Page 16 of The Duchess’s Absolutely Delightful Dream (The Notorious Briarwoods #14)

W as it possible that she had been mistaken?

Surrounded by her brothers, his female cousins, and the golfing green that Teague adored, she thought perhaps it was.

She didn’t like to think so because then she would have to admit that there had been a great deal of coincidence in the meeting of Octavian, especially the bit with the osprey. After all, it had felt like such a sign, but now she was beginning to wonder.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

She had gone on this merry endeavor, enjoying him in all the ways that a lady could possibly enjoy a man without needing the commitment of a future relationship.

And yet somehow, she had utterly and fully trusted deep in her bones that a future relationship was what was coming.

After all, hadn’t she promised Hamish that she would find a great passion?

And hadn’t Octavian shown up literally on her castle doorstep, danced into her life, swept her out into the gardens, and made her spirit sing?

How could he not be the most passionate man for her? No one had ever made her feel like this, and she was fairly certain no one ever would again.

Yet, he was obstinate, determined, stuck in his ways. Now again, she had no one else to blame but herself for picking such a stubborn fellow, but being Scottish, stubbornness should have been as familiar to her as, well, Highland coos meandering through the heather.

Still, things were growing more challenging. The visit was coming to an end. He was going to depart soon, and she was beginning to feel certain that whether or not he felt entirely comfortable with it, he was about to head back to the fight.

And she understood that was what he needed to do and yet…it didn’t feel right. Perhaps she would be able to simply turn it into a beautiful memory of an experience that lifted her soul.

But as she grabbed the golf club, lifted it, and began striding across the green that her brother had had made on his vast estate, she had a different idea entirely.

She knew she did not have long to sway the Englishman who was stealing her heart, but she was going to convince him that he and she should be bound for life.

He didn’t even have to marry her. Well, perhaps he did.

She wanted to marry, but she wanted him to see what he’d be missing first.

And so she strode up to him and shoved a club into his big hand.

“What the blazes is this?” he demanded, his dark eyes wide.

“Have you not heard of golf, man?”

His lips twitched. “I have heard of it as some sort of mad sport that you Scottish people play and some English people have become transfixed by.”

“Well, then you are about to see why it makes everyone so transfixed,” she said.

“And I’m beginning to wonder if you Scots spend all of your time out of doors.”

“In the summer?” she said. “Of course we do. We must soak up every bit of sunshine.”

“There’s been a great deal of rain,” he stated, unable to resist needling her, it seemed.

And there had been rain. It was Scotland. “And you didn’t grow mold,” she said.

Whilst they had spent time in the mist, so to speak, they had also spent a good deal of time in each other’s arms, which she had enjoyed immensely, as had he.

Her bedchambers had become a sanctuary. A place to hide away from the world. Though she was suspicious that it was impossible to truly hide in the castle, despite its size. Her family and his family were canny people.

But the beauty of society was everyone’s ability to claim ignorance as long as they didn’t actually see anything.

“Summer rain is different than winter rain,” she pointed out.

And then her brother Brodie let out a strong note of agreement as he tested his own golf club. “Exactly so,” he said. “A bit of summer rain is just the thing for one’s complexion.”

“Complexion?” Octavian echoed. “Do I need to worry about my complexion?”

“Your complexion has only grown more beautiful, hasn’t it, lads?” Leith crooned as he clapped Octavian on the back.

Octavian waggled his brows, his sense of humor excellent, no doubt due to his family. “You know exactly what to say to make a fellow feel fine about himself.”

“If you don’t have ruddy cheeks, you should definitely be concerned,” put in Archie with more seriousness.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Ruddy cheeks are a sign of good health.”

Octavian arched a brow, eyed the slender stick with the head attached to it, and demanded, “What the bloody hell am I going to do with this?”

“Think of it as cricket, but for people with brains,” she said.

He snorted. “Now that is…”

“A very Scottish thing to say,” put in Brodie, as he took out a small ball from his pack and readied it for play.

Octavian frowned, stepped up, and looked at the small ball, then at Brodie’s club.

“Idiocy.”

“Skill,” countered Leith. “Something you English generally lack.”

