Chapter Eighteen
Penelope took a sip from her Worcester blue-and-white teacup—she had told Callum that the set had been her mother’s and was one of the few things she had left of her.
Unfortunately, almost all the cups and saucers had been broken in her move to Jasmyne Street.
Callum had decided that if he had his way, he would buy her several tea sets, one for each day of the week.
They were in her sitting room, and Penelope had been instructing him on the length of time one should spend when calling upon a lady.
Callum had pretended to be listening.
“I thought for our next lesson we should ride out of the city. A picnic in the country is always a popular outing during the warmer months. Many a romance has had its beginnings at a picnic in the country.”
Callum was more than happy to oblige. He wondered if she was aware what that picnic would lead to? What their every moment together lately seemed to lead to?
To Penelope’s apparent surprise, their affair had not cooled down.
“I thought we would be past this by now,” she had gasped earlier when he had pressed her against the wall and lifted her until she could hook her legs around his hips.
They had then spent several very pleasurable moments locked together.
Callum had not expected his ardor to cool. He was already heating up again. After they had both groaned out their pleasure, she had stroked her fingers through his hair, her eyes closed, like she had forgotten that she was meant to be teaching him the society rules she thought him sadly lacking.
Those words had been on the tip of his tongue again, the ones he already knew would put a stop to these passionate interludes. He wanted to declare his undying love for her and beg her to marry him, but how could he when he knew she would put an end to things?
Callum didn’t want that. He couldn’t bear it.
His teacup rattled as he set it down on the saucer, and she narrowed her eyes, clearly worried he would damage the precious thing.
Callum cleared his throat. “Will I be expected to take part in many picnics?”
“Some. Everyone enjoys the outdoors when it is fine. Don’t worry, apart from dressing nicely and making polite conversation, there will be no great effort required on your part. There are servants to help serve the food and pack it away again.”
“I will not have to hunt a plump pheasant for our luncheon then?”
She shot him a reproving look.
Callum wanted to keep her for as long as it was possible, so he was forever thinking up ways in which he needed her help.
Even after Aunt Jennie’s ball, he wanted to continue his lessons.
Even after he found a perfect wife. But the trouble with that was he could not imagine any wife more perfect than Penelope Armstrong.
If only he could persuade her to believe in him. In herself.
*
The countryside was green and pleasant, but with nothing of the wild beauty of his home. He knew in his heart that it could not compare to the forests and mountains of Bonnyrigg, just as no woman could compare with Penelope. And yet he admitted that this scenery was pleasant in its own tame way.
“Very pretty,” he said, when Penelope pointed out a view to him that she said was famous, although he couldn’t help but sound patronizing. No wonder she gave him a look.
Behind them, Angus snorted a laugh at something Selina said. They had brought their servants with them for propriety’s sake, but Angus and Selina seemed more interested in each other than in acting as chaperones to their master and mistress.
“When you are courting your wife, you will be with a group of people,” Penelope said brightly, although he could not help but notice her face was pale with shadows under her eyes.
“They will consist of her friends or members of her family. How you deport yourself will be very important, and when you ask for her hand, any mistakes you make will be remembered.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” he murmured.
Another of those looks, which only made him want to grab her and kiss her until she forgot all about her lessons.
“Ah, there is the ruin I was talking about,” she went on, pointing toward a few stones and a tower with vines growing up it. “The castle was ‘slighted’ by Cromwell.”
“Oh aye, that is what they call blowing it into wee bits, do they?” Angus spoke up.
Selina shushed him.
“It would be nice if you were to learn some of the history of the places you visit,” Penelope went on, ignoring the interruption. “You can impress your future wife in that way.”
“Won’t she know the history herself?” Callum said. “It would be arrogant of me to tell her what she already knows.”
“She will probably pretend ignorance,” Penelope replied. “Girls . . . women are taught not to be too forward in such circumstances.”
“Pretend they are silly, do ye mean?” Angus interrupted again. “MacKenzie doesna want a silly wife, do you lad?”
Callum shot him a grateful look. “I do not!”
