The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Through a communicating door, she discovered a dressing room, largely empty save for a few items of Robert’s clothing and a wooden travelling trunk. Another door at the end of the dressing room led into Robert’s bedchamber. The fire flickering in the grate revealed an enormous four-poster bed, hung with curtains of dark golden damask. The bed was covered with a rich gold and cream brocade counterpane and an abundance of fat ivory silk pillows lay against the ornately carved headboard. It looked sumptuous.

  Tempting.

  Someone, perhaps Janet, had also turned down the covers to reveal fine cotton sheets. Jessie had the sudden, overwhelming urge to crawl between them. Her pulse raced to think she might very well be sleeping beside Robert tonight.

  But would they only be sleeping?

  She smiled. If she had her own wicked way, they certainly wouldn’t.

  But if Robert were to face Simon on the duelling field tomorrow … Jessie’s stomach lurched to the Turkish rug at her feet. No, she didn’t want to think about that. She had to believe Robert’s assertion that everything would be all right. That he would be all right.

  Her exploration complete, Jessie returned to the sitting room to wait for Robert’s return. She kicked off her saffron silk slippers and settled into one of the chairs in front of the fire and sipped at the whisky Robert had poured for her earlier, hoping the fiery liquid would calm her thoughts and skittering pulse. She had just tossed back the last of the dram when she heard the door creak open.

  Robert. Thank God. Her impulse was to run to him and throw her arms about his neck but as she began to stand, Robert motioned with his hand.

  ‘Jessie, my love, don’t get up on my account.’

  As she subsided back onto her chair, he shrugged off his velvet evening jacket and removed his lace jabot. ‘I must apologise for taking so long,’ he continued, tossing the garments onto a nearby settee. ‘But with the benefit of your canny reasoning, I needed to … adjust my plans for tomorrow. It took a little longer than I expected to set the stage but,’ the corner of his mouth tipped into a wicked grin, ‘you can be rest assured that with the help of Captain Drummond and Tobias, I will not be waylaid by any of the King’s men. With minimal risk to myself, Simon is about to be taught a valuable life lesson.’ With his shirt now open at the neck, Robert pulled up the footstool and sat in front of her. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his muscular, satin clad thighs. There was a smile in his eyes. ‘Does that ease your mind, my love?’

  ‘To be honest, no’ entirely,’ she replied in a voice breathless with both nerves and maddening sexual awareness. She shouldn’t be distracted by Robert’s physicality right now, but she was. Dragging her gaze away from the tantalising sight of her fiancé’s strong throat and the tanned patch of chest below, she forced herself to consider his words. His plan seemed too sketchy for her liking. ‘I canna help but be worried about you being involved in any sort of risky endeavour, given the conditions of your probation. I dinna suppose you were planning on letting me in on yer plan?’

  Robert’s smile widened. ‘Suffice it to say, I think Simon will be most surprised to find that he is about to embark on a character building journey—of sorts. But not before I give him the sound thrashing he so richly deserves, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Jessie, at last returning his smile. Despite the risk, she decided she would trust Robert’s judgement.

  ‘Now, enough about tomorrow.’ Robert’s gaze softened. ‘I believe we have unfinished business to attend to.’

  Jessie’s breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. Robert was rolling up his silk shirt sleeves, revealing his tanned, well-muscled forearms. ‘Let’s see this graze of yours,’ he said, gesturing toward her left arm. ‘I passed Janet in the hall earlier, and she informed me that the bandage was slightly blood stained. I’m worried that your stitches have been torn.’

  Jessie swallowed, suddenly acutely aware that she was only wearing very flimsy night attire. ‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ she murmured. Even as she self-consciously checked the ribbons securing the front of her robe, she inwardly chided herself for being so shy in front of Robert—after all they’d been through together. ‘It doesna hurt. Really.’

  Perhaps sensing her reticence, Robert’s lips curved into a soft smile. ‘I’ll only be looking at your arm, I promise.’

