Rules for a Proper Governess (33 page)

They’d face it together.

Bertie put her hand in his and drew herself up to kiss him. Sinclair cradled her head and kissed her back, his lips strong on hers, mouth seeking. The kiss went on, happiness flushing Bertie as she realized exactly what was happening. She would marry Sinclair and be his wife, have his warm body beside her for all her days.

She eased back from the kiss and looked into his eyes, her heart in her smile. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Mr. McBride.”

“Hooray!” The door, which Bertie was certain she’d shut, swung open and banged into the bookcase behind it. Andrew ran in, shouting the word. Cat followed him, her eyes alight with more excitement than Bertie had ever seen in her.

“Papa is going to marry Bertie!” Andrew announced at the top of his voice. He ran out into the hall, yelled it again, then dashed back inside. “Bertie’s going to be our mum!”

“We heard you, Andrew,” Cat said with big-sisterly annoyance.

Sinclair held his hand out to them. “Come here, you two. Give Bertie a kiss.”

Andrew flew at them, flinging himself into Bertie’s lap. The sofa suddenly became very crowded as Cat joined them. Andrew kissed Bertie’s and then his father’s cheek, then he drew back and gave Sinclair a manly handshake.

Cat hugged Bertie. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Bertie gathered her in. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

“We’ll adjourn to Scotland,” Sinclair said. “And marry there, in our home in the Highlands.” He let out a long breath, then gave Bertie a look that was so loving, she feared she’d burst into tears. “I can recover well there, with you all running around making noise. We’ll invite the whole McBride clan, and throw in the Mackenzies too.”

“Hooray!” Andrew shouted again.

Sinclair winced at the piercing sound, but he stretched out his arm to encompass Bertie and Andrew too. “Nothing I can’t do without my family.”

“And
what
a family.” Bertie laughed again. “Cheeky and loud, always arguing or pestering you about something.”

“If they were quiet and meek, I’d know something was wrong.” Sinclair sat up. “Now go on. Start packing. We’re off.”

Andrew cheered again. He scrambled off the chaise and headed for the door. Cat gave Bertie another hug, then Sinclair, and ran after her brother. There was more spring in her step, a flush of happiness on her face.

“What a family,” Sinclair repeated Bertie’s words. He drew her close. “What a wife I’ve chosen. You’re going to give me merry hell, aren’t you?”

“That I am.” Bertie sank into the curve of Sinclair’s arm and raised her face to him for another kiss. “You ain’t getting away with nothing, Mr. Basher McBride.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be otherwise,” Sinclair said softly. Then he kissed her, and Bertie lost herself in his warmth.

The wedding photo showed Bertie in white, a lace veil trickling to her hips, a large smile on her face. Sinclair stood ramrod straight next to her, holding her arm and trying to look dignified. Caitriona sat in a chair in front of the happy couple, with Andrew standing beside it, a large dog sitting next to him.

The dog was a present from Ian and Beth Mackenzie, a puppy from their estate who’d grown gangly and unruly. Andrew had fallen in love with him on the Christmas visit, and so the dog joined Bertie and Sinclair on their journey to Sinclair’s Highland home.

It was March, the Highlands just showing the light green of spring. Bertie loved Sinclair’s house the moment she saw it. A large three-story stone structure, it had been built in the late eighteenth century, as Kilmorgan had been, but it was about one tenth Kilmorgan’s size, which was fine with Bertie. The house was plenty big to her, and she didn’t want to rattle around and not be close to Sinclair or the children. The walls were plain stone with tall windows and red-painted shutters, dormer windows peeking out from the slate roof.

The house sat on the banks of a pale blue loch, with green hills rising around it. Farms filled the valley around the village, as did pastures full of sheep. Fat cows with long hair falling over their faces wandered about, even into the streets of the village and the front door of Sinclair’s house. Ospreys soared across the loch, and bubbles did indeed boil in the middle of the water. Bertie and Andrew would have to watch for their very own monster.

