“Don't do that,” Struan muttered. “You will steal the joy from our wedding night, if you do.”
Justine didn't understand, but said, “Yes, Struan,” very meekly.
“Thank you.”
“You are such a reasonable man. From the moment I met you, I knew you for the reasonable man you are.”
Struan wrapped his arms around her and settled his knees beneath hers … and his hands over her breasts …
She tried, unsuccessfully, not to allow her breasts to swell. They did swell. Didn't they? Her nipples grew hard, and he must feel them.
These things were apparently beyond her control, and Struan made no mention of being disconcerted.
She moved to adjust herself even more closely to him. Really, it was no wonder gentlemen preferred to sleep naked. It must be such a relief not to have to
restrain
parts of oneself.”
Justine liked the way he felt against her.
Actually, she cherished the way he felt against her.
Heat washed her skin and she tried desperately to stop what was happening to her again.
She was growing wet—very wet.
“Do you know what is happening, Struan?”
“Possibly.”
“We're having our very first collapse of communication.”
“Mmm.”
He agreed. They really did have a most enviable way of arriving at a mutually acceptable conclusion. “Why don't we reflect on what it means when communication collapses?”
“Mmm.”
“We'll just be very quiet for a few minutes. Reflection has always helped me with difficult decisions.”
“Mmm.”
Justine closed her eyes deliberately and tried to relax. If Struan's hands were not holding her breasts, his thumbs shifting slowly over her nipples, relaxing might be far easier.
His thumbs stopped moving.
She puffed up her cheeks. In truth, she wished he need never stop—stop anything.
But she would be quite quiet and give him time to reflect. When he was ready—and being the reasonable man he was— he could come to the correct conclusion and say as much.
His heart beat steadily against her back. Justine relished the strong rhythm of his life.
Soon, while he reflected, the answer to their dilemma would come to him.
Justine frowned. She opened her eyes, and, as discreetly as possible, pressed her bottom just a teensy bit harder against Struan.
How very odd. There was no doubt she could still feel that part of him, but it no longer jutted insistently against her. In fact, it appeared to have
shrunk.
She was not certain why, but the thought didn't make her happy. It had shrunk and …
softened.
“Struan? Do you feel all right?”
When he didn't answer, she held her breath. Could this be something that caused a man embarrassment. If so, there was no question but that she must gather that information and commit it to paper at once. A woman should be able to assist her husband at such times.
For now she simply would not mention what she had noticed. Carefully, she rotated in his arms to face him. “Now,” she said. “We have reflected and we are calm. You do see that it is only right for me to come to this gathering Grandmama has arranged, don't you?”
Struan didn't respond.
“Don't
you?”
Justine pushed up to her elbow and peered into his face. “Struan?”
The next sound she heard was unmistakable. Faint but unmistakable. A slight snore.
He was asleep!
“I
do not snore.”
“You do snore.”
“I can say with absolute certainty that I have never, ever snored.”
“How would you know what you do when you're asleep?”
“No other…”
Damn
his mouth.
Justine slanted him a disapproving glance. With determined tweaks, she tied the satin ribbons on a dark-blue velvet spencer. Her India muslin morning gown, striped in paler shades of blue than the spencer, might have been chosen to complement her sitting room—which was where he'd finally found her after being disappointed and chagrined to awake and discover she had left him while he slept.
He would try a more pleasant approach—keep the mood light. “You arise early, my dear. I had thought to find you still getting your beauty rest.”
“Because I need a great deal of that commodity, no doubt.”
“Not at all! Quite the reverse. You are a lovely creature. A
lovely, desirable creature, and I wanted to awake with you in my—”
“You and I have many things to discuss.” She interrupted him quite deliberately. “I think you are keeping certain facts from me, and I shall insist that you and I have no secrets. You must be open with me about … conditions that affect you.”
Struan grew cold. By God, he'd completely forgotten the letter. “I can't believe it. You waited until I was asleep and delved into my personal affairs?” She had the power to allow him to put aside that which had ruled his days and nights for weeks!
