Once Again, My Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  He had to have her. Then. Immediately. Damn the consequences.

  It’d cost him his happiness, as he’d deserved.

  Mercifully, it hadn’t destroyed hers.

  Georgie was happy now. Happiness that hadn’t come at his hands but from another man. She had a bonny daughter, a protective son. Friends. She didn’t want him or need him in her life, and he could see why. Her life was everything he’d ever dreamed of for her.

  Minus his presence in it.

  Mayhap he’d grown over the years, matured. Or perhaps a life of misery had shown him that happiness was more rare and special than love itself. Following years of guilt over him and mourning the loss of that first love, Georgie deserved a life of prolonged happiness.

  He’d prefer that happiness was with him, but he needed to consider that it might not be.

  She should have a chance to choose without him forcing his way into her life. He couldn’t be selfish anymore.

  While he’d heard the term a thousand times, it dawned on Mal what unconditional love meant. Not that you’d love someone no matter what they did, but that you’d love a person enough to let them follow the path of life best for them. Even if you weren’t necessarily walking it with them hand in hand.

  It meant loving Georgie without the expectation of being loved in return. It meant letting the past go and finding a way to be content without her, if need be.

  It meant walking away if that’s what she wanted, although doing so would take more courage than facing down Napoleon’s army, to be sure.

  Mal laughed sardonically. Hell, she’d had him shaking in his boots from the first moment they met. Why should a couple of decades change that?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later that night

  Georgiana curled up in her favorite armchair before the fireplace in her sitting room too wound up from the surprisingly pleasant evening to go to bed or even concentrate on the book in her hand.

  It’d been enjoyable. And a revelation.

  Just as she had at the garden party, she’d found herself entertained by Mal’s conversation. This time he’d made no attempts to stifle her enjoyment. For all the crustiness of disposition he’d displayed in Scotland and his shorter—but excusable, all things considered—temper, Mal had proven himself a delightful conversationalist still. He’d spoken with Maisie at length and with clear knowledge about her love of opera and music. David and Ardmore had reveled in his gruesome tales of the peninsular war before Margo had reprimanded him.

  A set down he’d accepted with a kind smile and humility. Amazing, considering his mother berated him in public. Rather than being annoyed, he’d teased about her delicate sensibilities.

  In short, he’d displayed more patience and steadfastness in one evening than she’d thought him capable. The years had tempered his youthful pride and arrogance. He might not be the man she’d once loved, but as Margo had said, maybe he was a better one.

  Yet, she was indecisive about what to do about him. About them. He’d made oblique references to missing her and loving her. Did he intend for a future together? His words about whatever was between them being “very much before them” made it sound that way.

  But was it what she wanted?

  Was she willing to put aside her reservations as he’d put aside his pride?

  A knock sounded at her door.

  With a mystified glance at the clock on her mantle, she called for entry. Leighton opened the door but didn’t fully enter.

  “My apologies, your grace. The Earl of Glenrothes is asking to see you.”

  Mal was here? Now? Why? And why through the front door this evening when the window had served him well enough a few nights ago? She had no answers to any of those questions, but even though there’d been no true arrangement settled between them—what with her recent rejection of his personal intentions a few nights past and their lack of intimate interaction through the evening—an unexpected assignation wouldn’t come as an utter surprise.

  Or an unwelcome one.

  The thought should have scandalized Georgiana or at least prompted some internal reproach. Whatever her unresolved feelings for Mal, she still desired him. Having him so close for hours and never once touching him had heightened her awareness to the point that even the caress of his gaze had sent shivers down her spine. And heat pooling at her core.

  Leighton cleared his throat awkwardly. “I tried to dissuade him, your grace, but…”

  “It’s quite all right, Leighton. Show him up, please.”

  “Here, your grace?”

  “Here,” she responded firmly, ignoring his owl-like stare. “Thank you.”

