Never Kiss a Laird

by Byrnes, Tess

  The Earl watched these emotions as they were reflected on her open countenance. Enchanted, he gently pulled Sally towards him. “Perhaps I can help you get warm,” he offered, succumbing to his own wants.

  Hugh slipped one arm around her waist, and with his other hand he tipped her chin up. Sally raised her face to his, and was a bit confounded to see him smiling broadly at her. She met his gaze, a question forming in her own, until the moment when he lowered his head and their lips met, and she felt incapable of further rational thought.

  Hugh’s strong lips pressed against her own, and she allowed her lips to part. She closed her eyes, and surrendered to the incredible sensations that this contact created. She felt the touch of Hugh’s tongue moving distractingly against her own, and she moaned and snaked her arms up around his neck. She threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and Hugh made a small noise deep in his throat, and deepened their kiss. His lips moved to her neck, and the feeling of his breath, hot against her skin, caused a shiver that ran down her spine. Hugh’s hand gently traced the line of her jaw, his thumb stroked her full lower lip, and Sally captured it in her mouth, sucking gently. She felt Hugh’s sharp intake of breath, and reveled in the thought that he was responding in the same way that she was. The sensitive tips of her breasts pulled into taught pebbles, and Sally pressed herself against the Earl’s hard chest. With a sigh, he imprisoned her mouth again, pulling at her lower lip with his mouth, until he settled his mouth over hers again, exploring with his tongue, as his hands slid further to investigate her body. He slipped his hand inside her open jacket, and found the gentle mound of her breast through the fine lawn of her shirtwaist. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the taut tip, and Sally groaned aloud. She pressed into his hand, wanting to free her breasts from her confining clothing.

  Sally felt an unrelenting throbbing beginning between her legs. It was as if the sensations that Hugh was causing with his fascinating hands were shooting straight through her body to this very center of her being. She moved impatiently against the Earl’s hard body, wanting the closest contact she could get. Suddenly Hugh swept her up into his arms, and, with their lips still locked together, took her to the sofa. He seated himself, still holding her cradled on his lap. Sally shifted her weight on his lap, the sensations at her core pushing her on to find even more contact. She turned to face him, and looking steadily into his eyes, she put one knee on the sofa, and slipped her other leg across Hugh’s lap to straddle him, pressing her throbbing center into him.

  Sally groaned and softly laughed as she moved in slow sensual circles against the Earl, and she felt a rigidity that was the perfect goal for the sweet agonizing need between her legs. She moved gently side to side against it, as she met Hugh’s kiss again. His hand slipped behind her to cup her buttocks, holding her as he pushed against her warm center. Sally felt confined by her clothes and wished she could free her heavy breasts from them, feel Hugh’s skin against her own.

  Hugh’s lips moved down the soft white skin of her throat to the rounded tops of her breast. With one hand he slipped the buttons of her shirt-waist open, and pushed the fabric aside, allowing her breasts to fall from their confining chemise. He took one rosy tip in his mouth, his tongue teasing the hard tip, sucking gently. Sally arched her back, her breath coming quickly, her eyes closed, the sensations coursing through wildly.

  Hugh raised his head and met Sally’s eyes, the fever of passion within them reflecting his own, and took a deep breath.

  “Sally,” he breathed, pressing a kiss onto her swollen lips. With an obvious effort, he pulled his lips away.

  “No,” Sally whispered, frustrated, leaning in to him and raising her face for his kiss. “Don’t stop.”

  Hugh gave an unsteady laugh, but he raised one hand, brushing the red-gold curls back from her forehead, and pressing a kiss to her brow. He drew a shaky breath, and said, “I believe you have bewitched me, Miss Denlington.”

  Sally sat back, still straddling his lap, her entire body tingling with a desire to continue with what they had started. “Have I?” she whispered.

  “It is the only explanation I can devise,” he muttered, as he gently lifted her and set her beside him on the sofa. He stood and walked to the fireplace, his back to Sally. “I cannot otherwise explain my inability to control my actions around you.”

