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He grinned at her. “I can do better than that. You’d best tell your friends to leave, or they’re going to get an eyeful.”
“Is that right?” she asked as he lowered her back into the bed.
“Oh, that’s definitely right.”
As he took her mouth in a passionate kiss, Donna opened one eye and peeked behind him. Everyone but Ron had gone. He stood grinning at her, taking it all in, until his mother appeared in a flash, hit him with a wooden spoon and dragged him off by his ear.
With their exit, Donna closed her eye again and lost herself in the kiss of the man who loved her.
Epilogue
Four months later
Fighting the urge to vomit, Donna paced their Glasgow apartment, her palm flat against her stomach. “I can’t do it,” she told her husband.
“Of course you can. You married me, so you can do anything.” He winked at her from where he was sitting at the breakfast bar, waiting for Grace to dish up their food.
If Grace hadn’t moved to the city with them, they would have died of starvation before the new school term even started.
“He’s right,” Grace said as she dished out bacon and omelettes.
“As usual,” Duncan said into his coffee mug.
“I don’t know about that, but he’s right about you being able to do this. You have talent and passion, go make something of your life.” Grace smiled encouragingly.
“I can’t. Everyone will think the only reason I got a place at the art school was that I married one of the tutors.” It was mortifying. She pointed at Duncan. “I should never have let you talk me into a quickie wedding.”
“Too late now.” He was unrepentant as he dug into his food. “And don’t think you can get out of the honeymoon either. I’ve paid for it, and as soon as the term ends, we’re flying out of here.”
“I didn’t need to get married or have a honeymoon. You’ve done all that before, and I was happy to live in sin.”
“But I wasn’t. It’s done. Suck it up.”
That was her husband—oozing compassion and tact.
“Even if everyone does think you got the place because of Duncan,” Grace said. “They’ll soon change their minds once they see your drawings.”
“That’s what I told her,” Duncan said.
“No”—Donna smacked him on the back of the head as she passed—“you said to pay no attention to what people said because you wouldn’t have married someone with no talent.”
“Same thing.” He flashed that grin that made her melt inside.
“It will be a disaster,” she said as she continued pacing. “I’m too old to be a student.”
“There will be all ages there, plenty of them older than you,” Duncan said.
“I need cake.” She stalked towards the kitchen.
Grace smacked her away with her spatula. “You’re not getting cake for breakfast. Sit down and eat your omelette.”
Her phone rang on the coffee table. She picked it up and looked at the screen. “I can’t deal with this right now.” She tossed the phone to Duncan who snatched it out of the air.
“Duncan,” he barked when he answered. “No. I won’t tell the board they’re being unreasonable about the ball. If you want to raise money for Fiona’s cancer foundation, you must abide by the decisions of the mansion trust and board. They run the mansion and the charity.” He paused and then burst out laughing. “That doesn’t work on me. You can whine on about every sick kid and broken animal in Scotland, but it won’t get you anywhere. You’re talking to the wrong Stewart.” He hung up. “Bloody Flora,” he muttered.
He reached for his own phone and dialled. “Janine?” he said to his lawyer. “Shut that crap down with the Women’s Institute. They either run a nice civilised ball that’s overseen by the board of trustees or they don’t get in at all.” He paused to listen. “Aye, I’ll tell her.”
He hung up and smiled at Donna. “Janine said good luck for your first day.”
