How to Train Your Baron

by Diana Lloyd

  “He thought you rash. And Scottish.” She smiled sweetly. “But I threw myself at his feet, weeping and proclaiming my affection for you, and he at last relented.”

  “And we were married by the end of the week because…?”

  “Your business in town was finished, and we could not bear to wait to begin our life together.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to repeat that tale without bursting into flames?”

  “You were finished with your business in London, weren’t you?”

  “I was lucky enough to find a suitable man…” He let his words fade into nothing as he realized he was about to reveal too much to her. She’d done it again. It was dangerous to underestimate her, all the more reason to send her away. “Yes. My work there was done.”

  “Then our story stands.” She crawled into the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Do you agree to promote it and keep our true circumstances a secret?”

  “Aye. I agree.”

  “Good. I should not like to be the laughingstock of all of Scotland, too.”

  “You’ll not be the one they’re laughing at.”

  …

  Edinburgh was a busy vibrant city, much like the London Elsinore was missing so keenly. It took a quarter hour of artful negotiation to convince Quin to allow her an hour to shop while he and the coachman arranged their travel to Stirling. The stalwart Angus was charged with positioning himself at her elbow and threatened with bodily harm if he let her out of his sight for as much as a second. Quin surrendered her allowance, insured Angus was armed, and finally, reluctantly, bid them a pleasant afternoon.

  “Are you familiar with Edinburgh, Angus?”

  “Burruh.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Edin-burruh, that’s the name of this town. The way you say it marks you as a Sassenach for sure. Shopkeepers will notice. Take advantage of you, they will.”

  It was the most she’d ever heard the man speak in the week she’d known him. “Thank you, Angus. I don’t suppose you’d know if there is a booksellers nearby I could pop into for a moment?”

  “High Street. ’Tis not far.”

  She quickly found a copy of Oglethorpe’s Treatise. It was a newer edition than the one in her brother’s library, but it would do. The shopkeeper was about to wrap the book for her when she had an inspiration. “Sir, would you happen to have any…” She chose her next words very carefully. “My husband asked me to inquire after Gentlemen’s guides. With the hand-colored engravings,” she added. “Perhaps from India, their artwork is always so vibrant.” She smiled sweetly as she asked, hoping to keep a blush from blooming across her cheeks.

  He shook his head, but as she took out her full coin purse, he seemed to rethink his response. “One moment.” He finally grunted out and fumbled through a set of keys at the end of his watch chain. Unlocking a cabinet underneath the counter, he plucked a thin volume from the dark recesses and slid it across the counter.

  It was smaller than the book in her brother’s library, but with Angus so near she didn’t dare open it up to look through it. The man might be illiterate, but the pictures would be enough to let him know what she was up to. She could only hope the small volume contained enough illustrations to keep her and Quin busy for quite some time. “This one will do, I guess,” she said, tossing it on back the counter. The proprietor’s face suggested that he was more than familiar with the contents of her choice.

  “It’s a gift for my husband,” she explained. “He’s a collector.”

  “Och, I’ll bet he is. That’ll be a guinea from you, madam.”

  “A guinea! That’s ridiculous, sir. I’ll give you a half-crown and no more.”

  “You’ll give me a crown and six pence, or your husband can collect his books elsewhere.” He reached for the book and his keys.

  “One crown.” Angus placed his burly hands on the counter and leaned toward the shopkeeper. “’Tis a wee book.”

  “One crown,” the shopkeeper agreed, and Elsinore placed the coin on the counter between the two men. Angus hovered menacingly as her purchases were wrapped and tied up into a tidy square.

  “Thank you, Angus.” They were out the door and down the street before she found her voice again.

  “His lordship has plenty of books, if that’s what you like, milady.”

  “He doesn’t have any like these.” Clutching her precious parcel to her chest, they made their way back to the docks where Quin and the coachman were waiting.

  “Did you find a boat for our passage?”

