Both Fraser heads turned to look at Rory, who instantly shook his head, waving his hand in the air.
“Nay, not at all,” he said, denying their words, though his heart knew the truth. “She’s not mine, and I’m far from ready to settle down, while Peg, as I mentioned, would take nothing else. If yer interested, by all means, speak with her, but only if you have the right intentions.”
“I do,” Brodie said with a nod.
“Very well then,” Rory said, and as much as it pained him to do so, he cupped a hand around his mouth and called out over the din, “Peg!” It took a couple of tries, but finally, she heard him and turned, her face lighting into the smile that warmed his heart when she saw he was calling her.
He turned to see Brodie returning that very grin, and his entire body was flooded with bitterness as he rubbed at his jaw, which he realized was clenched rather tightly.
Bloody hell, what had he done?
* * *
It had been a strange sensation, particularly at first, hosting visitors at Darfield as though she were the lady of the Keep. Peggy had been nervous when the tourists had arrived in their coaches, from where they had disembarked at the train at Inverness. They were, fortunately, a pleasant bunch — all men, she was relieved to see, who said they were here for the hunting and the hospitality. Peggy promised she would do her best to live up to their expectations.
They had been friendly to her throughout their stay so far — perhaps some of them were a bit flirtatious but there was nothing untoward or overly worrisome. She had noted the gaze of one man in particular — the dark-haired, clean-shaven Fraser, with warm brown eyes that did not lie in terms of his amiability. He engaged her in conversation when the appropriate time arose — when she set a drink down in front of him, when she helped organize their hunting parties in the morning — but had not said anything thus far that told her he was overly interested. She supposed she was a girl with whom to flirt on his holiday, nothing more, and she was happy to comply.
Besides that, as handsome as he was, when she saw him standing next to Rory, she sighed, for she knew that even if the perfect man approached her, he would always pale in comparison to the tall, blond man with a scruff of a beard that was as imperfect as his own nature.
The job, at the very least, began to come easier, feeling more natural. Except for the times when Rory was in her line of vision.
Her daydreams were interrupted when she heard her name being called, and she turned to find it was Rory himself, waving her over to sit with the two Reid men.
She nodded and made her way toward them, slowly winding her way between the tables and chairs.
“Gentlemen,” she said, smiling at them each in turn, her heart flipping over when she looked at Rory, though she expressly made sure not to allow her emotions to show. “Is there something I can get for you?”
“That is not your role here, Peg, as you are well aware,” Rory said pointedly, reminding her that she was to be directing the servers, not serving herself, but she found that if she didn’t help, they made an awful mess of it.
“I don’t mind,” she said, shrugging, for that was the truth of it. She would much rather remain busy than sit and pine away for Rory.
“Peggy, ye’ve met the Reids, have you not? This is Fraser Reid, and his son Brodie,” Rory said without his usual affable charm.
“Of course,” Peggy said, attempting to make up for his coldness with her own warmth. “We have met in passing. How are you enjoying the tour so far?”
“I find the sights are beautiful, the landscapes captivating, and the views completely tempting,” Brodie said, and Peggy swallowed hard, wondering if he was speaking of the views or something more, by the way he was looking at her.
She snuck a look over at Rory, taken aback to see the murderous expression on his face as Brodie spoke. What in the—?
“And the hunting is good as well, though there is a catch that remains out of my grasp. Tell me, Miss McDougall—”
“Peggy.”
“Peggy, then. How does a lass like you end up here, overseeing the staff at Darfield Keep?”
She managed a tight smile that was nearer to a grimace, as she did not see anything wrong at all with her role here, whoever she might be. She explained how their clans had all but combined with one another with her brother’s marriage to Rory’s sister, how Rory had determined tourism and hunting would bring additional prosperity to the clans, for so many were struggling to maintain their way of life, if any at all.
“Well, ’tis admirable then,” he said, including Rory this time with a sweeping look, and Peggy didn’t miss the elder Fraser’s subtle shake of his head as though he were warning his son of something.
“We’d best join the rest of our party in our own sitting area, and leave the two of you to your work,” Fraser Reid said, motioning to his son. “I’m sure ye are looking for some time to yourselves after a hard day. We shall see you in the morning. Goodnight, then.”
Brodie looked a bit crestfallen, but followed his father, wandering with him down the long corridor to the section of Darfield that had been repurposed for the tourists.
Peggy began to rise herself to return to the kitchen but stilled when Rory’s hand came down upon hers.
“The lasses are fine,” he said. “Ye’ve been working far too hard — harder than Mrs. McPhee ever did, to be sure. Come,” he said, taking his glass of ale in hand. “Let’s go into the sitting room, find somewhere more comfortable to sit.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment. She likely shouldn’t follow him, the two of them shouldn’t really be alone, but this was Rory — she had nothing to fear from him, and she knew that her mother would have no qualms over her spending time with him, despite what she knew of Peggy’s feelings.
