Portraits of children and family groups filled one wall, and Iain recognised them as being of the Earl and Countess’s two sons and the Earl’s natural daughter. Large cushions, colourful and embroidered, padded any piece of wooden furniture throughout the library. In the spirit of the Christmas festivities, holly and ivy encircled the candles on the mantel, and several smaller tables spread around the room.
Inhaling deeply, he savoured the scents that filled the room and created such a pleasurable ambience before sitting down to his work. It was as he walked to the other side of the desk that he noticed it—a scent that did not match the others. Instead of Christmas puddings and trimmings of pine, it reminded him of the fields of summer lavender near his home in the Highlands.
Looking around for some sachet left behind by the Countess, he found none. It was then that he spotted it—masked by the tall bookcases, a secluded sitting area near the windows at the corner of the room. Indeed, the corner of the house. Iain noticed that the scent of lavender grew stronger as he approached the nook. When the sound of soft snoring could be heard, he knew he was not alone. Reaching the first bookcase, he leaned round and peeped within.
The soft rays of morning sun dappled her hair, making it appear to be a multitude of colours—wheat-gold, blonde, and even a touch of the palest of browns. Most of it was caught up in some kind of bun, but soft wisps curled around her cheeks and framed her face.
Last evening she had had every appearance of a proper English young lady, but this morn—this morn she looked like a country lass fresh from the Highlands, wrapped in a tartan shawl, with a plain dress. He could imagine her walking the halls of his uncle’s home or sitting in their library—though it was not as impressive as this one—or running wild in the tall summer grasses of their lands.
Julia’s head lay back on the chair, and her mouth was open slightly, relaxed in sleep. None of the boyish lass of childhood could be seen now as he watched her silently from his place. She spoke and shifted in her chair, and Iain waited for her to wake. Instead she settled deeper into the large chair’s cushions, and slept on, unaware of his perusal.
Knowing that his uncle’s arrival was fast approaching, Iain took a step closer to wake her. Before he could, her eyelids fluttered and opened. Her surprise could not have been more than his own as she spoke his name in a sleep-deepened voice that sent tremors of awareness through him.
‘Iain.’
Desire pierced him in a way he’d not expected possible at the sound of his name on her lips. He’d taken several steps forward before the sleep cleared from her eyes and she realised he was standing before her. He watched as the realisation struck her and she sat up, straightening her gown and shawl and placing her once-hidden feet back on the floor.
‘Oh, Iain, it is you,’ she said softly, becoming the English young lady once more. ‘I did not hear you come in.’
With a spurt of true devilment aimed at trying to replace the hunger and desire that filled him, he leaned closer and whispered to her. ‘Miss Fairchild, I fear you snore in your sleep.’
She did not attempt to rise from the chair, and he did not move back to give her room to do so. He’d left his walking stick on the desk, so he used the arms of the chair for support, bringing him into closer proximity to Julia.
‘I could hear it from the other side of his lordship’s library.’
‘Surely not,’ she whispered, looking around as though checking to discover if only he had heard it. ‘A gentleman would not mention something so personal, sir.’
Not certain if that reminder was for him or for herself, he laughed softly. ‘I mention it only to aid you in your attempts to present yourself as a proper lady, Miss Fairchild.’
His teasing went awry, for a flash of hurt filled her eyes and she gasped, ‘I am a proper lady, Iain,’ she said. Her voice did not carry the conviction of her words, though. It trembled even, and he felt the meanest cad for teasing her in a way that obviously caused her pain. But her words revealed more to him than most men here would understand.
‘Do not ever let them convince you that you are not as proper and as much a lady as any raised in one of their households, Julia!’
He could not hold back the anger in his voice. He’d faced the jibes and slanders of the ignorant, aimed at his so-called ‘barbarian’ background, but had never thought it would affect Julia. Her manners, her appearance, even her voice spoke of being gently born and raised—and were not those that polite society seemed to expect from Highlanders. Or Scots, for that matter. He’d have hoped that the Earl’s protection would have prevented such hurtful behaviours, but Iain knew the truth—it had simply driven it out of sight, it had not put a stop to it.
