In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  Time couldn’t be reversed. As much as she might want to, she couldn’t wipe the years clean and begin again.

  But she could fix what she’d broken today.

  How, though? What should she say? What did she need to do? How did she erase her mistake?

  Her thoughts were like mice, scattering at the sound of an open door or a lit lamp.

  She found herself in the corridor leading to the library, a place Lennox always used as his office. Shadows embraced her as she slowly pushed open the door.

  The last time she’d been here she was eighteen years old and had recently returned from a trip to Edinburgh with her mother. She’d seen a crystal inkwell shaped like a ship in the window of a shop and had instantly been reminded of Lennox.

  Lennox had been surprised by her gift but seemed pleased as well, placing the inkwell at the front of his desk. To her surprise it was still there, next to the spyglass his grandfather had given him.

  Moonlight streaming in through the open window softly illuminated the library. She drew in the scents of leather and tobacco, faint but still noticeable.

  The room was large, but all Hillshead’s rooms were oversized. Bookshelves lined the walls, each shelf containing a separate subject. She recalled that the ones closer to the desk were about ships and engineering. Farther away were novels and books on poetry. Some of the volumes had been well-worn, but she doubted Lennox had read them. Probably Mary had, instead. Did she read to her father now?

  Lennox’s desk took pride of place in the center of the room in front of the windows. She circled it, fingers grazing the tooled leather top, envisioning him working here, signing papers, doing his preliminary sketches. A lamp also sat on the desk, along with a large blotter and a wooden tray filled with paper.

  Was he at the yard? Would he stay there all night?

  “Glynis?”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. She looked up to see a shadow in the doorway.

  Before she could speak, he strode to the desk and lit the lamp, banishing the darkness. His hair was mussed either by the wind or his fingers. He looked tired, his eyes bloodshot. His white shirt was loosely tucked into the waistband of his black trousers, as if he’d already begun undressing. His sleeves were rolled up to expose his muscular arms. At the neck, his collarbones showed along with the well at the base of his throat.

  A spot she wanted to kiss.

  His trousers were tailored, the button fastening off-center, the fabric fitted with darts and tucks capturing her attention before she realized she was staring at his crotch.

  Hunger slammed into her. She needed him. Before the night was gone, before dawn greeted the day, before the sun rose or a thousand, million things happened, they had to solve this problem between them.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his frown making a V on his forehead and thinning his lips. “Why are you still awake?”

  What’s wrong? Everything and nothing, but how did she say that?

  “Why didn’t you come home?” she asked, plunging into the heart of the matter.

  “Are you in love with him? With Matthew Baumann?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you daft? Matthew Baumann? I’d sooner toss the man in the Clyde.”

  “He doesn’t feel that way about you.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said. “If he said such a thing, don’t believe him. It’s not a good idea to believe anything Baumann says. He’s a manipulator. He’s always been a manipulator. If he wasn’t working for the War Department, he’d be bilking widows and orphans out of their last few coins.”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  She drew back and stared at him.

  “That’s not funny,” she said. “To even jest about such a thing is an abomination, Lennox.”

  “I see the way he looks at you. It’s not a jest.”

  “The only person Matthew Baumann loves is himself.”

  “You haven’t seen the look on his face when he’s watching you,” he said.

  She didn’t know what was worse, the idea Baumann might have some feelings for her or Lennox’s jealousy. The child she’d been would have rejoiced to see evidence of his jealousy. The adult knew how caustic the emotion could be.

  “I have no feelings for him. No,” she corrected. “I have one. I loathe the man.”

  “Then why do I find you in conversation with him so often?”

  “I can’t stop him from following me.”

  “The question is why he follows you,” he said. He crossed his arms, his feet planted apart, almost like he was prepared to do battle with her.

  Perhaps they fought a war, one of thrust and parry with words, gestures, and looks. The prize? Their marriage.

  “You think Baumann set fire to your ship,” she said.

  “I do.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s not like that. He’s all about subterfuge and getting other people to do his bidding.”

  “He doesn’t want the Raven to sail and he’d be a fool to let her. She’s one of the fastest ships I’ve ever built. She’ll slide into any southern port before the Union ships even see her.”

  She glanced toward the window with its view of the night sky, then back at him where he stood watching her. No one else in her memory had eyes as penetrating as his or a gaze piercing through her defenses. A woman could be ensnared by his look, trapped into confessing all sorts of secrets.

  She blew out a breath. “He wants information about the Raven,” she said.

  One of his eyebrows winged upward.

  “I haven’t told him anything.” She backed up against the desk. “I would never do such a thing. On the honor of a MacIain,” she said, repeating the oath Duncan made her swear as children. Don’t tell Mother. Don’t tell Father. The oath was the most sacred bond they had, and only sworn on the most important occasions.

  He nodded just once.

  “Is that why you stayed away?” she asked. “Because you were jealous?”