Justine regarded him narrowly. “Delved? What can you mean—delved? I could hardly fail to pay attention to the obvious.”
He patted his coat and felt the envelope in the pocket where he'd placed it the night before. “Neatly returned,” he said. He had raced from Kirkcaldy to read it where there could be no question of Arran or Calum coming upon him.
“I will not allow anyone to threaten your safety, Struan. Is that clear?”
He stared at her, then about the room without truly seeing anything. “This is unbelievable. I suppose that's chocolate,” he said vaguely, noticing a tall, rose-garlanded Minton pot on a silver tray atop a small, Chinese chest. “I dislike chocolate in the morning.” The letter would be like all its predecessors, filled with obscure threats.
“It's coffee,” Justine told him shortly.
His spirits lifted a fraction. “Wonderful. I don't suppose— that is, would you mind if I had some? Coffee, that is?”
Rustling as she went, Justine poured coffee and faced him. She silently indicated a chair and waited for him to be seated.
He accepted the cup and drank gratefully.
Justine asked, “Did you breakfast?”
“Mmm? No. No time.”
“The way you live will not do at all. There must be a full staff here—on the premises. You should have a manservant. I intend to deal with that matter at once. You have neglected the niceties, Struan.”
He set the saucer on his thigh and raised his eyes to hers. “You do not have to care for me as if I were a child.” And he would not be overrun by more souls to confuse his task here.
“Oh, I am well aware that you are no child.” Her delicate features could accomplish a dashed uncompromising set. “You are very much a man. And you are very much in trouble.”
What had she read? He dreaded seeing the words and knowing she had read them before him. “You should not have interfered.”
“I have not interfered. Yet. Who was the woman who made you drink against your will?”
He almost dropped the cup and saucer. “I beg your pardon?”
She turned, pushing the fullness of her skirts behind her. “The woman who made you drink? In the cold room? And the ones who want to take your life away now—all of your life that matters?”
Struan was presented with Justine's profile, her slightly tilted nose and soft mouth, her finely arched dark brows. With deep loathing, he eased the envelope from its pocket over his heavily beating heart. Evidently there were more specific remarks than previously.
“Who is it that you will protect at all costs?” Justine pressed him. “The one least able to protect herself?”
Bloody hell
“So,” he said quietly. “He has finally begun to reveal his plan, has he?”
He turned the envelope over and frowned. Still sealed— with the customary accompanying bloody fingerprint unbroken.
Struan looked sharply at Justine. “You did not open it?”
“Open?” She glanced from his face to the letter. “Is that for me?”
She had not opened the letter. She had not as much as known of its existence. Tucking the envelope back into his pocket, he smiled engagingly. “My mistake,” he said.
Justine did not smile. “That's another of those letters, isn't it?”
Lying would be pointless. “Yes.”
“And you thought I had opened it?”
“From … I'm sorry. You mentioned certain … What made you ask those questions of me?”
“You do not only snore in your sleep.”
“I don't—”
“You do. And you also talk in your sleep. Do you deny that something about a woman making you drink, and a cold room, and—”
“No! No, I do not deny it.” Awful possibilities made themselves felt. “What else did I say?”
“Nothing. Only what I've told you. It was enough to make me fear for you. What you said in your sleep has something to do with the letters, doesn't it?”
She was no fool, and he would never treat her as one. “Yes. I ask you not to repeat a word of what you say I said in my sleep—nor mention the nature of the letters—to anyone.”
She stood beside him, looking down. “I should hardly be likely to discuss what I heard you say in your sleep last night, should I?”
Struan took a fold of her skirt between finger and thumb and tugged lightly. “I suppose not.”
“Are you going to open the letter?”
“In good time.”
“Will it be threatening?”
He met her dark, troubled eyes. “Almost assuredly.”
“Let me help you.”
Go back to Cornwall where you will be safe.
“You will help me by… by caring for me:” He could not tell her to leave him and he had no right to mention again the love she had declared for him until he could feel safe in declaring his own for her—to the world. Surely he was right in thinking he might be best able to keep her safe if she was at his side.
