Page 98 of To Wed an Heiress
“Good. You’ll have something to remind you of me.”
As if he’d ever be able to forget her.
“Where to now?” she asked.
What would she say if he answered her honestly? To his bed. To Duddingston, to shock the entire world with their sin. To perdition, if necessary.
Instead, all he said was, “Just a little farther. Then we’ll start back.”
“I’m due to learn how to make scones,” she said.
“Irene has agreed to teach you?”
She nodded. “I am, according to Irene, woefully ignorant in the kitchen.”
“Do you really want to learn how to make scones, or is she browbeating you into doing it?”
She laughed. “No browbeating. I asked her to teach me.”
“Why?”
“Why not? I love scones. I’m not entirely helpless, you know. I can tie my own shoes and do my own hair.” She looked up at the canopy of branches above them. “Very well, maybe I can’t do it as well as Ruthie, but it’s a credible effort. And I have some talents. I can play the piano, for example, and sing. Dogs and cats don’t howl when I do.”
He reached over and hugged her, delighted with this side of her.
“Then I look forward to sampling some of your scones.”
“You may not get any unless you kiss the cook.”
She grabbed his shirt, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. “There. I may ask for more of those.”
He sincerely hoped she didn’t. He was having a hard enough time keeping his hands to himself as it was.
His honor was intact—again—and he was determined that this errand would be performed without any more lapses in judgment.
Chapter Forty-Five
Every morning when Mercy woke in the room she’d been given, the same one that held so many memories, all she felt was happiness because she knew she was going to see Lennox as soon as she dressed and went downstairs.
She wasn’t going to tell him that, of course. She didn’t want to seem needy or grasping. The worst thing in the world would be to admit loving a man who didn’t have the same feelings for you.
Kindness wasn’t love. Neither was protectiveness. Both qualities were natural to Lennox. He was a gentleman, unlike Gregory.
She hadn’t agreed to come to the castle because she wanted to be agreeable. Or even because she thought Gregory would hurt her. He was the type of person who did things in secret, making her wonder if he was guilty of any of the reported atrocities in the war. At Macrory House she would have been surrounded by other people, making it difficult, if not impossible, for Gregory to see her alone. She’d accompanied Lennox to Duddingston for an entirely selfish reason. Her father was coming and when he arrived she would have no choice but to return to New York with him. Until then, she would take each day with Lennox like the gift it was.
In the future she would probably look back on these days with a sense of wonder. She would forever remember Lennox and their night together. Or when she’d helped him in the courtyard. Or when they sat together, dripping, in front of the fire. Or when she’d stitched his arm. But there would be other moments as well, like now as they walked hand in hand toward the chapel. So many treasured memories all pressed into a short amount of time.
When had her fascination with Lennox turned into something more? Maybe what she felt for him had always been there like a rosebud ready to burst into flower.
What a pity that he hadn’t agreed to marry her. He might have considered it a marriage of convenience although it would have been so much more for her.
Society had arranged marriages all the time. Everyone knew that the parents of both parties had recognized the fiscal advantages of the merger and had communicated their wishes to their children.
Her parents had essentially done the same thing with Gregory. From the first they’d made no secret of their approval of the match.
She was absolutely certain that they wouldn’t feel the same about Lennox. He didn’t lust after her father’s money or success like Gregory. Lennox wanted things out of life that couldn’t be purchased. Influence didn’t mean anything to him. What Lennox desired was to challenge himself, discover, invent, and create something tangible from a thought.
He couldn’t be bought.
