What the Hart Wants (Headstrong Harts Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  “No!” she said. “You can’t do that. Not when you went to such lengths to restore it.”

  “I’m prepared to reconsider if the investor agrees to my terms.”

  “Your terms?”

  “A trifle, really.” He smiled and looked round the garden, seemingly fascinated by the surrounding trees. The silence stretched, filling the air until she could no longer bear it.

  “Might I know your terms?” she asked.

  “If you wish,” he said. “Though I’m perplexed as to your level of interest. My terms are that I wish to know the name of my investor, so I might thank them personally. I cannot continue to accept the generosity of a stranger.”

  Mischief shone in his eyes.

  He was teasing her!

  “Perhaps your investor has a good reason for anonymity,” she said.

  “Anonymity can lead to disaster.”

  She cast her gaze down in shame at the memory of what her anonymity had done to him. He caught her chin with his hand and gently tipped her face up until their eyes met.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to distress you. But if you’d favor me with an answer. Was it you?”

  She nodded.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. When he opened them again, the pupils were dilated until they were almost black.

  “Why did ye do it, lass?”

  “I had to make reparation after what I’d done.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. The fault lies with the blackguard who incited the riot. And with me, for thinking you could have done such a thing.”

  “I should have been honest with you from the start,” she said. “I’d hated the Molineuxs for so long, and I wanted to hate you so badly. But, infuriating man that you are, you made it impossible for me to do anything but love you.”

  “You loved me?”

  “I tried not to. I wanted to make a difference to the world, but I lost sight of the impact my actions had on others. My own selfish desire to have my words read by the world led to your ruination.”

  “No!” he said. “My ruination was inevitable. I’d overburdened my business with debt, on the strength of too optimistic an outlook, and I lost sight of the need to set aside enough to weather the storm. That the storm came was nobody’s fault. We cannot prevent bad weather. We can only prepare ourselves to survive the consequences.”

  He held her hand against his heart. “It wasn’t I who suffered ruination and disgrace.”

  She lowered her gaze to her swollen belly. Did he, like the rest of society, see her as nothing more than a sullied woman, despite the part he’d played?

  She snatched her hand away, and this time, he released his grip.

  “I didn’t lend you the money, seeking gratitude,” she said coldly. “A fifteen percent return will pay handsomely for my keep. After all, my needs are small.”

  He made no attempt to take her hand. Instead, he knelt before her.

  “What are you doing down there?” she asked. “You’ll get your knees wet.”

  “Infuriating woman!” he laughed. “Aren’t suitors supposed to kneel before their intended before they bare their souls? Didn’t that Tipton fellow do the same?”

  She gritted her teeth at the mention of Sir Thomas. The pain and humiliation of their last interview still lingered—his angry words on discovering her dowry was not his for the taking, the insults for laying with another man, and finally the accusations of entrapment and dishonesty.

  The man at her feet covered both her hands with his.

  “Forgive me!” he cried. “I should not have mentioned that scoundrel’s name. He’s a cad, to take advantage, then abandon you! I’ll hunt him down and shoot him if you wish.”

  “What good would that serve?”

  “It would make me feel a damned sight better.”

  She shook her head. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “And neither did you,” he said. He gestured to her belly. “Let me share your burden. Say you’ll be mine, and we can start anew. This time with no secrets, but sharing each other’s lives, thoughts, and deeds. A marriage of equals.”

  Equals? Why, then, did he refer to her child as a burden?

  “What will happen to my child?” she asked. “It would be born too soon after any marriage to be considered respectable.”

  “What does that matter?” he asked. “In the eyes of the law, it will be mine.”

  “Would you accept another man’s child?”

  “Oh, lass, don’t you realize how much I love ye?” He lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles, one by one. “All that I have would be yours, and all that you have would be mine. Your child is a part of you and, for that, I will love him as my own. If you’re in any doubt, I shall drive you to my lawyers to draw up a document declaring him my heir. I shall teach him to run my distillery and to weather the burden of being a duke.”

  “And if it’s a girl?”

  “Then she shall rule over the distillery better than any man. And I’ll take great delight in fending off prospective suitors with my pistol, like any doting father.”

  “And if I told you that I have lain with none but you?”

  His forehead creased into a frown, and he cocked his head to one side. Then understanding flickered in his expression, followed by unbridled joy.

  “Ye’re a saucy wench to deceive me so,” he said. “Did you mean to test the strength of my love?”

