“Hmm,” Dwyn murmured dubiously.
Geordie grinned at her expression. “I’m sorry, wife. Are ye feeling neglected? Shall I rub yer belly too?”
Dwyn laughed softly when he did just that, rubbing the small bump where their child grew. Her laughter turned into a soft moan though when he kissed her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth.
“Damn,” Geordie sighed a moment later when he managed to make himself break the kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, he confessed, “I’ll never get enough o’ ye.”
“That’s a good thing,” she breathed, resting against his chest.
They were silent for a minute, just holding each other while they waited for their passion to ease a bit, and then he pulled back to peer down at her and announced, “Rory and Alick are here.”
“What? Why?” Dwyn asked, and then worry knitting her brow, she asked, “Is there trouble? Do your sister or one o’ yer brothers need ye?”
“Nay,” Geordie assured her, hugging her briefly. “He’s here to check on you. He’ll be visiting us often to check on yer progress growing our child, and then staying the last month or so ere ye have him, her or them.” He pulled back again then and said seriously, “I’m no’ taking any chances with yer health, love. I’m too happy here at Innes with ye to risk losing ye on the birthing bed.”
Dwyn grinned, but asked, “Are ye? Happy here, I mean? Ye do no’ miss yer Highlands too much, do ye?”
“I’m very happy,” he assured her solemnly. “I love ye, Dwyn. I love you, I love our dogs, I love our home, I love Innes and I love having the ocean at me back door.” Cupping her face, he added seriously, “I love our life together, Dwyn Innes Buchanan, and do no’ miss the Highlands. Ye’re the best thing that ever happened to me, lass, and I canno’ even imagine me life without ye.”
Dwyn breathed out a relieved sigh, and smiled. “I love you too, husband, and canno’ imagine life without ye either.”
“And ye never will,” he assured her, bending to kiss her again. This time Geordie didn’t stop when their passion ran away with them, but lowered her to the sand.
“What about Rory and Alick?” Dwyn gasped after tearing her mouth from his.
“They can wait,” he growled, sliding one hand up under her skirts and running it up her leg, pushing her skirts before it. “I’ve a mind to—” He paused on a groan as her hand found his growing erection through his plaid.
“Come home?” she teased softly, caressing him.
“Aye, lass,” Geordie said seriously, and then told her, “Ye may laugh that I call it that, but home is where the heart is, and ye’ve had me heart almost since the first moment I met ye. You are home to me, love.”
Dwyn’s face lost its teasing expression at those words, and she pressed a hand to his cheek as she said solemnly, “Then come home, husband.”
An Excerpt from Love is Blind
Read on for a look at
LOVE IS BLIND,
a fan-favorite Lynsay Sands historical,
reissued in a beautiful new package!
Coming July 2020
Chapter 1
London, England, 1818
“‘Love is a fever . . . in my blood.’”
Clarissa Crambray winced as those words trembled in the air. Truly, this had to be the worst of the poems Lord Prudhomme had recited since arriving at her father’s town house an hour ago.
Had it been only an hour? In truth it felt more like several days had passed since the elderly man arrived. He’d entered brandishing a book, announcing with triumph that, rather than go for their usual walk, he thought perhaps today she’d enjoy his reading to her. And Clarissa would have, had he chosen to read something other than this poppycock. She also would have appreciated it more were he not acting as though he were doing her a favor.
For all his words, Clarissa was not fooled. She knew the reason for the sudden change in plans. The man was hoping to avoid calamity by restricting her to sitting decorously on the settee while he read aloud from his book of poems. It would appear that even the aged and sympathetic Prudhomme was growing tired of her continued accidents.
She couldn’t really blame him; he’d been terribly forbearing up until now. Almost a saint, to be honest. Certainly he’d shown more understanding and fortitude than her other suitors. He’d appeared to accept and forgive all the times she’d mistaken his fat little legs for a table and set her tea on them, had given a pained smile through her tendency to dance on his feet, and had even put up with her stumbling and tripping as he led her on walks through the park. Or so it had seemed. But today he’d found a way to save himself from all that. Unfortunately, his choice of reading material left much to be desired. Clarissa would rather be making a fool of herself in the park and stumbling face-first into the cake table than suffering this drivel.
“‘It gives me wings like those of a dove.’” Lord Prudhomme’s voice quavered with passion . . . or possibly just old age; Clarissa wasn’t sure which. Truly, the man was old enough to be her grandfather. Unfortunately, that didn’t matter to her stepmother, Lydia. The woman had promised to John Crambray that she’d see his daughter well married if it killed them both. Lord Prudhomme was the last of the few suitors still bothering with her. At this point, it looked like they were safe from dying. However, Clarissa was in imminent danger of finding herself married to the elderly gentleman kneeling on the floor before her and waving his arms wildly as he professed undying love.
“‘I shall vow my’ . . . er . . . ‘my’— Lady Clarissa,” Lord Prudhomme interrupted himself. “Pray, move the candle closer if you please. I am having trouble deciphering this word.”
Clarissa blinked away her ennui and squinted toward her suitor. Prudhomme was a dark blob in her vision with a round, pink blur of a face topped by a silvery cloud of hair.
“The candle, girl,” he said impatiently, all signs of the charming suitor momentarily replaced with irritation.
Clarissa squinted at the candle on the table beside her, picked it up, and leaned dutifully forward.
“Much better,” Prudhomme said with satisfaction. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. ‘I shall vow my undying . . .’” He paused again and his nose twitched. “Do you smell something burning?”
Clarissa sniffed delicately at the air. She opened her mouth to say yes, actually she did, but before the words left her mouth Prudhomme released a shriek. Pulling back with surprise at the sound, she watched in amazement as the man suddenly leaped to his feet and began to hop madly about, his blurry arms flying and appearing to thrash at his head. Clarissa didn’t understand what was happening until the white blur that was his wig was suddenly removed and beat furiously against his leg. She blinked at the pink blob that was his head, then at his actions, and realized she must have held the candle too close—she’d set his wig aflame.
“Oh, dear.” Clarissa set the candle down, not releasing it until she knew it was safely on the table surface. Her vision blurred and her sense of distance beggared, she nearly knocked the little man over as she leaped up to help him.