She licked her lips, but before she had more than a glimpse, he toed off his shoes and bent to peel his pantaloons down a pair of strong thighs and dispose of his stockings.
“Now you, madam,” he murmured in low sensual tones while tweaking free the bow at the neck of her bodice and doing the same to the ties at her waist. In an instant the gown was slipped down her body, under her legs and feet and was tossed aside.
“It seems you have your own expertise,” she said breathlessly, forcing her gaze to remain on his face, much as she wanted to study the rest of him.
He chuckled, a warm sound that soothed and excited at once. “I’ll admit to enough. You learn quite a bit when your cousin is London’s foremost rake.” He ran a finger along the lacy edge of the shift peeking above her front-closing stays, following the contour of the rise of her breasts, promising more. Her skin jumped to life, tingling and burning in the wake of his touch.
A promise she might well enjoy. She licked her bottom lip, tasting his kiss. His eyes tracked the movement. “Have patience, madam. I have more work to do yet.”
Strong fingers made short work of her stay laces while she traced the ripple of corded muscle in his shoulder and upper arm with her fingertips. Satin over steel. Warm, smooth and rock solid. He whipped the linen away, leaving her in naught but her shift.
He paused, looking down her length from beneath eyelids seductively lowered, his stern face softened by passion and desire. “Lovely,” he said.
Praise indeed. She wanted to take it in her stride, wanted to believe he spoke the truth, but she was no longer a girl in her first blush of youth. Mirrors did not lie. They reflected a widow aged twenty-five with ravages of time wrought on her face and her body. She could not stop the edgy laugh or the words. “You are too kind.”
His gaze lifted to her face. “Do you give me the lie, then, oh luscious morsel?”
The words made her want to giggle like a girl, but the heat in his expression made her feel very much a woman. The joy of seeing him again turned into something else, a yearning for her lost youth, a longing to undo what was done, and deep desire for this man on so many levels. A desire to make him happy, to see his brow smooth, his lips and eyes smile, to hear his voice warm.
An ache deep within herself longed to ease his aura of loneliness.
Yet how could she? She was the one who had walked away. She didn’t deserve such happiness. She only had now. Today.
Kate opened her arms to him, raised her face for his kiss and, with a deep sigh, he brushed her mouth with his, licked and teased at her lips until she parted them allowing him entry. He stretched his large body alongside her on the bed, the ropes protesting a little at his weight, the mattress sinking and conspiring to roll her against his warm heat and hard body.
The kiss roughened, his tongue probing deeper. One hand palmed her buttocks and drew her closer; his other hand cradled her nape. His thigh, warm and heavy, trapped her legs, making escape impossible. If she had wanted to escape.
She cupped his cheek with one hand and let the other explore his lovely flesh, the hair on his chest, the tight nipple, the smooth swells and valleys of his sinewed arms, the wide plane of his back, the dip of waist and narrow hip. He was lovely.
And for this brief moment in time, she would imagine he was hers.
He raised his head, slowly, his lips parting from hers with kisses and nibbles and nuzzles that drove her wild. He trailed kisses across her cheek, blew softly in her ear.
Shivers prickled across her shoulders. She gasped.
He nipped her earlobe.
She kneaded his firm buttocks.
“Like that, do you?”
“Mmm,” she managed, and delivered a nip of her own on his neck.
He hissed out a breath.
Another round of shivers hit her, traveling all the way to her core, tightening her inner muscles. She quivered with anticipation.
His tongue traced her ear, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, the rise of her breast. He kissed the aching swell and his hand left her nape to pet the other breast through her chemise, weighing, measuring, adoring until she wanted to weep at his gentle kindness.
Then his mouth found her hardened nipple and his tongue flicked over it and around. The flutters in her center intensified. It felt so good, she moaned her pleasure.
“This shift has to go,” he murmured against her breast and raised himself up on one elbow, pulling at the hem of her chemise, dragging it upward.
