Page 13 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

Although his uncle had offered to host the wedding at Elk Manor, Graham insisted it take place at Lismore Hall. Usually, a wedding would take months of preparation, but Belle had insisted on providing everything from the gown to stores of food for the festivities, as a wedding gift. And since money was no object, everything was gathered quickly. Hope had been slightly apprehensive at such a rushed wedding, but he would be lying if he hadn’t wanted to marry Hope as quickly as possible. And not because of Lismore. Graham simply wanted her.

He enjoyed being close to her, hearing her speak and discussing things that he had never even brought up with the women he had known his entire life. For example, two weeks after their engagement was announced, he had agreed to a fishing excursion with Logan. Hope had expressed an interest in learning the pastime and soon he was teaching her how to cast a reel. Graham had been surprised to find that merely being in her presence made him happy. He thoroughly enjoyed teaching Hope all he knew.

It seemed every time their paths crossed, he became more and more interested in her and everything she did. But as the wedding day approached, the urge to tell Hope the truth weighed heavily on Graham. He didn’t want to marry her without explaining Belle’s offer, but the more he spent time with Hope, the further away he got from the truth. As much as he wanted to be honest with her, every time he was with her, he got so caught up in the pleasure of her company that the idea of uncomfortable confessions totally slipped from his mind.

For example, there had been the day he had travelled to Lismore Hall to tend to his bees. He had quite forgotten himself in his work when the old wooden door that led into the walled garden creaked out, catching his attention. He looked up and saw Hope, dressed in a cream-colored day gown with evergreen piping. She wore no hat or hair covering, her dark hair piled elegantly atop her head, and she smiled coyly at him, as though she were sneaking out to see him.

“Hello,” he said, straightening from his hunched over position.

“Hello,” she said, her hands behind her back as she craned her neck. Her smile deepened. “What are you wearing?”

Graham looked down at himself, realizing he was dressed very peculiarly, indeed. A long, white cotton canvas tunic covered his clothes. His hands were covered with thick leather gloves and a wide brim hat draped with a fine netting covered his head. All in all, he was certain she had never seen such a bizarre outfit.

“It’s a bee keepers’ suit. It prevents me from being stung,” he said as he lowered one of the trays that he had taken out of the hive. A footman sprayed a cloudlike smoke over the bees.

“What’s that?”

“A sedative, so they don’t become angry at me for disrupting their peace.” Her chin lifted as her mouth made a small O shape. “This needs all my attention just now, but I’ll be with you in a moment,” he promised.

She nodded cheerfully as he returned to his work. Graham was meticulous as he gathered a dark honeycomb and placed it into a glass jar. Assembling the hive back to its form, he replaced the top and backed away from the white box. He gave the jar to the servant who, removing his own specialized hat, appeared relieved to be finished with the task.

Graham removed the tunic he wore and handed it to the servant who exchanged the jar of honey for the canvas bundle and hurried off through the creaky wooden door. Hope nodded at the man as he disappeared into the garden behind her. She stepped forward to get a closer look at the hives. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Inspecting my work?” he asked as he reached her.

“Somewhat,” she said, tilting her head back. The sun shone in her eyes and she raised her hand to block it. “I realized yesterday that I don’t actually know anything about what you do. I was curious.”

“Curious about me?”

She nodded and a foolish thrill went through his body. It was human nature to find joy in telling others about oneself, but the fact that this particular woman was interested, well, it made him feel good.

Really good.

“Very well. This way,” he said as he held out his arm. She took it and a sensation very close to pride filled his chest.

They returned through the gardens, but moved toward the northern most part, where a small glass room had been attached to the back of the hall. It was covered in hothouse plants and only had two points of accesses—one leading out into the garden and one back into the house. Graham had set it up to be an office of sorts, where he could do his experiments in peace. No doubt it was wrong to be alone with Hope here, but they were already engaged and it wasn’t as if they were in his private residence—merely his office which happened to be in her place of residence.

