Annoyance sparked in her dark brown eyes. “Let me? I am going home, I am not leaving you. Besides, you threw me away…. Never mind. We will not travel down that path once again. What time do you wish us to be ready for our excursion to Sevenoaks tomorrow?”
He kissed her hard. At first she stubbornly resisted, but she soon softened, returning his kiss with equal passion. Garrett broke the kiss and marched away from her, then mounted Patriot. “I will call for you and Megan at one o’clock. And tomorrow night, I will be here at the stroke of midnight. Agreed?”
Abbie gave him a sultry smile as she touched her well-kissed lips. “Agreed.”
Taking the reins, he gave Patriot a touch of his flanks and he was off, galloping toward Wollstonecraft Hall. Tonight was not near enough, it barely took the edge off his arousal. Perhaps a brisk dash would cool his ardor.
The extreme emotions tearing through him concerned him. He never wanted to love a woman like this. It was dangerous to love to distraction, to be obsessed. Yearning for every touch, smile, and kiss. Surely he could gain control of his emotions. Well, the maelstrom was exhilarating, at least. But did he wish to live the rest of his life in such turmoil?
With Abbie by his side, in his arms, lying under him as he thrust in and out?
God, yes. Forever.
* * * *
Sitting in the Rose Crown Tearoom, Garrett noticed they were attracting attention from the townsfolk. On the rare occasions he’d ventured to Sevenoaks, he hadn’t lingered in tearooms or engaged in conversation with the locals. He’d left that to his father and brother, the peers in the family.
The owner of the tearoom waited on them personally, bringing a three-tiered cake stand stuffed with cream cakes, tarts, and scones. Megan’s eyes lit up at the bounty. His daughter had a sweet tooth, make no mistake.
“May I say I’m heartily glad to see you in my humble tearoom,” the owner, Mr. Crook, gushed. “I would be obliged if you recommend us to the earl and viscount.”
Good God. “What jams do you offer?” Garrett asked as he laid the linen napkin across his lap.
“I have blackberry, strawberry, peach, apricot, a Seville orange marmalade…”
“Excellent,” Garrett replied. “The marmalade and apricot jam. Ladies? Any preferences?”
“Your selections are perfect,” Abbie smiled.
Mr. Crook bowed. “Right away, sir.” He scurried off, leaving them mercifully alone.
Abbie picked up the china teapot and filled their cups. “What an advantage being born into an aristocratic family. He couldn’t do enough for us.”
“Believe me, the bowing and scraping becomes tedious very quickly. All it does is draw attention.” Garrett stared at the women at the next table. He scowled and they looked away, blushing and whispering behind their hands. He could well imagine what they were saying. No doubt wondering who Megan and Abbie were to him—although one glance at his daughter and conclusions could be drawn.
Abbie chuckled. “Ignore them. Instead, let us enjoy the company and the food. Goodness, I hardly know where to begin. Megan?”
“Mama, you have to ask? Cake, of course!”
Garrett laughed as Abbie used the silver tongs to load her plate. “I believe I will begin with scones, if Mr. Crook would make haste with the jams.”
The older man hurried to their table and served the condiments. “Anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you. We have everything we need, and it is lovely.”
Mr. Crook beamed in response, then moved to another table. Garrett placed three scones on his plate, slathering them with apricot jam and dollops of fresh cream.
“The Wollstonecrafts are involved in progressive causes. Will you tell us which ones?” Megan asked as she placed a piece of strawberry cake on her plate.
“Of course. Your grandfather is in the House of Lords, and your uncle, Julian, is a member of parliament, since his viscount title is courtesy only. Both are working toward factory reform and revising the current inadequate Factory Act by limiting the number of hours of work during the day, especially for women and children. They are also crafting revisions concerning improvement of the horrendous working conditions.” Garrett sipped his tea. “Riordan, your cousin, is involved in education reform. It is why he took the position of schoolmaster, to test his ideas. He found the profession enriching and wishes to build his own school here in Kent.”
“How wonderful,” Megan said. “And you, sir?”
He and Abbie locked gazes. “I recently found a worthy cause in the medical field. Treatment of addiction.”
