by Karen Ranney
It took her much longer to be undressed than it did him. Removing his clothing was so much easier that it was as if nature realized he should truly not be covered. Instead, the world should look its fill on Connor McCraight, naked.
She knelt before him, not caring that she was naked, too.
“You’ve taken off your boots again,” she said with a smile.
He didn’t smile in return. Instead, he reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb resting on the corner of her mouth.
He finally smiled, a gentle expression that was matched in his eyes. She couldn’t help but smile as well, especially as he withdrew her hairpins, one by one.
From the beginning, he’d worshipped her with his words and his admiration. He’d called her beautiful in such a way that she couldn’t help but believe that’s what he thought. Now, with the sun creating bars of light on the floor, she felt even more cherished.
He didn’t speak, and the silence in the room became oddly reverential. Here in the library, in this place of learning and wisdom, she was being educated as well.
There was such a thing as wonderment. She could feel her heart open, expanding to reach out and enfold him. She was almost brought to tears at the gentleness of his fingertip as it trailed along her jaw. He pushed her hair back, his hand trailing down her throat.
“Elsbeth.”
Just that. Just her name and no more. He didn’t offer her blandishments or compliments. Nor did he ask her if she was sure she wanted this to happen. Couldn’t he tell by the speed with which she had removed her clothes?
He was so beautiful, if the word could be used to describe a man. Magnificent, perhaps, was a better term. He would have two scars on his right shoulder now. One was a badge of courage. The other a mark of someone’s cowardice.
He was the one who should protect himself. He was not a man who shielded himself from danger. Instead, Connor headed directly for it.
Who would care for him on the long voyage back to Texas? Who would ensure that he was safe? If someone truly wished him dead, then the location didn’t matter. They could easily waylay him somewhere.
How was she going to endure losing him? How was she possibly going to live through the coming days in her new home? Especially after he’d left for Texas?
This moment, then, must suffice for all those coming nights of loneliness. She must measure and record and keep safe these memories to extract at a later time.
She would always recall reaching out and placing her hand on his left shoulder, then allowing her fingers to dance down to his chest where she placed her palm against the soft hair, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. She rose up on her knees and placed her arms around his neck.
“I’d like a kiss, please,” she said.
“How very proper you sound.”
“I was reared to be proper.”
He grinned at her. “You’re naked.”
She grinned back at him. “So are you. That makes us both improper.”
“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be improper with, Elsbeth Carew.”
He would, though. In the future he’d marry. He’d find a proper Texan woman to take back to his ranch. Would he ever think of the Scottish lass he introduced to lovemaking?
“What is it, Elsbeth? You look like you’re going to cry.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. She was not going to ruin the time she had with him by allowing the future to intrude. No, she was going to concentrate on now, these moments, and nothing else.
Pulling back a little, she looked into his handsome face, and the dark brown eyes that were capable of expressing so much emotion. Did he know that about himself?
She kissed him, sweetly, tenderly and then deeper, as if she wished to make him always remember this kiss on a snowy, sunny, winter day in the Highlands, in the home of his ancestors.
She lay on the carpet, extending her hand to him. He accepted her invitation and rose over her, anointing her with kisses and his touch.
The fire popped, the only sound other than her sighs.
She would never forget his hands caressing her breasts or his fingers trailing over her skin. She began to heat from within, not needing the nearby fire to feel warmed. Only Connor.
Her hands explored him as well, from his shoulders, down his arms to his chest and waist. She slid her palms over his buttocks, smiled as they clenched at her touch.
She held him between her palms, cradling his penis, marveling at how it felt. She would have liked to stroke it more, but he shook his head.
“If you continue to do that,” he said, “I won’t be able to pleasure you.”
The words startled her, then summoned a smile.
“I most definitely want you to pleasure me,” she said, wondering why she didn’t feel uncomfortable saying the words. But this was Connor.
“Then shall I begin?” he said, smiling down at her.
Plunge in, pull out, her retreating, him advancing. This was a war of the sexes. A battle for love. This time, it wasn’t uncomfortable in the least.
She threw her legs around his hips and held on. A moment later he startled her by reaching his hands under her bottom, then rearing back on his haunches.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. His grin was unapologetic and almost satyr-like.
“I want to do a great many things with you, Elsbeth. Do you mind?”
She could only shake her head slowly. How could she possibly mind?
She was sitting on him, her legs extended on either side and her heels on the carpet. It was such a strange and novel position, one she had never before considered. Evidently, Connor had a great deal more experience than she’d imagined.
The thought annoyed her, which was foolish. She had no right to be jealous of his past or even his future. He would have one, just as she would. They just wouldn’t have a future together.
Once again, she brought herself back to the moment. She knew she would never forget this afternoon with the two of them locked in the library, him gripping her bottom, gently raising her and then lowering her on him. These sensations were so different, so unique from the first time that her breath caught on a gasp.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. Words were beyond her.