Oh, yes. It had to go.
She helped him take it off, aware of his gaze following the hem upward, taking in every inch of naked flesh slowly revealed, aware of the increasing sensual cast of his lips, aware of the hunger in his low-lidded gaze. Aware that he wanted her.
The fears and doubts fled on a tide of desire. For this short while she would forget the past, not think of the future, but live for this unexpected moment.
She sat up and pulled the wisp of fabric up over her head and flung herself at his broad chest, knocking him off balance onto the pillows. She swung one leg over his narrow hips, felt the heat of his erection against her inner thigh and rained hot kisses on his face, nuzzled into his neck, licking and nipping her way down his chest to his flat male nipples. The springy curls of hair tickled her lips.
His hands fell hot and heavy on her back. They wandered her skin, circling, smoothing, soothing yet encouraging. She grazed his nipple with her tongue and he groaned.
“Ye’ll be the death of me, lass,” he murmured into her hair, but he made no move to hinder or control her exploration.
She suckled.
His hips rose off the bed, lifting her with him as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. The power in the man awed her all the way to her toes.
“My turn,” he said, and flipped her on her back.
She gazed up into his face. He smiled at her and stroked her cheek with a fingertip. “Now you are in for it, sweet.”
She sighed. “Make it good, Harry.” Make me forget the time lost. The heartbreak.
His eyes softened and there he was, the boy she’d loved all those years ago. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away.
On a soft groan, he dipped his head, kissed her breasts, first one then the other, his hot, wet mouth open, his tongue teasing, and then he suckled. Eyes drifting closed, she flew on a tide of sensation, of delicious pain, heat and aching tightness and deep urgency for something just out of reach.
Thoughts no longer formed. It was all about his lips on skin so alive it hurt. He moved over her, nudging his knee between her thighs and as he settled there, his erection hot against her belly, they fell open, her back arching, inviting him in.
It felt right.
Everything she’d done for these past many years felt as if she’d been merely waiting for this. A marking of time, waiting for Harry.
Such a fool.
Moisture leaked from her eyes—tears of joy? Tears of heartbreak, when she’d never before cried? Not once. Anger, hurt, fury had all been too hot for tears. And later the regret had left her empty.
Warm hands cradled her face. “Ah sweetheart, don’t cry,” he whispered, anguish in his voice. She opened her eyes. His face echoed her sorrow. “Please, don’t cry.”
A shaky laugh rose from her throat, husky, damp sounding. “I’m not.”
He captured a tear at the corner of her eye on his thumb, tasted it. “You are so. We’ll take this no further. I’m not wanting to make you sad.” He made as if to pull away, a flexing of muscle in his arms, a grimace on his face as if it took him great effort.
She grasped his broad forearms, her laugh stronger. “Don’t you dare stop. It’s just…I’d forgotten what it felt like, to feel…wanted. Please, Harry.”
He groaned and pressed home.
The feel of her sweet body clenched around his flesh drove him wild. He wasn’t sure he could….no. He would not lose control. He had yearned for this moment too many years to muck it up like
some green youth.
Slowly he withdrew, watching her face, seeking to know what she liked. And there she was. His fierce Scottish lass with fire in her eyes and passion writ large on her beloved face. His Kate.
Her hips rose to meet him, the dark red curls mingling with his of dark brown as he plunged deep into her heat. Glorious sensation ripped through his body.
He lowered his head to taste her sweet breast with their budded peaks and her fingers speared into his hair, urging him on while she moaned her approval.
This she liked.
He found himself smiling. He withdrew slowly, preparing for the next torturous entry he must control.
Her legs came up around his hips, her heels on his buttocks, urging his return. With a long slow stroke he entered her body, slid home deeper than before as she tilted her hips.
Hades, she was tight. And so wonderfully hot.
Her hands roamed his back, his arms, while her expression grew ever more hazy with desire.
