by Tarah Scott
“Yes, but not all will come.”
“How many guests to you expect?” Erroll asked.
“I am hopeful that half will come.”
“Half?” Eve looked as if she would bolt.
“That half could be family,” his mother said. “We will not know the full number until…well, until the celebration is over. Many are coming half a day’s ride, so they will likely not RSVP.”
“I assume, then, we will have houseguests?” Erroll asked.
“We will. Ash and Olivia, along with their tribes will most certainly stay. That alone could be fifteen or more guests. If Lord Sneddon and Venters attend, we will have a house full.”
“How do you feel about this, madam?” Erroll asked Eve. “Are you up to three days of festivities and MacLean relatives? You did say that Society was not to your liking.”
She didn’t look up from her dough. “I said that London Society was not to my liking.”
“There is plenty of the same amongst the guest list, I wager.”
She dropped the ball of dough and tore off another piece. “Perhaps, but the leftovers will compensate nicely.”
“You have clearly not spent much time in MacLean company,” Erroll said.
“I have spent enough time with one MacLean to know I can deal well enough.”
“You are a courageous soul.”
Eve snorted. “Hardly. It is nothing more than necessity.”
Erroll heard his mother chuckle in the instant before the kettle whistled. She pulled it from the heat and filled the cups.
“If you find yourself wanting that ride we spoke about, I am ready at your leisure,” he told Eve.
Her head snapped up. “Of course, forgive me, I should have remembered.”
He felt certain she hadn’t forgotten for an instant.
“We can go anytime you like,” she said.
“We must have pie and rolls first,” he said, “and you most assuredly must finish your baking. We must have everything in perfect readiness for our guests. I, however, can await your pleasure as long as you like.” He lifted a brow.
She frowned, then comprehension flitted across her face and her eyes narrowed in a warning that couldn’t quite hide her discomfort. Erroll decided he liked that.
*****
Eve felt as though she had stepped into a whirlwind. She’d woken that morning and gone directly to the kitchen, which seemed the safest place to hide in the massive castle. Lady Rushton had appeared five minutes later, and Eve felt certain someone had apprised the marchioness of the fact that her new daughter-in-law was hobnobbing with the servants. To Eve’s surprise, her ladyship was just as comfortable in the kitchen as Eve, and they spent an enjoyable morning together until the earl showed up. From there, things spiraled downhill with Eve now finally alone with him on their ride—and they were very alone. All of Mull, it seemed, was country, except for Tobermory, which they’d left behind the day they’d arrived.
It felt strange being alone with a man without thought for what Society would think. It felt even stranger knowing that man was her husband. But she knew well enough what the ton would think. They would pity him for being forced to marry a woman of lower birth all because he’d had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They started up the side of a green hill and a moment later crested the rise and stopped. Eve gave a soft gasp at the sight of crystal blue water lapping the white sand of a cove. Sunlight streamed through thin clouds, sparkling the water and sand.
“It is beautiful,” she said.
“I thought you might like it,” Lord Rushton said. “Would you like to go down?”
She looked at him. “Can we?”
“Of course.”
They allowed the horses to pick their way down the gentle incline through mossy grass and onto white sand. Lord Rushton dismounted and came around as Eve swung her leg over her horse’s rump. The earl grasped her waist and she found herself lifted to the ground.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you refused to ride sidesaddle,” he said.
Eve grimaced. “Would you ride sidesaddle?”
“I would not, but I don’t wear a dress.”
Eve grinned. “I saw men wearing kilts. Not a one rode sidesaddle.”
“And you would never get them to,” he said.
She gazed out over the water. “I imagine the water is cold this time of year.”
“The coves warm up in the summer months, but one could never actually call the water warm.”
“I suppose it is too early in the year to put my toes in the water, then.”
“You are not faint of heart, but even your toes might curl. However, if you like the feel of sand underfoot, there is that.”
She liked that, but thought better of it. “That would be unseemly.”
“We’re not in Hyde Park. You can take off your shoes—or anything else you like.”
Eve looked sharply at him. “Last night you could have taken off every stitch of my clothing, but didn’t. Today, in broad daylight and in public, you suggest that I remove my clothes.”
“We are not exactly in public, and I did tell you that you deserved courting before the bedding.”
“Getting me out of my clothes is courting me?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “A bad habit.”
“Which will it to be, my lord? You were quite willing to bed me when you thought there would be no marriage, yet you shun me now.”
“I am not shunning you, but I was wrong to take advantage of you.”
Eve didn’t know how to respond to the straightforward answer. “I don’t understand.”
He chuckled. “Then I am in good company. Mrs. Henderson sent along some wonderful cold ham and shortbread. Are you hungry?”
“You are changing the subject.”
He sighed. “If I don’t change the subject my resolve will snap. Now, take off your boots and dig your toes in the sand. You know you want nothing more than that.”
She did want something else—and wanted it very badly—but realized her folly, and accepted his hand. He led her several paces closer to the water, then helped her sit. He lowered himself beside her as she pulled out the skirts of the riding habit the marchioness had leant her.
