Chapter 12 #2
“I said the Duke of Ross was responsible, but I didn’t say which Duke of Ross. That said, we will probably never know how your father died Lady Bredlebane, or who was responsible for his death.”
Caillen nodded, but her eyes were shining with tears.
“You allowed us to believe the current Duke of Ross was a suspect, not his father. You are an utter jackarse.” He turned to Caillen. “My apologies.”
“None necessary. I was going to call him bastard.”
He stared at her in complete befuddlement.
“What?”
“You called him illegitimate.”
“Well, in this instance it’s acceptable. Just as it was in Napoleon’s case.”
“Makes perfect sense to me,” Williamson cut in.
“None of this makes any sense.”
Williamson stood up and walked toward the door. “I will send Mr. Payne over straight away.”
“I didn’t say I would accept him,” he called after the man exiting his drawing room.
“Good evening, my lady.” Williamson waved his top hat in the air, but didn’t turn around as he continued to walk toward the front door.
“What name will he be using?” Simon called after him.
“His own name, of course. Johnathan Payne will be a superb valet. My own valet learned a thing or two from the man.”
Simon made his way to the drawing room door just in time to see his footman, Charlie, hand Williamson a note that had apparently arrived for the spy during their meeting. He turned to find Caillen next to him, staring after Williamson as he stopped to read the missive and then left the house.
He slowly reached for her hand as much for his comfort as it was hers.
She turned toward him as their hands touched.
It was always this way with her. A minor brush of skin on skin and he was on fire.
His body came to life in a way it never had with any other woman, and it took every ounce of his control not to kiss her.
Instead, he leaned back against the doorway and gazed down upon her lovely face.
“Would you like to return to Ross’s household now that we know he wasn’t responsible for your father’s death?” he asked.
“Not particularly.” She took a step closer.
“It would be much safer there for you and the children.” And he wouldn’t be tortured by her presence or the never-ending fear that the man who tried to burn down his townhouse would come back to finish the job.
“What makes you think it’s safer at Harding House? Here the children and I have you and Mr. Payne.”
“Caillen, I’m not certain I can protect you here.”
“We will be safer with you,” she said with a conviction he didn’t feel.
“You will not be safe from me. You must know how bloody much I want you. I can’t be in the same room with you without getting a cockstand.” He looked down.
Caillen followed his gaze, her eyes rounded in an expression to boost any man’s ego. It would have been comical, if it wasn’t such a damned tragedy.
“I have never, and I mean never, been so utterly out of control in my entire life as I have been since waking up from that fever.”
She shook her head in denial. “It’s because you haven’t had a partner in months. One night out at one of your clubs—”
“I’m not going to go to a bloody gentlemen’s club.”
She took another step closer and her scent encapsulated him, drawing him into her allure and surrounding him as if he were a helpless creature and she had cast a web of desire to ensnare him.
“I’m told all gentlemen do.”
“I know all too well what many married men do at the various brothels across London, but I have not visited one since straight out of university. I have never desired to be one of countless men to visit a woman’s bed in one night.
Especially after I realized the plight of the ladies performing those acts.
My own sisters could have been sentenced to such a life if my father hadn’t brought them home with him, or if my mother hadn’t welcomed them with open arms. As it is, I’m not certain their mothers didn’t suffer that fate.
We’ll never know because my father took that information with him to the grave. ”
She eyed him with a skepticism that hurt beyond measure, yet he knew her doubt stemmed from the reputation he’d enjoyed for too long. The dishonesty of the man she’d married didn’t help matters.
“We should take care for your reputation, Caillen. If you were my sister-in-law, I would be here first thing in the morning to secret you off in my coach. I have no doubt Ross will do the same after he opens The Whispers of the Ton tomorrow morning.” At that moment, he decided to send Charlie to Harding House this evening to ensure Ross knew he must retrieve her and the children before the sun rose.
“My reputation was in tatters before I came to London,” she said as she moved in and placed the palm of her hand on his bent thigh.
