“I do not,” he said, as if laying down a royal decree. “I will have my wife in my bed and no other.” He backed off his declarative tone and added, “I was just wondering what it would be like, is all.”
“Oh, well…” Lucy reclined on her back next to Alex. “I imagine it will be a lot like this.” She adjusted her position until her right side aligned with his left. Heart beginning to thunder in her chest, she asked, “Is this all right for you?”
“Oh, aye. How is it for you?”
“It’s quite nice, actually.” Truthfully, it was thrilling lying next to the large, powerful, and very warm body of her almost-husband. And if she was completely honest with herself, she was looking forward to Alex’s bed and all that came with it—the mattress, the man, and the other things.
Alex rolled to his left and propped his head up to look down at her. “Sometimes I like to sleep on my side.”
Their bodies touched and she could almost imagine what his skin would feel like against hers. “I suppose I might be in danger of you rolling over in your sleep and squashing me.”
“Like this?” He slung a leg over hers and draped an arm across her belly, then snugged his head into the crook of her neck and breathed in her ear. “Am I crushing you?”
“I’m very comfortable, thank you.” She rather liked the weight of him. Her nipples tightened to the point of aching. They were almost married. Would it be so bad if they started now, instead of waiting until Sunday?
…
The raven-haired beauty wanted him exactly as he was, in spite of what he was—rash, hot-headed, and prone to violence—because she felt safe with him. Contrary to what his father had said, she believed he could protect her from danger. Lucy wanted him. And, God save him, he wanted her, needed her, had to have her now.
He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in. “So good,” he rumbled. “You smell so good.” She turned her head and their lips met. His Lucy was no delicate flower. When she wanted something, she let him know. Sometimes with a look. Sometimes with a word. Sometimes, like now, with a kiss. Breath hot, lips parted, tongue alive and seeking. Oh God, oh God, yes. His cock leapt to attention so fast, his balls ached from the strain. Needing contact, friction, anything to press himself against, he took hold of her ample bottom and pulled her tight against his hips. She answered him with a moan, low and languid. But when she tangled her leg with his, he came close to losing himself.
Their lips disengaged, and Lucy, eyes closed and lips swollen, let her head fall back. He ran his mouth down the side of her neck, laying kisses along the way and resisting the insane urge to bite her.
“Lucy. I want you. I want you as my wife right now. Right here. Will ye have me?”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He took a moment to gaze at her beautiful face, one last look before they joined, before they made love and everything changed. He couldn’t help taking time to admire the way her stays pressed against her breasts. He wanted to free them. To see them. To see her skin bared to the sunlight. Should he risk being caught in the act out in the open, the two of them naked? He would like nothing better than to remove her gown, release her stays, strip off her shift and…shit. No time. He was desperate. He’d ruck up her skirts and plunge in now.
“Yeck.”
Alex halted abruptly and looked at Lucy. She frowned back at him.
“Is something wrong, love?”
A young voice asked, “Are you two kissing?”
They craned their heads around, searching for the intruder.
Damn.
Lucy extricated herself from under him and sat up immediately, tidying her hair and straightening her skirt. “Hello, Peter. What are you doing here?”
“Lady Sinclair sent me to fetch you for dinner.”
“Tell her we’ll be there soon,” Alex said, not bothering to disguise his irritation.
Peter jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth from foot-to-foot. “I checked the candle shed first, but you werenae there.”
Alex ground his teeth. “Fine. You found us. You can go now.”
“But Lady Sinclair said I was to bring you back with—”
“Bloody hell, man, leave us!” he roared.
The boy ran for his life.
Lucy got to her feet, laughing, whereas his aching balls could find nothing funny about this moment. Shouldn’t she be just as frustrated as he by the interruption? She reached a slender hand down to help him up. He had half a mind to yank her to the ground again. He was still more than ready to ravish her.
But the moment of Lucy’s surrender had come and gone, and the family waited for them at the dinner table. It took a monumental effort to stand. He’d known ninety-year-old men who sprang to their feet faster.
