Page 54 of A Bonny Pretender
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and sighed. The dancing flames sent ribbons of gold shimmering across his blond head. His linen shirt was open at the neck, cravat gone. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but they strayed to the sandy curls covering his chest.
“It’s about my father.” He scrubbed his face with a palm and leaned back again. “He’s not.”
Brigid waited. She knew there had been something amiss with the relationship between him and the late viscount. And there was the eerie resemblance between him and Fenella. “It’s Sir Horace.” It hit her like a blustery north wind. The ball. Charles and Frank appearing, upset. Sir Horace following and leaving early, furious about something. “When did he find out?”
Frank told her of his mother’s confession, how his stepfather had found out just before he died, and his first trip to London to confront Franklin. She heard the animosity as he retold the painful story, the accusation in his voice. The hope and longing as he described meeting his half-sisters and later wondering if he’d ever be able to know them.
Her heart broke for him. It took all her reserve not to wrap him in a tight embrace before he finished. But he needed to share this weight, and her shoulders were strong and willing.
“I came face-to-face with him at White’s one evening. I was meeting Charles, and Sir Horace was there. He turned and we… stared at each other. Nothing was said. He just turned and walked away.”
“But he knew?”
Frank nodded. “How could he not? We’re like a reflection of one another.”
“Sir Horace is—”
“A good man, I know. I’ve been told several times.” His shoulders slumped. “I can’t force him to accept me, and I can’t maintain a friendship with my half-sisters,hisdaughters, if he doesn’t.”
“He will,” she soothed, standing to lean against the side of his chair. She smoothed back his thick hair and gingerly touched his eye. “Fenella and Evie will make sure of it. They care about you.”
“Fate smiled on me the day I met you in Hyde Park.” His hand reached up and stroked her arm.
“Now I ken what ye needed to tell me. What do ye need to ask?” Her pulse raced.Please let it be a proposal,her mind begged.
Frank pulled her into his lap. She wiggled her bottom against him, got comfortable, and put her arms around his neck.
“I love you, Brigid MacNaughton. You have a knack for chasing away the rain, and I can’t imagine a life without you by my side. I’ve come to rely on the happiness you have given me these past weeks.” He cleared his throat. “Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips to his. “Under one condition.”
“Anything, my love.” His fingers brushed her temple and threaded her hair. His thumb caressed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, distracted by his touch.
“You don’t think any less of me because I’m a by-blow?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear.
“I’m happy our children will share Sir Horace’s blood and no’ the vile mon who raised ye.” Her heart was spilling over with love for this man, for their future. She laid a palm on his face and kissed him. His unshaven jaw tickled her chin, and she rubbed her cheek against the roughness. Her fingers skimmed across his chest, feeling the soft skin beneath the coarse hair. Her lips moved to his neck. He sucked in a breath and growled softly.
His hand covered her breast, and she gasped. The familiar heat surged through her, the pulse between her legs growing.
“You had a stipulation?” he murmured. His other moved lower to cup her mons.
“We stop at Gretna Green on our way back to London. I’ll be seeing my new home as Lady Raines.”
His hand stilled.
Could he want a long engagement? Was it an English custom?
“And your family in the Highlands will agree?”
“We’ll have a proper ceremony when we visit Dunderave.” She nibbled on his ear. “They just worry about missing a good excuse for aceilidh.” She scraped the other lobe with her teeth. “We’ll give them that.”
His fingers pulled at the neckline of her gown and slid it over her shoulders until it pooled around her waist. The crowns of her breasts puckered, and she drew in a sharp breath as the pad of his thumb circled one. Then his tongue traced circles around each pink tip, and she could no longer think. His manhood stiffened against her bottom, and she wriggled against it.
Frank groaned and pulled up the hem of her shift. His fingers stroked her thighs, then slid between her soft folds. The pounding increased; heat flushed from her core to her neck, as he entered her with his fingers. He slipped in and out, creating a delicious friction, and she fought not to cry out. She arched her hips into his hand, his thumb massaging that magical spot.
The ache increased. Her urgency rose as the sweet pressure became unbearable. And then she was spinning, falling, wave after wave of pleasure rocking her body. His mouth covered hers, muffling her cries, continuing his caresses until her tremors quieted.
She clung to him, panting, while he restored her shift to its proper places and held her close.
“A heartyyesto your one condition, my love. I believe Gretna Green would be the sensible thing to do.”
