Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (9 page)

Ian lay sated, an exhausted heap of manhood, sticky, sweating and feeling about as good as it was possible to feel. Ever.

Amelia was oddly silent next to him, and he reached for the covers, pulling them up and over their nakedness.  “Are you all right?”

She snorted into his shoulder as he snuggled her into his arms. “Better than all right and you know it.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag…”

She punched him.

“Ouch.”

“You deserved that.”

“So what’s worrying you?” He turned to look at her, her face dimly lit by the candles that had burned low.

“I am not quite sure how to raise this issue.” She ran a finger over his chest.

“How about just saying it right out? ‘T’is usually the best way.”

She sighed. “Very well.” There was a little fidgeting with the covers. “You spent your seed inside me, Ian.”

“I did. It was amazing.”

“But it could have…undesirable results.” She cleared her throat. “I might become with child.”

For an instant, Ian had a vision of Amelia suckling his babe. It was stunning in its beauty, and he knew that for him, the rightness of it could never be argued.

“Aye, you might. Had you not worried about this kind of thing before?”

She shook her head. “I have tried to insist that…that…” there was a pause. “God this is difficult.”

“I’m going to repeat myself, sweeting. Just say it.”

“Before now, I have insisted that people
withdraw
prior to that point. Or use some form of prevention.”

“French letters?” Ian referred to the sheath for the cock that trapped a man’s seed. Some were silk, others were made from sheep guts.

“Yes.”

“And they worked?”

“Obviously.” Amelia shrugged. “Or I was lucky. I’m not sure which.”

“But I’m the first man to come inside you…”

There was a moment’s silence. “Yes.”

Ian smiled. Another indicator of how perfectly suited for each other they were.

“Well, now. There’s no point in us worrying about what’s already done, is there?” He lay back and put his hands behind his head. “But if such a thing should come to pass, you can rest assured I’ll make an honest woman o’ ye.”

She went rigid. “You arrogant
oaf
.” The exclamation was followed by a swift thudding smash of knuckles against ribs and Ian woofed out a breath.

Then he took his revenge by tickling Amelia until she cried for mercy. “Enough…” she gasped out the words just as a knock sounded on their door. “Now see what you’ve done.” She sat up crossly and pulled a sheet up to her neck. “Probably the innkeeper complaining about the noise.

“Dinna worry.” Ian left the bed, grabbed her damp drying cloth and wrapped it around his waist. Then he opened the door.

“Here ye—guid
God
, Ian McPherson. Put some clothes on, ye daft bugger.”

“Hetty. Pudding. Bless your sweet heart. And we haven’t quite started on the stew yet.”

A loud snort answered his words. “I’ll just bet ma last guinea ye an’ yer new lady wife forgot all about ma stew.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “We won’t forget yer puddin’, lass. My thanks to ye.” She chuckled and he shut the door, turning back to the bed where an irate beauty was giving him looks that should have fried him on the spot.

“Are ye hungry, sweetheart?” He put the pudding next to the tray and lifted the lid on one of the pots. The scent of stew filled the room.

“Oh my.” Amelia slithered from the bed. “That is tempting.”

“Wait…” Ian hurried to their bags and found a warm length of fabric. “Here, wrap yersel’. I don’t need you falling ill on me from the cold.”

She glanced at him and tore off a piece of fresh bread. “I’m never sick.” She raised an arm to eat and looked at the wool. “This is a plaid isn’t it? A tartan?”

“A tartan, right enough. Been in my family for generations.”

“Hmm.” She chewed. “This is the McPherson tartan? Named after your family?”

Sensing he was on dangerous ground, he simply nodded and ate some stew. There were times when the less said, the better. This—in his opinion—was one of those times.

*~~*~~*

They ate, slept, woke to touch and taste and love again, and this time Amelia found her legs wrapped around Ian’s hips, holding him tightly against her as he emptied himself on a groan of pleasure.

