He was right. It had always been a question of love. To love someone as they were. To not fear the consequences of that love. To have the words spoken to you and be secure in their truth.
Her brow wrinkled then. To have the words spoken to you. To have the words…
“Francis?”
“Mmmmm?”
“I'd be pleased to hear those words again, if you would be so kind,” she said primly.
“What words would those be?” he teased her with a hug.
In mock outrage, Evelyn pushed out of his embrace and moved away from him. Sitting up straight, perched on the edge of the settee with her hands folded in her lap, she tried to look starchy, but failed to suppress a grin. “Truly, my lord, have you nothing to say to me?”
With his arms slung over the back and arm of the settee, hair rumpled and with a languid smile lounging back in the corner of the little sofa, he looked utterly delicious to her mind. Sexy and masculine. “Nothing comes to mind, other than you look silly like that,” he teased.
“You!” She threw herself against his chest and beat on it playfully. “Give up!” she said sitting on top of his chest. The skirt of her black riding habit twisted nearly up to her hips as she straddled him. Her deep golden hair, loose from its pins, fell wantonly about her shoulders. “Admit it!”
“I admit that you don't look at all silly like this.” He ran his hands up her thighs to the tops of her gartered black silk stockings. He gathered up her hair in his hands and brought it to his cheek. “Actually, you look bloody seductive from here.”
Eve leaned over and kissed him warmly and slowly. When his arms came up to hold her, however, she pulled back, her loose hair brushing his face. She watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Her chest twisted almost painfully.
“Say the words, Francis,” she whispered.
He recognized the need in her words and his own chest tightened in response. To say the words, those three simple words. To say them to a woman for the first time in his life. To say them and mean them. It would be the easiest thing he’d ever done, for he did love this woman better than his own life. He opened his eyes. Bright green met dark. He opened his mouth…
He shook his head and closed his mouth. No, that wasn’t quite right.
Pushing himself up and taking her with him, he lifted her into his arms, ignoring her squeal of protest. He carried her over to the fireplace and set her down before it. He arranged her until she sat before him, skirts circled about her, hair pulled over one shoulder and cascading into her lap. He nodded in satisfaction. The firelight flickered across her features and bronzed her glorious hair. It was perfect.
Pulling himself up on one knee, he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. In that moment, her worried expression fled and a love radiated from her eyes. “My lady Evelyn,” he began in a low, husky voice, showing all the emotion pent up inside of him for the past thirty-three years. “Words simply cannot say… they cannot describe the emotion, nor do justice to the feeling I have in my heart for you. It is beyond anything I have ever imagined possible. It fills me and fulfills me.”
His voice caught slightly and he turned his head away. Touched by the obvious depth of feeling he was experiencing and knowing that it was not unlike her own, Evelyn caressed his cheek and started to speak. “Fran –”
He cut off her words with a finger over her lips. “Sweet Eden. I have said before that you are my paradise. There is more truth in that than you can know. You have given me more than I could ever hope to return, but I will try. You have given me your friendship, your passion and your love. And I will give them all back to you tenfold. Most especially my love. You want the words even though they do not say nearly enough. But I will offer them to you. I do love you. More than words. I love you.”
Evelyn was completely overwhelmed by this, so much so that a single tear crept down her cheek. Francis caught it with a finger and raised it to his lips. “My lord, that was…” she trailed off, at a loss for words.
“I'd hear the words in return, my love.”
“Oh God, Francis! I love you! I adore you! Don't you know how much?”
“How much?” he teased, catching her to him and holding her tightly there.
“I love you enough to trust you,” she answered with simple sincerity. She was rewarded with a passionate kiss for her answer, which she returned whole-heartedly.
“Then marry me.”
“No.”
“Marry me!” he insisted harshly.
“I’ll think about it,” she conceded.
Francis fell onto his back with a satisfied grunt and pulled her to sit on top of him. “Now, where were we?” Shoving her skirts up to her hips and tousling her hair, he nodded. “Right about here, I think.” With that, their lips met in a fiery kiss that drove away all other thoughts beyond themselves and that room.
“I would never have thought you to be such a romantic, my lord.”
“I'll show you romance, my lady.” His hands ran down the back of her thighs, sending little shivers through her.
“Will you, my lord? Is it time for romance, yet?” she taunted seductively.
He flipped her over until she lay beneath him, settling snugly between her thighs. “Ahhhh!” the sound was torn from his throat as the hard length of him came into contact with her heat through the barrier of his breeches. Need consumed him, racing frantically through his body, rising swiftly to a feverish pitch. He felt lacking in control, just as he always did when he touched her. He just wanted to touch her, taste her and lose himself in her, to come inside her. He wanted it so badly it hurt! Bloody hell! Romance had no place in this urgent, boiling passion!
“Ahh, paradise,” he panted, his heart pounding against her chest. “Would you think me less of a man if I said it wasn't time for romance yet?”
“Francis,” she whispered, her voice filled with as much need as he felt. “I’d think you less of a man if you said it was.”