He kissed her again.
She had never once considered that lovemaking might strip every thought from her. All her worries, all her cares, all her fears flew away. She was merely Elsbeth, whose lover was transporting her to heights she had never once considered.
Her lover.
That’s what Connor was, kissing her throat, gently biting at the place where her shoulder and neck met. He held her breasts, heating them with his hands and then his lips, stroking the flames of her passion even higher.
Finally, when she made a sound in the back of her throat, he kissed her, extended his arms around her, his hands pressing against her back to bring her even closer. He raised himself and lowered himself to the carpet once again, so deep inside her she couldn’t think of anything but him.
The sound that escaped her lips was a soft keen. Pleasure given voice.
Chapter 32
Elsbeth had, perhaps, spent more time in the library than in any other room at Bealadair. Yet she’d never seen it the way she did today, on her back looking up at the tin ceiling with its engraved squares.
Somewhere, perhaps down deep, so far deep that it was near her toes, she should feel shame. She was, after all, engaging in the most horrendous act. Didn’t all mothers warn their daughters about the dangers of giving themselves too easily?
If so, Connor needed to come with a warning label: Here is a Texas man of strong emotions and thoughts. He will overwhelm you with one look and cause you to throw away all the rules you learned about proper behavior without a thought. Be near him at your own peril.
Yes, definitely, Connor should come with his own warning.
That’s not to say that she would have been more cautious. She had
a feeling that she would’ve been foolish around him no matter the circumstances.
She’d always considered herself a strong person, someone who was capable, for example, of standing up to the Duchess of Lothian. Granted, she didn’t often have the opportunity to combat the duchess directly, but there were dozens and dozens of occasions when she had nodded in agreement at what Rhona had said, turned to leave, and decided to follow her own course.
Her strengths around the duchess, however, were not replicated around the new Duke of Lothian. She had—as had been amply demonstrated—absolutely no resolve around Connor. All he had to do was smile ever so slightly or even crook his little finger, and she was his to do with whatever he desired.
She turned her head slightly when he propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. See? All he had to do was look at her in that way, and she would’ve done anything he wanted.
“I’ve always thought you beautiful,” he said, the words wedging their way into her heart. “But never more so than now.”
She was filled with such lassitude that her hand seemed to weigh more than it should when she raised it and placed it on his shoulder. His chest was so magnificent, but so were his arms. Every part of him was muscled and tanned.
“Do you strip naked to work in Texas?” she asked.
“Just my shirt,” he said. His right hand reached out and cupped her breast.
No, they couldn’t start this again. She had a great many duties to perform. She would leave his hand where it was for the moment, but only a moment.
“You’re not tanned anywhere,” he said, smiling.
Since she was completely naked, he could certainly tell.
“A lady is supposed to avoid the sunlight,” she said.
“Is that the proper thing to do?”
He tilted his head just so, as if he were considering her words.
“Indeed it is,” she said.
“Your face isn’t all that pale. I’ve seen you go out without a hat.”
“One of my many flaws and failings,” she said. “I’d rather not wear one. Perhaps, if I ever visit your Texas, I will become as tanned as you.”
“Now that’s a thought. We have a great many hills in the southern part of the ranch. There is this one that has a flat top on it. It would be the perfect spot to do what we’re doing now.”
His thumb was strumming across the top of her nipple. She decided that it would be wiser to remove his hand. Otherwise, she would never be about her duties.
He seemed to know the battle she was waging with herself, because when she removed his hand he just returned it to her breast.
“I really have to get up now,” she said, sitting up. Where had her modesty gone? It was hiding somewhere, and in its place a curious sort of pride, especially when Connor was looking at her in that way.
She wanted to freeze the moment and keep it exactly as it was, the better to recall it years from now after he had returned to Texas and she had gone on to live somewhere else.
“What do you have to do that is so important?” he asked, his hand stroking down her spine. He really did have to stop doing that.
“I’ve decided to offer the position of companion to one of the maids. That way, I’ll have someone living in my house with me. It won’t be so lonely. Of course, I have every intention of getting one of Daniel’s puppies.”
Suddenly, he stood, reaching down with his hand to help her stand.
For a moment, she stayed where she was, her gaze fixed on him, tall, commanding, and naked. What woman wouldn’t look her fill?
“I suspect I’m not the only person to tell you that you have to be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
Surprised, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up.
“Stubborn?”
“There’s no reason you should be in such a hurry to move away from Bealadair.”
“On the contrary,” she said, beginning to reach for her clothing. “It’s going to happen eventually. Avoiding it won’t make it easier. It’s better if you just face a situation, once and for all, as quickly as possible. That way, it’s done and over.”
How odd that she felt more awkward about getting dressed in front of him than she had remaining naked.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was frowning at her now, and that, by her comment, she had evidently made him angry. Why, though? Did he want her to wait until the very last moment, until the new owners came riding up to the broad wrought iron gates?