The private room was warm, uncomfortable so. As they entered, Graham looked down at Hope and saw a genuine fascination on her expression. Her dark eyes lit up with wonder as she gazed around the glass room.

“What is this place?” she asked, her hand grazing the rough, makeshift wooden desk where Graham would record his findings. Note papers and journals were scattered all about the tall table.

“It’s a hothouse and my office of sorts. Although, technically it’s more of a records room. My office at the hunting lodge is far more organized.”

She turned to face him.

“I should like to visit the hunting lodge. Is it far?”

Graham let out an unsteady laugh.

“It wouldn’t be wise to bring you there.”

“Why not?” The look he gave her must have been explanation enough, because her cheeks turned pink as she turned away. Taking a few steps towards the desk, she bent at the waist and pointed her index finger out. “What’s this?”

Graham came up alongside her and reached for the little glass bottle that had captured her attention. He held up the golden, liquid treasure.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? This is heather honey. The texture is different as it’s more of a jelly until stirred. It turns into a syrup then, but will return to its former state if left alone. I have several dozen hives for it set up along the hills on the edge of my uncle’s lands. There are fields and fields of heather that go on from miles. This is from there.”

“Do you mean to say that the bees use the nectar of the heather flower?”

“Aye. The taste of honey can vary from place to place, based off of the flowers the bees have access to and the surrounding climate. The color changes too. You’ll have every shade from white to dark amber.”

“And do you produce a lot?”

Graham shrugged.

“Last year’s numbers were good. We produced about nine hundred and fifty pounds of honey, fifteen hundred pounds of honeycomb.”

Hope’s eyes widened.

“Goodness, that’s quite a lot.”

“Not really. I have about thirty hives. I could have more, but I spent half of last year in Glasgow.”

“Why is that?”

His brow quirked up.

“You really are interested, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I am.”

He smirked.

“Well, I had been selling the bulk of my production to a confectioner, Duncan Thomas. He used my honey in his recipes—most particularly a hard, butterscotch like candy that sold out repeatedly in his shop. He asked for sole buying rights, but I had a different idea.”

“What was your idea?”

“I asked his thoughts about building a sugar refinery. They’re going up all over Glasgow and I thought why only sell to the people in the city? If we could sell his confectionaries nationwide, we’d have a proper business on our hands.”

“You own a candy factory then?” Hope asked, her eyes widening.

“Aye—or at least, half of one. Mr. Thomas as I will share the profits fifty-fifty. Our first set of deliveries are going out next month.”

“My goodness, you’re a proper entrepreneur, aren’t you?”

Knowing that Hope had come from the first of society, Graham was unsure if she was genuinely impressed. There were many in her class who would look down on a man for participating in common trade, no matter how profitable it might be. But with no lands of his own, he’d never been able to live a “proper” gentleman’s life, earning his income from tenants. Not for the first time did he feel guilt swell in his heart. Hope should be marrying someone with something to his name. Someone who would inherit a title or land.

His gaze dropped to the honey jars.

“I supposed so.”

The change in his tone seemed to catch her attention. Suddenly, Hope’s hand came over his and he turned to see her staring at him with an impossibly caring expression, her dark eyes shining with certainty.

“You are an impressive man, Graham MacKinnon. Every day I learn something new about you and everyday I’m stunned by it.”

Her honest words and transparent feelings made Graham feel like a king and a heel all at once. She was so damn genuine and the more she said things like that, the more devoted he became. All he wanted was to carry her off some place and never let her go.

His hand came up to her cheek as his thumb ran across the edge of her cheekbone.

“Hope…”

Her cautious smile widened.

“Yes?”

He wanted to tell her everything in that moment. To lay out his entire life story. There was something about her that made him want to confess every wicked deed he had done, if only to find salvation at her feet.

But when he hesitated, she spoke.

“Will you take me? To see the factory, I mean?”

She could ask for the sun and he would provide it.

“If you’d like me to, I will.”

She bobbed up and down on her heels and he smiled at her eagerness, unable to help himself.

