Heathcliff watched as she gave a slow nod. Was she questioning her decision? His heart froze inside him, reminding him of just how much he wanted this forbidden fruit.
He needed to have a moment with her, to simply—hell, he wanted assurance that she wouldn’t leave him at the altar. It would be poetic justice of a sort. He’d been avoiding her so unforgivably, yet now that what he wanted was just within reach, he had an irrational fear that it would be somehow snatched away, or truer still, that she’d run in the opposite direction from him once she realized just what she had agreed to.
He needed to steal her away; that was all there was to it. Certainly betrothed couples were allowed a measure of privacy? It had been long since his disastrous marriage, and he’d blocked so much of it from his memory that he didn’t trust his recollections on protocol. He’d never thought he’d need to revisit that aspect of social convention. Samantha arched her back slightly, giving a delicate stretch as she continued speaking with her sister and Mrs. Keyes. The movement gave Heathcliff a delightful view of her form, and, not for the first time, his mind wandered to the way her body would appear without the dress, in the candlelight of his room—her hair splayed on his pillow, her lips wet from his kiss.
He took a long breath and glanced way. This wasn’t the time or place to allow his fevered fantasies to spin out of control. Thank the Good Lord he’d have time to play each one out . . . and soon.
But soon was most certainly not right now in the parlor.
Pity that.
But he could at least taste her lips should they have a moment alone, and that, he decided, was the most important goal of the day.
Not planning the wedding.
Not spreading gossip.
But kissing Samantha.
It wasn’t the most noble of endeavors, but it was most assuredly paramount.
And his patience was wearing thin.
Even though he reminded himself that they would have the rest of their lives together, there was something hot and needy in him. Something impatient and urgent. Maybe it was that irrational fear that she would realize the full magnitude of her decision to marry him and run in the opposite direction, but regardless, it made him damned impulsive.
So, without preamble, he stood from his place on the sofa and tugged his coat into place. His movements caused the conversation to grind to a halt, and he felt the gaze of every person upon him.
“Lady Samantha, a word?” He arched a brow and stepped toward her. Her chin tilted ever so slightly, her eyes flashing with curiosity, and then a twinge of amusement as she rose, her hands instinctively smoothing down the front of her blue skirts.
“Have I a choice?” she asked with a bit of an impish tone. He glanced to her, noting the heightened color of her cheeks, the almost bashful smile teasing her full lips.
“Do you wish for one?” he asked, the words having two meanings, at least for him. He watched her, considering the way she angled her head just slightly to give her a better look at his expression. She paused but a moment, and in that moment, his heart stuttered with that same fear that was becoming so familiar now.
“No,” she answered. It was such a simple word. But it carried far and wide to soothing his shameful insecurities. Perhaps it was because his first wife had fooled him so perfectly, he didn’t trust his instincts. Hell, that was an understatement. He hadn’t trusted his instincts concerning women for a long while. It was difficult to put any confidence in his ability to understand Samantha, but he wanted to.
How desperately he wanted to, and to be able to trust those instincts.
To be able to trust her.
It was almost too much to ask, too lofty to imagine.
But when had love ever been rational?
And if he were honest with himself, this was, at least, the beginning of love.
Which terrified him.
Because when you loved someone, they could hurt you far more than any other.
He wasn’t sure he’d survive such a blow from Samantha’s hand.
Rather, he wasn’t sure he’d want to survive.
As she placed her hand in his, he led them to the door. Silence followed them, as he was quite certain every eye followed their departure from the room.
After all, they were just discussing their upcoming wedding, and the bride and groom had quit the conversation and the room.
But he wasn’t sorry for such an interruption. There were far more important things to accomplish today.
And the most important accomplishment would start with a kiss.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Samantha bit the inside of her lip as she followed her fiancé into the hall. A few candles flickered in the now daylight, surely a leftover aid from their eventful night. It was clear Heathcliff had something quite singular on his mind, or at least she suspected as much, but his silence had let her know he wasn’t quite ready to disclose his reason.
So, she followed him down the hall toward the foyer. Sothers noted their approach, nodded his head, and opened the door without as much as a word. Heathcliff gave a curt nod in thanks and escorted her into the morning sunshine.
It was a lovely Scottish summer day. The sun was arching over the eastern sky, and somewhere a rooster crowed belatedly in welcome of the sunrise. Hazarding a glance at Heathcliff, she noted he was frowning slightly, as if concentrating on some invisible dilemma.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said by way of conversation.
He glanced at her. “They aren’t worth that much,” he teased.
“Let me be the judge of that,” she replied.
He gave a low, deep chuckle and led them around the gravel of the semicircular drive of Kilmarin. Samantha tried to convince herself to be at ease; certainly there was no reason to be concerned. Yet her fears, irrational beasts that they were, hinted at several problems, and she found herself growing more impatient to discover Heathcliff’s intention in whisking her away from the parlor.
