Aria pressed forward and without preamble climbed in his lap. Pressed so close, Hector felt the soft mounds of her breasts on his chest and desire to have her, wholly and completely, started to build in his groin. As he felt his manhood start to stiffen, the small sliver of rationality he still had realized that if he let this go any further, the both of them would regret it in the morning.
He hated pulling away from her lips but had to as his lust was growing too quickly for his liking. The only thing he felt at that moment was to bed her, but to do so was too quick. They had met only three times, for God’s sake.
“Aria--” Hector stifled a groan at the yearning in her eyes. Her look was severely contesting his decision to stop and to make it worse, she had just licked her lips to make them wet and tempting, an unconscious move, he was sure.
“We cannae do this lass. It’s too soon an’ nae matter how I want ye, ye aren’t prepared fer this kind o’ love. Please tell me tae stop… or I’ll happily bed ye right here. What d’ye say, lass?”
Chapter 12
Victoria knew that she had just been asked a question, but she’d be damned if she understood it. For the first time in her life, she felt something like liquid fire racing through her body at Hector’s kiss. What had possessed her to kiss Hector first, Victoria had no idea, but she wasn’t regretting it now.
When he had kissed her the day before, Victoria had gone back to her room still mired in disbelief, but when the night had fallen, she had deeply hoped that he would kiss her again. His lips had evoked a sensation deep within her that she feared was lust, but how could she be in such deep want after barely knowing the man?
Blinking, she found herself a handbreadth away from darkened green eyes and then felt a thick ridge under her bottom and knew that was Hector’s manhood.
“Oh, God,” Victoria groaned in embarrassment and buried her head into Hector’s shoulder, with a humiliated red hue crawling up her neck to burn her cheeks crimson. How could she have been so brazen to sit on his lap without his permission? Was she a tart? No, she was raised better than that.
Taking in a deep breath, Victoria whispered in his neck, “I’m so sorry, Hector, I don’t know what came over me. Climbing on you was…shamefully impulsive.”
Just when she had expected him to agree with her, he laughed. It was not a simple one, but a deeply resonant laugh that made Victoria confused until he spoke, “Nae, it’s no’. Ye just made alive tha’ passion restin’ inside ye, there’s no need tae be ashamed.”
Pulling away, but not ready to meet his eyes, she sat back in her original spot and turned away only to feel Hector prod her head up. His face was lit with amusement, and his dancing green eyes showed it. “Trust me when I say, I cannae wait till ye release all that passion, Aria.”
His voice had gone all deep and husky, and Victoria felt a soft flutter in her stomach. Common sense told her they did need to stop or the end would be something she would regret, even though large parts of her being did not want to. “I agree. We need to stop.”
“Aye,” Hector replied, “But ye need no’ be so far from me.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but Victoria allowed herself to be tugged into Hector’s side, “Tell me more aboot yer childhood, lass.”
Victoria tensed for a moment before she forced herself to relax and feeling his warmth under her cheek, Victoria said, “It’s not much to tell, I’d rather hear about yours. What is Scotland like?”
Resting on his chest, Victoria wasn’t aware of how Hector had slanted a suspicious look at her, but she was aware when he started speaking, his deep voice accented by his lyrical brogue as he told her what it was like growing up in the Highlands.
“Me Da started me trainin’ at a young age. Tha first time I touched a sword I was aboot six years an’ it was tha heaviest thin’ I had e'er lifted - I e'en fell o’er once or twice - and ye’d think I was laborin’ under steel but I was only handlin’ wood. Wood, Aria! I was a scrawny lad then, with arms nae bigger than a twig…”
Sitting in the waning day, Victoria listened to frank recounts from Hector, how he met his best friend who was chasing after a chicken in the courtyard of his castle and sent both of them to the ground. He told her how he nearly drowned both him and his friend Donald in the loch nearby their castle by trying to brave the rapids there. Hector spoke so fondly of the other man that Victoria wanted to meet him.
He was in the middle of telling a daredevil tale about attempting to tame a wild horse when Victoria had to regretfully stop him. Pulling away from Hector’s warmth felt like she was severing a part of herself - which in itself told her this attachment to the man was not normal – and it was terrifying.
“Ye’ve got tae go, dinnae ye?” Hector said astutely.
“Yes,” Victoria replied with lips pressed in regret, knowing that if she stayed too long she would have a lot of explanations to make and she wanted to avoid that. “I do have to go.”
Hector’s large hand framed the side of her head, his callused fingers slipping into the loose braid before he leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead. “Keep sweet, Aria.”
Forcing her head to stay in the same position when she really wanted to tilt her face up and kiss him, Victoria pulled away with a small smile on her face, “And stay strong Hector. We will find your brother.”
Walking away with Hector’s eyes in the middle of her back was hard but she did it and took the same diverting way, to the front of the property, but instead of doubling back she waited to see if he had followed her. He didn’t, so she went inside the manor.
