The Naked Laird

by Sally MacKenzie

  His mouth came back to hers and his tongue swept inside. His touch was urgent, consuming.

  She pressed against him. She wanted to be consumed. She wanted to be so much a part of him no one could tell where she ended and he began. She never, never wanted to be separated from him again.

  They were separated by far too much clothing.

  Ian must have read her mind. “This is a very lovely frock, Nell, but it would be much lovelier on the floor,” he whispered as his hands moved to deal with her buttons.

  “Mmm.” His fingers were exceedingly nimble. Had he learned—no, she would not think about the other women. And truthfully he’d been equally fast getting her out of her clothes when they were first married.

  The frock fell to the ground, quickly followed by her stays and shift. The room’s cool air slid over her skin, pebbling her nipples.

  “Nell!” Ian reached for her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest again—rather, on his waistcoat. His very stylish, still very-much-in-the-way waistcoat. She’d only got one button open when she’d been distracted.

  He frowned. “Wha—?”

  She smiled up at him, liking the hot, smoky look in his eyes. “My turn.” She slipped the second button from its hole.

  “I can do that quicker.”

  “Oh, is speed the object then? I seem to remember ... very faintly, you understand ... you once telling me that faster wasn’t always better.”

  He gave a short, breathless laugh. “Did I say that? I dinna think I had that much sense when I was just a lad.”

  “You were more than a lad.”

  He shook his head, inhaling sharply as her hands, freeing the last button on his waistcoat, brushed over the sizable bulge under the fall on his breeches. “Nay, I was hardly more than a boy.”

  He traced a circle around one of her nipples as she pulled his shirt free of his waistband. It was her turn to inhale sharply. Damp heat flooded the part of her that was most eager for his touch. Perhaps slow wasn’t possible this time, but she would try to wait as long as she could.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “My pleasure.” Ian shrugged out of his waistcoat and grabbed the hem of his shirt, jerking it over his head and flinging it into a corner. Then he reached for her, bringing her up against him. His hands slid all over her, from her shoulders down her back along her waist to her rounded buttocks and back up to skim the sides of her breasts where they were pressed against his chest.

  Her hands were busy, too, exploring. His skin was soft, but his muscles were hard. She buried her face in his chest and breathed deeply. He smelled like ... home. Not Pentforth or even Kilgorn Castle, but like heather and sun and Scotland. Like Ian.

  Ian, who still had his breeches on. They were scratchy against her skin, and the hard ridge hidden in them pressed urgently into her belly.

  She moved, and Ian let her go just far enough to reach his buttons.

  “Ah, lass, I was hoping ye’d get to that.”

  “I couldn’t very well forget, could I? You were pressing rather insistently against me.”

  “Aye. I’m verra, verra”—he sucked his breath in as she freed the last button—“eager. Oh, Nell ...”

  She cradled him in her hand. He was long and thick. Hot. She rubbed a drop of moisture over his tip.

  “Nell.” His voice sounded very strained now. He was panting. Well, she was panting, too. “This game is lovely, but ’tis time to end it. I canna wait any longer.”

  She stretched, rubbing her breasts against him. “I was just waiting for you to take charge, Ian, as ye always used to.”

  He growled low in his throat. “And here I thought I was being a gentleman, deferring to a lady’s wishes.”

  “Oh.” She kissed his jaw. “Well, this lady wishes to be taken to bed immediately.”

  “I see.” He grinned. “Then I shall be delighted to obey.” He scooped her up and deposited her on the narrow bed.

  He stopped just to look at her. He’d never thought to see her like this again—her black hair spread over his pillow, her creamy white shoulders on his sheets. He loved her mind and her heart, but he also very much loved her body—the graceful mounds of her breasts with their lovely rosy nipples, the delicate curve of her waist sliding into her hips’ generous flare, the beautiful dark curls marking the place he would enter in just a little while.

  He bent to slip off her shoes, to peel off her stockings, running his hands slowly over her knees and calves. He breathed in the musky scent of her need.

