Laird of Longing by Tammy Andresen

Chapter Twelve

The next morning,the entire group stood on the beach once again. They’d decided to travel to London together.

Sophie had to confess, even the idea of returning to the city filled her with apprehension. When she’d left, she’d expected never to return again, and now she was going back just days after she’d run from the city that had been her home her entire life.

Though, to be fair, her circumstances could not be more different.

They’d stayed up late into the evening discussing the details. Sophie would stay on the boat, not leaving its confines, and no one would share that she’d returned to London at all. Only if the conversation went well with her father, and Hughes was outed as the criminal he was, would she step foot in the city again.

Still, her hand sought out Ewan’s arm as the dinghies made their ways toward them. They’d gone to bed so late, they’d collapsed into sleep as soon as they’d reached their room.

Sophie longed to speak with him. A real conversation, but all of that would have to wait. She wished she’d used her time better in the dinghy yesterday because the unsaid words only added to her worry.

They loaded onto the boat and rowed out to the ship. Ewan carried her up onto the deck, and she pressed her cheek to his as he did. He said nothing, but he pressed against her too, his arm tightening about her waist.

Once they’d made their way onboard, he set her down, slowly unwrapping his arm from her waist. “I’ll see ye tonight.”

She nodded, regret at spending another day in silence lancing through her as he strode across the deck.

Isabella nudged her arm and Sophie tore her gaze from her husband’s back to address the other woman. “You make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile.

Eliza stepped up to her other side. “It’s impressive you got him to marry at all.”

She looked over at Eliza, surprise widening her eyes. The beautifully confident woman gave her a wink in return. That was interesting information. She nibbled at her lip as she considered how she might learn more. “I know his parents had a difficult marriage.”

Isabella wrinkled her nose. “That’s an understatement. His father was a hard, cruel man and his mother had a temper, to be certain. Their marriage was a battlefield. A war that raged his entire life. I’d say it ended with his father’s death but I’m fairly certain that the lairdess is still fighting.”

Eliza shook her head. “Our other aunt and uncle as well. Only our parents seemed reasonably happy, even if our father is difficult.”

“Difficult?” Sophie asked, curious about Ewan’s cousins. They all seemed to share some sort of trauma that was part of the wall between Sophie and her husband.

“He faked his own death to solve the mystery of who was stealing from the business, leaving us completely alone,” Isabella said.

Sophie covered her mouth with her hand, sympathy making her step closer as her fingers slid down her chin. “And I thought my father was bad. He just made a match with a callous rake.”

Both women chuckled. “Sophie, from what little I’ve seen, you’re perfect for Ewan.”

Warmth spread through her. “Thank you.”

Isabella grinned back. “You’re very welcome. Just try to be patient with him. It’s going to take some time for him to unlearn the lessons of his childhood.”

Sophie nodded even as Eliza leaned down close to her ear. “And don’t be afraid to keep him in your bed. You can turn a man to jelly if you do.”

Sophie started. Was that true? Would more lovemaking help him soften toward her? “I shall consider your advice very carefully,” she replied. “Now let me show you to your cabins.”

By the time night had fallen, Sophie had a plan she was eager to implement.

She’d been considering the duchess’s words all day and Isabella was correct. She needed to give her husband patience. When she really considered the situation, Ewan had been infinitely patient in helping her to recover from her wounds. He deserved the same.

But she also had every intention of following Eliza’s advice as well. She’d use her body to tell him how she felt and what was more, she’d use her words.

He didn’t have to repeat them. But she’d never get anywhere by silently hoping. It was time to tell him of her love and affection.

Unlike other nights where she blew out the candles, tonight she let them burn, stripping down to her chemise as she lounged on the bed. He came as he always did, softly opening the door, not to disturb her in case she was asleep.

But this night, she didn’t lay tucked under the covers but on top of them, her head propped up on her hand. “Hello,” she said as their eyes met and held.

“Sophie,” he said, stopping in the door. “What are ye doing?”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “How was your day?” She knew she’d ignored his question by asking hers. But she didn’t quite know what to say.

“Fine,” he said, crossing the room until he reached the basin, then stripped off his shirt and began to wash up. “And yers?”

Her mouth went dry as she watched him. “Very good.”

He finished, toweling off as he turned to her again. “Is there a reason the candles are still burning?”

She pushed up a bit straighter. “Isn’t it nice to wash up in the light?”

He quirked a brow as he sat in the chair to remove his boots. “I suppose. I’m quite adept at moving about in the dark.”

She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Do you feel good about the plan?”

He removed his second boot and gave her a long look. “Aye. I do. Do ye?”

She nodded, pressing her hands to her thighs. “I’m a bit nervous to return to London.”

He softened then and crossed the room to plunge a hand in her hair at her nape. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

“I know,” she said with a deep breath. She stood, their bodies close together. “We all have the things that frighten us, though, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do.” He sat down then, beginning to remove his breeches.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked as she took a deep breath for bravery and then pulled her chemise over her head.

His eyes travelled up her body, completely exposed to his gaze in the candlelight. “I don’t—”

“You can tell me,” she whispered. Then she knelt in front of him to continue the job of removing his breeches. “You can trust me with your private thoughts, I promise. I’ll keep them safe.”

His face was unreadable as he looked down at her. “Sophie.”

But as his breeches cleared his knees, she let her hands rake up his massive thighs rather than continue to remove the pants. She heard him suck in a breath and so she repeated the movement before taking his member in her hands.

