Mad for the Plaid (41 page)

He put down his fork. “I cannot accept this.”

“'Tis nae oop to you. I've never been a lady-in-waiting, but Her Grace seems to think I'm uniquely suited for it.” Ailsa turned her knife over again. “She promised she would help me find a husband, and that there were all manner of handsome, eligible noblemen in the Oxenburgian court. I have to admit, I have a soft spot for a man with an accent.”

Nik muttered a long string of curses.

Ailsa listened with an air of attentive admiration. Once he finished, she said, “You must teach me some of those. I'm sure they'll come in handy.”

“I will not. They are improper for a lady to use.”

She shrugged. “Then I'm sure Her Grace will do so. I daresay she's familiar with them, too.”

Which was probably true, Nik thought in disgust. “You do not understand what you are undertaking. The court is filled with—”

“—tricksters, liars, sycophants, and . . . What was the other thing your grandmother mentioned? Ah yes, seducers. I have been warned, you see.”

“It is not enough to be warned. Being near such people, getting drawn into their webs of deceit, their trickery—it does something to you. It's done something to me.”

She dropped her napkin on the table. “So I have seen. But I need to know these things, for Her Grace assures me we will be going oot in society often as I search for a husband.”

“A husband? You said you were to be my grandmother's lady-in-waiting.”

“Only because she thought it a good platform from which to fish for a spouse. She mentioned several men by name. There was Baron Potem— I cannae remember.”

“Potemkin.”

“That's it! She said he is fabulously wealthy.”

“He is seventy-five, and confined to a bed with gout.” He was gratified to see Ailsa's face fall. “Whom else has she mentioned?”

“A count known for breeding horses.”

“Count Naryshkins.”

“Aye! I hope he is nae auld, too?”

“He is forty.”

“Excellent. Is he perchance bedridden?”

“
Nyet
. But he is well known for breeding children. He has over two dozen by at least eight women.”

“Oh. This may take longer than I expected, but I'm certain it will work out if I put my mind to it.”
She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “Where is your grandmother, by the way?”

“If I were to guess, I'd say she is hiding in one of the back parlors, probably having her own meal and drinking far more vodka than she should.”

“I will join her.” Ailsa curtsied. “Good day, Your Highness.” She turned to leave, her head lowering the slightest bit as she walked to the door. With her hair upswept Nik found himself looking at her exposed nape, one loose strand of her dark blond hair curling down it. Never had any woman possessed such a silken, delicate neck as this woman. Damn, he wanted to smooth that curl aside and kiss her neck, to make her shiver with something other than cold, to taste her smooth skin and—

“Ailsa.” Somehow he was standing, his napkin forgotten on the floor.

She stopped and turned, her gaze meeting his.

Stark, raw hunger ripped through him, and he tried to find the words to explain things. To tell her that although he knew she would be safer somewhere else, he wanted her here, with him. That the thought of her with another man was more painful than cutting off his own arm.

But the words would not come, and after a long moment, she turned and continued toward the door.

Once there, she stopped, her shoulders straightening as she took a deep breath. And then, to his utter shock, she shut the door, the latch clicking into place, the noise louder than the thundering of his own heart.

Slowly, she turned. “Nik?” Her husky voice held a thousand questions, and just as many promises.

He crossed the few paces between them and swept her into his arms. All of the passion, all of the fury, all of his feelings poured from the dark place he'd kept them locked in, and flooded through him.

He lifted her against him, covering her mouth with his, plundering her ruthlessly. She returned the favor, grasping his coat and twining her arm over his neck, pressing against him and driving him mad. God, he'd missed her. He'd been so lost, so tormented, and so, so alone.

He slid his hands down her back, cupping her full arse, luxuriating in her rich body. She moaned against his mouth and hooked her leg over his hip, and he held her there, pressing himself to her.

And then they were no longer standing, but lying on the settee, and he was furiously batting away annoying pillows as she slid up her skirts and then found the buttons on his breeches.

They came together with a rawness and desperation that left no room for thought. No room for questioning. It was fast and pure and perfect and right and oh, so missed. Hot and greedy, she pulled him to her, lifting her hips as he pressed himself into her.

“Nik,” she whispered, closing her eyes and arching against him.

He thrust again and again, filling her completely. He was so enthralled that he could not stop tasting her, touching her, urging her on. The small parlor filled with soft gasps and desperate moans as he teased and tormented her, desperately trying to show her all the things he could not seem to say.

He moved more fiercely, until finally Ailsa cried out, arching against him in exquisite pleasure. He pressed his forehead to hers, her passion tipping him over the edge of his own. Seconds later, he collapsed against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she quivered beneath him.

God, but he'd wanted her,
needed
her.

The realization made him open his eyes. Life without her had been so black, so bitter, that he couldn't face it. When he could breathe again, he murmured her name over and over, pressing kisses to her neck and cheek.

The mantel clock ticked, and their meal grew cold, yet they did not move.

“That was so
guid
,” she sighed against him.

He raised himself on his elbow and cupped her face. Slowly, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead.