“I suppose I should thank Peter for saving me,” she said.
“What do you mean by that?”
Lucy dimpled. “I have you to protect me from the world, but who will protect me from you?”
Bloody hell. The wedding wasn’t for another six days. What the devil was he going to do with this throbbing walloper in the meantime?
…
That evening, Lucy met Alex for a walk in the garden, a custom they’d fallen into naturally, during which they would share the happenings of their day. Alex, having reached a tentative truce with his father, had been gone for much of the afternoon, visiting one of the crofters living on the property. He returned home with the sad news that the crofter, a man well into his seventies named Old Sam, had passed away in the same cottage in which he was born.
“Old Sam thanked my da for not making him move off the land. It was a kindness not many lairds offer their crofters these days.”
“I’m glad to hear he doesn’t turn people out of their homes. I was upset when I learned what had happened to the family we met on the road near Golspie.”
“My da’s nothing like that cruel bastard, Patrick Sellar.”
“The odious man I met in the Latheron Inn?”
“Aye, that’s the one I told you about before. Lady Sutherland’s factor. He manages her property.”
Sutherland. That was Langley’s relation. “Is Lady Sutherland a bad person?”
“Dinnae ken. I’ve never met her. Da says she doesnae care about the people that live on her land. She only cares about the money she makes from her sheep farms.”
According to Alex, his father was a unique Highland laird. While most Scots who owned large properties had moved to Edinburgh or London, leaving their factors to manage the daily operation of their estates, John Sinclair had chosen to remain on his land and forgo life in Society with all its cultural and domestic fineries, in favor of living the life of a real Highlander.
“It’s the land, ye ken. The land is what gives us our strength. Here, we have the freedom to behave like Scots. London Society requires one to…” He shook his head, looking for the right word. “Conform,” he said with a measure of contempt. He must have seen her bristle. “Sorry. I didnae mean there’s something wrong with that way of life. It’s just not the way we live. You’ve been here long enough. You must see the difference.”
“I do. How do you know the difference?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve been to London, Lucy.”
She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Oh, yes. I forgot.” She recovered quickly from her brief gaffe. “You’re very proud of your father, aren’t you?”
“He’s the finest man I know,” he said. “It’s no small thing to be the son of a great man, as you must know, being the daughter of a duke.”
Lucy was pleased Alex had pointed out that last part about her father. Had he not, she would have.
“I, em…” Alex paused and Lucy gave him her full attention. “I worry sometimes.”
“About what?”
“I worry I may never be as good as my da. Good enough to be Laird of Balforss.”
She sensed what it cost Alex to admit his fear. At that moment, she would hav
e done anything to erase his doubt. She put a hand to his cheek and waited until he met her gaze. “In my eyes, you are a giant among men.”
Alex exhaled and let his forehead meet hers.
“We had a narrow escape this morning,” she said.
He trailed his lips to her ear and whispered, “Lucy, I want—” He jerked away suddenly, his eyes trained on Haddie rushing toward them, apron clutched to her bosom. “Mr. Alex, Mrs. Swenson says you’re to come quick as you can. Wee Peter’s looking peely-wally.”
Alex sprinted toward the kitchen, and Lucy picked up her skirts to follow in his wake, wondering what the devil peely-wally meant. She soon found out. Inside the kitchen, still warm from the fires used to cook the evening meal, Peter stood swaying before Mrs. Swenson, fighting to keep his eyelids from shutting.
“What’s the matter?” Alex asked, kneeling down beside Peter, turning him to get a better look at his face.
The change in Peter since earlier in the day alarmed Lucy, but she thought she recognized the problem. “Alex, don’t go near Peter. I suspect he has the mumps, and if you’ve never had them, you could get very sick.”
Alex stood and stepped away while Lucy took his place before the boy.
“What makes you think it’s the mumps?” Alex and Mrs. Swenson asked at the same time.