  “Perhaps you have bewitched me too, then, sir,” Sally replied. She pushed the skirts of her riding habit down, and set her jacket to rights. Her body was still vibrating, her breasts tender and full, the throbbing at her core still causing distracting sensations. She looked up at the Earl as he turned to face her.

  “Forgive me,” he said with a harsh smile. “Let us drink our tea, and I promise to behave like a gentleman. The sun is out, and we should be on our way before the weather breaks.”

  The Earl handed her teacup to her, the contents now tepid and unappealing. Sally picked up one of the biscuits and took a bite, chewing slowly as she eyed the handsome man before her. Never before had chivalry and good breeding been so inopportune, she mused. He had crossed the line, but was trying to save them both from further indiscretion. Sally, who usually applauded a man for being a gentleman, started to wonder what she could do to break down his resistance.

  “I understand there is to be a village fete in a few weeks,” Hugh mentioned, turning the conversation to safer channels. “There will be farm stalls, and crafts, and a party to welcome the spring.”

  “I hope it works,” Sally accepted this gambit. “I am ready to bid winter farewell, and feel some real warmth in the sunshine.”

  “My gamekeeper assures me we will have an early spring this year, Miss Denlington,” the Earl told her, taking her cup, and handing her gloves to her. “He has lived in this part of the country his whole life, and I have come to have a lot of faith in his predictions. Indeed, the heather is in bud already. When it is in full bloom you will see the moors at their most beautiful.” He held the door open as he spoke, and Sally had no course but to gather her gloves and whip and go through and down the hall to the yard. Their horses were saddled and ready for them, and the Earl threw Sally up easily into the saddle, then mounted his own tall horse, and followed her from the yard and onto the road out of the village.

  “You have not yet told me where you are staying,” Hugh accused, as the village disappeared behind them.

  “In the area. I, um, was looking for a quiet location for a repairing lease, as it were.” Sally stumbled over a vague response. I really must come up with better excuses in advance, she scolded herself.

  “Scotland in winter?” Hugh repeated, with a surprised look. “That is not the usual destination for pleasure seekers. One usually heads south.”

  Sally’s face crinkled into an understanding grin at his wonder. “You probably think me mad. Admit it.”

  “I don’t think I’d jump straight to mad,” Hugh laughed. “But definitely eccentric! Are you here with your family, Miss Denlington?”

  Sally thought about Millie and Miles, who had both left all they knew behind to accompany her to Scotland. They loved and supported her despite her ruined reputation, and the loss of her position. In contrast she pictured her parents as they had looked on the day that she had boarded the travelling carriage and left Denham Park for her grandmother’s house: cold, angry and distant. Her mother had refused to meet her eyes, and even her father had had no kind words of farewell.

  “Yes,” Sally said, with eyes that were suddenly moist. “Yes, I am here with my family.”

  “And your antipathy for the Laird, Miss Denlington. Does that have anything to do with your presence here? Does he have something to do with your situation?” Hugh asked, intrigued.

  Sally laughed, but shook her head. “No, but I fear that he and my father would have much in common. They both of them set themselves up as paragons, and indict anyone whom they judge to be wanting, no matter what the evidence may prove. I despise such behavior, Mr. McLeod, and those who indulg
e in it.” Her eyes snapped with anger as she concluded.

  “And you know the Earl of Kane to be guilty of such behavior?” Hugh raised an eyebrow.

  “I do. Just like my father. In fact, they may be cronies, for all I know.”

  “I must admit that I am fascinated, and insist on knowing the whole story,” Hugh demanded.

  Sally sighed with relief as she saw the turn-off to Whitethorne cottage ahead, and sat up straighter on Beauty’s back. She was wandering into dangerous territory, and Mr. McLeod’s curiosity could lead to her undoing. “This is where I must leave you,” she indicated the road ahead. “Farewell, Mr. McLeod,” she called, and snapped the reigns as Beauty leapt to a gallop.