  “Not jealous,” he said. “Angry.”

  His cheekbones bronzed. His eyes smoldered with unspoken words.

  “Are you still angry?”

  In Washington, she’d seen her share of emotionless marriages, couples who seemed to barely tolerate one another. An hour would pass and some couples would not speak. She’d also seen loving couples, men who smiled down at their wives with adoration on their faces and women who looked up at their husbands with worship in their eyes.

  She’d envied them.

  “Why did he think you’d tell him?”

  “Because he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”

  “And how well is that?”

  Lennox had unerringly shattered her heart. He threatened to do it again, now. If she were really older and wiser, she’d guard herself, seal off the vulnerable part of her, pretend an icy demeanor and not reveal her true feelings. But she knew instinctively that barricading herself against Lennox would only lead to disaster.

  “Not as well as you,” she said.

  When he didn’t answer, she walked to him, placing both her hands on his shirt, feeling his warmth radiating to her fingers.

  She lowered her head, took another step, resting her forehead against his chest.

  “Never as well as you.”

  “I love you, damn it.”

  Her eyes flew up to meet his gaze.

  “Nothing matters but that, Glynis.”

  “I love you, damn it?” she asked, bemused.

  “Yes. Should I pretty it up?”

  She shook her head, feeling time slow. Her heart beat only half as much as normal. She barely took a breath. Their gazes were locked and she drowned in his look.

  “Will you come to my bed? Be my husband?”

  His smile speared her heart. “Do I look like a eunuch?” he asked.

  He grabbed her hand, turned and pulled her with him. She rushed to keep up with him as they raced through the darkened house and up the stairs.
r />   Chapter 33

  He loved her.

  Someone laughed belowstairs and the sound traveled upward in a ghostly echo.

  Lennox loved her. Bubbles moved through her veins. Excitement danced on her skin. Her stomach was filled with butterflies and champagne. Lennox loved her.

  He stopped at the landing and looked at her.

  “Have you moved into my suite?”

  Before she could answer, he took her hand again and walked to her room. He opened the door, entered the bedroom, glancing at the bureau top filled with her brush and mirror, perfume bottle and silver-lidded jars.

  “Why haven’t you moved into my suite? It’s where you belong.”

  Until this moment she hadn’t known where she belonged, but she decided not to say that. He loved her and it didn’t matter where she was as long as it was beside him.

  He turned, grabbed her hand again, walking out of the suite and down the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the runner beneath their feet.

  The maids had been industrious; she inhaled the smell of lemon oil and beeswax as Lennox opened another door.

  He moved inside, lit a lamp, and stood there watching her. She took a hesitant step over the threshold, looking around.

  She’d never been here before, even as a girl. This was Lennox’s room, a chamber whose location she knew, but one forbidden her.

  At first glance it was similar to her guest suite. The furniture was heavily carved mahogany with brass drawer pulls. Instead of pale yellow, however, the settee and chairs were upholstered in dark blue with touches of beige. A masculine room, furnished with pictures of ships at sea. At any other time she might have stopped to admire the large painting over the mantel: a clipper ship at full sail on a frothing ocean. But she was being carried along in Lennox’s wake.

  In the bedroom he stopped, turning to her.

  She pulled her hand from his and put it on his arm, feeling the corded muscles. Had he always been so strong?

  He studied her, the glow from the sitting room lamp illuminating his face.

  Lennox loved her.

  She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her cheek against his shirt. Her heart expanded, her soul opened up to encompass him. This moment was perfect and rare, a blessing she probably didn’t deserve.

  Lennox loved her. She blinked back her tears, tightened her arms around him and wanted to stay right here for the rest of her life.

  His chest moved as he drew a deep breath.

  Could anything be more perfect?

  She smiled, then pulled back, beginning to unfasten his shirt. He didn’t stop her. Nor did he say a word, merely stood with his arms at his sides as she started to undress him. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, she pushed it open, revealing his chest. She threaded her fingers through his hair, leaned close and inhaled.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

  “You always smell like wood to me. Wood and the sea.”

  “Do I now?”

  She shook her head. “No. Now you smell of wood, ink, and smoke.”

  He bent until his nose was against her throat. He sniffed her, raising his head a moment later.

  Her laughter broke free. “What do I smell like?”

  “Glynis,” he said. “Your perfume and the scent of your skin.”

  She’d never known passion could be soft and sweet or that it could carry an undertone of laughter and one of tenderness.

  Pressing her mouth against his chest, she tasted his skin. Salty. His nipple pebbled at her exploring touch. His indrawn breath made her smile broaden.

  She took his hand, turned and led him to the bed. She mounted the small set of steps, sat on the edge of the mattress and patted the space next to her.

  He grinned, easily sat beside her, not demurring when she raised up on her knees and pushed him onto his back.

  “Are you seducing me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, intent on finishing unbuttoning his shirt.