Mrs. Swenson added, “He’s got no swelling.”
“I’ve had it, and my brother.” Feeling his forehead, she asked the boy, “Do you have a headache?”
“My head hurts me something terrible, miss,” he said, obviously in pain.
“What else is different, sweetheart?”
Peter’s eyes opened upon hearing the endearment. “I’m so tired all the sudden, and my arms and legs pain me right down to the bone.”
Lucy rose. “I’m very sure you have the mumps, Peter. The good thing is you’ll get better. The bad thing is you’ll have to stay in bed for some time.” She turned to Alex. “Can he stay in one of the guest rooms in the house? It will be easier for me to care for him there.”
The worry on Alex’s brow smoothed. “Did you hear that, man? Miss Lucy will be seeing after you.” He reached automatically to ruffle the boy’s hair, but Lucy stayed his hand, shaking her head.
“You and Peter will have to be separated for at least a week before you are out of danger.” She put an arm around the boy. “Come with me, sweetheart. The first thing you need is a bath.”
Lucy received raised eyebrows from John and Mother Flora when she walked past the parlor with her patient in tow. At Lucy’s request, Haddie brought up enough hot water to fill the small bathing tub. She gave Peter strict instructions to scrub every inch of his body thoroughly.
“Use soap,” Lucy said firmly. She could never understand why boy children had such an aversion to soap. “And wash your hair, too. You smell like a sweaty horse.” While Peter bathed, Lucy fetched a mug of beef broth from the kitchen. According to Mrs. Swenson, he had eaten nothing at supper. With the mug in one hand, she knocked on the door with the other. “May I come in, Peter?”
Peter opened the door tentatively. Now clean, he was almost unrecognizable, with his blond hair still wet and plastered to his head. Lucy thought he was quite a handsome child. He would probably grow into a good-looking man. Right now, he looked like a waif, drowning in the nightshirt Alex had lent him.
She examined behind his ears. “You did a good job of washing. Hop into bed. I want you to drink some broth before you sleep.”
Peter pointed. “You want me to sleep in this big fancy bed?”
“That’s the only bed in the room, so yes, that’s the bed I mean.” She pulled back the linens and Peter climbed in.
He looked around the room wide-eyed. “Does your room look like this?”
“Yes. Very much like it.” She helped prop him up with pillows at his back.
“And Mr. Alex’s room looks like this, as well?”
“I’ve never seen Mr. Alex’s room, but I imagine it looks similar. Here.” She handed him the mug of beef broth. “Try drinking some. It’s not too hot.”
Peter dutifully gulped it down in one breath. He gasped when he finished, handed her the mug, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you, Miss Lucy.” A soft belch escaped.
“You’re excused,” Lucy said.
“What?”
“Whenever you burp, you’re supposed to say ‘excuse me.’ It’s not polite to burp, you see.”
“It’s not?”
“No. You should try not to burp in front of people, but if you do, you must say ‘excuse me’ or ‘pardon me.’”
“But Mr. Alex burps,” Peter said, and added, “He showed me. He can burp loud and for a very long time. You should ask him to show you.”
“Yes, well, I imagine polite rules don’t apply when it’s just men.” Lucy pulled the bedclothes up, allowing Peter to slide down under them. “Go to sleep now. There’s more willow bark tea for your headache right next to the bed.”
“Wait.” Peter’s call stopped her from pulling the bed curtains. “Could you leave them open, miss? I’m not used to being closed in when I sleep.”
“Of course. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alex was waiting for her in the hall outside Peter’s room.
“How does he fare?” he asked.
“He’ll be fine. It just takes time. Will you send for a doctor just to be sure?”
“I have. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Right now, he’s fascinated with the inside of the house, but I’m afraid he’ll become bored very soon. It might be difficult to keep him in bed.”
“A week, you say?”
“It’s best to keep him quarantined to prevent others from catching it. Haddie had mumps when she was a girl. She and I can care for him.”
