“No.” She was turned around, back into her search. Two more times she came across men whom she was unable to identify. “Ian? James?” This time she was rewarded with laughter all around. “It seems that I am not very good at this.”
“One more try, Eve!” she heard Moira call from across the room. Eve turned in that direction and straight into a solid male chest. It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for her to know to whom it belonged. Francis. Funny that she would know him so quickly.
She flushed and took a step back.
“Name him,” Moira taunted her, knowingly. “You have to guess.”
“It’s…” Eve groped for a name to give credence to a lie that would take her away from him.
“No lying,” he whispered huskily, reading her mind.
Defeated, she hung her head. “It’s Francis.” She pulled off the blindfold and stared up at him.
“Forfeit,” Fiona cried excitedly, for apparently this was her favorite part of the game.
“Forfeit,” others agreed.
Anticipation crackled through the air like lightening, raising the fine hairs on the back of Eve’s neck.
“Forfeit,” Francis whispered, as he lowered his lips to hers.
Chapter 19
Eve snuck down early the next morning to the stables hoping for—no, needing—some time alone after humiliating herself the night before. Blind Man’s Bluff was definitely being stricken from the list of games she was willing to play, especially when Francis MacKintosh was in the room.
But that kiss.
His lips had been firm but soft enough to mold to hers as they met. Her gasp of surprise had allowed the kiss to go deeper. He’d caught first one lip, then the other, moving back and forth before settling in the middle for a long drowning kiss. His hand had caught the small of her back and held her firmly in place as his mouth played on hers. But she’d needed no encouragement to stay. She had, in fact, flung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer for more.
When the kiss had finally ended, embarrassment had suffused her, and it was all she could do to keep from fleeing the room in shame. Abby had insisted that the kiss had only lasted a few seconds, no longer than many of the others, but to Eve it had felt like an eternity. The tightness of her corset had almost brought her to a faint afterwards.
One kiss, and all the promises to behave, all the good intentions, had fled.
But his kiss!
Eve rubbed her ‘lips as the groom, Andy, saddled her horse. Astonishing. If she’d ever thought their first kiss years ago had been amplified in her memory over time, she would’ve been wrong. If anything, it was now more powerful. Consuming. Soulful. It brought want with it. Need. She admitted it. Desire.
She was roused from her daydream as the groom led her mount, Angel, from the stable. The horse was antsy from not being ridden for the past few days and pranced nervously against the reins. Eve approached him with a few cubes of sugar she had brought with her and stroked his forelock as he took the treat.
“He’s a mite wound up today, m’lady,” Andy commented. “Might take him a bit to settle in.”
“That’s alright,” she assured the boy. “I think we could both use a good run today.” She accepted the groom’s help into the side saddle and took several moments arranging her knee in the pommel and settling the skirts of her riding habit properly over her exposed ankles while he held the reins for her.
“Would you like me to ride along with you, m’lady?” the groom asked, after she had settled herself and taken control of the horse.
“No need, Andy,” came a deep voice from behind her. “I’ll accompany Lady Shaftesbury out today.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The groom trotted away.
Ignoring the little shudder of pleasure that passed through her at the mere sound of his voice, Eve turned to see Francis atop a sleek gelding. The view was so spectacular that for a moment all thought fled her mind, and she forgot even how to breathe. His windblown dark hair shone under the morning sun. Hatless, and coatless as well, he had obviously just returned from his own ride. Sweat glimmered at his throat, down the V of his open shirt collar.
Her eyes followed the trail of damp skin, and she swallowed deeply. “I don’t want to be a bother, my lord,” she protested weakly. “I can see you’ve already had a turn about this morning.”
“No bother at all,” he insisted, and turned away, expecting her to follow. The stable was located behind the old castle where most of what was the bailey three hundred years before had long ago crumbled to a large rectangle of fallen walls. He led her from the bailey east across the lawns then along a small trail that led through a copse of trees toward the firth. “In truth,” he continued as she came alongside when the path widened, “I needed some extra exercise this morning. Didn’t sleep well, you know.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did you sleep well?”
Eve considered for a long moment whether to lie to him but simply admitted, “No.”
“That bears some thinking about, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’ve thought about it all I care to for the moment.” Her answer was a bit snippy, but she was in no mood to go into their problems at the moment. She was already confused by the temptation he represented, by the strange lure he cast to leave the trappings of decorum aside, and more profoundly, bewildered by her willingness to do so. She’d wanted time alone to consider these things but that would not happen this morning. “Can we talk about something else, please?” She pointed to a circular building hidden in the trees that bordered the rocky coastline on the Firth of Forth and the beach beyond. “What is that building?”
“The old dovecote,” he answered, allowing her to guide their conversation. “And up ahead is what remains of the old battlements.” He gestured to the remains of the low stone wall that once ran up the coastline. As they came out of the tree cover, Francis pointed farther ahead indicating, the bowling green, and back up toward the castle. “As you can see, the old lass has lost some of her former luster. It’s hard to keep the old castles up and running. The castle fell into disrepair a century past. Restoration takes time.”
