d better watch yourself around me. I won’t always indulge you just because I like you.”

“I should hope not.” Although up until this moment they had been jesting and teasing, he suddenly turned serious. “Laurel, you must know by now that dull, simpering mushrooms are not to my taste. I don’t wish to change a thing about you. I’m sure it’s a mistake to admit it to you, but there it is, I think you’re perfect.”

She groaned. “Oh, this is awful! You must stop saying nice things to me or I’ll never be able to stomp about or stay angry with you. What fun will that be? You’ll turn me into one of those dull mushrooms.”

He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I have no doubt that I’ll provoke you often enough to prevent that from ever happening. Now let’s get back to the safer topic of our wedding. Do whatever you wish, lass. Just tell me when and where to show up.” He glanced at the crutches he still needed to get him around.

“A simple ceremony at our home,” she said, realizing the beautiful church where her family worshiped had several steps leading up to the altar and Graelem would be too proud to be seen struggling to climb them or attempting to kneel in front of the altar.

The celebration had to include not only her parents and sisters, but Graelem’s uncle, the Earl of Trent, and his lovely countess, as well as his grandmother, Eloise. His cousins, Gabriel and Alexander, were away and certain to miss the hastily organized affair. She was sorry for that. Although she had yet to meet either of them, she knew that Graelem loved them and would have wanted them present.

His horrid cousin, Jordan Drummond, would not be invited even if he did do an adequate job managing those Aberdeen farms.

She considered her family as well. Most of them were already in London, filling up the guest rooms in their spacious townhouse. Indeed, every nook and cranny was filled with Farthingales.

Daisy was still visiting their aunt Julia and had to be told at once, for out of all the family members to be included in the celebration, Daisy mattered most to Laurel.

In truth, all her sisters mattered. But she and Daisy were almost as close as the twins were to each other, and their current falling out had been difficult for both of them. Daisy would be pleased to know that she had agreed to marry Graelem and was not going to sneak off to Gretna Green with Devlin.

She was already imagining the hugs of reconciliation and was all smiles as Pruitt opened the door to allow her in. However, her joy was dashed the moment she and Graelem entered the house. One look at Pruitt’s face and she knew something was terribly wrong. Then she heard sobs coming from the parlor.

Graelem caught her by the elbow as she paled. “Steady, sweetheart. Let’s see what’s happened.” He nodded in reassurance. “We don’t have to say anything about our plans yet.”

She made no protest as he nudged her forward even though her heart was now lodged in her throat and she was loath to step into the parlor, for she had her suspicions about what had upset her family.

Uncle Harrison.

It had to be.

Her gaze immediately fell upon the twins, who were seated closest to the door and tearfully gripping each other’s hands. Her mother was hugging her father. George, Rupert, and Hortensia were seated quietly with their heads bowed. Uncle George’s face was buried in his hands. She understood what George was thinking. His hands had healed so many, yet couldn’t save his own beloved brother.

No one said anything as she and Graelem entered. No explanations were necessary. Their expressions revealed everything. “Papa, I’m so sorry.”

Her father was too choked up to speak.

“William has gone to collect Julia and Daisy and bring them back here,” her mother said, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Rose and Julian will be over shortly. Will you help Daisy look after little Harry? I don’t think Julia will be able to cope with him right now.”

“Of course.” She glanced at Graelem, wondering what to do now. They couldn’t possibly speak of their own plans. How could they even consider a Midsummer’s Day wedding when her household was now officially in mourning?

This was her fault again. She’d fallen in love with Graelem almost from the first, yet had delayed the inevitable marriage because of her pride and willfulness. Now, it was too late. Without a timely wedding, Graelem would lose the bulk of the Moray estate, all but a meaningless baronial title and a worn down manor house.

She couldn’t let it happen. But what could she do about it? His earlier words resounded in her numbed brain. Did he mean what he said? Would he truly wait for her?

Oh, dear heaven!
He couldn’t possibly! There was too much at stake for him to lose.

Despite the noble sentiments he’d expressed earlier in the stable, she wouldn’t blame him if he chose to secure his inheritance by marrying another. He’d said that he wouldn’t, but those words were spoken in the throes of lust, that was all. She wouldn’t allow him to throw away his chance at prosperity.

He put a hand lightly on her shoulder to gain her attention. “Will you be all right? I’ll stay if you want me to, but I think I had best go. You need this time alone with your family.”

Alone?

So he’d quickly assessed the situation and knew he had to move on. He was going to leave her.

“Whatever you think,” she said, trying to hide her heartbreak. She’d lost Uncle Harrison and was now about to lose Graelem.

“I’ll come by later.”

She glanced at her toes, no longer able to look at him without bursting into tears. “No, you mustn’t. You have your own worries to address.”

“What?” She heard his sudden intake of air.

“I know you meant to honor our betrothal, but it’s impossible now. I won’t blame you if you look elsewhere.”

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Do you think me so callow as to beg out of our betrothal and seek a mushroom to marry?”

She glanced at him through the tears now clouding her eyes. “I know you meant it at the time, but there’s too much at stake for you. That’s why I’m releasing you.” She placed a hand on his arm and felt him tense beneath her palm. “You’ll lose everything, Graelem. I refuse to be the cause of it.”