His cock nearly jumped out of his trousers, and it took everything he had not to believe her voice was husky with desire when she talked of her reputation. He swallowed down his own desire that threatened to stop his ability to think. “Marriage gave you respectability.”
“Don’t you dare say that to me.”
“Caillen…”
“No, I don’t care what the ton thinks of me. I don’t answer to them.”
She leaned into him and he couldn’t help it, he groaned.
Gazing into her eyes was a test of his strength.
He could feel her pebbled nipples pressed against his chest, causing his cock to strain against the soft swell of her abdomen.
The desire to kiss her senseless was driving him mad, yet the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her with the intensity of his desire.
“The children will have to answer to them for years to come and, you of all people, know how difficult it is to live in London while wearing labels you can’t wash away.
Not only do the girls have to wear the blemishes of their births, but Dorian will be honour-bond to challenge many to a duel to defend them.
Trust me, he will do it at some point when someone calls you or one of the girls a whore.
Think about it. Staying here will hurt your children more. ”
“My sisters and I survived it.” Her hand began stroking his thigh, massaging the aching muscle that reveled in her touch almost as much as his cock.
“You endure it while living in Scotland, but there is a world of difference between London and Scotland. How many people of the ton did you encounter in Inverness?”
“It doesn’t matter, because I don’t plan to stay in London indefinitely.”
“Where will you go?” He would follow her to the ends of the earth to protect her.
“Mr. Forrester is looking for a home for the children and me as we speak. Although, if our names are restored, Urquhart Castle would be a wonderful place to raise my children.”
Like hell it would be. “Your sister is there with her husband.”
“Yes, but there is plenty of room for all of us.”
He stared at her lips, unable to think of anything beyond tasting her. He held his body in check, and told himself to let her control the tempo of whatever was happening at that very moment.
“May I kiss you?” she asked.
“As long as you know that I am ‘unfit for any place but hell.’”
“Shakespearian self-castigation is not the appropriate use of the bard’s talent.”
“Yet, it’s true. If you kiss me, I want you to understand that you are kissing an unworthy man.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I beg to differ,” she said as she rose on her toes and brought her lips to his. It was light and tender and sweet, barely a whisper of a touch, that was the most alluring kiss of his life. It was over too quickly.
She drew back and studied his mouth, as if she couldn’t quite believe she had been that bold.
He couldn’t believe it either, and yet, he was too afraid to move, least he frighten her with his desperate desire.
Then she was rising on her toes once more, only this time when she sealed her lips to his, she was no longer tentative.
She nipped and licked and pressed her body so closely to his, he thought he had to be dreaming.
He thought he’d pass out with frustration when her palm left his thigh, until she grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to her feminine backside and he discovered heaven in his palm.
So round and soft, the globes of her arse were gloriously plump and perfectly proportioned for his palm to squeeze as he pulled her even tighter against his body.
The growl he’d been desperate to contain rumbled through his chest when she moaned her pleasure, as she pressed her tongue to the seam of his lips to deepen their kiss.
He opened for her, still allowing her to be in control of the pace despite his own need to finally have her in his bed.
When she pulled back and stared at his mouth as if she was stunned by what had just occurred, he said, “I should not confess this, but at this moment, ‘your bum is the greatest thing about you.’”
She laughed at his quote and he gloried in the vision, and the sound of her mirth. It was like the bells in the town square when the war was over.
“I don’t think Escalus was praising Pompey’s backside in Measure for Measure. I believe it was more of an insult.”
He squeezed the thinly covered flesh in his hands and imagined the silky skin he wanted to worship. “With yours, it is the greatest of compliments. Your arse is perfection.”
Caillen blushed and he stole a quick kiss and then confessed, “I would rather you come back to Langley Castle with me instead of returning to Harding House.”
She laughed again, too quickly this time. “Your mother would not approve.”
It was now or never, so he gambled on whether his reception would be like plunging into the heated springs of Somerset, or the ice-cold waters of Rosemarkie Bay. “My mother would be overjoyed if we returned and you were my countess. Will you marry me, Caillen?”