by Sahara Kelly
“Gentlemen.”
She spoke sharply, jerking their attention from each other to her.
“I have been as polite as possible to you both. It appears that I have failed to make a very clear point. I am not interested in either of you as potential husbands. While I dislike discussing my personal affairs, it seems that only blunt honesty will suffice.” She took a breath. “I am already promised to another man.”
There was a moment of silence as her lie sank in.
“What?” Burnley blinked.
“Who?” The Vicar stared blankly at her.
“Me.”
A third man walked into the barn and this time Amelia’s jaw dropped as well.
It was Ian McPherson.
*~~*~~*
He’d had a hard time controlling his laughter as he stood outside the barn and listened to the conversation within.
Truly, Amelia was doing her best, but Ian knew the solid determination of country folk. She was out of her depth with these two. And there would doubtless be more once word of her situation got around.
When she spoke, and lied through through perfect teeth, well…it was an open door and he didn’t even think before walking through it.
“Amelia, m’dearlin’ lass.” He strode to her side and took her into his arms, tossing the flowers aside. “I could’n’a live wi’ out ye. I had to come and taste yer lips again. ‘T’will ne’er be enough until ye’re mine at last.”
Those lips opened and closed as the stunned woman fought to collect her wits. Ian refused to give her the chance.
He bent her backwards, ran his hand up her neck to cradle her head, and kissed the merry hell out of her.
He felt her indrawn breath as their lips met, and her initial resistance as his tongue fought to slide within.
Then he pulled her tighter, closer, and suddenly she loosened, her arms creeping over his shoulders, her spine arching, her mouth opening for him. What had begun as a spur of the moment action, turned into something else within seconds of that first touch.
She was fire and heat in his arms, exploding with an undeniable passion that rocked him to his toes. Her tongue met his, dueled with it and vanquished it, sucking it deep and then darting over his teeth to learn his taste and tease him with her own.
She moaned, a tiny sound deep in her throat, and he crushed her against him, her breasts pressing hot into his shirt and her nipples hard nubs that aroused him as they tightened. Her fingers clawed at his jacket as she ate at his mouth and time passed unnoticed as they fell into their own passionate universe.
Until a loud clearing of someone’s throat drew them apart.
Ian kept his arm around her waist, however, refusing to let her step aside, even when he felt her try to distance herself. He smiled down at her confused expression. “How are ye, love?”
“Miss DeVere.” The Vicar was trying to look outraged. “You should have mentioned this…this…Scot.”
She turned in Ian’s arm to face the other men. “Really? Why?“ The DeVere eyebrow rose, taking the bluster out of the Vicar’s sails and leaving him floundering.
There’s my lass.
Ian grinned to himself. Then wondered where the hell that thought had come from. Of course he was hard as steel beneath his britches, but that was just the urge to fuck this woman until her throat was raw from screaming his name. It didn’t make her his lass, for God’s sake.
“Well had we known, I daresay we’d not have made the respectable offers of marriage that we did. Certainly neither of us has any desire to play in another man’s field. So to speak.” Burnley’s comment was clear, and designed to cover his ample backside.
The fact that Ian was a good half a foot taller than either man, not to mention quite well-muscled, was very apparent as he looked down at them, trying to contain his distaste.
“I think ma dearlin’ and I can o’erlook this wee error, gentlemen. But ye canna come back agin’ until ye’re of a mind ta talk business, not marriage. Ye ken?”
“Of course.”
“Indeed, sir. Good day to you both.”
Two embarrassed and blushing men sidled out of the barn, leaving Ian standing with his arm comfortably around Amelia’s slim waist. She was warm, the perfect height for him and he felt at ease standing in the autumn sun right where he was.
“Thank you.” She turned a little and glanced up at him.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “Always happy to help a lady in distress.”
“I could have handled them, you know.”
“Of that I have no doubt. But I simply couldn’t restrain the urge to play the brave knight. It doesn’t come along too often.”
“The Scottish accent didn’t hurt.” He could see a smile lighting her eyes. “In fact I’d say it was quite inspired.”
“I have my moments.”
Her gaze swept his face, and down over the rest of him. “Yes, you do. You do indeed.”
Then she seized him and dragged his head down to hers.
This time it was Amelia who kissed the hell out of him.
*~~*~~*
She knew exactly what she was doing.
He tasted of sunshine and warm male and the minute he’d taken her in his arms she knew. This was a man who wouldn’t want the society woman, the incomparable or the daughter of Lord DeVere.
He would need a real woman and wouldn’t hesitate to take what he wanted.
She’d known, the second his lips met hers, that here was someone dangerous, thrilling, and powerful. Not in a bad way, but in the same way that a fine horse was dangerous. You had to know how to handle it, and if you did? You were in for the ride of your life.
She seized him, desperate to feel that fire again, hungry for the touch of another human being and still shivering inside from the memory of their first kiss.
It was all there. Still. The heat arcing between them like summer lightning, silent but brilliant. He was willing, no doubt about that. He claimed her again, but this time without an audience.
