Scandal with a Sinful Scot(17)
The sound of voices approaching broke them apart. Good Lord, they were both flushed, with swollen lips, and… Garrett stood abruptly and faced the window. There was no mistaking his erection. Quickly brushing the few tears from her cheeks and smoothing the front of her dress, she then reached for a biscuit and nervously began to nibble on it.
A moment later, the earl and Megan entered the room. The earl’s eyebrows shot up and Abbie’s cheeks flushed further, because by the expression on his face, he had no doubt guessed what had passed between her and Garrett, as the air crackled with sensual energy.
“Oh, Mama. I must show you the portrait tomorrow when we have the tour. I look very much like the countess, though she is much more beautiful.”
“Not necessarily, my dear,” the earl said. “You have a little more growing to do. In the next couple of years, your beauty will shine all the more.”
Megan gave the earl a warm smile. Already they had formed a bond—how surprising. But then, Megan had never had a grandfather in her life before. Abbie stood. “It has been a long day, my lord. If we may be shown to our rooms?”
“Yes, at once. There will be a buffet-style brunch at about ten in the morning. Hope you brought your appetites, as breakfast is our favorite meal here at Wollstonecraft Hall. I have a maid who will see to your needs. She did such for Riordan’s wife, Sabrina, over the past several weeks.” The earl moved to the door and a footman entered. “Show Mrs. Hughes and her daughter to their rooms. Good night, ladies.”
Garrett turned his head slightly. “Goodnight, Abbie, Megan.”
* * * *
“All right, Son. The ladies have departed. What is going on?”
Garrett remained facing the window. His damned erection was still at half-mast. “Not sure what you mean, Da.”
Oliver laughed. “Come and sit.”
With an exasperated sigh, Garrett did, but growled when he observed the amused expression on his father’s face.
His father reached for a raisin biscuit. “You were kissing her, weren’t you? Quite vigorously, I would guess. The passion still exists between you. What do you plan to do about it?”
“Do? What can be done, with the curse—?”
“Hang the damned curse for the moment. The woman you loved—and no doubt still love—and your daughter stand before you hale and hearty. No tragedy has befallen them.”
“Did you ever stop to think they are ‘hale and hearty’ because I have been apart from them all this time? Now that we are in the same vicinity, the curse will return in full fashion…” The earl laughed, and Garrett’s quick temper sparked. “Do not laugh at me. You more than anyone know what havoc the curse can wreak. I watched Lady Gwendolyn rot away from childbirth infection. I watched baby Sarah gasp for every breath. I watched Fiona slowly die of a heart ailment. Factor in my mother’s death? Yes, it made a damned impression.”
His father ceased laughing. “No child should be exposed to such tragedies. But you cannot let it rule your entire life.”
Garrett snorted. “You haven’t remarried, neither has Julian. Deep down, you believe it exists. Admit it.”
“I married three times. I did not allow the curse to deter me or rule my life, not to the extent you are doing. As far as Julian is concerned, did you see the expression on his face when he was given the note from Alberta Eaton? I will be starting a correspondence with Miss Tuttle. If we both believed in the curse as fervently as you, wouldn’t we have pushed these lovely women aside?” His father crossed his arms. “Perhaps nothing will come from these attractions, or perhaps we will fall in love for the last time in our lives. I am willing to find out where this will lead. Are you? Or will you toss that beautiful woman away once again? I’ve seen the way you gaze at each other. The love is there, ready to be rekindled. Do not be hasty and dismiss it.”
Garrett grabbed handfuls of his long hair in frustration. “I honestly have no idea how to proceed.”
“Follow your nephew’s lead. Curse be damned—marry the woman you love. Riordan has shown more courage than any of us.”
Garrett glanced up at his father. “And if something should happen to his bride, what then?”
“We face it together, as a family. As we’ve always done. And, Garrett: Megan and Abigail should be a part of this family. Deep down you know it.”
“We’ve both changed, Da.”
“Suggest that she extend her visit. I have selfish reasons, for I wish to know my granddaughter better. Already I find her to be a delight. See where this leads. You’ve been alone long enough.”
