Chapter 7

“Take me in now, Harriet,” sitting on the edge of the inn’s bed, blunt toes on the carpet, he let her straddle him. “I can wait no longer.” Samuel held his utterly erect cock for her. “Ah!” he expelled as they joined their more than ready bodies.

His long arms laced her by the waist to press her down on him. Her tresses fell around her as she wound her delicate limbs around his neck. They kissed with erotic thirst while her hips met his.

That masculine mouth of his dragged down her throat to latch hungrily on one breast, her head fell back with the onslaught of the enjoyment he gave her. When he had caressed this one thoroughly, he headed for the other breast. “I think I prefer this position best,” he rasped, licking her other nipple. “I have access to your delicious breasts.” And proceeded to torment her even more.

If Harriet thought their nights would be steamy, she had been sorely mistaken. They had been downright primal and intense.

They set off from Oxford almost a week ago in a hired carriage and four horses. Correction, he set off as she headed to a coaching inn to pretend to take a coach to Sussex allegedly to visit relatives. Samuel met her there for them to head north. Thus their sensual trip had begun.

In the inns along the way, he hired two rooms for appearance’s sake. But as soon as the establishment went quiet for the night, he slipped silently into hers, where he stayed until dawn. Money proved to be no problem as he said his father gave him more than he needed, and he spent a mere fraction of it mostly on books.

Right at that moment, all thought vanished from her dazed mind as a torrent of pleasure invaded her.

He thrust his hips up, hers meeting his, they moved in tandem in the light from the fireplace. Their need increased, their movements sped. One of his fingers snuck between her thighs to make her fall off the edge, arching her spine and taking him deeper. Her spasms pushed him further, and his seed shot in her with force.

She fell on him and he rested his head on her bosom as their ragged breaths regained their even rhythm.

This inn lay on the edges of the Highlands. The views of the countryside mesmerised Harriet. Old manors, crystalline lochs, dense forests passed by her window, so beautiful she was fast falling in love with the land. And she hoped it was only with the land.

The carriage rides, they spent reading and talking. Which made her see Samuel under a better light. The more she saw of his tender, smart, considerate nature more attached she became. It raged a battle inside her for reality would not allow them more than this limited time. So she avoided thinking about it and tried to enjoy their summer together.

In unison, they lay on the mattress, snuggling under the blankets. The weather got definitely fresher here in the north. Fortunately, she had packed accordingly.

Half over her, his fingers combed through her dishevelled hair, his gaze taking every inch of her face with what could only be called adoration.

“Harriet...” his thumb traced her lower lip. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he rumbled, those eyes boring in hers.

Undiluted sadness invaded her. If only he had not said a thing, she could reside in the illusion that this was one of those clichés of the bachelor and his tryst with a widow merely to tackle his urges.

A large hand stretched to the side-table as he picked up a leather pouch. From inside it, he fished a simple gold ring. “Will you marry me, Harriet?” That he did not kneel or do all the theatrics made the proposal even more sincere and pure. “Give me your hand.” He must have bought it when they stopped days ago in Gretna Green for luncheon.

She did not, instead, she lifted it to line his jaw, meeting his eager gaze with a pensive one. “I cannot marry you, Samuel.” And watched as deep disappointment covered his expression.

“Of course you can. You’re free, so am I.” A scholar’s logic would be irrefutable, were it not their difference in stations.

“You’re the heir to a powerful clan and will need to make a match that reflects it,” she reasoned.

His arms straightened to brace by her sides. “True, but I choose not to do it.”

“It’s not about us, there’s more involved in it, I’m sure you realise that.” Alliances that joined fortunes and reaffirmed networks. His own story made it very clear—an arranged marriage made by his grand-fathers to reinforce the power balance in the Highlands.

Samuel lowered his head as it hung between them with a regretful nod.

“You’ll also need heirs,” she added, but he did not look at her. “In five years of marriage, I did not conceive once, which means I’m probably barren.” The condition caused her sadness for the first time in her life, for him, with him she would have liked all the children he, they, wanted.

He sucked in a heavy breath, his slick hair falling on his brow, hiding his eyes. Suddenly, drops of moisture trickled on her bosom. Tears.

“Oh, Samuel!” she exclaimed, as her hands held his face to turn it to her. Lakes of sorrow covered the green depths, mirroring unrequited love as these Scottish lakes mirrored stormy clouds. Her own tears fell from her onto the pillow.

“I hate this view of women as brood mares used only to forward clan power!” he hurled in anger at the women used to produce heirs for perpetuation of such clan’s designs.

How would he be wrong? Her thumbs dried the moisture on his face. “I know, I know,” she soothed.

“My mother could not abide by it, that’s why she forsook me,” he justified his opinion.