It was an amazing sensation, this heated flow of lava filling her to the brim. Ian was inexhaustible, it seemed, and she had re-discovered her energy with him. Her leg cramps were a thing of the past and they reached for each other without words, knowing that this night might well change their lives.

For Amelia it was a time of magic.

She didn’t need to orchestrate their mating…Ian seemed to know instinctively what would arouse her. He knew how to tease, to tantalize and to control, and do it all with an innate gentleness that made him irresistible.

She felt free, free to talk to him, to tell him of her pleasure, to urge him on and cry out her joy at her peak. Her inhibitions had fled and for the first time she was a woman lost in the passions and desires of sensual loving.

All her other experiences faded away as Ian drove everything and everyone from her mind. Everyone but him.

She smiled as she finally fell asleep, surrounded by the scent of their loving, an excellent stew and the unique musk and leather fragrance of the man holding her to him.

When she awoke, however, to find herself alone in the bed, her thoughts were less pleasant.

If he had deserted her…

But before that idea could fully form, he came into the room, bearing a tray with a teapot and dishes on it.

“Good morning, love. And a fine day it is indeed.”

She wasn’t at her best immediately after wakening. “Easy for you to say.” She glared at his cheerful demeanor.

“I wondered if ye’d be a ray of sunshine or a thundercloud first thing.” He grinned and poured tea. “Now I know.”

She took the tea and sipped, surprised that it was exactly as she liked it.

“Now had we time, I’d be in there wi’ ye, makin’ yer scream out ma name all over again. But ‘t’is market day and there’s a man who may be selling some gems. If he doesn’t have the ruby, he may know who does.”

Torn between the urge to tell him to take his confidence and his cock and do something physically impossible with both—since she didn’t care to be touched in the mornings—and the desire to find out more about her ruby, Amelia simmered.

She was unused to this casual affection, the little touches and the quick kisses Ian bestowed on her as she dressed. He buttoned her buttons and tied her laces with consummate ease, then kissed her with undeniable heat and brought the roses to her cheeks.

He kept her off guard and she found that quite unsettling. But since they were now on the trail of a thief, she kept her personal opinions under wraps as he led her from the inn and toward the marketplace.

“Mornin’ Ian, Mrs. McPherson.”

“Guid day t’ ye,” answered Ian.

Amelia smiled politely at a couple she’d never met, then pinched Ian’s arm. “Who were they?”

“Friends.”

“Of yours?”

He looked at her quizzically and she cursed herself for asking a stupid question. She tried again. “Why did they call me Mrs. McPherson?”

“Because as far as most everyone here thinks, you and I are married.” He looked down at her briefly. “Now if you’d prefer to tell them otherwise, go right ahead.”

She took a breath and stared straight ahead. “Never mind.” She wasn’t quite sure that his lack of response pleased her, since she could have sworn she heard him whisper “I thought so.”

However, the market place loomed near and she looked around with interest at the large variety of goods offered and the bargaining that was already well underway.

“Over on the dais is where they’ll declare this year’s harvest prices.” Ian told her of the process and she nodded.

“A solid way of establishing a fair price, I should imagine.”

“But I’m told I need to be looking for a man named Royce.” He paused next to a cart displaying sumptuously ripe apples, and feigned looking them over. “I’m going to ask you for something, Amelia.” He picked out one and showed it to her, then returned it to the cart.

“If I can find this man, I’m going to ask you to return to the inn as quickly as you can.”

She opened her mouth but he dropped a quick kiss on it, silencing her. Then he bought her an apple.

“There’s two reasons. First, I don’t want any whisper of you connected to the ruby today. And your beauty will give you away should anyone here be from London. Secondly, I will be askin’ the gentleman some serious questions and making sure I get truthful answers. I’ll need a bit of time and quiet to conduct my interrogation.”

“Are you sure I can’t help?” She stared him straight in the eye. “I’m not afraid of a little blood.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “What a lass you are. Rarer than any jewel.”

