If You Give A Girl A Viscount

CHAPTER NINE

Glen Dewey should be charming, Charlie thought that afternoon. It had all the ingredients to make it so: a quaint, colorful high street; chapped, smiling faces at every door, each person ready to greet you and invite you to linger; smells that would make a full man hungry again—roasting lamb, baking bread, simmering pudding.

But something was lacking. To be charming, one had to be free of worry. If one looked closer, the houses of Glen Dewey had been repaired umpteen times. The puddings were thin. The smiling faces were strained.

The village was clearly in trouble.

“Nothing’s happened here for the past five years,” Miss Montgomery told him on the way down Ben Fennon’s slope. “I hope we can do something.”

They parted ways, each on their own mission.

Two hours later, Charlie saw Miss Montgomery through the window at the village shop, speaking with all the local ladies. He waved, and she came running out to meet him.

“Success?” Miss Montgomery’s expression was hopeful.

“What do you think?” He grinned.

“Same here!” She clasped her hands together. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

“We’re on target,” he affirmed.

On the way back up the hill to Castle Vandemere, she scampered up the narrow road ahead of him.

“Joe will be so pleased his shinty sticks finally saw some use,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s made so many over the years, and they’ve been sitting in a small closet off the kitchen, going to waste.”

Charlie liked seeing the extra skip in her step. “He told me he’d watch the game from one of the fields below the castle.”

“Oh, that makes me glad for him.” Miss Montgomery threw Charlie a grateful smile. “But what gave you the idea that shinty would bring the men together?”

He gave a little laugh. “No man can resist an opportunity to compete. I knew when Joe showed me the sticks, along with a ball to hit, that nothing would be able to prevent the men from playing. And by the end of it, all their differences seemed puny. They agreed to hold the hunt.” He paused, reflecting on his success. “Not that the gathering was trouble-free at first. They were leery, and a few unfriendly remarks were exchanged that I managed into jokes. But Joe’s whisky was also an irresistible lure and made it easier for the men to get past their awkwardness with each other.”

“You’re quite the diplomat.” Miss Montgomery said it as if she truly admired him.

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Her confidence in him was flattering. “Tell me more about what happened with you and your ladies.”

She sidestepped a pothole in the road, and Charlie followed her lead. “They almost walked out on me, saying they didn’t have time to waste,” she said. “Their daily work is hard and unforgiving. But then I told them about the ceilidh at the conclusion of the ten days, and they forgot to be wary around each other. They grew excited at the idea of dressing up for it. Everyone loves a good dance. They’re even willing to cook and clean for the visitors—I think a bit of pride in the village began to come out by the end of the visit.”

“You sound like quite a diplomat yourself. Or perhaps it’s your dimples. I know they’ve charmed me.”

She slanted her gaze back at him. “That’s enough of that, my lord.” Her voice was a bit breathless, and he didn’t think it was from the climb.

She resumed her forward stride, her hips angling right and left as she picked her way over the rough road. “The best thing of all,” she said without looking back at him, “is that Mrs. Gordon gave the women everything they’d need to look lovely for the ceilidh.”

“You’re a clever girl.” He meant it, too. “How did you get Mrs. Gordon to donate all the fripperies?”

Miss Montgomery paused in her hiking and turned to look back at him. “I had to give her the only inheritance from Papa that I’ve been able to hide from my stepmother, a beautiful ring with lovely stones that was more a precious memento than anything of great value. Nonetheless, it was enough for Mrs. Gordon. I … I hope Papa would have understood.”

She looked as though she really weren’t quite sure. Traces of guilt lingered around her eyes.

The wind picked up and blew mournfully around them, at odds with the sunny day.

“No doubt he’d have given you his blessing completely,” Charlie reassured her.

He saw her brow soften a little at that, which made him glad. But the truth was, he hated that she’d given away her cherished keepsake. Although he wouldn’t tell her—no need to make her feel the absence of her ring even more.

“Did you pick out a dress for yourself?” he asked her, and wished with all his heart that he could have paid for the gowns.

“No,” she said, her voice light. “I have one with which I can make do very well.”

“You should spoil yourself, too.”