  She nodded, her body suddenly too warm, her skin tingling beneath Robert’s intent gaze. She wondered at the potent effect this man had on her every time he looked at her, touched her. But she knew it was more than desire. In the space of only seven days, she had fallen irrevocably, hopelessly in love with him.

  And she trusted him. Her eyes locked with his, Jessie untied the ribbons and let the saffron silk slide off her shoulders.

  * * *

  Despite his good intentions, Robert’s gaze slipped inexorably downwards to the fine lace décolletage of Jessie’s nightrail—the one he’d chosen himself when he’d visited the High Street modiste. Sweet Lord, Jessie was beautiful. The enticing sight of her breasts as they rose and fell with her breathing had his cock jerking with awareness.

  However, his lips firmed into a hard line when he noticed the evidence of Simon’s attack. The purple marks around Jessie’s neck and on her arms stood out like obscene circlets against her perfect alabaster skin. With considerable effort, he dragged his mind away from the great pleasure he was going to derive from making Simon pay tenfold for what he had done to Jessie, and somehow refocused his attention on attending to her wound. As he began to gently unwind the linen he was abruptly transported back in time to another evening, when he had first stitched her bullet graze, before the light of another fire. That was only seven nights ago, yet he felt he had known Jessie forever. And now he couldn’t imagine being without her.

  Robert slanted a glance upwards and noticed Jessie was watching him; her lips were slightly parted, and her pulse beat rapidly in her throat. He bit his lip to suppress a groan and the urge to bury his face in her neck. Dear God. Did she have any idea what she did to him?

  Reining in his desire by focusing on the task at hand, he pulled the last of the bandage away to reveal the wound; a small amount of blood had seeped around the stitches, but otherwise, his handiwork had remained intact. He looked up again and smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s fine, mo ghaoil. I’ll bathe it and redress it.’

  Jessie nodded and offered a small, tremulous smile. ‘Thank you.’

  She’s still nervous around me. And that was completely understandable under the circumstances. Jessie could probably sense he was as randy as a rutting stag. When he had finished rebinding her arm, he gently slid her robe back into place. Then, with what felt like an enormous effort, he removed his hand from her ivory smooth shoulder.

  Dear God, he was shaking.

  Now, at long last was the time for them to clarify their positions on being hand-fasted to each other. But Robert couldn’t concentrate if he was touching her.

  And he had to get this right.

  He felt as skittish as a lad about to kiss a girl for the first time. Tongue-tied and hopelessly daft with desire. But then, he’d never told any woman what he was about to tell Jessie …

  His heart in his mouth, Robert looked her directly in the eye. ‘Jessie …’ He dragged in another breath and somehow marshalled his thoughts and his courage. ‘Earlier today, we both agreed that we needed to—come to some understanding about our betrothal—given that fate has thrown us together somewhat.’

  Jessie continued to meet his gaze. ‘Yes … we did,’ she acknowledged, her voice slightly breathless, betraying her own nervous state. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, leaving a moist sheen across the luscious fullness.

  Robert nearly groaned aloud again. On an impulse, he reached forward and took her hands in his, fighting for the control to say what he needed to before he gave into the desire pounding through him. ‘I know exactly how I feel about you, mo chridhe. I think I’ve felt this way from the moment I first saw you by
the loch at Lochrose. You stole my breath away, and my heart … Jessie Munroe, I’m in love with you and I can’t imagine my life without you.’

  He dropped to his knees before her and raised her hands to his lips, brushing the lightest of kisses over her elegant fingers, all the while, holding her eyes with his. ‘I have something to ask you, not because I have to, but because I want to.’ He swallowed and firmed his voice. ‘Jessie Munroe … will you marry me?’

  * * *

  Jessie’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart soared. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Robert loves me.

  And he truly wanted her to be his wife.

