Oh, dear.“But ye cannae, G—”
“And I’m doing it for me,” he continued, over her protest. “The idea of helping people improve their lives appeals to me. A great deal.” He grimaced. “I’ll make some idiotic mistakes with it. I’m accustomed to dealing in absolutes. I have no idea how to be wealthy. Or how to manage the fact that people apparently listen to me because of some title I didn’t earn.”
Fiona gazed at him for a long moment before she realized she was still tugging on his lapels. “Ye’re a very interesting man, Gabriel Forrester.”
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Glancing over at the small, unadorned clock that sat on the hugely ornate mantel over the equally ostentatious limestone and marble fireplace, he returned his attention to her and ran a finger slowly down her throat to the lace-lined neck of her gown. “When are we supposed to be at the church?”
Attempting to ignore the silly flutter those words caused, she shrugged. This wasn’t about her daydreams. It was only that she still wasn’t accustomed to being part of a “we,” and today people would see it. They would know she’d fallen for a Sassenach. And a duke. Even if all he’d promised her was friendship, at least presently the definition of that involved kissing and sex, thank goodness. “Ye set one o’clock fer the picnic. Ian brought by some rabbits earlier, and he said people are already gathering in the churchyard. And the wagons have gone oot to begin bringing in the cotters by the river.”
“The food’s going down at noon; we’ll do the same. No reason for people to wait about looking at perfectly good sandwiches.”
She nodded, agreeing. “And I’m nae to tell ye, but the cotters working at the factories think there are enough of them settling along the river now that they can call it a village.”
“Why aren’t you supposed to tell me that?”
“I think they want to see how ye react. So be surprised, and pleased, and approve of whatever name they’ve decided to give it. Because there was some brawling and profanity involved before they sorted it oot, from what I hear.”
He sighed. “It’s all a test, isn’t it?”
“Aye. Every step ye take. And if ye falter, they’ll all be cursing ye fer nae selling to Dunncraigh.”
“I could have done without hearing that today.”
Even with the amount of weight that had landed on his shoulders over the past few days, she’d yet to see him give any indication that he found it overwhelming. He seemed to understand that this would not be a quick battle and a long victory celebration. Because it would be just the opposite—a long struggle, a brief celebration, and then another siege. Perhaps a soldier was the perfect match for Lattimer, after all. Providence was an odd creature.
“Noon, hm?” he drawled. “Whatever shall we do until then?”
Fiona grinned. “I’d say ye need to go meet with Oscar Ritchie aboot the stable’s grain requirements fer autumn and over the winter, but from the state of yer trousers that could be a wee bit awkward.”
“It is not a ‘wee’ anything, madam,” he countered, backing her toward his bed.
“I’ll nae argue with ye aboot that,” she said, chuckling, delighted shivers running up her arms.
He’d replaced the old monstrosity of a bed with a much simpler oak frame and a much firmer mattress. Likewise the room itself had been stripped of most of its ornamentation. The heavy wood paneling was gone, replaced with fresh, light green paint. The animal heads gave way to paintings of the Highlands, and most of the dusty books and knickknacks were now almanacs and planting guides and studies about soil erosion, and several vases of fresh wildflowers. It suited him even without all the last touches finished—straightforward, charming, and practical.
“I used to hate walking into this room,” she said, stopping her backward steps as her calves touched the bed frame. “It always felt stale and ostentatious and haunted.”
“And now?” he asked, pausing to take in the room again.
“It has its attractions,” she returned, grinning.
“Does it now?”
Gabriel wanted to bend her over, lift her skirt, and take her. That, however, was both ungentlemanly, and far too quick. For the picnic she’d donned a pretty white muslin gown with deep red flowers and green leaves embroidered throughout. Her clan colors, more or less. She looked delicious, and he spun her around to view the dozen tiny buttons running down her spine to her waist, trying to figure out how he was going to open the damned things without pulling them off.
When he began tugging at the first one, though, she whipped back around and slapped his hands away. “I’ll nae have ye ruining my dress or my hair,” she stated. “Today is too important.”
He scowled. Several minutes ago he’d stopped thinking about the picnic and speeches and having to smile far too much. At this moment he’d stopped thinking about anything but burying himself between Fiona’s thighs and hearing her cry out his name in ecstasy. “Then you take it off,” he said, turning her away from him again so he could slide his hands around her hips and then up her front to cup her breasts over the thin muslin.
When she started wriggling her bottom against his front, he clenched his jaw. She was doing it on purpose, making her rules and then pushing to see whether he would go along with her wishes or not. As long as he ended where he wanted to be, he would play along—to a point.
“Your clothes are still on,” he pointed out, slipping one hand inside her gown to pinch a nipple.
She gasped, arching against him. “Ye make me a bit giddy, Sassenach,” she managed, her voice a purr of desire.
“Then you should lie down,” he returned, licking the curve of her ear.
“Nae. I thinkyeshould lie doon.”