  Hugh watched her race away down the lane, her blue habit flying in the wintry wind, back ramrod straight as she disappeared into the distance. There were very few estates in the vicinity that were ever leased out. Yes, he would definitely find out which one had been let for the winter months, he resolved, as he chirruped his horse into a walk.

  Chapter Eight

  The reputation of the Earl’s gamekeeper as a weather seer appeared to be safe, as the March days quickly warmed up and crocuses and heather sprang into bloom all around Whitethorne cottage. Sally, with Bridget’s local knowledge at her command, was emboldened to get outside and start planting the kitchen garden. Armed with seed potatoes, beets and a variety of legumes judged by Bridget to be hardy enough to thrive, Sally dug in the rich loamy soil, furrowing out rows to be planted with her vegetable starts. Millie had unearthed a pair of gardening gauntlets, and with these remarkable accoutrements completely enveloping her arms from fingertips to shoulders, she reluctantly joined her mistress in the garden.

  “Is this really necessary?” Millie asked plaintively. “I mean, I’ve learned to bake bread and scones, and you are now really very good with the porridge. Is it necessary for us to also grow food?” Millie’s scowl deepened as she distastefully picked up an earthworm with her gloved hands and flung it away. “We can buy anything we need in the village, after all.”

  Sallie grinned at her very correct lady’s maid. “Of course we must! This is what cottage dwellers do, Millie. Besides, it behooves us to be very careful with our money. What we have left has to last us for one year and a half, Millie.”

  “Very well, Miss Sally. But our budget would be helped the most if you would refrain from finding any more mouths to feed. What is to be done with Bridget, Miss? She can not share your chamber forever.”

  A frown crinkled Sally’s smooth brow. “I know. I have been trying to come up with a plan, but so far without success.’ A rueful smile crossed her face. “Bridget has a great many talents. She has taught you to bake, we have not ruined a garment in the wash since she came, and we are learning agriculture from her.” She held up a small seed potato to emphasize this point. “But she seems to lack any curiosity of the world about her. How can she not even know her intended’s address in London? It appears that she never asked him. Or the homes of any of the other maids, so that we could intercept them by way of their families. “

  Millie pulled herself to her feet, and stood, stretching out her back muscles. “I’m afraid my rheumatics are telling me that I am done with this task for today.” She stripped off her gauntlets, and, laying them down, continued. “We must find this Robbie of hers soon, or Whitethorne cottage will have another wee occupant before very long.”

  Sally looked up, her hands busy with the last of the seed potatoes. “As much fun as a baby would be, you’re right, of course.”

  “Fun?” Millie shuddered. “I keep forgetting that you are the youngest of your brothers and have no experience with babies. I would like to assure you that they are decidedly not fun, Miss Sally.”

  Sally smiled at her, shaking her head, and continued, “I will just have to devise a reason to go up to the Castle and find a way to leave a message for the boy. I only hope I don’t run into the old Laird.” A martial light came into her eyes, and her pretty brow lowered. “I’d like to give him a piece of my mind for the way he treated Bridget, of course, but there is always the possibility that he knows me. I can’t remember ever meeting the Earl, but he could be an old crony of Grandmama’s or Papa’s. However, it is a risk I might have to take.” Her temper rising at the memory of Bridget’s maltreatment, Sally shoved the last potato roughly in the ground, as a familiar voice spoke from the cottage’s kitchen door.

  “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it!”

  “Rupert!” Sally exclaimed joyfully, and scrambled to her feet. Looking up, she saw her handsome brother, a look of dismay on his face. “Oh, Rupert. I am so glad to see you!”

  She ran to her brother, who backed off, hands held out to keep her away. His horrified look intensified, as he observed the soil clinging to her fingers and the front of her apron.

  “Stay off, Sally,” he commanded earnestly. “Do not touch me! You look as if you’ve been making mud pies again.”

  A peal of laughter escaped Sally, but she stopped obediently in front of her brother, surveying him in her turn.