Then his face sobered. “I think I’ve found him. Will ye go, now, lass? Wait in our room? Please?”

It was the “please” that swayed Amelia. He wasn’t asking for anything stupid or absurd. He was treating her as an equal, explaining what was to happen and asking for her help in giving him room to do his job and bring a thief to justice.

She simply had to agree. “I’ll head back to the inn.”

Ian held her hand for a moment longer, then dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll be back afore ye know it.”

“You’d better be,” she called after him as he hurried away down a side aisle. “You’d better be.”

And she turned around to retrace her steps.

There was no question in Ian’s mind that the overdressed, shifty-looking man with a small covered cart just off the main market square was the one he sought.

He ambled over, taking his time, looking at all the stalls on the way. To a casual observer, he was just another person wandering around the marketplace in search of something to buy.

When he reached his destination, he wasn’t surprised to see a few pretty pieces on bits of silk and velvet. They were held securely by a small nail here and there, and any thievery was dissuaded by the huge and silent man standing next to the cart with his hands clasped before him.

“Good morning, sir. Would you be looking for a bargain? Something pretty for the wife perhaps?”

Mr. Oily Salesman stepped forward as Ian paused to look over his wares.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He smiled. “How’d you guess?”

“I’ve been in the business for years, sir. I can always tell a gentleman who knows good value when he sees it. They always come to my cart first.” He rubbed his hands together. “Royce is my name, and this is my spot for wonderful items guaranteed to please any of the ladies in your life.” He laughed, an insincere sound that grated on Ian’s ears.

“Well…I don’t know…”

“I’m sure a handsome gent such as yourself has a lot of ladies that need pleasin’, like a wife, sister, mama,
dear
friends…” he leered the last words.

“Couldn’t handle all them,” Ian managed a blush. “Just a wife. But we haven’t been wed long. I’d like to get her a pretty necklace perhaps…”

“Excellent notion, sir. Let me show you…”

Ian forestalled him. “Her favorite stone is a ruby. Do you have anything with a ruby in it?”

Royce beamed. “O’ course sir. If you’ll feast your eyes on this.”

He produced several pieces of attractive jewelry, but nothing that had anything to do with real rubies.

Ian shook his head. “No, those aren’t what I’m looking for.”

“Well, can you give me a better description, sir?” Royce asked.

Ian leaned toward the man and glanced around them. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

Royce nodded. “I understand, sir,” he whispered.

“I’ve come into my inheritance, you see. Nice sum. And I heard there was going to be a special ruby up for auction here. Now if it’s the one I was told about, it would be perfect for my lass. And since I’ve got the ready to bid on it, well…it’s all good timing, isn’t it?” He beamed with modest pride. Or tried to.

Royce also looked around them conspiratorially, then beckoned Ian out of sight of the street, behind the stall.

“Just because it’s you, sir, and I understand what it’s like to want to get that one perfect piece for that one special lady, I’ll direct you to pay a call at the large white house near the end of Market Lane. When the butler answers, just tell him that Royce sent you. I believe the owner there will be able to help you out.”

Ian let his eyes widen. “My goodness, Mr. Royce. You’re amazing to know so much about what’s available hereabouts. Can I perhaps reward you for your time?” Ian reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out some coins.

“Well, sir, not really necessary, but thanks are always welcome…” He held out his hand.

Ian dropped a couple of guineas into it, knowing full well that Royce would probably make a percentage of the sale from whoever was selling it. But he considered it a worthwhile investment and let the man fawn his thanks as he took his leave.

“Don’t forget sir, the white house near the end of Market Lane. Before noon.”

Ian waved. “I have it. Thank you.”

He wove his way back through the crowds, enjoying the soft burr of Scottish voices mixing with the sharper English words. It was a typical border blend of business, pleasure and curiosity, and something he’d have enjoyed just observing at some other time.