Iain stepped back then, allowing her to stand, but his balance was not good and he shifted, trying to regain his equilibrium. Never a shy flower, Julia reached out and grabbed his waist to keep him from falling to the floor. Clutching the fabric of his jacket, she held onto him until he could right himself.
She stood nearly tall enough for the top of her head to fit comfortably under his chin. If he allowed her to stand so. But, as the humiliation of his disability sank in, he wanted to distance himself from her, and not allow such weakness as afflicted him to show so clearly. Stepping back once more, he found her still gripping his jacket, and his step back was followed by her step forward, doing nothing to increase the space between them.
‘Do not worry, Iain,’ she said, looking up into his eyes. ‘I have you now.’
He rested his hands on her shoulders then, not certain who was holding up whom in that moment. His heart pounded in his chest, and though he’d have liked to convince himself it was because of his exertions, he knew better.
It was her.
In this near-embrace of a stance he could inhale her scent, even feel the rise and fall of her own breathing. When she gazed at him so, he forgot their years spent as children together, and his attempts to free himself from the entanglement offered by a coltish young girl with doe eyes. He forgot their years spent apart and the differences between them. He forgot the pain and the suffering in his life.
All he could think of was her.
But when she lifted her face to his, tilting her head back and positioning her mouth exactly where it needed to be for him to kiss her, Iain forgot all of it. And he nearly forgot his place. For the temptation to touch his lips to hers, to taste her and to feel her mouth against his, grew strong so quickly.
He was a disabled man from the wilds of Scotland who would never walk without pain.
She was the young ward of a powerful nobleman, destined to travel the world.
He had no prospects other than those his uncle gave him.
She would marry well and live in the highest levels of society.
He had loved her for years.
She would belong to another.
Even as those thoughts flashed through his mind, even knowing everything that kept them apart, at this moment he wanted to believe she was his and his alone. And that meant kissing her, as he’d wanted to since he’d seen her across the drawing room last evening, with mischief in her eyes and the face of an angel.
Fighting the growing urge within him with the same self-control that had seen him live when given no chance, he closed his eyes and inhaled her scent again. A grave mistake, that. Waves of lavender teased and tormented him, then released him to follow his desire. Tilting his head, he captured her lips with his own, feeling their softness beneath his.
If it had ended then and there it would have been enough to last him his whole life, but it did not.
When Julia slid her hands under his jacket and around his back he could not step away. Oh, he could have broken free of her grasp—but, damn his fool heart, he did not want to leave her embrace. It was the sigh that she made, the softest of sounds, that destroyed any hope he had of holding on to his control and allowing her to leave unscathed.
Iain turned his face, allowing him to touch her mouth more fully and to tease
those bow lips into opening for his tongue. Once more she missed an opportunity to slow him down or to stop him with her welcoming gestures. He felt her fingers rubbing small circles on his back, felt that male part of him harden and lengthen in anticipation of more, and felt her breathing become faster and lighter as he kissed her deeply.
Sweeping his tongue into her mouth, he tasted her essence and knew he would never be satisfied with another. She imitated his movements, touched and tasted his mouth, sucking gently on his tongue and opening wider as she did. His body was ready to proceed. He could not get harder than he was. But his mind knew they could go no further along this path.
Julia felt her body melting against his—her legs seemed to buckle beneath her, and only by holding on tighter did she keep her balance. The heat of his mouth as he tasted her fired something deep within her body and soul, and she wanted more. She felt his hands leave her shoulders and slide down over her arms to rest on her waist, drawing her closer to him. Meeting him thigh to thigh and chest to chest, she recognised the changes in his body and wondered at those inside hers.