“I think you’ve done a wonderful job,” she insisted. “The interior is lovely, and you’ve done well bringing in some modern conveniences.”
“Still, my home at Glen Cairn is much more comfortable. More a manor than a castle and far away from anyone else.” He led the way across the rocky outcroppings leading to the beach. “With the hamlets of Dysart to the north and Kirkcaldy to the south, growing and creeping closer to the castle, Raven’s Craig will be lost to the towns soon. If I did not own all that land, they would probably build right up to the front door. Perhaps one day they will.”
“Luckily you have the bridge and moat to keep them out,” she teased lightly. She followed him out onto the beach where the breeze picked up and toyed with her lace jabot, drawing his attention.
“Have I mentioned that you look exquisite this morning?” She did, indeed. Her velvet riding habit’s long skirt and short tailored jacket were black, offset by the white lace jabot of her blouse and lace at the cuffs with a peacock blue vest under the jacket. Her small black top hat had a band of blue ribbon that just matched her vest and a trio of short peacock feathers accenting the black lace veil tucked around the brim. He felt the now familiar rush of lust she invoked in him and ruthlessly tamped it back down. It would do nothing but alienate Eve if he were to continue to pressure her and seduce her, though he often felt it was all beyond his control when he was with her.
He was astounded again by their mutual attraction. Glenrothes had been certain the disastrous conclusion to his God-forsaken marriage had killed any desire to please or court another lady. His marriage had started out well enough, he supposed. As a gauche eighteen-year-old lad, he had been quite dazzled by Vanessa Fane’s dark, seductive beauty. She had been a flirtatious minx, truth be told, but it hadn’t taken long to see that her flirtation and seduction skills
were not to be limited to her husband. As the years had gone on, Francis had spent more time wallowing in humiliation and anger than any carefree lad should.
Vanessa had made a cuckold of him to the whole of Scotland, publicly and brazenly, while other women tried to comfort him with their effusive assurance that the Countess of Glenrothes must be mad not to want him. He’d spent years making certain that it was commonly known that his marital woes had nothing to do with his proficiency in the bedchamber. She had been gone for almost two years when he had met Eve. He had almost begun feeling like a bachelor once again without his wife’s presence. She had returned a year later with her Spanish lover and had set to living openly with him, making a laughingstock of the MacKintosh name before again fleeing with yet another lover.
There’d never been a duel or fight where Francis had attempted to defend his wife’s honor, for he knew she had none. By the time he’d been able to secure his divorce, Glenrothes had become a stern, bitter man. He knew this about himself and had accepted it, sure that he would remain alone and embittered for the rest of his days.
Was it any wonder he reveled in the feelings Eve roused in him? So easily she revived a part of him he thought long dead and buried. She reminded him that life could be filled with humor, exhilaration, and anticipation for the future. He wanted nothing more than to embrace it all with both hands and never let it go. To run away from the man he had become. And didn’t really like overmuch.
“Thank you,” she responded finally with a blush of pleasure for his appreciative gaze. “You look quite dashing this morning as well.”
“Than—”
“Despite your lack of proper riding attire,” she added, stifling a small grin at his look of affront. “Your mount is quite a nice piece of horseflesh as well.” The thoroughbred gelding was a lovely chestnut with long legs and thick chest.
“As is yours.” He looked over the black mount with its powerful body, long mane, tail, and fetlocks that all nearly brushed the ground. “Frisian, is it not? He’s a beauty.”
Yes, he is. Aren’t you a beauty?” she crooned to the horse who threw back his head as if nodding in agreement. Eve patted Angel’s neck proudly. “My father gave him to me many years ago. Mother fairly swooned to see me atop such a beast. Ladies should have a proper mare to ride, she thought, but Da knew me better than that. Angel is my best boy, aren’t you?”
The horse threw his head again, gaining a laugh from Francis. “Angel, is it? Looks more like the devil to me.”
“Well, he’s as sweet as an angel with me.”
“Is he a runner?”
“Oh, he’s a good runner. Knows he looks magnificent when he does, to be sure. But he’d never beat yours in a race. Yours looks like he was built for speed.”
“Aye, he was. Ran Ascot a few years back.” He went on to tell how the horse had fallen during a race several years before, sustaining injury that had almost had him put down, but Francis had insisted that he could make a full recovery.
“Has he?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
With a kick of his heels, he spurred his mount into action, leaving Eve momentarily in the dust. The next second, she tapped Angel with her quirt, and they were off in pursuit up the sandy beaches of the firth.
As they neared the Dysart harbor about a half mile up the beach, however, the terrain became too rough, and he pulled into a walk as she came alongside. Her cheeks were flushed from excitement and her eyes bright in the morning sun. He’d never enjoyed a sight more.
“My God, you are a bonny lass,” he breathed as he reached out and pulled her over for a quick, but extraordinary, kiss before easing back.
Expecting a harsh rebuke, he was surprised when she merely returned her attention to her mount and cantered a bit ahead of him, leading the way through the rocky harbor area and back onto the sandy beaches on the eastern side.