Her arms wrapped around him as he buried his face on her neck. They held each other for a long time.

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “At least promise me you’ll not leave me,” he requested.

At that instant, she realised that her refusal equated with the feelings of abandonment he experienced so early in life. Her heart went out to him, wishing she had the chance to heal him, show him that things could be different.

“I’ll not, I promise,” and she meant it, she would be there where she had always been. “You will leave me when the time comes for you to undertake your place as the next Laird McDougal.” Properly married with the right clan heiress, she completed in her mind as a wave of bitterness lodged inside her chest.

A small smile of relief finally drew his lips. “That is decades ahead, my father is young and healthy,” he said. “The Laird just celebrated his forty-third birthday recently.”

She smiled back even as another unpleasant thought occurred. By then, he would have indisputably tired of her. Rich, handsome and powerful like so many of his peers, he would soon realise he must only curl his finger and women would come flocking to him. And why this horrible jealousy speared her heart, she had no idea.

“Sam!” Six-year-old Roy ran to the carriage as it stopped in front to the manor’s entrance.

His mother’s chestnut-brown hair gleamed in the sun and his father’s green-eyes overflowed with happiness.

Aileen, The Lady McDougal, stood on the front steps by her very tall, very attractive—if somewhat overbearing—husband, Taran. Sam wrote he was bringing a friend with him, but gave no more details.

The carriage door opened to produce Sam, who caught his brother in his arms and twirled with him in the air. Putting the boy on the ground, he stretched a hand as a feminine one rested on his. The sun illuminated a beautiful blonde as she alit from the vehicle.

“What the bluidy hell is this boy up to?” a jet-black head turned a scowl to his wife.

Aileen had no time, or information, to answer to that because the newcomers neared them.

“Father, Aileen,” Sam greeted. Unlike Taran, who wore his usual red and black tartan, Sam looked utterly elegant in breeches, dark coat and cravat over a white shirt. The English style suited him, she must admit. “Let me introduce you to Mrs Harriet Stratham.”

Aileen remembered him talking about her—a lot—since the first time he had visited from Oxford. A widow who held a position as a governess for one of his professor’s children, if memory served.

Mrs Stratham approached and sank in a graceful curtsy before Taran. “My Lord McDougal.” The Laird bowed hardly hiding his conflicting thoughts. “Lady McDougal,” she curtsied again.

Aileen extended her hands to her. She would not mistreat a guest in her house. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Stratham. Please, call me Aileen,” formalities were not her forte.

The other woman smiled prettily. “Thank you, Aileen, I am Harriet.”

“You must be tired from the long travel,” Aileen said. “Come in, I’ve ordered refreshments.”

Now that she sat in this huge drawing room, Harriet questioned the wisdom of having accepted Samuel’s invitation. They entered McDougal’s lands yesterday morning, and the wealth and importance of his family hit her like a projectile hand-slung right at her forehead.

Straight spine, she sat with a cup of tea on the settee, trying not to mind the stares his father flung at her. The man was a good-looking giant, from whom Samuel got those eyes, a trademark of the family, she saw.

“I understand you are in one of Sam’s professor’s employment.” Aileen broke the tense silence.

Harriet managed a polite smile. “Yes, I am the governess and double as assistant for Professor Hayley and Samuel when I have time.”

“Your duties are not required at the moment?” came the Laird. Clearly asking what she was doing here.

“No.” she hoped the answer sounded natural. “The Hayleys will spend the summer in Bath.”

“Professor Hayley was in Cambridge these past weeks on an academic trip and one of his peers invited him,” Sam added innocently.

The father and his wife exchanged a look, a knowing look. Besides the suspicion in it, they also showed how attuned they were to each other.

A toddler burst into the room, followed by Roy. He was the very copy of his father, ringlets of black hair and green eyes, this must be Samuel’s youngest brother, Errol.

The child ran to Sam his oldest brother who promptly held him up on his lap. Errol babbled and smiled at his brother. “This is Errol,” he introduced proudly to Harriet. “Errol, meet my friend, Harriet.”

“Hello, Errol,” she greeted for lack of something else to say.

By the manner Samuel treated his brothers, it became clear he would be an exceptional father one day. An uncomfortable feeling squeezed her heart, and she preferred not to dwell on what it might be.

Aileen rested her empty cup on the table. “I’ll show you to your rooms, Harriet,” she said, “so that you can refresh for dinner.”

The lady showed her to a set of rooms triple the size she had at the Hayleys, and Harriet fought not to gape at the luxurious surroundings.

Feeling even more out of her depth, she twirled to Aileen. “I must be a half-wit not to have foreseen that my presence would cause discomfort,” she started, twisting her hands at her waist. “If you want, I can go back to Oxford at once.”