Tempting Taffy (House of Devon #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,51
was a glorious June day and they’d decided to picnic where they had a clear view of the glistening, blue sea. Taffy had spread her shawl out for them on the flower dotted hill, and they were munching on apples, shortbread, and goat cheese while the soft breeze wafted off the water and the glorious sun shone down on their faces.
“Taffy, look!” The boy pointed out to sea.
Amid the white, foamy caps formed on the waves was a pod of whales skimming along the surface. “They’re beautiful. I wonder how many there are.”
They watched them for the longest time, trying to count them. But as the breeze stiffened, Taffy knew it was time to return to Falkirk Manor, their sprawling home that more resembled a fortified castle. “We’ll have to tell your papa about the whales.”
Rafe nodded. “Taffy, why do other children call their mothers Mama? Can I call you that? Why must I call you Taffy?”
Her heart lurched. “Would you like to call me Mama?”
He nodded. “Do you think Papa would mind?”
She gave his hand a little squeeze. “We’ll ask him.”
They hurried into the house and Rafe tore into his father’s study, bursting in on Gavin and Gavin’s father, the Duke of Inverness. “Papa! Papa! You’ll never guess! We saw whales and we counted them. And Mama said I could call her Mama if it was all right with you.”
Taffy was right behind him, trying to contain his exuberance. It was impossible to do. But she melted at the boy’s words. He already considered her his mother. Gavin had noticed it, too. “It’s more than all right with me, lad,” he said, smiling at her as she held a hand over her heart and tried to contain her tears.
The Duke of Inverness was also smiling. “Seems none of the Carstairs men can resist ye, lass. Ye’ve captured all of our hearts.”
She blushed. “As you have all captured mine.”
The duke called to his grandson. “Come along, Rafe. I think it’s time for our hot cocoa. Let’s leave your mama and papa alone to talk.”
Rafe looked up at his grandfather with earnest blue eyes. “They’re not going to talk, Grandda. Papa’s going to kiss her. That’s what he always does.”
The old man laughed. “Well, then. Let’s leave them to their kisses.” He walked out with the boy, closing the door behind them.
Gavin rose from behind his desk and came around to take her in his arms. “I love ye, lass. I’m glad Rafe wants to call ye his mama.”
She nodded. “So am I. But I never wanted to push him into it.”
Gavin kissed her on the mouth, a deep kiss that filled her with warmth. “The lad is so in love with ye, ’tis a good thing he’s too young to be my competition or I fear I’d be kicked out into the cold.”
She laughed and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Gavin. I love you so much.”
He surprised her by lifting her into his arms. “How much do ye love me, lass? Enough to come upstairs with me?”
“In the middle of the afternoon?”
He had a deliciously wicked grin on his face as he kissed her again. “Why no’? Rafe is with his grandda. No one else is about. And I’m missing yer lovely body something desperate.”
She burrowed her head against his neck. “Yes, my love. I seem to have developed a liking for your body as well. An unquenchable thirst, it seems.”
He took her upstairs to the bedchamber they shared and shut the door behind them. He was quite adept at removing her gown by now, and it took him little time to dispense with the rest of her garments. Gown, corset, chemise, and stockings.
He removed his clothes with equal speed and skill.
“This is very wicked,” she said, unable to contain her grin. “The two of us with all our clothes shed in the middle of the afternoon.”
“Och, lass. Love is never wicked.” He caressed her cheek. “Have ye had yer fill yet of gawking at my magnificent body? I dinna think I’ll ever have my fill of yers.” She still had a scar on her shoulder from the stab wound, but he did not seem to mind it or ever look at it as though it was an ugly imperfection.
“This is nice, Gavin.” They’d been married six months and his beautifully chiseled form was still a marvel to her.
“Aye, lass. Verra nice. I still canno’ believe ye’re mine.”
“Blessed saints,” she said, repeating one of his favorite expressions. “Who else’s