Laird of Longing: Regency Romance Read online

  She set down her spoon, giving him another smile. “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

  He rose and stepped out the door, leaving Sophie alone once again.

  Opening the parcel, she pulled out a dress, stockings, a corset, a chemise, and sturdy pantaloons, the last making her face heat. He’d chosen these things for her.

  He’d also included a brush and several other items for her personal care.

  She shook her head, marveling that he’d thought of everything as she began to change.

  The gown was made of wool and not precisely fit but not terrible either. She’d certainly be far warmer in it. Once done, she started on her hair, attempting to pin the thick locks back into some appropriate style. There was only a shaving mirror, which didn’t leave her much room to work.

  But in the end, she created a simple style that suited the gown and her face. She sighed as she tried to inspect the coif. Would he like it? Why did she want him to?

  The answer to that was simple enough.

  Her nerves fluttered with excitement. She liked him.

  He was large, and strong, and certainly able to care for a woman. Sophie had been raised her entire life to make a good wife to such a man. And while running away was a large mark against her character, she was sure she’d explained her behavior.

  She set the brush down, turning toward the door when a new thought occurred to her. Perhaps he was a gentleman because he had a wife already.

  Her stomach twisted at the idea. She had to find out because a plan was beginning to form. Which made her smile. He’d told her to leave the scheming to him. Or was that the lying? He wasn’t wrong. She’d have to be honest in her intentions. It was the only way forward for her.

  Opening the door, he waited just outside in the hall. His eyes swept down her as he gave her a perfunctory smile. “Ye look lovely, lass.”

  Pleasure rippled along her skin. She wished to please him. “Thank you,” she replied. “For the compliment and the clothing. I appreciate them both very much.”

  He held out his elbow then, and she slipped her hand into the crook. It was an act she’d done a hundred times, nay a thousand or more. But somehow, here, it reminded her of who she was, who he was, and what she should be doing with this opportunity.

  He helped her up the ladder and then Sophie blinked in the sun. “I forgot a hat fer ye,” he said with a growl.

  “It’s no worry,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll keep my deck walks to early morning or evening. Normally, I’m an early riser anyhow.”

  He frowned as he looked down at her. “Yer skin is a lovely shade. The sun will ruin it.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Now…” She patted his arm. Funny, the first few times he’d touched her, she’d been frightened. He was large and the last man who’d touched her had abused her. But when she touched Ewan…tingling flitted up from her fingers, settling in her belly. “Tell me about yourself.”

  His grimace turned into a full scowl, his mouth turned down into a severe line. “What fer?”

  She blinked up at him. “How many days will we be on this ship?”

  “Five or six at most, depending on the weather.”

  “And in that time, we’re only going to discuss me?” She raised her brows.

  The frown stayed in place, but he let out a slow breath. “What is it ye wish to ken?”

  She tapped her chin. “Let me see. Where do you live when you don’t live on this boat?”

  “I have a townhouse in London and an estate outside of Edinburgh. But I have to confess, I spend a great deal more time in London these days than I do Scotland.”

  Disappointment tightened her chest. She wished to stay in Scotland where her family might never find her. “And who lives with you?”

  “No one lives with me in London,” he said, then shrugged. “My mother still resides at Glamis Estate, my ancestral home.”

  Her fingers tightened on his arm. He hadn’t mentioned a wife or children. “I’d like to see your home. It must be lovely.”

  “I think Glamis to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I don’t ken that my mother agrees.”

  She frowned. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  He stopped then. “My mother is English, born and raised in London.”

  Surprise made her start. His mother was English? She’d never have known it. He looked like the largest and brawniest of Scots to her. “That’s why you have English cousins.”

  He gave a nod. “Exactly. And though I’ve offered to buy her a home in England, she refuses. She’s never liked Scotland, but I can only guess, she wants to keep an eye on me. Or perhaps, continue to flaunt her residence to my dead father.”

  Sophie tilted her chin back further to study his face. The words were lined with a great deal of meaning. “I beg your pardon?”

  He shook his head. “This is why we shouldn’t talk about me.”

  But Sophie stopped, turning toward him, which caused their bodies to brush. Heat filled her and she took a deep breath to expel the distraction. She had a great deal more to say and words need not fail her now. “On the contrary,” she said, hoping to give him an easy smile. “Last night I told you about my father and his insistence that I marry a man who’d attacked me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Appearances have always been what’s most important to him. If anyone can understand selfish parents, it’s me.”

  Ewan looked down at Sophie, trying to control the urge to kiss her.

  Which was ridiculous. This wasn’t a social stroll, and they weren’t courting. He’d brought her out here because most of the crew was on land and it seemed an ideal time for her to get a bit of exercise.

  So why did he wish to stroke his thumb along her jaw? Trace her nose, her cheeks, her lips, and then dip down and taste them?

  She was temptation personified.

  At least they were discussing his parents. That alone was enough to remind him why he needed to resist the temptation.

  What would she taste like?

  Something sweet, he’d wager.

