The footsteps retreated down the hallway. “I’m glad you locked the door,” Gabriel said, running his fingers idly down the length of buttons he wasn’t permitted to open.
“Kelgrove’s doing my tasks,” she returned, sitting upright, away from him. “I should be helping. Who knows how many questions will come up, last minute.”
“He’s aiding,” Gabriel returned. “It’s what he does. But since I’ve discovered his hidden passion for facts and figures, I’ll find something useful for him. I do have three estates and people telling me where I should spend my money.”
“Ye do mean to set yer own eyes on Hawthorne and Langley Park, I assume?” she asked, black eyes gazing down at him.
“I will,” he agreed. “Once things have calmed down here.”
“Good. Ye need to know what ye own. Ye might even decide ye prefer one or the other of them to here.”
He’d never heard anything more unlikely. She lived here, and so he preferred to be here, as well. If this was supposed to be a test of his connection to her, he could think of better, more tactile ways to demonstrate how much she meant to him. Gabriel eyed her. If he meant to be a competent landowner, he also needed to learn some finesse with words. He put his hands over hers. “Would you like to tour them with me? I’d value your opinion. And your company. And ifyoufind somewhere you prefer to Lattimer, then we’ll talk.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’ll nae find anywhere I prefer to here, Sassenach.”
“And I haven’t had a home since I was seventeen. This one suits me quite well.” Tightening his grip on her hands, he pulled her down again. “I like the view,” he murmured, lifting his head for a kiss.
Every time she moved his cock throbbed, and as her tongue danced with his the fellow seemed to decide he was ready for another go. He could tell that she felt it, and she groaned as she moved over him. “Yer lad’s very spry today,” she noted, grinning.
“We both had a good breakfast.”
Forty minutes later he finished refastening his trousers, pulled on his boots, and did his best to straighten his cravat. He knew he looked English, and saw no reason to pretend to be anything else. His tenants knew him to be English, even the ones who hadn’t yet seen him. The sooner they could become accustomed to him, and the sooner he could become accustomed to this version of himself, the better.
It would be a fraction easier without the uniform, and he’d packed those away in his trunk. Eventually, when the idea of parting from them didn’t open a hole in his gut, he would send them up to the attic. At the least, he knew he wouldn’t be wearing them any longer. This battle required a different uniform, a different strategy, and promised a very different, and a very precious, reward.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fleming, are you joining us at Strouth?” Gabriel asked, as the old duke’s newly polished barouche stopped on the front drive.
“I… hadn’t considered it, Yer Grace,” the butler replied.
“I know you have duties here,” Gabriel said, handing Fiona into the open vehicle and feeling her squeeze his hand in approval, “but I also know the cotters see you as the household’s representative. I leave it to you to decide.”
The butler’s cheeks darkened. “In that case, I would be honored, Yer Grace,” he stated, bouncing on his toes.
Gabriel motioned him toward the barouche as Kelgrove took the seat facing Fiona. “Allow me to give you a ride, then.”
Fleming practically beamed. “I… thank ye, Yer Grace. That would save my old legs the walk. Very kind of ye.” The stout Highlander stepped up and sat beside the sergeant.
Still no “laird” within earshot, but Fleming’s willingness to join them signaled some progress. Fiona had pointed out to him several times, generally while angry, that his staff and his tenants were not an army. As the barouche topped the rise twenty minutes later and crossed from the trees into the large meadow where Strouth lay, however, he wondered if she was wrong about that.
They’d planned a picnic in the shady churchyard opposite the graveyard. With an hour still before the al fresco luncheon was even set to begin, however, he could see that the well-manicured lawn wouldn’t be sufficient. All across the meadow people stood talking, children running between the clusters and shrieking in delight at the holiday.
If he took the village and quadrupled the number of inhabitants, he still wouldn’t come close to the number presently filling the clearing. “These are all my tenants?” he muttered at Fiona, who sat beside him with a smile pasted on her face.
“Aye,” she returned. “But I didnae expect this many. They’ve come from all the way across the loch and up into the mountains, even. I doubt there’s anyone left oot there at all but fer the shepherds and the extra men ye sent to guard the flocks.”
“Can we feed them all?”
Fleming cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Yer Grace, I heard a rumor or two aboot how far word had spread, and I advised Mrs. Ritchie to begin baking two days ago.”
“Ye might have said someaught, George,” Fiona exclaimed. “I thought we’d have maybe two hundred.”
“I apologize, Miss Fiona,” the butler said. “It was only a rumor. If I’d been wrong, we’d have been donating biscuits to the church fer the next fortnight.”
“Thank you, Fleming,” Gabriel put in, before Fiona could do more fussing. “You may well have prevented this from becoming a disaster.”
“I’m pleased I could be of assistance, m’laird.”