The wedding was held at the chapel near the village, with the McBrides—Steven and his wife Rose, who was expecting; Juliana and Elliot with Elliot’s daughter Priti and their year-old son, Patrick; and the older Patrick McBride, with his wife, Rona. The Mackenzies were in attendance, from Hart to Ian, with their wives and growing brood of children. Inspector Fellows and Lady Louisa also came, Fellows hovering protectively around Louisa and their newborn daughter, who’d come to them in February. Daniel Mackenzie, filling out more every time Bertie saw him, arrived with Ainsley and Cameron. Twenty years old now, he was full of energy and plans for his future.

The revelry began at the wedding breakfast and lasted all day and into the night. Sinclair told Bertie the festivities would go until morning.

Fiddlers and drummers came from the village to play lively Scottish tunes, and the company danced. Bertie didn’t know the dances, but Sinclair pulled her into them, teaching her as they went. Daniel also helped, his exuberance nearly knocking Bertie off her feet.

She danced with almost all the gentlemen—Elliot, Steven, even Patrick, Cameron, Mac, Daniel again. Hart never joined in, they told her, although Bertie caught him with Eleanor in the hall, the two circling around each other in their own private waltz. Ian didn’t dance either, but he watched Beth and his children take part, the look on his face one of pure love.

Bertie sat out with Ian when she was exhausted, Sinclair walking Ainsley into another circle. Ian’s gaze rested on Beth as she danced with Daniel, Beth laughing, her cheeks pink, as Danny swung her around.

“I did what you told me,” Bertie said to Ian over the music. “I stayed.”

Ian glanced at her, taking in her ivory gown, minus the veil now. Bertie thought he’d speak, but he turned back to his wife and the dancers.

“You might not remember,” Bertie went on. “You took me aside when Andrew got hurt and told me I should stay with them. It was good advice. I took it to heart.”

“I remember.” Ian’s words broke through hers.

Bertie waited, but Ian was finished. “I understand now,” Bertie said. “I know you meant that they needed me to look after them, but I need them too. It goes both ways.”

Ian glanced at her, as though he had no idea why she kept speaking to him. The matter was closed.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Bertie said. “You made me think. I’m grateful, is all.”

“You love them.” The statement was bald, flat, brooking no argument.

Bertie’s gaze went to Sinclair, his light hair glinting in the lamplight, as blond as his sister’s. He was graceful for a large man, his kilt swaying enticingly as he danced.

“You’re right about that,” Bertie said. “I love them with all my might.”

Ian waited a long moment before he spoke again. “A few years ago, I would have asked how you knew you loved them. Now, I don’t have to.” His gaze went to Beth again, and Bertie saw his world adjust.

Bertie felt the same adjustment when she looked at Sinclair. Her world had been chaotic, sometimes frightening, but always uncertain. Sinclair was certainty, but not dullness. Never that.

Sinclair caught her eye as he spun Ainsley by the waist and joined the main circle again, and he grinned at her. It was a smile of gratitude and love, as well as one of sinful promise. They hadn’t had much time to be alone since they’d arrived, although late last night, Sinclair had entered Bertie’s bedroom and made swift and silent love to her. They’d had to be quiet, as the house around them was filled, but the heat of the encounter was still with her.

The dance ended. Ian immediately left the corner to find Beth. Sinclair led Ainsley back to her husband, who was deep in conversation with Elliot, and came for Bertie.

“There’s a Scottish tradition of the clan waiting outside the bedroom door for the groom to deflower his bride,” he said to her. “With much drinking and shouting to go with it.”

Bertie faltered. “Oh, dear.”

“I told my brothers and the clan Mackenzie they’d better not try it. So they’ll want to cheer us to our bedroom, unless we can get away before they notice.”

“Yes, let’s.” Bertie’s face burned. “Please.”

Sinclair gave her a quick kiss on the lips, which elicited a shout from the dancers. They were certainly being watched. “You go first. Make an excuse to anyone who sees you. I’ll join you. Be casual.”

“Oh, you know I’m very good at slipping away.” Bertie winked at him. “Raised to it, I was.”

Sinclair laughed. “You are so beautiful.”

Bertie warmed. “Flatterer.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Until then.”