“Thank you, Lucy. It’s kind of you. He has no one, you ken.”
“He has you. That’s no small thing.”
“There’s so many of them.” Alex seemed to focus on something far away. “Hundreds of children roaming about with no home and no parents. Starving. Suffering. Even dying.”
His kindness moved her. He had taken off his waistcoat and stock, leaving his shirt open at the neck. She laid a hand on his shirt and felt the soft, springy curls of his chest hair at the opening. “It’s late. You should be in bed,” she said.
“I couldnae. I need more medicine.”
“What?”
He slipped a hand behind her back, and pulled her close, holding her firmly against his body. “Your kiss. It’s what keeps me alive. It’s what makes me strong.”
He kissed her long and urgently. She resisted only for a moment, then melted into him, let his whiskers bristle her chin, inhaled the smell of the long day on his skin. When Alex released her, she staggered, and he swept her into his arms in one sudden motion. Circling her arms around his neck, she rested her forehead on his cheek as he carried her down the hall.
He set her down in front of her bedchamber door, and said, “It takes every last ounce of my strength to keep from following you into this room, barring the door, and taking you.”
His thick and velvety words thrilled her, stirred her desire. She lost her will to fight and let her body surrender. She pulled open his shirt glowing white in the night hallway, making the rest of him look dark by contrast, and lay an impulsive kiss on his chest.
He shivered. “Jesus, woman. Are you trying to make this even more difficult for me?”
“Why do you stop?” she whispered.
Her words had the effect of a slow match to a fuse. In a sudden burst of passion, he pushed her against the wall and yanked up the side of her skirt with one hand. Shaking with desire, he kissed her, caressed her, consumed her. He let his rough hand roam from her bared hip, down her thigh, and back up the inside of her leg toward her…oh God. He was almost…she needed him to…just a little farther. Lucy’s involuntary response to his rough advance should have made her blush. Instead, she answered his unsto
ppable need. Only the sound of a door opening down the hall brought them to an abrupt stop.
Out of the dark end of the corridor, they heard, “Alex? Is that you?”
“Yes, Ma. Just…erm, saying good night to Lucy,” he groaned.
“How is our patient?” Flora asked.
“He’s fine,” Lucy said a little feebly. Then added, “He’s asleep, I think.”
“Oh, good. Good night, then,” Flora said.
“Good night,” Alex and Lucy said in unison.
Flora lingered in the doorway. Realizing she would remain there until they, too, said their good nights, Lucy stifled a giggle.
“Night, Alex.”
“Night, Lucy,” Alex said through clenched teeth.
They entered their respective bedchambers. Lucy closed her door, then ran to the trunk still barricading the entrance to Alex’s room and put her ear to the cool surface. He was there, as she knew he would be. She could hear his breathing.
“That was close,” she said.
“Very close. A few more seconds and I wouldnae have been able to stop.”
“Will you dream of me?” she asked.
“I already am.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alex spoke to Dr. Farquhar the next morning, a Tuesday. The doctor confirmed Lucy’s suspicion. Peter had a case of the mumps. As a precaution, he had the doctor check the other lads working on the property. No one else presented symptoms. A relief. Mumps could spread like wildfire throughout Balforss, bringing the running of the estate to a grinding halt.
Lucy allowed him to stand at the boy’s door and talk to him from a distance. He was relieved to find the boy’s health improved after only one night’s rest. Hercules served Peter well, keeping his spirits high and boredom at bay. The two became great friends immediately.
By Tuesday evening, the lad looked a comical sight, like a chipmunk with his neck swollen just below his cheeks on both sides. He also looked like a prince propped up in the bed with clean hair and face. Alex had mentioned to Lucy that Peter could neither read nor write and had only a limited grasp of basic mathematics. She took it upon herself to teach him his letters and reported Peter’s progress at supper. As Alex suspected, the clever boy proved to be a willing and able student.
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