  With a stiff bow, her butler backed away. The second his footsteps faded away, she shoved a sleeping Baird off her feet. Apologizing as he rolled back on all fours and shook himself vigorously, Georgiana dashed over to the full-length cheval mirror in the corner and assessed her appearance.

  Her flaming hair fell in a riot of untamed curls down her back since she’d taken it down but hadn’t brushed or braided it as yet. Her night rail was most likely the source of Leighton’s lack of composure. Though it covered her to her bare ankles, the rounded neckline swooped low across the rise of her breasts without it being tied. The sleeves were long and loose. She didn’t have much to cover it either; her flimsy excuse for a dressing gown was sleeveless, tied beneath her breasts and fell only to her knees. The colorful orange, brown, and green embroidery down the edges and around the bottom provided more coverage than the gauzy ecru linen itself.

  It was beyond the pale to be receiving a gentleman to her private chambers dressed like this. On the other hand, with her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright, Georgiana knew it’d been many a year since she looked so pretty.

  Perhaps desirable?

  She rotated to the side, pressing her palms to her belly and sucking in. It’d been dark the night Mal had come to her bed in Scotland. His skilled hands might have mapped her body thoroughly, but he hadn’t seen her in such a state of dishabille.

  Would he still find her attractive?

  “Georgie?’

  Mal stood alone in the door, Leighton having apparently abandoned him along the way. She could see why. Clearly her nightgown hadn’t been the sole reason for her butler’s discomfiture. Mal strode into the room with his kilt flapping around his knees. He wore the same white shirt he had earlier but instead of a black evening jacket, a dark green MacKintosh tartan draped over the shirt, fastened at his broad shoulder with a broach.

  Just the sight of him, and Georgiana knew she was lost.

  His amber gaze stroked her from head to toe with all the force of a physical caress. Her breasts tightened, her belly tingled, and a wanton throbbing pulsed between her thighs under his scrutiny. When he raised his eyes to hers once more, they were dark, smoldering. And hungry.

  “I dinnae think I’ve e’er seen ye looking so bonny, Georgie lass. So bewitching.” His brogue was husky. Throaty. “I’ve half a mind to come over there and ravish ye so thoroughly ye’ll no’ be able to walk come morning.”

  The threat sent a quiver of anticipation down her thighs. “You’re welcome to try.”

  Lust blazed in his eyes but Mal didn’t take even a step toward her. “To my eternal regret, I dinnae come for that.”

  “Again?” she asked, skeptical and disappointed. “Why are you here then?”

  “I came to say goodbye.”

  “How silly. You said goodbye less than an hour past.”

  “Nay, Georgie.” He turned his tam over in his hands, wringing the woolen cap. “I came to say goodbye. I’m going back to Scotland.”

  Numbed by shock, she stared at Mal, waiting for him to continue. Willing him to say something more. As he had on the banks of Perrymead eons ago when he said he’d return to Scotland and take with him a bride. But the silence stretched out and no such addendum was forthcoming.

  She stepped forward, reaching for him, but he moved away, back toward the door. Dashing across the ro
om, she shut the door before he could depart. David, Maisie and Ardmore were all in the house, as were a dozen servants.

  “Wh-why would you do that?” she stuttered, leaning back against the door. She rifled through her memories of the evening for any hint this might have been coming.

  Baird came to him and flopped over, inviting his attention. Mal bent over him, seeming grateful for the distraction. He rubbed the dog’s belly, avoiding her confounded stare. With a final pat for the dog, he stood once more and paced farther into the room.

  Georgiana followed behind. “You said…you told me you planned to stay here. To spend time with Maisie.”

  If nothing else.

  “I was.” He sighed, a defeated sound to Georgiana’s ears. “I realized tonight I’ve been a selfish prick, Georgie. Considering my own wants and no one else’s. I’ve bullied my way into yer life just as I once tried to force ye to my way of thinking. I lost ye because of it.”

  “What if you were invited?” she asked.

  “Am I?”

  Was he? That moment’s hesitation seemed to be answer enough for him.