Well, his family had never shied away from discussing difficult subjects or emotions. The man spoke sense as always. “All right, Da. I will ask them to stay longer, but it is up to Abbie.”
He hoped to hell that he was not making a mistake. The last thing he wished was to place Abbie and his daughter—or his lonely heart—in jeopardy.
Chapter 8
Since the air held a determined chill, Garrett decided that their ride would encompass the perimeter of Wollstonecraft Hall, but no farther. While he rode Patriot, Megan sat on Jade, the gentlest mare in the stables, and Abbie rode a chocolate brown gelding, Ivanhoe.
The conversation was sparse but pleasant. Megan still acted uncomfortable in his presence; he couldn’t blame the lass. She answered him when he directed conversation toward her, but did not initiate any toward him. He wasn’t sure how to bring her out from behind her protective wall other than to be himself.
“I forgot how impressive the property is,” Abbie stated.
“It is even more so when all is in bloom, if you recall, especially the roses and hydrangeas. Remember the afternoon we spent picking cherries?” Garrett replied.
Abbie flushed prettily. “I do remember that you ate them all before we had a chance to deliver them to the kitchen.”
Actually, Garrett recalled feeding them to each other in the hayloft. It had soon turned sensual, with Abbie slowly sucking on the succulent fruit while he held it out for her. It led to a particularly vigorous bout of sex. Garrett shifted in his saddle at the heated memory.
“Do you have other animals or pets, Mr. Wollstonecraft?” Megan asked, pulling him from his erotic and inappropriate thoughts. My God, she had asked him a question. His heart swelled with joy.
“Not as such; this is not a working farm. My late grandfather, the old earl, had chickens, but Da did not like the odor enough to keep them. We are strictly a horse breeding operation, although we do have two goats that live with some of the horses as companions.” Garrett pulled on the reins to slow Patriot. “Beyond the stables there, is the breeding shed.” Garrett pointed toward a cluster of buildings. “And the large building with the conical roof is our indoor paddock, where we train and exercise. As for pets, we did have a number of housecats through the years. When I was younger my Scottish grandfather gifted me with a beautiful Scotch collie during one of my summer visits. The dog passed about six years ago, and I meant to travel to Scotland to procure another, but have yet to do so.”
Though he and his grandfather corresponded on a regular basis, Garrett had not visited the Mackinnon side of his family since taking on the combined duties of estate manager and land steward.
“Is it like a sheepdog?” Megan asked.
“Both are herders, but a Scotch collie is somewhat different from a sheepdog, in that they are little larger and have thicker, longer hair. Collies are intelligent, and extremely loyal.”
“You should get another,” Megan stated.
“Perhaps I shall. Very soon.”
“What was her name?” Megan asked.
An actual conversation with his daughter, the first one ever. Although there was barely a trace of warmth in her tone, at least she was speaking to him openly. His heart squeezed with emotions he could not name. “‘He’ actually. I called him Laddie. Appropriate, considering his birthplace.” Garrett sighed wistfully. “I miss him still. He went with me everywhere. As I said, loyal to a fault.” And good company when loneliness crowded in, especially after he’d sent Abbie away.
“I remember Laddie. A beautiful dog, with multicolored sable fur.” Abbie smiled. “He had a sunny disposition, and he was completely devoted to you.”
“He was,” Garrett replied.
“Is Scotland beautiful?” Megan asked. Garrett glanced at Abbie and she smiled encouragingly.
“My family—our family—lives outside of Edinburgh, and are involved in the making of spirits. The family is descended from Clan Mackinnon; our ancestors lived on the Isle of Skye and were fierce warriors in all number of battles, including the Jacobite Uprisings.” Garrett gazed across the bleak winter landscape. “Rolling, lush hills, yet the land possesses a stark ruggedness, especially when storm clouds form overhead. Beautiful? It is one of the most breathtaking places that I’ve ever seen.”
“When were you last there?” Abbie asked.
“Many years, close to five. I became steward of this estate… and along with the horses, I’m far too busy for traveling.” How he wished that he could show Abbie and Megan his mother’s homeland. Hell, when had he become a romantic, waxing poetic about Scotland? “We should head home. I’ve ordered pots of hot chocolate and frosted cakes for our tea this afternoon.”