An aching had begun deep within her, and it connected somehow to the throbbing between her legs. Her breasts grew sensitive. Even his encompassing embrace seemed to make them swell and the tips grow tighter and tighter. Julia’s body wanted…wanted something…She leaned against Iain, seeking it.
His mouth left hers and she tried to follow, but his lips kissed the edge of her jaw and then moved back towards her ear. She trembled as shivers pulsed up and down her spine. Just when he reached the ticklish spot below her ear, she noticed the door to the library open behind them.
‘Julia,’ he whispered, and as he kissed her there, sending even more tremors through her.
‘Iain?’ Lord Robert called from across the room.
She felt his surprise, and then his awkwardness as he released her and stepped back. Julia forced her hands to let him go, and watched as the soft expression on his face as he’d kissed her changed into something she could not decipher.
Humiliation?
Regret?
Pain?
Whatever it was, he drew it back, and soon a polite smile sat there in its stead. Sheltered from his uncle’s immediate gaze by his position, Julia smoothed the loose strands of hair from her face and took a deep breath. In spite of the abrupt ending to their embrace and to his kiss, her body ached for more.
She was about to break the uncomfortable silence by saying something when Lord Robert stepped into the breach.
‘Ah, Julia. You are here. Clarinda was looking for you just now.’ Without pause he turned back and opened the door, calling out to his wife. ‘Clarinda—Julia is here.’
The short interruption gave them a chance to regain their senses, and Julia gathered her shawl around her, taking a deep breath and letting it out. She watched as Iain tried to stabilise himself, and realised he needed his walking stick. She spied it on the desk and brought it to him. A curt nod was his only response.
By the time Clarinda entered the library, they stood a respectable distance from one another. The emotional chasm that had opened between them as their kiss was interrupted was much wider, for Julia could almost feel him drawing away from her.
‘Iain…’ she said. She paused, knowing that some line had been crossed, yet not knowing what to say to him.
A proper young lady should be scandalised to have been kissed in such a manner. A proper young lady should have pushed him away and fought any inappropriate advances. A proper young lady would never have enjoyed such unseemly and inappropriate liberties as he had taken with her. But she had enjoyed every scandalous second of his touch, of his embrace, of his kisses.
‘Julia, I should not have—’ he whispered, stopping as his aunt walked to his side.
‘Your sister has quite recovered from her bout of…’ Clarinda paused, clearly unsure of how much to reveal about Anna’s delicate condition. ‘Illness…’ was the word she settled on. ‘She asked me to find you.’
‘And Iain and I have business to discuss, so we will detain you no longer,’ Robert added gallantly. Opening the door wider, he stepped back and allowed Julia and Clarinda to pass.
Julia had no choice but to follow her sister’s friend from the room. Although no words had passed between them, she could tell that Iain had been as affected by their encounter as she had. His eyes carried a confused expression, he stood stiffly and ill-at-ease, and she would swear it was not related to his injury. His body had responded to hers.
Although her sister would most likely be shocked, Julia understood what Iain’s body had done when he kissed her. She had not gained this many years without hearing the comments of the young women at Anna’s School for Unfortunates in Edinburgh. Or without noticing the realities of life in the country while visiting the MacLeries’ Highland estates. Without overhearing Anna telling her closest and dearest friend about losing her virtue while in service as a governess.
He desired her.
In spite of the years that had separated them. In spite of the trials that he had faced in those years and the growth she’d experienced. In spite of his plans for his future and her sister’s for hers.
He desired her. As a man desired a woman.
A certain awareness of the change between them flooded her senses. No more child and pest—a lass chasing at his feet, a nuisance to be borne. She was a woman, and he recognised it. But more importantly for the first time she felt it.
Clarinda stopped and faced her, and Julia nearly lost all the self-confidence his kiss had given her. Could Clarinda tell from just looking at her that something was different? She did not feel guilty about what they’d shared, but did it show?