  “I’d see ye happy, lass. As ye are now wi’out me. I upset yer life but I’ll no’ do it again. That’s what I’ve come to tell ye, so I’ll take my leave now.”

  But his footsteps didn’t carry him to the door. They brought him to her as if he couldn’t be denied. Tilting her head back to study his face, she saw the regret in his eyes. He lifted his hand and stroked his thumb along the line of her jaw before toying with a lock of her hair. No words passed his lips, though his mouth opened again and again as if there was much he wanted to say.

  Finally, he raked his fingers through her hair and around the back of her head. Gently, he drew her closer.

  And brushed a kiss on her forehead. His lips lingered there, his breath unsteady.

  Georgiana trembled beneath it, awash with emotion. The reality of what he was saying without a word.

  He was leaving and he wouldn’t be coming back.

  And, if she was correct, he was doing it for her own good?

  Mal broke the kiss, his lips lingering a hairsbreadth away. “Goodbye, my love,” he whispered, his brogue as broken as Georgiana’s heart.

  Margo was right. Maintaining Maisie’s good name hadn’t been the only reason she hadn’t wanted to get involved with him. Nor had fear for her own reputation swayed her.

  Losing her heart to him once again stood at the core of her trepidation. Pushing him away had been an act of pure self-preservation. It was as simple as that. She feared for her heart. It had been scored deeply by their love affair, taken years to heal. A second go-round could take years more to recover from. If she ever did.

  Sending him on his way had seemed easier than risking heartbreak again.

  But it wasn’t. Seeing him, back turned and prepared to walk away, roused a level of desolation that trumped all her qualms.

  “Mal, please don’t go,” she begged as he stepped past her.

  “It’s for the best, lass.”

  “There you go again, thinking you know what’s best for me,” she shot back, but he didn’t stop.

  Desperation clawed at her, filling her with the urgent need to detain him.

  “If you leave, I’m just going to come after you,” she cried, hot tears splashed on her cheeks.

  His step slowed and he glanced over his shoulder.

  Heartened, she wiped the tears away and went on, “You can go if you like, but know I’ll be right behind you. I’m not going to let anything or anyone stop me this time.”

  “Why?”

  Was that hope in his eyes?

  “I won’t lose you again, Mal. I can’t.”

  “Why?” he asked again, soft and raspy. Turning, he walked back toward her in slow measured steps. “I thought ye said I’m no’ at all the man ye once loved.”

  “You aren’t,” she said quietly, recalling what Margo had said. Time had changed them both, in some good ways, too. “You’re a better man. You care about more than yourself.”

  He didn’t argue with that, making her all-too aware of the sacrifice he’d thought to make in leaving her.

  “What does it matter to ye?”

  Georgiana gnawed at her lower lip. She’d laid out her soul to him yet he’d have the words from her. The ones he hadn’t even spoken yet.

  Pausing a few steps away, he waited for her answer. Then his gaze shifted to the desk behind her and the frayed box on top of it. Georgiana groaned. She should have put it away. Why hadn’t she? The lid was also off, she knew. No doubt he’d recognized his handwriting. What a humiliating thought.

  He stepped around her, filching an envelope from the pile. “Ye kept my poems. My letters,” he said quietly, without a hint of gloating. “Every single one according to Maisie.”

  “Yes.” How could she deny it with the evidence right there?

  “My handkerchief.” He lifted it out of the box, waving it between them.

  “Yes.”

  “The flowers I sent ye the day after we met.”

  There was a trace of triumph in his voice, but she couldn’t deny the truth.

  “Yes.”

  “The ribbon ye were wearing in yer hair the day we first made love.”

  He remembered that detail?

  “Yes.”

  Her voice trembled with emotion and he faced her. With a single finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look up at him. Satisfaction filled his eyes. “Ye named yer dog Baird.”

  “Why, that had nothing to do with you.”

  “Did it no’?” He grinned, the intensity of his elation there for her to see. “Face it, sweet Georgie lass, ye love me still whether ye’ll admit it or not.”

