Grace Burrowes - [MacGregor 02]

by Once Upon a Tartan

  What was a few minutes? Was it five or thirty? Tye decided it was however long it took him to prepare for bed, which was not long at all. His clothes were neatly folded in the wardrobe, his body as clean as soap and water could render it, his teeth scrubbed, and—only because he’d caught sight of himself in the cheval mirror as he’d charged toward the door—his hair brushed.

  His first cotillion hadn’t rendered him as unsettled as he was standing outside Hester’s door.

  She opened the door without him even having to knock, leaving Tye for one instant to fear he was about to be rejected, so solemn was her expression.

  And then she smiled. At him.

  She smiled the secret, pleased female smile that had been driving men beyond reason since time began, a smile of promise and mystery, of blessings bestowed and blessings withheld. He smiled back, a man in contemplation of bestowing a few blessings himself.

  “Come in.” She stepped aside while Tye crossed the threshold then closed and locked the door behind him. A survey of the room revealed that she’d banked the fire, drawn the drapes, and turned down the covers on the bed.

  And yet, tossing her onto her back and gratifying his lust would not do for Tye’s prospective marchioness.

  “Shall I braid your hair, Hester? It’s lovely down, but I would enjoy being your lady’s maid.” He’d also enjoy undoing her braid once he got her in bed.

  “I haven’t had a lady’s maid since I shared one with Genie during my one London Season. Here.” She handed him her brush and took a seat before her vanity. “This will be a new experience.”

  “For myself as well.” He’d brushed Dora’s hair when she was small, Dora being the youngest, but that had been ages ago. “How is it your hair bears the fragrance of flowers?”

  “It’s the shampoo I use. That feels good.”

  He was making long, slow strokes down the length of it, watching light dance along each strand. She’d brushed out her hair earlier, for he’d yet to encounter a single tangle. “One braid or two?”

  “One down the middle will do.” She leaned forward, so her forehead was resting on her crossed arms. “We’re going to be intimate tonight, aren’t we?”

  “Most would say we’ve been intimate already.” He brushed her hair to the side and planted a kiss on her nape. The scent of her, the feel of her soft, silky skin made his pulse leap in low, heathen places.

  “We’re going to copulate.” She said the word carefully, as if she might have seen it in print but not heard it spoken.

  “From the Latin copulare, to join together.” The last of his doubt drained away. If he’d held to one glimmer of reason in his dealings with her—one hint of honor—it was that only her intended ought to share such a pleasure with her. “I will enjoy very much joining together with you, Hester.”

  Joining his body, his life, his heart. He finished up a loose braid and scooped her into his arms, wanting the conversation and dallying and dithering to be over. She was willing; he was ready. More than ready.

  And yet… for his bride, for the woman into whose keeping his heart had apparently strayed, that was not enough. He kissed her nose, laid her on the bed, and unknotted the sash to his robe.

  “My goodness, Tiberius. You demonstrate an impressive enthusiasm for this intimacy.” She reached between the folds of his robe and drew a finger up the hard length of his erection.

  “And if I acquit myself in the manner you deserve, my lady, your enthusiasm will soon eclipse my own.” He leaned down, and while she caressed his testes, he undid the ties of her robe and nightgown, though—in aid of his own sanity—he did not push the material aside.

  “Come here, Tiberius.” She held out her arms, as if she were inviting him to mount her directly. When he hesitated, she spread her legs. “Come to me.”

  “I don’t want to rush—”

  She captured his wrist and gave him a stout pull toward her body. “I do want to rush. I want to gallop and soar and feel the wind in my hair, Tiberius. We can hack around the park some other night.”

  Because, he concluded, they had many other nights—a lifetime of other nights—to test each other’s paces. He tossed away his robe and covered her body with his own.

  “At least permit me some kisses, Hester.”

  He gathered she was not inclined to argue. She got a grip on his hair that was coming to feel familiar and fused her mouth to his.

