Dreaming (43 page)

The land had been here long before he was. And it would be here long after he was not. It was a heritage—his past—but it was also his future. He found an odd kind of comfort in that, the idea that something could give pleasure that was not fleeting.

The swift breeze carried on it a gay laugh, and his heart. His wife. He’d always imagined that he was somehow immune to love. He’d thought of himself as someone incapable of giving his heart to another. But then he hadn’t understood the emotions within him, any more than he had understood his father.

With his marriage he had learned that love was something one gave unconditionally. To love someone in spite of their weaknesses. The hellion had given him that, a better understanding of himself and of who and what his father was—a man with weaknesses like Richard.

He turned toward the dell, where
Letty
tossed a stick and played with that beast of a dog. Her wild hair blew out behind her as she ran through the tall grasses, her skirts molding to the soft lines of her body. And she was barefoot, her stockings and shoes tossed off somewhere on the hillside.

He who had cared about so little cared about her. As he walked toward her he could feel the pull of her, the awareness that she was more than just his wife, more than a woman he desired.

Yes, he wanted her with his body. But he also wanted her with his mind, with everything he was. With his being.

She was sitting on her knees when he reached her and he lay down alongside her in the grass. She looked at him with a sudden and welcome smile. “I love it here.”

“I can see that.”

“I have a surprise for you. Wait here.” She stood up and ran over to her dog, who had his muzzle buried in a rabbit hole.

He would have liked to have buried that dog in a rabbit hole.

For the past week they’d had to close the beast out of their bedchamber or suffer him leaping upon the bed and growling and snarling in Richard’s ear while he was making love to his wife. As of last night, Gus had learned to use his muzzle to open doors.

She walked back toward him with Gus loping alongside. Her smile was bright and excited, as if this were the most wonderful of moments. Her eyes sparkling with some secret, she stopped in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. “Are you ready?”

He leaned back on his elbows in the grass, crossing his boots, and he let his gaze rove slowly over her. “I’m always ready, hellion.”

She flushed. “That’s not the surprise. Now be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Richard . . . ” Her hands flew to her mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

She dropped her hands and pursed her lips slightly before she muttered, “Nothing.” She spun around and her skirt belled out, giving him a glimpse of a slender foot and perfect ankle.

“Gus.”

He barked, then loped closer, searching her hands for the stick. She clasped her hands behind her and rocked slightly on her toes.

“Sit.”

The dog plopped down and looked up at her.

She looked at Richard. “Now listen.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re talking.”

He was silent.

“Richard.” She looked at him. “Richard . . . Richard . . . Richard . . . ” She stopped. “Notice anything?”

“You know my name.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Gus didn’t growl!”

Richard looked at the beast through suspicious eyes. He waited a moment, then snapped a sharp “Richard!”

Silence.

“Richard!”

Gus just sat there, his tongue lolling out of the side of his tops and wearing that silly-looking grin.

“How did you manage it?”

“Bribery.” She sat down beside him and hugged her knees to her chest.

“Such as?”

“Three apples, a beef bone, two chicken legs, and a plate of
honeybuns
.”

“Ah, perhaps we’re going about this bedchamber thing all wrong. Instead of locking him out at night, we should lock him in the pantry.”

She laughed. The wind caught the sound and carried it to the crown of the nearby elm trees, shaking loose a few doves. He loved the sound of that laugh. It had melody and joy and life.

He experienced the pleasure of just letting his gaze wander from her head to her bare toes curling in the grass. He reached out and ran a finger over the top of her foot.

“That tickles!” She pulled back.

“Does it?” He grabbed the other foot and she tried to slither away, but he was stronger. Laughing, they rolled in the grass, tussling like children, free and happy.

Then he pulled her under him, capturing her hands at the sides of her head and pinning her legs with his. He threaded his fingers through hers, palm to palm, and she shifted, one leg lifting slightly between his.

The laughter died on their lips. He drank in the sight of her as a man who has thirsted forever.

He kissed her, worshiped her with his mouth. Her name was a prayer on his lips, his name a whisper of love on hers.

Their clothing fell away easily, naturally. And he came into her, lost himself in her.

It was good, so bloody damn good. Like cold clear water running over him, washing away the dirt of his past, a baptism, the cleansing of sins and the bonding to a future that was only her.

In her—in this girl that he’d known so long yet had understood so little—he’d found something he’d never known was possible, would have bet every last
ha’penny
that such a thing didn’t exist, and surely didn’t exist for him.