  “I tried not to but I cannot stop.”

  “Say it,” he demanded. “Let me hear the words.”

  He was asking her to swallow her fears, her vanity, and say it first. It might always be a battle between them but this was one she was willing to concede.

  “Oh, Mal, I love y—”

  He’d pulled her into his arms and cut her off, his mouth over hers, hot and rough. His tongue plunged deep, muffling the animalistic groan that rumbled in his chest. Georgiana clung to him, her fingers threaded through his hair. Holding him tight. Ensuring he wouldn’t think of leaving her.

  Not now, not ever.

  He kissed her until she gasped for air, lightheaded with desire. Her head fell back and his lips trailed down her neck. Farther down to the valley between her breasts. Zealous yearning flowed through her with every masterful stroke of his tongue until raw need left her panting.

  “Bed. Now.”

  “Say it again,” he growled, suckling on her nipple.

  A bolt of sensual pleasure streaked through her and she strained against him. “I love you, Mal. You know it well enough.”

  With a husky chuckle, he scooped her into his arms and carried her through the door to her adjoining bedchamber. He dropped her on the bed, but Georgiana scrambled to her knees, grabbed his shirtfront and yanked him down. Straddling him, she slipped her hands up his hard thighs under his kilt. What she’d find beneath her Scot’s kilt was no mystery these days.

  Moaning, Mal pulled her down. His kiss raw, sensual. The stuff a woman could lose herself in. Before she could drown in the ecstasy awaiting her, Georgiana pushed back and looked at him.

  “Say it,” she demanded, needing to hear the words as much as he.

  Mal framed her face in his hands, the passion in his eyes warming with emotion. “Ye ha’ my heart just as ye ha’ from the moment I first saw ye.”

  “Say it,” she begged.

  “Aye, I love ye, lass. It would be impossible no’ to.”

  Epilogue

  Glen Cairn Manor

  Glenrothes, Scotland

  July 1824

  Maisie held the newborn over the baptismal fount at the parish church with sure hands, since both David and Colonel Lindsay seemed ambiguous about undertaking the duty. It was an ob
ligation she delighted in. The joy that suffused her was unparalleled. Or nearly so. Naturally, the birth of her own two children had been the pinnacle of happiness for her. And understandably, her wedding day signified. Yet this was certainly one of the greatest moments she’d ever known.

  She had a new godson.

  And a new brother.

  “I christen thee,” the priest intoned, dashing water across the baby’s head, “Alexander Ian MacKintosh.”

  Yes, she’d been as shocked as anyone when her mother discovered she was with child. Not that Maisie was surprised deep down. Georgiana had a more than healthy physical relationship with her husband.

  She glanced across the marble pool of blessed water at her mother. She clung to Mal as if she were permanently bonded to his side, his arm clasped around her waist. Mal looked down at his wife with a soft smile then bent his head to whisper in her ear. Tears welled in Georgiana’s eyes, but a hint of pink graced her cheeks and a smile lifted her lips before she rose on her toes to kiss him right there in front of God and all assembled.

  Never had Maisie imagined pure adoration could be so visible to the naked eye. Georgiana beamed up at him as the baby was blessed, but Maisie knew full well her dear mother considered herself the favored one.

  Deprived of years together, Georgiana and Mal plunged into marriage with a fervor unheard of among the aristocracy. Their obvious, yet shocking bliss had become something of a scandal in Bath and then London before the couple retired permanently to Scotland. Even now, one did not simply drop by for a visit without notice well in advance.

  But for Georgiana to carry and bear a healthy son and heir for her husband at the age of two and forty when she was already a grandmother twice over…

  Well, the ton had certainly been set back on their heels.

  Nothing could have thrilled Maisie more. Her mother would never say as much aloud as she was reluctant to diminish her long marriage to the Duke of Bridgewater in the eyes of his children in any way, but Georgiana Wharton Egerton, now MacKintosh, had never been happier.