Octavian had the good sense not to be drawn in.

“Let’s see what all the fuss is about then,” her Englishman drawled.

She grinned, pulled a ball from her own pack, and positioned it. “This will be struck by the club, and it will be sent soaring out, and you will attempt to make it land in a little hole far away.”

He stared at her as if she had lost her wits. Perhaps in the explanation of it, golf did seem like a game for those who had lost their wits, but the truth was it was immensely fun, and it meant that you got a good long walk in.

She was always looking for a reason to go on a good long walk.

Most Scots were always looking for a way to get good long walks in.

And she felt that Octavian needed a good long walk almost every hour to keep his mind off of war. Not a march, mind you, but a walk.

He’d been walking far too much for the purpose of war. He needed to walk for pleasure, for fun. And just as she was about to say something, Josephine, Anne, and Emily romped up the hill towards the green, Teague following, looking a bit harried but bemused.

“This looks like a good deal of fun,” drawled Octavian, clearly eager to see his cousins put the Scots through their paces.

Archie, Brodie, and Leith all looked incredibly pleased at the arrival of the ladies.

“May we join in?” Josephine asked quite boldly.

Teague announced loudly, “Of course you may. We shall be happy to teach you the way to use a…” He cleared his throat. “Club.”

Josephine arched a brow at him. “Oh, I’m sure I shall take to it at once.”

Ellie smirked.

She adored these ladies and how nothing intimidated them. Many young ladies did not know how to handle her brothers, but the Briarwood girls certainly did, and they’d all been having more fun together than she could recall having fun with other people in a very long time.

Octavian still looked suspicious as he eyed the club, eyed the ball, and then looked out into the distance. “You want me to hit that where?” he demanded.

“Come now. Come now,” she soothed. “Don’t be so skeptical. Eschew some of your Englishness, why won’t you?”

“I think English people are actually optimists,” Josephine said bluntly.

“You do?” Ellie asked, amazed.

“Oh yes,” put in Emily.

“You see,” said Josephine, “the weather is terrible in the south as well, and yet the English still somehow manage to write the most beautiful poetry and they go out on the greatest adventures. The truth is the English should have never come back from most of their dangerous endeavors, and yet they managed to conquer half the world.”

“I mean, it’s a terrible thing in its way,” said Emily, lips pursed as she considered all angles of English optimism. “But also rather impressive in its way.”

Josephine nodded. “Yes. They have a certain sense of optimism that it’ll always work out for them, and I think that, while they might be quite self-deprecating, it is that rather inherent belief that has led them to conquer most of the world and believe they are the best at all things.”

Ellie laughed. “I think you might have a point. They do seem always determined to feel that they are going to win.”

“Indeed they do. Do you think it shall last?” Emily asked.

Octavian snorted. “Of course it will last. The English have been winning things since…”

“Yes. Yes. For time out of mind,” the Duke of Rossbrea said, sweeping up his club from the bags that had been brought up earlier in the day.

Octavian eyed said club warily, then cleared his throat. “We’re not about to have our own fisticuffs here in the Highlands, are we?”

“Only if you think it sounds like fun,” Teague said merrily.

She gave her brother a warning stare. The rift between the Scots and the English was now more playful than warlike on most occasions. But in the wrong circumstances or difficult conditions, there was a deep pain that ran through the Scots and the banter could turn bloody.

Still, in any grand aspect, at least, the Scots simply didn’t have the means to fight back against the whole of England now.

It was dismaying. And so a war of words was the best that they could hope for. Sometimes she wondered what it would’ve been like if the Scots had won against the English.

Perhaps her grandfather and her father would’ve had very different lives. Perhaps half the people that had filled the land of Scotland would still be here. They would not have been made to leave for countries thousands of miles away because of poverty and starvation.

But one could not go back. One could only go forward.

“Now I’m going to teach you how to golf,” she said to Octavian.

“Teach away,” he said.

She winked at him, eager to show him that life with her was the very best thing for him. “Now put your feet apart.”

He did as he was told.

“Take hold of the club.”

Now she looked over and noticed Teague was already teaching Josephine how to handle a golf club.

She stifled a laugh.