Right now his destination lay on the other side of the marketplace, and apparently there was a noon deadline, so he regretfully kept up a good pace and promised himself he’d dally here with Amelia in the future.

His mind turned to her once more, although it had never really left her behind. She was part of him now, part of his life. He knew that in some strange way fate had put his perfect mate into his path. She wasn’t anyone’s notion of pure, nor was she ideal wife material.

Her past was filled with scandal, her present seemed a bit of a muddle and her future…? Well, her future was with him.

He foresaw a battle convincing her of that fact, however. She was quite happy to sleep with him and share monumentally magnificent sex with him. He had no idea if she’d taken that any further, or even let the idea of a permanent relationship enter her thoughts.

It might be a new and revolutionary concept. Whatever her response, he was not about to let her get away. That much was etched in good Scottish granite. And when a McPherson put his mind to something, it was always achieved.

One way or the other.

He paused at the end of a lane and looked along the neat row of houses. Yes, there was one large white one at the end. The signpost indicated that it was indeed Market Lane, so he turned in, strolled down the uneven path and entered through the gate.

The garden was neatly tended, but lacked some of the affection clearly lavished on other houses nearby. The windows were clean, the draperies inside arranged just so—all in all it resembled the house of a well-to-do villager. Perhaps someone who enjoyed a position of responsibility within the area. A physician, perhaps. Or a local dignitary. There was money here to be sure, Ian knew.

But he wouldn’t find out until he went inside, so he lifted the knocker and rapped on the front door.

It was opened almost immediately by a blank-faced butler. “Good morning. May I help you?”

Ian quickly assessed him as an ex-pugilist. The broken nose and huge shoulders were a dead giveaway. Nobody would argue with this man, which made him an excellent choice for a butler.

“Royce sent me.” Ian nodded back over his shoulder. “I spoke with him half an hour ago just off Marketplace Square.”

“Very good, sir. This way please.”

Ian followed the man across a tidy foyer, noting a statue or two, and several pieces of artwork adorning the walls.

They entered a large drawing room and as they did so, a man rose from behind a small desk near the window.

“How do you do. I’m Archibald Smith.” He extended his hand.

“Mr. Smith. Ian McPherson. Thank you for seeing me.” Ian shook hands and both men seated themselves. “Mr. Royce sent me,” he added for clarification.

“Ah yes, our good Mr. Royce. A solid citizen, but with a somewhat limited selection of items. I will guess that you had something a little more exclusive in mind?”

“That I did.” He related the story about his “wife” and his “inheritance”. He was quite fluid and could see Mr. Smith’s greedy wheels spinning happily behind his bland smile.

“Well I’m sure there’s something here that might interest you.” Smith rose and beckoned Ian to a large armoire. Digging out a key from his waistcoat pocket, Smith unlocked one of the glass doors and pulled out a drawer. Inside, on a bed of deep blue velvet, were three magnificent diamond necklaces.

“Oh, well then...” Ian’s awe was genuine.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Smith smiled. “I was fortunate to be able to pick them up from estate sales. And, sadly, from those who needed ready money rather than diamonds.”

Ian nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”

One piece featured a delicate chain from which a diamond pendant fell, surrounded by emeralds and sapphires. Another was a full three-strand diamond parure with drop earrings and a bracelet, and the third an ornate representation of a rose, cunningly worked with diamonds, emeralds and what looked like an amethyst or two.

“Something like this perhaps?” Smith waved his hand over the gems.

“Well, ye’ve a fine eye, Mr. Smith. No denying that. But I was hoping for something with a ruby or two. Ma wife is a big admirer of rubies.” He grinned in what he hoped was a smitten way. “I’m wantin’ to spoil her and perhaps start our own legacy of fine jewels to leave to our descendants…”

“Ah.” Smith nodded and closed the diamond drawer. “Say no more. If price is no object, I may have just the thing.”

Ian kept his grin in place.

