by Amy Jarecki
Though the lass was light as a feather, by the time Don reached the fourth landing, he was breathing deeply. “Nearly there.”
“I’m ever so tired.”
He didn’t like the listlessness in Mary’s voice. In the sennights he’d known her, she’d always been anything but listless. Kicking through the door, he rested her on the bed. “Let me fluff the pillows behind you.”
Leaning over her, Don forced himself to ignore the ridiculous palpitations of his heart. Her hair smelled of delicious lilacs and ginger curls tickled his nose. A stirring began deep and low—something he might have welcomed if he weren’t worried half to death for Mary’s health but, presently, his body’s reactions were entirely inappropriate. He punched a pillow with his fist.
Then she kissed him. Planted a smooch right on his cheek. His goddamned heart hammered against his chest. Good God, if only he could wrap her in his arms and plunge his tongue into her mouth and taste her decadence.
But no, no, no.
Don placed his hand on the lass’s fine-boned shoulder and kissed her forehead—just like he’d done a dozen times since collecting her in his arms. “We’ll see you set to rights, Miss Mary,” he said more to remind himself that this was a maiden who needed to be tended by a physician. Presently thinking of anything other than the lassie’s wellbeing would not be tolerated—especially by him.
Mary’s eyes fluttered open. “Can we attend the ball?”
“You’re thinking about a fancy fete at a time like this?”
She grasped his hand, her fingers ever so soft and delicate. “I may never have another chance to go—you ken in Castleton we have gatherings—not balls.”
Barbara hastened through the door with Hattie in her wake.
“Sir Donald,” chided the older woman. “You must give Miss Mary a chance to breathe.”
“Forgive me.” Hopping to his feet, he tugged his lapels. “I was just fluffing the pillows.”
“Did you hear?” Mary gave Barbara a wide, but glassy-eyed stare. “The Duke of Gordon is hosting a ball.”
Barbara clapped like a wee child. “What marvelous news. You must simply spring from your bed as soon as you’ve been tended.” She drew a hand to her hip and regarded her brother. “Donald, aren’t the Gordon lands in Aberdeenshire?”
Don nodded. “Aye, though the duke recently purchased a manse across the bridge—where he’ll stay when conducting business in Glasgow.”
“Oh, my.” Snapping open her fan, Barbara cooled her face. “A royal ball? How utterly exciting.”
Don gestured to Mary. “Well, we’ve naught to think about until Miss Mary is back on her feet.”
“I’m only abed because you haven’t allowed me to touch my toes to the ground since I fell from the horse.” At least Mary’s willfulness was returning.
Hattie dabbed a cloth in the basin and cleansed Mary’s forehead. “’Tis a good thing that gash is under the hairline, else you’d have a scar.”
“Is it bad?” Don asked, craning his neck for a better view.
“I’ve seen worse.” Hattie ran the cloth around Mary’s face. “Are you tired, miss?”
Mary let out a long sigh. “Ever so much. And my head is pounding something fierce.”
Hattie looked to Don and frowned. “We must keep her awake. At least until the physician arrives. I’ll go prepare some willow bark tea.”
“How could someone sleep when there’s a ball for which to plan?” Barbara sat on the edge of the bed and clasped Mary’s hands. “When is it?”
“The first of August.” Don rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “We never should have mentioned it—now my sister will speak of nothing else.”
Barbara laughed. “Oh, brother dear, you are so utterly dull. There’s nothing like the anticipation of a ball to cure all ills.” She smoothed Mary’s hair away from her face. “As soon as you’re out of this bed, we’re off to the dressmaker. Then new fans, new slippers, new stays and petticoats. We will have the grandest time.”
Don grumbled. My new galley had best make a showing up the river soon, else next season the only thing new Miss Barbara will see will be the apples growing in the orchard at Duntulm Castle.
A man cleared his voice from the doorway. “Sir Donald, I came straight away.” Doctor Ellis clutched his black satchel with both hands. “I understand the young lady had quite a fall?”