“Yes, please.”

Graham was pleased at how keen she was to see his work. “Then we will certainly go. But for today, there is something else I want you to try.” He moved next to her and opened the jar, setting on the table. Taking a long, thin wooden stick, one that had been sanded down, he dipped it into the honey. He lifted it out, setting the jar down, and with his hand underneath the string of honey as he pulled it away, he brought it to Hope’s lips.

“This is why I brought you here,” he said. “Taste.” Obediently, she opened her mouth.

The rich clover scent was heavy in the air. He watched it melt against her tongue. Desire coursed through him as her eyes closed, savoring the flavor. He rolled the wooden utensil out of her mouth, grazing it slowly against her bottom lip as he withdrew it.

The stiffness in his trousers began to ache.

Hope watched him with undivided attention as he placed the wooden spoon back in the jar and settled it down on the table. Pulse pounding, he leaned in and kissed her.

Graham’s tongue searched her mouth slowly and her eyes closed as her hands came up to his shoulders, steadying herself as he pulled her close. His kiss deepened, and Hope swayed to press herself against him.

He needed her. Never had he ever witnessed something so erotic and so chaste as her savoring his honey, and it had set him aflame. He pulled away slowly, her eyes fluttered open with confusion. Without a word, Graham’s hand came up to her bodice and his two fingers tugged down on the neckline of her gown, lowering it until her breasts were revealed, while his other hand grabbed the utensil again. To Hope’s obvious surprise, Graham drizzled a string of honey on her exposed nipple, causing her breath to hitch—though she made no effort to back away. Hope was a meal and he intended on finishing her.

His mouth quickly covered the tip of her breast, suckling at her as though she were his only source of sustenance.

Her arms wrapped around his head as his hands snaked down her backside, down her thighs as he hiked up her skirts. He was without reason, without any rational thought, as his mouth left the peak of her breast and come up to rediscover her mouth.

He kissed her urgently before lifting her onto the work table. His hands moved down her spread legs, gripping her calves and then thighs underneath her rucked-up skirts.

“Graham, what …”

“Hush,” he said as he leaned over her body, kissing her mouth before moving down her torso.

Graham was quick to find the opening of her drawers. Kneeling down, he drew his fingers over her sex. Hope gasped and he could feel the tension in her thighs as she tried instinctively to close them, but he wouldn’t have her shy away from him. Instead, he licked her, long and slow, so that she might feel every bit of his tongue.

Hope let out a heavy breath, her legs relaxing—and then spreading even wider in welcome. Graham was happy to take advantage of the increased space to press himself closer and drive his tongue deeper. If there was ever a sweeter taste than honey, this was it. The tiny jerks that seemed to spread over her body only encouraged him and he feasted on her as if she were his last meal.

Hope’s sweetness was his life’s essence and as she reached her orgasm, she let out a cracked moan. Graham did not relent as she rode her ecstasy. By the time it finished, she was quivering and he was silently pledging his soul to hers forever.

Slowly, Graham stood up as Hope’s skirts dropped over her legs. She was staring in him with a look of such hazy, heated desire that he knew he could take her right now if he wanted to, without a word of protest from her. The ache in his cock was almost too urgent to ignore, and it had him on the verge of giving in.

But whatever small part of him was still functioning on an honorable level stalled him. He wouldn’t take his future wife in a green house before he’d made his vows to her properly, even if every inch of his body screamed out for it.

He gently helped her down off the table and they stood there, panting for several minutes. Graham wrapped his arms tightly around her frame, and held her to his chest as if she were some sort of precious gift.

“You’re too fine a woman to be taken in a makeshift greenhouse,” he said into her slightly disheveled hair. “But I couldn’t help tasting you.” When she didn’t speak, he pulled back and raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest. “It’s just… I never…”

Innate pleasure coursed through his veins. It was plain to see that no one had ever brought Hope to orgasm before, and he selfishly relaxed in the satisfaction that he was the only person to do so.

