Chapter 25
Perverse excitement oozed from Ruaridh’s pores as he made his way to Violet’s room. He had never felt a feeling so thrilling. He flexed his fingers in anticipation.
From the very moment she had descended into the dining hall in that dress that showed her breasts in their perfect fullness whenever she took a breath, he had been aching to pull down her petticoats and feast on her.
She had taken a seat next to him, and her scent, reminiscent of vanilla, filled his nose, overpowering the smell of Cook’s famous roast. She knew what she was doing when she put on her best dress in her most flushed state, which called attention to the sweetest parts of her.
She had to have known because she had only looked at him with sultry eyes and had dropped her voice many octaves when speaking to him.
When dinner ended, he had given her an hour to prepare herself before he left the table. He had given her a look to let her know that he would be visiting her that evening and needed her in a more accessible state—in her chemise.
Now, he rapped a knuckle against her door.
He would not take her to the loch like he did last night. He would spread her over the smooth sheets of her bed and consume her. He already knew her taste.
He licked his lips.
He knew her sweetness and her saltiness. He knew her softness and her hardness, and he had shown her how those textures and flavors could bring her ecstasy.
What he wanted to show her anew was the gymnastics that magnified that pleasure and could only be achieved atop the softness of a mattress… and perhaps some furniture.
The door creaked, and his heart leaped so fast that it almost dislodged from its spot. When the gap revealed her maid’s face, his heart stopped beating.
“Good evening, me Laird.” She bowed, unaware of his inner turmoil.
He blinked, trying to remember himself. He was the Laird of Clan McLeod, not some unwanted fellow dismissed by his lover’s maid.
When she did not announce his presence to the room, he realized it was empty of Violet. “Miss Violet is in the drawing room with old Lady McLeod.”
Great! How was he going to seduce her into her bedroom with his grandmother present?
He dragged his feet to the drawing room, willing to try his hand.
He could always send Grannie Ava to her room; it was already an hour past her bedtime.
But what was he to do if she decided to exercise her authority over him and send him to bed first?
He couldn’t summon Violet with another look; she had ignored the first.
Deep in thought, he stumbled upon Sir Horace, brushing past him along with Logan. He stared in confusion.
Upon seeing him, Logan said something to Horace, which sounded like a good night, then he came to his side while Horace continued trekking through the path leading to his chambers.
“Why are ye tailin’ the old man?”
Logan’s forehead creased as it did when he was skeptical.
“I was worried.” He stared down the path where Horace had disappeared to as if watching for a listening ear.
“I caught him by the south exit, which is only used by the staff. He said he had missed the turn to his bedroom, but he had descended the stairs leading to the cellar, where I found him. If he went from the dining hall to his bedroom, he wouldnae have passed by those stairs. Daenae ye think that’s weird? ”
“He is an old man, and the castle is big. He must have made a mistake.”
The words shocked Ruaridh as quickly as they had left his mouth, but Logan was even more surprised.
“If ye believe so.” He backed away. “Wedding fever must have dulled yer senses. I suggest ye get better.”
The old Ruaridh would have had guards stationed outside the Baronet’s door instantly.
The maids would have been reporting to him the abnormalities they had found in his room.
He would never have let a man acquainted with Lord Westall into his home before proper investigations were made.
But he had not done any of those things.
Logan was right; his senses were dulled.
Since Violet had informed him of Horace’s approval of their impending union, Ruaridh should have instantly had a sit-down with the man, investigated the change of heart, and pressed him about breaking his alliance with Westall.
Horace had come into his home with the intention of delivering his daughter to the Baron’s hands; it was safe to presuppose establishing his relationship with Westall.
Because of his failings, Ruaridh had a man he couldn’t trust secretly roaming his home in the dark. His incompetence was glaring, and he was loath to admit it.
“I am sure it is nothin’,” he said, but Logan had already disappeared around the corner.
Ruaridh heard his grandmother’s voice before he saw her.
“What do ye ken about designing clothes?” she addressed Keira, who was staring out a moonlit window.
He watched through the gap in the door as Keira turned to Grannie Ava, clutching a book almost the size of her body to her chest.
“Hence me desire to practice,” she moaned.
