The Heart of Love

by Platt, Meara

  “Pixie, no. All I need is to look at ye.” He held her back as she was about to take a seat.

  She cast him an affectionate smile. “Why are you looking at me that way, Robbie?”

  He must have had the stupidest grin on his face, but he was tired and strained, and yet looking at Heather elated him as nothing else could.

  All felt right and good when he was with her.

  “Och, lass. I’m just happy to be with ye.” He took her in his arms, wanting to hold her sweet, soft body close to his. “What were ye reading?”

  She made no protest, happily burrowing against his chest. “You’ll think it’s silly. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare’s play about mismatched lovers. But it ends happily, all the couples properly matched by the end of the story. It’s us, isn’t it? And I keep hoping that we’ll all wake up to the same happy ending.”

  He laughed softly. “I was thinking the very same thing. I mentioned the play to Tilbury. We all want this to end right. He’s just being an arse about it. But there’s hope. I’ll tell ye about our meeting after I kiss ye. Do ye mind, lass? I really need to kiss ye.”

  “I don’t mind. I was hoping you would.” Her smile lit up his heart. “Please do, Robbie.”

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head up. Her hands were at his chest, clutching the jacket of his uniform.

  He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, wanting to be gentle. But her smile was magic, and she had the face of an angel. She overwhelmed him. He would never give her up, and he ached at the mere thought that he might have no choice.

  He wanted her so badly.

  All of her, all the time.

  Not a few, stolen moments.

  The gentle pressure turned into a desperate, crushing need. He wanted to swallow her into him, absorb all of her. Never let her go.

  He tried to ease up when he thought he might be exerting too much pressure and hurting her, but she held him firm. Her warm lips sought his with aching urgency, and her beautiful body melted into his as though knowing she belonged to him, and no other man would ever claim her.

  Aye, she belonged to him just as he belonged to her.

  He’d been drumming the five senses into Tilbury’s head all day, and now they flooded his own thoughts. He circled his arms around Heather’s small waist to hold her close, needing to soak in her delicious scent and vibrant warmth. He tasted honey on her lips from the tea she’d been drinking.

  He breathed in the subtle fragrance of lavender on her skin.

  She was soft to the touch.

  He undid the pins from her hair, not caring that they’d later be searching for them, wherever they silently dropped on the carpet.

  He ran his fingers through the majestic waves of her golden-brown mane, loving the silken feel of it. “Heether, I love ye.”

  He felt her sob against his mouth as he kissed her again and again, unable to get enough of her and desperately wanting all of her. He nibbled her earlobe. He kissed her closed eyes, her throat, and the little pulse at the base of it.

  He suckled the little pulse, skimming and swirling his tongue along it, sucking lightly on it to taste her skin, which was as sweet as morning dew.

  His fingers found the buttons of her gown and undid them. Would she stop him?

  He groaned as she, in turn, began to struggle with the buttons of his jacket. “Mo chridhe. We had better stop.”

  She inhaled lightly. “Did you just call me your love?”

  It had slipped out, but he felt no shame in it, for this is what she was. “Aye, lass. I did.” He knew he should go no further. This isn’t what he’d intended. Not to take her up against bookshelves or upon a too-small settee.

  He wanted the right to claim her as a husband had the right to claim his wife. Properly, lawfully, no shame involved on her part. And yet, he wanted her with a hunger that ravaged his soul.

  He slid her gown down over one creamy shoulder and kissed her there. Aye, she was as sweet as a morning flower. He slid the gown a little lower and kissed the swell of her soft, pink breast. “Och, Pixie. Stop me. I dinna have the strength to do it myself.”

  She made no move.

  Quite the opposite, she now had her hands plunged in his hair and was tugging on a fistful to hold him in place while he freed her breasts from the barrier of her clothing. As soon as they were bared to his view, he put his lips to suckle one ripe mound and then the other.

  Blessed saints!