  “If you ever cut your hair, Tiberius—” She’d broken off the kiss to take his earlobe into her mouth.

  “If you ever cut yours—” The feel of her body beneath him, so very nearly joined to his, had Tye’s voice sounding harsh to his own ears. He got a hand over her breast, teasing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Tiberius Lamartine Flynn.” Her nails dug into his backside, sending a gratifying jolt of lust to his vitals.

  “What’s your middle name?” The question created a pause in the lady’s attempts to wrestle her lover into submission and into her body.

  “You want to know that now?” She hooked her ankles at the small of his back and arched her hips into him. “Now, you want to discuss names?”

  “I want to know the name of the woman attempting to ravish me.” He scooted his hips back. “The complete name.” The name she’d say when they spoke their vows to each other.

  “Wretched, awful man.” She subsided beneath him, going quiet on a sigh. Her hand brushed slowly over his back, then moved down to pet his buttocks. “My complete name—and I am not trying to ravish you, but merely to effect the purpose for which you have arrived to my bed—is Hester Willamette Daniels.”

  “Willamette is pretty.”

  “It’s odd.” She sighed against his shoulder then closed her teeth gently over his collarbone. “I’m rushing, aren’t I?”

  “Trying to; I’m trying not to let you.” He slipped a palm around the back of her head and cradled her face to his shoulder. “You don’t need to get this over with, Hester, like your first jump after a bad fall.”

  “What if I don’t like it?”

  He was tempted to tell her she’d like it, then show her she’d like it, and hope she did like it. He kissed her cheek, hitched himself up around her, and started making a mental list of the ways Jasper Merrihell was going to regret treating Hester Willamette Daniels Flynn badly.

  “I am going to impart to you now a truth, Hester. Attend me closely, please, because in about two minutes, I will be incapable of speech.”

  She undulated beneath him, her intimate curls brushing against him low on his belly. “I’m attending you closely, and I cannot imagine you being rendered incapable of speech. Not ever.”

  If she kept that up… “Becoming intimate with another this way takes time, Hester. It’s like learning a language shared with only one other person. You must instruct me regarding what pleases you, and I will offer you the same insights regarding myself.”

  “This is the trust part, isn’t it?” She punctuated her question with a glancing caress to his nipples.

  “It’s trust and pleasure, served together to both of us. And if you don’t like what I’m doing, you tell me to desist.”

  “I told Jasper to desist.” She said this very quietly, her face pressed to his throat. “He kept saying ‘in a minute.’ It was a very long minute. He did not hurt me, but he did disappoint me.”

  Merriman had hurt her, and when Tye could muster the mental focus, he’d determine a way to hold the man accountable. “If I don’t desist when you ask, you simply grab my testes, and you’ll have my undivided attention.”

  “Grab your… your command of Latin has me agog, Spathfoy.”

  She was talking vocabulary when what was wanted was reassurance. Tye focused on where their bodies were close but not joined. “What about this? Does this leave you agog?”

  He pressed forward, not even an inch,
and she went still. “Oh, Tiberius.” She gave a luxurious roll of her spine, as if she’d take him into her body all at once. “Yes, please. That leaves me quite, quite…”

  He did it again, not enough to penetrate her sex but enough to tantalize. Her legs closed around his flanks, a snug hold embodying reassurances of its own.

  The moment of joining his body to a woman’s was a little interval of tedium, usually. It bridged the gap between preliminaries and escalating pleasure, and yet it required focus and patience.

  With Hester sighing and moving beneath him, Tye wanted to prolong their joining in all its aspects. He moved slowly, slowly in the advance-and-retreat rhythm of coitus. He offered her kisses; he offered her an embrace that cradled her close and cherished that closeness at the same time. He shoved his own gratification as far from his awareness as he could, listening instead for the signs that her arousal was gathering steam.

  “Tiberius?”

  “Here.”

