Page 25 of To My Scot, With Love
I hope you will always love me.
Her glance shot to his, one that was dark and guarded. “Of course, I will always love you, Felix. Nothing could ever change that.”
His gaze slid away from hers, and he nodded absently. One she knew was mere motion and not that he truly believed her words.
“What is this about?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, his fingers pinching and twisting the sides of his brown trousers.
Lydia patted the spot next to her. “Why don’t you sit, darling? Sometimes it’s easier to say the words when you’re not forced to face someone’s gaze.”
He lowered himself stiffly next to her. Well, that wouldn’t do. She lifted her arm and gestured to the space with her other hand. “I know you’re eleven and much too old to snuggle with your mama, but it’s Valentine’s Day. Indulge your mother and let me pretend you’re still my darling boy and not growing into a man much too fast.”
Her heart smiled as he curled into her side. But his hands still fidgeted in his lap.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked softly.
“I feel different,” he whispered. “And I don’t know why.”
17
Mal
Malcolmtrailedhisfingersover the bare skin of Lydia’s arm and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, where it rested on his chest. He inhaled deeply, drawing in her flowery scent, as lovely as a meadow, as bonnie as one, too. There was no greater feeling than her wrapped around him, his arms around her, bare skin against bare skin. Yet, it was both everything and not nearly enough. The way he wanted her, the way she consumed his every thought—it couldnae be healthy.
They hadn’t had many moments like this. Between the constant demands of her children, his responsibilities as groom, the barriers of her title, and the need to be discreet—it was of utmost import to Lydia that the Jennings family image remain strong, especially in her children’s eyes—there was precious little time left for them. They existed in stolen moments, fleeting and rare. Moments he feared he lived for. That now that he had…he didnae know how he’d survive if he ever had to go without.
She played with his chest hair, fingers absently tufting through the coarse curls he had there. And even though she didn’t face him, he could feel that she was far away.
“Where’d ye go, mo chridhe?”
She let out a breath that was far too weighted to be following a bout of lovemaking. His heart rate picked up, tapping against his throat. Sometimes he feared this was all too good to be true. That she’d tire of him. Or he’d wake up only to realize it had all been a dream.
She rose on her elbow, head propped in her hand, and studied him, those blue-green irises searching. “Can I trust you, Malcolm?”
His chin jutted in, and he blinked. “Of course. Always. With anything. Everything.”
Her lips softened, tilting up the slightest amount at the corners. “I’m not sure why I asked that. I knew the answer.”
Another too-heavy breath escaped her, a loose tress of hair fluttering in front of her. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering. Always lingering on her skin.
“Tell me what has your mind muddled, Lydia.”
“I had a conversation with Felix today.”
“Aye,” he said, studying her carefully.
She gnawed on her pretty pink bottom lip, eyes clouded, reflective. Her brows pinched, and her gaze cleared, coming back to him. “When did you first start”—she waved her hand back and forth—“Oh, I don’t know. Chasing skirts?”
He pursed his lips. “If you’re asking when I first took a lass to bed, it was most definitely no’ at eleven.”
A grin flashed across her face, and a soft chuckle burst from her. “Oh, dear me,no. More…when did you start having infatuations, I suppose.”
He rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “Ah, I see what ye’re getting at. Young, if what my mam always said was any indication. She said I was charming the lasses even while in nappies. But the first time I became smitten with a lassie? There was a fiery red-haired lass on the estate my da worked at. I was probably nine or ten at the time. I teased her something dreadful. And got myself an ear-blistering from me mam when she caught me kissing her behind the pig-shed.”
Lydia snorted and broke into a fit of mirth, her small form shaking atop him. “Be-behind the p-pig-shed?”
“Och, don’t judge me, lass! I was ten at the time! My wooing has improved quite a bit since then.”