  He couldn’t resist. He bent quickly and kissed her there, drank—

  “Ack!” Nell grabbed his hair and tried to tug him away. “What are you doing?”

  He swirled his tongue over her. “Don’t you like this, Nell?” He slid his hands under her hips, lifting her so he could drink more deeply, lapping over the hard little point of flesh hidden there.

  “Oh. Ah. Ohh.”

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.”

  She was hot, panting, twisting on the sheets. She smelled of woman, passion, and Nell. He could not remember ever being so happy.

  A particularly insistent organ reminded him he would be even happier soon. Sooner if he would just get on with it.

  Nell, wise girl, apparently agreed. “Ian.” She tugged on his hair again. “Now. Please. I don’t want to be alone any longer.”

  He put her hips down and leaned over her. “And I don’t want to be alone any longer, either.” He kissed her mouth slowly, then moved to her breasts, her nipples. Mmm. He suckled one while he slid his finger back over the wet, sensitive flesh at the opening of her passage.

  Her hips jerked up and she squeaked. “Ian, get your breeches off now. I canna wait any longer.”

  “Yes, milady. As ye wish.” He scrambled off the bed and out of the rest of his clothing.

  Nell watched him through a haze of desire. She literally ached for him. The past, the present—everything came down to this room, this bed, the small opening between her thighs that cried for him. She was mad with lust—and with love.

  He came to her and she spread her legs to welcome him. Ah. The moment he touched her there, she began to come apart. As he slid into her, her body shivered and clenched around him. He moved once, twice ... and then she felt his warm seed fill her.

  Had he given her life? Had they started a child?

  They had started their love, their marriage again. If children came, that would be an extra blessing. She sighed and ran her hands down his sweat-slicked back. She felt she would burst with the love that filled her.

  He chuckled. “That was quick.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I’m not usually so fast, you know.”

  “Mmm. I was fast, too.”

  “God, Nell.” He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. “I’ve missed you.”

  She cupped his jaw. “And I’ve missed you.”

  “You won’t change your mind, will you? You won’t leave me again? I couldna bear it if ye did.” His words whispered over her mouth.

  “Nay, Ian, I’ve learned my lesson well.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I intend to stick to ye like a burr.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up and he flexed his hips. “A burr? Are ye close enough now, then? Shall I keep you stuck to me like this?”

  She giggled. She felt him growing thicker inside her. “Yes, please.”

  “Mmm.” He kissed her again—and then raised his head. “What’s this?” He frowned, touching her tears with his fingers. “You’re crying.”

  “Tears of joy.” She wiped her cheeks. “I’ve been so fashed since I got here—since before I got here.” She giggled again. “I haven’t been sleeping well, ye know.”

  “Aye.” The other corner of his mouth slid up. “I weel know that. I’ve not been sleeping much myself.” He leaned down to kiss her nose and flexed his hips again. “Shall we—” He paused, and then slid quickly out of her body, pulling the coverlet up ove
r them.

  “Don’t—”

  He put his finger on her lips and grinned. “I’ve got sharp ears—the result of my ill-spent time away from you, Nell. We’re about to have company.”

  “What?” Nell’s gaze swiveled to the door. Sure enough, it was opening. Nell dove farther under the coverlet as Annie came in with an armful of clothes.

  “Miss Smyth said ye’d be here, milady, so I—” Annie finally looked over at the bed. Her jaw dropped—and then she grinned. “Weel, what do ye know?”

  Nell was certain she would expire of embarrassment. She looked at Ian—the man was shaking with laughter! It was obvious he’d be no help at all. She cleared her throat.

  “Yes, Annie? Lord Kilgorn and I were—” Ian was still laughing. She was certainly not going to say what they’d been doing—though only an idiot would not be able to surmise the answer. “Well, did you need something?”

  Annie was laughing as well. “No, milady. I’ll just be going. I’ll tell Mrs. Gilbert she needn’t worry about getting a room ready for milord.” She opened the door. “Ma will be so pleased.”

