Page 103 of Never a Duchess
“I shall be four or five hours, six at most.”
“Very well. I’ll do what I can until then.” He left her waiting for Dewart.
The Scot drove like the devil chased his heels.
The gates to the manor were closed, but not locked.
There was no sign of Rebus.
“Dounreay must be here. Why else would he ask for the key?” Where else would he go? She searched the gatehouse, finding the rooms cold and empty. “Wait here. I’ll head to the gamekeeper’s cabin.”
“I’ll walk with ye, miss. His Grace would whip me silly if anything happened to ye en route.”
She agreed and followed the burly coachman along the dark woodland path, stopping to pick up a pebble and slip it into her pocket.
They heard the horse snicker before they spotted the beast in the rickety stable. The faint flicker of candlelight in the cabin confirmed Dounreay was inside.
A sense of urgency drove her to clasp Dewart’s hand, whisper her thanks and tell him to rest in the gatehouse until they were ready to return home.
No longer trapped in a mind of indecision, she took a fortifying breath and stepped up to the cabin.
The wood creaked as she pushed open the door. Her heart wept as her gaze fell upon the man sitting on the bed, his head clasped in his hands, every breath full of despair.
Perhaps she was always meant to suffer a childhood tragedy.
She understood shock, disbelief, anger and blind confusion. No one was better equipped to deal with the range of distressing emotions.
She didn’t speak. No words were needed.
With slow steps, she closed the gap between them.
He didn’t look up until she touched his shoulder. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. In the fathomless depths of his beautiful eyes, she read his silent plea.
She hiked up her skirts and came to sit astride his thighs, cradled his head to her breast. Hugged him the way someone should have hugged her all those years ago.
These woods held a special place in his heart. They kept him sane when he missed his homeland. She had joked about never feeling connected to a place. Now anywhere felt like home as long as she was with Dounreay.
She brushed her mouth across his hair, breathing him in. She couldn’t tear her lips away, and kissed him thrice on the temple.
He wrapped her in an embrace, his large hands stroking her back as she rained soft kisses in every place she could reach. Sensing her need to taste him, his mouth found hers, his tongue sliding across the seam before plunging into the moist depths.
She poured everything of herself into that kiss.
Her abiding love. Her deepest respect. The sincere apology she should have made for denying him every dance.
As was the way with them, the kiss left them rampant. Within minutes, they would be making love in bed or on the floor, writhing in each other’s arms.
She pulled away, stroking the lock of hair from his brow, almost crying from the power of her contained emotions.
“Who brought ye here?” he said.
“Dewart. I barged into your home and barked commands.” Cupping his cheek, she dared to broach the subject she’d rather avoid. “When I saw your mother’s name in that book, I feared you meant to kill someone tonight.”
“Aye. I’d have blood on my hands if I’d nae stopped to visit MacTavish.”
“Was he surprised? Did Lorna know about Mr Valmary?” Had he argued with his friends? Did he feel a deep sense of betrayal?
“They knew my mother had a mystery lover, but didnae want to soil her memory by telling me.” He spoke quickly. She knew why. He would tell her everything in his own time, but she would not press him now.