“I do not mean she is silly,” Penelope said in a long-suffering voice. “She is clever enough not to want to be thought forward.”
“I rather like a woman who is forward.” Callum smiled. “I like a woman who tells me what to do. I may not always do it, but I like to be told.”
There was a silence after that, and he was glad when they stopped the carriage and set about arranging the picnic. He could hear Angus’s deep murmur and Selina’s lighter voice, but Penelope was deep in her own thoughts again. He glanced sideways at her and found her glancing back at him.
“Do you mean that?” she asked him abruptly. “About liking me to tell you what to do? Most gentlemen would hate it.”
“Well, I am not most gentlemen,” he reminded her. “And I do like it. When your voice gets all determined and disdainful . . . I like it very much.”
She couldn’t mistake his meaning. Her eyes widened slightly before she returned to her work of unpacking the basket. But he thought there was a little smile on her lips.
After they had finished most of the cheese, cold meat, and bread, and washed down the strawberries and confections with a chilled Chablis, Callum lay back on the grass, replete.
He gazed up at the soft, blue sky above him.
The air felt pleasantly warm, and he had removed his jacket and his necktie—be damned to etiquette—and with a full belly, he was thinking about a snooze.
Unfortunately, Penelope had other ideas.
She seemed determined to cram as many lessons as possible into the moment.
He supposed she knew their time together was coming to an end, and he understood she wanted to make him as perfect a gentleman as it was possible for him to be, but he wished she would stop.
Occasionally her voice had a manic edge to it, a panicky note that made him want to wrap her in his arms and tell her, This doesn’t have to end. Marry me.
After several observations about him eating far too much, and a brief argument after his retort that him eating too much was a compliment to his hostess, she changed tack.
“What would you be doing if you were at Bonnyrigg? Tell me about it. Make me intrigued. Make me want to go there with you, Callum.” She stopped, realizing her mistake. “Make the woman you choose to marry want to go there.”
He pretended not to notice her slip of the tongue.
“And how do I do that? I could tell her that it can be a grim place in the winter. Cold and damp, and the castle has drafts that feel like icy fingers. My mother tries to keep us warm with fires in all the rooms, and a roaring one in the great hall, but it is no easy task. I am used to it, but visitors often complain.”
“Oh dear, I don’t think you will get a wife that way.”
“Or I could tell her about the winter mornings when I awake and look out of my window, and the mist is a white veil over everything, so that the castle seems to be floating. Or the summer mornings when the sun is rising over the forest and the birds are just waking and singing their joy for the day ahead. Either way, ’tis a magical sight. ”
Angus and Selina had wandered off some time ago, so they were alone. He took a peek toward Penelope and found her leaning back against the picnic basket, with an expression on her face he could not quite read. But she was listening, so he carried on.
“On the misty days, it is so quiet that I like to walk into the forest and stop and listen. Sometimes a bird will rustle in the bushes, or I will see the outline of a stag, and he is listening, too. My father does not allow hunting at Bonnyrigg. There used to be, but when he became duke, he stopped it altogether. When he first came to Bonnyrigg and met my mother, he was a gamekeeper, and part of his job was to care for the creatures on the estate. I think I would have made a good gamekeeper, too.”
“Don’t you want to be a duke?” Her voice was soft, curious.
He stared at the sky a moment more. “No, I never did. I told you how, when I found out I was going to be one, I ran away into the forest and hid. They found me, eventually. I’m still not sure I want to be a duke, but I have become resigned to it.
I am the eldest son and the heir, and I will have to step into my father’s shoes when the time comes—hopefully that will not be for a long while. ”
“That is why you need the right wife by your side,” Penelope said confidently.
“Someone who knows what to do and what to say, and when. She can sit at your dinner table and make conversation, jumping in if there is an awkward pause, smoothing things over if things get heated. And all you would have to do is eat and drink and smile benignly.”
“It sounds perfect,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Yes, it does.”
Callum closed his eyes. He wanted to look at her. He wanted to say things he knew he could not and which she would put a stop to. He wanted her.
