Page 119 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Swaying slightly on his feet, he spread his legs wide to steady himself. “I don’t see a need for coffee, not at this hour.”
Johanna’s expression was glum, even as the matron’s cheeks had colored to the hue of a ripe berry. As his sister-in-law clasped one hand over his, reality washed over him.
“I know you don’t now, dear. But I suspect in the morning, you’ll realize how very badly you needed it.”
Summer was in bloom at Dunnhaven. Harrison had always looked forward to the warmth and the abundant beauty of his ancestral home. He might spend weeks and months away from the place, but the old castle and grounds were a haven beyond compare.
He walked alone through the woods on the border of the grounds. He drank in fresh air, filling his lungs. After last night, he needed it. His head thundered with the after effects of too much whisky and too little sleep. He’d made an arse of himself. There was no denying that.
Pushing the thought aside, he savored the peace and the quiet, the subtle smells of a woodland in its full glory. His family home seemed a tonic for both his pounding head and his melancholy thoughts.
Damned shame the sights and the smells of this magnificent countryside could erase neither the memory of his boorish behavior nor the stubborn, dull ache in his chest.
Ordinarily, his ties to this land of his birth were like no other. This was his home. The home of the ancestors who’d gone before. The home of those he loved most in the world.
Save for one lass who’d stolen his heart as skillfully as she could make off with a purloined brooch or some rich biddy’s jewels.
His boot heels crunched over the dried leaves on the forest floor. When he thought about Grace, a longing unlike anything he’d ever experienced filled him. God above, he was therationalsibling among his rowdy brothers. He was the one who’d learned not to let his cock rule his head.
The thing of it was, it wasn’t his cock’s demands that were plaguing him.
No, the never-ending ache he’d experienced since the morning she’d sailed away came distinctly from the region of his chest. Of his heart.
Grace had gone on with her life in America.
And like a colossal fool, he’d let her go.
Without him.
He’d never realized it was possible to crave the sound of a woman’s voice. Not until he’d yearned for Grace.
He wanted her with a desperation that defied all logic.
But until that moment, he hadn’t consideredwhy.
He could never deny the physical longing, the craving for passion and tenderness and carnal pleasure in her arms.
But there was more.
So much more.
He yearned to hear his name on her lips, spoken with her soft, velvet drawl. He hungered for her melodic laughter and the way her brows knit together when she frowned. He needed her touch against his hand and the feel of her head nestled against his shoulder.
He neededher.
He loved Grace.
And like the most daft of dolts, he’d clung to his duty as she’d left him forever.
His anger was not with her.
It was with himself.
Why was he such an idiot?
Wandering out of the woods, he spotted Connor and his wife, Johanna, walking hand in hand. Connor carried their wee bairn in the crook of one arm. Their son had been born only weeks earlier, and already, he had a head of dark hair and his father’s demanding ways.
“It’s good to see you out here, Harry. This warmth is like a tonic.” Johanna smiled, her coppery-brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. She’d always been beautiful, but now, since the birth of their child, she’d gained a radiance Harrison could attribute only to joy. Like Grace, his brother’s wife was an American—a writer of sensation novels, of all things—and she’d come to love the Highlands.