  Rupert’s gold curls were carefully arranged in a cherubim style, and in his hands he held a curly brimmed beaver hat. His collar came up about his ears, and an intricately tied cravat cascaded under his chin. A tight fitting coat of blue superfine cloth fell open to reveal a brightly-colored, striped waistcoat, and the ensemble was completed with tight dove-colored pantaloons and shining top boots.

  Sally shook her head back and forth, and a soundless whistle shaped her lips. “Very fine, Rupert! I almost wouldn’t have recognized you. You’ve been to London since I saw you, and to your tailor!”

  Rupert brushed the compliment aside, scrutinizing Sally far less complimentarily. “Well I certainly would not have recognized you, Sally. It would not hurt you to get to a dressmaker yourself. You look a very rustic!”

  Sally looked down at the old dress she had put on for gardening, and was aware that her red-gold curls, never very obedient, were escaping from the knot that had confined them. Her hands were indeed very dirty, and she brushed ineffectively at the mud that caked her apron. She happily was unaware of the smudge of earth on her cheek.

  “Never mind that, Rupert,” she laughed. “I am so happy to see you. Come inside while I wash up, and tell me how you come to be here so soon. I have been longing to see you, but never imagined you would be able to get away in under a month.”

  “I was pretty clever, I don’t mind telling you,” Rupert informed her proudly, following his little sister in to the kitchen. “There was the most awful row when Grandmama sent the message that you were not in the coach when it arrived at Waverly. She found your note, and sent her groom to Denham Park immediately to inform our parents.” Rupert blanched at the memory of their reaction to that communication.

  “Mama has disowned you, I’m afraid,” Rupert informed her, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.

  “Again,” Sally sighed.

  “Again,” Rupert agreed. “But this time Papa has as well. He was outraged, Sally. I feared for his heart, he was so angry. After that he was mostly just sad.”

  Sally raised her chin, and met Rupert’s eyes. “Well, and so was I angry, Rupert. Both Mama and Papa told me that they believed me when I assured them that I had not misbehaved in any way with Simon Atherly, and yet they sent me away.” Sally’s underlying anger surged out. “They can disown me as much as they want. I disown them!”

  Rupert looked at her, shocked. “I say, Sally. I made sure you would be ready to come back by now. I mean, you can’t intend to live like this forever?” He looked around the small kitchen. A bowl of yeasty dough was rising on the back of the stove, and vegetables were piled in the sink, to be prepared for dinner. A small wooden table with four chairs was situated in a sunny patch under the window, and a comfortable chair had been set in front of the fireplace, where Miles sat after dinner, cleaning tackle, or performing some other task. To Sally’s eyes it was comfort
ing and safe; a haven free from censure. She could see the distaste in Rupert’s glance as he looked about. In truth, it was a very humble home, and in comparison to Denham Park, it was a very hovel. Rupert appeared to be sincerely appalled, and Sally knew that his shock was motivated in part by his concern for her welfare.

  Their eyes met, and at the look of dismay on her brother’s face, the angry blue sparks emanating from Sally’s eyes dissipated.

  “Besides,” Sally assured him, as her spurt of temper died down. “It’s not forever. When I turn twenty-one I am moving to Paris, remember?” She dried her now-clean hands, and hung her soiled apron over a hook. “Come and sit with me in the front room. Millie will make us some tea, and I want to hear all about the row.”

  She tugged Rupert by the hand down the gloomy little hall to the sitting room, where Miles was building up the fire.

  “Master Rupert,” he greeted the young man, standing and executing a small bow. “Miss Sally, your wish has been granted this day. She has been longing for a visit from you,” he informed Rupert. “She has me ride into Thorne to check for mail every day, hoping to hear that you would be coming to visit.”

  “I didn’t have time to send a letter,” Rupert said. “Papa sent me to Grandmother’s shortly after he received her letter. I don’t know what he thought I could do, but you know how it is when he gives an order. I didn’t dare ask him what he expected me to accomplish, I just went.”

  “How was Grandmama when you got there?” Sally wondered.