First Kiss

W illow spent the following week getting to know the servants and familiarizing herself with the London townhouse. The home presented a far less daunting challenge than the Abbey. Her father's health improved, though the doctor insisted he still spend most of the day in bed. He talked about escorting her to social events as soon as he was well and praised her competent efforts to take over the running of the household. Her confidence grew—she could be a capable chatelaine.

Eventually, her brothers arrived, the carriage groaning under the weight of ridiculous amounts of baggage. They harassed the elderly footmen laboring under the weight of the chests as they struggled to tote them up the stairs. Their arrogant demands immediately alienated the long-serving butler and housekeeper. Rapp and Mrs. Royale could do nothing to please the Three Trees. The bed linens weren't to their liking, nor the draperies, nor a thousand other trivial things.

Offended for the servants who'd done their best to accommodate her and her ailing father, Willow gathered her courage and refused to allow the absurd changes they demanded. "You are guests in this house and will govern yourselves accordingly," she hissed, slamming the door behind her as she left them alone in Rowan's bedchamber.

They were probably shocked and outraged by her outburst but she was proud of herself. It was past time she stood up to their bullying. She was mistress of this house and they'd better get used to the idea.

She was reasonably certain her father would support her position. As for Niven King, she'd seen little of him since their arrival. If she'd been any busier, she wouldn't have given a thought to the Scot. Politely claiming he'd already dined, he declined her invitation and reported to her father as soon as he came home every evening. Brief and stilted though they were, those encounters in the foyer brought light to her life. The wanting lingered in his eyes when he met her gaze. She didn't envy him the looming task of working with her demanding brothers. In future, he'd probably spend even less time at the townhouse.

The prospect left her feeling empty.

Satisfied the plan to provide ships to the war effort was taking shape, Niven stepped down from the hansom and sauntered into the house. Working well past the dinner hour was exhausting but afforded the opportunity to avoid Lady Willow's company.

Though he spent little time at the townhouse, the place felt different since Lady Willow's arrival. Now, it was comfortable, lived in, well-managed. She had quickly put her stamp on the rambling house and the servants respected her for it.

Brief as they were, the moments they spent together in the foyer every evening kept him going. He was also encouraged by the duke's improved health.

Tonight, he planned to have a discussion about the role the ducal sons might play, if they ever arrived. When Lady Willow emerged from the drawing room, the dismay on her face told him he had left it too late.

"I assume yer brothers are already here," he said.

"And they've managed to cause an uproar among the servants," she replied with a wry smile. "They even made much of your absence from the dinner table."

"I suppose they expected me to be here to kiss their noble arses."

He immediately regretted the crude remark. His body had responded as it always did in the presence of this lass. Obviously, sexual frustration and the looming prospect of toadying to the lordlings had combined to control his tongue. He was carefully formulating his apology when Lady Willow burst out laughing.

Her hearty laughter relieved his fear he'd offended her, but he became preoccupied with wondering if the lovely blush had spread to the beauteous heaving globes as she struggled for breath.

"You know my pompous brothers well," she finally managed. "I call them the Three Trees because they're so wooden."

Now was his turn to laugh. Next thing he knew, she was in his arms and he was kissing her. His heart and loins rejoiced when she melted into him and returned the kiss.

Enthralled by the scent of Niven's skin, the softness of his day-old beard and the taste of his kiss, Willow opened her mouth to his probing tongue. He groaned and tightened his grip on her when she sucked him deeper. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this, but being in Niven's strong arms felt so right. She wanted it, wanted him.

His tongue coaxed hers into his mouth. Every nerve in her body responded to his suckling. Her breasts ached for his touch. Her most intimate place throbbed with need. Purring, she melted into him and let him breathe for her.

She barely heard the loud slam of a door on a landing far above them, but hurried footsteps registered. Niven apparently heard them too and abruptly set her away.

She hoped what she saw in his green eyes wasn't regret, but Rowan's imperious voice necessitated they stand far apart.

"Is that the King boy?" her brother demanded.

Jaw clenched, Niven bristled.

"Pay no mind," Willow whispered. "Some day he'll grow up and learn to act like a future duke."

"I dinna ken if I ha'e the patience," he replied.

A wisp of his long, golden hair had come loose from his queue. She tucked it behind his ear. "I don't regret what happened," she whispered.

"Nor do I," he replied. "But…"

"Hurry up, man," Rowan shouted. "My father is impatient to speak to you."

"I doubt that, but we'll talk later," she promised. "Go now."

Her heart still beating frantically, she watched his long legs easily take the stairs two at a time. She could happily spend her life with this Scot, but the Three Trees would do everything they could to make sure it didn't happen.

Perhaps when they went away to war…

She banished the thought as unworthy of a loving sister.