Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (30 page)

“Are you engaged to Parris?”

Lucy shook her head and the crystals dangling from her ears sparkled in the light. “No. I was waiting for you.”

He took her hand and led her to a remote corner of the garden and then turned to face her. “There is a question I would very much like to ask you…but there is something I must tell you first.”

“The answer is yes. It does not matter what people are say—”

He hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Aye, it does.”

She moved his hand away. “Broxburn—”

“Ian.”

“Ian, I am in love with you,” she said. “I do not care whether the rumor is true or not.”

Ian quickly gathered her into his arms. “Ah, Lucy, you cannot know how much tat means to me.” he said, then kissed her slowly and deeply. She
seemed to melt into his arms, and when he broke the kiss, she did not move away. She laid her head against his lapel.

He tightened his arms around her. “I love you, Lucy, and I want you to be my wife. But you must know that what my cousin is saying is true. My father
told me during a drunken rampage just before we met at Glencory Castle.”

“It does not matter, Ian,” she said. “You are the man I love. I do not care who your parents are.”

“And Parris? You do not regret—”

“I refused his offer this morning,” she said.

The weight of the past few weeks’ worries lifted, and he felt almost euphoric. He kissed Lucy again, but ended it quickly when a few others came into
the garden. He took her hand. “Let’s go find your uncle.”

Her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all day. “Yes, and my brother. And Meg, of course.”

They went inside and located the Kildrum group just as Lucy’s sister turned a pasty shade of white and abruptly left her uncle’s side. Lucy was
not the only one to notice her sister’s distress, for Calvin went after her.

“I do not know what happened,” Kildrum said. “But I am sure Calvin will take care of it.” He turned to Ian. “You have
news?”

“Aye,” Ian replied. “We would like to have a word with you, sir.”

The earl grinned. “Of course, lad. Of course! Not that I cannot guess what you wish to say. Let us find a quiet corner.”

A few days later, Lucy and Ian attended a house party at the Hamilton estate to celebrate their engagement. Lord and Lady Hamilton were the closest
neighbors to Pentland Manor, Ian’s home away from Craigmuir. They were thrilled by news of Ian’s engagement and insisted on inviting all his
closest friends for a fete in the betrothed couple’s honor.

The guests were all occupied that evening, providing the perfect moment for Ian and Lucy to slip away together. Ian had found a bedroom in an unused wing
of Hamilton’s massive manor house – so while the rest of the guests remained in the music room listening to a string quartet play Mozart and
Telemann, Ian was kissing Lucy in a small room on the third floor.

He closed the door and turned the key, then lit a candle near the bed. When he came back to her and took her in his arms, Lucy felt his lips touch the
crown of her head. She closed her eyes, feeling his heart beat against her.

She sighed, and he pressed his mouth against her forehead, then her temple. “My little Sassenach,” he whispered, just before touching her lips
with his own.

She skimmed her hands up to the back of his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. It had been far too long since they’d had enough privacy for
her to touch him. This was what she wanted – warmth and intimacy, a chance to show him how utterly and completely she loved him.

He pulled her close, deepening the kiss as arousal, intense and heavy, tightened in the lower part of her body. His tongue swirled into her mouth and she
tasted him – a heady mixture of gentleness and masculine power.

While he seduced her mouth, he unfastened her gown, then turned her to unlace her stays, kissing her neck and shoulders as he worked. “I have wanted
to do this ever since you stumbled upon me in Glencory’s secret Viking hideaway.”

“I was not the one who was stumbling, my lord.” She smiled at the memory of that first meeting, when she’d thought he was nothing but an
ill-mannered Scot. She had since learned that he’d had good reason to be peevish then.

“I readily admit that,” he said. “It was not my finest hour.”

She shivered with anticipation when her gown and underclothes dropped to the floor.

He turned her, and then he touched her naked breasts.

A heated flush spread from her nipples to her neck, then to her cheeks.

“Ah, sweet Lucy,” he breathed in her ear. She felt his mouth move down to her jaw, her neck. Her skin, already warm, turned fiery when his
mouth reached the tip of one breast and he pulled it into his mouth.

She took his head in her hands and held him in place while he stroked her nipple with his tongue. A soft groan sounded in the room and Lucy did not know if
it was she or Ian who’d made it.

When he moved to treat her other breast to the same tender attention as the first, Lucy felt as if her bones had turned to dust. Before her knees gave out
from under her, Ian lifted her into his arms and carried her the few steps to the bed. He laid her gently upon the simple quilt and yanked his shirt over
his head before coming down to her.