  “There’s no need. Whatever you want of me, it’s yours.”

  She smiled, not explaining she needed to touch him, to allow her fingers and hands to explore as he’d done the night before. She wanted to enthrall, enchant, and pleasure him.

  She placed her hands on his naked chest, stroking her palms upward to the base of his neck and outward to his shoulders. Her eyes followed the actions of her hands, marveling at the size and the beauty of his body.

  He was the perfect man.

  When she reached for the buttons of his trousers, he encircled her wrists with both hands.

  “I need to touch you,” she said. Would he understand?

  He released her.

  To make it fair, she took off her wrapper, revealing her soft pink nightgown. His gaze traveled from her neck down to her breasts visible through the silk.

  He lay quiescent as she unbuttoned one button. For his cooperation, she rewarded him with a string of kisses from his waist to his chin. The second button was awarded a nip of his earlobe. The third a necklace of kisses around his throat.

  She loved touching him. Her fingers were magical, making his pulse escalate. He watched her with eyes so intent she could feel his gaze.

  “I really need you naked,” she said.

  “Do you?”

  She nodded, smiling.

  He jumped from the bed and removed his shirt. In seconds his pants and the rest of his clothing were in a pile on the floor. Naked, he joined her again, lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, a wicked grin curving his lips.

  She pushed him to his back. When her hair came loose, she removed the last of the pins, shaking it free until it fell over her shoulder. She might’ve been a mermaid, trailing the end of one strand across his chest, teasing him.

  She dusted his stomach with her fingers. Sitting back on her haunches, she inspected the growing wonder of him.

  Now she wished there was a lamp in the bedroom, one allowing her a full inspection. Her hands would have to give the shadows shape. How large he was, how long and hard and heated against her palms. Her fingers danced along his length, inciting a muffled oath from him. She smiled, delighting in her sudden, unexpected power.

  Her thumbs played in the hair at his groin, stretched lower as she felt him tense. Gently she stroked his scrotum, her hands curling behind it to hold his testicles tenderly in her palm.

  “Glynis,” he said, his voice guttural. “Enough.”

  “This dictatorial nature of yours is new, Lennox. I don’t remember you ordering me about so much seven years ago.”

  “You didn’t hold my balls in your hands seven years ago.”

  “Pity,” she said. “I should have.”

  She looked up at him. She really should have seduced him all those years ago.

  “I like to explore you,” she said. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Yes,” he said, but his hips left the bed as if seeking her touch.

  She placed her hands around his shaft again, marveling at the iron hardness of it. Daring herself, she bent and kissed the mushroom-shaped head.

  Lennox tensed, rose up slightly, another oath escaping him.

  “Do you hate that? Is it painful?”

  “If I said yes would you stop?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, enthralled with the power she was feeling. “If you’re really in pain, of course I would. I wouldn’t want to be the instrument of your discomfort.”

  Her right hand cupped his scrotum, her thumb gently brushing across the skin. Her left guided his shaft to her lips where her tongue circled the head slowly.

  “Are you very certain it isn’t painful?”

  “Glynis,” he said, his voice low and warning.

  She smiled, wondering if he knew how much touching him excited her. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. Her body was weeping, fluid bathing the inside of her thighs.

  She pressed her lips to the length of his shaft, licking him from the root all the way to the tip
.

  His breath left him in a shuddering gasp.

  He rolled toward her, and she took the opportunity to grab one well formed round buttock, her nails grazing his skin. He jerked, making her smile again. How very strange she had never realized her effect on him. He reacted to her touch the same way she did to his.

  Suddenly she was on her back and he was looming over her.

  His arms were hairy, the hair tapering off toward his shoulders, the muscles knotting and bunching under her fingers. She threaded her hands at his nape, her thumbs brushing his ears, tracing the shape of them down to the lobes.

  Everything about Lennox was as perfect as she wished it to be, as if God himself had asked: Glynis, what should his neck be like? Should his shoulders be straight and broad? Shall I make him tall, the better to tower over you? And intelligent, to match your wit?

  Shall I give him character, that he is an honorable man, one who cares for those in his keeping? One who shelters and protects? This man to whom I give you in exchange for seven years of patient misery, would you change anything about him?

  “Nothing,” she said.

  He raised his head. “Nothing what?” he asked, his breath soft against her temple.

  “God and I were having a conversation,” she said, smiling at herself. “He wanted to know if I would change anything about you and I said nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head. Any further words were impossible because he kissed her, stripping thought and intention from her mind.

  God could’ve spared him intelligence. Lennox hardly needed it when she couldn’t think around him.

  A laugh escaped, startling her.

  “Something amusing, Glynis?” he asked, his smile warming her.

  She pulled his head down for a kiss. “Not amusing, Lennox,” she said against his lips. “Fascinating.”

  He raised up. “Fascinating?”