Scandal with a Sinful Scot(37)

By this point in her summer visit she had fallen desperately in love with him. One afternoon she took a walk. She and Garrett had made plans to meet later in the evening, but she longed to see him—even if it was only a distant glimpse. Her journey had been rewarded. Garrett stood outside the stables, shirt removed, giving his black stallion a wash. Hidden behind a cluster of shrubs, she watched as the play of muscles in his back rippled with each swirling rub of the horse’s glossy coat. Garrett wore a large glove, rubbing in the soap, talking in a quiet tone. Midnight Thunder whickered the occasional response, showing how relaxed he was in Garrett’s presence. Garrett was as finely muscled and sculpted as his stallion. Arousal gripped her as she continued to observe man and beast in perfect harmony.

Yes. Strong. Virile. Formidable.

“Fight, Garrett. Come back to me.”





Chapter 17


Summer 1830

They had been meeting everyday for three weeks. Garrett, randy at the best of times, found he could not draw breath without thinking of holding and kissing Abbie. Perhaps he suffered from an obsession, a fever of the heart. For he would not accept that it was something deeper. Like love.

Must be lust, for they could not keep their hands off each other. Inexpert in the ways of sex, they both caught on quickly enough, experimenting with different positions. The previous night had been particularly wild, with him behind her, pounding fiercely, reaching for…he wasn’t sure what. How could they keep up this pace? Abbie was here for another two weeks yet.

Candidly, Garrett understood it wasn’t only the scorching physical aspect. They got on well, had many similar interests. They had become friends. He admired her boldness, especially during sex. Shaking his head, he glanced about the tool shed. It was becoming more difficult to find places for their secret assignation. It was a wonder they had not been found out, for they were not exactly quiet during their multiple heated joinings.

And what about the future? He had plans, already had discussed the possibility of a horse breeding operation with his father. It would be quite an undertaking. The stables would have to be doubled in size, a breeding shed and different paddocks for the mares, stallions, and yearlings constructed. Larger feed storage facilities and an indoor training area. It would be years before he saw a profit, but Garrett could not wait to begin. He’d always loved horses.

Abbie loved them, too. Could he make her part of his future plans? Where had that thought come from? The door opened and Abbie stepped inside, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to pound.

She ran to his arms and he caught her up in a fierce embrace. He kissed her, hot, sweet, and deep, but Abbie pulled away, gazing up at him. “May we have a conversation before we lose ourselves?”

Talk? When every part of him throbbed with yearning? “We may not have much time…”

“Then we will not talk long.” Abbie grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the crates. She sat, pulling him down beside her. “Tell me more about yourself. What are your plans for the future?”

How fortuitous. Why did she wish to know any of this? His future would not include her. But staring at her beautiful, eager face, he hadn’t the heart to refuse. He spoke of his plans for horse breeding and she listened intently. “I will be attending Cambridge for the autumn session, though I’m still undecided where to focus my studies,” he said.

“You are the second son, there is always the church.” He made a face and she laughed. “Well, there’s the law. Or medical studies. Many second sons buy a commission in the army after university. But you would prefer to breed horses.”

“I’ve no interest in fighting wars. They are usually fought to further the ambitions of the rich, with the poor used as cannon fodder at the front lines.” He thought for a moment. “Learning estate law interests me; perhaps I will consider it. I would like to learn the ins and outs of running Wollstonecraft Hall. Our steward is elderly, his retirement is imminent. I believe I would enjoy taking over the position and would excel at it.”

“You would make a fine steward,” she beamed.

What was her point in asking these questions? Garrett was about to inquire when she vaulted herself at him, kissing him soundly. He was lost, drowning in her fresh wildflower scent, her feminine softness, the ferocious beating of her heart. As he kissed her, he cupped her full breast, his thumb brushing past her erect nipple until she whimpered with need.

There would be no rolling about the floor in this dusty shed. Instead, Garrett stood, bringing Abbie with him. He backed her up against the wall, pinning her there. While he kissed her, his hands roved over her curves and the bold minx clutched his stiff shaft and squeezed. A ragged moan tore from him.