He rumbled out a noise from his throat even as he pushed into her hands. With a smile, she tipped forward, placing a kiss on the tip.

His fingers slid into her hair again, even as she sucked and kissed along his member. He said her name again. “Sophie.” But this time it sounded like a plea.

Part of her was tempted to keep kissing him like this. She felt powerful and she remembered how he’d pleasured her with his mouth. Was that what he needed?

But she also wanted to wrap her arms about his neck, look into his eyes, and confess her love.

And so she let go of his thick staff and stood, straddling his lap and allowing him to slide into her channel. The heat of him surrounded her and he hissed into her ear. He felt so good, part of her forgot her agenda, lost in the pleasure, but she forced herself to look into his eyes. “Ewan. I have to tell you something.”

“What,” he asked stilling.

In answer, she slid his member back out of her body and then pushed down on him again.

“Sophie,” he ground out through clenched teeth as his hands came to her hips, guiding her movements.

She looked into his, pressing her forehead to his as she continued to move. “I love you.”

* * *

Ewan’s heartslammed against his ribs as he looked at his wife. Sophie. The woman currently riding him as she stared into his eyes, professing her feelings for him. He was…overwhelmed.

The words, “I love ye too,” rose to his lips. He did love her. He knew that he did. Never had a woman pulled at his heartstrings more. Hell, he’d sworn never to marry, and she’d gotten him to an anvil altar in less than a week.

But professing the words stripped him of that final barrier of protection. He could not repeat his parents’ marriage and to be so open would surely lead to heartache.

Even as he held his tongue, she pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms about her back as they moved together, her scent weaving around him even as her lips pressed to his.

Everything about her pleased him and as they spiraled closer to the finish, he moaned her name, a plea for her to understand. “Sophie.”

“I’m here,” she said against his lips. “I’ll always be here.”

A few more strokes and she exploded around him, squeezing him tight. He couldn’t hold back, and his own orgasm ripped through him.

And then they collapsed back on the bed together, her on top of him as she kissed him again. “Ewan,” she said, her lips sliding toward his ear.

“Aye?”

“I meant what I said.” Her cheek brushed his. “I wanted you to know how I feel.” She stroked her hands along his collarbone and down the sides of his chest. His tongue ached to speak, and he held it in check by clenching his teeth together. “I’m in love with you.”

“Sophie,” he finally said, low and full of the hurt he felt not replying in kind.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, kissing the sensitive spot on his neck. “You don’t have to say it back. I know I promised you a marriage of convenience and I’m breaking my vow. But I’m no good at deceit and I couldn’t keep my feelings in. I’ll be a good wife. Or I’ll at least try my best.”

He choked on his own words. He was the one failing her here. Of that he was certain.

His hands splayed out on her back. “Ye’re not breaking a promise.”

She stilled. “Aren’t I?”

He ached. She was blaming herself? “Sophie. I saved ye. Of course ye feel some affection fer me.”

She shook her head as she lifted up to look down at him. “I don’t feel gratitude, Ewan. Though I am grateful. Gratitude does not make me want to touch you all the time.”

His brows lifted. She was so brave. In this moment, she was so much braver than himself. He should explain at least. “I ken I told ye about my parents.”

“A little,” she answered her fingertips trailing down his cheek.

He looked to the side, then, because he didn’t want her to see the pain in his eyes. The candlelight flickered around them. “At least once a winter, my mother would pack me up and load me on a boat, telling me to say goodbye to Scotland and my father forever. It wasn’t that I loved him exactly, but he was all I kenned and…”

She kissed his forehead, the corners of his eyes. “How terrible.”

“Everything she did was to inflict pain on him.”

She brushed back his hair. “I understand. You’ve been so brave, my love.”

Did she understand? Was she giving him permission to not return her affection? He could have smacked himself. Her kindness only served to make him feel worse. He was as selfish as his mother. Was he being as cruel as his father in withholding from her?

“Why did she leave?”

He shrugged. “My father liked to talk with his fists.”

She winced, nodding.

“But my mother seemed to goad him. There was no kindness. No softness on either side.”

She rubbed his forehead, her fingertips dancing over his skin. “Oh Ewan. How did you manage to be so wonderful?”

He blinked at her even as she lifted off him and stood, going about the room and blowing out the candles. He watched her move, loving the graceful, stunning lines of her body. Raising up on his elbow, he memorized every curve. He wanted to tell her to leave one burning so he could look at her still, but she blew out the last flickering flame and then slid next to him in the bed, curling into his side.

He hadn’t lied. There had been no give from either his mother or his father. And he tried to rationalize with himself that no one had ever taught him how to love.

Well, no one until now. Sophie was remarkably adept at giving affection and she lavished the emotion on him now.

As his wife snuggled against him, her soft warmth melding into him, he realized that he’d never have to worry. Sophie would never turn hard and cold. It wasn’t in her nature. His sweet Sophie was all giving tenderness.

Unlike him. He had acted exactly like his parents and withheld his affection, treated her with a distant coldness that would suck their relationship dry of any tender emotions.

He had to change. For himself. But mostly for her.

“Sophie,” he murmured, caressing her face. She didn’t answer, instead letting out a soft sigh. She’d fallen asleep. “Tomorrow I’m going to tell ye exactly how much I love ye too, sweetheart.”