  Nell flopped back on the pillows the moment the door clicked shut. Ian was now laughing so hard tears ran down his cheeks and he gasped for breath.

  “Oh, stop it. In minutes the entire house party will know exactly what we were doing.”

  That cured him. He stopped laughing to put his large hand on her breast. “Splendid. Let’s be certain to live up to even the most lurid gossip.”

  “But—oh. Um. Mmm.”

  Nell decided she did not really feel like arguing.

  If you enjoyed THE NAKED LAIRD,

  don’t miss the next book in Sally MacKenzie’s

  delightful Duchess of Love series,

  LOVING LORD ASH.

  A Zebra eBook and mass-market paperback on sale March 2014!

  Never jump to conclusions.

  —Venus’s Love Notes

  The March wind stung his face, but the Marquis of Ashton, heir to the Duke of Greycliffe, still paused when he rounded the curve in the drive leading to Blackweith Manor.

  Zeus, he loved this house, especially with the late afternoon sun limning its classical facade. It was so orderly and controlled. No one could look at it and not feel calm—

  Oh, God.

  The image of Jess’s milky white thighs—and Percy’s naked arse between them—shoved to the front of his thoughts. Again. He’d been battling the memory every minute of every hour on this blasted journey from Greycliffe Castle.

  He shifted on his horse, making the animal toss its head. The jangling of its bridle sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet.

  There was nothing calm or controlled about the place. It was a wasp nest—smooth and beautiful on the outside, but a mass of stinging, painful chaos on the inside. He should go back to Greycliffe Castle. A wise man didn’t poke a wasp nest.

  He’d left this problem alone for eight years; why couldn’t he leave it for another eight?

  His fingers tightened on the reins. Because he needed an heir, of course. He’d just turned thirty; Jess was twenty-eight. It was past time to set up his nursery. Running back to the castle would not give him a son to carry on the title.

  He nudged his horse forward. Hell, he couldn’t run back even if he wanted to. He’d never had such a cursed journey. What with the snow and the mud and the washed-out bridges—not to mention his horse coming up lame, forcing him to hire this slug he was currently riding—a trip that should have taken two days had stretched to over a month.

  Well, he was here now. Surely he and Jess could come to some agreement. He was only asking for a couple years of her life. Once she gave him his heir and his spare, she could go back to doing as she pleased. It was a very common arrangement among the ton.

  A cloud drifted in front of the sun, bringing a chill to the air, turning the manor’s warm stone dark and forbidding. His blasted stomach tightened with each step the bloody horse took up the damn drive.

  His brother Jack had said the London idiots were taking bets on what he would do about his union with Jess. It was a particularly delightful situation for the gossips because Mama was the Duchess of Love, the ton’s premier matchmaker and the author of Venus’s Love Notes, bloody leaflets of marital advice. How ironic that her oldest son had made such a damnable muddle of his marriage.

  Yet everyone but his mother knew love didn’t last....

  Love. He scowled at his horse’s ears. If he didn’t feel this wretched, stupid love for Jess, everything would be much simpler. He wouldn’t have married her in the first place, or he would have had a calm discussion with her about her duty as soon as they’d left the church. But he did love her. He loved her—and he hated her, too.

  He was such a bloody fool. He had no one to blame for this mess but himself.

  He stopped at the front of the manor and waited. When no one came to take his horse, he dismounted.

  The horse stomped his front hoof and gave him a nasty look.

  “Don’t complain. I’ll grant you this is irregular, but I’m sure someone will come out and take you to the stables shortly. It’s not as if you exerted yourself. A slower hack would be harder to find in all of England.”

  The animal snorted and tossed its head, but it couldn’t dispute the truth of the matter.

  Ash shifted his shoulders, trying to ease the kinks out of his back. God, every one of his muscles ached. If only Inigo hadn’t pulled up lame—

  No, it was probably just as well. If he were going to bring Jess back to the castle, he’d have to take a carriage, and this way he wouldn’t be tempted to ride instead of sitting inside with her. He didn’t want to spend one more moment astride this bag of bones.