She found herself with her back against the barn wall and her hands captured high above her head, while he ravaged her mouth with her willing cooperation.
She craved this, had been desperate for this and, as she writhed against his imprisoning hold, the reason dawned on her.
This was new. This sensation, this wanting to crawl inside a man, to be naked against him and rub herself all over him—this was different. He took her breath and gave it back on a groan of desire. He thrust his hard cock against her gown, burying it in the softness between her thighs. He was the right height, the right taste, the right everything.
And oh God, she wanted him on top of her, inside her, right this second.
But he held her fast, struggle though she might. He held her wrists firmly against the rough wood wall, refusing to let them loose as if he knew that free, she would tear his clothes away and have him right there on the hay.
It was what she desired, what she moaned for. He tore his lips from hers and nipped his way down her neck, fighting her gown and then placing his open mouth over her breast. She arched, pushing it toward him, inviting him to take it—take her.
His teeth gently gnawed at the wool of her bodice and she sobbed aloud at the magnificent stabs of erotic sensation he created. Darts of heat shot down through her body to her pussy and her juices dampened her thighs as he continued his merciless, wonderful torture of her body.
“Ian…” she found her voice. “Ian…”
“I know, lass…” He was hoarse as he returned to her mouth for more.
She moved to the side, biting at him. “Fuck me, Ian. Dear God I want you so desperately…”
He pressed hard then, his cock all but nailing her to the wall behind her. “And you think I don’t?”
She stilled. “Then do it. Now. Have me.”
He stilled too. “No.”
Her scream of frustration shocked the pigeons in the rafters into a massive flight of panic and several feathers rained down on
the couple beneath.
She fought for composure. “Very well, sir. Forgive me for losing my head here. It has been sometime since a gentlemen kissed me, let alone as well and as thoroughly as yourself.”
“Stop it.” Ian hissed the words. “Just stop it.”
Amelia risked a glance at his face and saw fire burning behind the blue. “What?”
“I want you, woman. In every way known to God and then some. I want you badly and I have no idea why. I’m not even sure I like you, and you haven’t seduced me at all, beautiful though you are. No,” he shook his head. “It’s something else. Damned if I know what, but it’s there. Between us. Some kind of fire that will probably burn itself out. An itch maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that yes, we’re going to scratch our itches and see if the fire really burns hot. You can take that as gospel. But here’s something else worth remembering.”
He let her go then and she rubbed her wrists where he’d held her.
“I won’t take you on the floor of a filthy barn. Because when I do take you, it’s going to be all night. Probably even longer. And you’ll be sore and tired when I’m done with you. So it’ll be a big bed, the bigger the better. Not here, not in the hay. Do you understand?”
She stared at him, trying to absorb all that he had just said without exploding into a sodden lump of lust.
“Nod if you understand, Amelia.”
She nodded.
Chapter Six
The tea cups clinked politely as Miss DeVere shared tea with Mr. McPherson.
Knowing he’d rattled her, he hid a grin, and behaved just as he would in any situation such as this.
She listened attentively to his recital of the information he’d dug up on her ruby, and he knew by the slight narrowing of her eyes that she was indeed interested.
“So there was a deep dark Ware secret.” She tilted her head to one side in thought. “I am not surprised. That family knew how to keep its own counsel. A more tight-lipped group of—“ she paused, “—well, let’s just say they weren’t given to casual conversations of anything personal in nature. Even within their own walls.”
“This story also reminds me to ask if you’ve ever run into anyone with a connection to India? Either from that long-ago Princess’s family, or a connection to her, perhaps?” Ian pulled out his notebook.
She considered his question, then shook her head. “Truly I cannot recall anyone who immediately struck me as being from that part of the world, although I think I once heard someone mention that my necklace might have come from there.” She replaced her cup on the small table next to her. “There were several officers who had served there during the Gurkha war—those who were awarded various distinctions were much sought-after dancing partners after they returned home. I did dance with some of them but I don’t believe any of them were Indian themselves.”
“Any conversations that might have been out of the ordinary?”
“Not that I can recall. Just the usual sort of thing. Lovely affair, good food, shall we fuck later…you know. Normal conversation at a ball.”
“Ah.” Ian kept his face bland. She was engaging in a little punishment, he knew. It merely showed him how much he’d shaken her equanimity. He was, in fact, quite pleased.
“I know this is hard to answer, but can you remember if you were wearing the ruby at any time during this period? It’s a recognizable piece of jewelry to those who would have either heard about it or seen it at any time.”
“Hmm.” She gave that some thought. “I know I had the ruby. My husband presented it to me on our honeymoon.”
He watched a shadow flicker behind her beautiful eyes. “But as to which events I wore it to…and whether there were any Gurkha veterans there? I am sorry. I cannot answer that.”
He waved it away. “No matter. ‘T’was merely a passing thought.”
“Well I appreciate your sharing all this information. It’s really quite interesting knowing the detailed history of a ruby. I had no idea it was anything but a lovely piece.”
The light was fading, replaced by clouds and the threat of rain. Ian watched the sky darken. “Are you happy here, Amelia?”
