The Last Heiress (31 page)

“Let us sit by the fire,” Elizabeth invited him, offering the tapestried chair with the high back. When he had seated himself she sat down in his lap. “Isn’t this nice?” she asked him, snuggling against him.

“Aye,” he agreed, his arms slipping about her. “Are you attempting to seduce me, Elizabeth?” The delicate fragrance from her hair was enticing. White heather, he thought, and smiled to himself.

“Aye, I am attempting to seduce you, Baen,” she told him boldly.

“Do you mind?” She looked up into his face.

“Lassie, lassie,” he said almost mournfully, “I do not think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked frankly. “Don’t you want to be seduced?”

“If you were anyone other than who you are, Elizabeth, I would gladly succumb to your sweet blandishments,” he told her. Why was she torturing him so? And why was he allowing her to do so? He had to resist her.

“I am no one special,” she countered. “I am just plain Elizabeth Meredith.” His arms were so warm and comforting. She could live in them forever, she realized.

“You are a wealthy landowner, and I the bastard of a Highlander.

We have been over this before, Elizabeth, and I know you understand what I am saying,” Baen replied, attempting to remove her from his lap, but, defying him, she burrowed deeper.

“Of course I understand you, but it does not make any sense, Baen.”

Her fingers played with the laces of his shirt. “I am wealthy and English. You are poor and a Scot. We both know it, but why should such a thing stop us from desiring each other and acting upon those desires?” The shirt laces loosened, and she slipped her hand beneath them to find the smooth skin of his broad chest and caress it.

He felt her fingers stroking him. Then she twisted in his lap, and, lowering her head, she began to kiss his flesh and lick at one of his nipples. “Elizabeth!” he pleaded with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her stop. The little feathery kisses were exciting and oh, so sweet! Finally he pulled her up, and his mouth met hers in a fiery kiss.

His big hand unloosened her single thick braid and tangled in her soft blond hair. He couldn’t stop kissing her. Their mouths fused together again and again and yet again until Elizabeth was moaning with undisguised satisfaction.

Her lips felt bruised, and still she did not want him to cease. When he began to kiss her throat she could hear a roaring in her ears. She felt him opening her shirt as she had opened his. He was kissing her breasts, and she was crying out with the pure pleasure that was suffus-ing her whole body. “Oh, Baen,” she moaned.

Why wasn’t she telling him no? Why wasn’t she defending her honor and crying for her servants to drag him off and beat him for his presumption? The scent of white heather arose up from her body to as-sail him again. He buried his face between her small breasts. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” he whispered against her beating heart. God help him! He was falling in love with her. Nay! He
was
in love with her and had been for months. To be holding her in his arms, to be kissing her . . . it was more than he had dared to hope.

Her fingers wove themselves into his dark head. The touch of his mouth on her skin was utterly intoxicating. And she wanted more.

But what more was there? Could she tempt him tonight into revealing the mysteries of passion? She sighed happily.

And it was that soft sound of utter contentment that brought him to his senses. He might be in love with her, but he had no right to make love to her. And he was an experienced man ten years her senior who knew that unless they stopped this delightful activity right now, disaster was going to befall them both, but especially Elizabeth Meredith. He closed his eyes for just one more moment of pleasure.

Then, lifting his head, he said sternly, “Enough, Elizabeth. This can only lead to seduction.”

“Aye,” she drawled. “Don’t you want to be seduced, Baen?”

He laughed in spite of himself. “What am I going to do with you, lassie?” he despaired. “You surely know better.”

“I only know what is best for us, Baen,” Elizabeth told him.

“Us? There can be no us, lassie,” he said in a suddenly hard voice.

She jumped from his lap, surprising him. “There most certainly can be an us, Baen MacColl. I am the lady of Friarsgate, and I want it! And I usually get what I want!”

“Damn it, why will you not understand?” he demanded angrily.

“Why will
you
not understand?” she snapped back, stamping her foot at him. Her hazel-green eyes scanned him, and she saw the hard bulge between his thighs. “You want me!” she accused him. “And if you dare to give one of my servants that which I want, I will murder the girl, Baen MacColl! Do you understand me? If you would satisfy that itch I have caused, you must satisfy it with me alone!”

