by Tarah Scott
“Indeed, it is.” He seized her knee and squeezed.
The compelling desire to squeal with laughter crashed through her. Eve grabbed his hand and tried to yank it away from the sensitive flesh, but his grip, though gentle, might as well have been a vice. He squeezed and she kicked while yanking at his arm with both hands. He released the leg, then tickled her stomach again.
"I will avenge myself!" Eve shoved at his chest, then froze, her face a bare inch from his. He stilled as well, and she was suddenly aware of his hard thighs--and the hard length of him--beneath her bottom. “I believe you are forfeit this game,” she said in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
“Have I now?”
She nodded. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. The hand he'd been tickling her with slid up her arm and into her hair. The faint scent of the soap he had used to shave tantalized her senses, along with something else--his tongue traced her lips—his masculine scent, she realized, all him, and all male. The smell made her want to rub herself all over him. Her heart pounded in anticipation of his mouth sliding lower to her breasts as it had earlier, but instead, he nipped at her bottom lip. A flush of warmth radiated from her belly.
The fingers in her hair tightened, sending a prickle of gooseflesh down her neck and along her arms. He covered her mouth with his. An ache thrummed between her legs and she recalled the way his clever fingers had touched her in the alcove little more than an hour ago. Shame rolled over her at the realization that she wanted him to do that to her again. He had said she would be the most fortunate of women if she married him. What kind of woman was she to want this from him when he would give nothing else but this fleeting and most wicked pleasure? He flicked at her lips with his tongue and she opened without hesitation. With a low groan, he twirled his tongue around hers.
Eve closed her fingers around his shirt and shifted on his lap. His erection, hard and insistent, dug into the soft flesh of her buttocks. He stiffened as if in pain, then his kiss turned fierce. Eve was startled to realize he'd liked it when she'd shifted on his lap. His mouth ravaged hers, and her mind whirled, but she focused through the gray and wiggled on his lap. The fingers in her hair tightened and he pulled her head back while his mouth skimmed across her cheek. She wiggled more ardently. The arm around her waist gripped her more firmly and pressed her buttocks hard against him. She wiggled again and he hissed a breath.
His lips touched her ear. "You are very naughty, madam."
The words combined with his husky voice made her body heat like molten lava.
“I stand ready to play backgammon with you anytime you please,” he whispered.
Holy God, if this was how he played backgammon, she wanted to play every day.
He released a slow sigh. His breath washed over her ear and neck, and sent a shiver down her arms. He held her close for a long moment, then drew in a deep breath, his chest rising then lowering with the release.
"Will you go riding with me tomorrow?" he asked.
He was asking about riding...tomorrow, on his wedding night...at this moment?
"Riding?" she repeated.
He drew back and looked down at her. “It isn’t Hyde Park, and we will not be seen by the ton, but Mull is quite beautiful.”
“As I told you, I care nothing for Society.”
“So you did.” He seemed to hesitate, then sat her upright and lifted her off his lap and onto the carpet.
She sat while he retrieved the board and pieces and put them back into the table. He put the table back in its place against the wall, then came back to where she sat.
“It is nearly five thirty in the morning. We had best get some rest.”
Her heart raced. She nodded. He pulled her to her feet, kissed her gently, then turned and started toward the door.
Eve stood frozen, uncertain what to do. “Where are you going?” she blurted.
He stopped and turned. “To bed.”
“But—” She looked helplessly at him. “Downstairs in the alcove, you said you intended to—” She broke off, unable to say the words.
He smiled gently. “That was perhaps unfair of me.”
Eve stiffened. “I see.”
“I doubt that you do, love.”
Why did he call her words like that?
“Tomorrow morning we will ride together.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
For an instant, it seemed he would say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he left. And Eve sat alone in the room.
Chapter Nineteen
Four hours later, Erroll approached the great hall and the smell of freshly baked pie and roasted pig wafted to him, but it was the aroma of baking bread that excited his senses. He recalled the bread Miss Crenshaw—she’d been Miss Crenshaw then, anyway—had baked in the ship’s galley, and his groin tightened with the intensity of pent up lust. If this continued he was going to have to locate a private spot and alleviate his discomfort again. Clearly his handling of the situation this morning had given him a very temporary reprieve.
He entered the great hall and slowed. A pig turned on a spit over the fire in the hearth and, combined with the low chatter and bustle of activity in the kitchen sent a ripple of warmth through Erroll that startled him by going soul-deep. He’d forgotten what it was like to be amongst family. Would he be able to achieve even a little of this same contentment in his own home?
For the first time in his life, he imagined returning home to a woman who waited anxiously for his return. The vision blurred into Eve sitting in the drawing room and looking up from a book that rested on her belly rounded with his babe. If she were to smile at him at that moment—He reached the kitchen, his desire replaced with an unexpected tightness in his chest, and he entered to find Eve with his mother and Mrs. Henderson at the worktable in the middle of the busier-than-usual kitchen.