He dropped his forehead and rested it against hers.

“You’ll not hold it against me, for doing so in a greenhouse?”

A short chuckle came from her mouth. She shook her head.

“No. I never want to be so fine a lady that I refuse to be taken in a makeshift greenhouse.”

Graham chuckled, his laughter reverberating deep in his chest.

“I have to go to Uncle’s house today to check on the rest of my hives,” he said, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. “Come with me?”

She shook her head again.

“I can’t. I meant to speak with Rose about something.”

“About what?”

Hope pulled back slightly and the teasing glint in her smiling eyes made him hard all over again.

“It’s a secret.”

“Wives aren’t meant to keep secrets from their husbands.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t married yet. But if you insist, I’d love to hear your thoughts on lace versus silks.”

Graham sighed. Wedding preparations.

“Ah, well, perhaps you can keep this one secret.”

She hit him in the chest playfully, but he caught her wrist and tugged her forward, planting a kiss on her forehead. It was tempting to capture her lips again…but if he did that, he might never leave. He needed to let her go before he lost control of himself.

“Very well,” he said, releasing her. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Hope nodded enthusiastically and Graham escorted out of the greenhouse and into the garden where she climbed the stone staircase that led back up into her room.

He would have a devil of a time focusing on his work for the rest of the day. Deciding that his work could wait until tomorrow, he set out to return to the hunting lodge that served as his home when he wasn’t in Glasgow.

Nestled in a copse of tall Scotch pine stood the gray, stone hunting lodge. It was a modest building compared to Lismore Hall, though it was certainly large enough to house twenty or so men comfortably. Graham kept a staff of four employed. A cook, a maid, a butler, and a stable hand. Each member of his staff was older than him by at least a decade and they all had chosen the job specifically because of the seclusion of the lodge.

Graham rarely hosted people there, given that he spent much of the year at his Glasgow residence. When he did visit his uncle and cousins, he had rooms at Elk Manor. Still, Belle had insisted that he make the old hunting lodge his own and he quite enjoyed the solitude of it.

After handing off his horse to Melvin the stable hand, he climbed the three modest steps and pushed through the green painted door, entering a bright hallway. The walls were whitewashed and adorned with dozens of antlers; trophies of men who had long since passed.

The floors were wooden and darkened by age and use. It was decidedly shabbier than Lismore Hall, but then the hunting lodge had always been a place for men to disregard the fripperies of elegant society. It had suited Graham’s bachelor lifestyle for many years.

Turning into the third and last doorway on his right, he sensed another presence. Apparently, solitude would not find him today.

Upon entering the library, he found Logan Harris standing on the rolling ladder, searching one of the shelves for a book.

“Logan. I didn’t know you were here,” Graham said. “What are you doing?”

“McTavish mentioned to me that Lady Belle kept a rather extensive collection of society pamphlets and that she asked you to store them here since the Sharpes moved in,” Logan said without turning around. “I’m trying to find someone.”

“I’m only keeping them here because she didn’t want her nieces to see them, in case there was something written about their scandal.” He walked across the room to the side of the fireplace and opened a wooden cupboard. Pulling out a tall bottle of amber liquid, he grabbed one of the crystal glasses that sat on a tray above it. “Who are you looking for?”

“An artist.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve recently acquired a rather large painting—sight unseen, I might add—by a new up-and-coming artist out of Paris. Goes by the name Donovan.” Logan pulled a handful of pamphlets off the shelf and climbed down. “Supposedly the fellow is beyond talented. The best painter the continent has seen in nearly two decades.”

“So, you bought a painting by him as an investment?”

Graham knew of Logan’s appreciation for art, but he himself didn’t understand it. Art was pretty, he supposed but he wasn’t terribly interested in paintings, sculptures, or the like.

“Well, usually I never buy a painting without inspecting it first,” he said, coming around to a table to lay out the pamphlets. “But this one was too intriguing to ignore.”

“Oh? What about it is so special?”

