Scotsmen Prefer Blondes (12 page)

He held her there for an endless minute. She moaned and writhed against his hand, until she thought that he intended to keep her like that forever. Then he whispered in her ear, “Do you beg me to let you come?”

She was too far gone to care about her pride. “Yes, Malcolm...oh, please, anything,” she said, turning incoherent as she sobbed her need into his chest.

He stroked her harder then, sliding a finger into her wetness. His invasion was enough to push her over the edge. She screamed, and he kissed her again to swallow her cries. A shudder wracked her, so intense she thought she would break from it, and she fell limp into his arms as the dam of her need burst and the hot tide swept her away.

When the last of the tremors faded and she could think again, she opened her eyes. Malcolm’s hand was still resting in her curls, his fingers sifting through them as though he were petting a prized cat. The sight of his strong, lean fingers contrasted so starkly against her pale thighs made her shiver again.

She looked away from the hand that possessed her. She shifted in his lap to pull away before he could stoke her desire again. She felt the heaviness of his need against her derriere — and then she felt, rather than heard, Malcolm’s groan, just as he roughly pushed her back. His eyes were still silver, but darker, like a stormy sea, and his body was rigid with barely-suppressed need.

“Obedience wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” he said, his voice harsh.

Amelia stiffened, his tone and her sudden embarrassment splashing cold water on the remnants of her longing. And even though she should have been glad that he stopped before they risked a pregnancy, she felt inexplicably close to crying.

She pushed his hand away and rolled off his lap. For one awful moment, she thought she might fall, but she managed to stand on shaking legs and smooth her skirts before attempting to retie her bodice. She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes for fear she would find mockery there — but from the way his hands clenched on his legs as she straightened her dress, he wasn’t nearly as calm as he sounded.

There was nothing to be done about her hair, but she would rather have every single servant see her in this state than spend another moment under his silvery gaze. “I believe my five minutes have passed,” she said, stalking to the door without awaiting an answer.

She managed to make it all the way to her chamber before the tears started to fall.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning, Amelia slashed through another paragraph of drivel. The story, which was so promising when she worked on it in London, had come completely undone in Scotland.

Perhaps that was the inevitable consequence of living a Gothic romance instead of writing it. How could she care about Veronique’s predicament when she was also trapped in a remote castle, doomed to a marriage she didn’t want?

She was being dramatic again. She’d been at her desk in the downstairs salon since shortly after dawn, breaking only when her maid had pressed chocolate and a bit of bread upon her. Her best words usually came in the morning, but after another fitful night — and the shame of her encounter with Malcolm — it was little wonder that sunrise didn’t bring her muse with it.

If she were forced to become the hostess Malcolm demanded, she would rarely see the dawn unless she returned to their house as the sun came up. What would her muse do then?

The sound of laughter in the hall brought her back to the present. She laid aside her pen and pulled on her gloves, concealing the ink stains in preparation for callers. Perhaps fifteen minutes with whoever had chosen to visit would refresh her. Most social calls in London made her want to stab out her ears with a butter knife, but any distraction was welcome when it felt like the well from which her words came could produce nothing but buckets of dust.

She pasted on her best smile and opened the door. The first face she saw didn’t belong to a stranger — it was almost as familiar as her own.

“Madeleine!” she exclaimed, nearly toppling her cousin as she embraced her. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Madeleine, now the Duchess of Rothwell, laughed as she returned Amelia’s affections. “I’ve never seen you so happy to be interrupted.”

Amelia pulled away, holding Madeleine at arm’s length as she examined her. “Our visit hasn’t been quite the holiday I expected.”

She didn’t mention Prudence, but she didn’t have to. Madeleine shook her head, mock reproof mingled with an undercurrent of something real. “We heard it all from Prudence yesterday. She and Alex stayed the night with us en route to Edinburgh. Ferguson made the estate sound like a tiny country house, but it’s more like a grand manor, albeit in need of decorating. You and Carnach must come for a visit after the wedding.”

Madeleine’s chatter about her new husband’s house didn’t disguise the underlying sentiment — that Amelia’s wedding was already a
fait accompli
.

“Why are you so sure we will marry?” she asked.

