Page 104 of The Iron Earl
The sunlight blazing into her eyes, she lifted her hand, blocking the rays, and debated for a moment on going to retrieve a parasol.
But then a balmy breeze caught the wisps of her hair along her brow, calling her forward into the day. She moved forth, weaving along the granite pathway that led into the gardens at Vinehill.
Past the beds of roses closest to the conservatory, she veered to her left and started down the long formal walk lined with evergreen hedges. This part of the garden with roses and immaculately trimmed topiaries and shrubs stretched at least two furlongs from the castle to a rolling hill that swept down to a pond. Halfway down the grand walkway, an arm jutted out from a break in the tall evergreen hedge lining the path.
Yanked to the side, a laugh spurted from her lips as her husband spun her into him.
Her hands landed on his chest, splaying out along his crisp coat to his impossibly wide shoulders. “I am late to the party as it is. Now you are as well.”
“I was already down there and they can wait.” Lachlan leaned down, his lips ravaging her neck as he walked backward, dragging her farther into the alcove she hadn’t ever noticed before. “And I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity to trap you. Revenge.”
“Revenge? For what?” Her hands drifted up, threading into the back of his unusually neat hair.
His lips moved from her neck, dipping down along the swell of her breasts as he talked. “For that first time we met—when you trapped me in a much similar alcove wearing this exact same dress.” Holding her in place, he tore his hungry mouth from her skin and took a step backward so his gaze could sweep her from head to toe. The smile carving onto his face spoke volumes—pride, love, and an inordinate amount of lust. “And you are more beautiful than ever.”
Her hands sweeping along the front of her stomach, Evalyn looked down at her mother’s dress. “That woman that you found to salvage this a marvel of the highest order—it was worth the year-long wait.” She pointed to the line on the white fabric between her breasts where she had sliced the fabric long ago. “Her stitches are miniscule and she was flawless in recreating the pattern of the gold embroidery. One cannot even tell the horrors of what this dress survived. Blades. Bloody rabbits. Mud. Rivers.”
“Stew.”
She laughed.
Lachlan ran his hands down her sides, his fingers settling along her hips. “Seeing you radiant in it, this was worth the wait—and the coin.”
“You’re still not going to tell me what the cost was to fix it, are you? Do we need to sell some land?”
He grinned, shaking his head. “You never need know. Just trust me that it was worth it.” His hand lifted, his forefinger running along the mother-of-pearl comb tucked into the side of her hair in her soft upsweep. His mother’s comb. “And this, it completes it.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“The only thing more I could wish for in the moment is a bench in this alcove so I could steal you from the party long enough to do indecent things under your skirts.”
She laughed and glanced down to the front of his trousers. He was more than ready for her. He always was. She glanced around the alcove, considering it for a long moment. Evergreen hedges. Green grass. Nothing else. Her bottom lip jutted up, sorry to disappoint. “I think the dress deserves one moment in the sun before grass stains it.”
Lachlan groaned, his lips dipping back to her neck “Truly?”
“Yes.” She chuckled, pushing him backward. “And I think a torturous walk down to the party is your punishment for trying to entice me away from it.”
He straightened, clearing his throat as a lascivious smile danced on his lips. “Then it is time to join the others. But I have plans for the walk back up to the castle.” He held his arm to her.
“I will hold you to that.” She set her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked out of the alcove and onto the gravel pathway.
Twenty steps and they were strolling down the expansive lawn that led to the party in the shade by the pond.
“Took ye long enough to collect yer lass, lad.” From his seat next to the trunk of the expansive oak, Lachlan’s grandfather jutted his cane in the air at them. The thin bones of his free hand flicked out to the grass beyond the table laden with food and drink. “What would I have done had the wee one decided to crawl to the water?”
“I think you would have found your feet, Grandfather.” Lachlan strolled to his cherub-faced son crawling along in the grass and swept him up into his arms. A high-pitched squeal of joy, and little Dunkin laughed, his chubby hands slapping blades of grass onto his father’s cheeks.
Lachlan looked to his grandfather. “For this one, I imagine you would have found a way to run—to swim if necessary.”
The marquess looked to his great-grandson and his wrinkled face twisted for a moment, then a smile cracked his face. “Aye. I believe I could have run. Wings under my feet for that one.” His look snapped up to Lachlan. “But ye should not try me.”
“We trust you, Grandfather.” Evalyn looked at him from the table where she poured wine into three goblets.
“Aye, as ye should.” The marquess’s look swung to Evalyn. “Ye look quite bonny, lass. That dress brings me back to the years when my Charlotte shined.”
“As it should. It is a beautiful piece of history.” She brought the marquess one of the full goblets. “And it is a miracle it survived what it did. I would have worn it sooner, but I have only just been able to fit back into it since it was mended.”
“Well, it is a treat for these ancient eyes.” He lifted the goblet to her.