  “This is… Oh, God.” She convulsed around him with no more warning than that, bowing up to clutch at him while he resisted the temptation to drive into her faster and harder. When her pleasure subsided, he stilled.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Uhn.” She drew her foot up the back of his leg.

  “When you plan your trousseau, you must add a number of pairs of wool socks, Hester.”

  “I’m not planning anything at the moment.” She sounded dreamy and sated, poor dear.

  “I’m planning something.”

  Against his chest, Tye felt her eyelashes flutter open. “You are the sort of fellow who’s frequently planning something. Maybe you’re planning your journey south.”

  “My journey to points south on your body, perhaps.” He started moving again, slowly, but with purpose. “Shall you gallop again, Hester, and feel the wind in your hair?”

  “Again?” She lifted her face to peer at him by the waning firelight. “Isn’t it time you sprang your own horses, so to speak?”

  “Soon.”

  For form’s sake, he pleasured her once more without permitting himself to spend; and because he was a gentleman, he did not labor the point any further. Because he was human and male, he in fact could not labor the point any further.

  “Tiberius, can we do this all night?”

  The wonder in her tone did his heart good. “Eventually, but because you are inexperienced, to persist much longer would leave you sore.”

  And himself dead or committed to an asylum for men who’d suffered excesses of self-restraint.

  “Sore?”

  “You’re going to want a soaking bath in the morning.”

  “I see.”

  “Hester?”

  She nuzzled his neck, which he took for as much answer as he was going to get. He shifted so his mouth was right near her ear. “Hold me.”

  She’d long since caught the knack of moving with him, and closed her arms and legs around him. “You’ll fly with me, Tiberius? Take the last fence with me?”

  He’d meant to pull out. Coitus interruptus was a term even the scholars failing their Latin knew before they left public school. The sweet, snug heat of her removed this useful phrase from his vocabulary, though, flung it right out of his mind, tossed it far from his heart.

  He thrust steadily, hard and deep, and within moments felt her sex fisting around his cock in great, clutching spasms.

  “Tiberius, please.”

  She sank her nails into his arse, bit his shoulder, and obliterated his awareness of anything save the soul-deep pleasure of joining her in a shared moment of ecstasy. He gave up his seed into the welcoming depths of her body, gave up his self-restraint, his heart, his all in the act of loving her.

  ***

  “Aunt Ariadne, what are these trunks doing here?”

  Hester examined the brass hasps on three large valises airing out in the hallway of the family wing.

  “One never knows when one might go on an extended journey.” Ariadne thumped past at a stately gait. “Perhaps I’ll head south soon and avoid the coming cold weather.”

  “Cold weather is still months off.” Weeks, anyway. Hester gave the trunks one more puzzled glance, then followed the older woman to the head of the stairs. “I can’t believe you braved the steps merely on a whim, Aunt. What is going on?”

  Ariadne did not have to look up very far to face Hester, but rather than do that, she laid one hand on top of the other on the knob of her cane. “I do believe dear Ian has come to call again, and with more rain threatening by the moment. Go greet him, Hester, I’ll be along directly.”

  Something was afoot, something wild horses and handsome Cossacks could not pry loose from Ariadne This puzzle added another touch of unease to a day that was already unsettled, probably because Spathfoy would be leaving in less than twenty-four hours.

  While Hester would be remaining behind. She wasn’t going to tell him “no,” she was going to give him a “maybe”—an encouraging maybe, an almost-certainly-yes maybe, but a maybe nonetheless. She could not leave Fiona and Ariadne alone, for one thing, particularly not when the child had been through so much upheaval already.

  And she needed time to sort out her feelings, to parse infatuation from deeper attachment, to test her own judgment. How she would convey these things to Tiberius had yet eluded her, but she hoped on the strength of their growing friendship that he would listen and give her the time she requested.

  “Ian, welcome!” She accepted the earl’s green-eyed scrutiny and his kiss to her cheek. “You’ve come alone?”

  “Aye, my countess says His Bairnship might be coming down with a wee cold, so I’m left to wander the heather all on my lonesome. Has Fee been running you ragged, Hester Daniels? You look a touch fatigued.”

