Maclean Curse - To Scotland With Love Part 28

"Why not? He's a man. He ought to take responsibility."

"For someone else's mistake? No. It would be different if-"

"If what?"

If he loved her. Which he didn't. The lump in her throat grew. She took a sip of tea, hoping she wouldn't choke on it.

Grandmama's gaze never left her. "You are being silly, my dear. If your mother was the woman she should be, you'd be done with these die-away airs and on the way to the altar."

"I don't wish to go to the altar with Lord MacLean."

"Of course you do! He's a d.a.m.ned fine-looking specimen. Sort of man I went after myself, way back when. There's nothing shameful in wanting, Venetia. There's only shame in not getting."

Venetia set her cup back in the saucer with a loud clack. "Grandmama, every woman in London has thrown herself at Gregor's head. I won't be one of them."

"Forget his head. That's not the part that's the most interesting." Grandmama cackled when Venetia's cheeks heated. "Don't play your missish airs on me, young lady. I saw how you were looking at him, and he at you. There's good, healthy fire there. The kind that makes marriages last and brings big, healthy boys into the family line."

Venetia almost laughed. "It's a wonder Mama hasn't taken to her bed, the way you talk."

"She takes to it every other day, but I know how to roust her." Grandmama limped toward the window, her teacup in one hand, her cane in the other.

"Come and sit by the fire," Venetia said, rising to follow her grandmother. "You'll spill your tea."

"I can hold my own cup, thank you," Grandmama said testily. "It's hot in here. Open a window."

"But-"

"I feel a bit faint. Open a window before I drop dead."

Venetia sighed and opened the window. A cold breeze swept into the room, banging the shutter open.

"Much better!" Grandmama said while Venetia s.h.i.+vered. The old woman limped toward the bed. "What did MacLean mean when he said he'd made a mull of his proposal?"

Venetia rubbed her cold arms. "It doesn't matter. I won't marry under such circ.u.mstances. If he...if he'd really wanted to marry me, then perhaps-But that doesn't matter, because it's not the way things are."

Grandmama fiddled with the ta.s.sel on the bed, the teacup held precariously over the mattress. "I never liked this color. I meant to have green ta.s.sels hung from the corners, but that demmed seamstress talked me out of it. Said it wouldn't go with the yellow."

Why on earth was Grandmama talking about bed ta.s.sels? "Grandmama, why-"

"Oops!" The tea sloshed on the bed, a brown splash hitting the pillows and cover. "Blast it all! Looks as if I ruined your bedding." There was a faint hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Venetia sighed, suddenly too tired to figure out anything other than the fact that she longed to be alone. "Don't worry about it. I'll have one of the maids dry the bed as well as she can. I'll sleep on the other side." It was a huge bed; four people could sleep in it without touching one another.

Grandmama hobbled to the bellpull. "My granddaughter will not sleep in a damp bed. You'll catch your death of a cold, especially with that window open."

"Really, Grandmama, it's nothing. I can-"

A soft knock sounded, and Raffley entered.

"There you are." Venetia's grandmother made her way to the door. "I've spilled tea on the bed. My granddaughter will need a new room."

Venetia said, "I don't-"

"Put on your robe, child. You can't walk through the hallways dressed like that." Grandmama paused in the doorway. "Raffley knows where to take you. I'd take you m'self, but I'm too tired."

"Grandmama-"

"Good night, my dear. I will see you at breakfast."

Venetia sighed. There was no naysaying Grandmama; she wasn't sure why she even tried. A maid appeared, who briskly repacked Venetia's portmanteau and carried it to the hallway to a waiting footman. Venetia thrust her arms into her robe and followed the butler down the hallway. They wound past various bedchambers, finally pa.s.sing the Pink Room, where Grandmama had placed Gregor.

Venetia couldn't help wondering what he was doing. Had he retired already? She had an instant image of him sliding between the sheets and would wager her last groat that he slept without a st.i.tch on. A delicious tremor went through her at the thought.

Raffley stopped by a set of doors farther down the hallway and threw them open. The room was twice as large as her usual bed chamber and cozily warm, both fireplaces burning brightly. The bed was turned down, the heavily brocaded cover decorated with a ma.s.s of blue flowers, a pile of blue and gold pillows luring her forward, candles lit on either side of the bed casting the crisp sheets in a beguiling light.

Chairs and a settee were placed before one of the fireplaces, thick rugs scattered. Wide double doors led to a balcony that overlooked the gardens behind the house. Long, thick draperies of heavy navy silk pooled on the floor, and gold pillows were placed here and there.