Ruaridh’s lips quirked up. He found comfort in knowing that she did not give only him a hard time.
He shifted slightly. Violet sat on an armchair opposite Grannie Ava, directly in front of the fireplace. She had changed out of her dinner dress and was wearing a simple robe, which he considered distasteful for its lack of ability to show skin.
She did not seem to share Grannie Ava’s amusement at Keira’s disposition. “I do not want you experimenting for my wedding. I already gave you the autonomy to do as you pleased with your hair.”
“A privilege innate to every lass,” Keira drawled, sprawling herself on the chaise.
Grannie Ava could not hide her smile at the incredulous look on Violet’s face. “Keira, yer behavior is that of a child,” she chided with feigned sternness.
“You intend to trick me with some logical spiel, don’t you?” Violet asked.
Keira gave her a look, accompanied by a shrug and a tilt of her head, as if to let her know that she had exhausted her itinerary.
Keira was a bother to deal with at night, and raising children ended once the sun went down and the cicadas came out to play. Ruaridh himself had suffered many nights of her nocturnal dispositions, so he understood Violet’s frustration.
“I thought we were retiring for the night,” he said loudly as he stepped into the room, startling all three women.
Keira bolted upwards, then looked irritated by the petty fright.
“We got carried away with the preparations,” Violet answered, cheeks reddening.
Grannie Ava gave Violet a conniving smile.
Anyone seeing that shared look would have assumed they were plotting something devious and not an innocuous wedding.
“It seems that’s all that gets done during the day. Are ye going to take up the night for that also?” Ruaridh felt salty.
He knew Violet hadn’t purposely ignored his invitation. Grannie Ava must have dragged her from her bedroom because the old woman had not experienced enough weddings during her lifetime!
He needed his daughter and grandmother to retire instantly, so he might inspect the accessibility of the chemise Violet had hidden beneath her robe.
Grannie Ava rose with a sigh. “Ye heard yer faither, Keira.” She held out her hand to the little girl. “We have been dismissed.”
Keira begrudgingly took the outstretched hand and let her lead her out of the room.
When she passed him, Ruaridh heard a concerning whisper, which he decided he would investigate when the sun had risen.
The door closed, and then he was left alone with Violet.
She rose from her seat, and they stared at one another, awkward in their want.
“Good evening.” Her voice was breathless.
“Good evenin’.” His voice was breathless, too. “I was lookin’ for ye.”
“What for?”
She knew what for!
What was he going to tell her? That he had fantasized about looking up and down her body and had come to her bedroom to feast his eyes? That he needed her? That he missed her?
He took the coward’s way out and said, “Never mind. Let me walk ye to yer room.”
He had learned that she liked it when he offered her his arm, and he quickly realized her grip on his bicep was an awful decision when his breeches tightened.
“Are you dismissing me, too?”
“It’s quite awkward now. I want to find the perfect time to kiss ye along the way.”
She laughed, and his cock jerked. His body could no longer distinguish between sounds of felicity and sounds of pleasure, it seemed.
He had to think of a topic to keep from bursting.
“Is yer faither one to get lost?” He felt himself deflate.
She furrowed her brow. Slowly, with warranted uncertainty, she responded, “My father might be timid, but he is very intelligent.”
Ruaridh had wanted to hear the opposite, a different response that would validate her father’s suspicious behavior. He did not want to investigate him, for it felt like a betrayal to her. What if Logan was proven wrong? How would he explain himself to Violet?
“Good to hear.”
She was quiet the rest of the way, perhaps recalling their intimacy last night or anticipating the encounter once they reached her room.
Ruaridh was not sure he would be able to keep his promises. Both the promise to claim her on their wedding night and the promise he communicated to her through his eyes.
If he crossed the threshold of her room, he was sure of what he would do.
He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to lie atop her and sink into her wetness.
He wanted to thrust in and out of her. He wanted her clinging to him, panting hard as she begged him not to stop. He needed her. His cock needed her.
“We are here.”
They stood outside her door. She pressed her back against it and held him away, as if she could feel his apprehension. Or did she not want to invite him in? She was still a chaste woman, after all.
“I see.”
He closed the distance between them and cupped her face. She shrank beneath him, and he couldn’t help but smile. She wanted him, that much he knew.