“I love you.” The words slipped from her lips on a sigh, but was loud in his heart.

He dropped his forehead to hers. “And I love you.” He groaned. “But I shouldn't.”

She slipped her arms around his neck and held him tight, and he buried himself against her, holding her. What he wanted . . . what he needed . . . it was all here. But—

A noise arose in the hallway. Tata Natasha could be heard telling someone loudly that she would eat with her grandson and Lady Ailsa in the parlor.

“Good God, she's coming here!” Nik stood, pulling Ailsa with him. “Here.” He handed her the napkins from the table, and they hurried to set themselves to rights.

He'd just rebuttoned his breeches, and Ailsa had just thrown the napkins into the fire and smoothed her skirts into place, when the door was thrown open.

Tata Natasha gave them both a swift look. “It is perhaps better that we finish this now, eh?” She closed the door and beamed at them, her critical gaze locking on Nik. “Your breeches are not buttoned correctly.”

He looked down, his face heating as he hurried to rectify the situation.

“And you, Lady Ailsa, should see to your skirt. It is caught in your waistband.”

Red-faced, Ailsa tugged her skirt back into place. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Tata Natasha made her way to the small supper table, where she took Nik's abandoned seat. “I hope you two have solved your little problem. Or am I to find Lady Ailsa a husband?”

“We have solved our problem,” Ailsa said swiftly, before Nik could answer.

“We have?” The words flew past his lips before he could stop them. “Ailsa, I can't—”

“Shush, love.” She smiled and put her fingers under his chin and turned his face toward hers. “Nik has realized that if I were to be left in court alone, a plump duck with nae teeth, that I would indeed be in danger of becoming a pawn of the evildoers, and perhaps disillusioned by their betrayals. However, as I'll be girded in his love, and protected by his advice, I need have nae fear.” She flattened her hand over his heart. “And I will do the same for him. I will watch over him; I will guard him against the evils of those who try to harm him. And when
it is necessary, I will remind him that there are those who love him for nae other reason than he is our beloved.”

His eyes burned and he wondered what he'd done to be with such a woman. Did he dare accept her? Would it be fair? But as he looked into her eyes, he saw his own loneliness and unhappiness mirrored there. She'd missed him as desperately as he'd missed her. Perhaps she was right, and together they could handle the intricacies of life at court. They had to at least try. His heart full, he captured Ailsa's hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “It will not be easy.”

“I'm well aware of that. Your grandmother explained it all to me, and in great detail. A stronger woman would nae have come.”

Tata Natasha found a clean plate and selected a pastry. “She is right; I was most thorough.”

He had no doubt about that. He took Ailsa's hand in his. “But what if you decide it is too much—”

“Then I will demand we go to the seashore or the mountains or wherever you go to rest, and we will find a better way to deal with the life you must live.” She moved closer, her clear gaze locked with his. “But we will do it together, you and I. Always together.”

For a second, his battered soul clung to his fears, but her steady gaze banished them.

There was only one answer. Nik placed her hand on his cheek and held it there. “Lady Ailsa Mackenzie, though I know it will go against the grain of your magnificent soul, will you please, please be my princess?”

“Your Highness.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Epilogue

The wedding took place seven months later and was a grand affair, filled with dignitaries, royalty, and noblemen and their ladies from far and wide. The grand palace of Oxenburg had been draped from the turret to the bottom floor with long banners of white and gold silk that stirred with every breeze, giving the old building a fairy-tale-like quality. After the ceremony, everyone congregated in the grand ballroom, where a ten-foot-high ice sculpture met them. Made in the shape of the castle, it dominated the huge room, the moat filled with a delicious champagne punch. The orchestra played romantic waltzes, and the dance floor was soon filled with the swish of colorful silk gowns and the scuffle of shiny leather shoes.

Nik watched from across the room with greedy eyes as his brothers took turns dancing with his fair bride. Every time Ailsa could, she'd peek at him around his brothers' shoulders and smile, and the world felt right.

Smiling, he noted that Tata Natasha now sat in a red velvet chair that had been placed by the dance floor so she could watch the festivities in comfort while loudly
critiquing both the gowns and the performance of each dancer who swept by. He paused to pick up two flutes of champagne from a servant, knowing Tata would enjoy the refreshment. As he went to her, he was greeted on all sides with congratulations, some of which were sincere, some less so, but none that stole his smile.

“I was about to ask one of your brothers to bring me champagne, but you have saved me the trouble.” Tata Natasha accepted the glass he offered. “Although I prefer vodka.”

“You may have that as soon as the champagne runs out.”

“The way your guests are guzzling it, that will not be long.” She sent him a side-glance. “So. You are finally married.”

“I am.” And to his surprise, it felt right, as if he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“You have chosen wisely. I daresay you've already noticed that Ailsa has not suffered at the hands of the court as you expected and she has been here for quite a while.”

“She has done well, but it has not been easy. There were several attempts to lure her into divulging information, and some fake friendships were offered, but she is quite good at seeing through people.”