Inside the dark servant corridor, she shot a reluctant look to the direction she had come from, where Hector had been, then continued up the stairs and into the manor proper. She was still feeling the residual effects of Hector’s kiss pulsing through her body - the heat, the desire, and the crippling want - but knew there would be consequences if she ever allowed herself to fall under her desire.
Sensibly, a part of Victoria knew that she couldn’t keep this charade up for much longer as Hector’s questions were getting too close. Her lie about living close to the manor was the first one he might see through as the manor had more than a hundred acres of land. How close could she live to get here and walk the grounds without being exhausted?
It was dismal, she knew, but she needed Hector to trust her before the truth about who she was came out. Victoria entered her quarters in silent anxiety and instantly, her eyes were drawn to her covered supper and a letter placed beside it. She lifted the cover to see a plate of tender beef cuts and warm bread slices, squares of butter in a separate dish, and a cup of warm tea.
After washing her hands in a basin behind the bathing screen, Victoria took a slice of bread, buttered it thinly and ate it to relieve her slight hunger and took a few sips of her tea. With her appetite somewhat appeased, she brushed her hands off in the napkin and opened the letter that, by the script on the back, was from her father.
My Dear Daughter Victoria,
While I am still mired in attending to the matters of the Crown and in the midst of longing to put these problems behind me, I have received a welcomed notification that Mr. Keating is assiduous in courting you, my child. I am overjoyed with this report. Even as you are without a proper chaperone currently, I have granted Mr. Keating permission to visit you as I am sure that Miss Willow will be a suitable chaperone in my absence.
Instantly, the meager strains of hunger the young lady had left were gone and were replaced with repugnance. Her hands trembled with anger at how her father had overlooked her declaration that she wanted nothing to do with this man and had gone and given Mr. Keating leeway to court her. Her chest was filled with angered dismay. How could her father betray her in such a manner? She felt hard-pressed not to rip the letter into pieces and scatter the shreds to the winds but forced herself to read the rest.
I know you will not understand it now, Victoria, but this is for your well-being. Mr. Keating is in a position that is enviable for su
ch a young man, as he is accomplished and wealthy. He can and surely will afford you a comfortable life with many pleasures to be had. I am only looking out for your best interests, dear daughter – as any loving father should.
Father
Geoffrey’s last words did mollify her anger to some extent, but the knowledge that he had gone behind her back to give her off to Mr. Keating like some prized chattel still irked her.
Dropping the letter, Victoria sagged into her seat as indignation filled her. If her father and Mr. Keating had their way, she would be married off and whisked away to Elsworth before the year was done. Abandoning her food, she wrapped her arms around her and went to her window.
The words of the poem she had written came to her like a cruel taunt:
“Rather I a hidden sin, a secret love spun at night and ring-less hand at morn, than wed to one that I knew I would scorn.”
If she did get married to Mr. Keating she knew she would scorn him. The mere memory of the man’s pompous manner sent shudders of disgust through her. She briefly wondered what she could do to disallow his attention but she knew that acting in any impolite and disrespectful way would chafe her very character.
Going back to her desk, she covered the dishes and went to change her clothes to a nightgown and robe. Seated at her vanity, Victoria’s eyes widened a bit at the look of her plump kissed lips.
Thank God she hadn’t met anyone coming in! They would have taken one look and knew she had been indecorous, and that would spawn questions - questions she could not answer. Sighing, Victoria unbraided her hair and brushed her hair out, curled it, and then went to bed with dread as a heavy brick in her stomach.
Sitting quietly in the cavernous library, Victoria was listlessly paging through an old poetry book when Ruth knocked politely. Looking up briefly, Victoria dully said, “Ruth, I suppose you have come to charge me into eating something more than tea and biscuits?”
“No, my child,” Ruth replied, “I have come to tell you that Mr. Keating is in the foyer and he is requesting an audience with you.”
Not even having the strength to sigh, as she had known this was coming all along, Victoria stood nodded, and said, “Thank you, Ruth,” while thinking, To the gallows I go.
While descending the stairs, Victoria once more addressed the black-clad woman who was beside her, “I do hope that you know that my father has nominated you as the chaperone for these visits?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Ruth replied. “I have been so ordered.”
When the two entered the foyer, Mr. Keating was standing with his back to them as he was perusing the grounds from the large window. His arms were clasped behind him, over his dark green silk coat, grey breeches, and sterling white stockings.
“Mr. Keating,” Ruth called over. “Lady Victoria Moore is present.”
The man turned and bowed, “Lady Victoria, your beauty never fails to enamor me just as your wit has. I have hoped - no prayed - that your disposition was not irrevocably decided against me after your polite refusal days ago.”
But it is, Victoria thought a little viciously but could never dare say so in words. Her smile seemed soft but a little brittle at the edges if you looked closely, “You abuse my nature, good sir, my reservations of your disposition can only be darkened by your actions.”
Mr. Keating’s head tilted to the side, “And I endeavor to not sully them. I have observed, by the way, that you have a magnificent green. May I walk with you, Lady Victoria?”
