Page 33 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Chapter 14

Dear Ruth,

I have so much to tell you I hardly know where to begin, but I expect you’ve heard what has happened since you left us. I feel wretched for not having written to you sooner and hope you will forgive me. I have been a poor friend to you when you were so very good to me when I needed you. My life has gone from misery to such happiness, and despite being reminded what loss feels like, I know I am very blessed. I have a wonderful husband, a family who have welcomed me with open arms, and friends who mean the world to me.

I miss you, Ruth, and I think of you often. Please, my dear friend, let me be your friend as you were mine. If there is anything I can do to help you, you need only name it. Believe me when I tell you, if you wish me to come and cut out your husband’s black heart with a spoon, I should be only too pleased to do so.

Just say the word.

― Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Bonnie Cadogan to Mrs Ruth Anderson.

6th December 1814. Wildsyde Castle, Scotland.

Ruth stared at herself in the full-length looking glass and worried at her lower lip with her teeth. After Gordy’s reaction to the white nightgown, which she realised was a positive one, she had lost no time in ordering more, in a variety of colours. They’d arrived that morning, and this was the first chance she’d had to try them on. This one was black, and she was not quite certain if it became her or not. Her skin seemed very pale against it, but it did cling to her curves in a pleasing manner, so perhaps that didn’t matter.

She had no time to consider changing it for the soft pink one, as there was a terse knock on the connecting door and Gordy strode in. He was barefoot, clad in only a shirt that fell to mid-thigh and Ruth tried hard not to let herself fixate on his bare legs. Like last time, he froze just inside the door and stared at her.

She put up her chin, feeling strangely defiant.

“It’s just like the other one, only black,” she said, stating the obvious.

“So I see,” he murmured, his gaze travelling over her and leaving a wash of heat behind.

“Do you prefer I take it off?”

His eyes returned to meet hers for a moment, and then he shook his head.

Ruth waited, wondering what came next, but he didn’t move and she felt increasingly nervous under his scrutiny. “Well?” she said, exasperated. “What do you want me to do? Should I get on the bed?”

He seemed to consider this, then shook his head again. Ruth huffed out a breath but at least he moved this time, taking the chair from her dressing table and setting it down in the middle of the room. She watched as he walked around it and sat down, dreadfully aware of him, of the way the room shrank the moment he entered it. At least the chair was a sturdy one. She’d banished anything that looked like it might not take his weight into the guest bedrooms.

“Come here.”

Her heart thudded erratically, but she forced herself to remain calm—outwardly—and moved towards him. As she drew closer, he took her hand and tugged.

“Sit down.”

She did, perching on his knees as he shook his head at her. “Nae, lass.”

Casting him a frustrated glance she stood again and allowed him to turn her to face him. “Now sit down,” he said, something devilish burning in his whisky coloured eyes.

Ruth frowned for a moment, and then realised what he wanted. The flush rose the length of her throat, astonishing when she already felt her skin was aflame. Perhaps she’d combust and rid him of her aggravating presence. Desire overrode any modesty, though, and she hitched up her skirts and sat astride his thighs. The corner of his mouth kicked up, just a little. If she’d not been so near him she would not have noticed.

“Closer.”

The word was breathed rather than spoken, a rumble through his body that made her shiver. She wriggled forward another inch, but he shook his head.

“More.”

This time she looked him in the eye, gripped his shoulders and pressed against him, finding his arousal, hot and hard through the linen of his shirt. He made a sound low in his throat and Ruth shivered again. He reached for her, cupping her breasts, caressing and moulding them through the fine fabric of the nightgown before lowering his mouth and sucking, biting her nipple gently and teasing with his tongue. Ruth whimpered, clutching harder at his shoulders. He drew back and blew a cool stream of air over the material where his mouth had made it damp and left it clinging to her breast. Goosebumps chased over her skin. There was a satisfied glint in his eyes and Ruth suppressed a smile, gratified by the pleasure he found in pleasing her. To reward him, she tugged at the ribbon tie at the neckline of the nightgown, loosening it so it fell from her shoulders. She wriggled her arms free as the material gathered at her waist.

“Do that again,” she said, reaching up and tugging at his hair.

“Ye are very imperious, wife,” he observed, though she thought he seemed pleased by her demand.

Ruth buried her face against his hair as he ducked his head, to hide her smile. She loved the deep timbre of his voice, and the roll of the ‘r’ in very drawn out. She loved too, the slight quirk of his lips as he failed to suppress his amusement, as if he ought not be caught out enjoying her company. There lay the danger, she knew. She loved him far too much for her own sanity. Her boldness delighted him, though, of that she was certain.

“You’re here to fulfil your own plans. I don’t see why you can’t please me while you’re about it.”