. If anyone looked in need of liquor’s bolstering effects, it was Bess.
Everyone trooped through the open doors. Outside, maids were collecting empty cups, and the festive atmosphere felt like Christmas started early. Even Daisy looked happy, decked out in ribbons, with her coat clipped and groomed to a shine.
Rory paused in the doorway to savor a sensation he’d never before experienced. That this was home, and these were his people, and he belonged here. His chest felt too small to contain the swelling emotion in his heart.
He’d never imagined his inheritance would change him. But it had. Irrevocably.
Since his arrival—no, in the last week—he’d sent down roots into this rich Northumbrian soil, roots that he hoped would nourish the rest of his life. A mere seven days ago, his fierce longing to step up to life as Lord Channing would have astonished him.
He had one person to thank for the transformation. The one piece missing in this picture of contentment.
Bess Farrar.
Suddenly he couldn’t bear to wait to heal the breach between them. He couldn’t bear to wait to stake his claim on her.
The maids and footmen traipsed toward the kitchens. Bess lingered behind in the great hall to soothe Sally’s stage fright. The girl looked marginally more confident as she slipped the harness for her glittering white and silver wings over her shoulders. Then had to ease sideways past Rory to fit through the door. Sally wasn’t the world’s cleverest creature, but with her masses of fine fair hair and delicate face, she appeared truly ethereal.
“You look just like an angel, Sally,” he said as she passed. “You’ll be the star of the play.”
Sally blushed bright red and lurched into a clumsy curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”
He caught her and helped her onto the steps before she dislodged the wings. Or worse, tore them. Then before Bess could escape, he stepped back inside, slammed the door shut and bolted it.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, astonishment banishing the well-mannered automaton who’d driven him to distraction. “We need to start.”
“They’ll wait,” he said, turning to face her and folding his arms implacably over his chest.
Displeasure lit her eyes. She stood in the center of the hall, exactly where he’d first seen her. He’d known then that she was the one for him.
“Well, that’s not fair. And after making such a nice speech, too.” At last, she sounded like that spirited lassie who had the nerve to lecture him about his duties.
“I hope this will only take a wee while.”
Wariness replaced annoyance in those beautiful blue eyes, and she stepped back. In her long Marian robes, she was a creature from another world. It seemed blasphemous to recall his hand curling around her bare breast. Except that his feelings for Miss Farrar had always contained a healthy dose of carnality.
“What’s…this exactly?”
He prowled toward her. “Have you really no idea?”
“No,” she said. “And if we don’t go outside now, all the gossip we’ve managed to avoid will rise up and devour us.”
He laughed softly, enjoying himself for the first time since he’d kissed her last night. “Don’t be a wee goose, Bess. They’ve gossiped about us all week.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Aye, of course I’m sure.”
“They haven’t said a word to me.” The light through the high window made her look a thousand times more angelic than Sally Potts ever could. If an angel could be confused and irritable and eminently touchable.
“Well, they wouldn’t, would they?”
“Just what have they been saying?” she asked suspiciously.
He smiled, delighted with her, delighted with himself for finding her. Who would have imagined his perfect bride was hiding in an obscure corner of Northumberland? “That you’d make me a fine countess.”
She frowned. “What nonsense.”
“And I’m inclined to agree with them.”