Madeleine rolled her eyes, then spoke over her shoulder. “Ellie, I told you she wouldn’t be eagerly planning the nuptials.”

Behind her, Ellie Claiborne, the widowed Marchioness of Folkestone, stepped out of the drawing room. It was her laughter Amelia had heard earlier, a fact she realized when Ellie chuckled at Madeleine’s comment. “I agreed with you, if I recall,” Ellie said. “I wouldn’t have left my bed for this visit unless I thought the story behind the engagement might be worth it.”

Ellie pretended to stifle a yawn, but her blue eyes were bright with humor. Amelia embraced her, too. Ellie was Madeleine’s new sister-in-law, and her red hair proclaimed her relationship to Ferguson and to the Scottish clan their mother descended from. Amelia hadn’t met her until Madeleine’s involvement with Ferguson several months earlier, but Ellie had quickly become one of her favorite people.

“Did you say Prudence stayed with you? Are they still at your house?” Amelia asked.

Her voice was casual, but it didn’t fool her friends. “We asked them to stay, but Prudence insisted on pressing on this morning,” Madeleine said. “We hadn’t thought to impose on Lady Carnach’s hospitality until the end of the week at least, especially since we just saw you when we parted ways four days ago. But when Prudence arrived on our doorstep, then left just as suddenly...”

Madeleine trailed off. Ellie steered Amelia into the drawing room. Lady Carnach was there, spooning tea into the teapot near the fire, while she and Augusta continued what sounded like a heated discussion of the merits of Brussels lace over domestic handicrafts. Ellie’s half-sisters, Lady Maria and Lady Catherine, stood on the other side of the room, their identical profiles framing a window as they murmured to each other about the view.

Amelia didn’t know the twins well, nor was she fully comfortable with Lady Carnach despite the woman’s enthusiasm for welcoming Amelia into her family. But she loved Madeleine and Ellie — and she was sure she didn’t want to hear their opinions on her marriage.

They would definitely have opinions. Madeleine had been friends with Prudence just as long as Amelia had, and the three had dubbed themselves the Muses of Mayfair years earlier. It was a nod to their artistic passions — Amelia wrote novels, Prudence studied history and art, and Madeleine longed to be an actress. Ellie was a painter and had joined more recently, but her personality meshed perfectly with the other women.

The Muses had supported each other through everything. But which side would Madeleine and Ellie come down on now that Amelia had caused a rift with Prudence?

As Lady Carnach passed around cups and cakes, the talk stayed inconsequential. It was like any number of at-homes in London, light and meaningless, words dissolving like meringues as they sipped their tea. Amelia watched the clock, but when the usual quarter hour had passed, Madeleine, Ellie, and the twins made no move to leave.

It was foolish to hope they would. The house Madeleine was now mistress of was nearly two hours away by carriage, too far for a short call. And while they weren’t well acquainted with Lady Carnach, their claim on Amelia made a longer call acceptable.

Amelia tried to head it off. As soon as she finished her tea, she set aside her cup and stood, abandoning her position between Madeleine and Ellie on a settee. “I really must return to my letters. If you are still here at dinner, I shall see you then.”

They wouldn’t stay for dinner. It was too dangerous to drive home through the hills after dark. But Madeleine caught her hand before Amelia could escape. “Who are you writing to so urgently? Everyone you care for is here.”

Amelia glared at her. Madeleine knew Amelia wasn’t writing letters. But her jest trapped Amelia more efficiently than any plea for her company, since Amelia couldn’t explain herself in front of her mother.

So she sat, ungrateful for the diversion she had previously wanted, and answered in monosyllables when the conversation turned to her. She wasn’t proud of her behavior. Given the choice, though, she would rather forestall the inevitable conversation about her engagement, and what she had done to Prudence, than be accommodating to her friends.

But inevitable was the right word. When Augusta and Louisa stood, Madeleine and Ellie stayed seated.

“I am sure you have much to reminisce about,” Lady Carnach said cheerfully, “and little use for two old birds flitting about you. Lady Salford and I shall walk through my garden while the weather is fine, but I do hope you’ll stay as long as you like. Perhaps you will take luncheon with us?”