“Ahhh God, sweet!” He buried his face into her neck and ripped the bodice of her dress open immediately, capturing an exposed nipple in his waiting lips and sucking hungrily, drawing cries of delighted passion from his prim, proper countess. Cries that drove him even farther out of control.
He pulled at the front of his breeches, popping several buttons before freeing the length of himself from the confinement. He spread her legs farther apart and pulled himself between them. “No, not so fast,” he mumbled to himself against her breast.
He found her with his fingers. To his amazement, she was already warm and wet. He looked down at her face and saw nothing but passion-filled, hungry, green eyes. He cupped her breast and her eyes fluttered closed, a deep moan born in her throat. The Scot bent and caught the other rosy peak in his teeth and teased it with his tongue. Evelyn cried out and wrapped her legs around him.
“Francis!” she cried out. “Please!”
That single word drove Francis over the edge as it always did. Grasping her hips with his big hands, he drove deeply into her and nearly lost himself in that instant, so hot and tight was she. He thrust into her again and again, until her burning, screaming climax erupted his own scalding hot release. He collapsed on top of her, burying his sweaty face against her breast. “Damned if we aren't going to kill ourselves if we go on like this.”
“As long as we go together, I don't care,” she whispered, still holding him tight.
“I'm going to want you every day until that time comes,” he warned.
“That will be my pleasure, my lord.”
Chapter 30
Vanessa Fane MacKintosh sat in her carriage outside Richard MacKintosh’s townhouse and watched for hours, waiting for her husband – …er, ex-husband – to exit the house. She chewed her lip, wondering what to do. It seemed the rumors flowing about town were true. Her husband had taken a mistress after all these years. Not since the first years of their marriage when Glenrothes had set out to prove his skills in the bedchamber to the ladies of Edinburgh
and certainly not since their divorce, had she ever heard the smallest rumor about him taking a paramour. If he had, he’d been discretion personified. But word of this one had gotten around. Not just a courtesan either but an English countess. This noblewoman was a lovely woman, tall and blond. Cool, collected beauty such as hers had never failed to intimidate Vanessa.
Nervously, she worried over her thumbnail. Perhaps she should just take the money Francis had offered and go? Or should she hold out for more? Such a thing would make her a scorned woman, an object of ridicule. But no! She dismissed that idea with a sniff. Surely her father could stifle that as he had before. He wasn’t a man to allow rumor to run rampant about his family.
But Francis MacKintosh was a different man than the one she had married all those years ago. He was so rugged now and his temper was simply exciting. He was no boy any longer, he was truly a man. And God help her, where she had never wanted him before, she wanted him now. But could she get him and his money? That was the question. These past years she had lived only off the monies her husband had bribed her with and gifts given to her by her lovers. But she found as she grew older that lovers were becoming more scarce, wanting younger women, not those in their thirties. And she wanted more security than that. She wanted the freedom to buy whatever she wanted without worrying over her budget. She wanted a satisfying man in her bed.
In short, Vanessa wanted her husband back.
She imagined this new Glenrothes in her bed, imagined those big, muscular arms lifting her petite body. What a delight he would be!
But still there was a problem with her plan and that problem was the Countess of Shaftesbury.
As she chewed anxiously on her fingernail and contemplated the possibilities, the door to the carriage was flung open and, with a squeal of surprise, she watched as a tall, elegant man entered and sat himself comfortably on the seat opposite her. He straightened his jacket and tipped his hat at her while she gawked at him in shock. “Lady Glenrothes,” he addressed her, his voice bearing the softly cultured tones of London’s best. “It appears that we have something in common. Might we take a drive through the park and discuss it?”
Chapter 31
Abby and Moira were awaiting Eve when she arrived in the parlor late that afternoon. After the fervor of their initial lovemaking, Francis had carried her to the bed and made love to her once more before she had fallen asleep in his arms. While their second bout had begun more slowly than the first, their passion had again taken their control, culminating in the frantic joining it usually did. So worn out were they, sleep had claimed them both. It had been a disappointment to wake alone. Oh, she realized it was for the best, and that she should be thankful that Francis was providing the discretion she herself was lacking. But she had wanted very badly to awaken in his arms!
“So,” Moira drawled saucily as Eve joined them, “Glenrothes left a while ago, whistling merrily. He’ll be back for dinner later, by the by. I take it you’ve patched up your differences then?”
Eve blushed hotly and took a cup of tea from Abby, ignoring their questioning looks.
“He says that he’ll be staying in town for the remainder of the Season,” Abby added casually, though her eyes were twinkling and full of curiosity. “He hasn’t done that in more than five years! He said something about having some business to take care of here.”
“I can just imagine what his business is!” Moira chimed in, sotto voce, earning herself a sock in the arm from Eve as she did so.
“Moira MacKenzie!”
