In the Heart of the Highlander (24 page)

Chapter

33

T
he sun had dipped behind the mountain range, but the sky was bright enough for Alec to see every delicious inch of her. She stepped into his arms, and shivered. Alec smelled soap and grass and Mary, a heady combination.

When she’d opened the kitchen door, he thought his heart might forget to beat. For a short woman, she was very—commanding. Compelling. All that pale skin and tumbling red hair just begged to be touched.

It had only been a few hours since they’d argued. Less than that since they’d been tangled in each other’s arms. Alec felt like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. Mary Evensong unsettled him.

But right now he felt steady, holding this naked woman against him in the lengthening shadows. She deserved a dance, and he was the man to teach her. Who said clothes were required? No strangling starched white tie, no tails or patent leather dancing shoes. Tonight, he would be tribal. Primeval.

He cupped a smooth cheek. “At the hotel, you said you were too old to learn how to dance. I’m going to prove you wrong.”

Mary looked up uncertainly. “I have not danced since I was a girl at school.”

“That’s criminal, in my opinion. You were meant to dance.” He put one hand on her waist and held her arm up, and bent to kiss her fingertips. “Just like this. But I think you are onto something, Miss Evensong. One’s movements will be far less restricted if one is not encumbered by constricting clothing.”

“Oh, I am so embarrassed,” Mary mumbled into his shirt.

“Don’t be! I think you are brilliant. Haven’t you told me often enough that you are always right? ‘You are wrong and I am right’—wasn’t that how you put it?” Alec released her and quickly divested himself of his own garments. Mary looked everywhere about the garden but at him, her cheeks the color of the climbing roses at the kitchen door.

“Now then.” He inserted his fingers inside a waxed cylinder and placed it onto the mandrel of the phonograph. “This will only play for two minutes. When you’re at a real ball, of course a waltz lasts much longer—quite a treat for the young folks in the first flush of calf-love. Do you know, when peasants first waltzed, their faces touched? I’m afraid I’d have to pick you up to accomplish that.”

When he was a youth, the prospect of spinning around the dance floor with a pretty girl had made him scandalously hard on more than one occasion. He was not far from that state now.

The cylinder was worn from frequent play, and the tinny sound was nothing like a live orchestra. Still, Mary’s face was lit with joy as she drifted in his arms over the fresh-cut grass, her tantalizing body brushing against his. Alec held her too close, but that was the point, was it not?

It was inconvenient to pause every two minutes to replace the cylinder, so after a while, Alec abandoned the Edison Gold Moulded Records and simply whirled her around without music, counting softly, then not speaking at all.

The shadows deepened and the air cooled. This was the most extraordinary dusk of his life, alone with Mary in the abandoned garden, naked as they were born, bodies moving to inner music. They circled and swept and dipped, eyes meeting all the while. She had overcome her mortification and smiled up at him as if he were a prince.

He was not that. Would never be. But under Mary Evensong’s artless gaze, he had never felt a better man.

Forget the past, she had told him. Perhaps it was possible if he had her in his arms.

“Are you cold?” he asked, a bit breathless.

“Only a little.”

He should bring her ever closer, kiss her, cover her with his body to keep her warm. Fall to the grass and let nature take its course. But that would be taking advantage, and might prove to be uncomfortable besides.

“A little is too much. Come, we’ll go inside and I’ll start a fire in the parlor. We can have some wine.” The temperature had dropped and he felt it himself, his own skin sheened with sweat.

Alec wrapped the phonograph in the ragged quilt and returned it to the corner where Mac had hidden it. Perhaps they’d dance again tomorrow.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Mary said from the kitchen doorway.

Alec lifted a brow. “Why? You are lovely just as you are.”

She was, all gold and ivory and copper in the waning light. He wished he could paint like his brother Nick—he’d immortalize her perfection this night so he could see her on other nights after she had gone.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “You don’t need to be kind.”

“Kind! You overestimate me, madam. I’m no saint, just an observant fellow. You are beautiful.”

“I’ve never been beautiful in my life, Alec. Or at least no one has ever told me so. Handsome, perhaps. Not a complete antidote.”

She looked so grave he burst out laughing. “You have obviously been associating with the wrong gentlemen. I could look at you all night and never get tired.” He ruffled her hair, which was in disarming disarray over one shoulder. “Tell you what. If you will be more at ease, get into a dressing gown. I’ll put together something from the kitchen and we can relax a little before bedtime. I’m ashamed to say I feel a little worn out after spinning you around. I’m out of shape.”