“You look so beautiful,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Her eyes widened, the green depths a mystery. “Oh Harry,” she said.
The sound of his name on her lips was his undoing. He would never let her go. Because she was his and always had been. Nothing and no one would ever come between them again.
The urge to drive into her, to stake his claim overcame reason. He pounded into her body, over and over, watching her pleasure, wanting her to know him and only him.
She met his furious assault with a battering of her own, lifting her hips, grabbing his buttocks, meeting him stroke for stroke, all the while her gaze drank in his face.
Sweat sheened on their bodies, the dark bliss beckoned, and she took everything he had to give.
He angled his hips, looking for the one place inside her that would shatter her and let him find his release.
There. He saw it in her face, a kind of wondering melting. He moved harder, faster. “Please, Kate,” he groaned. “Let go for me, now.”
She cried out. He let go and joined her in shuddering bliss, feeling the pull of her body as wave after wave of rippling tension held her in its grip.
Beautiful. Wondrous. He felt proud. And so bloody happy.
“I love you,” he said.
“Oh, Harry. I was such a fool. I’m sorry.”
He lay twining her silken fiery hair around his fingers. With the afternoon sun slipping through the window turning her skin to gold, a shadow lurked in the room. The future. She’d not said one word about love.
“I have to go,” she whispered, and he was glad to hear the regret in those words, even as they gave him a sense of dread.
“Stay.” He nuzzled her neck and blew in her ear.
She shivered deliciously. “I can’t. We have an engagement for dinner.”
“To hell with dinner. I want to feast on you.”
Her laugh was breathless.
“When will I see you again?” He knew the answer, before it came, from the sadness in her eyes, and she leaned up on one elbow to look at him.
“We mustn’t. It wouldn’t be right. The Mcraes think you are going to offer for Elizabeth. Diana has been good to me. I can’t betray her trust.”
He opened his mouth and she pressed a dainty finger to his lips. “I can’t do it, Harry. She is my friend.”
“What about me? About us.”
Her small hand stroked his jaw. “You’ll be fine.” Her voice caught a little on the words. “You don’t need any help wooing a woman.”
He clearly was not going to change her mind. Nor was he going to act the forlorn lover and throw a tantrum. He was too old for such games and Kate wouldn’t like it.
He grinned up at her. “I am sure there is a lot more you can teach me, lass.”
She laughed. “Incorrigible man. You can manage very well by yourself.”
He let go a long sigh and put his hand to his heart with a comical twist to his lips. He did not want her to know how much her rejection hurt.
“I’ll say no more, then. A gentleman never argues with a lady.” He pushed himself up off the bed. “Let me help you dress.”
Chapter Three
Lizzie huffed out a breath. “Our last ball. It is so unfair. Do I have to dance with him?”
Everyone in the carriage knew she meant Godridge.
“Of course, you do,” Diana said.
“Lord Godridge is here at your father’s request,” Kate said softly from her backward-facing seat. “You can’t hold it against him.”
Lizzie pouted. “Well, I’m not going to marry him.”
“There will be lots of other men to dance with too,” Kate said in heartening tones. “Mr. Denton among them.”
Lizzie sighed, then chuckled. “I’m really not sure I can stand another evening of all that bad poetry.”
A pang struck Kate’s heart. Now was the time for Harry to woo the young woman, even though he’d said he didn’t want her. This was the reason she’d not dared open her heart. And he’d agreed to Kate’s departure so easily, too. Once he’d bedded her. Words of love spoken in passion were not necessarily the truth. Were they?
“Young Viscount Hetherington has been showing a marked interest,” Diana mused.
Lizzie blushed to the roots of her hairline. It might be dim in the carriage, but there was no mistaking that telltale flush.
Kate straightened in her seat. “Lizzie?”
The child waved a hand. “He’s just a friend.”
“All the Hetherington men are remarkably handsome,” Diana said. “I remember his father. No one looked better in velvet breeches….” Her voice tailed off as she realized the other two ladies were staring at her, wide-eyed.