“The subject of the painting—a woman turned at the waist, surrounded by yellow velvet.”

Graham shrugged. “That doesn’t sound particularly special to me.” He’d seen something similar dozens of times before.

“Ah, but the rumor has it that this one was not modeled by some London madam, but by a former lover of Donovan. Perhaps even a lady of first society.”

Graham fought not to roll his eyes. It sounded like the sort of gossip someone would make up, just for the fun of having a scandal.

“So?”

Logan rolled his eyes.

“So, I was already in the market for a piece by this Donovan, and it felt expedient to act quickly. If the rumor is true, I may have procured a piece that someone might want back.”

Graham turned to his friend, brow furrowing. “Are you hoping to get some sort of blackmail out of the situation?”

Logan shrugged.

“Not necessarily. Like I said, I was in the market for a piece by this young man anyway. However, if there is someone who wishes the painting to be out of circulation due to some personal reason, well, who would I be to deny a conversation with said person?”

Graham laughed.

“Always trying to make a deal,” he said, shaking his head as he flipped through the pamphlets. “But I still don’t understand why you’re looking through these gossip pages.”

“Lady Belle suggested it,” Logan said, picking one up as he thumbed through the pages. “She had overheard my conversation with your cousin about the artist and mentioned that she had read about him in one of these papers.”

“Did she?” Graham asked, instantly suspicious.

“Yes. Actually, I was debating between the Donovan or a pair of pieces from Marchelies—a French painter. Lady Belle told me about the rumor and rather persuaded me. You know, I’ve never been very fond of the old woman, but there was something about the way she spoke about it. Almost as if she were certain I’d be rich beyond my wildest dreams if I bought it. Made me curious.” He picked up a pamphlet.

“She has some plot simmering in the back of her mind about something or other, mark my words,” Graham said, now positive that Belle was up to something. “But if I know anything, she’s probably correct that you’ll make a pretty penny.” Graham flipped a pamphlet over and added beneath his breath, “Though she might steal your soul in the bargain.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Graham said. “Just be careful, is all.”

“I will,” Logan said, pointing a pamphlet at him. “Anyway, she suggested I take a few of these and read through them. I was just about to leave, but I’ll not say no to a farewell dram.”

“Fair enough,” Graham said with a nod as he went to the far wall. He poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to Logan. “Did you talk to your sister about coming to the wedding?”

“Yes, but she isn’t certain Father is up for the trip, even though he seems in better health these past few weeks. His cough has subsided.”

“Is a recovery a possibility?” Graham asked. Logan’s father had suffered from coughing fits for nearly two years.

“I’m hopeful, though Arabella is cautious,” Logan said, sipping his drink. “But enough about that. How does it feel, MacKinnon? To almost be master of Lismore Hall?”

Graham stared at his glass, spinning it in his fingers as he watched the light glimmer through the cut crystal. To be honest, it was a thought that rarely even occurred to him when he thought of marrying Hope. He had been sure he would have had some sort of visceral reaction to finally obtaining his lifelong goal, but it had barely crossed his mind the last few weeks.

“It’s daunting, I suppose. I think a part of me never really believed that I would ever get it.” The corners of Logan’s mouth turned down and he nodded, though he didn’t seem to comprehend Graham’s meaning. “How is it supposed to feel, do you reckon?”

“I would have guessed it would feel like you were finally home.”

Home . What a simple, small word and yet it was an idea that had eluded him for most of his life. He’d always thought that home was what he wanted when he pursued the return of Lismore Hall, but now when he imagined home, what he saw was Hope. He was at home with her.

Finishing his drink, abruptly aware that he hadn’t eaten anything in hours, he nodded towards Logan and turned to leave.

“Good luck with your painting,” he said.

“Oh, before you disappear, Michael wanted to let you know that he’s planning a stag stalk the week before the wedding.”

“Why?”

“Something about male bonding,” Logan said, returning to his search.

Graham grunted and left the library, unsure he wished to participate in whatever his cousin had planned.