“Tell me another.
You
are the beautiful one.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. Go on in and dress. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The sky was turquoise and lavender, the mountains navy blue. Alec stood in the patch of grass breathing crisp Highland air. There was nothing like it anywhere. All those glittering months in London were not worth one gulp. This was his true home, and somehow he’d get things back to rights.

A moth fluttered over a line of rotten straw bee skeps in the far corner of the walled garden. Mr. Hamilton, the last gatekeeper here, had provided Raeburn Court with honey. The man had died years ago, but Alec still remembered the taste. Maybe he could become a beekeeper himself, kitted out with one of those suits—if he could find one to fit him. He barked out a laugh, imagining himself with smudge pots. Likely he’d be stung to death.

He would have to find a proper occupation up here. It was time for him to settle down.

Settled. Unsettled. His thoughts turned to the woman in the house behind him.

Somewhat reluctantly, he brushed off his clothes and put them back on. He’d missed his moment to take Mary under the single star that had appeared in the changing sky. It had almost been enough to hold her close, their bodies gliding together effortlessly, around and around until he barely felt his feet on the ground. She was easy to lead, responsive. Dancing with her was much less difficult than conversing, when she was apt to follow her own brand of music.

She had surprised him in so many ways today, some pleasant, some not. The past few days had been tumultuous—it was time for a glass of wine before the fire. An early night.

Alec entered the spotless kitchen. Add housewifery to Mary’s list of assets. He rummaged through a basket and came upon some stale cheese straws and a bottle of burgundy. That would do.

He found Mary in the single chair, her nightgown buttoned and robe belted. She had plaited her glorious hair. A modest fire was already going. Just how long had he stared at that star?

She was efficient. Neat. He longed to muss her.

But it was too soon. She must be sore and tired.

“It’s chilly for June,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind that I started the fire. It was all laid.”

“Not at all. It can be a little nippy up here this time of year, certainly colder than down south. Summer is slow to come.” Alec poured the wine into heavy lead glassware Mac had packed. “Here’s to a Highland summer,” he said, passing her a glass.

She held it but didn’t drink.

“Would you prefer white wine? There’s a German hock in one of the baskets, although it won’t be properly chilled.”

“Oh, no. It’s the toast I object to.”

“What have you got against summer? Sunny blue skies, puffy clouds, all those birds and butterflies and flowers.”

“But I won’t be here to see them,” Mary said quietly.

You could be
, he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“Here’s to summer then, in London as well. I suppose you don’t get away much, chained to your desk and all that,” he babbled.

“Not generally, unless I’m needed to iron out something at a nobleman’s country house. That has happened a time or two.” She took a sip of wine.

“A busman’s holiday, then.”

“Yes.”

He wouldn’t ask her about those trips—she wouldn’t tell him anyway. Her discretion was a good thing. No one would hear of the fool he’d made of himself over Edith.

Alec crunched into a cheese straw and admired the fire. The spit and crackle was the only sound in the room. Somehow the wordless understanding between them as they danced outside had not accompanied them indoors. Mary looked tense, clutching at her wineglass as if it was a life preserver.

Alec cleared his throat. “It was a lovely evening. You dance beautifully.”

“I suppose it’s like riding a bicycle. One remembers after a bit. You are a very good instructor.”

All this politeness was driving him mad. He set his glass down with a clunk.

“Let’s not beat about the bush. I want to take you to bed, Mary. Again, but if you can’t bear it—”

“Of course I can bear it! I’m not made of spun sugar.”

“You may as well be. You’re a delicate little thing, and I’ve already—” Verbs tumbled about his head, none of them useful.

“Before, you said you needed time to recover, too. But you are able again now,” Mary said.

“Oh, yes,” he said with understatement. “But you might not be.”

She stood up. “Let’s see, shall we?”

Was it that easy? Alec didn’t trust the happiness that swelled his heart. He followed her to the first bedroom, its simplicity at odds with his convoluted thoughts. She undressed with unromantic efficiency, while Alec’s fingers fumbled at the button of his flies.

This was all wrong again, too cerebral. She had been right earlier—there should be no talking. He wanted to rob her of her calm acceptance as she lay passive underneath the lavender-scented bedclothes. Ravish her until she cried his name.

Alec tamped down his brutish desires and climbed into the bed. They both lay still, side by side, looking up at the ceiling. There was a damp patch very much resembling Africa—or possibly South America?—up there. He wondered if Mary noticed.

He was not about to start a discussion about geography with her now. He was not going to talk one word for the next . . . hm, he probably wouldn’t last all that long. Mary Arden Evensong did something to him that wiped his years of experience and expertise quite clean.