This time, it took a little longer to open the compartment, since it was concealed, and Smith made sure his bulk was between Ian and the armoire. There was no way Ian could know what had to be done to release the mechanism, and that irritated him, but when Smith stepped back and revealed the shelf, Ian’s gasp was completely real.

There it was
.

Amelia’s ruby
.

The chain had been repaired, and the square pendant blazed with the fires of hell, violent reds flaring as the sun’s rays caught the stone and shot back like arrows of blood around the room. The seed pearls and diamonds added to the sparkle—it was just as Amelia had described.

Utterly spectacular.

“Och, Mr. Smith. I’ll be havin’ that.”

Smith smiled. “A not uncommon sentiment.” He pushed the tray back up and in and once again hid his final actions. “That piece, Mr. McPherson, is available, but I’m sure you’ll understand why I prefer to put it on auction. It’s really too valuable for me to put a price on, so I have opened it up to bids. The auction closes at noon today.”

Ian sighed. “Very well. Am I to know the current bid?”

“No.” Smith smiled as he shook his head.

“Ye’re a canny businessman, Mr. Smith.” Ian shrugged. “But I would have that piece for my lass. So I’ll guess you’d like a bid from me, then?”

Smith walked back to his desk and pushed a small pad of paper over toward Ian. “If you’re interested in the piece, then yes please.” He paused. “And some surety of course. That you do have the available sum.”

Ian nodded again. “I understand.”

He sat, reached for the quill on the desk and wrote a figure on the paper. Then he looked around and saw Smith’s sealing wax. “May I?”

“Of course.” Smith looked a little puzzled, but warmed the wax anyway.

Ian poured a small amount on the bottom of his bid, then took a small ring from his inner waistcoat pocket and stamped the hot wax.  “There. That should do it.” He tore the paper from the pad and handed it to Smith.

The other man eyed the seal and then shot Ian a quick look of surprise. “It does indeed.”

“I’ll be hearing from you then?”

“You will, sir. I take it a message to Kilmalochan will suffice?”

“Today?”

“I’d like to say yes, sir, but as you know these things take time to finalize. I will certainly alert the winner of the auction today. But the delivery must be arranged with care and the funds verified, and so on. The documentation of provenance is very important, of course.”

“Of course.” Ian stood. “I’ll be at the inn for the rest of the day and after that on the way to Kilmalochan on the morrow.”

“Thank you.” Smith bowed politely. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Giles will see you out.”

“Good day to ye.” Ian bowed back and followed the butler back to the door. “Still fighting then?”

The butler grinned, showing his remaining six teeth. “Not any more, sir. Nobody wanted ter take me on.”

“Can’t blame ‘em.” Ian stepped outside. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” The butler shut the door on any further conversation.

But Ian was content. He’d bid on the ruby and knew he’d outbid anyone else, because he’d seen that flash of greed on Smith’s face. He’d also seen three necklaces that he recognized. They’d
all
been stolen over the last year from wealthy London families and had completely disappeared.

There might be some questions about those paintings and statues as well. It would seem that he had stumbled onto the center of a stolen merchandise organization.

Bow Street would be ecstatic as would the DeVeres. But he still had no idea of who was behind the actual
theft
of Amelia’s ruby.

And that bothered him as he walked back to the inn.

*~~*~~*

Amelia found waiting in her room at the inn to be a particularly irritating and useless pastime. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could sit patiently and read at the best of times.

Knowing Ian was out there and involved in tracking down a thief on her behalf…well it galled her. She should be out there with him.

Frustrated and already loathing the enclosed space, she slipped back into her spencer, tidied her hair and left the room, ostensibly in search of a cup of tea. The crowds in the inn had thinned considerably, since the market was now well underway.

For a few moments Amelia considered joining them, but with her newfound sense of what she could and could not do, she discarded the notion. Albeit with a big sigh. She could not place Ian at risk in any way, and there was still the matter of Rigsby and the loss of Natherbury Fell to be settled.