Chapter Five

T he whisky burned going down, but Ross welcomed the feeling as he stared at the door separating his bedroom from Harmony's. Gads, how could he be so nervous? He'd enjoyed women in then past. Hell, he had even taken a virginal wife before. He blew out a deep breath, hoping to release the band of anxiousness tightening around his chest. His determination to relax failed because Harmony was like no other woman he had ever known. Another sip of the strong drink set his chest on fire, burning almost as hot as the yearning to step through that door, sweep his Scottish beauty up into his arms, and bring her to his bed.

He set the drink aside, went to the door, and stopped right before quietly knocking. Her mere presence had lightened his heart and calmed his troubled soul. He didn't wish to do anything to endanger the way she smiled, the way she talked, or the lively sparkle in her eyes.

The door opened inward before he knocked, and there she stood, her eyes flaring wide with surprise. Her lush hair tumbled down around her shoulders, making him itch to run his fingers through those sumptuous tresses. She wet her lips, then offered him a nervous smile. Her sweet hesitancy almost made him groan.

"Hello, Ross," she whispered as if she feared someone might overhear.

"Hello, Harmony," he quietly responded before offering her his hand.

She took it and allowed him to ease her into the room and close the door behind her.

He escorted her to the wingback chair beside the hearth, the one facing the bed. Even though he ached to possess her, longed to touch her, he didn't wish to behave like a rutting bull.

After settling into the chair, she stared at the bed while chewing on her bottom lip, as if worried about what was to come.

"Would you care for a drink? I have port, brandy, whisky?" He fetched his glass, went to the cabinet, then turned and offered her a sheepish smile. "I chose whisky this evening."

"Aye, a wee dram of uisge beatha would not go amiss." She dragged her attention away from the bed and frowned at him. "Ye always drank port or brandy at the inn. Why whisky now?" Her brows arched higher. "Ye canna be a virgin too. Not what with being married once before—can ye?"

The refreshing purity of her openness made him laugh. "No, my dear. I am not a virgin." He handed her the glass filled with a generous splash of Scotland's water of life. "I simply fear…" He couldn't finish. Even the words caught in his throat, choking him with dread. He feared driving her away more than he had feared anything else. What if she wasn't ready? What if the curse caused him to hurt her?

She leaned forward as if ready to hear his secret. "Ye fear what, Ross?"

He shook his head and turned away, unable to explain.

"Dinna give that foolish curse more strength than it deserves," she advised gently.

He turned back and risked easing closer, close enough to breathe her in, filling his lungs with her delicious scent. Heaven help him, he could find her if struck blind. All he needed was the fragrance of her warmth. A sultry warmth that made him swallow hard and struggle to maintain control and take his time—for her sake. "How can you be so wise, my dear?"

"I am a woman," she said with a teasing grin. "Never underestimate us."

"I do not think I shall ever risk doing that." He downed his drink and set the glass aside. The burn of the whisky was nothing compared to the inferno within him.

She sipped her whisky, set it aside, then rose from the chair. "I shall have the rest later—after."

"After?"

"Aye, after." Ever so slowly, she untied the ribbon at the throat of her chemise, pushed it off her shoulders, and let it fall into a frothy pile of linen and lace around her feet. "Please dinna think me brazen," she said with a pleading softness. "But ye are the first man who ever made me feel the need to be held ever so close."

The candlelight set her aglow, like a sculpture of a goddess come to life. She made no move to cover herself, stepping toward him with such trust and hopefulness that he nearly dropped to his knees. She wet her lips and darted a gaze down his clothed body. "I have only seen unclothed men in paintings—or once when no one else could help old Maud prepare her Gunther for burial."

With a gracelessness that almost made him ashamed, he tore off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and shucked his breeches. It was then that his lack of romance and seduction of her hit him hard enough to make him hang his head. He had done better by Lotilda on their wedding night—at least, somewhat better. The needs and wants of his heart had not been nearly so troublesome then. What the devil was wrong with him? He should pay homage to his precious Harmony, let her know how he cherished her.

He slowly shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. "I beg your forgiveness, dearest wife. You deserve so much better."

She stood there with her fingers pressed to her mouth, trying not to stare openly at the part of him that was most eager to meet her. Her focus finally lifted to his face, and she frowned. "I dinna understand. What do you mean by ‘I deserve so much better'?" Her cheeks flushed a brighter red, and she shifted her gaze aside. "Ye appear verra nicely formed to me."

"I speak of romance, my love." He closed the distance between them, trailed his fingers along her jawline, then slid them into her gloriously silky hair. "Seduction," he whispered as he leaned in and softly brushed a kiss across her barely parted lips. "You deserve to be given an experience of sheer bliss, my lady."

As she worked her mouth to accept his kisses, she ran her hands up his bare chest and wrapped her arms around him. "But this is quite nice, husband. Quite nice, indeed."

"It is, at that," he said as he pulled her closer, tightening his embrace until her softness molded against his hardness. "I swear to do my very best to make it even better—even though this is your first time."