  He pulled her into his arms, then placed his head on her shoulder and sighed.

  “I’ve missed ye,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her neck.

  “I have yet to answer your question,” she said.

  “Witch!” he teased. “If you weren’t in a delicate condition, I’d take you over my knee and spank ye raw.”

  “If I recall,” she said, “you made that same promise the day we met, and you have yet to honor it.”

  He gave a low growl which vibrated against her body. “Then, my feisty wee terrier,” he said, “I’ll take great pleasure in proving my honor when the time is right—when I take ye against the hard rock of Beinn Mo Chridhe and claim you as my Highland queen.”

  A wicked pulse of need coursed through her. He lifted his head and swiftly captured her mouth. At her gasp of surprise, he slipped his tongue in—teasing, probing, seducing.

  The child gave a sharp kick, and she let out a cry.

  “Did I hurt ye?”

  “No.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. The child kicked again, and a smile of joy illuminated his face, his eyes sparkling with pride.

  “Oh, lass,” he said, “will you not end my torment? It gives me such pleasure to see you round with my child. Make me the happiest of men, I beg ye.”

  “Would you grant me freedom, Fraser, if I asked it?”

  “Freedom from what?” he asked. “From me?”

  “Freedom to live my life as I chose,” she said. “To help the world, to write…”

  “I have no wish to be your jailer,” he said. “I offer my heart, my name, and my protection, and I ask nothing in return. As for your writing, I would never stifle such talent. Sandton said…”

  He broke off, a blush coloring his cheeks.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “You approached Sandton on my behalf.”

  “Had I not made a promise that I’d do all I could to help you?” He smiled. “I approached several publications until the London Ladies Weekly showed interest in your work.”

  “And you approached him after we—we parted?”

  “I promised to help the woman I love, did I not?”

  “You love me?” she asked.

  “Lass, I’ve loved you almost from the moment I first saw you, even if it took me months to admit it to myself,” he said. “I’m so proud of you, my love, and my life would be complete if I could have you by my side for always. But even if you tell me to leave and never see you again, still I would be proud of ye, and love you until I draw my last bre
ath.”

  “Then,” she whispered, “nothing would make me happier than to be with you for always. As your wife.”

  He bent his head and placed a kiss on her belly. “Did you hear that, little one? You are witness to your ma’s consent.”

  She giggled, and he kissed her again. “Come, lass, let me take you back inside before your sister slices my ballocks off and feeds them to the fish in that pond.”

  “Did she say she would?”

  “Had those children not been present, I think she’d have tried it the moment I arrived. But if I see her running toward me with an urn in her hand, then I know I’m in trouble. Isn’t that how the Hart sisters attack unsuspecting men?”

  “Am I ever to be forgiven for smashing that vase over your head?”

  “My dear lass, I will never regret the day a feisty wee terrier accosted me with a vase. I believe that was the moment I fell in love with ye.”

  He helped her up and wrapped a fur around her as if she were as delicate as a bird’s egg. Then, hand in hand, they returned to the house.

  Epilogue

  Glendarron, Scotland

  Six months later…

  Delilah clung to her husband as his breath came in shallow pants, puffs of warm air against her neck. Still inside her, their bodies sticky with sweat, he held her as if his life depended on it. The hard rock against her back was still warm from the afternoon sun, and her body trembled from the aftershocks of her climax. She could still hear her screams of ecstasy echoing across the mountainside.

  She shifted position, and a shock of need coursed through her nipples.

  “Not yet, lass,” he murmured. “Let me hold ye against the rock for a while. Too long have I dreamed of this moment, that I wish to savor it, to etch it into my memory.”

  “I trust this won’t be our only memory, Your Grace.”

  A wicked glint shone in his eyes, and he grasped her wrists and pinned her against the rock. “Your Grace, is it? That wasn’t what you were screaming earlier as I buried myself inside ye.”

  He ground his hips against her. A flare of pleasure pulsed deep inside, and a cry escaped her lips.

  “Greedy lass,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Perhaps I should spend every day here, giving ye a good, hard tupping against the rocks.”

  “You’re a beast!” she said, laughing.

  “Aye,” he growled, “I’m a stag in rut, eager to please his mate. Perhaps this beast should mark his mate so none other can claim her.”

