Page 31 of Christmas Wore Plaid

Chapter 6

Brady curled against Emerson’s back as he kissed and tasted her skin. Nestled into his covers with his tartan mantle shaken loose and dragged around them, he was slick with sweat and his heart thumped in unison with the rapid pace of hers. Once they’d set their course, they’d been undeterred for the remainder of the day, and the house was now asleep. He encased her in his arms, his hand lazily toying with her breast and his softened manhood nestled against her rear while their legs lay tangled together and her toe gently caressed his calf.

She finally rolled her head back to look at him, a grin spreading across her lips. She stretched languidly, rolling over to face him. He brushed her hair over her ears.

“And so, this charity party.”

He barked a preposterous laugh. “I’ve just left my mark upon you in such a way, and you wish to get back to business?”

“Don’t think you can weasel your way out of it now, after thoroughly debauching me, Brady MacInnes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Emerson Pritchard,” he replied, kissing her knuckles, though her surname leaked reality into their paradise, encased within the warmth of his plaid while the fire he’d started earlier crackled and caused distorted shadows to dance against the walls. “Pritchard” might be her married name now, but it wasn’t a name he wished her to retain, no matter how decent a man Corbin had been. After what he’d just done, he owed it to her to offer for her, even if she’d be well within her rights to refuse him on the grounds of his worthless accounting ledger. No doubt, Aberfeldy Manor’s cracking foundations were a far cry from the polished halls of Apple Grove.

She isn’t like that. He tried to reason with himself. She isn’t so frivolous as to think the numbers on your ledger’s bottom line define you. Though fantasizing about a happily ever after with her, and knowing he couldn’t actually provide it, were competing demons in his mind.

“Bring in three tenant women tomorrow to begin sweeping out the chambers and unpacking the Christmas décor. I imagine you still have it?”

He nodded, pulling her against his chest. “Of course. It’s in storage. But there’s much more to do than dust a few rooms,” he replied.

“Which is why you allow me to plan the repairs, the staffing, and the food. I shall begin writing invitations upon my return home in the morning—” Home. She was planning to return, and made no mention of anything beyond that. “And I will employ my cook to go to market and see foods ordered. Why, she would be pleased to oversee the cooking, too, and is already in my pay, so there would be no added expense there.”

He finally pulled away and sat up, glancing back down at her. Damn his MacInnes pride, but now that the sparkle of lust had settled, the coldness of the room and the neglected ambience of his home began to close in on him. There was so much work to do to make his manor guest-worthy.

“Even with your Aunt Bess’s inheritance, how on earth can you afford all of this?”

He glanced down at her, but as if she could sense the distance he was putting between them, she looked away and shivered. Her discomfort, even if she exhibited it unconsciously, embarrassed him, and he dragged his tartan off to cover her up completely. But as her honest eyes fluttered back to his, he saw questions and desire intermingled on her furrowed brow.

“My late husband bequeathed me a handsome sum, had we lived to be ripe old folks. That, and in my inheritance, he made me a business partner in a tea venture. I do menial tasks for the board a few times a year, since anymore work is considered unbecoming of my sex, but I’m paid a kingly portion of profits. Why not use that profit to benefit the lives of others? What better Christmas gift to give than that?”

She reached out and tried to take his hand, but he withdrew it, and scooted off the bed to fish through the mountain of clothing on the floor for his undergarments.

“Brady, what’s wrong?”

She rolled onto her side to watch him and pulled his plaid up to her chin. He shook his head. He would be using her late husband’s estate? Impossible. He ran his hand through his hair and turned away as he shook out his clothing and stepped into the underclothes.

“I can’t use that money, Emerson.”

“What happened to ‘Emmy’?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Had it just been your aunt’s, I’d resigned myself to consider it, but it’s money from another man.” He looked back at her fondly, then sat beside her, dipping the mattress and cupping her cheek. So selfless with her fortune. She didn’t think for one moment where the money had come from, only how it could be used for others. “Your husband’s money was meant for you. To take care of you. I won’t use it, in any fashion.”

“I wasn’t giving it to you,” she said, pushing upright and dragging his plaid with her to keep her breasts concealed when moments ago she’d been comfortable to remain exposed to him. His hand fell, and his frown deepened. “It’s for the little girl in my parlor and all those like her. The food and merry-making would be to wine and dine guests who might open their pocketbooks. Corbin wouldn’t object in the least to it. I’d hoped we could work together, because even though my life is in Apple Grove, I wanted to be near you a little longer, and Corbin would have wanted me to be happy…”

Brady laid his finger over her lips, shushing her. “It’s clear he loved you. How could he not? You’re kind, and smart…and so unconventional, so beautiful. Especially as you become impassioned now.” He fingered one of her disastrous curls—a bonnier sight that the finest hair styling, for he was the artist who had cast them into such wanton disarray. She fell silent at his words. “I slave every damned day for this land and the people who have nowhere else to go.”

“Then why will you not accept this solution?”

He clenched his jaw and dropped her curl against her arm. “Emerson, I don’t want to take from another man to accomplish my ends. It’s what my father did, and though I love his memory, I wish not to be indebted like he was. If I admit it, it’s left a scar I’m conscious of every day.”

“But if you repair your manor, you could take in boarders, and grow your own wealth from it.”

“Your idea could be a fruitful one, and I admit, one I should like to employ, but it will take years to become lucrative enough to support a family—”

“So it’s like that? After all this time, after what we just did, after I thought you would want to m”—She cut herself off.

He could tell that she fished for him to say and do the honorable thing, and by God, he’d planned to. But reminders of where her wealth had come from rained doubt on his conviction. She’d dropped enough hints about returning home that it was clear she wanted him to ask her to remain.

“What if you and me, we—”