Which reminded her of the fact that if there ever was a time to confess to him exactly what was on her heart, now would likely be it. But could she, when she had to spend at least another couple of days here with him, no matter his response? Her heart beat painfully in her chest at the thought of him denying her. But if she didn’t say anything now, would she ever?
He led her up the stairs to the first floor, where the family had some of their private living quarters, where they could take refuge once the visitors arrived. Rory took a seat in one of the wide leather chairs, crossing one leg over the other as he relaxed back in front of the fire, tension seeping out of his frame as he took another sip of his drink. He was comfortable with her, that was true. What, however, did that mean?
“Well, Peg,” he said. “What do you think of Darfield and its inner workings? Are you glad you agreed to this?”
“Aye,” she said with a nod as she stood in front of the window, looking out at the moon which illuminated the lands below. “It gives me purpose, which is something I have been lacking as of late.”
He nodded, though whether he really understood, she wasn’t sure.
“And after this, Peg, what do ye plan to do? Find a good man, settle down, bear him a brood of children as beautiful as you?”
She turned in surprise to look at him and saw his face had taken on a bit of a grimace as he asked the question, though why, Peggy had no idea. Was she reading far too much into his expressions, his words, searching out what she wanted to see? For clearly he had no interest in being that man himself, or else he would ask her something entirely different. She shouldn’t say anything. She should maintain this easy relationship that had developed between them, should allow their friendship to continue to grow.
Peggy twined her fingers together and walked to the couch, taking a seat on the leather Chesterfield, covering herself with a plaid, more in defense than anything else. For she couldn’t continue on like this.
She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to ask him what she needed to know.
Chapter 13
“Peggy? Are ye all right?”
Her face had gone white all of a sudden, and he was worried that she had taken ill. As
it was, he was doing his very best to seem as relaxed as possible, though it was a struggle when she was sitting there, just inches away from him, waiting for him to take her in his arms and.… Oh, what they could do with this time together, he had been thinking, until he had seen the sick look cross her face.
“Aye,” she said, though a little bit breathlessly, and his worry continued. “It’s only that… I have to ask you something. Tell ye something, I suppose.”
“All right.”
“When we were in Glasgow…”
Her face went from completely white to flushed with pink, and her eyes flitted around the room on everything but him.
“Aye?”
“We had a good time of it, did we not?”
“We did.”
He shifted uncomfortably, wondering where she was leading with this. They’d had a good time in Glasgow, to be sure, though it had ended with her in jail and him fighting temptation to seduce the little sister of his friends and business partners. And he hadn’t done well in that regard, had he? For despite his determination to remain as far from her as possible, here they were, ensconced together, alone, in his sitting room with the light of the moon and a few candles providing an intimate atmosphere.
“Well,” she took a deep breath, “I enjoyed our time together, Rory. In fact, I always enjoy my time when I am with you.”
She paused for a moment, then with seemingly new resolve looked him square in the eye, and he immediately wished she hadn’t. For those beautiful blue eyes always caught him so, captivating him and drawing him in.
“I’m sure you realized that when I was… slightly… younger, I had something of a penchant for you — as one does when she is young and there are older boys about. Then I grew up, and I suppose some of the fairy dust surrounding you vanished as I came to understand that you were not this perfect man I had made you out to be, but that you had… flaws, I suppose ye could say, and that perhaps, you were not, after all, the man of my dreams.”
Rory could only look at her in astonishment. He had no idea why she was confessing such things to him. He had always known she had some kind of young girl’s first blush of love for him, but, as she said, she had seemingly outgrown it as she had come into her own. That she would tell him he had flaws — well, didn’t everyone?
She cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she continued. “Instead, I appreciated the fact that we could be friends, truly I did. And then, when we were in Glasgow… well, we had time alone together, and I felt something again. Not that same idiot young girl’s type of feelings, but a deeper emotional connection. A longing for you, despite your nonchalance toward me. And then now, being with you for a few days, it’s only grown stronger. I dinna know what that means, and ye may very well have not a thought at all like this for me. If that is the case, Rory, I ask you, please, just tell me ye’ll forget everything I’ve said to you and we can go back to where we were before. But I had to say something, or I’d never forgive myself.”
Finally, she stopped talking, and Rory simply sat there, staring at her. Her blue eyes were wide now, and he could see the trepidation that filled him. She was a brave lass, she was — never had he met a woman who was so strong, so open, so willing to risk her heart.
He should tell her he felt nothing. It was not as though he was ready for a wife, to settle down, as much as he was fighting all of his own temptation toward her. But she looked so vulnerable, so damningly beautiful sitting there, her lips slightly parted, a faint blush remaining on her cheeks, that before he could utter a word, all thought left him.
Rory didn’t even realize what he was doing as he stood and came to sit beside her on the wide Chesterfield. He leaned in toward her, brushing his fingertips against her soft cheek. He saw her eyes widen in shock, though not fear, in the moment before his lips came down upon hers, crushing them, searching, moving over her with all of the pent-up desire that had been raging within him for days now. Watching her move, walk across the dining hall, seeing the men staring at her, wanting her — he could hardly take it. Suddenly, the awareness of her desire for him was more than he could stand.