“Yes, thank you for coming so quickly.” Don explained what had happened and then the physician asked them to step into the corridor.
After the door closed, Barbara shoved Don’s shoulder. “How could you have allowed her to ride Rosie through the wood?”
He furrowed his brow. “I thought you’d gone riding with her.”
“Aye, at a stately walk in the company of Mr. Kerr, and definitely not through the wood. Goodness, Donald, we didn’t even gait our horses at a trot.”
“Miss Mary said she’s ridden Rosie ever since she arrived. Is there a chance she’s gone alone?”
Barbara huffed with a shrug of her shoulder. “Possibly. She awakes with the sun. You’d best have a word with Duff in the stables.”
“I will, and she’ll not be riding that mare again.”
Doctor Ellis stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Donald regarded the man expectantly. “Will she be all right?”
“I think so. Though I’m worried she might develop dropsy of the brain. Someone will need to watch her through the night for certain. If she falls into fits I want to be notified straight away.”
“Of course. Is there anything we can do to see to her comfort?” Don asked.
“Cool cloths applied to her forehead should ease the pain. Willow bark tea will help as well.” The physician patted Don’s shoulder. “My wager is she’ll come good in a day or two. I doubt you have anything to worry about, sir.”
“Thank goodness,” said Barbara. “Miss Mary and I have far too much to do.”
Don gave his sister a stern frown. “Please show Doctor Ellis out. I’ll see to Miss Mary’s care myself.”
“You?” Barbara blinked as if his proposition was unheard of. “Why not Hattie?”
“Because if you haven’t realized, I am lord and master of this house, and that should be the only thing that concerns you.” He bowed to the physician, then offered his hand. “Forgive my sister’s impertinence. Thank you for responding to our call. I am truly in your debt.”
***
Don slipped back into Mary’s chamber, careful to close the door without making a noise. The lass had already fallen asleep, looking like a vision with her luminous, red tresses sprawled across the pillows. He tiptoed to the bowl, doused a cloth and wrung it out with a cascade of droplets tinkling in the water.
Bending over her, he examined her forehead. A bruise discolored the skin, but the wound didn’t look too bad now all the blood had been cleared away. Don had seen far worse on the battlefield. Though he’d earned the moniker Donald of the Wars, his tour with his regiment at Killiecrankie soured his taste for battle. Too many men cut down and bleeding lay in the damp grass, even though the Jacobites had been victorious. And then the following battle of Dunkeld had been a win for the Williamite Party, and the Jacobites headed home to the Highlands to lick their wounds—to breed new sons who could rise again.
And Miss Mary’s father had borne the brunt of it.
Unfortunately, the exiled King James couldn’t wait for a new crop of warriors to rise and join the ranks. That was precisely what drove Don’s passion to fight the English through trade—providing higher quality at a fair price would help his people raise funds for so many things. This agreement he had struck with the American merchants was too important. It had to take precedence over everything including his own deep-seated desires.
Did he want the woman sleeping in his guestroom bed?
Don pulled up the chair and sat beside her. Watched her breathe ever so peacefully and his heart twisted so tight, he feared it would stop. Indeed, he wanted
her with every fiber of his being. His feelings for Miss Mary were different than anything he’d ever experience before. God damn it, he wished times could be different. Perhaps if he asked her to wait for him—until he had things established—until his fortunes were where he wanted them. Aye, things were stable now, but it didn’t take a seer to realize that King William’s new policies were intended to make Scotland suffer and the bastards on the other side of the border prosper. It also didn’t take a seer to understand that if things grew any worse, his crofters would not be able to pay him rents. God’s teeth, so much hung on this damned shipment.
Miss Mary? Yes, she must wait too. She must.
For the time being, Don could do nothing but enjoy the woman’s company. He chuckled. When he’d first seen her—first realized she was a woman, those darned freckles had thrown him. But now he adored the way they danced across the bridge of her saucy, little nose. They expressed her personality—told any admirer to tread lightly, for she was a woman to be reckoned with, a woman who knew her mind and spoke it—mayhap a bit too earnestly, but he liked that about her, too.
