by Danice Allen
“Was it so obvious?” inquired Adam with a tender smile for Letitia.
“Quite so, my lord.” Belnap grinned at Adam in a most unbutlerlike fashion. “And begging your pardon, my lord, but with the two of you smelling of April and May, and with the castle all abuzz with preparations for the wedding and the party afterward, Miss Grundy and I couldn’t wait a minute longer. We don’t mean to make things more muddled around here, but we hope you’ll understand, my lord, and will grant us permission to call on the village vicar this very afternoon.”
Adam’s mouth curved with knowing, amused sympathy. The roles of master and servant dissolved in this shared dilemma of lovesick impatience. “I understand your eagerness completely, Belnap. By all means, marry today. I only hope you’ll allow Miss Webster and me to attend the ceremony?”
And so it was settled. Miss Grundy, in a sunshine-yellow dress she’d sewn herself in the hope-filled hours of many long winter nights, stood before the altar with a dapper-dressed Belnap to exchange marriage vows. With a wreath of myrtle in her hair and a radiant smile on her wrinkled face, Miss Grundy looked almost young. Ah, thought Letitia, what love can do.
On the eve of her own wedding, with a mere few hours separating her from the pleasure of calling herself Letitia McAllister, Viscountess Blair, legally deserving of all the pleasures attached to such a title, Letitia was seriously considering a visit to His Lordship’s bedchamber once lights were out. In her opinion, the title of Lady Blair was nothing compared with the title of wife to the man Adam McAllister, and she could hardly wait to share his bed.
During dinner, however, unexpected guests arrived—Letitia’s brothers, James and Frederick. They were not unexpected by Adam, who wanted to give Letitia a surprise wedding present. The sight of her twelve- and thirteen-year-old brothers brought tears of grateful joy to her eyes. Adam watched, beaming.
Letitia had of course written to her brothers and announced her wedding plans, hinting of her hope that they’d be reunited in the near future. Adam had also sent the boys a missive and some money, along with Will, the coachman, who’d gladly accepted orders to carry the Webster lads back to Scotland in the viscount’s traveling chaise in time for the wedding. The boys were instructed to bring all their belongings because Adam fully intended to keep them at Leys Castle till time for them to be sent away to a boarding school.
All Letitia’s fondest hopes had been realized. She had a home, a family, and the man of her dreams. So, when she was wed on the following morning beneath a bower of bluebells and myrtle sprigs, her white dress decorated with a sash of McAllister tartan, and with a golden-haired god—her husband—smiling an eternal promise of spring, Letitia could not possibly believe that more happiness was possible. That night she learned differently.
The party ended. The guests had gone home or had bedded down in extra bedchambers for the night. Letitia sat in her own room in front of the dressing table while one of the maids brushed her hair. She wore a diaphanous white dressing gown that was gathered below her bosom and fell in soft folds to her feet. Loose sleeves flared at the elbows. The neckline was low and revealing, bringing a blush to Letitia’s cheeks as she observed herself in the mirror. But choosing the white was quite a good idea, she decided. The shimmering paleness of her gown made her chestnut hair look that much darker and shinier. Free from the usual chignon, her wavy hair cascaded to the middle of her back.
Adam opened the door that joined his chamber with hers and stepped into the room. Letitia could see his reflection in the mirror. The maid immediately bowed herself out the other door that opened to the main hall and left them alone.
Alone. At last.
Letitia turned around. She thought she’d been imagining it when Adam’s reflection in the mirror revealed him to be in full Scottish regalia, just like at the wedding. She thought he would have changed into something more … comfortable. Her eyes hadn’t deceived her, however. He still wore his green plaid kilt, black velvet jacket, white shirt, a sealskin sporran, a handcrafted dirk tucked into his belt, and with the sqian dhu in place in his right stocking. Truth to tell, Letitia found this toggery more stirring to her senses than even the silkiest dressing gown Adam might have worn for his first visit to her bedchamber.
He pirouetted for her inspection, as he’d done that first afternoon in the library. “For you, Tish, I’m completely authentic.”
Letitia swallowed. “Completely authentic, Adam?”
He smiled, his lips slowly upturning in a sensuous invitation. “Completely, mo he’rt.” He removed the dirk and the sgian dhu and placed them on a nearby chest. “Come here, Tish.”
Letitia moved readily into Adam’s outstretched arms. As they held each other with no threat of interruption and no doubt of one another’s love, the passion Letitia and Adam had been keeping in check for so long flowed in a torrent.
Adam’s tongue slipped between her lips, and he kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with urgent intensity. He caressed her, the flimsy material of her gown the only barrier between his warm hands and Letitia’s sensitive skin. He found her nipple and tugged on it gently, persistently, rhythmically, till she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of it. She felt a thrill surge through her body, leaving her legs weak and languid. She wanted to lie down with him. But first…
“Come, love,” he said, holding her at arm’s length, his eyes trailing lovingly over the curvaceous front of her gown. “Let me undress you.”
“No, Adam.”
Adam raised a brow, a questioning, almost uncertain smile tilting his lips.
She put her hands on his upper arms and gently pushed him toward the bed. He looked puzzled but pleased, ready to allow her to be assertive. When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the high bed, he abruptly sat down. She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his bared knees.
“What are you doing, Tish?” he asked her, wetting his bottom lip.
Her hands slid up his legs—those long, slim, beautiful legs—the kilt crumpling and rolling up her arms, the blond hairs on his legs curling around the tips of her fingers. She stopped midthigh. “Don’t be shy, Adam,” she said, smiling impishly. “I just want to see if you’re truly authentic. My love, I’m curious. I just want to see!”
Adam’s green eyes glittered dangerously. He laughed deep in his throat, causing a delicious shiver of yearning to rack Letitia’s body. “Aye, Tish, you shall see…” Then he pulled her onto the bed with him and satisfied his wife’s prodigious curiosity once and for all—or at least until the next time he wore a kilt.
Ah … spring.
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