“What I wear that night won’t matter,” she said with a stiff shrug. “I’ll have more important things to think about, such as how the visitors and villagers are enjoying themselves.”

It was no use arguing with her. The woman was stubborn. And perhaps she needed a little more convincing that she deserved to don a beautiful gown.

That was his secret project.

He put down the bag of shinty sticks. “How about a break to take in the glorious view?”

And before she could answer, he turned his back to her, made great fists, and stretched his arms above his head as high as they could go. He was mildly sore from the shinty, had even taken a hit to his lower back that still stung.

But the stretch felt good. He felt good. He dropped his arms and sighed. In spite of the soreness, he felt brimming with vitality.

And there was a certain young lady behind him who quickened his blood to fever pitch.

She arrived at his elbow, put her hands on her hips, and took in the vista of mountains, loch, and sky. “It is magnificent, isn’t it? I could stay here all day and gaze.”

“Aye,” he said softly.

The word came naturally to him up here in the Highlands. It was such a pleasant, easy utterance, and he certainly felt a hundred times more relaxed in this corner of the world than he did in London.

Who couldn’t forget their worries when they were surrounded by such beauty? Including the unspoiled beauty of the woman at his side, a woman who didn’t believe she deserved a pretty dress.

But she did. He only wished she knew.

“I think what you’re doing to save Castle Vandemere is grand,” he said. “But what you’re doing for the ladies of Glen Dewey is equally as generous.”

She shook her head. “Anybody would do as much.”

“Not really. I know plenty of people who don’t think any further than themselves. Myself included.”

She laughed. “You are a rather self-centered viscount. Although today in the village, you were simply—”

“What?”

“A good man.”

“Is that so?” He pulled her close. “I’ve known you but a day. Why does it seem longer?”

“I wonder that myself,” she said. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Forever.

She pulled away from him, grinning. She clutched her skirt in her hands and took small steps backward, up the slope.

“Where are you going?” he asked, climbing after her.

“Nowhere,” she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

She kept backing away.

He kept following.

And then she stood still. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” She released the hold she had on her skirt. Her expression was serious, yet there was also a gleam of something happy in her gaze.

She was so beautiful then, he could hardly bear to blink. “You didn’t know what would be like this?”

“Meeting a man. Feeling as if I know him already.” She hitched her shoulders.

“I’m honored.” He allowed himself a grin. “I think.”

Her mouth curved in a small smile, and she pulled a lock of hair out of her eye. “But I also feel that I’m a bit in danger around you. A pleasing danger.”

He grabbed her waist. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“I think there is,” she whispered, and moved a fraction of an inch closer to him.

He was touched. When one was in danger, one usually moved away.

“I’m afraid my stepsister will find out,” she said. “And she can’t. I’m frightened for Hester and Joe. And I’m afraid that I’m selfish.”

She bewitched him with her honesty.

With her vulnerability.

“I won’t let your stepsister find out,” he assured her. “Joe and Hester will be fine. And you’re the opposite of selfish.”

He held on to her, and they stood still for a moment, listening to the sough of the wind through the glen.

She looked up at him with her fairy blue eyes.

And he saw trust.

Trust.

Funny how that twisted his heart.

Funny how it made him almost speechless.

Almost.

“All I can think about right now is kissing you,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with longing.

He wouldn’t apologize or pretend to be a cool, sophisticated London bachelor. With her, he couldn’t. He’d tried, in the dining room. But it was stupid. And false.

He wasn’t that man.

Beneath his expensive clothes and behind his illustrious name, he was like any other man. And that was a good thing. A relief.

He’d felt different for so long. Left out. Bound by his family’s expectations and society’s rules.

But in that moment, standing on the slope of Ben Fennon, he felt closer to what being a man is all about than he ever had before. He still wasn’t sure what it meant to be one entirely, but here in the Highlands, with Miss Montgomery keeping him on his toes—and trusting him at the same time—he felt the stirrings of understanding.

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “You’ve kissed a lot of women.”

He nodded. “That’s what Impossible Bachelors do.”

“What’s an Impossible Bachelor?”

“A silly title given me by Prinny himself. It means I’m adept at charming women and avoiding legshackles.”

She put her hands on his chest. “Prinny named you this?”