Clarinda’s exclamation and expression said it all. ‘I told Anna not to put mistletoe in that secluded corner!’
Julia could not resist the urge to touch her lips—for surely they had given her away? Or the blush that heated her cheeks—had that been the sign that exposed her actions to Clarinda? Turning back towards the library, Julia noticed for the first time the mistletoe branches tied in bright ribbons hanging from the ceiling over Iain’s head.
Robert closed the library door with a nod at her, and Julia faced Clarinda once more.
‘Come now, Julia. Anna is waiting for you,’ she said, dragging her up the stairs towards her sister’s chambers. As they reached the landing at the top, Clarinda paused to readjust Julia’s hair and then winked at her. ‘Remember, if she asks any questions blame it on the mistletoe.’
Chapter Four
Iain had to respect his uncle’s ability to bide his time and ignore the obvious breach of proper behaviour.
They’d been at their meeting since this morning, reviewing supplies and orders, planning for additions to the Laird’s estates in the Highlands and his house in Edinburgh, as well as expanding their market in England and Wales. Robert MacLerie had taken over the MacLerie clan and its businesses on his father’s unexpected death just over a year ago, and he had not looked back.
And the new Marquess of Douran had dragged Iain into the thick of it, kicking and screaming.
No excuse worked to make the Laird lose interest in his orphaned and poor relation—neither Iain’s near-death carriage accident, nor his lack of business training and even the formal education usually needed for such a post, and not even his advisors’ arguments against giving his nephew such responsibilities had worked.
Now, hours after Robert had observed the kiss, Iain waited uncomfortably for the inevitable reprimand to come. Why had his uncle been the one to witness his lapse? A juvenile sense of guilt filled him—not unlike the time his uncle had caught him kissing the kitchen maid at Broch Dubh.
However, Miss Julia Fairchild was no kitchen maid.
Realising his leg was beginning to tighten, Iain pushed back from the desk and stood. Using the edge of the desk for support, he tried to stretch the muscles before they became completely enveloped in pain. Too much sitting, too much standing—too much of any
activity or lack of it—caused the terrible spasms to begin.
Taking a few careful steps around the desk, dragging his right leg and putting most of his weight on his left, Iain paused to gain his balance before standing up straight.
‘The journey yesterday took its toll, then?’ his uncle asked.
When Iain looked up, he saw that Robert had been watching his every move. ‘It did—more so than I ever expected.’ His leg began to buckle then, as if to answer the question itself. ‘I did not mean to interrupt your reading, sir.’ He nodded at the pile of papers in front of his uncle.
‘And you did not. But the words seem to be dancing on the papers, out of focus. I think it is time for us to finish for the day.’
Robert gathered up the papers before him and started to organise them. Iain took a step towards the desk. It was his job to handle the Laird’s business files, after all. But his uncle stopped him with a shake of his head.
‘Walk a bit—stretch your legs. I can see to these.’
Iain accepted the offer and walked slowly to the far wall pausing to examine the paintings as he passed. Iain had not realised how different this household was until just this morn and the children depicted here spoke of its unconventionality.
The Earl was of noble English blood, while his Countess was Scottish gentry. The Earl’s family could trace their heritage back to the Conqueror, while the Countess made no such claims. The Earl had been raised among the wealthiest in the land, while the Countess had earned a living as a governess before beginning her own business among the working class.
Yet here they merged family backgrounds, business and charity interests, cultures and even children. Though it was a practice not accepted by most polite society, the Earl of Treybourne had dispensed with the usual hypocrisy of such a situation and recognised his natural daughter. Even more surprising, the Countess allowed her to be raised alongside their legitimate children. And if a few society hostesses did not include them on their guest lists, the Earl and the Countess took no mind, seeking only the company of those who would raise no issue of it. Of course only the foolish did not include the wealthy and influential Earl of Treybourne, who also happened to be the heir to the Marquess of Dursby.
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