Scandal's Daughters

Epilogue

He took her home to Cathcart Lodge, of course. There was nowhere else where she would feel so at home but in her native country. And yet the quiet lodge was still private enough that they would not have to see anyone from the village for a week if they so chose. And they did not so choose.

They chose to lie naked hour after hour in a soft, comfortable bed, with the windows wide open to the fragrant summer air. They made love through rainstorms and sun squalls, through chilly mornings and warm afternoons. They talked and ate and loved and rewrote her father’s book without ever leaving the bed.

And Elspeth had never, ever been happier. “Have I thanked you properly?”

“For what,” he asked, pulling her closer to lie atop his lovely naked chest.

“For making me write books, and marrying me, and making me so happy.”

“We make ourselves happy, my darling heart, when we are true to ourselves.” He kissed her forehead. “And it was really your Aunt Augusta who made you write books.”

“Aunt Augusta and, perhaps, the ghost of my father.”

“Pray don’t talk of fathers, my sweet, when I am intent upon ravishing his daughter.”

Elspeth felt her smile spread across her face until it became a laugh. “I think my father, of all men, would approve.”

“And I approve of his daughter, most heartily.”

“Love me, Hamish Cathcart. Give me another one of your lessons in kissing.”

He rolled her onto her back, and gave her that smile that said he would lead her into mischief. “Oh, Elspeth. Wouldn’t you prefer a lesson in a great deal more?”

She did. And she always would. It was in her blissfully tainted blood.