Sinclair drifted off, allowing himself to be caught by his friends and brothers-in-law. Bertie talked and laughed with the ladies a few minutes, then excused herself to go to the necessary. She declined any company, saying she could find her way in her own house.

Once she’d left the ballroom, she ducked into a side passage and nipped up a set of stairs. The bedroom she’d share with Sinclair was on the first floor, a suite that took up one corner of the house. A lovely place with a view of the loch.

The hall was dim but the sitting room outside the bedroom was lit, as was the bedroom itself. Bertie shut the door and stood for a moment in the middle of the chamber, letting out her breath. Her body hummed—all the dancing, laughter, and tiredness catching up to her.

She was married. Mrs. Sinclair McBride. She could scarce believe it. Cat and Andrew would be her own children. A ready-made family.

Bertie sat down, running her hands along the finery of her ivory skirt. The Mackenzie and McBride ladies had once again enjoyed themselves transforming Bertie from her plain governess attire to a Cinderella gown. Bertie lifted the layers of silk and tulle and the petticoats beneath, stripping off her stockings while she waited for her Prince Charming.

He came in not long later, closing and locking the bedroom door. He leaned against it, letting out a breath of relief.

“Thought I’d never get away. The Mackenzie and McBride men are all madly in love with their wives—you’d think they’d let me be alone with mine.”

“They love to tease, your family does.”

“They’re your family now too,” Sinclair said darkly. “I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or express sympathy.”

“I don’t mind. I’ve always wanted a big family.” Bertie rose, took hold of his broad hand, and placed it on her lower abdomen. “Which will become bigger soon.”

Sinclair gazed down at her in no surprise at all, his palm warm through the fabric. “I wondered when you would tell me.”

Bertie scowled. “Oh, blast you, I was hoping you’d fall down in a dead faint. Who told ya?”

“No one.” Sinclair’s shrug was maddening. “I’m good at observing people—I know what it means when a woman is ill in the mornings then eats like a horse the rest of the day.”

“A horse?” Bertie planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, a horse?” She deflated. “You’re probably right; I’m always hungry now. I’m going to be
enormous
.”

“I hope so. I want you and our son or daughter healthy.” Sinclair lost his smile and stepped close to her. “I’d forgotten what it was to be happy, Bertie. Truly happy all the way through. Thank you for putting the laughter back into my life.”

Bertie rested her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath. No flutters as when he couldn’t breathe, no strange pounding as when he’d been fevered. “When I first saw you,” she said, “I wanted more than anything to make you smile.”

Sinclair rewarded her with one now. “And you’ve been doing it ever since.”

Bertie let her hand stray down his abdomen to his kilt. “Looks like you’re doing more than smiling.”

“You think I can help it?” Sinclair rested his hands on her shoulders, fingers gripping. “I’m with my beautiful wife, in her wedding dress, on my wedding night. I’m drunk and happy, but not insensible.”

Bertie squeezed the very hard thing beneath his kilt. “I can see that. Feel it, rather.”

“No more talking.” Sinclair leaned close. “I make my living talking. Tonight, I just want . . .
you
.”

“You have me,” Bertie whispered. “Forever. Love you, Sinclair.”

“
That
you can say, over and over again.” He nuzzled her. “I love you too, Bertie.”

Bertie again told Sinclair she loved him as he slowly stripped off first her beautiful clothes then his. She said it when he lifted her to the bed and knelt in front of her to kiss his way down her body. And again as he leaned forward and drank her, firelight kissing his bare back and the gold of his hair.

Sinclair laid her on the bed, rising over her, his cock hard against her thigh, while he took her breast in his mouth, licking, suckling. Bertie said
I love you
when he slid himself inside her, his eyes intent on hers, and she said it once more when he began the rocking motion that sealed them together.

She cried it when ecstasy lifted her higher than had the dancing and the fact that she was his wife. Bertie murmured it in a low voice when Sinclair collapsed onto her, gathering her against his sweat-sheened body. He kissed her face, her hair, her throat, and Bertie whispered it to him.

“I love you too, Bertie,” Sinclair answered every time. “I love you.”

They lay together, curled into each other, one.

Complete.