  She searched his face—his blue eyes were expectant, his breathing shallow. Was he nervous? Yes, Lord Lochrose, the Master of Strathburn was hanging by a thread, waiting for her answer. Silly man. Didn’t he realise her heart beat only for him? Nevertheless, his uncertainty leant a poignant sweetness to the moment and brought a smile to her lips. ‘Yes, I will marry you, Robert,’ she replied, her own voice shaky with emotion. ‘Not because I have to, but because I want to, so very much.’

  Robert’s lips curved in a smile and he angled his head forward to kiss her, but Jessie stopped him with a hand to his chest. Surprised, he raised questioning eyes to hers.

  Even though she was all but breathless, she had to tell Robert how she truly felt as well. ‘I havena finished clarifying my position yet.’ She slid off the chair and sank to her knees and raised one of Robert’s hands to her chest where her own heart lay. It pounded so wildly with abandoned joy, she wondered if he felt it. ‘Robert Grant, I love you completely, with all my heart. And tonight, I want us not just to be promised to each other, but truly hand-fasted, as husband and wife.’

  * * *

  Robert drew in a steadying breath as he tried to control the potent mix of sudden emotions surging through him—unadulterated happiness at Jessie’s confession of love blended with a heady wave of desire. She wanted to be with him, be one with him, as his wife.

  ‘Are you sure, Jessie?’ he asked, his voice husky, his eyes searching hers.

  ‘I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.’ Jessie gathered his hands between hers and held them against her breasts. ‘I, Jessie Elizabeth Munroe, take you, Robert James Alexander Grant, the Viscount Lochrose and Master of Strathburn, to be my husband as of this moment and forever more,’ she whispered, her eyes shining with love.

  Robert smiled back at her like a besotted fool, but he didn’t care. ‘And I, Robert James Alexander Grant, the Viscount Lochrose and Master of Strathburn, take you, Jessie Elizabeth Munroe, to be my wife as of this moment and forever more.’ His gaze dropped to her lips, and praise heaven, this time Jessie did not stop him from lowering his mouth to hers.

  His kissed her deeply, his mouth urgently moving against hers, the desire he had kept in check for so long suddenly pulsing through his veins without restraint. He buried his hands in her cascading locks, drawing her closer, taking everything she offered, her lips, her tongue. Her mouth responded to his every demand.

  He felt Jessie fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling his silk shirt out of his breeches and within moments, her hands slid beneath the fabric. A hiss of pleasure escaped his lips. He let her play, thrilling at the feel of her warm hands caressing his heated flesh. When she broke their kiss and lowered her mouth to taste the sensitive hollow between his collarbones, he groaned aloud at the erotic sensation—her lips and tongue branded his skin like fire. However, when she reached for the fall front of his black satin breeches he stilled her hand. ‘Not yet, my love,’ he murmured, his voice rough with lust. Although his cock was harder than an iron poker, he wanted to take his time. Jessie deserved more than a rushed, rough coupling.

  He wanted this to be perfect for her.

  He captured her face in his hands and worshipped her mouth again until they were both breathless. Brushing her curls aside, her feminine scent—redolent of flowers and Jessie’s own essence—swirled about him, intoxicated him as he traced a line of fiery, open-mouthed kisses along her delicate jaw and then down her neck. She made a low whimper, a sound of deep pleasure in her throat. God he wanted her. More than anything else in this world.

  And it seemed she desired him just as much. She restlessly kneaded his shoulders until he helped her to peel off his waistcoat and pull off his silk shirt. His upper torso now naked, she caressed and nibbled and licked. Her untutored yet uninhibited exploration of his chest and shoulders, quickly drove his own arousal to such a fever pitch, he thought he might combust.

  To distract her—indeed to stop himself from spending too soon—he gently eased away her saffron coloured robe; the silk whispered to the floor around her knees, but she didn’t seem to mind he was now undressing her. Far from it. The firelight cast a golden glow over her bare arms and shoulders and rendered the flimsy confection of silk and lace that made up her nightrail all but transparent—he could clearly see the outline of Jessie’s full breasts and the hard points of her nipples as she arched her body toward him. His cock throbbed.