Alec sat up and stripped them both of the coverlet and sheet. There must have been something on his face that prevented Mary from questioning. He parted her thighs—gratified by the slightest tremble—and buried his tongue inside her, no teasing preliminaries, just stark possession. Women loved this, and Alec did, too. The forbidden taste, the helpless acquiescence, and the musky scent unique to each recipient always brought him to a hardness that was near-agony.

To deny himself and bring pleasure became all-consuming. Mary’s tart sweetness drove him to madness, and she was at her edge before he could finesse her vault into that brief infinity when everything was crystal clear.

It was a very good thing they were alone in the gatehouse, for her cries could have awakened poor dead Mr. Hamilton. Banshees had nothing on Mary when she reached her peak, and Alec smiled with pride as he took her over it again and again. To be responsible for unraveling practical, perfect Mary Evensong—here was the role he was born for.

Her braid was history, her eyes wild. Alec lifted himself over her and lost himself, hoping never to be found.

Chapter

34

I
t was too much, and yet not enough. Mary held on to Alec, tumbling and twisting, vowing to finally be silent. It was impossible to be dignified, but she did not have to yell her head off—although Alec didn’t seem to be startled. In fact, he was smiling when he wasn’t ravishing her mouth with hot, reckless kisses. Sinking himself so deep inside her, both tongue and cock, that she felt as if they were one person.

Their dance had been the sweet appetizer, but this coupling defied description. Mary shut her eyes and lifted off the bed, toward South America on the ceiling, or was it a squashed Australia? One of the Poles? Her map skills were hazy at this point. Alec should do something about the damp patch before the ceiling crashed down on their heads. But not right now, please, God.

How would she be able to go back to London and continue with her celibate life? Now that she knew what she had been missing—

There were plenty of men in London, she reminded herself. But perhaps it wouldn’t be the same with just any man. Alec was special, a very unique specimen.

She
loved
him.

Oh, dear. That wasn’t supposed to happen. When she’d made her grand bargain with him, she had been looking for quite a different experience, something almost impersonal. This—whatever it was—was about as personal as it got.

With an anguished groan, Alec tore himself away from her and spilled into the sheet. So, he had enough presence of mind not to get her with child. That was the right thing for him to do, so Mary shouldn’t resent him for it.

But she did.

He was only being honorable, watching out for her future. He was so damn full of honor she wanted to clout him on his dark head.

He could have solved his problems if he’d exposed Edith and Bauer in a much more traditional way. Let the magistrate read her diary, for example—he was on the consortium board as well as an officer of the law. The man could have removed Bauer with the flick of an eyelash.

But if Alec had revealed his wife’s secrets, he might not be as appealing to Mary as he was. He had honored Edith’s memory, even if she didn’t deserve it.

Mary wished she didn’t feel jealous. Wished she wasn’t a second choice. Wished she wasn’t an Evensong.

Alec had flopped on his back, chest heaving. He covered himself with one corner of the crumpled sheet and she did the same with the other.

“That was—” Alec began. “I canna describe it.”

Her lips turned up. “I was thinking the same.”

He rolled up on one elbow. His hair was damp and curling, making him look like a very naughty angel. “We are good together, aye?”

Mary nodded. “Aye.” When in Scotland . . .

“When do you have to go?”

Never
. “By Wednesday, I should think. That will give us a few more days to do . . . this again.” Two more nights. Hell, two more days. Mary wouldn’t wait until nightfall to find herself in Alec’s arms again if she could help it.

He grinned down at her. “I have another surprise for you, too. An even better one than the dancing.”

What could be better than waltzing at twilight? “Oh? What is it?”

“Not until tomorrow. You’ll nae worm it out of me, no matter how you try.”

Mary tapped his bicep. “I can worm with the best of them, my lord.”

“I’ve no doubt you can. All those years working behind that desk—you must know too much for your own good.”

Like a bell that couldn’t be unrung, Mary’s mind was filled with facts she’d gleaned from her various business dealings. People had poured their hearts out to her, thinking she was a wise old woman.

Right now, she felt most unwise.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go back to Aunt Mim’s office. There are lots of other jobs I can take.”

Alec frowned. “You won’t go back to those grocery stores.”

He made it sound as if they were brothels or charnel houses. To a baron, they were probably just as bad—though with his history, Alec probably had no animus toward brothels.

“I don’t know what I should do. Aunt Mim depends on me, no matter how wonderful she’s feeling at the moment. I owe her everything. She’s not strong, except for being strong-willed.”

“Hm, so that’s where you get it,” Alec teased.

“She trained me well.” If Mary was honest, she had been plenty stubborn and independent long before Mim brought her to London. That had been a constant source of friction between her and her brother and sister-in-law.