He’d never met a woman who could match his intellect, who was self-assured, athletic and, most certainly, too independent. But, oh, how quickly she could learn.
He chuckled about Miss Mary’s quick study of fans. Lord, she’d only had the damned thing in her hand for minutes when she’d caught his attention with the subtle flicks of her wrist. God forbid she ever wield the thing around any other male. She would have them bending a knee with a proposal of marriage by the evening’s end.
Though Don admitted she could practice her fan language on him any time she liked—as long as they were behind closed doors and his sister was nowhere in sight.
Don sighed and changed the cloth on Mary’s forehead. Fortunately, Barbara soon moved on to more important etiquette—tools a maid with Mary’s intellect needed in her arsenal. She might be a sharpshooter with a musket, but in these modern times a woman needed subtlety. Society expected a certain je ne sais quoi from nobility—an almost balletic air, every movement must be executed as if dancing to a symphony of violins—rather than reeling to a foot-stomping fiddle. True, if Don had a choice, he’d pick the fiddle and a Highland gathering every time, but such a societal misstep would not help him reach his goals.
Leaning forward, he kissed Mary’s temple. The intoxicating fragrance of lilacs filled his senses and his heart. He grasped her fine-boned hand and held it between his much larger palms. Her touch calmed him. If only he weren’t embroiled in the midst of the Jacobite cause. If his ruse were exposed, he’d be in trouble for certain. Through the ages, many a noble lost their lands and titles supporting the cause they believed in.
He could, too.
If that happened, he’d never want to pull the people he loved into purgatory as he fell from grace. The best he could hope for? Enjoy Miss Mary through the duration of her stay—and keep her virtue intact.
Aye, but such a challenge just might send him over the edge of his very sanity.
Chapter Twenty
Mary opened her eyes and rubbed her head. With a hiss, she snapped her hand away.
I suppose it will be tender for a time.
Placing her palm at her side, her fingers met with hair—velvety soft like spun silk. Before she thought, she threaded the tresses through her fingers, then regarded the person attached to such softness.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. Good Lord, the Baronet of Sleat, seated in a chair beside her, had fallen asleep. Resting on the edge of the bed, he cradled his head in his folded arms, breathing deeply. His face turned away, thick tawny tresses had slipped from the ribbon which rested precariously on his shoulder.
Sir Donald had spent the night at her bedside?
She swirled her hands into the mass of silk and massaged his scalp.
The man moaned—a deep, blood-stirring moan that reminded Mary too much of their kiss in the box bed. If only they could have stayed at the croft—or near the croft—or any place other than Glasgow. This town made Sir Donald so anxious. And the people were so false. Their display of controlled gestures was like watching a play, not real life. Sure, Mary could behave as they wished, but she preferred to be in Castleton with her family where she could just be Mary, lady of the keep. That in itself brought on a world of responsibility and plenty to keep her busy without putting on false airs.
She swirled her fingers again. The only problem with being tucked away at Dunscaith Castle was missing moments such as this—the chance to touch Sir Donald, to be close to him, the look upon his face when he approved of something she did—or even disapproved. At least she had his attention when he disapproved.
Yesterday, when they were riding, she’d convinced herself he didn’t care for her. The kisses they’d shared had meant nothing. But why was he there beside her bed? Could she hope? Goodness gracious, she would put up with all the silly etiquette if it meant spending every night in Sir Donald’s arms.
The big man rolled his shoulders then sat up with sleepy eyes. “You’re awake.”
“Aye.” She drew her fingers to her nose. The musky scent of his hair lingered. If only she could bottle it.
His ribbon dropped to the ground and a lock of hair slid over his eye. “Forgive me. I must have drifted off.”
“Not at all.” She made a point of panning her gaze from his bonny face, shadowed with dark stubble down to—well, she could only see down to his lap, but that was delicious enough. Her tongue slipped out the corner of her mouth. Barbara had taught her the nuances of a lady’s stare. It must have had an effect, because Sir Donald shifted in his chair.