Eve wore an apron tied around her waist just as he’d envisioned, only she wasn’t naked—though her breasts filled the bodice in a delectable fashion that was bound to send him in search of privacy. The three women were intent upon the bread Eve kneaded. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and her toned arms flexed with each push of her palm edge against the dough. Erroll recalled the fond light in her eyes when she recounted how her father had demanded tribute from their cook in exchange for teaching Eve to cook. She liked being in the kitchen—in the heart of the home—among family.
Mrs. Henderson turned and saw him. “Good morning, laird.”
His mother and Eve looked up as the cook stepped over to the oven.
“I see you ladies are hard at work.” He side-stepped a woman who hurried past carrying a bowl piled high with potatoes, and joined his mother beside the table. He kissed her cheek, then looked at Eve. “Good morning, madam. I trust you rested well last night?”
Her eyes widened in the instant before she dropped her gaze to the bread and pulled off a section. She began rolling it into a ball. “Very well, thank you.”
“I don’t see your sister. What is she about this morning?”
“Oh, Grace would not spend her time in the kitchen, even if she were awake. She will not rise before noon, I imagine.”
“And our sleep was interrupted last night,” he commented.
“You are up early,” his mother said before Eve could vent the frustration reflected in her eyes.
“Not as early as you, from the looks of things,” he said. “It seems as though you’re cooking for an army and enjoying yourselves in the process.”
“I am enjoying myself immensely, for I have learned that my new daughter-in-law makes the finest rolls in all of Great Britain.” She glanced at Mrs. Henderson who stood before an open oven and was pulling out a large tray of rolls. “You will forgive me, Mrs. Henderson.”
“I must admit, they are very good,” the cook said.
Eve laughed. “I will trade you the rolls for a slice of that berry pie you made, Mrs. Henderson. It smells divine.”
“I think we should all hav
e a slice of pie along with rolls and tea,” Erroll’s mother said. She sidled around between Eve and Mrs. Henderson, who had set the tray of rolls on the stove and was quickly transferring the hot bread into a cloth-lined basket. “Will you join us, Rush?”
He smiled. “I cannot possibly refuse pie or rolls.”
His mother shifted the tea pot from the counter to the stove. “You’ll love the rolls.”
“I have had them.”
Eve didn’t look up, but he discerned a pink tint creeping up her cheeks. Could she be remembering that night in the galley when the smell of freshly baked bread had permeated the ship and he’d gone to the galley to find her looking good enough to eat?—just as she did now. Did she remember throwing her arms around his neck? She’d hung on as if her life depended on it—until Oscar arrived. Her presence of mind had probably saved him from getting pounded by the brute. If it had been up to Erroll, he would have ravished her then and there. As if conjured by mere thought, Oscar entered the kitchen.
“Oscar,” Erroll said.
“My lord.” Oscar gave a slight bow. “I hear you are married.”
“You don’t look particularly pleased with the notion.”
The brute shrugged. “She had to marry someone.”
Eve paused in rolling another piece of dough into a ball. “Oscar, behave.”
“I like Oscar,” Erroll’s mother said.
“I am glad to hear that,” Erroll said. “He might join our household.”
“Me?”
For the first time since Erroll met the man he looked as though he’d been caught off guard. “Eve was concerned her father might not be pleased with you.”
Oscar grunted. “He might not be. I haven’t seen him.”
“How is the roasted pig coming along?” Erroll’s mother asked.
“Very well,” Oscar replied. “It’ll be ready for tomorrow’s party.”
“Tomorrow?” Erroll said. “Can you expect many guests on such short notice?”
“We already have fifty replies,” she said.
“Indeed? One would think you had sent the invitations before the signing.”
She laughed. “Not quite, but they did go out very early this morning.”
Immediately after he and Eve retired for the evening, he wagered.
“Would you like tea, Oscar? We are all having pie and rolls,” his mother asked.
“No thank you, m’lady. I have work.”
“Later, then.” She pulled four cups and tea strainers from the cupboard. “The party will be tomorrow night, but the celebration will last three days.”
“Three days?” Eve twisted and looked over her shoulder. “Ma’am, you need not go to so much trouble.”
“I think you are going to far more trouble than I.” His mother’s eyes twinkled. “After all, you are baking the bread.”
“How many guests are you expecting?” Eve asked.
“We sent three hundred invitations.”
“Three hundred?”
That surprised even Erroll.
“That is a crush, even by London standards,” Eve said.
“Yes, but not all will come.”
“How many guests to you expect?” Erroll asked.
“I am hopeful that half will come.”
“Half?” Eve looked as if she would bolt.
“That half could be family,” his mother said. “We will not know the full number until…well, until the celebration is over. Many are coming half a day’s ride, so they will likely not RSVP.”
“I assume, then, we will have houseguests?” Erroll asked.
“We will. Ash and Olivia, along with their tribes will most certainly stay. That alone could be fifteen or more guests. If Lord Sneddon and Venters attend, we will have a house full.”
“How do you feel about this, madam?” Erroll asked Eve. “Are you up to three days of festivities and MacLean relatives? You did say that Society was not to your liking.”
She didn’t look up from her dough. “I said that London Society was not to my liking.”