  He felt her shudder as he swirled his tongue over the taut buds, licking and teasing them and delighting in her breathless moans. She clutched his head in innocent passion, not understanding her body’s response…but being incredibly responsive to his touch.

  She held him to her bosom, insistent as he continued to set flame to her body.

  “Robbie, I want to feel your skin against mine,” she said, moaning. “I want to run my hands along your body and feel your heat.”

  “Och, Pixie–”

  She threw her arms around his neck and quietly began to sob. “If we are not meant to be together, if I’m to have nothing of you, then I need to remember you. I need to touch you and hold you and breathe you into my soul.”

  He felt the same, for he had a massive hole in his heart that only her love could fill. “Dinna cry. Ye’ll tear my heart to pieces.”

  “Robbie, it’s all my fault. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

  “Lass, it took all four of us to create this problem. You, me. Tilbury and Melinda. Stop putting the blame on yer shoulders.”

  “I can’t help it. All I had to do was refuse his proposal.”

  “And he dinna have to ask ye in the first place. Nor did Melinda have to reject him before he offered for ye to spite her. Nor did I have to leave London for months when all I ever wanted was to be with ye.”

  He eased her out of his arms and gently ran his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. She was still exposed to him, her gown slipped to her waist and her chemise undone to bare her creamy mounds. Suddenly shy, she meant to draw the fabric over herself, but he stopped her. “No, lass. Not yet.”

  He took off his jacket and shirt, his body on fire for her. “There’s nothing between us now. But I’ll do no more than hold ye in my arms. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. And then I’m going to dress ye again. When I claim ye…and I give ye my sacred vow that I will…it will be as yer husband, and ye’ll be my lawful wife.”

  She nodded. “You wouldn’t be you, the proud, honorable Scot if you took me while I was betrothed to another.”

  “And ye could no’ live with yerself if ye gave yerself to me and not yer husband. I would no’ ask it of ye, nor will I take it from ye.”

  Her eyes were filled with love for him, for she did not hide anything of herself from him. “Robbie, you just promised me that you would be my husband. Do you mean it?”

  “Aye, lass. But I dinna want to mislead ye. It might no’ happen right away.”

  She pursed her lips, now regarding him with despair. “Are you saying we might be old and gray before we are ever together? Or perhaps not ever in this lifetime. Oh, Robbie. Do you believe in such things? That our hearts would recognize each other throughout time?”

  “I dinna know. Lass, we still have another day to work on Tilbury. He’s willing to try again with Melinda. All I need is for her to give him a ray of hope, and he’ll release ye from the betrothal. We have a grand plan, one I canno’ imagine she’ll resist.”

  “Is this why you needed Dahlia?”

  “Aye.” He quickly told her what they intended to do tomorrow.

  It was odd, holding her in his arms, both of them half undressed, and all they were doing was talking. He’d do more in a moment, of course. But Heather was not a one-night woman for him. She was the light in his heart, and he did not want her only for the pleasure of her body.

  He wanted this. To hold her intimately. To talk to her, both of them trusting the other with their innermost feelings.

  What
they did not discuss is what he planned to do if Tilbury remained intent on marrying her. It did not bear mentioning. It might never come to that. No point in needlessly adding to her distress.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned when engaging in battle, it’s never give up. Ye never know what can happen from one moment to the next.”

  “But we only have a day left, Robbie. How can we accomplish anything in so little time?”

  “Some of the greatest battles in history have been fought and won in less than a day. Our battle isn’t even underway yet. We’re still negotiating. And Tilbury’s no monster. He may hold out to the last, but I believe he will finally come around.”

  At least, it was his fervent hope.

  Tilbury could not possibly be that much of a fool.

  “No more talking, lass. I need to kiss ye.” He kissed Heather on the lips before she had the chance to ask another question.

  He ran his hands along her soft shoulders, splayed one across the small of her back. Cupped her cheek with his other. He needed to touch her.

