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Chapter Fourteen
Bethea stared at the letters in Camden’s sun-browned hand as they approached the kitchen entrance. Just short of the door, she placed her palm atop his.
“Camden, please dinna open them yet.”
He met her gaze, a question in his arresting blue eyes.
Her heart racing madly at her boldness for what she was about to do, she managed a tremulous smile. “They might change everythin’, and…” She felt the color heating her cheeks, but she bravely raised her chin. If she didn’t do this now, she mightn’t ever. “And before they do, I would be yer wife in every way. If ye’ll have me, and if that’s what ye desire, too.”
Without argument, he tucked the letters into his jacket pocket.
“Aye, I’ll gladly have ye, Bethea Kennedy.” His eyes filled with primal satisfaction as a seductive grin crooked his mouth. “Today and every day, for the rest of my life.” He glanced down at the fish and rod and chuckled. “Let me dispose of these, and then we can have a proper conversation.”
Her tummy toppled over in giddy expectation. She sincerely doubted they’d be conversing in words, and a delicious thrill started in her middle and spread outward. For days she’d attempted to muster the courage to tell Camden she wanted him in her bed. Wanted to remain his wife. Yet each time she’d opened her mouth to tell him, her courage had fled.
It wasn’t the forever, till death do us part piece that kept her tongue-tied.
It was the fear he hadn’t come to care for, to love, her as she had him these past weeks. For she’d admitted to herself several days ago, what she’d suspected since the day she’d married him—Camden Kennedy had captured her heart. And with each grin, each kiss to her forehead, each charming or rakish comment or chuckle, the organ became more firmly cemented at his feet.
She’d found herself humming and singing, which in truth, was cruelty to humanity and animal-kind since she well knew she held no talent in that direction. Nevertheless, her joy demanded a venue of expression, and she could hardly dance about the house or lawns. Although… she’d been doing just that when he’d come upon her a few minutes ago.
She swung the basket of flowers, drawing his attention to the early blooms she’d cut from the now tidy gardens’ beds, thanks to Hetrick and Livingston. “I’ll just leave these in the kitchen.”
After bracing his fishing pole next to the house, Camden kissed her temple before opening the door. At once, warmth and the aromas of dried herbs, fresh bread, and whatever was cooking engulfed her.
Glen Toramallan’s kitchen, as well as the rest of the house, sparkled after a thorough cleaning by Mrs. Newberry, the maids, and Bethea. Though the lodge didn’t quite feel like home, the house was comfortable and welcoming.
Mrs. Newberry looked up from stirring a pot atop the stove, a smile wreathing her plump face. A lock of red hair peeking out from beneath her cap clung to her damp forehead.
“Och, look at those fat fish,” she exclaimed in admiration with an approving nod. “’Tis baked trout for dinner tonight.” Angling her head, she indicated a large bowl atop a table. “Ye can leave them there, sir.”
As Camden deposited the fish, Bethea set the basket on another table.
“Either Bridget or Alice can place these in vases in the dinin’ and mornin’ rooms,” she suggested.
“Aye, Mrs. Kennedy.”
How Bethea loved hearing that. What had started as a desperate lie had become a most treasured reality.
Mrs. Newberry sprinkled an herb into the fragrant, bubbling pot then lifted the spoon a few inches. “Leek and potato soup to accompany the fish.”
“Wonderful.” Camden placed his hand at the small of Bethea’s back and swiftly ushered her from the kitchen. “Trout and soup are no’ what I’m hungry for,” he fairly purred into her ear.
Lord.Just hearing his voice pouring over her like warm honey unhinged Bethea’s knees.
“Och, young love.” Mrs. Newberry’s chuckle lengthened into the paneled corridor.
Good heavens, did she know what Bethea and Camden were going to do?
Clasping her hand in his, as eager as a schoolboy about to embark on a grand adventure, he pulled her to the stairs. She giggled, when at the top of the landing, he swung her into his arms.
“Camden,” she admonished, her voice bubbling with mirth and adoration. “Someone will see.”
“Aye,” he concurred, with a sinful grin and equally wicked wink. “And likely hear, too, if I am as skilled as I think I am.”
She went hot to her toes and wondered precisely what he meant, though she had a fair notion. Rather than succumbing to embarrassment, Bethea quite looked forward to whatever would cause such a reaction.
“Yer chamber or mine, Wife?”