“Yes, His Royal Highness himself. It was a lark, of course. He lives for amusement. As I have always done.”

Until now, he wanted to add. But he didn’t want her to know he was enjoying the newfound sense of responsibility he felt as a stand-in for his grandmother.

God forbid anyone knew.

Miss Montgomery tilted her head. “So why should I let you kiss me?”

“Because I think you’re beautiful.” His hands were splayed across her back, and he felt her rib cage still.

She wasn’t even breathing.

“I’m not just saying that,” he reassured her.

She started breathing again. “You’re not?”

“No.” How could he get her to believe what he said was true? “Don’t get me wrong. A lot of men say that to … to get women to kiss them, but I mean it. You are beautiful. You’re full of fire, and your eyes get to be a stormy blue when—”

“Sssh.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

It was exactly the tonic he needed!

The kiss went on …

And on.

The sun warmed the back of his neck, and the smell of the heather mixed with the scent of her skin tantalized him. He couldn’t get enough of her sweet mouth.

Finally, after endlessly frustrating but glorious kisses, he picked her up.

She laughed. “Where are you going with me?”

“Over there.” He angled his chin at a fine patch of soft grass off the road. Above it a slab of rock jutted out toward Glen Dewey. It looked like a set of stairs. Below it was a grouping of three larch trees, standing sentinel on the mountain.

“No one can see us from above or below,” he said, “and if someone decides to come up or down the road, we’ll hear them well before they get here.”

“You’ve brought me to the Stone Steps,” she said, and kissed that vulnerable place beneath his chin. It was rough from lack of shaving. “It’s the best place to be to get a view of Glen Dewey, and the mountains behind form a marvelous backdrop. But a warning to the newcomer.”

“Yes?”

“Right next to the steps is the worst place to be.” She pointed to a copse of trees to their left. “Binney’s Bog lurks behind those pines. Stay far away. You’ll sink and never be found if you accidentally land in it. And that’s not a barmy Scots legend—it’s the truth. Mr. Binney was the first on record to have lost his life there, some four hundred years ago.”

“Thanks for the cautionary tale. I’ll heed it well.”

She kissed him beneath his chin again, lingering as he walked with her.

They’d arrived at the perfect spot.

“Here,” he said, and lowered her to the grass.

He took the pins out of her hair one by one, until the tight bun was released and her long golden locks lay across her shoulders and down her back.

When he fell down beside her, she immediately turned to kiss him. Her eagerness made him so heady, he pulled back. “Miss Montgomery—”

“Can’t you call me Daisy?”

“Daisy.” He bent and kissed her, luxuriating in the feel of her satiny-soft lips against his own. Their tongues collided and played, and she sighed when he caressed her waist and moved to her breast.

By sheer strength of will, he stopped and pulled her close, so close her face was buried in his chest.

“I want you desperately,” he said to a small boulder and a stalk of wintergreen behind her. “But I respect your honor. You’re my charge, too, so I can’t—I mean to say, in a moment, after a few more of these lovely kisses, we’re going to stand. And then we’re going to head up the road to the castle. After we fix your hair, of course. I couldn’t resist letting it down.” He reveled in the silkiness of her hair against his palm and the feel of her lithe body against his own. “Oh, and you must call me Charlie.”

“Charlie!” Her muffled voice tickled his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

He immediately pulled back. When she looked up at him, she had the faint impression of one of his jacket buttons on her cheek and that vaguely smashed look people get when they’ve been sleeping on a pillow in one position too long.

“Goodness,” she said with a chuckle, and pulled a piece of her own hair out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry.” He was sorely embarrassed.

“It’s all right. I liked being so close. Your skin is …”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But I like it. Very much.” She ran a hand over his chest.

He closed his eyes against the sensation. “I’m trying to do the right thing. But you’re impossible to resist.”

“I hope so.” She kissed his mouth.

A moment later, he lowered his own mouth to the line of pale flesh above her bodice. Cupping one of her breasts in his hand, he pushed it up and kissed the exposed mound. Then he moved to the small cleft between her breasts and nuzzled it with his mouth. Her skin smelled sweet, like clover and honeysuckle.

She gave another little whimper of pleasure deep in her throat. “You’ve made me feel very beautiful, indeed.”