“There is plenty of the same amongst the guest list, I wager.”
She dropped the ball of dough and tore off another piece. “Perhaps, but the leftovers will compensate nicely.”
“You have clearly not spent much time in MacLean company,” Erroll said.
“I have spent enough time with one MacLean to know I can deal well enough.”
“You are a courageous soul.”
Eve snorted. “Hardly. It is nothing more than necessity.”
Erroll heard his mother chuckle in the instant before the kettle whistled. She pulled it from the heat and filled the cups.
“If you find yourself wanting that ride we spoke about, I am ready at your leisure,” he told Eve.
Her head snapped up. “Of course, forgive me, I should have remembered.”
He felt certain she hadn’t forgotten for an instant.
“We can go anytime you like,” she said.
“We must have pie and rolls first,” he said, “and you most assuredly must finish your baking. We must have everything in perfect readiness for our guests. I, however, can await your pleasure as long as you like.” He lifted a brow.
She frowned, then comprehension flitted across her face and her eyes narrowed in a warning that couldn’t quite hide her discomfort. Erroll decided he liked that.
*****
Eve felt as though she had stepped into a whirlwind. She’d woken that morning and gone directly to the kitchen, which seemed the safest place to hide in the massive castle. Lady Rushton had appeared five minutes later, and Eve felt certain someone had apprised the marchioness of the fact that her new daughter-in-law was hobnobbing with the servants. To Eve’s surprise, her ladyship was just as comfortable in the kitchen as Eve, and they spent an enjoyable morning together until the earl showed up. From there, things spiraled downhill with Eve now finally alone with him on their ride—and they were very alone. All of Mull, it seemed, was country, except for Tobermory, which they’d left behind the day they’d arrived.
It felt strange being alone with a man without thought for what Society would think. It felt even stranger knowing that man was her husband. But she knew well enough what the ton would think. They would pity him for being forced to marry a woman of lower birth all because he’d had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They started up the side of a green hill and a moment later crested the rise and stopped. Eve gave a soft gasp at the sight of crystal blue water lapping the white sand of a cove. Sunlight streamed through thin clouds, sparkling the water and sand.
“It is beautiful,” she said.
“I thought you might like it,” Lord Rushton said. “Would you like to go down?”
She looked at him. “Can we?”
“Of course.”
They allowed the horses to pick their way down the gentle incline through mossy grass and onto white sand. Lord Rushton dismounted and came around as Eve swung her leg over her horse’s rump. The earl grasped her waist and she found herself lifted to the ground.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you refused to ride sidesaddle,” he said.
Eve grimaced. “Would you ride sidesaddle?”
“I would not, but I don’t wear a dress.”
Eve grinned. “I saw men wearing kilts. Not a one rode sidesaddle.”
“And you would never get them to,” he said.
She gazed out over the water. “I imagine the water is cold this time of year.”
“The coves warm up in the summer months, but one could never actually call the water warm.”
“I suppose it is too early in the year to put my toes in the water, then.”
“You are not faint of heart, but even your toes might curl. However, if you like the feel of sand underfoot, there is that.”
She liked that, but thought better of it. “That would be unseemly.”
“We’re not in Hyde Park. You can take off your shoes—o
r anything else you like.”
Eve looked sharply at him. “Last night you could have taken off every stitch of my clothing, but didn’t. Today, in broad daylight and in public, you suggest that I remove my clothes.”
“We are not exactly in public, and I did tell you that you deserved courting before the bedding.”
“Getting me out of my clothes is courting me?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “A bad habit.”
“Which will it to be, my lord? You were quite willing to bed me when you thought there would be no marriage, yet you shun me now.”
“I am not shunning you, but I was wrong to take advantage of you.”
Eve didn’t know how to respond to the straightforward answer. “I don’t understand.”
He chuckled. “Then I am in good company. Mrs. Henderson sent along some wonderful cold ham and shortbread. Are you hungry?”
“You are changing the subject.”
He sighed. “If I don’t change the subject my resolve will snap. Now, take off your boots and dig your toes in the sand. You know you want nothing more than that.”
She did want something else—and wanted it very badly—but realized her folly, and accepted his hand. He led her several paces closer to the water, then helped her sit. He lowered himself beside her as she pulled out the skirts of the riding habit the marchioness had leant her.
“Here.” He grasped her feet.
“Sir,” Eve protested as he shifted and laid her feet over his thighs. She froze. What was she supposed to do now? It was only her feet, but she suddenly felt as though he had stripped her of her clothes.
He loosened the lace on the left boot and, one hand grasping her stocking clad ankle, gently tugged off the boot. He laid her foot back on his lap, then removed the other boot with as much care. He set the second boot beside its mate, but didn’t release her foot. Instead, he stared at it.
Eve was struck with the memory of how he had tickled her silly last night, and said, “If you tickle my feet, I swear to avenge myself while you sleep.”
He slanted her a wicked glance. “I would like to see you try and make good on that threat.” He lifted her foot higher. Eve tensed to yank free, then froze when he kissed the top of her foot. He then kissed the end of her toes.