“Ouch!” Moira grumped as she rubbed her sore arm. “I say! That was uncalled for! Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, assessing Eve’s rosy cheeks, “so how was your afternoon nap, Eve? Hmm? Appears to have been a good one…” She touched a spot below Eve’s eye and teased, “doesn’t look like you got much sleep though!”
Abby socked Moira on the other arm. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“Stop teasing Eve, Moira,” Abby said sternly. She regarded Eve over the rim of her daintily held teacup before setting it aside. “Alright then, Evie, let’s get right to the point of it.”
“Point of what?” Eve asked suspiciously.
Abby’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Tell us… how was Francis MacKintosh?”
“Abygail Merrill!” Eve gasped and flushed in astonishment, chastising Abby much as she would have in school to mask her embarrassment. “How can you ever ask such a thing of me?”
“Must have been pretty good then,” Moira confirmed with a broad grin, while Abby nodded in return. “Yes, the cheeks are rosy, the smile won’t seem to go away entirely, the tension in her posture seems to have diminished…” Moira ticked off the results of the previous evening and that afternoon on her fingers.
“What would you know of it, Moira?” Eve ducked her chin in embarrassment and patted her cheeks as if to assess the rosiness of them herself.
“Oh, she has books!” Abby offered, raising her teacup in salute. “Don’t worry about Moira, she might know more than both of us put together!”
“I believe in a well-rounded education!” Moira defended with a wicked smile. “But let’s get back to the matter at hand.” She turned to Eve again. “Well?”
Eve was curious about Moira’s education and resolved to ask about it later. She waffled a moment in the impropriety of her evening before confessing, “It was wonderful!” She blushed again over the admission.
“I knew it!” Moira crowed.
“As it was last night as well.”
“Evelyn Preston!” they exclaimed in unison.
“And he asked me to marry him,” Eve added with a shaky smile.
Her two friends squealed and reached over to embrace her. “Oh, Eve!” Abby gushed. “I knew it would happen! I just knew it! Francis is a different man when he’s with you and I’m sure he knows you would never treat him as Vanessa did. I’m so glad he worked up the nerve to ask!”
“When’s the wedding?” Moira asked.
Eve flushed a bit and shook her head. “Well, there isn’t going to be one.”
“You’re eloping?” Moira squawked in disbelief. “You!?”
“No, actually I told him no.”
It took several moments for the two women to pick their jaws up off the floor before they bombarded her with more questions.
Chapter 32
Late the next afternoon, Francis stormed into his study and paced furiously, surprising Richard and Jack as they took their brandy near the fireplace. They watched in silence as he paced in anger, then stopped and slapped his riding crop viciously against the desk several times before throwing it in the fireplace.
Richard and Jack exchanged looks, then Richard drawled in a bored tone, “Something amiss, brother?”
“Aye! Women!”
“Ahhh,” Richard nodded studying his fingernails nonchalantly.
“Perhaps it is just one woman in particular who is bothering you,” Jack observed, swirling his brandy about the snifter. “Which is it? The one who won’t come to you or the one who won’t go away?”
“That bitch!” Francis swore, tossing the remains of the crop into the fire.
“Well, I guess that answers that question.” Jack’s thick burr purred through the room as he shared a significant look with Richard. “What has she done now?”
“Nessa has been spreading rumors around town today that I abused her and threatened her to leave town when we were wed and that she had fled in fear for her very life before I divorced her! James, too, heard at the hotel that she’s saying I threatened to kill her.”
“I might be wrong here,” Jack drawled, “but didn’t you do just that?”
“No in so many words,” Francis denied, pouring himself a brandy and downing it in a single gulp before pouring another. “I never threatened it verbally, regardless of how many times I thought it, but what can she think to gain by spouting such bile? What can the sympathies of Society bring her?”
“Vanessa isn’t the brightest lass in the wor
ld, but even she knows not to air her laundry to the entire town. She must have a purpose in doing so,” Richard commented thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is thinking that if she gains the sympathies of the ladies of the local Society, she will be allowed back within their fold.”
“But that would indicate that she is planning to stay here,” concluded Jack. “Surely the bitch must know that her true colors will fly and be recognized quickly. She might get back into the fleet but they will broadside her just as quickly.”
“True enough analogy,” Francis agreed, taking a more reasonable sip from his libation as he joined the men before the fire. “Discretion has never been her strong suit. She made a cuckold of me brazenly and publically. Surely Society hasn’t forgotten that.”
“And in turn, you humiliated her publically by divorcing her in the Queen’s own courts,” Jack reminded. “A bit of revenge, you think?”
“She hasn’t attempted to regain a place in Edinburgh Society before, usually favoring London or Paris. Why now?” Francis wondered. “She must have some motive to face the cut most would give a divorcée of her reputation.”
Richard rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I wonder if we could get someone close enough to her to find out what she is up to.”
“Who would do that?” Jack snorted into his brandy.
Francis and Richard shared a speaking glance before both turned to Jack expectantly. Catching their look, Jack glanced in confusion between the two for a moment before his face lit with comprehension. “Hell, no! Don’t look at me! I hate that bitch!”
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