  “Ship, mo chèile. A boat is what you board when your ship starts sinking. Aye, the Mergory will take us up the Forth all the way to Stirling. It doesn’t leave until first light though, so we’ll have an evening in Edinburgh. I’m afraid with our early departure it’s best we stay near the docks. The accommodations might be a little less than desirable.”

  “Anything would be better than bouncing around inside your coach for another week. I think I can put up with rough circumstances for one evening.”

  “Looks like you found the shopping satisfactory,” he said, nodding toward her paper wrapped package. “Let me guess—volumes of Byron’s poetry?”

  “Clever man. Something like that.” She could only smile as he offered his arm to lead her to supper.

  The public house was large, loud, and bustling with all sorts of characters and activity. Elsinore heard more than one English accent, along with several others within the crowd. The meal, typical seaside fare, consisted of fresh mussels, followed by a thick and hot bowl of cullen skink served with a knot of warm brown bread. This was followed by a filet of finnan haddie with a dollop of pease pudding. Next came a choice of creamed carrots or tatties and neeps. A cup of wine punch was served along with a tray of assorted cheeses. Lastly, a lovely dessert of sweet biscuits with anise seed was presented with a good strong tea.

  “This is the best meal we’ve had since our wedding supper.” Elsinore wiped her hands on her napkin and set it aside. “Please tell me your cook is this skilled.”

  “Brigit does well enough. No one will ever starve to death at Lochwode, that’s for sure.” Quin’s expression grew serious as he pushed his plate away. “My father took her on as scullery when she was just a wee girl. She was wandering around with a group of women and children displaced by the uprising. The men in her clan were all killed, imprisoned, or transported and their homes burned to the ground.”

  “Such a sad life, I can hardly imagine it.” Elsinore shook her head. “How fortunate for her that your family took her on.”

  “I do not tell you her story to make you pity her. It is easier to tolerate her…peculiarities when one has an understanding of where she came from. Brigit is well aware that under different circumstances she’d be the mistress of a large house and not its servant. Age hasn’t diluted her bitterness. Best for you to go canny around her at first until you two get accustomed to each other.”

  “Was that a warning?”

  “Simply an observation based upon experience.” He reached over and covered her hand with his. “It’ll be fine.” His lips formed a reassuring smile, yet his eyes remained serious as the grave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Introduce new skills to your new hound one at a time. Overwhelming your pup is a sure way to produce a nervous hound.” Oglethorpe’s Treatise on the Obedient Canine

  The dockside boardwalk was still full of people as they left the pub to enjoy a walk while the sun set over the city. There were sailors fresh from sea voyages, with sun-reddened skin dressed in clothes worn and faded by salt water. Travelers trudged along, luggage-laden servants in tow, all only hours away from arrivals or departures. Among the crowd, Elsinore caught the eye of a young woman near her own age and smiled.

  Perhaps this woman was also a new bride in a new city. Oh, how she wished she could stop and speak, ask how she was holding up under the strain of a new marriage and, perhaps, share a few of her worries as well. But the woman a
nd her escort passed by without a word, and Elsinore blinked an unexpected tear from her eye. She never imagined she’d be missing her sisters’ unsolicited advice and needling. But she was.

  Less than a fortnight ago she’d been handed off to a man who was barely more than a stranger to her and into a marriage neither one really wanted. Now, hundreds of miles from her home in a country where she was still considered the enemy long after hostilities had ceased, she was very much alone. She had no maid, no confidant, and for the first time in her life, no family nearby preening, prodding, and pushing her along into society.

  “Tired?” Quin reached and brushed at a stray lock of hair. “I’m afraid the best room I could find was in a dockside convent. I hope it willna bother you too much.”

  “I doubt they’ll be praying loud enough to disturb my slumber.”

  Quin laughed. “A dockside convent isna quite what it sounds like. It’s a place for…well, it’s a brothel. Do ye know what that is?”

