Page 40 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

I t feels odd being here without Joey,” Drusilla murmured.

She and Murdoch—her husband, she reminded herself—were in her receiving room.

They’d returned to London nearly a week ago but had left Joey in Scotland, along with Mr. Ferguson and Miss Emily.

Joey and Murdoch’s steward had formed a fast friendship and were already working together on the plan Drusilla and Murdoch had put together after they’d exhausted themselves with a few rounds of reunion sex.

And gotten married, of course—in Scotland, all they’d had to do was announce their intentions, find a blacksmith, and do some sort of nonsense with an anvil. Drusilla wasn’t quite sure how it was legal, but Murdoch and Ferguson assured her it was.

Not that she cared either way. But she figured there would eventually be children, and she wouldn’t want a child to have to bear the stigma of illegitimacy.

But before all that, they had to implement the grand plan, which was for some of Drusilla’s rescues to be sent to Scotland to work on one of Murdoch’s properties, or eventually to work in one of the factories he and Drusilla planned to open there.

There were often families who’d arrived in London from the country and were most comfortable with a quieter, more agricultural way of life.

There were also people who had been worn out by London’s pace who required a slower way of life.

Ferguson would oversee the operations in Scotland, Drusilla would continue her work in London, and Murdoch would supply funds, logistical support, and planning when needed.

They anticipated spending most of their time in London, but they expected to be in Scotland for a few months of the year as well.

There were always people in need wherever one went, after all.

“Miss Joey said she was surprised she was liking it there as much as she was. Perhaps she’ll want to stay there,” Murdoch said, tweaking her nose.

“And abandon me? Never,” she said, wriggling in his arms.

He’d refused to let her sit in her own chair, instead hoisting her into his lap and wrapping his strong arms around her. She had to admit—even if only to herself—how much she liked being held captive like this.

Though she was fairly certain he knew just how much she liked it, given that he’d recently begun to tie her hands to their bedposts in the evenings. And would then proceed to drive her mad with his tongue and his fingers.

“Would Ferguson ever want to come here?”

Murdoch considered that. “I haven’t asked him. I should—he should have as much knowledge of the business here as there. I think that will give us an edge over any potential competitor, having people who are thoroughly immersed in the businesses on either side of the border.”

“Although his handsome face might make some Society ladies think about heading to Scotland to find their own Scottish ram,” she teased.

“Or invest in what we are doing,” he retorted.

“So you’re not averse to using your”—she paused as she deliberately looked him up and down—“particular skills to advance in business?”

“Of course not,” he said. He pressed a kiss just behind her ear, which made her shudder. “Do you think you would have agreed to all of this if I didn’t have substantial appendage area?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not the size, my lord, it’s the skill.”

“And I have both,” he replied smugly.

She gave him a challenging look. “Let’s make certain that is true,” she said, but even before she’d finished speaking, he had gotten up from his chair, slinging her over his shoulder and striding out the door with her hanging halfway down his back.

“Murdoch!” she said, laughing.

He slapped her arse, then kept his hand there. “No argument. You asked a Scot to prove something, and we are a proud people, my lady. I will not have my country’s honor besmirched.”

“Your country’s hon— I was talking about your—”

But she couldn’t finish the sentence, since several household members had emerged to see what the ruckus was about.

“It’s nothing,” she assured them. “Just a small marital spat.”

“Nothing small about it,” he growled, which made her laugh even harder.

He reached her bedroom—now their bedroom—and flung the door open, walking in and plopping her on the bed. He was about to join her when something caught his eye.

“What is it?” she asked, pushing random strands of hair away from her face.

“Well, it seems as though your cavorting mice have made themselves respectable. See?”

She hopped off the bed and went to stand beside him. Sure enough, the carnal mice were still in their salacious pose, but now the female mouse wore a bridal veil and the male mouse had a top hat, while a pair of wedding rings rested on the bedside table.

“They look just like us,” Drusilla crooned.

“Not yet they don’t,” Murdoch said. “But give me a few minutes.”

And she did.