  “I appreciate yer understanding, but it isn’t necessary. I made my peace with my family long ago and now I do my best to…” He stopped, searching for the word.

  “Avoid them?” she asked with a smile. “Something I believe I understand as well.”

  That made his smile too. “I suppose ye do.”

  She tapped his biceps then, her body close to his. “Laird McLaren.”

  “We’re family, remember,” he replied. “Ye call me Ewan.”

  Her tongue darted out, licking her upper lip, which only caused him to think again about how she might taste. “Ewan.”

  His name on her lips sent a lick of pleasure down to his manhood. “Yes?”

  “I…” She drew in a breath. “I wanted to ask.” She shifted, her body brushing his again. “Are you…” That tongue again. It swiped along her lip. His insides were tightening, his gaze fixated on her pink tongue. “Are you married?”

  A growl erupted from his throat, rising from deep in his stomach. Why would she ask that? Was it another question that was innocent enough, like where was his home, or did she have intent?

  He looked down at her. She was a woman all alone in the world, of course she wanted to marry, should marry. But not to him. “I am not.”

  Both her hands were wrapped about his bicep. “But surely you need an heir.”

  He straightened then, moving away from her. This was not a conversation he wished to have. He’d help her yes. But not by marrying her. “Eventually.”

  Her lips pressed together, and she nodded. He watched as she began to worry her bottom lip. The woman was an open book.

  They started walking again and for a few minutes silence fell, but as they turned at the aft of the boat, her fingers began to move on his skin again. It felt far too good for his liking. “If you were interested in marriage, would you consider my hand?”

  He nearly tripped on his own feet. Her question was direct, he’
d give her that. He looked over at her profile and the very idea of her in bed with him made him ache with longing.

  The woman was perfect in nearly every way. Would he consider bedding her nightly? Absolutely.

  Did he wish to be married to an English rose the way his father had? Definitely not. He’d always planned to marry a Scottish woman when he eventually wed, which was years from now. However his father had gone about marriage, Ewan intended to do the opposite. “Lass,” he started, their feet stopping again. “I want ye to understand that I don’t intend to wed for quite some time. My work keeps me at sea, constantly away. It’s not an ideal situation for wedded bliss.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “I see your point, but may I counter?”

  Feck. She wasn’t going to drop the point. “Fine,” he pushed out through clenched teeth.

  “We are not a love match. I will be eternally grateful for your protection, your support. I’ll give you as many children as you desire and ask little in return. I am well trained and well suited to be the wife of a successful man. One might argue that I’d make an ideal candidate.”

  Well, articulation was certainly a point in her favor. She’d made several good ones, actually. “Try to understand, I am already a Scottish laird who is half English.”

  “Oh,” she replied, her face falling. He almost regretted the words; he didn’t like to see her unhappy. “I see. You wish for a Scottish bride.”

  He gave a tentative nod. “But don’t worry. We’ll find ye a suitable husband who will protect ye sufficiently.”

  But even as he said the words, his gut went sour. The very idea of another man protecting her, touching her, filled him with dread. She was scared. What if this man was too rough? What if he lacked the tenderness to draw her out of her shell?

  Or what—and his entire body clenched at the idea—if the opposite occurred and she opened like a flower for this other man?

  Jealousy ripped through him like a hot knife. When had that emotion crept in? And how did he get rid of it?

  Chapter Six

  Three days went by where Sophie barely saw Ewan. She heard him come in late at night and leave before the sun rose, but he never worked at the desk in the cabin they shared as he said he would nor did he take any meals with her or bring her out on the deck again.

  She sighed. It had been dreadfully boring.

  Which was the last emotion she’d expected to feel when she’d snuck from her parents’ house in the dead of night. She hadn’t even changed for fear of alerting a servant to her plan. She’d expected danger, fear, discomfort, but boredom…that hadn’t made her list.

  She sighed as she rested back on the bed. A handsome titled laird of Scotland had rescued her from danger and now she sat in his cabin, pining away for company.

  A knock sounded at the door, and she sat up again, her breath catching. Had he come? “Come in,” she called as she stood.

  The door swung open and Cookie stood on the other side, holding a tray. “Yer dinner, my lady.”

  They’d taken to calling her that, the entire crew. She’d tried to protest, but Ewan had insisted. He’d whispered that his cousins were all titled ladies and that it helped the crew to see her as untouchable.

  As always, he was meticulous in her protection.

  “Thank you,” she replied as he set the tray down and then turned to go. “Cookie. Wait.”

  The man turned back to her, his brows drawn together as he didn’t quite meet her eye. “Wait fer what?” He took a half step toward the door. This was the man who’d fed her on the first night, hardly able to take his gaze off her. Why was he trying to escape now?

  “I’ve been in this cabin alone for days. Please stay for a minute and chat.”

  He pulled his sailor’s cap from his head, holding it in his hands. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but I’ve got a lot of work to do and his lordship says…” The man trailed off.

  “What does his lordship say?”

  He twisted his hat. “We’re not supposed to talk to ye, my lady.”