Her hand still rested on his arm so she felt the anger bubbling inside of him, the hot flood of disbelief coursing through his veins. “You’re everything to me, Laurel. Don’t you understand that yet?”

“But—”

“No. It’s done. There will be no Midsummer wedding. We’ll make plans once your mourning period is over, if at that time you still wish to marry me—”

“I will.”

“Don’t be so quick to say so.” He shook his head and let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “I’ll be a poor baron and a Scottish one at that. Even if you still wanted to marry me, I doubt your father will approve. I doubt you will either. So when your head clears and you change your mind, if you want out of the betrothal… I’ll release you. I give you my promise.”

Laurel’s jaw dropped open in amazement. Angry amazement. She wanted to grab one of his crutches and club him over the head with it. Of course, she couldn’t under these circumstances. She wasn’t so hot-tempered as to forget herself and cause a scene while they all grieved for Harrison Farthingale.

“In fact, there’s no point in waiting,” he continued in a whisper, drawing her over to the window overlooking the garden so they wouldn’t disturb the rest of her family. She doubted anyone was listening to them or paying them any attention, they were all so lost in their own grief. “I should have done this weeks ago, but it’s taken this tragedy to make me realize how much of an oaf I’ve been to you. I re—”

“I’ll smite you with the largest broadsword I can find if you dare utter those words to me,” Laurel warned in a harsh whisper, putting a hand to his lips, those wonderful lips that made her come to life whenever they pressed against her skin. “Don’t you dare offer to release me from my promise. My
sacred
promise. It’s up to me to willingly release you, and that I do now.”

He ran a hand raggedly through his hair. “How is that any different?”

She tipped her chin up and frowned at him. “It’s completely different.”

“We’re both doing the identical thing, trying to be noble and releasing the other from a marriage we both want.” He held out his arms to her. “Come here, sweetheart.”

“Don’t confuse me with the facts,” she cried, melting into his wonderful embrace as her heart shattered and sorrow overwhelmed her. Oh, she sounded just like one of the Farthingale elders now, responding with their hearts while ignoring all logic. “I have to be the one to let you go. It’s only fair because I’ve behaved so abysmally toward you.”

“You’ve been wonderful.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better. I wish they’d found Uncle Harrison alive.”

“So do I, love. So do I.” At the time, he and Julian had believed that finding Harrison, no matter his condition, most important. In truth, all they’d done was crush the family’s hope. Now the Farthingales had to come to grips with his death.

Harrison Farthingale was a fallen hero, but to have it confirmed brought no one any pleasure or relief.

Graelem felt every one of Laurel’s shivers and shudders as he held her in his arms. Her unrestrained tears moistened the front of his shirt. Perhaps it would have been kinder to allow them to maintain a false dream.

“Graelem, I’m sorry. I’ve destroyed your shirt.”

“Hush, love. It’s easily replaced.”

“I’ve turned into a water spout,” she said between sniffles and hiccups.

“I have an immense fondness for water spouts, especially hot-tempered ones with golden hair.” She was irresistible when strong, even more so when vulnerable. That she turned to him in her darkest moments meant so much to him. It meant everything.

She managed a sniffling laugh.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else but in my arms. This is where you belong,” he said, stroking her hair as he spoke. Laurel’s hair felt like silk between his fingers. Gold silk.

His hand moved downward to rub up and down her slender back, hoping the heat of his touch would flow through the soft velvet of her riding habit and chase away the deep chill surrounding her heart.

When Laurel finally stopped crying and regained some semblance of composure, she began urging him once again to seek out potential mushrooms for him to marry. He said nothing, just nodded, because he didn’t wish to argue with her or rile her. His decision had been made since the first day they’d met. Laurel didn’t wish to hear it right now, but that didn’t change matters.

She was the one for him. No one else would do.

So, within a matter of days, his cousin Jordan would take control of the unencumbered Moray holdings.

Old Silas had been right after all.

Falling in love was a sure way to ruin a man.

* * *

Laurel heard the soft click of the door handle and then Daisy walked into their chamber. It was late, and Laurel had already changed into her nightgown and was about to retire to bed, although she doubted she’d get a wink of sleep tonight. No one in the household would. “Daisy, please don’t be angry with me anymore.”

Her tears began to flow again as she rose and held out her arms to her sister.

Daisy rushed forward and hugged her. “I’m so sorry! I was so rude to you and meddled where I had no right to meddle, but it’s in our Farthingale blood, isn’t it? We can’t seem to keep out of each other’s business. I’m truly sorry. Let’s never fight again.”

They clung fiercely to each other and began to cry even harder. Laurel was the first to draw away. She rubbed the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who owes you the apology. I should have been honest with Graelem from the first. Now it’s too late and I’ve lost him. But none of it matters right now. Helping Aunt Julia and little Harry through their grief is most important.”

Daisy also took a moment to wipe the tears flowing down her own cheeks. “What happened between you and Graelem?”

Laurel released a ragged breath. “He needs a wife by Midsummer’s Day and I’m in mourning, so I can’t possibly marry him before next month. How can I even broach the subject to Father? It would be too disrespectful to Uncle Harrison’s memory.”