“I am quite the hand with a warming pan, y'know,” she said, the corners of her mouth tilting ever so slightly. “Ask poor Robert Mercer. Point out the enemy and I shall rattle sense into his brain.”
“You broke the pan,” Struan pointed out. Anxious to see what was inside the envelope, he set aside his empty coffee cup.
Justine, bending to plant one of her sweet kisses on his lips, swept away all thought but how desperately he wanted the world to leave them alone—together.
With very little effort, Struan landed the lady on his lap. “Got you. And I don't intend to let you go.”
“Good,” she said, laughing. “Because I need your whole attention while I ask my questions.”
Questions were to be avoided at all costs. “I am concerned about the wedding trip,” he said. “And the question of where we shall live.”
“There will be no wedding trip,” she said promptly. “I have far too much work to do here to take a wedding trip. As for where we shall live, Arran has already said he hopes we will make this place our home. The children are happy. The lodge delights me and I believe you have a fondness for the place. Why should we not remain here?”
That had not been quite the response he'd anticipated. “Arran should not have discussed our future living arrangements with you.” Peeved, he concentrated on the fascinating fact that his hands could all but span her waist. He said, “We shall take our wedding trip when I decide the time is appropriate and possible.”
“I'll look forward to discussing that with you. Did you manage to reflect at all?”
He regarded her without comprehension.
“On the subject we were discussing before you started snoring?”
“I do not—”
“Sin's ears, Struan! You do snore and that's an end of it. And you were supposed to be reflecting upon the obvious wisdom of my being present when you visit Grandmama this afternoon.”
“Oh, that.”
Her teeth came together with a distinct snap. “Yes, that. I am coming. I'm sure that's the decision your reflection produced.”
All he recalled was the incredible pleasure of feeling her curled against his body. “Actually—”
A thunderous rap upon the door forced a blessed interruption. Struan was too busy thinking how blessed the interruption was to help Justine from his lap before Max burst into the room.
“It's one o’ them!” he announced, his green eyes flashing. “From the wild hill clan. I'd know one o’ them anywhere. He's a head o’ shaggy hair and he's huge. A giant o’ a man just like Caleb Murray says they all are.”
With as much decorum as possible, Struan returned Justine to her feet. “Max, you are not to pester Caleb when he's about his duties. And you are not to rush into Lady Justine's rooms like this.”
Max squinted at Struan, then at Justine. “She was sittin’ on ye, Papa. Now ye'll be married soon. Then she'll be Mama an’—”
“That accent simply must be attended to,” Justine said. “We shall have a lesson this very day, young man.”
Max planted his thin legs apart “Caleb says I sound like a Scot proper.”
Struan held up a hand. “You will do as Lady Justine tells you and learn to speak like a gentleman. Now, kindly explain this rude visit.”
“There's a man below wi’ Ella. She'll not listen t’ warnings. He's probably stolen her away by now. And dragged her off t’ the hills where—”
“My God!” Struan dashed from the room and didn't stop running until he arrived in the vestibule. Wild hill clans, be damned, the wretch whose unopened letter he carried could have entered the lodge while Struan was too busy with other matters. He cast about, deciding where to go first.
Flinging wide his arms, Max leaped down the stairs. “They went into the great hall, but he'll have her on his horse and away b'now. Robert said they move awful fast. And the monk said all ye could do afterwards was pray.”
With dread in his heart, Struan strode into the hall.
The man who gazed at Ella with avid interest was, indeed, large. He was also no member of any wild hill clan, and Struan knew the devil for the dangerous rakehell he was.
Relief made Struan use the back of the nearest chair for support. Ella, a vision in lavender, appeared every bit as enthralled by their visitor as he with her.
“North,” Struan said sharply, more sharply than he'd intended.
Devlin North turned eyes the green of deep water upon Struan. “There you are, man. Damn, but it's good to see you.”
Struan stopped himself from asking why. He nodded curtly. “What brings you to these parts? I thought Edinburgh was as close as you got to this uncivilized land of ours these days.” And, in addition to Devlin being some years Struan's junior, there had never been a particular closeness between them.