Before she could ask anything, Heathcliff released her hand and walked over to a stone fence that divided the drive from the road that led to the main gate. He leaned his forearms on the fence, resting his weight on it. Folding his hands, he breathed deeply and turned to her. His expression open, unguarded, not at all what she was expecting.
“It’s odd to have such a lovely day after such a hellish night,” he said, his tone reflective.
Samantha let out a sigh that alleviated some of her tension and walked up beside him. She stretched out her arms and allowed her fingers to bump along the stone of the fence. “I’ve found that such things usually are that way. They always say dawn comes after the night, and I think that’s quite accurate.”
“Indeed.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then turned to him. He met her gaze, his brows furrowing for a moment before his eyes lightened with understanding. “You’re wondering why I stole you away.”
She shrugged, able to be slightly less desperate now that he’d introduced the topic. “The question has crossed my mind.”
He gave a twitch of a grin. “Something you said earlier this morning has been simmering in the back of my mind,” he started, his expression sobering.
“Oh? I said a great many things this morning.”
“That is also quite true. But you mentioned that at every turn, your freedom to make a choice had been thwarted. That, I think, is a very apt statement. And I find I’m quite guilty of putting you in that very same position, even just this morning.”
He grimaced, as if the words he said weren’t actually the ones he had planned to say. She regarded him. He was such a contradiction. She’d seen him overconfident and charming and revered by others. She’d also discovered an insecurity that lurked deep within, the kind that few would ever notice unless they looked deep, unless they cared.
She cared.
And it humbled and astonished her to discover he could have such a chink in his otherwise impenetrable armor.
“Yes, I did s
ay that this morning,” she affirmed. “But I wasn’t saying it in response to the betrothal. Well, I was, but not in the way you’re likely to assume,” she amended.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “How so?”
She bit her lip, thinking. Instinctively, she knew it was of the utmost importance that she explain herself well, or else she could tap that Achilles’s heel of his and shatter what they’d begun to build.
But to do so meant she would have to take off her own emotional armor, and that was, in a word, terrifying.
Because what if he didn’t return the strength of her regard? What if he was flattered, but nothing more? She didn’t think his attachment was so fickle that he’d disregard hers, but she wasn’t sure either. It was a quandary.
One that she had very little chance of avoiding. So, with a resolve that was more determination than courage, she continued.
“I, that is . . .” she started quite inarticulately. “Because my father most assuredly has the intention of coming to collect me from Scotland, soothing his damaged pride, you have little choice. Your friendship with Lord Heightfield is very strong, and I am his family.” She breathed out a tense sigh, casting her gaze to the gray stones of the fence and directing her words to them, rather than Heathcliff. “And it is difficult, because I can understand and even appreciate how you would remedy the situation I find myself in by marrying me. But that marriage isn’t necessarily based on your attachment to me. And I rather . . . that is, I wished your choosing to marry me was based on something more than a lack of other ways to save me.” She sighed, then continued. “It always feels as if someone has to save me. Never once have I been given the chance to save myself. Just once, I wish I could be the hero of my own life, but each time I find that eludes me. It’s quite frustrating. And that is why I said what I did this morning. I hate that there is a possibility that, because I can’t save myself, you’re having to play the hero, regardless of your inclination to do so for any other reason than your friendship with Lord Heightfield.” She huffed the last sentence, her emotions running away with her words. It was a moment before she could collect herself and look up to meet his gaze.
His breath was measured, his gaze searching hers. “So, you don’t resent my taking away your choice; you simply wish I would have chosen you for another reason?” he asked.
Samantha nodded once, her heart pounding hard as she awaited his response to such a revelatory truth.
He glanced down at the fence, shaking his head and giving off what sounded dangerously like a scoffing sound.
Samantha wasn’t sure how to interpret such a response, so she waited.
He glanced up at her, pushed off from his position against the stone wall, and reached out to take her hand. His touch was warm, comforting, and immediately soothed her. She expected him to say something, but his lips didn’t part. Rather, he lifted his other hand and smoothed his thumb across her lower lip, caressing it. His hand traveled down her jaw to her neck, then back up as he cupped her cheek, his thumb drawing a lazy circle she felt vibrate through her entire body. Her lips parted to ask a question, but he stole the words from her much as he stole her breath as his lips captured hers. His hand at her cheek trailed down to her neck, and he gently pulled her in closer while his wicked tongue caressed her lower lip, making her lose all train of thought. His other arm encircled her waist, pulling her into his body tightly as his lips continued to make love to her mouth, teasing, tempting, devouring. She cared not that anyone could look from the Kilmarin windows and see their display of affection.
She cared not that people passing on the main road could look past the gate and see their romantic embrace.
All that existed in her world was the warmth of his arms, the feverish intensity of his kiss, and the insistent need inside her that demanded more.
He tasted her fully, swiping his tongue just past the barrier of her lips, dancing with her tongue before retreating, only to perform the erotic dance once more. She leaned into his frame, her fingers tracing up his arms till they intertwined behind his neck, pulling him closer.
She didn’t think he could ever be close enough.