  He lowered his lips to her neck and nipped the sensitive flesh, sending a shock of pleasure through her. When he lifted his head once more, his eyes pulsed with desire and love. He planted a soft kiss on her lips, then eased himself out of her. Once again, she felt that brief moment of loss, each time he withdrew.

  He took her left hand and kissed the wedding band on her finger.

  “We should return,” she said. “Flora will wonder where we are.”

  “Our daughter will either be fast asleep or in Nellie’s care.”

  “Or your mother’s.”

  He chuckled, and his body vibrated against hers. “I swear young Nellie is turning out to be a feisty lass. I’ve never seen anyone battle so hard with Ma for a baby’s attention. She’s blossomed much since Mrs. Forbes sent her to us.”

  “I’m sure your mother enjoys the challenge,” she said. “She told me the other day what a help Nellie was around the house. She also said she hopes to see Flora furnished with brothers and sisters for her to indulge and spoil.”

  His eyes darkened with lust. “I shall enjoy making them,” he said. “Perhaps, even today, you may be carrying my son.”

  “Do you wish for a son?”

  “If I have no sons and a hundred daughters, I should be delighted. I care nothing for preserving the Molineux line, and a daughter can run the distillery as well as a son.”

  He kissed her once more. “A wife, also,” he said. “Hamish tells me your idea of providing verse to adorn the labels of each bottle of whisky has attracted more orders. I’m pleased to see my wife’s talents are now being used to my benefit rather than my detriment.”

  She swatted his arm, and he grinned. “There’s my hellion! I’d much rather battle with you than endure a biddable wife any day. Besides, I know you’ll sheathe your claws at the end of our battles and permit me to sheathe…”

  “That’s enough!” she laughed, “or I’ll begin to believe the rumors that all Highlanders are barbarians.”

  “Barbarians we may be, but we appreciate beauty nonetheless,” he said. “Did I see a package arrive this morning from Sandton?”

  “You did,” she said. “My second book of poems has gone to print, and he’s written to ask if I’d be happy to write a third.”

  “And will you?”

  She gestured around her. “With this world at my fingertips, how can I not be inspired? I wish to spend the rest of my life here.”

  “Just wandering?” he teased, “or rutting?”

  “Fraser!”

  “Ah,” he rumbled, “that’s what ye were screaming when I parted your thighs and thrust deeper inside ye.”

  He planted a kiss on her lips. “I’m afraid, my love, it’s time to return to the house. This is the furthest you’ve ventured since Flora’s birth, and Ma said she’d slice me open if I didn’t return ye before dark.”

  He buttoned his breeches and tucked in his shirt while she pulled her skirts down.

  “We must look like peasants,” she said. “What will your mother think of us!”

  “That we’re a couple unafraid to indulge our love,” he said, “by rutting against the hard rock of the mountains…”

  He planted a kiss on her forehead. “…or when I mount ye over the desk in my study…”

  His lips brushed against her cheek, then followed a path toward her mouth. “…or when I feast on ye in my bed while ye lay open and ready for me, your sweet flower luscious and pink, and…”

  “Fraser!”

  He cupped her face in his hands.

  “Perhaps we might…” she hesitated. “Just once more?”

  “Oh, lass!” He laughed. “When a man has thoroughly pleasured his woman, he must be given time to recover. But let me promise you here and now—tonight, when all have retired, I shall bring ye to the heights of pleasure such that ye shall scream my name and soar through the sky to join the eagles in heaven.”

  “I must be content with that.”

  “Ye’ll be more than content, lass.”

  It was a promise she knew he’d keep.

  He reached out his hand, and she took it, and let him guide her along the mountain path. In the valley below, Glendarron Castle shone in the light of the setting sun.

  Her home in the foothills of the mountain of her heart.

  The End

  About the Author

  Emily Royal grew up in Sussex, England, and has devoured romantic novels for as long as she can remember. A mathematician at heart, Emily has worked in financial services for over twenty years. She indulged in her love of writing after she moved to Scotland, where she lives with her husband, teenage daughters and menagerie of rescue pets including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor.

  She has a passion for both reading and writing romance with a weakness for Regency rakes, Highland heroes, and Medieval knights. Persuasion is one of her all-time favorite novels which she reads several times each year and she is fortunate enough to live within sight of a Medieval palace.

  When not writing, Emily enjoys playing the piano, hiking, and painting landscapes, particularly the Highlands. One of her ambitions is to paint, as well as climb, every mountain in Scotland.

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