Madeleine nodded. “We would be delighted, unless Ferguson wishes to leave as soon as he and Carnach finish their discussion.”

“They will be at it for some time, I’ve no doubt,” Louisa said. “Carnach has missed Ferguson — or Rothwell, I suppose I should say. I wish you both much happiness, your grace.”

Madeleine had only recently become a duchess, but even though the title still startled Amelia, the role suited her. She was as gracious with Lady Carnach as if she had been born to the role. “Thank you, Lady Carnach. You must return the visit if the wedding arrangements permit us to beg your time.”

Louisa beamed as she accepted the invitation. “Of course, Duchess. And if you want more refreshments, please don’t hesitate to ring.”

“Do you have a music room?” Ellie interjected. “Lady Catherine and Lady Maria would appreciate the practice, as the instruments at Ferguson’s house are sorely out of tune.”

“We wouldn’t want to be so rude as to leave you alone,” Kate said quickly.

“Nonsense,” Ellie said, with a smile that bared her teeth. “We shan’t miss you, I’m sure.”

It was very nearly an order, but Louisa was too polite to comment on it and the twins too well bred to cause a scene. “Of course, Lady Folkestone,” Louisa said. “And may I say it is lovely to welcome you to Scotland again after all this time? I remember your mother and miss her greatly.”

Ellie’s eyes flickered. “Thank you, Lady Carnach. Perhaps I shall visit the area more regularly in the future.”

Louisa smiled, then ushered the twins toward the music room. Augusta followed, closing the door behind them.

“Now, Amelia,” Madeleine said, moving off the settee to stand by the fire, “what the devil have you done?”

“I am shocked at your language, your grace,” Ellie said, laughing as she took up the spot by the teacart and poured herself another cup.

“You and your brother share the blame for my language,” Madeleine retorted. But her gaze had never left Amelia’s face. “Why did you fix your attentions on Carnach? You knew what the match would mean for Prudence.”

Amelia was glad she’d abandoned her cup, or she might have shattered it against the floor. “I didn’t fix my attention on Carnach. When have I ever done that?”

Madeleine tapped her fingers on the mantel. “That is the same question I had when Prudence told her story. And yet you are engaged and she is returning to London with nothing.”

“I was trying to help her,” Amelia said through gritted teeth.

“The same way you tried to help me?” Madeleine asked.

During Madeleine’s involvement with Ferguson last spring, Amelia’s efforts to help her had resulted in a horrible conversation with Alex — and the same threat of marriage that Amelia now faced. “I was sorry for betraying your confidence then, and I still am.”

Madeleine’s green eyes were sharp. “And yet you interfered with Prudence as though you still feel better suited than any of us to manage our affairs.”

Amelia spread out her hands. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

The pause was ugly.

Madeleine finally sighed. “Prudence did say she didn’t care at all for Carnach. If anything, she seemed relieved not to be marrying him.”

“As well she should be,” Amelia muttered.

Madeleine scowled, but she continued without haranguing Amelia again for her meddling. “Lady Harcastle is something else entirely,” she warned. “She was utterly venomous about you — so venomous that I would have asked her to leave if there were any inns within an hour of our house. Perhaps Prudence will forgive you, but as long as she lives with her mother, she likely won’t be allowed to see you.”

Amelia moved to the teacart to freshen her cup, letting the silence lengthen as she poured. When her cup was full, she tried to lighten the mood. “I am trying not to be dramatic, but doesn’t this seem like a story I would write? A heroine in a remote castle, friendless and alone, about to be forced into marriage?”

Madeleine laughed. “You should add a ghost. And possibly a ruined abbey.”

“I wish that was all it took,” Amelia said, taking her tea back to her seat. “At least if I were writing this, I could give myself a happy ending.”

Ellie cleared her throat, so daintily it almost went unnoticed, and yet so demanding that Madeleine and Amelia both turned to her. “While the idea of writing a novel about this is diverting, you are missing the most important questions,” she said.

“And what are those?”

Ellie sipped her tea, pausing as though her throat still bothered her. But her charisma was such that no one spoke until she set her cup in its saucer. “Question one: what drew you to Carnach when so many other suitors have failed? And question two: when you marry him, what will come of your writing?”