Oh, what curse is this to be subjected to his presence more? Victoria wondered crossly, nevertheless her manners overshadowed her emotions.
“Yes, you may,” Victoria replied graciously. “Miss Willow, please fetch my parasol.”
“Right away, My Lady,” Ruth replied and with a bobbed curtsey, left the room.
“Excuse me, but shouldn’t a lady of her age and status be retired?” Mr. Keating asked the moment Ruth’s back left the room. “What help can she be to you when she will soon need a nurse?”
Instantly, Victoria felt insulted on her part and on Ruth’s, “Tread carefully, Mr. Keating. Miss Willow is a long-standing member of this house, and I count her my family. I doubt you would be pleased if I were brash enough to censure one of your household.”
The man’s blue eyes seemed unfazed, “My apologies, My Lady, I meant no harm by a mere observation.”
“Lady Victoria,” Ruth said as she reentered the room with the French parasol in hand, “Here you are, My Lady, your parasol.”
“I am armed, Mr. Keating,” Victoria said, brandishing the laced umbrella. “We can now walk.”
“Please,” Mr. Keating gestured, ahead, “After you.”
Turning away, Victoria left the room with Mr. Keating beside her and Ruth following a discreet length behind. They took a small gate to the side which, by a short gravel walk, led them to the main garden. The span had a green laurel hedge, while circles of cornflowers, poppies, and marigolds dotted on the lawn.
“My Lady, your Manor is spectacular,” Mr. Keating said, while looking around. “Your gardener has decorated your lawn beautifully.”
“He was loaned to us from His Majesty,” Victoria replied. “The Crown even provided the seedlings for all the plants.”
“That is a magnanimous gift from the King, but no doubt well deserved for your family,” Mr. Keating replied while fingering the silky petals of a rose, “As I understand it, Duke Crowland is at London at the moment, correct?”
Victoria took care to not frown at the sudden change of subject.
“He is, as you verily know, having contacted him there,” Victoria replied while skirting a patch of tangled grass, “I have not much information but I understand there is a situation in the Colonies that includes our men and the French. He is with the Lords there gathering their combined powers to assuage the situation.”
“I have always admired your father, Lady Victoria.” Mr. Keating replied, “Your whole lineage, in fact. Υour grandfather, the late Duke of Crowland, was a man worthy of admiration. His policies on revenue collection and military affairs were so intricately planned that I know he was a master strategist. Do you have an interest in politics, Lady Moore?”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed, “Not much, to my discredit, but clearly you do.”
Mr. Keating took her words as an invitation to delve into a monologue about the country’s policies and legal affairs to which Victoria could only hum her agreements. Five minutes in, while Mr. Keating vacillated between speaking about the land’s laws and praising her father, she realized what he was after. The louse was seeking her hand in marriage in order to get a place in her father’s office – glory-seeker, indeed.
“Mr. Keating,” Victoria cut in the middle of his soliloquy about a trade law with Ireland. “The sun is getting warmer and I fain I should faint in this heat, may we go back?”
The man seemed to jerk out of his mind and nodded, “My apologies, My Lady, for boring you. I do get enthused when I speak about politics.”
No one can doubt that, Victoria drawled mentally as they turned around, and went back to the house. Just as she hoped to get rid of him, a man was standing at the door, dressed in carriage driver livery.
“Lady Moore, Mr. Keating,” The man bowed, “My apologies sir, but one of the carriage’s wheels is splintered but it is now being repaired. It should be done in an hour or less, sir.”
Another hour with this man, what fresh hell is this? Victoria groaned.
If Victoria had looked at Mr. Keating in that moment, she would have seen the satisfied smirk on his face and his approving nod to his servant.
“Please see to it, Mr. Pearson,” Mr. Keating replied with a wave. “I hate to prolong my presence, Lady Victoria, but may I wait here for the hour?”
“Of course,” Victoria replied while she hated every syllable she spoke. “Please accompany me to the parlor. Miss Willow, will you please tell the kitchen staff to send us some refreshments?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Ruth
said, while walking off.
Moving toward the parlor, Victoria prayed for strength to endure this glory-seeker and think of a way to get rid of him.
Chapter 13
The swift gulps of water Hector was taking barely soothed his thirst as his body started to recover from his hike. Hector had woken up hours before dawn, feeling the heavy burden to find Andrew resting on his mind like a brick of lead. He needed to find the man but he needed more information before he could act. It chafed him, as he hated staying stationary for such a long time when he had something to accomplish.
Thankfully, Roran had conscripted them into hunting, the first act that had given the Laird some distraction from his purpose. But when it was done, the burden came back.
Now, spent and resting under a tree with the empty water-skin at his side, Hector noted the position of the sun, and could not believe it was nearing the afternoon so quickly. He was looking forward to seeing Aria this evening but something was still nagging at him. A foreboding sense was settling under his skin and he didn’t like it.
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