  “A bawdy-house?” Elsinore stopped and stared at him. “A real bawdy-house? I’ve heard of them of course, mainly in whispers, I assure you, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

  “Elsinore, ye are the only woman I know who would get excited about seeing a brothel.” Quin laughed again and shook his head.

  Their room was elegant in a gaudy sense, the linens bright red with gold tassels, ruffled and flounced black bombazine draperies covered the room’s lone window, the wallpaper a faded gold with fleur-de-lis embossing. “How…colorful.” Elsinore eyed the bed, wondering how much use it had seen.

  “It is just the one night,” Quin offered half-heartedly. “It was all that was available within walking distance of our ship. If it offends ye too much, we can always sleep in the coach for the night.”

  “As long as the linens are clean I’ve no aversion to spending one night.” She pulled back the sheets to find them freshly laundered and smelling faintly of lavender. Reassured, she sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced a few times, finding it soft and comfortable. Elsinore tried to smile, but just then the muffled sound of an enthusiastic coupling from the room next door echoed through the wall. “Oh, my!”

  “Come, Elsinore, let’s find the coach.” Quin reached down and picked up the portmanteau he’d set on the floor inside the door.

  She shook her head. “I heard worse from the parrot at the menagerie. I’m just so tired of the coach.” Truth be told, for what she had planned that night, the atmosphere might be just the thing.

  Elsinore slid the new volume in between the folds of her dressing gown before stepping behind the dressing screen to change. Last night, she recalled with a sly smile, he’d untied the ribbon on her nightgown with his teeth. Tonight, inspired by their licentious surroundings, she hoped to show him exactly how much she enjoyed his attentions.

  Placing the book on the small washstand, Elsinore gathered her courage, closed her eyes, and opened it to a random page. She pointed to a spot on the page and slowly opened her eyes. As the illustration she’d chosen came into focus, her hand flew to mouth to cover her gasp of shock.

  “Do you need assistance?” Quin asked from beyond the screen.

  “No,” she chirped, her voice sounding shrill in the small gaudy room, and she heard Quin’s boots on the floor as he took a step closer. “I’ll just be another moment,” she called out, forcing her voice into nonchalance. She studied the illustration with renewed interest, trying to commit it to memory. Her leg went where? Oh, so that must be his leg, wait, what was she doing with her mouth? Oh. Oh, dear.

  “I guess I need you after all.” She stepped out from behind the screen wearing nothing but a chemise.

  “Need me to what?” Quin asked, closing the space between them.

  “You misunderstand. I just need…you.”

  His expression quickly changed as he caught her meaning. “I am at your service, madam.” He finished with an elegantly executed bow.

  With temerity she wasn’t sure she possessed, she reached out and tugged at his cravat. The intricate knot slipped free, exposing a triangle of flesh above his shirt collar. She drew the cloth away slowly, letting the warm silk brush against his skin.

  “It appears you’ve been inspired by our surroundings.” Quin reached up and rubbed his neck where the fabric tickled.

  “Perhaps.” Elsinore reached out and unfastened the top button of his waistcoat. There were no more words as the last of his clothing was loosened, pushed aside, and eventually discarded. When he took a step toward the bed she stopped him. “No, please. I want to look at you.”

  He made no effort to cover himself as she ran her hands over the planes of his body. Her hands moved from his arms to his chest, pausing to pay special attention to the flat, dark nipples nestled within his chest hair. There were three thin white lines etched into his flesh just below his left shoulder.

  “What’s that?” she asked, skimming her fingers over them.

  “Clawed by a bear.”

  “Very funny.”

  When he leaned in for a kiss she ducked away and skimmed her hands up and over his shoulder to explore his broad, muscular back. “You’ve a scar here,” she remarked as her fingers encountered a jagged change in skin texture. “Another bear attack?”

  “Thrown from my father’s horse when I was just a wee lad. Landed on the gate and cut myself something fierce.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you weren’t supposed to be on that horse?”