Her brother was standing behind Josephine, assisting her in the right stance, and Josephine looked as if she was going to burst out laughing at any moment.

She also looked quite pleased to be enveloped in Teague’s massive embrace, which was necessary, of course, to teach the proper way to grip a golf club.

Ellie could barely contain her amusement!

And so to be absolutely silly and to show the absurdity of the way her brother was clearly trying to connect with Miss Josephine, she stepped up behind Octavian, wrapped her arms about his middle, and showed him exactly where to put his hands.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

She tsked, as if she was doing the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m simply teaching you how to golf.”

“Your brothers are looking at me as if they’re going to turn my insides into my outsides.”

She laughed. “Why is it so different when a gentleman teaches a lady how to play golf than when a lady teaches a gentleman?”

“I don’t know,” Octavian said, though he did not move away from her embrace. He laughed softly, that delicious hum of his which caused his body to vibrate against hers.

Hell’s bells, how she loved that feeling! Loved the feeling of his long, hard body, dressed in immaculately made attire, against her.

“By rights, it should not,” he continued, adjusting his stance, gripping the golf club harder, and leaning ever so slightly into her embrace, clearly determined to tease her back for draping herself on him.

“But it just is. There’s something about the way the male mind is made.

Quite irrational, quite without sense, but there it is.

I think we need ladies to keep us in line,” Octavian observed.

“Then I’ll happily keep you in line,” she piped and traced her fingers over his. “Now put your hand here.” She adjusted ever so slightly. “Now you are going to rock back.”

A rough take of breath slipped past his lips. “No,” he growled softly. “You’re killing me.”

“Surely, it’s worth it,” she whispered near his ear.

“You?” he whispered back, as the others worked with their clubs and readied for the play to begin. “You’ll always be worth it.”

She tingled at those delicious words. Did he mean them? How she wished he did.

“I should step back now,” she ventured. “But I don’t want to let you go.”

The silence that slipped between them then was as powerful as a caress.

Neither of them ever wished to let the other go. She knew it. She felt it in her heart and in her soul.

“Why must you say such a thing?” he rumbled.

She licked her lips and slipped back. Her body felt bereft as she separated her torso from his. “I like being with you. Is that so very terrible?”

He stared down at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Not terrible at all. I like being with you more than I’ve ever liked being with anyone else.”

“Then what is the difficulty?” she queried softly.

He parted his lips, ready to make quick argument.

But she knew he was not going to give her a real reply, but rather whatever nonsense he had made up in his mind.

Grateful for once that her brothers were completely absorbed by Josephine, Emily, and Anne, she shook her head.

“Ellie,” he began, his voice deep with a note of regret.

“No, no!” she whispered, raising her hand before he could say anything. “I will not hear anything unreasonable. You must tell me the truth.”

He bit his lower lip, his brow creasing. “The truth?”

She nodded and, much to her dismay, her heart began to pound so rapidly, she could hear little else.

“The truth is,” he said softly, “I simply cannot yield to love.”

“You make it sound like a battle,” she returned, even as her mouth dried and her stomach twisted with disappointment.

“It is.”

“No, it’s not,” she countered, unwilling to let him get away with this so easily. “It is a game, and until you’re willing to play it with joy and fun—”

“Joy and fun?” he gritted out. “Despite what my family thinks, this life is not joy and fun. Most have never seen what I have seen. And I pray to God they don’t. That you don’t.”

The words hit her like blows, but she refused to be cowed.

To give up on him. On herself. On them. “You might be right, Octavian. But if you don’t find a way to trick yourself into thinking this life is joy and fun, I fear that you’re doing the Briarwood name a great disservice.

But you are doing yourself the greatest disservice of all. ”

He winced, and for a single moment, it seemed as if he was about to say something else. Something powerful. Something meaningful. Something which would change both of their lives forever.

But then his sensual lips pressed into a hard line, and his passionate eyes turned into twin dark stones.

He turned to the ball, hauled back the club, and let fly. A gasp rasped from throat. He hit the ball with such force that the sound echoed off the glen, and the ball raced across the sky.

And for a moment, she could have sworn it was his heart fleeing from hers.