Secrets to Seducing a Scot

EPILOGUE

Tossing his blue-patterned fly plaid casually over one shoulder, Malcolm sauntered into Serena’s morning room while she was scratching furiously at a lettersheet with her quill.

“I’m going down to the village.”

She dipped her quill in the inkpot. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’m after buying some seed to have the crofters plant the north field.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Malcolm sighed at her obliviousness to him. “And then I’ll play the lute while the pixies braid yer hair.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He placed a hot kiss on her neck. “Why do I get the feeling ye’re no’ listening to me? Must I resort to doing what I did to ye last night?”

Serena feigned a cross expression. “It took me half an hour to pull all the hay from my hair.”

He peeked over her shoulder at her lettersheet. “Is that a new article for the Edinburgh Gazette? What is it this week? A scathing indictment of the conditions of the working class in industrial living quarters? A plea for the plight of children in workhouses?”

She set down her quill. “No. This is not an article for the new ‘Rage Page.’ This,” she said, folding the lettersheet, “is an invitation for my father to come visit at Easter. I’m planning a very special event, and I don’t want him to miss it.”

“Another party?”

She nodded. “Of sorts. It’s a birthday party.”

Malcolm frowned. “Yer birthday isn’t until January.”

“It isn’t for me. I wasn’t planning to tell you until dinner, but … it’s a birthday party for the next MacAslan.”

Malcolm’s eyes flew open. “You mean—”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, aye.”

He lifted her out of the seat high over his head. “Our very first babe!”

She tightened her arms around his neck as he lowered her to the floor, and placed a slow kiss on his mouth. “And I can hardly wait to start on the next one.”