His brother’s eyes darkened as he tried to process the conversation, but his alcohol-addled brain was not having any of it.
Finlay poked his thumb into his chest. “I, I repeat, I,” he thumped his fist into his chest again for emphasis, “need to get married before I turn twenty-eight. If I dinna, then the title of earl goes to ye. ’Tis no’ who is first to the altar, ye imbecile. Truly, brother, ye must leave the spirits alone for a while. ’Twill give ye time to clear your head and think straight. And no’ make any of these idiotic declarations.”
He turned on his heel and left the room. “Go home, brother,” he called over his shoulder. He had no more time for his brother’s antics. Shaking his head, he could not believe that Fingal thought it was as simple as that.
He always knew that his brother would be the downfall of this family, but this? He did not think his brother would stoop so low as to threaten him, as thin as those threats were. Mayhap it was Yvette’s doing.
Whatever it was, it was naught more than another ridiculous ploy by his brother to take over the Rosebery title. He entered the study. “Ye and Fingal need to return home. I dinna want to see either one of ye until ye’ve sobered up and can think straight.”
She nodded and stood on wobbly legs.
He shook his head. If Fingal spent as much time planning legitimate endeavors as he did bogus ones, he would be a very successful man.
Having had enoughexcitement for the night, he retired to his room.
The morrow would prove to be an interesting day. One that could have massive repercussions for the rest of his life. He needed to think of the best way to approach such a proposal. In both senses of the word.
Would Lady Watson accept either one?
He could only hope.
*
Willamina had spenta sleepless night filled with visions of Finlay Primrose running rampant through her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there. His pale blue eyes boring into hers. She swore she could feel his touch. His long fingers caressingher skin. His warm lips brushing across her own, marking a scorching path down her throat, and lower, lower, to the peaks of her breasts.
“Och!” She blew out an exasperated breath. Was this what it was like when two people cared about each other? Was the act of lovemaking pleasant? Her late husband seemed to enjoy his times with his paramours quite a lot.
If the moans of pleasure and sounds of ecstasy escaping his bedchamber were to be believed, then she would say aye.
He had never shown her such tenderness. Nor had he ever cared to lie with her other than their once a month scheduled coupling.
How she hated that the women he brought home seemed to enjoy themselves so much. She was envious of them. For her, the act was mechanical and unpleasant. There were no sweet kisses in the night. Whispered endearments. Passionate caresses. Nay. It was a task. A deed that he needed to complete as part of their marriage pact.
After the first time they had lain together, she would have been perfectly happy if it never happened again. The experience was traumatizing. One that her mother had not prepared her for. At first, she thought that was how it was for everyone. That it was not an act that was supposed to be enjoyed.
But then she heard the other women. He had to be treating them differently. She could not see how they would have such a pleasurable experience with such rough and uncaring treatment.
Willamina had even tried to speak to her mother about it one time, but her mother told her it was uncouth and classless to speak of such things. She needed to do her wifely duty and provide her husband an heir.
A bairn had never manifested, and she could not say she was not happy about that. To bring a wee one in to such a loveless, unfeeling environment was not right. Though she was glad shenever became with child, she often wondered what it would have been like to have someone love her unconditionally. To return the love she gave so freely.
She turned under the covers, sinking her head into the soft silken pillow. When she thought about marriage now, all that unpleasantness rushed back to her. Why would she want to submit herself to such cruelty again?
She did not.
Finlay Primrose did not seem the type to be so unfeeling, but when it came to such carnal acts, how could she tell how he would behave? There was a time when Gerard seemed caring. It wasn’t until after they married that he’d shown his true self.
It was not something she would open herself up to.
Never again.
For the rest of the night, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, trying to get the horror of her first marriage out of her mind, and her delusional emotions of Lord Primrose out of her dreams.
When Joan knocked on her door the next morning, Willamina welcomed the distraction.
“My lady, good morn. How did ye sleep? I have heard ye already have callers waiting.”
Willamina groaned and fell back onto the pile of pillows. Today was going to be a long, exhausting day.