He held out his hand, eyes still closed, and said, “Come here, Miss Armstrong, I need your help on a weighty matter.”
For a moment he thought she would refuse, or laugh at him, but then he heard the rustle of her clothing and she was at his side, her small hand warm in his.
“What weighty matter?” she said quietly. When he didn’t answer at once, she stroked his hair back from his brow, her fingers gentle, and then he felt her lie down beside him, resting her elbow on the blanket so that she could see down into his face. Her breath was warm against his lips.
“I am in need of your kisses,” he whispered.
She did not hesitate, but leaned in to kiss him, the lightest brush of her lips against his.
He wanted to pull her down and kiss her properly, but it was so sweet that he lay there and let her explore his face with fingers and lips.
She nuzzled his closed eyelids, and fluttered her lashes against his.
“Do you like this?” she said. “I used to tease Mortimer when he was a child.”
The sadness in her voice struck him to the heart. He did not like to think of her hurt and alone, not ever.
“Do you think he misses you?” he said.
She paused. “I don’t know. Every other time we have argued, I have gone to him and begged his forgiveness, even if it was not my fault, but this time .
. . I am being strong. He must learn he cannot depend on me for everything and that he must respect me.
I think until you spoke of your sister, it did not occur to me how little he thinks of my welfare and wellbeing.
How selfish he has been for years. I think .
. . Uncle Bertie’s influence has not been good for him, but I cannot blame my uncle entirely. ”
“You are right to be strong. There have been occasions when my brother Rory and I have fallen out, and if it weren’t for my mother, we would probably never speak to each other again.
Rory always believes himself right when he is obviously not.
I long, one day, for someone to bring him down a peg or two. ”
“But he is your brother and you love him,” she reminded him softly.
“Aye, but there are times when I do not like him.”
Her fingers were tickling his ear, and he reached to catch her hand, lifting it to his mouth.
He sucked one finger inside, running his tongue over it, and she caught her breath.
He felt the change in the air, the burn of desire, the ache of need.
They had made love so many times during the past week, but it was never enough. He always wanted more.
Abruptly, he sat up and gazed around. “Haven’t Angus and Selina come back?”
She looked up at him with sleepy eyes, her cheeks flushed. At some point she had let her hair down, and now it fell in soft, silver waves about her face.
“They are still looking at the ruin.”
“How long do you think they will be?”
“I’m sure it will be long enough,” she said, and smiled.
He lay down on her, his hands already tangling in her hair, and kissed her properly.
Soon he was tugging up her skirts, and she arched against him, making breathy sounds, and reached to undo the fastenings on his pantaloons.
He was ready—he was always ready for her.
And she was ready for him, wrapping her legs around his hips and holding him there. As if he would ever want to escape.
But what had started as another hurried, passionate encounter slowed down until it became something else.
His kisses grew slow and deep, while her movements grew languid.
She rubbed her cheek against his chest, breathing in his scent, and he smoothed her silky hair and bent to lathe his tongue over her throat.
They knew each other well now, and he was familiar with her gasps and her sighs. Perhaps that was why this was no rushed mating. They took their time joining together, kissing and stroking, not hurrying. And Callum realized that they were making love.
Their climax was long and slow and wonderfully satisfactory. Callum felt it would go on forever, and he wanted it to. If he had ever had any doubts that Penelope was the only woman for him, then they were cast aside forever.
“Have there been many women?” she asked him as they lay quiet, their hands clasped together.
“You’d be amazed how attractive some girls find the shy boy.”
She laughed softly. “So that’s how you explain it?”
He turned his head and smiled. “I’m not looking for that sort of life. I am not that sort of man. I want one woman to cleave to. And children, I would like children.”
For a long time she searched his eyes, seeking to read the secrets in them. He let her. He wanted her to know how he felt. He thought she might say something, share her own longings, but instead she turned away and began to right her clothing.
“I hope you can find that woman,” she said lightly, disappointing him. And yet he could tell she meant it. She had a generous heart and she wanted him to succeed and be as happy as it was possible for him to be.
It was not her fault that she had ruined him of that chance by the simple act of being somewhere in the world.