Page 29 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

M urdoch sniffed the air as he walked down the stairs.

It was the day of the party, which meant he had woken especially early—not because there was anything for him to do, but because he was anxious: He wanted Emily to be a grand success, he knew he would be required to speak to people and make desultory small talk, and he would be on display nearly as much as his ward.

But there was something more pressing, something— “What is that burning smell?” he asked as Miss Joey rushed by, an aggravated expression on her face.

“Cook burnt the cakes for the trifle tonight. Now she’s run out of heavy cream to make them again because she used them all in the syllabub, but she didn’t chill them properly, so—”

“Chill the cakes?” Murdoch interjected, entirely confused.

Miss Joey turned her aggravated expression toward him. “Not the cakes, the syllabub. Keep up. The thing is, we don’t have any heavy cream, which means we won’t have trifle, which means no desserts.”

“None at all? Could I go—?”

“No, Drusilla’s already thought of that, and none of the shops can supply nearly enough for what we need.

Everyone we invited has said yes— everyone!

—which means we’ll be filled to the roof.

” Miss Joey shook her head. “We didn’t think everyone would accept.

I suppose they all want to see the lady Dru is sponsoring. ”

“What about getting more heavy cream?”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Joey replied in a sarcastic voice. “Look, how about you go help move furniture or go to the ballroom, and let us solve the problems.”

Murdoch bit back a snort of laughter—he was honestly delighted Miss Joey felt comfortable enough with him to be rude—and headed to the ballroom, as he’d been instructed.

What he walked into was pure, unadulterated chaos.

The boy urchin from the picnic, oddly enough, seemed to be the one who knew the most about what was going on; he stood on a chair directing the various people milling about.

“Not there, put the chairs against the wall.” His accent was not the posh London one Murdoch had grown accustomed to hearing; it was the one he’d heard from street vendors and other lower-class citizens.

The people holding the chairs did as they were told, and then the urchin—Murdoch thought his name was Tom?—spotted him and brightened. “You’re big enough. Come here to help move the table.”

Murdoch walked to where the boy stood. “What can I help with?” he asked.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Gor, where are you from?”

Murdoch chuckled. “Scotland.”

“Oh, you’re the Scot they were speaking of.” He gestured to one of the men. “You, big man, come here and help this Scot move the table.” He pointed to the table, which was a formidable-looking piece of furniture made of solid wood.

Murdoch and the man, along with a few other helpers, managed to pick it up without dragging it on the floor and placed it where the boy instructed.

Then Murdoch was sent to the wine cellar to bring the chosen wines to the front of the cellar for easier access, and then he spent an hour or so folding table linens with Priscilla, the housekeeper’s daughter.

While doing that chore, he learned all about the kittens in residence, and that Priscilla wanted to be either a lady’s maid or a florist, but that her mother had told her lady’s maids had to live at their employers’ homes, and most employers weren’t like Lady Drusilla, and so she wouldn’t be allowed to have cats.

Murdoch lost track of the conversation, but it definitely made the task go a lot quicker.

“There you are,” Miss Joey said.

“Did you figure out the silly bub thing?” Murdoch asked.

She rolled her eyes. “You know it’s syllabub—you’re trying to deliberately annoy me.”

“Guilty,” Murdoch said, flashing a quick smile.

She gave him a wry smirk in response. “I do appreciate it, given how this day is going. No, we didn’t solve the syllabub thing, and it’s three hours until the party, and now Cook is sneezing her head off, so she’s been sent to bed with a compress and broth.

Thankfully, she’d already done most of the work.

It’s just that we’ll have to figure out the desserts. ”

“I can’t cook, if that’s why you were looking for me.”

“Not that. Besides, if you did cook, you’d probably make something like that haggis you people enjoy.”

Murdoch shook his head. “You just don’t appreciate the finer things, Miss Joey.”

She flapped a hand. “Never mind that. Come with me. Dru asked me to locate you to try on the costume for the tableau.”

Drat. He’d forgotten about the tableau, and he’d hoped she had as well.

D rusilla turned at the sound of the door opening. “Thank goodness,” she said, beckoning the earl and Joey inside. “I’ve got the costumes ready. We just have to make certain they fit.”

She gestured to her bed, where she’d laid out the clothing.

“I cannot,” the earl said as he saw what he was supposed to wear.

“You have to,” Drusilla replied, as Joey nodded in agreement.

“This is—this isn’t even close to what the book is about!” He turned, giving Drusilla an accusing look. “This is a kilt.”

“I know what it is—I purchased it,” Drusilla said, raising her brow.

“But The Bride of Lammermoor ’s hero isn’t that type of Scot.”

“You know that, and so do I, but the guests don’t. They see a Scot portraying a Scottish character, they’ll expect a kilt.” She indicated the item in question. “Therefore a kilt it is.”

“Fine,” he muttered. She was surprised; she’d expected more of a fight.

“You can take everything back to your room and change. Just come back here afterward. I’ll change now and we can practice the scene.”

He picked up his costume, still grumbling, then left the room.

“You’re not just doing that because you want to see his legs, are you?” Joey asked. She began to undo the buttons at the back of Drusilla’s gown.

“No, though that is a welcome bonus,” Drusilla replied. “It is true that people will expect a Scottish person to be dressed like a Scot.”

“He’s Scottish and he’s dressed, so he’s dressed like a Scot,” Joey said in an acerbic tone.

“Again, you know that and I know that, but Society expects certain things. Besides, if he does something that seems less than polite, the guests will just blame it on his being foreign.”

Joey shook her head as she helped Drusilla out of the gown.