Megan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, my, like Papa used to do. Dr. Bevan is continuing his work.”
“Yes. I’m toying with the idea of setting up a grant for young doctors to train in this field, eventually leading to funding sanatoriums similar to the one…your father ran.” Garrett nearly choked on the word “father,” but Dr. Hughes had brought her up. “My nephew, Aidan, will join me in this venture, I’m sure.”
“I believe he will,” Abbie replied softly.
“I have a cause,” Megan announced. “I believe people like Jonas, who are challenged either physically or intellectually, should have a safe haven if they have no family to care for them. The asylums are not the place for those with special needs.”
Garrett felt a surge of pride at Megan’s statement. “Then we shall see it done. I will raise the subject at our next family meeting.”
Satisfied, Megan began to eat her cake. A smudge of frosting dotted the tip of her nose, and Garrett gently brushed it away with the tip of his finger. At least she didn’t shrink from his touch. She giggled when he showed her the evidence.
They conversed pleasantly, and Garrett could not remember when he had spent such an enjoyable afternoon. Finally, his daughter appeared to be warming toward him, at least a little.
“Megan and I have decided on a date to return to Standon,” Abbie stated. “We discussed it this morning.”
Frustration, tinged with sadness, speared him, though he fought showing it. So much for the lovely afternoon. “Oh?”
“Next Monday, the twenty-sixth.”
Less than six days. Blast it all, he hurt inside. Garrett took a bite of his scone and did not reply.
His disappointment must have been obvious, for Abbie said, “Alberta and Jonas have their own lives. As do we, as I’ve explained earlier. Megan must return to school. Do you think your father and brother will return home by Monday next? We certainly do not wish to leave without saying goodbye.”
“They will return in a day or two. By Sunday at the very latest,” he replied gruffly.
“Wonderful. Megan has something to ask you.”
He looked to his daughter, and she met his inquiring gaze shyly. “I hope, well, both of us hope, you will come for a visit. Perhaps you can even return with us to Standon. I know it is a lot to ask on short notice.”
Garrett had the distinct feeling that Abbie had put their daughter up to this, but found he didn’t mind. In fact, he was touched by her suggestion. She may have even meant it, which helped alleviate the gloom overtaking his mood. “Thank you. I will be visiting, you may count on it. If I’m not able to return with you, it will be shortly thereafter. I will stay at the George Inn.”
“I thought you would stay with us,” Megan said.
Abbie laid a hand on her arm. “My dear, for propriety’s sake, it is best Garrett stay at the inn.”
“Yes, I suppose—”
“Mr. Wollstonecraft?”
The three of them turned toward a young messenger carrying a satchel across his shoulder. “Your butler said I could find you here in town, sir.” He passed Garrett an envelope. “From Scotland, sir. Important. The butler said for me to bring it to you with all haste.”
Garrett reached in his pocket and gave the lad a shilling. Hell. A feeling of foreboding took root. He broke the seal and pulled out the officious-looking paper. From his grandfather’s solicitor.
I regret to inform you that Alec Roderick Mackinnon died January the tenth. Allow me to offer my sincerest condolences. As per his request, your grandfather will not be buried until the snows melt, as travel would be impossible for you at this time. Please inform me at your earliest possible convenience of when you will travel to Edinburgh, and we will make arrangements for his interment and the settling of his estate.
Garrett didn’t bother with the rest. Damn it all. He swallowed hard as tears formed on his lashes; he refused to show any emotion in a public place. His grief was private. With shaking hands, he placed the letter in the envelope and sat it on the table.
“My dear, what is it?” Abbie asked, worry in her tone. Try as he might to hide his emotions, she read him easily. She always could.
He cleared his throat. “My grandfather passed away. January tenth. Alec Roderick Mackinnon, age eighty-two.”
Megan touched his hand. “I am sorry, Garrett.”
A wayward tear slipped from the corner of his eye and trailed down his cheek at his daughter using his first name. He laid his large hand on top of hers. “Thank you, my sweet. I do regret that you will never meet him. He is…was…as red haired as we.”
Megan smiled, though it had a touch of sadness in it.
“Perhaps we should take our leave,” Abbie suggested.