  “You’d be right. I was all of four or five years old, and I thought I was too old for a pony. The groom had my father’s horse saddled, and I took it to prove I could do it. I’d have been fine if that rabbit hadn’t bolted across the yard just then.”

  Elsinore reached down and gave his bare bottom a little slap. “That’s for taking the horse without permission and almost getting yourself killed.”

  “If you plan on punishing me for all my past sins, we’ll be standing here all night.”

  She kept her hands moving as he spoke, learning his body, memorizing the muscle, and taking advantage of the rare opportunity to see him bared before her in the lamplight. “You’re really quite beautiful you know,” she said, stepping back to get a better look.

  “Oh, lass, that is what I should be saying to you. If I haven’t yet told you how beautiful you are to me, then I deserve to be punished.” He reached out to her as he spoke. “I should tell you every day that you are too beautiful for the likes of me.”

  Serenaded by the sounds of the busy port settling into its night life, waves lapping rhythmically against wooden hulls, and bells chiming in the breeze that rustled sailcloth on the ships docked nearby, she stepped into his arms and they began to sway as if dancing to the sound of faraway music.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, placing a kiss at her temple.

  “Your kisses are most diverting, sir.”

  “You had a plan, then? Sorry to keep you from it.”

  “To the bed with you.” Placing her palms flat against his bare chest, Elsinore gave him a playful shove.

  “Happy to oblige.” When he turned to crawl into the bed, she gave him another playful smack.

  Despite all they’d shared, she didn’t yet have the nerve to leave the candle burning for the task she’d chosen to perform. Stalling for a few more moments to gather her resolve, she pursed her lips and blew out the flame, plunging the room into darkness. When she finally crawled under the covers, she stilled his hand when he reached for her. “Lie back,” she instructed.

  His hand slipped away, but she could feel his hesitation against her skin. “I need to do something. That is, I want to do something.” Unsure of how to begin, Elsinore ducked her head under the covers.

  “Have you lost an ear-bob or something?” he asked, lifting the blanket to peer at her in the darkness.

  Taking one deep, fortifying breath, Elsinore placed a trembling hand on his chest and slowly slid it downward, brushing her fingertips against his warm skin.

  “Oh.�
��

  “Do you mind?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “I… Och.”

  She wished she had thought to leave the candle lit, because in this moment she truly wished to see his reaction. Wanted to witness his body’s transformation, wanted to witness the expression on his face. Would he be looking at her with astonishment? Disgust? Or could she hope for the slightest reflection of love?

  He was already warm and hard when she made her way through the coarse curls. She dared to touch him and heard his sharp intake of breath as she closed her fingers around him. Exploring at her leisure, Elsinore indulged every secret curiosity she’d harbored about his anatomy since their wedding night.

  “Elsinore, you’re driving me mad…”

  An uncommon feeling of power settled over her, and she smiled into the darkness. He was at her mercy. Thinking of the illustration that had led her to be so bold, Elsinore licked her lips and leaned down to kiss the tip of his hardened manhood.

  “Mo chèile…” he purred in the warm caramel voice she’d come to love. It was all the permission she needed to complete the act. Timidly, at first, and then with quickly growing confidence as she heard Quin moan with pleasure, she used her lips and tongue to explore him further. Running her tongue down his length, she memorized the texture of warm skin stretched tight and hard, the salty taste of flesh, and the scent that was uniquely him.

  Caressing her hair and cradling her head, Quin guided her until she found the rhythm that pleased them both. Feeling bold and powerful, Elsinore cast away all inhibitions. Her hands caressed as she kissed, licked, and sucked until she felt every muscle in his body go rigid.

  “Elsinore,” he choked out before he grabbed at her shoulders and pulled her away, gathering her to his chest. Just when she began to worry she’d gone too far and hurt him, he shuddered beneath her with a groan. He took a few more ragged breaths before his breathing returned to normal. “Elsinore,” he repeated, this time in a reverent whisper.

  “Was I finished?”