  The horse had found a few blades of grass to nibble, so he’d stay put for the time being. Ash left him and climbed the stairs to bang on the front door.

  Nothing happened.

  He scowled. The servants either did not expect visitors or the butler was deaf. Well, he would have a word with Walker, the estate manager, after he spoke to Jess. If he remembered correctly, he was paying for a full staff. He expected anyone working for him to be competent.

  He tried the latch: The door opened easily. Good God! This was the country, but even so, leaving the door unlocked and unattended was not wise. Perhaps he’d have to make a list of things to discuss with Walker.

  Sadly, this was what happened when one didn’t visit one’s estate regularly. He stepped over the threshold.

  “Hallo! Is anyone here?”

  He heard an odd sort of yelp and some scuffling, and then a large man hurried out from the back of the house, tucking in his shirttail and fastening his fall as he came.

  He stopped when he saw Ash, his hands still on his buttons. A slow grin spread across his face. “We-ell, who do we have here?” His eyes swept Ash from his boots to his head and back.

  Was the fellow drunk? “Ashton. I’ve come to see my wife.”

  “W-what?” The man’s jaw dropped.

  He must be a half-wit. It would be just like Jess to insist Walker take on a man who wasn’t employable elsewhere. She might lift her skirt for anything in breeches, but she did sincerely care about the unfortunate. She also gave little thought to her own safety. She’d very likely never considered how she’d be at this fellow’s mercy if he became violent.

  Once they came to an agreement about their marriage, he would have to discuss that with her. Perhaps the man could be moved to the fields. At least then he wouldn’t have the run of the house.

  “I’m Lord Ashton.” Ash spoke slowly and distinctly so the fellow could comprehend. “I’m here to see Lady Ashton. Your mistress.”

  The man’s brows snapped down, and he snorted. “And I’m Prinny himself. You’ll have to try harder than that to fool me, my fine fellow. Anyone will tell you Lord Ashton never comes to Blackweith Manor.” The butler, or whatever he was, stepped forward to grab the door. “Now turn yourself around and be off, or I’ll help you on
your way with my boot.”

  “I am not going anywhere.” Ash stood his ground and glared. Good God. He’d never expected to have to prove his identity.

  “Who is it, Charlie?” Another man, also fiddling with his fall, came up behind the first.

  Charlie sniffed. “Some scoundrel who says he’s Lord Ashton, Ralph.” He glanced out the door at the broken-down nag and curled his lip. “I don’t know what your game is, sirrah, but you won’t cozen Charlie Lundquist. ”

  Ash clenched his fists, struggling to keep a hold on his temper. This was ridiculous. “I don’t say I’m Lord Ashton, I am the marquis, and if you don’t move aside at once, Charlie Lundquist, you will find yourself on your arse next to that poor hack.”

  Charlie was not easily cowed. “Brave words. Now let’s see you try—”

  “Charlie.” Ralph had been studying Ash. Now his eyes widened, and he grabbed Charlie’s arm.

  “Let go.”

  Charlie tried to shake him off, but Ralph hung on.

  “Charlie,” he hissed, “he does look bloody like the painting in the library.”

  Charlie paused and examined Ash more closely. “I ...”

  “And look at his clothes. They’re muddy, but they’re quality. ”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “But the marquis never visits.”

  “He has now,” Ash said. “And I will tell you that you and Mr. Walker will be looking for new positions if this is how matters are handled at Blackweith Manor.” He took a savage sort of satisfaction when Lundquist paled at his use of the estate manager’s name. “Now take me to my wife.”

  “Ahh.” Charlie looked at Ralph, and then they both looked up the stairs. They turned back with identical expressions of horror.

  “Please forgive me, milord,” Charlie said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopping his brow. “If you will just come along to the parlor, you can be comfortable while Ralph tells Lady Ashton you’re here.”

  Any fool could see they were trying to hide something from him. “I do not wish to go to the parlor; I wish to see my wife.”