If nothing else, Francesca reflected, this should discourage her daughter from attempting an elopement, however little Eloise had liked the idea of a long engagement. That had been her brothers’ only chance, though, to make good on their father’s agreement.
“About two hours, I reckon,” Aden replied, “depending on how much it took to convince the lass.”
“It didn’t take much,” Jane said, between gulps of tea.
Francesca stood, joining Aden at the door. “Does Niall know you mean to join him?”
“Nae. He said we’re to be our usual ignorant selves and carry on here. Niall’s nae content unless he’s taken all the burden on himself. I dunnae necessarily agree with that. MacTaggerts stand together.”
She nodded. “Follow them, then,” she said, keeping her voice pitched low. “Make certain they’re able to marry. But then get them back here, as soon as possible. Everything rests on it.”
He tilted his head. “What everything? Niall knows she’s ruined, and she’ll know better than he does.”
“My darling, your mother is not entirely without resources. They cannot stay away, and they cannot appear to be anything but a young couple in love who couldn’t bear to wait for the reading of the banns. I’m sorry, but you must trust me on this.”
“This is London, my lady. I reckon ye ken this madhouse better than any of us ever will. I’ll see to it. Coll and I will.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, wishing she could be certain he wouldn’t pull away if she attempted a hug. “Then go.”
Niall being happy meant everything. But she wanted him—them—to be able to be happy here. And while hell might have no fury like a woman scorned, London was about to meet a mother protecting her children.
Chapter Seventeen
Niall opened his eyes to find Amelia-Rose on her side, one elbow beneath her head, gazing at him. “Good morning, lass.”
“Good morning.”
“I reckon we’ll be in Scotland by midmorning, and we’ll be married by noon, over a blacksmith’s anvil. Nae what ye dreamed about, I imagine.”
She frowned. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking like you think that I think you’re a second choice. That I’m disappointed. I’m not. I spent a very long time trying to deceive myself about what would make me happy, because I thought to be stuck into the sort of life where distraction was essential. And then I met you, and I realized the answer to my happiness was me being able to be myself. Not to have to pretend to be horribly proper, not to hold my tongue because the ridiculous person speaking happens to be a man. Because of you, I am me.”
That response called for more than a good morning, a getting dressed, and a running out to the coach. Niall glanced at his open pocket watch. It was barely past six o’clock. They had time. A wee bit of it, but enough to enable him to get to the blacksmith’s without showing just how much he wanted her even after three nights of deep, deliriously arousing sex.
Pulling on her bent elbow, he turned her flat on her back, kissing her openmouthed. “Ye say such sweet things, adae,” he murmured against her lips, shifting to splay both hands over her bare breasts. “And what a shame I forgot to pack ye any night clothes.”
As he flexed his fingers she moaned, shoving the covers away from herself, trying to pull him closer. “You remembered hair clips,” she reminded him huskily, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his cock and stroke him in a way that made his eyes roll back in his head. She was a quick learner, Amelia-Rose was. “I don’t think you forgot anything.”
“Sweet Saint Andrew, ye undo me, my lass.”
Moving over her, he lowered one hand to hook her knee and open her. Sliding his palms up the inside of her thighs, he dipped a finger inside her, her groan of pleasure mingling with his own. She was wet for him, ready. This lovely, perfect lass, who’d just last night taught him which fork to use for a roast rabbit, who delighted in soft sheets and Mozart, had chosen him. He had no other explanation for it but love.
Entering her, he thrust hard and fast, taking her over the edge as she gasped and clung to his shoulders. The sensation of her body pulsing around him pulled at him, tried to draw him with her, but he wasn’t ready yet. Instead he slowed his pace until she began to relax again, lifting her head to kiss him.
Then he withdrew, sitting up and folding his legs. “Come here, Amelia-Rose,” he beckoned, taking her hand and helping her upright. When she was seated, he took her ankles and pulled her forward, wrapping her legs around his hips and supporting her bottom with his legs.
“Good glory,” she whispered, looking down between them as his cock slid inside her again.
With his hands on her arse he pulled her forward in time with his thrusts, the bed beneath them squeaking rhythmically with their movements. Flinging her arms around his neck she came again, and this time he let himself follow, pushing in as deeply as he could and holding himself there as he spilled his seed inside her.
She kept her arms looped around him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “I had no idea,” she panted, “that being ruined could be so invigorating.”
Niall laughed, holding her. “I’ll ruin ye like that anytime ye please.”
“I think I shall please a great deal, Niall.”
He kissed her hair. “I love ye, Amelia-Rose.”
Amelia-Rose lifted her head to look at him. “That name is a mouthful, isn’t it? I’ve always been fond of Amy. It’s more me, I think. Would you mind?”
“Mind nae twisting my tongue up every time I say yer name? Nae. Ye’re Amy now. It does fit ye, lass. Fresh and warm.”
A pebble struck the window of their second-floor room, and with a frown Niall slid out from under Amelia-Rose—Amy—and padded over to look outside. Gavin stood there, another rock in his hand.
Niall shoved open the window. “What is it?”
“I’ve been feeling a shiver creeping up my spine since dawn,” the groom said. “Let’s be off, Master Niall.”
He’d felt it, too, the sensation that everything had gone too smoothly. Not a sign of a suspicious redcoat, not a stranger coming up from the south by the same road and giving them odd looks, no hard-faced lads from Bow Street appearing to drag them back to London. “Aye,” he returned. “Give us thirty minutes to dress and eat.”
The groom nodded, trotting back toward the stable yard. When Niall turned around, Amy already had her shift on, and she was digging into the trunk they shared for Eloise’s teal-colored walking dress. He liked it on her; it gave her eyes a bit of green together with the deep blue, like a loch on a clear day.
“That’s the dress ye’ll be married in,” he stated, handing her the borrowed hairbrush as he slung the kilt around his hips and buckled it.
She held the gown up to look at it. “Well, Eloise isn’t getting it back, then.”
Niall sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “I’d like to take ye up to Aldriss Park after this—another two days of travel. Are ye ready for that?”
“Yes. I want to meet your father, and I’ll be happy to settle somewhere after a week in the coach.”
He still felt the need to apologize; this wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself. Yes, she said she was happy, and yes, he believed her. But he loved her, and he wanted her to have … more. “Ye’ll be happy every day from now on, Amy. I swear to that. There’s a bonny spot overlooking Loch an Daimh that’ll give us a view of the valley and the mountains. I’ll show it to ye, and if ye’re agreeable, I think we should put a house there.”
“It’s not too close to old Sean and his cats, is it?”
He chuckled. “Nae. We’d be a good mile or more from old Sean.”
“Good. I like cats, but I keep imagining them all escaping from the tunnels and roving the Highlands with little cheeses strapped to their backs.”
He laughed. That set him more at ease; perhaps he was taking this change to her plans more seriously than she was. She kept insisting that was so, and it reminded him that she was nothing he’d planned for, either. Meeting her had upended everything, and he embraced all of it, the good and the bad, that had come with loving her.