  She sighed. No wonder everyone had avoided her even when she was on deck. “Can I just ask you a few quick questions?”

  “Like what?” he asked, his gaze snapping to hers.

  “My…cousin. Does he like running the business?”

  Cookie’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t say.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. It had been a silly question. Of course, he didn’t tell the cook about his general state of happiness. But when they’d been on the deck, she’d sensed some underlying tension and she’d wished to know the cause. Perhaps if she did, she’d successfully convince him to marry her. And because, well, if she were honest, she cared to know. “Right. Thank you for answering.”

  “I do ken that he’s damn good, I mean darn good at it. I ‘ear he’s one of the richest men in Scotland or England, even dukes can’t surpass him.”

  Sophie started in surprise. Richest man in Scotland or England? No wonder he didn’t want a runaway bride who no longer had a dowry and no connections. She hung her head as she thanked Cookie.

  “My pleasure,” he answered before turning toward the door. “Enjoy yer dinner.”

  But the truth was, she picked at the food, barely tasting it. Her thoughts were full of Ewan: his assertion he’d marry a Scottish woman, his status, but also his comments about his parents.

  His mother, he’d said, remained in Scotland to spite his dead father. What sort of person did that?

  Had Ewan’s parents been as callous as her father?

  After taking several more bites, she left the cabin to walk about the deck. The sun was setting, and she could use the fresh air and exercise.

  Admittedly, she also wished to see Ewan again. As though actually seeing him would provide answers to her questions.

  She knew they were unlikely to actually talk. They hadn’t spoken since she’d proposed matrimony between them.

  With a sigh, she started up on deck. At least the sea air might clear her thoughts.

  Ewan knew the moment she stepped on deck. He sensed her before he saw her, which sounded ridiculous, but it was true. Tension knotted his muscles even before a single sailor called out a greeting to her.

  And then several did. He turned toward the hatch and there she was.

  The setting sun turned her golden hair into a halo around her head as she smiled angelically at him.

  His chest tightened. Though he’d told himself not to, he’d done little else but picture her as he considered her offer.

  He’d made lists in his head of all the reasons he shouldn’t take her to his bed and make her his wife.

  First, he knew arranged marriages were a disaster. He’d already lived through one. Second, he had a plan, a good one, to avoid the worst of marriage. Third, he was already half English. Not that he cared about the bloodline that much, but he’d been raised in Scotland. His parents had fought endlessly about how his father was a Scottish beast who offended her English sensibilities.

  Which led him to all the reasons he wanted to consider Sophie. He was half English and spent a great deal of time in England, and she, while also an English rose, was nothing like his mother. While his mother was spiteful and vindictive, Sophie was honest, kind, and forthright. Granted, she had a penchant for trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

  He scrubbed his face as he looked at her standing in the glow of the sun. He was justifying why he might keep her for himself when he knew he didn’t want to marry now. But he’d never, in his life, wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. He was burning for her.

  And every time he saw her, she stoked the fire a bit higher.

  Instead of coming toward him, she turned toward the rail, leaving him to watch her retreat and the sway of her backside.

  His jaw clenched. He’d been dreaming of the shape of her every night as he listened to the soft sighs of her sleep.

  They were nearly in Edinburgh and then they could turn back to England where he could dep
osit her with his cousin and never have to hear or see her again. Except in his dreams.

  Without thought, he started stomping across the desk to where she stood. To what end, he had no idea but seeing her, he couldn’t ignore her any longer. And as she leaned on the rail, her hips cocking to one side, his fists closed into tight balls.

  “Sophie.” His voice came out rough and craggy, but rather than look frightened, she turned to him with a sweet smile.

  “Ewan.”

  How did one woman saying his two-syllable name cause a riot inside his body? He stopped, still several feet away, not daring to move any closer. “What are ye doing up here?”

  Her smile slipped. “You said I was free to move about the ship.”

  He cursed himself. He had told her that she was welcome on deck whenever she wished, and he’d hurt her in even suggesting she shouldn’t be here. “Ye are,” he said as he stepped closer. “We’re about to enter the inlet where Edinburgh is located. There’ll be extra activity on deck. Be careful.”

  She smiled again with a nod of gratitude. “Thank you, as always, for your concern. Much appreciated.”

  He gave a stiff nod in reply, inwardly cursing himself for being a cad. She was always so genuine and appreciative while he was completely selfish. “In the morning, let’s take you to shop for a bonnet. I’m sure ye could use the time off the boat and…”

  But he didn’t finish as she beamed a smile in his direction. “Oh, that sounds wonderful.”

  Ewan looked at her, his mouth dry. Did he have this all wrong? Was the perfect woman staring him directly in the face?

  She’d offered herself to him. His. All his.

  His spine stiffened as he looked down at her, stepping closer. He remembered the gentle brush of her body, the heat of her, her softness. What would her hair feel like? Her skin? He wondered again how she might taste.

  “When we’re off the boat,” he murmured low, so no one overheard. “I want ye to stay by my side.”