“You will kill me before this is done,” he said half angrily.

“You must kill me with pleasure first, Baen,” she whispered against his lips, her hands reaching down to stroke him boldly as she slipped back onto his lap.

“I don’t believe you are a virgin at all!” he accused her. “You behave like a wanton, Elizabeth Meredith!” He forced her out of his lap again.

“There is but one way to find out, Baen MacColl,” she challenged him wickedly.

“Go to bed!” he commanded her. God’s blood, how he wanted her!

“Alone?” she asked softly, her lips pursing temptingly. “Would you not come with me, Baen, and lie by my side? I want you to make me a woman, and you want me.”

In answer he flung himself out of the hall and heard her mocking laughter behind him. Damn her! Damn the little tease! What in the name of all that was holy was she thinking of, behaving so? If she kept up like this he was going to eventually succumb, but if he did it would be her own wretched fault. He rubbed his distended member, for it ached, but he would not satisfy himself on another.

Elizabeth had watched him go, and she had laughed in hopes of forcing him back to silence her with his kisses. Kisses that would eventually lead to more. But Baen was an honorable man. Still, she had proved to them both that he could be tempted. Yet she had to admit she was satisfied with the results of tonight’s encounter. As unfortunate as Edmund’s sudden illness was for him, it had proved providen-tial for her. Baen could not escape being with her now. She would have him. Oh, yes, she would!

Outside there was a strong rumble of thunder. The storm that had been threatening all day was ready to break. There came a gentle patter of rain upon the windows that over the next few minutes grew into a hard downpour. Elizabeth moved through her house, seeing that all the doors leading to the outside were firmly barred, snuffing the candles, making certain the public fires were banked. The dogs in the hall didn’t even move as she stepped over them and, climbing the stairs, went up to her own bedchamber. Nancy was waiting for her.

“You should have gone to bed,” Elizabeth said. “You know I can take care of myself,” she told her tiring woman.

“But I’m supposed to take care of you,” Nancy replied with a smile.

“You’re a grown girl now, and must accept all that goes with your position as lady of Friarsgate. Besides, ’tis my duty to look after you, mistress. If I did not have this duty I might be out in the fields or in the kitchens or helping the laundress. I prefer caring for you.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Very well then,” she acquiesced, and let Nancy prepare her for her bed.

“How is Edmund?” Nancy asked.

“I think in the morning we shall know better,” Elizabeth answered her, and explained what Baen had told her.

“Poor old fellow,” Nancy sympathized. “Friarsgate won’t be the same without him. You have your work cut out for you now, mistress.”

“The Scot will help. Edmund wants him to take his place until he is strong enough again to act for himself,” Elizabeth said softly.

“He’s a right handsome lad,” Nancy responded with a small grin.

“We’ve all flirted with him, but he don’t seem to like the lasses. Yet I don’t think him like Lord Tom and his William. Mayhap he has a sweetheart in the Highlands, and is being true to her, the lucky girl.”

Elizabeth said nothing, getting into her bed and bidding her tiring woman a good night. She had never considered that Baen might have someone else. Well, it didn’t matter. He was going to be hers. Still, the thought niggled at her, and the next morning as they rode out together to the shearing sheds she asked him bluntly, “Do you have a woman of your own at Grayhaven, Baen?”

“Nay,” he answered her, and then he realized that if he had said aye, she would have left him in peace.

“Good!” she said sweetly. “I should hate to have her disappointed by you.”

“If I had such a lass,” he queried, “how would I disappoint her?”

“By marrying another,” she told him.

“I will never wed,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” Elizabeth demanded of him.

“Because I have naught to offer a wife,” he responded.

“You are wrong,” Elizabeth said, “but I will not argue the point with you now.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” He chuckled.

“Do you know why we shear our sheep later than most?” she asked him, changing the subject completely and quickly.

“Aye, but tell me again.” He was relieved to be off an uncomfortable topic.

“The fleece is thicker, the hairs longer and stronger,” she answered him. “This allows the fabric to be woven tighter, which makes it warmer and more resistant to the rain. Our fabric is prized in northern Europe.”

“Do I not recall Tom saying you regulate the production of the Friarsgate blue?” he asked her.