He lifted his head. “I can make you feel even more beautiful.”

“Can you?” The bees-and-honey voice had never been more alluring.

He heaved a great sigh, wishing he could show her and also dreading what he must say next. “I can, but it’s time to go.” He stood up and offered her his hand.

“Not again,” she said.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, my.” She didn’t move. Her gaze was focused on his breeches.

He looked down, where proof of his arousal was plain as day. “My apologies,” he said.

“Please don’t apologize,” she murmured, and allowed him to pull her up. Her face took on an obstinate expression. “I’m not ready to leave. You said you could make me feel even more beautiful.”

He forced himself to laugh. “I was boasting. You shouldn’t listen when a man says outrageous things—”

“You’re beautiful,” she said out of the blue.

He inhaled a breath. “Daisy. It’s time to leave.”

“Viscount.” She pulled his head down by wrapping both hands around his neck. “You’re at my beck and call, remember?” She paused. “I know you won’t dishonor me. And you promised me anything. Anything.”

He’d never seen her so solemn.

Or entrancing.

He put his hands on her rounded bottom and pulled her firmly against his hips. “You’re right. I would never dishonor you, or allow anyone else to. And I did make that promise.”

She gripped his neck. “Show me how beautiful I am,” she whispered. “Please. Before I have to go back tonight and pack the trunks of three harridans.”

And that was all it took.

He picked her up again, lifting her high in his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. She clung to him, enjoying the sensation of her most intimate place pressed firmly against his hard belly as he strode a few feet up the slope, onto the Stone Steps themselves. She could hardly bear to part her lips from his when he set her down, as gently as he could, on the third step from the bottom.

The sun had baked the steps a warm temperature. Daisy basked in its rays as Charlie sat beside her and kissed her again, one hand around her waist, the other cupping her breast.

When his thumb caressed her nipple, she relished the new sensation.

He made her feel so alive, Charlie did! Alive and wanting more pleasure. More closeness.

“I want to untie your laces,” he whispered in her ear.

She murmured a sound of acquiescence, shrugging out of her bodice and letting him fumble with her stays.

Free. That’s how she felt when he released her stays, especially with the sun and wind on her bare flesh. Charlie’s obvious appreciation made her lose all concern that she didn’t compare favorably to women he’d seen before.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, and bent low to kiss her.

She sucked in a breath at the wonder of his tongue laving her nipple, and when he took it in his mouth and suckled, a sharp dart of pleasure between her legs made her lift her lower belly toward the sky. He grabbed her bottom with his free hand and rubbed a slow circle around it, his mouth still dancing across both her breasts, causing them to pucker and tingle with such sweet pleasure, she moaned out loud.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“Never fear,” he replied, and gently plucked a nipple with his teeth. “I’m not going to stop until you’ve had enough.”

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, her hands clinging to his hair. “But I don’t know when that will be.”

He looked up then, his pupils dark. “Is that a kind way to say I’m at your beck and call again?”

She nodded. Then giggled.

“That’s a special sound,” he whispered.

“It is?”

“Yes. The first giggle I’ve heard from you.”

She felt bashful of a sudden.

He tilted her chin up. “Don’t be shy to do it again,” he whispered. “It was a gift. Thank you.”

She bit her lip. “You’re welcome. I—I didn’t—”

“I’ll relive that sound,” he interrupted her, his tone serious. “I’ll play it over and over again in my head.”

She blinked, touched at his words and yet a bit confused. “You’re sweet,” she said.

“There’s nothing sweet about me,” he said, and came up to plunder her mouth with his own.

But he was sweet. Generous with his body and his words. Carefree like a boy—but strong like a man.

“Shall I stop?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “If you stop now”—he kissed her right below her ear—“I’ll never forgive you.”

“All right.” He dipped down to lay kisses along her jaw. “But I don’t want to rush you. Perhaps it’s too soon.”

“No. It’s not. Show me, Charlie. Please.”

He showed her, all right, caressing her intimately with the palm of his hand, making her arch and ache for more.

She clutched his circling hand with her own. “More,” she said against his mouth, and was delighted when his fingers worked into her drawers to tease the nub of her softest flesh.

