The Indomitable Miss Harris (31 page)

“Must I say it first, Gillian?” he asked.

“What would you say, my lord?” she whispered to his waistcoat. “You and Hetta seem to know more about my feelings than I did myself, certainly more than I know about yours. You said you were only playing games.”

“That is not precisely what I said, but I’ll admit I behaved foolishly that night. I was afraid of confusing you. You had just come from a difficult scene with Darrow, and I had already been at pains to convince you that you could not trust your passions. I wanted you to learn to know your heart instead.”

“I do now, sir.”

“Then you know mine as well.” He lifted her chin and lowered his head to hers. The kiss was gentle, and she responded slowly, letting the feeling of warmth it generated spread with delicious fingers of flame throughout her body. His arms came around her, and she lifted hers to him, standing on tiptoe when his kisses became more urgent. A moment later, he drew her to the settee.

As he pulled her once more into his arms, his gaze met hers commandingly. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” she whispered. Then her voice grew stronger as she saw the response to her words in his eyes. “Oh, my lord, I love you so very much! But I didn’t know you cared a button.”

“From the first,” he replied, nuzzling her curls. “But I only knew I cared. I didn’t know how much until the night I found you with Darrow.”

“You were livid,” she remembered. “I suppose if I ever need to test your love in the future, I must arrange another scene like that one.”

“Not unless the gentleman is entirely expendable,” Landover growled.

She trembled, but not so much from his threat as from the delightful music his hands played on her body. Silently, she let her fingers slip under his coat to stroke his broad chest, fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat as she came to them. His hand caressed her throat, fingers tracing lines along the delicate blue veins, moving lower to tease at the lace edging her low-cut bodice, pausing when they encountered the silken bow in the center. Deftly, he untied it, then loosened the lacing until the bodice gaped, exposing the delicious curves of her satin-smooth breasts.

Gillian gasped as he slid his hand under one soft mound, cupping it, sliding the cloth away to expose the rosy nipple. He lowered his head, and she gasped again when his lips touched her flesh. But suddenly he tensed.

“What is it?’ Then she too heard the voices from the entry hall. They seemed to be coming nearer, and she grabbed, panic-stricken, for the lacing at her bodice.

“No time for that!” Landover grinned. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s Amelia and she’s coming straight in.” He chuckled at the look of horror on her face, then relented. “Come here then, and hide your face in my coat. Leave this to me.” And just as the study door opened, he gathered her to him and looked over her lowered head to greet a rather anxious-looking Mrs. Periwinkle.

“Oh, Landover,” she cried. “Is she all right?”

“Indeed she is, ma’am. Just a trifle undone over all this business. ’Twould be best if you leave her to me for the moment.” Gillian, aghast at his play on words, had all she could do to stifle her merriment in Landover’s waistcoat. But to Mrs. Periwinkle, it must have looked as though she were sobbing her heart out.

“Well, if you think so,” she replied, eyeing her charge’s shaking form doubtfully. “I … I hope you did not find it necessary to beat her, Landover. I know what the Bible says about sparing the rod, but ’tis also true that nothing becomes a man with half so good a grace as mercy does.”

“Not to worry, my dear ma’am. I have discovered a far more trying punishment. She is going to marry me.”

“Marry you! That is … I mean, how wonderful. I … I wish you both happiness, I’m sure. But …” She seemed reluctant to go on, but then she faced him squarely. “Does Gillian
wish
to marry you, Landover?”

He grinned. “She does. Do you think I could force her? To quote your faithful bard, ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ I doubt I could marry her against her will.”

“Don’t fling Shakespeare in my teeth, sir! The Devil can cite Scripture for his purpose, after all. Not but what you haven’t made your point.” She sounded relieved, but now she peered at them both carefully, and when next she spoke, she did so as though it were a reluctant duty. “I wish you both every happiness, of course, but there are those who would hesitate to call marriage to you a punishment, Landover, those who would think she had accomplished something rather clever at Lady Henrietta’s expense.”

“Oh, no!” Gillian’s voice was muffled, but when she turned her head quickly to look at Mrs. Periwinkle, the tears glistening on her lashes were no longer tears of merriment. “They mustn’t think that, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I do wish to marry him, for I love him dearly. But I should hate for anyone to imagine I did anything clever tonight. I behaved very badly.”

“Yes, well, we needn’t say more about that now, my dear. Not but what you will be hearing more, no doubt—especially from Lady Harmoncourt, I’m afraid. She is most displeased.”

“Oh dear,” murmured Gillian wretchedly.

“I’ll deal with Abigail, my love. Enough has been said about this business already.” Gillian looked up at him gratefully, and Mrs. Periwinkle expressed approval.

“Her ladyship must listen to you, my lord. And now, if dear Gillian is recovered, I shall take her up with me.” Gillian stiffened. What on earth would dearest Cousin Amelia say if she were to stand up in all her dishabille? But Landover rescued her again, albeit with an unmistakable touch of amusement in his voice.

“Not just yet, ma’am, if you don’t mind. There are one or two things I still wish to say to her.”

“As you wish, my lord, but I beg you will not be too long about it. It grows late.” With another sharp look at them, she turned on her heel, only to pause again with her hand on the latch. “I shall await you in your bedchamber, Gillian dear.”

The door shut behind her, and Landover lifted Gillian to a sitting position. “I think we have had our marching orders, my love. Now that we are to be wed, it is no longer proper for us to be alone together, a point your chaperone has made quite clear. So you’d best fasten your dress again, else I shall lose my head, and we’ll be in the briars. Next time it could be your brother who walks in.”

Gillian began to obey him, but thought of her brother made her fingers tremble. Landover noticed and spoke gently. “What is it, love?”

She looked up at him. “You may call marriage a punishment, sir, though I know you meant it in jest, but Cousin Amelia is quite right, and if it weren’t for the fact that I must face Avery tomorrow, I
should
feel as though I’d done something clever. Still, I wish he weren’t—”

“I shall deal with Avery as well as Abigail,” he said firmly. “I think the simplest method would be to allow him to announce his own betrothal when we announce ours. Do you agree?” When her eyes lit, he made himself look stern again. “Don’t think you are getting off scot-free, however. Tomorrow morning, as early as you can manage it, you are going to present yourself in Grosvenor Square to make an abject apology to Lady Henrietta.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” she promised.

“On your knees, I think,” he added with a teasing grin. “That would make a nice touch.”

“If you think I should, I will even do that,” she agreed, smiling at him. “And I shall thank her, too, for understanding things I didn’t even understand myself until tonight.”

Landover nodded. “There is one other thing, love,” he added, looking quite stern again. “If you should ever do such a corkbrained thing again, to anyone, I can safely promise you won’t sit for a week. Do you understand me, Gillian?”

“Oh yes, sir.” She looked up at him shyly, then as his expression warmed, her eyes began to twinkle, and she flung herself into his willing arms. “You may coerce me and scold me and no doubt use me abominably, but oh, my lord, it will be lovely to be a wealthy marchioness!”

Landover chuckled appreciatively, but a few moments later, the sound had changed to a low moan deep in his throat, and he could be heard directing a rueful curse at the waiting Mrs. Periwinkle.

A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by
Library Journal
with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for
Lord Abberley’s Nemesis
, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

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Copyright © 1983 by K Lynne Scott-Drennan

Cover design by Mimi Bark

978-1-4804-1571-3

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

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