“How long are we going to sit here?” Griffin asked, his voice warm as a summer breeze sweeping through her. Especially welcome considering that Yorkshire was almost as cold as the Highlands this early in spring.
Griffin glanced out the window. “The servants are likely wondering at the carriage sitting in the drive.”
“Hmmm,” Astrid murmured with a nervous tilt of her head, fingers tapping her lips anxiously as she glanced out the part in the curtain and considered the impressive home of the Earl of Moreton.
“Forever, then?” he asked at her continued silence.
Astrid shook her head vigorously, smoothing gloved hands over her muslin skirts. “Just a bit longer.”
She had taken great pains with her wardrobe this morning. Rising early, she had left Griffin asleep, naked and tangled enticingly in the bed linens at the nearby inn where they had taken lodgings.
Griffin smiled indulgently and moved across the carriage to sit beside her. He plucked her hand from her lap and ran his thumb over the back of her glove. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes. I do.” With a deep, bracing breath, she nodded and allowed him to escort her from the carriage. The front door opened before they knocked, the butler’s ready gaze telling them that their presence had long been known.
Moments later, they found themselves led into a well-appointed drawing room. Astrid glanced around, contented to see that Portia lived in such comfort.
“I will inform Lady Moreton of your presence.” Bowing, the butler left them. The moment the door clicked shut, she sagged against a chintz-covered sofa.
Griffin sank down beside her, his eyes meeting hers in concern. “You’re certain you want to do this?”
“It’s long overdue.”
“I don’t think you have anything to be sorry about.” He tapped her nose fondly. “As far as I’m concerned, you couldn’t be more perfect.”
She snorted and shook her head. “You must really love me.”
He leaned over her, lips brushing hers in several nibbling bites. “I must.”
Her fingers curled into his jacket as he deepened their kiss, their tongues mating in a feverish kiss.
The click of the drawing room doors registered dimly. Shoving at his broad shoulders, she wiggled out from beneath him and rose to greet her sister-in-law.
“Astrid,” Portia murmured, blue eyes blinking in astonishment.
Bertram’s sister had matured into every inch the elegant lady, her once waifish appearance long gone. With her jet tresses arranged elegantly atop her head and her gown of deep blue, she looked the perfect countess.
“Hello, Portia,” she murmured, resting a hand on Griffin’s arm. “This is my husband, Griffin Shaw MacFadden.”
Griffin stood tall at her side, inclining his head ever so slightly, a polite smile on his lips, but in his eyes lurked a wariness, a readiness to pounce and defend if Astrid were in any way affronted. She slid her fingers down his arm to lightly encircle his wrist, letting the simple touch stay his impulse to shield her.
“Your husband?”
Flushing, Astrid realized she had not even shared the news of Bertram’s demise. With fumbling fingers, she pulled Bertram’s signet ring from her reticule and handed it to Portia.
Portia accepted the ring, studying it.
“I’m sorry, Portia.” She fought to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat. “Your brother is dead. Buried in a churchyard in Dubhlagan, Scotland.”
A deep sigh rattled loose from Portia’s chest. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If anything, I would have thought Bertram met his end long ago. He certainly did nothing to promote a long, prosperous life.”
“No,” Astrid murmured, thinking of how Bertram had died. How he had lived. “He did not.”
Portia lifted her gaze from the ring. “And you’ve remarried.”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly. “If Bertram’s death brought nothing else, I’m glad it gave you your freedom.” She glanced once at Griffin before settling her gaze back on Astrid. “And love.”
Astrid’s face warmed. She reached for Griffin’s hand. He laced his fingers through hers in a reassuring grip.
“Thank you for bringing the news in person. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Yes. I did.”
Portia’s slight smile slipped. “Don’t tell me you’ve harbored some sense of guilt or responsibility all these years.”
“I did you a disservice—”
“No harm done.” Portia cut in with a wave of her hand. “I’m happy. I have a doting husband and two lovely children. Don’t waste another moment fretting over the past.”
Astrid blinked.
With a rueful shake of her head, Portia stepped close and embraced Astrid. Stunned, Astrid could hardly breathe, much less move within the circle of arms.
“It happened a long time ago,” Portia murmured near her ear. “I’m simply relieved to see you happy.” Pulling back, she dropped her arms and gave an encouraging wink. “Now return home. Enjoy your life.”
With a single nod, Astrid met Griffin’s devoted gaze, a great lightness sweeping through her at the love she saw reflected there, the same love she felt within her. “I already am. I already am.”