Page 38 of To Defy a Highland Duke

“Had I known this was the conversation you wanted to have, I’d not have lingered over my breakfast,” she quipped before pressing her lips to his jaw in a long kiss.

Unfettered joy flooding him, Keane threw back his head and laughed. She was a wonder. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth ever so gently. If the stars aligned and the saints blessed him, she’d become his wife.

Marjorie palmed the granite lump in his groin, glancing up at him with a woman’s smile bending her kiss-swollen lips.

God help him. He wasn’t a bloody saint.

“Nae, no’ this time, love.” He lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles before helping right her skirts. “When I take ye fully, Marjorie, we’ll be in a bed where I can take my time and enjoy every exquisite inch of ye. Nae on a cramped sofa, fearin’ a knock upon the door any moment.”

The flush of passion still coloring her cheeks, she sliced a glance to the door. “Aye, that would be awkward indeed.”

“I meant what I said, mo ghràidh.” He looked at her intently. “I want to make ye my bride, to have ye at my side forever.”

“But, Keane, we hardly know each other.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth before sliding away, and she leaned back. “How can you be certain of something so monumental in such a short time?”

He’d expected this argument from her.

“That’s where the courtship part comes in,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, not easily deterred. He’d give her as long as she needed. “No’ that I’m no’ certain, but I can understand yer hesitation as well as yer desire for caution.”

“I… I don't know. ’Tis not just a decision that affects me. I have my daughters to consider too.” She straightened, and he allowed her the distance she seemed to need. Forehead furrowed and hands folded in her lap, she shook her head, causing the loose coppery hair to brush her shoulders and back.

Someday, he’d run his fingers through those tresses and spread them over her naked form, and his too.

“We clashed horribly when we first met.” She fingered her gown distractedly. “I thought you an utter—erm—pig.”

He’d vow she’d thought him an unmitigated, arrogant arse.

“Och, but I believe that’s because of the immediate, intense attraction between us that neither of us kent what to do about. I’ll admit, it scared the hell out of me, and so I acted the colossal asslin’.” With one finger, he turned her face to his. “Are ye afraid for yer lasses? That I’ll be rough and impatient with them? I willna, I vow to ye.”

“I…” Again, her focus slipped to his mouth, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lower lip. “No, I don’t think you’ll be unkind to them. I know Bethea and Branwen are devoted to you, even though they think you are overly strict. I suspect you’d be the same with Cora and Elana.”

“I would love them like my own.”

And he would. Already, the little darling minxes had captured the hearts of his cats as well, and no one had done that before.

“I never thought to marry again,” Marjorie admitted quietly, her expression solemn. “I have no dowry or properties to recommend me. Or even noble blood. My father was a gentleman farmer. I’d come to the marriage empty-handed.”

“I dinna care about any of that.” And he didn’t. Compared to love, such things were wholly inconsequential.

One thought niggled persistently, however. Just because her young, delectable widow’s body had responded to Keane’s caresses didn’t mean Marjorie’s heart didn’t still belong to her dead husband.

Could he accept that truth and yet take her to wife?

Aye, he could, and hope and pray someday she’d feel a modicum for him of what he held in his heart and soul for her.

Keane paused, then ventured, “I ken ye loved Sion verra much.”

A wistful half-smile tilted her mouth as she stared into the frolicking fire. “I did. Sion was the love of my youth, back when I had stars in my eyes and still believed in fairytales and happily ever afters.”

Life’s experiences had stripped her of that innocence.

Her smile turned wry, and she breathed out a shallow sigh. “We only had four years together. It seems a lifetime ago. I see him in the girls.” She cut Keane a short glance. “They have Sion’s eyes and penchant for his precociousness.”

“Och, they do, and they possess their mother’s stunnin’ hair.” He grasped a tendril, looping the soft, burnished tresses about his fingers. “I adore yer hair.”

Surprise skittered over her face before a radiant smile illuminated her face. “Not everyone appreciates it. Many think the shade is a curse or a mark of the devil.”

“Codswallop,” he said firmly. “’Tis nothin’ of the sort. ’Tis a gift to treasure.”