The feeling was so tantalizing, she threw her hands out on either side to grasp the edge of the step, her mouth connected to Charlie’s in a ribald, frantic kiss.

And when his fingers slid inside her—oh, glorious feeling!—she felt herself clench hard around him, pulses of pleasure urging her hips to thrust upward.

“Charlie,” she said in wonder.

He kissed her while moving his fingers in and out, mingling with her hot, damp curls. She arched, waves of pleasure taking her over the edge of bliss as she cried his name into his mouth, and then as she sank back down.

“Charlie,” she whispered, her head fallen back, her gaze filled with the bowl of Highland sky and nothing else.

She wilted onto him, his hand buffering her spine against the hard edge of the stair behind them.

When she blinked again, she opened her eyes to a whole new world. And Charlie’s satisfied smile.

“Oh,” she said.

He gave a short laugh. “Really?”

She let out a long breath. “That was more than I ever imagined.”

He stared at her seriously then. “I’m glad.”

A bee went buzzing by, and they both watched it go.

“But what about you?” she asked, caressing Charlie’s shoulder. He sat next to her on the steps and pulled her onto his lap. “I want you to achieve such a blissful state, too. It hardly seems fair that only I do.”

They were nose to nose. His legs were hard, his belly was hard, and he gripped her hard, but in his arms she felt like a fragile china teacup, the most exquisite one in a person’s possession … or a petal-soft flower much adored.

“Believe me, I can,” he said with a grin. “On my own. Although it’s not nearly as much fun alone.”

“Let me,” she said, and pressed herself into him so she could feel the hard length of him through his breeches.

He pressed back, like a lion preening. “I want you to. More than anything. But today’s about you.”

“Why?”

He squeezed her close. “Because everyone needs to have a day about them, other than their birthday. Didn’t you know that?”

“No. When’s your special day?”

“I think it falls in April sometime.”

“I think you’re making this up.” He had the most beautiful eyes, brown with golden glints, especially when he was being playful.

“I’m not.” He touched her nose with a finger. “Your day is today. In fact, some people get more than one day. Some people get every day.”

“Every day?”

“Every day. And since you have me here, you’re one of those lucky people. Every day we can do … whatever you like.”

“No.” She was utterly shocked and delighted at his fancy. “I realize you’re still making this up, but wouldn’t it be nice if it could be true?”

“It can be.” He said it as if he felt sorry for her for not believing him.

She grew serious. “I think you’re amusing. And this … this has been incredible. But in real life, people can’t do whatever they want when they want.”

Charlie bit his lip. “You’re right, I suppose. But who gets to make the rules?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He gave her a slow, languorous kiss. “When it comes to you and me, we make the rules. Let’s establish that right now.”

Daisy nodded. “I like that.”

“You’ll like what I’m about to do, too,” he whispered in her ear.

“Charlie—”

“And don’t stop me,” he said. “Remember, today’s your day.”

She felt a great thrill of anticipation and nerves, but his kisses, even as they aroused her, calmed her in a way nothing ever had. Feeling spoiled, she barely noticed that somehow he’d managed to deftly maneuver himself around her so that she was sitting back on the steps. He knelt two steps below, his broad chest between her legs. In fact, she was forced to spread them to accommodate his hard, lean body.

Next thing she knew, he was raising her gown: first, above her ankles. Then her shins, knees, thighs, and gracious goodness, above her waist! And he was removing her drawers, shimmying them off her—one moment they were there, and then they were gone—and gently pushing her knees even farther outward.

She had no time to be shy about basking in the sun with her legs spread wide on the Stone Steps. How could she when she was forced to endure the exquisite pleasure of his warm mouth upon her inner thighs, while she admired the curve of his back, the top of his curly head, and the large muscles bunched at his shoulders?

And then she was fully immersed in the sweetest pleasure she could ever imagine. Charlie’s mouth nuzzled her womanly core, gently at first, but her moans drove him to licking and sucking and loving her with great abandon.

She’d never felt so wanton, so beautiful, so in touch with life as she did at the moment she cried his name over and over, his fingers and his mouth sheer poetry upon her as she alternated between grinding her rear end into the warm stone and arching upward, hoping to get closer and closer to him—

Her viscount.