“Aye. It’s a better blue than anyone else makes, and much in demand. We keep the price of it higher by making just a little each year.

So far no one has been able to match the color. I’m thinking of trying the same process by which we get the blue with green and possibly a golden color as well,” Elizabeth told him.

“Your eyes sparkle when you speak of your wool,” he told her.

Elizabeth laughed. “Now you understand why a gentleman of the court would have made a disastrous husband for me. I must be involved in my work. Oh, I will give my husband children, and gladly.

But I will never sit passively by a fire.”

“It will take a rare man to live with you, Elizabeth Meredith,” he said.

“It will take a brave man to live with me,” she admitted.

“Aye,” he agreed, laughing, “it will indeed.”

She left him at the shearing sheds to watch the process, and rode back to the house. The
Bold Venture
was due back from northern Europe soon, and Elizabeth was anxious to learn how the market had gone this season. She spent much of the rest of the day in her library working on her books. Now that Edmund was unable to do it the task must fall to her.

The old man was showing small signs of improvement this day. His voice was stronger, and no longer strained. The paralysis in his left hand had disappeared, but his right hand was still crippled like a bird’s claw. Father Mata had carried Edmund to the hall and settled him in a chair. William Smythe had brought the game table forth and now sat playing Hare and Hounds with Edmund. Maybel, who had been up all night, was catching up on her sleep. She was not young either anymore.

Lord Cambridge popped his head into Elizabeth’s library. “Where is the Scot, dear girl? I thought you would not let him out of your sight,” he teased her.

“He’s learning about the shearing,” she replied.

“Do you think it will help him when he decides to shear you?” Tom Bolton chuckled wickedly.

“I think it far more likely I will shear him first,” Elizabeth told her delighted relative. “He is a man of strong loyalties, and I will have to seduce him before he will see reason, Uncle. I am certain to shock him, as he does not think virgins should resort to such tactics. But I have a mother who brought her lover into this house, and I have two older sisters who are wed. I have gained enough knowledge to know something of what I am doing, Uncle.”

“Indeed,” Thomas Bolton murmured. “And would you like to share your plans with me, dear Elizabeth? Or am I and the rest of your family to be surprised?”

“Do you not enjoy surprises, Uncle?” she teased him mischievously.

“I know for a fact that you do, and so I shall keep my strategies to myself.”

“God’s blood, I believe the poor man has no idea of what a schem-ing wench you are, dear girl.” Lord Cambridge chuckled. “But do not be overconfident. He is a clever fellow, and could outmaneuver you if you are not careful.”

“Nay,” Elizabeth said softly. “His heart is too pure, Uncle.”

Thomas Bolton smiled knowingly. “Why, Elizabeth, dear girl, I believe you have fallen in love with that big, bonny Scot.”

“Perhaps I have,” she replied. “Now leave me be, Uncle. I have a page of sums to enter into my ledgers before I am free to come into the hall. How Edmund did it all I will never know. I thought myself hard-working, but he has done so much more than I could have imagined, and made it look easy.”

Lord Cambridge nodded, and, blowing her a kiss, left her.

When Elizabeth finished, her fingers were stained with the black ink. She left the little library and hurried upstairs to her chamber. Entering it, she was surprised to discover that Nancy had a bath waiting for her. “Bless you!” she said.

“Don’t touch your garments with those ink-stained paws of yours,”

Nancy cautioned. She helped her mistress from her clothing. “I’ll need to pour just a bit more hot water from the kettle, and then you get right in,” she instructed.

Elizabeth nodded and waited as her serving woman made certain the bath temperature was just right. Then, stepping into the oak tub, she sank down into the water. “Ahhh,” she said, and a smile lit up her features.

“You have little time to dally,” Nancy told her. “It will soon be time for the meal, but I somehow thought you would like your bath now instead of later.”

“Aye, entering numbers, line after line of them, is tiring. I should rather be out riding across my fields. When Edmund is well enough . . .” She stopped in midsentence, sighing. “I must stop thinking nothing has changed, Nancy. Edmund is an old man. When he is well he and Maybel must retire to their cottage. He has stewarded Friarsgate for over fifty years now.” She soaped her fingers and rubbed them with her cloth.