  “I’ve been up late reading old journals.” Not a lie, but Ian’s steady scrutiny suggested he understood it for a half-truth. He patted her hand and laid it on his arm. “We’ll feed you some scones and tea, flirt with you a bit, and you’ll perk up in no time. Ariadne MacGregor, are you scampering about unescorted again?”

  Ian did flirt, and charm, and yet all the while, Hester had the sense he was masking an alert watchfulness, and then it occurred to her Tye was not yet in evidence. Hester had seen him cantering up the drive—yes, she’d watched out her window like the veriest schoolgirl—which meant he was likely in the stables, fussing his horse.

  “If you’re looking for Spathfoy,” Hester said, “he’s not yet back from making arrangements to ship Flying Rowan down to Aberdeen on the train. Tea, Ian?”

  “Of course. Where’s my little Fiona, then? Did she cadge a ride with her bonny new uncle?”

  Ariadne glanced up from the tray. “The child is in the library, reading and drawing pictures. She’s taken to drawing lions and is getting quite good at them.”

  Ian accepted his tea and stirred it slowly. “If she drew one more unicorn, I’d have to paste a horn to poor Hannibal’s forehead. I’ll look in on the girl before I go. You’ve not said anything to her?”

  He aimed his question at Aunt Ariadne, which was odd. Hester had been the one to greet him, and if Fiona had learned Ian was visiting, she would have dropped her lions and stories and insinuated herself into her uncle’s company in the next instant.

  So what had he meant, about not saying anything to Fee?

  Ariadne glanced at Hester fleetingly. “I haven’t said a word.”

  Hester set her cup and saucer down carefully. “Is there something you two aren’t telling me?”

  “Yes.” From Ariadne.

  “No.” From Ian.

  They exchanged another glance, then Ian shot to his feet and went to the window. He spoke with his back to them. “Am I to understand Spathfoy has said nothing to Hester?”

  Ariadne remained seated. “As far as I know, he’s said nothing to Hester
or Fiona.”

  “Said nothing about what?” Hester didn’t recall rising, but she was somehow across the room, beside Ian, her gaze locked on his.

  “Now, lass, there’s no need to get into a dither. We’ll get it sorted out soon enough.”

  She wondered wildly if Jasper Merriman had decided to come visit her in the Highlands. “No need to get into a dither about what?”

  Ian shot her a single, tormented glance. “Come with me.” He took her by the wrist and led her toward the door. “Ariadne, if Spathfoy shows up, kill him for me.”

  “Of course, Ian.”

  “Ian, you are not making sense. Why would you want to kill—?”

  He came to an abrupt halt outside the library door. “The sodding bastard is taking Fiona with him when he leaves tomorrow, Hester. That’s been his purpose for coming here, though I suspect he’s a reluctant minion for old Quinworth. I’ve come to tell Fiona she’ll be taking a journey with Spathfoy, though how I’ll look that child in the eye—”

  He looked away. His grip on her wrist was nearly painful.

  “Spathfoy is taking Fiona from us?”

  Ian dropped her wrist. “I canna stop him, lass. The local courts can’t help, because Fee’s possibly an English citizen. Mary Fran left me no documents, and Spathfoy has an affidavit from the marquess. The old man swore in writing that Gordie’s will says Fee is to be raised by her paternal relatives. We will get her back, though. I vow that to you and to the child herself.”

  He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, but all Hester could think, all she could take in, was that Tiberius Flynn had become her lover all the while he was planning on stealing Fiona away to be raised by strangers.

  Her lover, and if he had his way, her fiancé. Doors were slamming, Ian was speaking, but Hester could not make sense of the words over the thundering of her heart.

  “Balfour, I wasn’t aware you’d scheduled a call.”

  The voice was coldly, obscenely beautiful. Hester could not face the man who spoke, the man who’d joined his body so tenderly to hers just the previous night.