“Well, they didn’t,” she said.
Lizzie and Kate burst out laughing. The ache in Kate’s heart eased. Perhaps she really didn’t need to worry about stealing Harry from under Lizzie’s nose after all. Perhaps she would try to speak with him alone this evening. Tell him the words she’d held back yesterday.
If he still seemed interested.
Doubts. Fears. They plagued her unmercifully. Yet what did she have to lose? Only her heart. Again.
The vehicle lurched as if it had hit a pothole.
Kate grabbed for the hand strap.
The carriage slowed.
Lizzie leaned forward to peer through the window in the door. “Are we there?”
Kate let down the window in the other door. Complete darkness met her eyes. “I don’t think so. We are still on Hampstead Heath.”
“Stand and deliver,” a voice shouted from ahead of them.
“Footpads?” Diana squeaked. “My jewels.”
“How exciting,” Lizzie said.
Open mouthed, Kate stared at her. “Are you mad?”
The door flew open. An enormous fellow with a kerchief covering the lower half of his face stuck his head through the opening.
Diana’s hand went to her pearls. “Don’t harm us. We’ll give you anything you want.”
“Aye,” the big man said with a distinctly Scottish accent. “But one of you must go with me as a hostage.”
Lizzie gave a little scream.
“That would be me,” Kate said, trying not to laugh.
“No!” Lizzie caught at her arm. Using her fan, she struck out at their robber, who easily fielded the blow and took Kate’s outstretched hand. “Out you come, madam.”
“Gitby,” Diana cried. “Do something.”
“Can’t, miss,” Gitby called back. “There’s another of ’em holding a pistol to my head.”
“Never fear, Kate,” Lizzie called, sticking her head out of the window. “Papa will pay whatever ransom they ask.”
“There’ll be no ransom high enough,” the large highwayman said, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.
Kate thought it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.
He pulled down his mask and planted a swift kiss on her lips.
Lizzie squealed. “Good Lord, he’s kis
sing her.”
“You wretch,” Kate said, staring into Harry’s hazel eyes, where the gleam of the carriage lights danced.
“Drive on,” the other highwayman yelled at the coachman.
Gitby set his horses in motion. The carriage creaked and lumbered away with Lizzie still hanging out of the window. The horseman turned to follow the coach.
“Beauworth will explain when they arrive,” Harry said, dipping his head for another kiss.
“Stop it,” Kate whispered, not sure whether to laugh or cry, her heart felt so full of something painful and sweet.
“You’ll not get away this time, Kate. ’Tis off to Gretna for you and no arguments.”
He drew off his gloves and cradled her face in his hands. The kiss he delivered was blissfully hard and full of possession. She put her hands on his shoulders and held on for dear life. When finally he let her go to draw breath, she shook her head at him.
“Harry, this is utter madness.”
“Aye.” He put an arm around her waist and walked her back along the road a few steps. “I’m mad for you, Kate.”
She slanted him a shy glance. “And I for you.”
He halted and turned her to face him. The moonlight cast his face into hard relief. His teeth flashed white in a brief smile. “I’ve a confession to make, Kate.”
Her heart thundered. Fear? Hope?
“What?” she whispered.
“I’ve no heart for riding neck or nothing to Scotland with you on my saddlebow. It would be very uncomfortable and my horse wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh,” she said, attempting a grave voice as laughter bubbled in her throat.
He took her hand in his large warm one and kissed it tenderly. “So if you don’t mind, we’ll go by way of my carriage. Inside it. Together.”
Heart full of love, she smiled. “I think that would be best. We’ve some lost time to make up for.”
His smile broadened. “Ah, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But I’ve been taking lessons from a very good teacher.”
“Oh, Harry.”
“Yes, love of my life?”
“I love you so very much.”
The Laird and the Wanton Widow Page 4