“Here.” He grasped her feet.
“Sir,” Eve protested as he shifted and laid her feet over his thighs. She froze. What was she supposed to do now? It was only her feet, but she suddenly felt as though he had stripped her of her clothes.
He loosened the lace on the left boot and, one hand grasping her stocking clad ankle, gently tugged off the boot. He laid her foot back on his lap, then removed the other boot with as much care. He set the second boot beside its mate, but didn’t release her foot. Instead, he stared at it.
Eve was struck with the memory of how he had tickled her silly last night, and said, “If you tickle my feet, I swear to avenge myself while you sleep.”
He slanted her a wicked glance. “I would like to see you try and make good on that threat.” He lifted her foot higher. Eve tensed to yank free, then froze when he kissed the top of her foot. He then kissed the end of her toes.
A strange tickle raced up her ankle. “My lord,” she whispered. “You can let me go.”
He nipped at her toes and the pleasurable sensation connected like lightning to the juncture between her legs. Holy God, what was he doing to her? He was only kissing her stocking-clad toes with the barest brush of his lips against her flesh. The warmth of his fingers around her ankle didn’t help. She’d lost her mind if all it took was his hand around her ankle to make her feel weak as a kitten. He grazed another kiss on the top of her foot, then pulled up her skirt a few inches. Eve held her breath as he kissed the spot just above her ankle. He then gently set her foot back on his lap and looked at her, his hands resting on her legs.
“Perhaps you need to stick your toes in the water after all.”
Eve blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I
need to douse myself head to toe in cold water.”
“I—” Her heel, she abruptly realized, rested against the hard bulge that had sprung up between her foot and his abdomen. She dropped her gaze to that area and a devilish impulse caused her to rub her foot against the steel rod.
He seized her foot. “Eve.”
She heard the gravely note in his voice and knew exactly how he felt. The mere second her foot had remained in contact with his erection had been enough to freeze all rational thought. Lord Rushton lifted her feet off his lap and laid them on the sand, then stared out over the water. She pulled her knees up under her skirt and dug her toes into the cool sand. It did feel very nice, though not as nice as when they’d rested on his lap. It occurred to Eve that their ride had been relatively short, and Lord Rushton had clearly set out with the intention of coming to this cove.
“Do you come here often?” she asked.
A fond smile softened his face. “This was a favorite spot of mine when I was a boy. We are too far inland to ever see a ship here, and this is part of Ravenhall land, so only our closest relatives dare hunt here. I spent many a night camped under these stars.”
“Why stay here overnight?” Eve could well imagine that even in summer the nights were cool. “You are only twenty minutes from home.”
His smile turned into a boyish grin. “For a teenage boy who is angry with his father, this cove is preferable to even the labyrinth of rooms at Ravenhall.”
Eve laughed. “Did you plan to run away from home?”
On several occasions, as a matter of fact. Though no captain would have allowed the Marques of Rushton’s son aboard without his father’s permission.”
He braced his palms on the sand behind him, then lifted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes. Eve shifted slightly so she could see his face without making it obvious she was studying him, and allowed her eyes to drift from his dark hair down his cheek and square jaw to the tanned neck that brought back the memory of her face pressed against its warm curve. She hadn’t realized the pleasure looking at a man could incite.
“You have grown quiet,” he said.
Eve jumped, and was thankful he didn’t open his eyes.
“Are you plotting my murder?”
“It would be nothing less than you deserve,” she replied.
He smiled.
“Was it difficult growing up here in Mull?” Eve asked.
“I had everything a boy could possibly want.”
Except a father’s love, she wondered? The marchioness clearly adored her son, but Eve had no sense of the marquess’ feelings. He was a man of duty, that was easy to see, but did he nurture affection for his son?
“I haven’t seen my father today. Have you seen him?” Eve asked.
“He and my father rode into Tobermory this morning.”
“Why did they go?”
“They didn’t tell me.”
“I feel as though I should be worried,” she said. “But I cannot imagine what I would have to worry about. They have done their worst.”
He looked at her. “Is marrying me that bad?”
Eve stared, uncertain what to say. “I do not understand why you would ask. You had no desire to marry me and I’m not taking it personally.” But she suddenly wondered how she would have felt if he had preferred Grace over her as Lord Somerset had.
He gave her an odd look. “We are married. Do you hate the situation so much that you will be miserable?”
He used the word ‘situation,’ but Eve couldn’t help think he meant ‘me—Do you hate me?’
“Why have you avoided marriage with such determination?” she asked.
He sent her a reproachful look. “Now who is avoiding the subject?”
“Perhaps your answer relates to the answer I would give.”
He seemed to consider, then shrugged. “I suppose because I had not met a woman who made me want to give up other women.”
Eve’s pulse jumped. Had rakehell Lord Erroll Rushton considered the possibility of cleaving to only one woman?
“So,” he said, “does my answer affect your answer?”