  Hold her.

  But he also gave her the chance to touch him, to run her hands along his chest and tease her fingers in the dusting of gold hair across it. He watched as she poked and caressed the muscles of his arms and lightly kissed around the spot where he’d gotten the stitches on his wound. “It will leave a scar,” she whispered.

  “Aye, verra likely. But it serves a purpose.”

  She eyed him in confusion. “What purpose?”

  He cast her a sloppy grin. “It will remind me not to be a drunken arse again.”

  She laughed. “You have other scars, but I expect those were earned in battle.”

  He nodded.

  Now it was his turn to touch her and plant his mouth on her, to suckle and taste her sweet, warm skin.

  “I have a scar, too,” she said, suddenly breathless.

  He eased his lips off the tip of her breast. “Where, lass. I dinna see it on ye.” Not that his eyes were fixed anywhere but on her exquisite bosom.

  “It’s on my thigh.”

  Stars burst in his eyes. He knew what would happen if he reached down there to kiss and stroke her. His low brain would immediately and completely take over. He wouldn’t stop at merely kissing the sweet inside of her leg. He’d soon have his mouth on her most intimate spot. Kissing her there. Licking her there. Taking her pearl into his mouth and suckling it.

  Tasting her essence.

  His body turned molten at the mere thought, his blood fiery and thick as it coursed through him. “I had better get ye dressed before this goes too far.”

  Even his voice was raspy and thick.

  His hands shook as he drew her chemise over her breasts, for he wanted her so badly, and he was feeling the strain of denying himself the pleasure of her body.

  “Must we?”

  “Aye, lass. For now. I’ll see ye tomorrow,” he said, stepping away a moment to toss his shirt back on and shrug into his jacket. “My brain is about to explode. I need to get yer gown buttoned up again before I take if off ye completely and break my solemn vow.”

  “It amazes me, Robbie…” She did not resist as he raised her gown back over her shoulders and turned her so that he could fasten the buttons down her back.

  He drew her hair aside to kiss her slender neck. “What does, love?”

  “This. That you love me. I still cannot understand why.”

  He kissed her again on the delicate curve of her neck. “Why do ye love me? I’m an arrogant Scot with a bad reputation. Ye’ve seen me drunk and at my worst.”

  “I’ve never seen you drunk other than when you tumbled over the wall the other day.” She laughed lightly. “I still wince whenever I think of it.”

  “Dinna tease me, lass. It was no’ my finest moment.”

  “But I think you are a reformed rake, and everyone knows they make the best husbands. You are also intelligent, handsome, honorable, and brave. Best of all, you still have a little bit of the naughty in you to make you wicked fun. I shall always laugh with you, and my heart shall always be joyful whenever I’m around you. Now, your turn. Why me?”

  He finished buttoning her gown and now turned her to face him. Her hair was still undone and spilling over her shoulders in lush waves. They’d have to search for the fallen pins, or else Romulus and Violet would know what he’d been doing to her.

  “Why you?” He smiled at her and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “Because ye are the sunshine in my life. I look at ye, and my heart is at ease. I look at ye, and I canno’ help but smile. Ye make me happy. Ye feel good and right against my body.” He groaned. “Too good just now. Let’s find those pins I took out of yer hair, and then I had better kiss ye goodnight and be on my way before I lose my resolve.”

  He knelt to feel along the carpet, and she did the same. “Pixie, do ye recall how many were in yer hair?”

  She grinned. “Did you not count them as you were pulling them out?”

  He chuckled. “I had other things on my mind, namely yer exquisite breasts.”

  “I thought you just said you loved me for my smile.”

  He arched an eyebrow wickedly. “Aye, lass. Yer smile and yer breasts. Dinna hit me. I canno’ help wanting yer body, too.”

  “Yours is quite magnificent,” she admitted. “Big and muscled. I was surprised by how good you felt against me even though there is nothing soft about your body. Yet, it felt divine. I think I had eight pins. I’m not sure. Does it matter?”