She snorted. “You can actually ask me that?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Strangely enough I can. This is something new for you. A challenge. One far greater than picking another favorite out of the herd and bedding him.”
She shot him a glance. “Astute observation. And yes, London was getting to be much the same. But this…” She waved her hand around. “This is beyond a challenge. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
As if in response to her words, there was a dull thud from another part of the house.
“What was that?” Ian raised an eyebrow.
“Probably more of the roof. It is shedding tiles faster than a dog sheds fleas. That was my original reason for seeking out Mr. Burnley…to get a new roof.”
Ian stood and walked to the window. “Is it worth it?”
“I have few options. There is funding to repair and upkeep this disaster, I’m told. But not enough for me to move elsewhere.”
“Sell it.”
She considered that. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Why not? Are you the legal owner?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Well think about it. Because whatever kind of allowance is to hand, it’ll soon be sucked up by trying to repair this place.”
She sighed and rose. “I hate to admit it, but you are correct. Even though I have no idea what I would do if I could sell. I should review the papers that Rigsby had me sign. That might help me see where I stand in regard to disposing of the property.”
She joined him at the window, watching the shadows fade as dusk crept up.
“How do you know so much?”
Her question caught him by surprise. “I think I must have one of those brains. It loves learning new things. And seldom forgets.”
“Handy.” She approved.
“Indeed.” He sighed. “I must go.”
“Must you?” Her question was a breath of promise at his side.
“Yes. I must.” He looked at her. “I have a room in Natherbury for the night. But come into the village tomorrow, meet me at…say, ten o’clock, and we’ll see if there’s a lawyer around who can review your deeds of ownership.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” She held out her hand, watching as it disappeared into his. “I’m a terrible woman, Ian McPherson. Just so you know. I reel men in for breakfast and throw them back after dinner. I’ve had more of them than you’ve had mugs of ale.”
He squeezed her hand hard. “So ‘t’is said. I know who you are. And I know who I’m attracted to. I’ll let you know should any of that other stuff matter, if it ever does. Right now, I’m simply enjoying some time with the new owner of Natherbury Fell. Let’s leave it there, shall we?”
“Very well.” She tried to withdraw her hand. “Until tomorrow then.”
Obeying a foolish urge, Ian raised it to his lips and dropped a light kiss on her knuckles. “Until tomorrow. Ten o’clock in the marketplace.”
He left her standing alone in the doorway of a building that might collapse around her ears overnight. He hated to do it, but things had developed too fast for him to successfully control, and he was floundering.
He needed distance, and time, to sort out what was happening in his head. Not to mention other places. The short ride to Natherbury village was uncomfortable, and he arrived with a frown and a set of sore balls, not to mention an erection that refused to take a nap.
He predicted that this would be a familiar state of affairs from now on, until he finally managed to put his cock where he knew it belonged. Inside Amelia DeVere.
*~~*~~*
There was a storm that night.
Amelia felt it was appropriate, since her emotions roiled like the thunderheads flying over Natherbury Fell.
The wind howled and the lightning flashed, far more violently than she could
ever recall while in London. It was as if being banished from town had forced her to start seeing again, noticing things other than the newest eligible bachelor or the latest gossip in the Society pages of the Times.
She was discovering that there was a certain amount of pride to be gleaned from accomplishing a practical task, even one as trivial as cataloging the Natherbury china. What there was of it.
The lists and documents on her desk were efficient and accurate. That, in and of itself, was quite something for a woman whose writings hitherto had been thank you notes or invitations to tea.
As she completed her evening’s toilette and dismissed her maid, she stood for a moment or two looking out at the almost bare forests, seeing the leaves flying in the flashes of brilliance that darted down from the skies.
It was turbulent, not unlike her thoughts.
So much was new, troubling, exhausting and—exciting. That last word could only apply to the Scot in her life, one Ian McPherson, who had shaken her to the soles of her boots with the first touch of his lips.
She shook her head and drew the curtains against the constant lightning. There was no way that she would let her attraction for a man dominate her dreams. Instead she would ponder the problem of the roof, think about hiring another servant, and decide when to go and see the estate manager—something she had yet to do.
So many things, important things, upon which her future depended so heavily.
And yet, even knowing all that, she simply could not banish a tall red-haired Scot from her mind.
Sliding beneath cold sheets, she shivered. Partially at the brush of chilly linens against her warm legs, but more at the thought of her body against Ian’s heat.
Just that wisp of a notion was enough to turn her insides liquid. He would be hot and strong and hard for her, she guessed. Would he touch her gently, or would he take what he wanted, fast and savage, making her lust for him as he rode her?
She ached, deep inside, empty and craving the intimacy that would complete her.
It was strange, this yearning creeping over her body. In the past, she’d had an urge and fulfilled it. The whys, whos and wherefores hadn’t really mattered much. Yes, she had been indiscreet and indiscriminate, she knew. But each liaison, each new man, had given her those few moments of joy. The ones where she was wanted and needed and desired. The ones where she felt alive. Where she felt that she mattered.