Could it be that he was reassessing his earlier decision?
“Are you changing your mind?” she asked. “It would be so much better for everyone if you were. I wouldn’t have to worry about the children’s school or the crofters and who will look after them. Not to mention a dozen other details.”
“I’m not staying here, Elsbeth. I’m not remaining in Scotland. Regardless of what’s happened between us, I’m not going to become a Scot.”
She stared at him, her dress held up in front of her as if to cloak her—finally—in some modesty.
“You are a Scot, Connor. You may wish to renounce it, but by heritage, you are one. Legally, you are the Duke of Lothian. That’s about as Scottish as you can get. It doesn’t matter where you were born. Or where you’ve lived most of your life. You are a Scot. Wanting to be anything else or anywhere else doesn’t negate that fact.”
She sincerely hoped there was no such thing as ghosts—as Connor maintained—otherwise, the ghost of Gavin McCraight was no doubt standing in the corner with his nose to the wall, praying that she would hurry up and get dressed.
She turned her back on Connor and donned her clothing in record speed. No doubt she looked a little less neat than she normally did, but that couldn’t be helped. Her hair was most definitely in need of attention. She was going to escape to her room, set herself to rights, and then be about her duties. Between the journey from Inverness and the accident—if that was the right word to call it—the afternoon was nearly half-gone.
She really did have myriad things to accomplish before the ball was held. The ball to welcome the laird, the same man who wanted to renounce everything Scottish.
Finally, she turned to face Connor, unsurprised that he had dressed as quickly as she. He had that stubborn look on his face, the same one she’d seen a few times before. He was not going to speak. Words would have to be pried from between his lips. He was going to level that gaze on her until she squirmed and said the first thing that came to mind.
She might have, if she hadn’t been annoyed as well. She had not made love to him in order to get him to change his mind about selling Bealadair. How dare he think such a thing.
How odd to have engaged in such delicious lovemaking, only to be so irritated at the man now. She wasn’t going to talk if he wasn’t going to.
She was still annoyed when she opened the library door and closed it with a great deal of force behind her. She was so intent on her thoughts about Connor that she didn’t notice that there were other people in the corridor.
The one person she didn’t want to see was standing a few feet away. Startled, she froze in place, her hand going to the base of her throat, her gaze on the duchess where she stood beside a pastoral landscape painting of Bealadair.
“You must be very careful of these frames. They are gilt. They must never be wiped, but only dusted and with the lightest of touches.”
Beside her was a young maid, the girl’s eyes wide and her lips pursed as if she were afraid to accidentally say something. Elsbeth had seen that expression more than once, especially when the duchess took one of the new girls under her wing and proceeded to give instructions on how to do her duties. As if the Duchess of Lothian had ever wielded a feather duster.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Since it was true, Elsbeth didn’t have anything to say. Not one witty or clever remark came to mind.
“Where have you been?”
“Inverness,” Elsbeth said. “T
o look for a home.”
“So Connor hasn’t changed his mind then?”
Elsbeth shook her head.
The duchess turned and said something to the young maid, who glanced at Elsbeth with a look of thanks before disappearing down the corridor.
Once they were alone, Rhona directed her attention back to Elsbeth once more.
“I was wrong to ask you to do what I did. I hope you can forgive me. I’ve been told that I can be quite autocratic at times, and that was one of those times, I’m afraid.”
Elsbeth was taken aback. She’d never considered that the duchess would apologize to her. Or even that the Duchess of Lothian could be made to consider her actions.
“The Welcoming of the Laird will be a success, thanks to you,” Rhona added. “You’ve seen to everything perfectly, as you do, of course.”
Elsbeth stared at the duchess, wishing she could ask one of the dozen questions now flying into her head. The only thing she did—the only thing she had the courage to do—was flee.
All the way up the stairs to her rooms she considered the duchess’s words. Perfectly? Rhona thought she did things perfectly?
She’d studied hard so that she could give Gavin the correct answers when he queried her. She learned everything there was to learn about Bealadair to make him proud. Had she really tried to be perfect? Perhaps she had. She’d felt that she always had to try harder. She had to know more and do more than anyone else. If for no other reason than to justify being plucked from that hospital bed and brought to Bealadair when she was eight, given a home and a borrowed family.
Had she misjudged the duchess all this time? Had she seen Rhona as a woman steeped in propriety when all she’d tried to do was give her advice and direction like Mrs. Ferguson? Elsbeth had often expressed her thanks to Gavin for his kindness in opening his home to her. Had she once said those words to Rhona?
The feeling she was getting wasn’t the least bit comfortable, like trying to wear a bodice that was suddenly too small.
Connor was certain he was losing his mind. He was acting like a person he’d never before known, someone who had evidently been hidden beneath the man he’d always thought himself to be.