  “Romulus will know what I did to ye if he finds even one on the floor. He’ll feel that he failed in his duty to yer family. I dinna want him to feel badly about it.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “And you’re not worried that he’ll come after you for dishonoring me?”

  “No. I’m sure he did the same to yer cousin. Only with honorable intentions, of course. He knew he wanted to marry her. It’s our pawky low brain. It does no’ ever shut off. Even after we’ve fixed our heart on the one lass we will love into eternity, that low brain keeps on working. But now, it only works on the lass we love.” He continued to feel along the carpet. “I’ve found six.”

  Heather was kneeling beside him. “I’ve found two. I think that ought to do it.”

  He handed her the pins, then rose and drew her up with him. “I’ll see ye tomorrow, lass.”

  She gave him a fierce hug. “And every day after that, I hope.”

  “Aye,” he said, kissing her brow.

  He tried not to sound concerned, but he was deeply worried about what tomorrow would bring. He wanted to resolve this peacefully, but all would fall apart if Melinda still resisted Tilbury.

  Would Tilbury release Heather even if he did not have Melinda?

  Perhaps Stoke could help him then, for he was no fool and had to know the marriage could not be allowed to take place. Better Stoke somehow stop it than him, for no one was going to jail a duke.

  But Robbie knew that if all else failed, he’d ride off with Heather. He’d figure out a way to help her parents if Tilbury came after them. He could not bring himself to believe the man was that mean-spirited. But he would do all he could to protect her family if he sued them for Heather’s breach of promise.

  He stifled a sigh, wishing he could predict what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heather awoke early the following morning and began to pace across her bedchamber like a lion trapped in a cage. But her pacing was not accomplishing anything other than wearing a hole in the new carpet Dahlia had helped Violet select. She paused to peer out the window, noting the drizzle still falling on the road and clinging to the leaves of trees in the garden and those that lined Chipping Way.

  The sky was an unrelenting gray, and dark storm clouds moved swiftly against that gray backdrop, a harbinger of heavier rains to come.

  The weather matched her dismal state of mind.

  She was so worried about what would happen if Robbie did not succeed today. Another con
cern was her parents. Even if Tilbury did grant her the reprieve, there was no assurance her father would accept it. She was not yet of age to make her own decisions, and now that her parents were in town, her uncles, John and Rupert, no longer had the authority to act on their behalf.

  She shook out of the thought.

  Once she had Tilbury’s release in writing, she would defy her parents and ride to Scotland with Robbie to legally marry him there. If he could not leave his position in London, she’d give herself to him right here…assuming his code of honor would allow him to compromise her in this fashion.

  Last night, he’d gone so far as to take her clothes half off her. But taking her innocence outside of wedlock would be a huge step for him. She would have a struggle to convince him.

  Not that she wished to be ruined.

  She shook out of this thought as well.

  “Mustn’t worry,” she muttered and resumed pacing because her skin was prickling, and she was too impatient to sit.

  Robbie would be riding with Dahlia and Tilbury to the Camden Town flower stands about now. She hoped they would not be caught in a downpour. The flowers had to be delivered to Lady Melinda’s home undamaged.

  She glanced out the window again, wanting so badly to do something…anything. How could she stay put and do nothing to help herself? Yet, she did not wish to interfere with Robbie’s plans. He was working hard to convince Tilbury to release her.

  But was anyone working on Lady Melinda? After all, if she agreed to marry Tilbury, then all would be set right.

  Tongues would wag, for those in the ton would find it highly amusing that Tilbury was desperately courting Lady Melinda even on the eve of his wedding. No one would feel any pity for her. After all, she was from a common Yorkshire family and would never be one of them. They would find it most amusing to learn Tilbury was Lady Melinda’s mysterious marquess while she, the unworthy commoner, was merely a pale copy of this elegant duke’s daughter.