Eve gave herself a mental shake. One kiss, and a quick one at that, and she was defenseless. She should have at least reprimanded him, if only with a look. Instead, she was so dumbfounded that it was all she could do to continue on. There must be something wrong with her. Morally, she knew she should be disgusted with herself. If it were only sexual, she might have been, but it was more than simple lust.
His touch both settled and invigorated her.
The most simple contact—his hand in hers, his hand on the small of her back—gave her a sense of completion. She felt that as long as he was in contact with her, the world was good. It was as Plato had written: All beings were a circle in the beginning, separated and scattered across the universe, letting destiny bring the two halves back together. If Plato was right and assuming Francis was her other half, then in finding each other, they were a whole.
Complete.
She’d never believed in destiny despite her Catholic upbringing. She had always liked to believe she had some control over what happened, but maybe destiny was right, she thought. If she didn’t fight this thing with him, who knew where it might take them?
Excuses, her more logical half argued. Justification. It wasn’t right, and she must not give into it.
If only they were wed, she thought, before she gasped in distaste at the very idea. Having experienced a marriage that was much more convenient for her husband than it had been for her, Eve knew she didn’t want to give control of her life into a man’s care ever again. It wouldn’t be worth the risk or reward. But Francis was a free man and she an available widow, perhaps she might, maybe, indulge in an affaire de coeur. Widows did it every day, he’d said. Why not she? The idea shocked her, but warmth followed quickly on its heels.
If only there were a way to conduct such an affair with the guarantee that no one else would ever know. As ensconced within the boundaries of propriety as she was, the notion of carrying on an open affair and being subjected to the scorn of her peers was almost enough to put her into a faint. But if it might be done discreetly? An affair with him would be most satisfying, she was sure. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Most satisfying.
She was mad even to consider it.
They rode in silence another mile or so until they reached a short stretch of stone walls and turrets built into the hillside along the beach. Coming to a halt, Eve released her knee and started to drop to the ground but wasn’t surprised that Francis was there to catch her. He lowered her slowly down his body until her toes touched the ground.
His lips met hers lightly but deepened almost immediately into a devouring kiss. She melted into him for a moment, reveling in the passion of his embrace, before turning her head to the side. “You must stop.”
He nuzzled her neck, and she tilted to give him better access in denial of her own words. What he makes me feel! she thought. It wasn’t fair that she could want something as much as she wanted him.
She squirmed out of his arms and stepped back, panting a bit. “Francis, we cannot!”
He ran both hands through his hair, tugging on it in frustration. “Och, ye take me to the edge of insanity, lass. I ken I shouldnae be pursuing you. I ken it.”
Hadn’t he been telling himself just that the entire night? She was a respectable widow. In spite of how much he might want her, she was definitely not typical mistress material, and what else might he offer her? There was so much he could take from her and so little to give in return. He wanted so much from her. He wanted time to be with her, he most certainly wanted her sexually, but he knew it was more than that alone.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest. “But feel my heart race, lass. Ye bring me to my knees like a schoolboy quivering wi’ wanting.”
“What do you want me to do, Francis?” She held her hands out, pleading. “If you continue to seduce me…oh, I know you say you will not do so, but you are! You will succeed. Is that want you want?”
Her admission sent a flare of heat through him, but he knew in that moment that he wanted more than a night with her. He wanted her love, her heart. Yet, on the other
hand, he definitely wanted that night with her.
But at the risk of her reputation? When it meant so much to her?
They rode back to the castle in silence, each alone with their thoughts.
Chapter 20
“Fiona has a certain exuberance about her,” Eve commented lightly as she and Francis sat across the chess board from each other.
Her plan for the afternoon had been rowing on the firth, but since a light rain had taken hold of the day, the afternoon would be spent with games of chance in the parlor. However, he’d lured her into a friendly chess match. Determined to put the events of the morning behind her, she and resolved to keep their conversation polite and neutral, if at all possible. So far, he’d complied with her wishes and kept their banter light and sociable.
“She’s a terrible brat,” he responded, paying more attention to the board than to her, “but I thank you for your kind understatement.”
She grinned and played her knight in a move which baffled him for a moment. “She and Connor also have a strange relationship, to my thinking. They continually bait each other but it isn’t malicious. In fact, they seem to quite enjoy it. Is that typical of large families?”
He glanced over at his siblings who were at present squabbling good-naturedly over a game of faro they had set up. “Aye, I suppose most of them are like that, especially the younger ones.”
“There are so many of you.” She took a deep breath, returning her focus to the game. “I cannot imagine giving birth to so many children.”
Francis pictured her holding their child in her arms and knew he wanted to make that happen—somehow. A child. Their child. His heart clenched with longing and hope. Then he remembered his mother dying as she gave Fiona life. “Mother died birthing my sister.”
“I remember you mentioning that.” Evelyn caressed his hand absently in sympathy. “And your father, when did you say?”
“He died a few years later. Probably couldn’t take us all on so he gave in to go back to her.” He turned his hand to capture hers. “He was a good man, though. I was very proud to have him as my father. I wish the rest of my family could remember him so well.”
All You Could Ask For Page 35