Mary trained her gaze back to his face—something dark filled his eyes, rather dangerous, exciting. She grinned. “I like you a wee bit disheveled.”
He picked up his ribbon. “I’d best go.”
She grasped him by the wrist. “Must you?” Oh no, she wasn’t ready to release him to the wiles of Glasgow. If only he’d kiss her again before he reverted back into a stiff merchant. “As a matter of fact...” She slowly drew the ribbon from his fingers—very seductive of her, even if such a move wasn’t something Barbara had taught. “I like it when things are quiet. When we are alone.”
“Aye?” his voice rasped. He either needed a drink or her antics were having some influence on his sensibilities.
“Yes, in fact, I’ll be honest. I think you’re happier when you’re sailing a galley with bare feet and the wind in your hair.” Mary leaned as close as she could without falling off the bed.
He touched her chin with the crook of his finger, but his gaze didn’t fall to her lips, it strayed to the darned lump on her head. “How are you feeling this morrow?”
She licked her lips. Blast propriety. No one was there to catch them. Must she behave as a lady when the doors were closed? She mightn’t ever have a chance again. “Well enough to be kissed,” she dared to whisper. Her skin burned, but she’d blurted out the words she’d been holding in for sennights. Holy Moses, if Sir Donald didn’t know how much she wanted him to court her, she’d now make sure he knew.
With a low chuckle, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
Curses to a wee peck.
Mary took his stubbly cheeks between her palms and looked him straight in the eyes—two dark, sensuous eyes that could melt a woman’s resolve with a mere blink. “I mean this…”
Dipping her gaze to his lips, she slid her hands over his shoulders, trusting him to prevent her from falling. His big hands skimmed around her waist as their lips connected. Growling soft and low in his throat, he increased the pressure, his kiss as urgent as the blood thrumming beneath her skin. Mary’s entire body ignited with the fire that had been smoldering deep inside her. Taking him deeper into her mouth, she combed her fingers through his soft tresses.
Oh yes, yes, yes how much she’d longed for him to kiss her again. With a pleasurable moan, he inclined her back against the pillows and trailed kisses from her earlobe down to the base o
f her neck. His hand worked magic as it smoothed its way up and cupped her breast. Lord in heaven, the sensation took her to a level of rapture she never dreamed possible. Her breast grew heavy, tingling with the kneading of his practiced fingers. With her next heaving breath, he captured her nipple between his pincers—taut, drawn to a point, his light touch nearly drew her to the ragged edge of oblivion.
His kisses trailed lower as those deft fingers tugged the neckline of her shift. The linen teased her sensitive skin until he fully exposed her bosom. Hot lips closed over her nipple, sending shudders of pleasure down Mary’s spine. Scarcely able to breathe, she threw back her head and succumbed to the teasing licks of his tongue. Restlessness thrummed through her blood as she arched into his wicked mouth.
A rap came at the door. “Sir Donald?” Mr. Kerr’s voice.
Mary dropped to the pillows and yanked her neckline back in place.
The baronet swiped a hand across his mouth. “Aye?” Holy fairies, he sounded as composed as a lord justice.
“You’ve a message from the Court of Barony.”
“Ballocks,” he swore.
“What is it?” Mary asked. For the love of Moses, could she not enjoy a moment of pure ecstasy with Sir Donald without being interrupted?
“I’ll be needed in Edinburgh for certain.”
“May I go with you?” She’d never been to a big city like Edinburgh.
“I don’t think it wise—I’ll be attending to court business with all the barons and baronets in Scotland—no greater gossips in all the land. With luck, I’ll not be away longer than a sennight.”
“Will you return in time for the ball?”
“Aye, lass. The Duke of Gordon would be very upset if none of the barons attended his fancy-dress event.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t want to practice my fan language on a great hall full of strangers.”
With a spark of ire in his midnight blue eyes, Sir Donald’s expression wasn’t half as composed as his tone.
***
A sennight later, Mary and Barbara strolled along the footpath toward the townhouse while Mr. Kerr carried an armload of parcels behind them.