  He had to see more, taste more. Have all of her.

  ‘Perhaps we should retire to the bedchamber,’ he groaned against her temple, using his breath to caress her ear. ‘I want you in my bed, Jessie. Now and forever.’

  She responded by rising to her feet, pulling him with her. It seemed she was as eager as he was. He swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bed, laying her gently against the pillows. But he didn’t join her immediately; the fire had burnt low in the grate and greedy man that he was, he wanted to look his fill of Jessie’s heavenly body.

  Plus, the momentary distraction might stop him coming in his breeches. He bent to the wood pile and threw a few additional logs into the grate. Light flared as bright and hot as his passion for Jessie. His wife.

  * * *

  As Robert threw logs into the fire and brought it back to life, Jessie swallowed and licked her lips, the agony of her wanting almost too much to bear. The sight of taut muscles flexing across Robert’s broad shoulders and back made her tremble with desperation, made the folds between her thighs slick with moisture.

  ‘Come to bed,’ she urged restlessly, rising to her knees. She clenched and unclenched her hands in the silk of her nightrail. She couldn’t wait for her hand-fasted husband to make her his wife in truth.

  When Robert straightened and turned back to her, his gaze fixed unerringly on hers. Without so much as a blink or a blush, he swiftly shucked off his shoes then divested his silk stockings and satin breeches, at last revealing his own blatant desire for her. His cock was long and hard—ready for her—the head glistening with moisture.

  Oh my. She bit her lip to stifle a purely wanton moan. Although she had already seen him almost completely naked before at the inn at Invercauld, she was struck anew by how magnificent, how powerfully made he was—he had the frame of a warrior—all long limbs and lean sculpted muscle. Even though he was battle-scarred, it didn’t matter, in her eyes he was perfect.

  ‘Look what you do to me, mo chridhe,’ he groaned, gripping his cock as if in pain. ‘I want you so much …’

  Despite the nervous excitement fluttering in her belly, a deep thrill shot through Jessie, clear to her toes. Her lips curved in a small smile, and she held out her hand. ‘You are no’ alone, Robert. I want you too.’

  With a low growl, Robert climbed onto the bed, every movement sinuous and graceful. He kissed her again, a hard, passionate kiss, pressing her down onto the pillows. His erection pressed hotly against her belly and she clutched his upper arms, arching toward him, urging him take more.

  Pausing for breath, he raised his head and cradled her jaw with one hand, his gaze heated and heavy. ‘I have to see you, Jessie.’

  Without a word, she adjusted her position so Robert could help her to ease off the silk and lace frippery. She then lay back on the pillows, burning with need, watching Robert through half-closed eyes as his gaze wandered over her. S
he should be self-conscious but she was not; she felt worshipped, cherished. Desired.

  But most of all, she felt loved.

  ‘Make love to me, husband of my heart,’ she whispered.

  * * *

  Robert swallowed hard at the sight of Jessie’s beautiful body.

  ‘You are perfect,’ he managed to rasp, his eyes devouring her full breasts, her small waist and flat belly, the gingery curls at the apex of her thighs and her long, slender legs. Cupping her breasts, he lowered his mouth and suckled one of her rosy nipples, whilst he rolled and tugged the other distended bud between thumb and forefinger. Moaning, she speared her fingers into his hair, pulling it free from the velvet ribbon. He loved that he was driving her wild, making her lose control. And he’d only just begun.

  Slowly, deliberately, one of his hands stroked down the flat plane of her stomach towards her inner thighs, and she immediately parted her legs to allow him access. With sure strokes, he teased her slick cleft and pulsating centre, before easing one finger, then another inside her tight, hot sheath. She gasped at the invasion, her body tensing at first, but she didn’t pull away. When he began to gently slide his fingers in and out of her, all the while circling his thumb over the swollen nub of her clitoris, she instinctively matched his thrusting rhythm, her hips arching and circling. Her mewls of pleasure where the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.