She smiled up at him. "I know ye will, love. I trust ye."

Love and trust. Heaven help him. She had used those words, even after all his clumsy ways and finding out about the curse. This woman was amazing, and he would do his damnedest to make her happy all the rest of her days. The genuine certainty in her eyes spurred him onward. He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

She slid her hands up his arms and pulled him to her as he placed her among the pillows.

"Make me your wife," she whispered, "in more than name only, aye?"

"Aye, my love," he said. "Tonight, we become one."

*

A loud purring echoed through the cozy darkness of the bedroom dimly lit by the lone candle on the mantel.

"I cannot believe that damn cat dared to show up in here now." Ross shifted beneath her and lifted his head. "Leopold! Back to the attic. Now is not the time."

Harmony couldn't help but giggle as she hugged her arm tighter around her husband's chest and her bare leg around his middle. Her husband . In more than name only. At last, she was a wife, and God willing, someday she would be a mother. She patted his chest. "Live moggies do as they please. I canna imagine the ghostie ones being any different. At least neither Miss Nettie nor Mr. Edgar showed up to join us."

On second thought, perhaps she best look around and give the room a once-over with her senses just to be sure. She pushed up and scanned the darkness, spotting Leopold washing himself in the wingback chair beside the hearth. Other than the ghostly cat, they were quite alone.

She pecked a kiss on Ross's shoulder before nestling her head back into the dip of his arm that perfectly cradled her. "It is just us here, husband. Maybe wee Leopold has taken a liking to me."

His arm tightened around her. "Watch for him on the stairs or anywhere else where he might make you fall. I do not want you harmed."

The concern in his tone stoked the fires he had kindled in her heart. A deep, contented sigh escaped her.

"Are you all right, dear one?" He kissed the top of her head and touched her cheek. "I fear I hurt you and cannot help but feel selfish for returning to you a second time so soon after the first." He grazed his thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip. "I will never get enough of you, Harmony. You possess me fully."

She lifted her head and nibbled a kiss along his jaw, the dark stubble tickling with its scratchiness. "'Twas naught but a wee sting when we joined the first time, and ye gave me such great pleasure—" The memory made her hitch in a deep breath and try to ignore the renewed longing to enjoy him yet again. "My only regret is that I must return to my own cold bed too soon."

"Stay with me," he said, his voice deep with a huskiness that thrilled her. "Let this be our bed from this night forward. We have no need for two—as long as you are willing to go to sleep in my arms each night and awaken in them each morning."

"I would like that," she whispered, and brazenly pulled herself on top of him. "Do ye think me terrible?" she whispered while leaning forward for a deeper kiss.

He stroked her back and cupped her bum in his hands, groaning as she returned him deep where he belonged. "I think you are terribly wonderful, my love. Terribly wonderful, indeed."

*

"More tea, my dear?" Nettie held the cracked teapot over a dusty cup, waiting to pour what they both knew had ceased to be within their grasp of enjoyment many years ago.

"No, thank you, dear. You know it only makes me miss the teas we once knew." Edgar hovered over to the attic window at the rear of the house, the one overlooking the gardens. "He is happy, Nettie. Our Ross, our duke, is finally happy." He nodded at the scene below. "I cannot recall him ever smiling so much, and Lady Harmony appears pleased as well."

Nettie joined him at the window. "We have kept our word, then. To all the Ramthwaites before him."

Edgar turned and studied her. "Why so sad, my dear? You said you were weary and ready to move on. We can finally rest now. Did you see the fine monument our Ross placed where the old well once was? It marks our burial site with a heartwarming inscription beneath our names and the date we died."

"Who will protect our duke and his duchess once we are gone? Who will see to the continuation of their happiness?"

"That is not our duty, Nettie, and you know it. We stayed behind to fulfill that which we promised—and bungled it more often than not, I might add. The duke and duchess will take care of each other and tend to their own happiness now—as is right and proper."

"But I want to see the babies." Nettie shimmered with a heavy sigh that made her hovering form sink lower.

"What babies?"

"There are sure to be babies, Edgar." Nettie huffed. "Goodness gracious, they have rarely emerged from their private chamber over the past month and a half. That is why I kept sending Leopold in there to make certain nothing dire had happened to them."

"Thank goodness you sent the cat and did not check on them yourself."

"Edgar!" She scowled at him. "Even as a ghost, I have some scruples. It would be most inappropriate for me to intrude upon the privacy of newlyweds."

Edgar clasped his hands behind his back and floated back and forth across the length and width of the attic while slowly shaking his head. "We should move on, Nettie. It is only proper. We have fulfilled our purpose."

She clutched her hands to what had once been her voluptuous bosom and adopted a pouty frown. "May we please just stay long enough to see the first baby? Please?"

Edgar blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Only if His Grace permits us to do so. And Her Grace as well. It is most unseemly for us to overstay our welcome."