Raffley unpacked Venetia's belongings while a footman brought in a new tea tray filled with fresh strawberries, raspberries and cream, cinnamon scones, and a chilled decanter of sherry. Venetia supposed her grandmother was apologizing for spilling her tea on the bed.

Finally, Raffley took one last look around the room, nodded his satisfaction, bid her a quiet good night, and closed the great doors behind him.

Venetia took off her robe and threw it over a chair, then went to the tray and poured herself a gla.s.s of sherry. This would be just the thing to help her sleep. She sipped her way through one gla.s.s and naughtily decided to have another.

She stretched her toes toward the fire, wiggling them in the delicious heat. Tomorrow, she'd see what she could do to help her companions. Sir Henry might actually make a good match for the romantically inclined Miss Higganbotham. He was steady and stable and had impressed Venetia with his attentiveness.

Miss Platt was another matter. She would have to find a position for the woman soon; perhaps Grandmama knew someone who needed a companion.

And Ravenscroft needed to return to London and apologize to Lord Ulster. Her mother might be able to help, since she knew Ulster's grandmother rather well. The old lady held her grandson's purse strings, so it was entirely possible she could nudge him into accepting Ravenscroft's tardy apology. Yes, that plan had merit.

She frowned a bit, sipping her sherry. That only left herself. Her companions had to know by now that she wasn't Ravenscroft's sister, that they'd been together under improper circ.u.mstances, and that Gregor wasn't her guardian.

Venetia sighed. What could she do? She loved living in London and couldn't see becoming a recluse, but that was exactly what she'd have to do. She could live down the censure if she married Ravenscroft, but nothing could persuade her to take that step.

She lifted the sherry gla.s.s to her lips again and was surprised to find that it was empty. She refilled the gla.s.s and stretched, the bottoms of her feet delightfully warm. The firelight played off her skin in the most flattering way, gilding it to match the silk bed hangings.

Venetia let her mind wander to the way Gregor had looked at her that evening. If only she could believe he felt more for her than mere responsibility. Something...significant.

She sighed, so deep in thought that she didn't hear the handle turn on the balcony door.

Didn't notice the shadow of a person walking toward her across the thick rugs.

Didn't realize someone was standing there, watching her, until the faint scent of his cologne made her nipples peak beneath her thin night rail.

She closed her eyes and whispered, "Gregor."

Chapter 19.

The difference betwixt women and men is this: if they're in love, one will tell ye what ye want t' hear, the other will do it.

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING.

G regor smiled down at Venetia. "Mind if I join you? You look quite comfortable there." And d.a.m.ned s.e.xy, too. He'd plainly seen the outline of her legs through her night rail as she'd held them to the fire, and it almost stopped him in his tracks. By G.o.d, but she had beautiful legs, curvy and sensual. He wanted to trace their length with his hands, rub his cheek over the curve of her hip- His body tightened uncomfortably. Stop thinking like that, or you won't be able to talk.

Her gaze flickered to the balcony doors and back, her brows knitted in confusion. "My balcony doesn't connect to yours."

"I jumped." He grinned at the flash of concern he saw in her eyes. "At dinner, your grandmother informed me that you'd be moving to the room beside mine. She also mentioned how close my balcony was to yours; so close that even an old lady like herself could leap between the two without the least effort."

Venetia's cheeks heated and she pulled her nightgown closer. "Grandmama is anything but subtle."

"Almost as subtle as your mother."

"Oh, no! Not Mama, too."

Gregor paused beside a small table to pick up a silver tray holding a cut crystal decanter and matching gla.s.ses and set it on the table before Venetia. "Your mother was concerned I might be afraid of heights. She told me that if she were thinking of jumping between the balconies and couldn't bring herself to make the leap, it might be possible to pick the lock on the connecting door with, say, a cravat pin."

Venetia blushed. "I'm surprised they aren't in here now, throwing rose petals before you as you walk."

"I would never countenance petal tossing. Too showy." He took the chair opposite hers, trying to keep his eyes from wandering, which was d.a.m.nably difficult, as she was wearing the most intriguing night rail. "How did your grandmother get you to move to this suite?"

"She 'accidentally' spilled tea on my bed." Venetia sent him a look from under her lashes. "Gregor, it...it would be best if you would go."

"Do you wish me to?" He held his breath, not wanting her to see how much her answer meant.

"No." The word came out in a breath, as if she could no longer hold it. Her gaze traveled over him, lingering on his open s.h.i.+rt. She closed her eyes, then opened them with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry for staring. It's just that I'm tired and..." She gestured lamely.