She opened her mouth to him before he even requested it, and she took just as hungrily and desperately as he. Rory threw her back on the wide leather Chesterfield, but Peggy was no frail doll. She was a woman of passion, of spirit, and she was more aggressive than he could ever imagine. He loved it. Her arms locked around his back, one hand fisted in his hair, holding his head against hers as they tasted and explored another. One of her legs remained firmly planted on the floor in order to keep herself up on the couch, but the other hooked around his thigh, pulling him in close to her, bringing his arousal flush against her.
He really should not be doing this. He should move back, away from her, put space between them. But his body refused to obey and his mind, which had contemplated doing as he ought for but a moment, was soon persuaded that there was nothing wrong about this — the two of them here, together, was only right, was it not?
Peggy certainly seemed to think so. She kissed with the thirst of a woman long denied what she so adamantly sought, flipping over so that she was atop him, tugging his shirt out of his kilt, inching it up slowly. When she pushed it over his head, she paused for a moment, and he watched as her eyes roved over him, from the bottom of his stomach — which he knew was finely chiseled, and he was, at the moment, altogether glad of it — upward, pausing for a moment, bringing her hand to brush it against the blond hair that dusted his chest. She pressed her hands against him, splaying them across his pectoral muscles, rubbing her thumbs over his nipples, testing, teasing, and he groaned, wishing her to stop but willing her to keep going — anything to make her end this torture.
She seemed to revel in it, however, her eyes gleaming as she looked down at him. When she caught his gaze, she winked — winked! — and Rory could take no more of it. He flipped her over so that he was above her once more, then found the edge of her shirt, as he untucked it from her skirt and did the same to her as she had to him, lifting it up ever so slowly, inch by inch. Except instead of just looking, he brought his lips to the bottom of her abdomen, which was softer than his own and yet tautly strong. He let his lips slide over her, into the hollow of her navel, up the slight gap between her muscles, hovering ever so lightly over the bottom of her ribcage. She trembled beneath him and he grinned wickedly at all that he was able to show her, to teach her, to make her understand.
He lifted the shirt even farther, his hands finding her breasts beneath the fabric, covering them, cupping them, kneading them with his fingers. Finally, he divested her of her shirt and groaned when he saw her lying beneath him, all perfection. Her skin was golden, but much more pale where she was most often covered. She spent much of her life outdoors, and her body told him a story — one of how hard she worked, how strong she was, and the activity that shaped her.
“You could be a sculpture,” he murmured, and her head jerked up at his words, her eyes widening.
“What did ye say?”
“Your body is so perfect. Yours could be a model to be carved into the finest clay, to stand atop mountainsides or outside of buildings to be adored by many,” he said, and her nose wrinkled.
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, and it hurt him that she would not think such a compliment worthy of herself.
“Of course not,” he said indignantly, and she finally seemed to reluctantly believe him, for she nodded, and he resumed his tour of her body. This time he brought his lips to one of those beautiful breasts, loving it tenderly, and she quaked up beneath him, arching into him.
“Rory!” she exclaimed, and he chuckled at the way she said his name, full of both wonder and admonishment. “Will ye quit laughing at me?” she asked, and he sobered, though his lips urged to quirk upward once more.
“Very well,” he agreed, and while his hands remained upon the mounds of flesh that he couldn’t bring himself to leave alone, he returned his lips to hers, tasting, teasing, promising — tho
ugh to what he had no idea. He just knew that he didn’t deserve any affection from this woman, and yet now that she had given it, he wasn’t sure how to turn it away.
As the kiss deepened, he so badly wanted to find the clasp of her skirts, to tear them away and find the place he knew she would ache for him. He wanted to pleasure her, before finding her very center and making love to her, to be the first to show her how wonderful it could be. And yet… to do so would mean committing himself to her, for the rest of his life, for he could never, ever, have Peggy and then let her go. He couldn’t live with himself if he did so, though he was sure that he would no longer be breathing anyway if her brothers found out.
“Peg,” he said, bringing his forehead to hers, giving her one last chaste kiss. “We have to stop this.”
“What?” she pulled back from him. “What are ye talking about?”
“We canna go any further, you and me. I want to, Heaven knows, but to do so…”
She scrambled back away from him as though he had physically reached out and hurt her. “To do so would mean you would be tied to me, and you don’t want that.”
“I am not saying I don’t,” he protested, as he tried to tear his eyes away from her torso and focus on her face. “I’m just saying that I’m not altogether sure if I want to right now.”
“I see,” she said, her dark blue eyes turning stormy, as she looked around the room for her shirt. “I see just fine.”
“No, ye don’t.”
“I do,” she said, her voice escalating slightly, and he put his hands out to try to keep her from getting any louder. “Any other woman, no problem at all, but me, well that’s a different story. Am I not fine enough for you? Not sophisticated enough? Not what ye expected underneath the plaid?”
Peggy’s Love: The Victorian Highlanders Book 5 Page 9