Her fingers wandered up the back of his neck and were lost in the glory of his slightly curly hair, so irresistibly soft. His kiss intensified, and she wantonly pressed her lips into him, instinctively acting, though she hadn’t a clue what it meant.
He let out a low groan and released her lips, pressing his forehead against hers while his breathing came in short gasps. “And this is why I took you out to the front of the estate.”
It took a moment for the words to settle into her mind and make sense, but when they did, she simply asked, “Why?”
He kissed her, lingering at her lips before drawing away slowly. The moisture from his kiss made her lips cool as it evaporated on the morning breeze.
“Because if I had you inside, without a soul to interrupt us, you’d be in my bed already, and while I have many sins to answer for, I don’t wish for that to be one of them. I’ll bed you right and proper, but after you bear my name, lass.” He spoke the words like a promise, like a vow, like an oath.
Samantha wondered why it was so bloody vital; she was quite of the mind that his bedroom wasn’t too terribly far away. And they were to be married, quite soon as well. What could be the harm?
“You’re an impatient one, aren’t you?” Heathcliff asked with a slightly teasing tone. She leaned back and regarded him.
“Perhaps.”
“And you’re wondering why I’m being so honorable when, before I knew who you were, I was a little freer with my affection,” he stated.
Samantha tilted her head and leaned back slightly. “The thought had crossed my mind.” She arched a brow.
“Because the expectation was different.”
Samantha frowned. That was not what she was expecting him to say, nor did it bode well after her earlier statement. If the expectation for a governess was less, than didn’t that mean he was marrying her out of obligation, because she wasn’t a governess?
“I can see you misunderstand me.”
“This reading of minds is helpful, but later on I don’t know if I’ll find it as beneficial,” she commented, adding a bit of a tease to her tone.
“You’re quite easy to read; like a book, I’d say. But not always, only when you are impatient. When you’re willing to take your time with something, you’re practically unreadable. Quite frustrating, that. Especially when I pride myself on reading people quite well.”
Samantha grinned. “I’m pleased to know I can still keep at least some of my thoughts a secret.”
Heathcliff nodded. “Now, what I was saying was not that the expectation was different because you are a lady, and not to be dallied with, but . . .” He paused, thinking. His brow furrowed slightly, then he continued. “But you were far more attainable as a governess, perhaps you even needed me, or at least my protection or what it could afford. But as the daughter of a duke, you do not need me at all.”
Samantha shook her head. “It would seem I need you very much,” she replied meaningfully.
“Yes, but not in the same way. I wasn’t worthy of you. I’m still not. But what I am is willing. And, blessedly, that is enough.”
Samantha reached up and caressed his face, feeling the scruff of his beard through her glove. “When has that not been enough?”
“More often than you know,” he answered.
She trailed her finger down his cheek and then traced the outline of his jaw. “I would wish for more than just a willing spirit, Heathcliff,” she murmured, speaking his name for the first time out loud. Many times she had spoken it in her mind, but to hear it out loud was utterly delicious.
His eyes ignited as his gaze darted to her lips. “Say it again.”
She frowned.
“My name; say it. I’ve always wanted to hear it on your lips.” He kissed her quickly, then retreated, waiting.
“Heathcliff,” she murmured softl
y, the word a litany on her lips.
He kissed her again, deeper, searchingly. When he pulled back enough to speak, he breathed her name.
Samantha.
How long had she waited to hear her name, her true name on his lips? It had been a delight to hear it earlier that morning, and its power hadn’t weakened at all. A smile tipped her lips, and she reveled in the sound, the way his masculine voice caressed it.
There was something so deep, so searchingly beautiful about hearing your name on the lips of your beloved.
It might not be love yet . . . at least not for him. But as long as he said her name like a prayer, it would be enough until his heart caught up with his words.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Heathcliff strode into Kilmarin, whistling a tune and earning an amused grin from Sothers. After sliding a peevish glare at his longtime employee, Heathcliff ambled down the hall in search of his friend, who, he hoped, hadn’t made himself too comfortable in his house. Just to be sure, when he reached the library, the place he had left Lucas along with his wife and the housekeeper, he knocked on the closed door and stepped back. He could only assume Mrs. Keyes had long vacated the room and, judging by the closed door, Lucas was doing exactly what Heathcliff suspected.
There was a curse from the inside of the room in a familiar voice, and Heathcliff bit back a grin. The devil take it, he was all but certain Lucas had taken liberties with his wife in the library. Damn the man. Not that he blamed him; hell, when Heathcliff had the pleasure of secreting Samantha in the library, he’d take the same liberties.
Though, hopefully not in the same location, he thought belatedly, and made a mental note to have the servants scrub the library’s horizontal surfaces quite thoroughly.
The door opened, and Lucas ran his hand through his rather tousled hair, giving his friend an irritated glare.
“Am I interrupting something?” Heathcliff asked, arching a brow with a knowing grin.
“Not any longer,” Lucas bit out. “Come in.” He opened the door wider, and Heathcliff gave a skeptical glance inside.
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