Frantically fumbling with their clothes, he freed himself and entered her in a swift fashion, burying himself deep in her heated core. He stilled, nuzzled her neck, savoring the exquisite joy of being inside her. Then something happened—shifted, as if his soul opened to take her in. His heart swelled as he moved inside her. Lifting her high enough to meet his eager thrusts, Garrett gave everything he was and could ever hope to be.

Abbie threw her arms about his neck, clutching him tight. Accepting and open, allowing him to take control. Be dominant. Take complete possession. If he could live the rest of his life like this—inside her, loving her—then his life would be complete.

This coupling was not quick; he thrust into her for interminable moments, each seared in his memory. His heart and soul. Lost on some higher plane of passion, he was aware that Abbie had reached her peak twice and was building on a third. Still he pumped into her, completely absorbed. When at last they reached their climax together, it became the most perfect and awe-inspiring moment of his young life. Nothing going forward could equal this bliss.

Love. He acknowledged it. It poured through him like molten gold, and he allowed it to saturate him. But only for those few moments they were still joined, clasping each other, breathing hard. When that passed, he would reflect on it no more, nor would he accept the turbulent emotions for what they actually were. He would remain stalwart in his conviction of loving no woman. The curse must be at the forefront of his decisions. And if it meant turning away from this glorious young lady, then he would do it.

Until then…love. How powerful. How breathtakingly perfect.

The memory was soon replaced by Garrett standing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. A chill climbed up his spine, and his breath expelled in an icy fog. Damn it all, he was cold. When he had turned Abbie away at the end of her long-ago summer visit, this is where he’d resided ever since. In a barren, cold state.

At least he no longer carried his severed arm about. However, he could not will his injured arm to work. He was wearing the garments he’d worn on their ride. Ah. This is a dream. A metaphor for my life.

A lone wolf howled in the distance, the sound mournful and lonely. It grew ever closer, until the beast stood before him. The creature was huge, its ice blue eyes staring at him hungrily. Garrett dare not move. Wolves were rare in England. He’d never seen one except in paintings or picture books. The beast growled, its teeth long and sharp. With blinding clarity, he understood what this animal represented—a wolf was on the Wollstonecraft seal. The name itself meant “wolf stone.”

The curse. The wolf symbolized the curse.

It had returned with a vengeance and had come to consume him. Tear him to shreds. The wolf ran toward him, teeth bared. Blast it, he must fight, stand his ground. How could he with only one functioning arm and no weapon? The beast vaulted toward him, knocking him to the ground, ready to tear out his throat.

“No!”

* * * *

Abbie tried to keep Garrett’s good arm from thrashing about, but he was too strong, even in his weakened state. “When will the fever break, Dr. Faraday?”

The young man stared at Garrett, his brows furrowed. It had been close to twenty-four hours since they’d encased Garrett in a cocoon of tarps and chunks of ice. The room was frosty, as the windows were wide open, allowing the late January air to pour in. Abbie wore her wool cloak and still felt chilled. “I believe the crisis will be later tonight. The wound does not appear to be infected; however, there could be inflammation within. I will order more willow bark tea.”

“Abbie, come to the main parlor. Alberta and Jonas are here. We have tea and sandwiches. You must eat,” Julian said in a kind tone.

“I will stay with him,” Faraday stated. “Go. You must keep up your strength.”

Truly, she was hungry, as well as exhausted. Reluctantly, she stood, and gazed at a feverish, perspiring, and shivering Garrett.

Julian took her arm and escorted her from the room. “He will recover. He is too stubborn not to.”

Abbie gave Julian a shaky smile as they stepped into the main parlor. She’d never been in this room. It was huge, at least the size of a small ballroom. There did not appear to be gas lighting, as candelabras surrounded the perimeter, causing the gold wallpaper to shimmer. The polished parquet floor and high ceilings also gave the appearance of a ballroom.

“In the early days of my grandfather, this room saw many a country dance, and a couple of formal balls. Lately it has been used as a gathering place. At Christmas, we entertain the tenants and neighbors, hire an orchestra, and even indulge in a waltz or two. Father is not one for elaborate entertainments.”