Her heart squeezed. It did. “I think our answers are similar. I had hoped to incite those feelings in the gentleman I married.”
“I am certain Somerset would have been faithful. Why did you refuse his offer?”
“I had hoped to marry for love.”
“Ah, yes. You did mention that. Is that all it would take?” he asked.
Eve had to laugh. “If it were simple, everyone would be happy, but few married couples are.”
A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Perhaps they did not court one another properly?”
Eve rolled her eyes. “What would you know of courtship?”
In a flash, his good humor morphed into a hard expression. “I suppose nothing.”
Eve realized her mistake and grasped his arm. “Oh, Erroll, I am sorry.”
He seemed to turn to stone and her heart twisted with the realization that she had wounded him. She let her hand drop away and started to turn, but he caught her chin with his fingers.
“You are not completely wrong, Eve. But a man can change.”
“He can?” she said stupidly.
“Do you believe it is out of the realm of possibility?”
In Eve’s experience, people seldom changed.
He leaned close and brushed his lips against hers. She closed her eyes and allowed her senses to revel in the soft warmth of his lips.
He drew back and released her. “Perhaps we should return to Ravenhall?”
“Now?”
“You did say you weren’t a lady who allowed a man to tumble you just anywhere.”
“You pointed out that man would be you,” she retorted. “You said you would be a stickler on that point.”
“And I will be.” He rose and pulled her up with him. “And you are not to forget that.”
It made no sense. If he didn’t want her, why would he care?
Chapter Twenty
Erroll awoke early the following morning to find that his mother had whisked Eve and her sister off to the home of the only decent dressmaker on Mull. He’d purposely stayed away from her room last night—a feat which had taken Herculean effort—but was fast regretting the decision. It was evening, sixty guests already milled about the ballroom while the orchestra played a Scottish reel, and he had yet to see his wife—or his mother.
He caught sight of his father entering the ballroom from the east corridor, which led to a massive sitting room for their party guests. Erroll had a feeling the guests would surpass the two hundred the ballroom could hold, and would spill into the sitting room. He strode toward his father, who had stopped just inside the ballroom.
“Good evening, sir. Have you by chance seen the ladies?”
“They arrived home two hours ago, and locked themselves in your mother’s chambers.”
“I suppose they will make an appearance when they’re ready,” Erroll said.
It seemed they were ready, for the three ladies entered the ballroom from the north entrance, and Erroll’s heart stopped. Eve wore a simple muslin gown adorned with exquisitely embroidered flowers sewn in cotton and silver thread with tiny gold sequins.
His mother spotted them and led the two sisters across the room. Erroll’s gaze snagged on his father, who stared at his mother with unabashed desire. Erroll had long known that his father still desired his mother and bedded her regularly, and had hoped that he would enjoy the same fate with his own wife. Given the way Eve looked tonight, he had no doubt that would be the case.
The ladies reached them and the marquess said, “You ladies are looking particularly fine tonight,” though his gaze rested on his wife.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes—Erroll also knew that his mother was well aware of her effect on her husband—and the marquess clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. He released her, then bowed over Eve and Grace’s hands.
Then Eve’s g
aze shifted onto Erroll. “Good evening, my lord.”
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers. “I missed you today, madam.”
He glimpsed the surprise in her eyes, then it was gone and she said, “I would think you were busy all day preparing for the party.”
“That is my mother’s affair, not mine.”
“I’m sure you found a way to amuse yourself,” she replied.
“Perhaps.”
“And what of me?” Grace asked. “Will you ignore me now that I am your sister instead of a prospective bride?”
Erroll bowed over her hand. “You were never a prospective bride, Grace, but that does not mean I ever ignored you.”
“Of that I am certain. Will you make introductions tonight, my lord? I suddenly find myself back on the marriage mart.”
Erroll laughed. “My dear sister, one always knows where they stand with you. As for introductions, my mother will, I am sure, see to that, but you will find us less formal than London society.”
She looked at his mother. “I shall rely upon you, ma’am, for direction.”
The orchestra began playing a country dance.
“There’s Ash,” his mother said. “And Olivia.”
Erroll’s sister and brother threaded their way through the crowd that had grown in the few minutes they’d been talking.
When the two reached them, Olivia threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Ash told me what you did for Grant,” she said into his coat.
Erroll sent Ash a frown over her head, then drew back. “It was more Val than me, love, but I put the final screw to the admiral.”
She kissed his cheek. “I thank you both. Now, introduce me to your wife.” Her eyes rested on Eve. “This is she, I imagine.”
“Eve, this is my sister, Olivia Cunningham.”
Olivia pulled Eve into a hug, and Erroll heard her whisper, “I wondered who would catch him.”
They separated, Eve’s cheeks a very pretty pink with embarrassment, then Ash stepped up and slapped Erroll on the back. “I still haven’t heard that story. I think it must be quite interesting.”
“I suspect you’ve heard a great deal of it,” Erroll said dryly. “By now, the gossip has likely reached the Outer Hebrides.”