He laughed softly at her blush. "I've never seen you wear so little...or look so lovely."

Her cheeks were truly flaming now. She crossed her arms over her chest. "This is Mama's night rail. Mine isn't as revealing."

"More's the pity." He wanted to lift her into his lap and sit with her sweetly rounded behind nestled against him. His manhood stirred at the thought. Not yet, he told himself. He'd come to see what could be done to persuade her to marry him. Keep focused, he told himself.

He lifted the decanter and filled a gla.s.s, then handed it to her before pouring one for himself. He took a sip and grimaced.

She sipped a bit herself. "I've never had such delightful sherry."

He set his gla.s.s back on the table. "I prefer my sherry dry." He let his gaze drift over her delicious form. "It's my women I like sweet."

Delicious color raced over her face and neck, and he burned to follow it with his lips.

She took a nervous gulp of the sherry.

Gregor lifted his brows when he saw the empty gla.s.s. "Would you like some more?"

She nodded thankfully. "Yes, please."

He poured her half a gla.s.s.

Venetia frowned. "There's plenty more in the decanter."

"I don't wish you to wake up with a headache, which will happen if you keep gulping it down like that." "I am not gulping," she said in a lofty voice. "I was savoring it quickly. That is a different thing altogether."

"I see," he agreed gravely. He could tell from the glitter in her eyes that she was already a bit bosky from the sherry. A true gentleman would have refused to serve her more, but Gregor couldn't help but think that if she was relaxed and warmed by a gla.s.s or two of sherry, she might be more willing to listen to his proposal. He was determined to make it again, only this time, he'd do it right.

He'd realized one thing during the long ride here and that was that Venetia was too important to him for him to merely accept her refusal. "Very well, then. You may have more." He filled her gla.s.s to the top. "But don't blame me if you awaken with a headache."

Like a rainbow bursting from a storm-dark sky, she smiled. "Thank you. It's nice that we're talking again."

It was nice. "I've missed you." The words were past his lips before he knew that he'd said them.

"I've missed you, too." She set the gla.s.s down and leaned forward, the thin night rail stretched over her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Gregor, I don't know what's happened to us, but I want things to return to the way they used to be." She frowned, her gaze locked with his. "I don't know if that's possible, but now I wonder if perhaps..."

He lifted his brows. "Perhaps?"

She took a fortifying drink, her lips moist from the sherry. "Gregor, I have been thinking that perhaps you had the right idea about exploring this attraction between us." She met his eyes and whispered, "It's not going away. I-I find myself thinking about you and...I still want you."

His hand tightened about his gla.s.s. This was what he'd wanted and hoped for. He sat still, afraid that any movement, any word might ruin this moment, yet his heart thumped against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage.

Still he couldn't help but let his hungry gaze roam over her.

If there was one part of a woman's body that Gregor loved, it was her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He loved them full and rich, creamy white with large, rose-colored areolas. As Venetia leaned forward, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were clearly outlined, her erect nipples pressing against the thin material. Gregor heard her voice and knew he needed to listen, for he was almost certain he agreed with what she was saying. But all he could do was stare at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wondering...imagining...

Venetia gasped and crossed her arms over her chest, standing uncertainly. "Gregor, I-"

He grinned. The thin lawn of her night rail was like gauze. Her arms might be covering her lovely b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but the rest of her body was fully outlined for his pleasure.

She was all woman, his Venetia. Her calves were pleasingly plump, just the size to fill a man's hands. Her sweetly curved hips begged to be held, explored, enticing a man to pa.s.sion. Her hair fell in long, sweeping curls around her shoulders, her rounded arms dimpled and womanly. G.o.d, she was beautiful!

She stomped one foot, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing at the movement. "Gregor, say something! Were you even listening to me?"

Gregor realized she was growing angry with his lack of response. If only she knew how much he was responding to her. Like a banked volcano, he boiled beneath the surface. Any movement might send his thinly held control flying.

"Oh! Never mind!" She whirled away, her night rail s.h.i.+fting at her hips, tugging across her thighs, and lifting at her ankles.

One thought tore through the red mist of l.u.s.t. She was leaving, and he had to stop her.

The next moment, he was standing, cradling her in his arms.

She blinked up at him, shock and uncertainty flas.h.i.+ng across her face, turning her silver eyes to dark gray. "What-what are you doing?"

He looked into her eyes, and suddenly he knew this was right. That this moment was meant to be. "I am making your grandmother's dreams come true."

Excitement and nervousness warred in her eyes as he bent to capture her lips.