“I’m sure training you wasn’t a difficult job. You’re very bright, aren’t you? Empathetic, too. You understand things.”

She was uneasy with his praise. “What I understand, my lord, is that I’m exhausted, and you must be, too. We’ve had a trying twenty-four hours.”

He shifted on the bed. “So we have. Do you want me to sleep in the other room?”

No, she did not. His body was warm and comforting. But what if he preferred to be alone?

“What do you want to do?” Her voice broke the tiniest bit.

“Do you really need to ask, Mary?”

“Some people sleep better undisturbed by a bed companion,” she said lamely.

“And I’m usually one of them,” Alec said. “But we managed just fine last night, didn’t we? Unless you don’t feel the need for my protection anymore.”

She had never felt safer than when she’d been in his arms, waking or sleeping. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Then that’s settled. Do you want your nightgown? You might get cold.”

Mary had no idea where it was, but then remembered she’d folded everything onto a chair. She started to sit up but Alec stopped her. “I’ll get it. Get some water, too. I’ve a powerful thirst all of a sudden. All the hard work, you know. You are a slave driver.” He gave her a wink.

Alec tossed her the nightgown and she watched him walk out the door, his bottom as handsome as the rest of him. He was very much at ease in the nude—all those years of experience, she reminded herself. Which is why she had picked him, wasn’t it?

She would not start thinking of all the times he’d made love to other women. She was jealous enough of Edith.

Mary put on her nightgown, retrieved some pillows from the floor, and straightened the bedcovers. The scent of lavender was now joined by musk and Blenheim Bouquet. Last night he had slept by her side . . . and then on top of her, she recalled. It had not been an unpleasant sensation at all, even for a woman who was used to her privacy. Privacy, she decided, was overrated.

When Alec came back from the kitchen, he gave her a mug of water, too. It was crisp and cold, better than any wine. He was still gloriously naked, and the sip of water did nothing to assuage her dry throat at the sight of all that masculine muscle and might.

“Shall I walk you out to the privy? We can navigate by starlight, or I can light a lantern.”

Perhaps privacy wasn’t so overrated after all. It was one thing to share her body with him, but her bodily functions? She felt a blush sweep over her.

“I—I can go by myself.”

“Unthinkable. There might be wolves about.”

“Nonsense. Surely they’ve been hunted to extinction, like the poor bears.” Men were always killing something.

“One never knows. And if you’d seen a bear, you wouldn’t call it ‘poor,’ believe me. When I was in Canada—”

Mary perked up. “Canada? I’ve always wanted to go there. The United States, too. I have some friends who have moved there. To New York.” Charles and Louisa Cooper might count themselves as friends—they would not have met without her.

“You should go. Wide-open spaces, and all that. Some parts of Nova Scotia remind me of the Highlands, in fact. I was only a boy when my father took me, but I remember a lot, especially the bear. My brothers were green with jealousy.”

“Were you attacked?”

Alec laughed. “Nae. The bear was part of a traveling circus, missing most of his teeth and older than God. But in his prime he must have been a fearsome thing.”

Mary did not approve of circuses. She’d had to take her nephews to too many of them.

“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe to go outside—your bear is nowhere near here,” Mary said, getting out of bed.

“I’m going with you anyway, and don’t argue.”

That was that. And to be truthful, Mary did not mind holding on to Alec’s arm as they traversed over the freshly cut grass, the lantern bobbing the way. A great many stars twinkled overhead, and the air was as crisp and cold as the water had been. Mary took care of her needs, then waited for Alec to do the same, holding her hands over her ears to maintain the dignity between them. She was probably being missish, after fornicating twice with the man in one day.

Really, there should be a nicer word, something that sounded less stark on the tongue. If she couldn’t find one, one would have to be invented.

They returned to the gatehouse, climbed into bed, and extinguished all the lights. Through the open door, the last flickering flames of the parlor fire were visible. Mary arranged herself in as small a space as possible—the bed was not large and Alec was. He pecked her forehead and they lay side by side in the dark silence. Mary had not brushed her teeth, but that seemed unimportant at the moment. He hadn’t tried to kiss her goodnight properly, which was just as well. Who knew if she could stop at one kiss?

Sleep would not come, even after the day’s events. By rights, she should be unconscious. But the mind was a peculiar thing, and hers skittered from this morning to this minute. Alec did not seem to share her reflective tendencies. His steady breathing was almost instantaneous, which was rather annoying. How could he ignore her when she was aware of every inch of him?

Mary had spent just four days in Alec’s daily company. She would have two more, then leave. It had taken her less than a week to fall in love.

How many days would it take for her to forget him? She was afraid she knew the answer only too well.