Drusilla was soon dressed in her own costume, a gown dating back forty years, when fashion was much simpler. It was relatively modest, though it had a low neckline that displayed Drusilla’s bosom quite well. She regarded herself in the mirror, twisting from one side to the other.

“You look good,” Joey said.

They heard a knock at the door, and Drusilla called, “Come in.”

She couldn’t wait to see him.

He flung the door open and stood in the doorframe, an irritatedly furious or furiously irritated expression on his face.

The kilt was...well, it was far too short for someone of his height.

It should have reached to his knees, but instead it was halfway up his thighs. Not quite indecent, but not quite proper. Drusilla blinked when she saw him.

“I don’t think this will work,” he said, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Oh, my lord, you are wrong. That is certain to gain Society’s notice,” Joey said, humor threaded through her words.

“It will,” Drusilla said, her eyes fixed on his legs. They were beautifully strong and powerful, covered in dark hair, and looked so brutally masculine she felt her knees get a little weak.

“You, at least, get to wear something reasonable,” he said.

She was able to tear her gaze away from his lower appendages long enough to see he was staring at her breasts. She supposed it wouldn’t be fair to be outraged about that, given how she was ogling him.

“We will be stunning,” she said. “There are other people participating as well, mind you. We won’t be the only ones.”

His brows narrowed. “I assumed so. It would be rather odd to have just one tableau.” He glanced around her room, clearly looking for something. “Speaking of which, where are the animal scenes Emily mentioned?”

Joey snorted, and Drusilla felt herself blush.

“Right over here, my lord,” Joey said, marching over to a shelf to indicate to them.

A silence as he examined them, Joey meeting her gaze, laughter in her eyes.

Drusilla returned the look, her own expression promising retribution.

Joey knew what she was saying, since she just winked and stuck her tongue out before turning back to the earl. “So what do you think, my lord?”

“Well, it seems as though they are...very engaged in what they are doing.”

M urdoch thought he was through being surprised by Lady Drusilla.

He was wrong.

There were mice arranged on a bed, clearly engaged in sexual relations. There were cats dressed in what seemed to be togas taking part in what Murdoch could only assume was a Roman orgy.

And there was a pair of squirrels, one of whom was doing something remarkably similar to what Murdoch had done to Lady Drusilla.

“You should go get dressed for the party,” Lady Drusilla said, going to stand beside him as she moved the animals out of their most salacious positions.

“We’ve got to eat beforehand, and then the guests will start arriving.

We don’t have any desserts, so we’ll just have to hope they’ll be too drunk to notice. ”

“I’ll let the servants know to keep the wine flowing,” Joey said. “I’ll be off—I’ve got to see to the kitchens. With Cook away, Mrs. Green is in charge, and I don’t want her to get overwhelmed.” She walked out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Thank you for wearing the costume,” Lady Drusilla said, sounding sincere. “I do think it will help in easing your way into Society. People here can be very stuffy about what is or is not proper behavior, but they will indulge someone if they find them charmingly eccentric rather than merely odd.”

“Is that why they tolerate you?”

He was startled to hear the words emerge from his mouth.

Judging by her expression, she was as well.

“I suppose so. My parents were very eccentric, and Society loved them.” She shrugged.

“I suppose they see me as continuing their habits, what with caring about less fortunate people and things like that.” Her tone was bitter.

“It’s a good thing you do. You know that. I would give you a building even if—”

She put her fingers on his lips. “Hush. We have a bargain. I will not take anything from a gentleman, no matter how attractive his legs are.” She slid her eyes downward, then made an exaggerated expression of appreciation. “I can’t allow it in one circumstance if I won’t allow it elsewhere.”

“You mean marriage.” His throat was tight with the reminder. She wouldn’t marry; she couldn’t marry, not if she wanted to keep on as she had been. She’d been most clear about that.

“I do,” she replied. “And speaking of that, Miss Emily told me she is not certain she wishes to marry right away after all. That is a profound relief.”

Murdoch’s own misery was forgotten with this news. “Truly?”

She nodded. “Yes, she said she’s not foreclosing on falling in love at first sight, but she’d also be satisfied if she stayed here and helped me with my work.”

“That is excellent,” Murdoch replied.

“So you’d let her stay here? After you go home?” Her tone was surprised.

“Yes.” He paused. “As long as she would not be a burden. I appreciate how much you’ve done for her.”

She shook her head. “It is just as much you as it is me. You’ve allowed her to determine her own course since coming here. I know you were a bit of a—” She hesitated.

“A Scottish oaf?” he supplied, a wry smile quirking his mouth.

“That,” she acknowledged. “But since then, you’ve been courteous with her feelings and sensitive about her reactions. Even I have learned something, which is that men can change.”

The thought struck him that he had changed more than she could ever know; he had fallen impossibly, irrevocably in love with her, and that was making him see the world differently. She’d be pleased if she knew, but also horrified.

He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on that.

“This evening,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “after the party.”

“Yes?”

“I want to fuck you tonight, Drusilla.”

She gasped, and her eyes widened. For a few moments, all she did was stare at him, blinking, her cheeks turning a pretty pink.

“If that is acceptable to you?” he continued.

She began to nod her head vigorously before he had even finished speaking. “Yes, please. I will have something to look forward to. Oh my.”

He stepped closer, putting his hand at her waist. “Can I kiss you now?”

“You don’t have to ask,” she said, tilting her face up to his.

“But I do,” he replied. “I want to know you want all of this as much as I do.” His cock—more free thanks to the kilt—throbbed in anticipation.

“I do,” she whispered.

He put his mouth on hers then, kissing her with the knowledge that he was kissing the woman he loved. That he would, in a few hours, be fucking the woman he loved.

That these moments were all he would ever have.