Reaching for him, she breathed his name. Her breasts brushed against the dark hair on his chest when he hovered over her, and she shivered with need. She
encircled his neck with her arms, then slid her hands across the taut skin of his broad shoulders and down his back. Ian shuddered and tipped his head down
to meet her lips in a fierce encounter of tongues and teeth.

He filled Lucy’s senses completely. His hand touched her knee, then moved upward. She felt no shyness, no shame when his fingers reached the part of
her that ached most for his touch.

She opened to him. Body, heart, and soul.

“You are so beautiful, so perfect.” His whisper penetrated the sensual haze that surrounded her and she responded with quiet sounds that seemed
to inflame him even more.

He pulled off his trews while he continued to kiss her. Then he shifted his position, placing his body in intimate contact with hers. When he moved again,
Lucy felt him press against her, his flesh as naked as her own.

“Ian?” Her voice, soft as a whisper, was full of emotion, her body full of yearning. She needed him…

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I could never— Oh!”

He moved quickly. A burning pain lasted only a second and Ian held perfectly still inside her.

As the discomfort subsided, Lucy was certain there must be more. Sensing that he awaited her acceptance, she moved her hips, taking him deeper. He made a
low sound in his throat and braced himself over her, meeting her eyes with his own. Slowly, he began to move with slow strokes within her.

Lucy matched his rhythm, digging her fingers into the thick muscles of his upper arms, her body reaching for the intense pleasure he’d given her
before. She began to move faster, and Ian coaxed her legs around his waist. When he slid a hand down between them and touched her most sensitive part, Lucy
was plunged into a maelstrom of sensation. She cried out with the pleasure, cupping Ian’s face in her hands.

“Sweet heaven.” He drove into her one last time, shuddering with his own completion, and Lucy brought his face down to hers, melding her lips
with his.

“I love you, lass,” he said when he moved to her side and pulled her to him. “For now and forever.”

December, 1817. Craigmuir Castle

It was the first time Lucy had hosted a house party, but fortunately, it was just her family, and she did not need to impress them. Besides, they were
impressed enough with the ancient castle that was now her home.

She and Ian planned to stay on, since his father’s health was so frail. The duchess had passed away in September, an expected event that was mourned
by few. She had spent the last half of her life feeling bitter and wronged, though no one knew why. No one, except Ian’s aunt, who doubted the
duchess’s wild ramblings, anyway.

Ian’s friends told him that Duncan was bitter, too – living a life of dissipation in Edinburgh. He gambled too much, and drank too much. Ian
believed he was destined for the same fate as the duke.

The duke, in the meantime, had told Ian something of his Irish mother, and whatever it was, it seemed to ease his mind. Lucy did not care who his mother
was. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and his parentage had nothing to do with that.

Meg and Calvin had stayed for her wedding after the Hamilton party, but Joshua had returned to Berkshire. Lucy’s parents, along with Samuel and Emily
had come to Scotland for Christmas, so it was a joyous occasion, as was the knowledge of the child growing within her. She and Ian intended to announce the
coming event on Christmas Eve.

Caroline and Jessamine had remained at home, so they would receive the news later. Caroline could not travel with her newborn son – especially not in
winter, and Jessamine had stayed with her and Robert to help where she could.

The whole family was just about to go in to dinner when Lockhart spoke quietly to Ian. “My lord,” he said, “Lord Kindale is here.”

“Show him in!” Ian replied. “He can join us for supper.”

The butler cleared his throat. “My lord, he wishes to speak to you in the great hall.”

They had not seen Kindale since the night of Lady Muirhouse’s ball, and he had left abruptly. Just as abruptly as Meg had done, Lucy mused. And it
occurred to her that Kindale might very well have been the one who’d broken her sister’s heart.

She knew he was to marry soon, but Ian had voiced doubts that a wedding between Miss Douglas and Kindale would ever take place. It seemed that at least
once a week his betrothed found a new reason to avoid marriage.

“If you will excuse me,” he said to Lucy and the others. “I will return in a moment.”

Meg could not believe Malcolm had just shown up at the castle. Did he know she was still here in Scotland?

Why had he come? To torture her with all that could never be? He had no choice but to marry Elsbeth Douglas, his late father’s ward, in spite of what
they’d shared all those months ago.

She still loved him. How could she not? Besides being the handsomest man she’d ever known, he was kind and considerate, and responsible to a fault.
Except for that one time. The time they’d been alone in his cousin’s house and he’d made love to her.

Tears welled in her eyes. She’d been such a fool. Malcolm had not been free to marry her, and when he’d left Lake Windermere so abruptly,
she’d known she would never see him again.

Until now.