But he’d been wrong.

It did exist, and nothing in his entire life had prepared him for what he’d found in the arms of an innocent young woman who loved him in spite of himself.

Richard slowed the motions of his body and gently cupped her head, turning it so that she had to face him.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head.

“Then why are you crying?”

She tried to catch her breath and couldn’t. She lifted slightly and pressed her lips to a small scar on his upper arm. “I shot you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Yes, you did, and I probably needed to be shot.”

“I can’t laugh about it, Richard. I want so badly for everything to be perfect.”

“I say this is about as close to perfect as anything can be. Good God, hellion, I don’t think I could take much more perfection and live through it.”

“Every time I see that scar I think about it.”

“You’ve healed more deep scars than you could ever give me.”

Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Are you happy?”

He lowered his mouth to hers. “No, I’m not just happy. I’m in love.”

The Duchess of
Belmore
gave birth to a daughter on the last day of summer. Some two weeks later the Earl and Countess of
Downe
and Viscount and
Viscountess
Seymour stood as godparents to the only firstborn female in the history of the
Castlemaine
lineage.

“I say,
Belmore
,” Viscount Seymour said, peering down into the
Belmore
cradle, “looks like she has Joy’s nose.”

Mary MacLean, maternal great-aunt to the newest
Castlemaine
, breezed by with the comment, “One can only hope little Lady Marian inherits
all
of her mother’s traits.”

The Duke of
Belmore
choked on his wine.

“Careful, nephew, one must sip fine wine, you know.” Mary thumped him on the back, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“I wouldn’t know.” Alec scowled. “Every bottle I’ve opened for the last two months has tasted of
ratafia
.”

“Really? How odd.”

Joy stood in the doorway. “Come, everyone. Richard and
Letty
are leaving.” She started to cross to the cradle, but Alec stood up.

“I’ll take her, Scottish.” With surprising ease he bent down and picked up his daughter, then joined the others in the foyer.

So they all gathered to bid farewell to the earl and countess. Richard said his goodbyes, then stopped and gave the MacLean a long and thoughtful look.

He joined Alec on the front steps and said, “Joy’s aunt looks more and more familiar to me every time I’m around her, but I can’t place where I’ve seen her.”

“Have you seen Macbeth lately?” Alec asked under his breath.

Richard looked at him, then smiled. “Worse than a mother-in-law?”

“A real witch,” Alec said, knowing Richard wouldn’t understand how true his words were.

A few minutes later Richard had joined his wife and the carriage took off down the drive.

The MacLean sighed as the front doors closed and she joined the
Seymours
on the stairs while Alec and Joy took the baby back to her cradle. “I suppose I should be off myself. I have a gathering to attend tonight.”

“We’ll be leaving shortly, Mary, if you’d care to travel with us.”
Giana
gave the MacLean a full smile.

Mary patted
Giana’s
hand. “Thank you, my dear. You go on and ready yourself and don’t worry about me. My nephew has graciously offered to loan me a conveyance.”

Alec rounded the corner of the reception room and muttered, “My broadest broom.”

“Alec . . . ” Joy groaned as he placed the baby back in her cradle.

“She couldn’t have heard me.” Alec straightened.

A minute later the MacLean strolled through the double doors, a piece of paper in her hands. She handed it to Alec.

“What’s this?”

“A list of girls’ names.” She smiled wickedly as she crossed the room and sat down. “Marianna,
Marietta
, Mary Elizabeth, Rosemary.”

Alec stared at the paper. “I think I need a drink.”

He turned to look at his duchess but froze
midturn
.

His wine glass was floating slowly across the room.

“Scottish.”

She was tucking a blanket around the baby and glanced up. She looked at the wineglass, then at the MacLean. “Aunt, you know Alec doesn’t want us doing those things while there are guests.”

The MacLean turned. “Doing what, my dear?”

“That,” Alec gritted, glaring at the wineglass hovering near his nose.

“I didn’t do it,” the MacLean said truthfully.

He looked at his wife. “Did you do it?”

She shook her head and her eyes grew wide. She looked at the baby and muttered, “Oh my goodness.” Hands to her cheeks, she turned to her aunt.

The MacLean was grinning with delight. She clapped her hands together and hurried over to the cradle. “Oh! How wonderful! And at only two weeks. Joyous, you didn’t levitate anything until you were two months.”

Alec snatched the glass out of the air, drained it, then sagged into a chair, resting his head in his hands. “Bloody hell . . . ”