by Tarah Scott
"Are you all right, my dear?"
"Fine, my lord. You?"
"Better than I can remember."
She wanted to throttle him.
"I like this dress."
"The duchess' choice," Phoebe replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched. He lifted a thick lock of her hair and rubbed the tress between his fingers, then dropped it and slipped a warm finger beneath the strap still on her shoulder. Phoebe flinched and his eyes shifted onto her face. She lay still as a mouse and thought perhaps he was going to call a halt to the seduction—heaven help her, she had no idea where that would leave her. Instead, he slid the strap down her shoulder so that both breasts were exposed nearly to her nipples. She couldn't say where this left her, either.
He trailed the finger down her shoulder past her collar bone and over the rise of one breast. She shivered. His finger moved closer to the edge of her bodice. He dipped down into the valley between her breasts and up the other. Warmth centered in her stomach and worked its way downward in a radiating wave. His finger slid inside her bodice and the wave peaked when he caressed a nipple. The juncture between her legs tightened and a dizzying current brought with it an unfamiliar energy.
What was wrong with her? This was dangerous territory and was most certainly not what she'd had in mind when she'd jumped on his bed. What had she had in mind? To seduce him—or pretend to seduce him—not the other way around. But how did she go about seducing him? The thought was cut off when he kissed her. As she remembered, his mouth was soft and warm, but now there was an insistence that caused her limbs to go weak. His tongue flicked at her lips and she opened without hesitation. He plunged inside, soft, sweet, and so warm that Phoebe wondered how such a large man could be so gentle.
Think, she commanded her failing wits. If she wasn't careful, he would have an inescapable reason to force her to marry him. A memory flashed of happening upon Heddy and one of her paramours in an erotic embrace while closeted away in a private room at a party. Phoebe twirled her tongue around Kiernan's while reaching with one hand to cup his groin. He stilled and heat raced through her at the unexpected feel of the long, hard length beneath her fingers. She hadn't looked, hadn't realized that he was fully erect. Fully erect? That part of him seemed ready to break free of his trousers. How was that possible in the few minutes since he'd sat down?
He broke the kiss and lifted his face a bare inch from hers. Her throat went dry, but there was no turning back now. She massaged him.
"Phoebe."
The rasp in his voice startled her, but she immediately understood the advantage and gently raked her nails along his rigid length.
"By God, Phoebe, if you keep that up—"
She raked her nails harder, and he covered her hand with his, flattening her palm over him. The steel rod pulsed. Yes, she had the advantage. This, according to Heddy, would bring a man to quick climax—and without any resistance on his part.
His gaze shifted from her face and he grasped both straps and eased them down to uncover her breasts. Cool air washed over her flesh, tightening her nipples. He drew a sharp breath and bent toward her. In the haze of confusion she was aware of the tickle of his hair on her cheek, then the flick of his tongue against—by heavens—her nipple. His hand still covered hers over the hard part of him, urging her to knead him. She complied and couldn't resist the desire to attempt to wrap her fingers around his shaft.
He shoved her hand aside and embarrassment washed over her. He had detected her inexperience. But Phoebe realized he was unfastening his trousers and, when he grasped her hand and brought it back to him, her fingers closed around his bare flesh. For an instant, she wondered if she would faint, but he sucked her nipple into his mouth and the pleasure caused her fingers to convulse around his rod. He groaned and she squeezed tighter.
He released her nipple and pressed his lips to her ear. "Hold me tight, love, as tight as you want. Then move like this."
To her shock, he guided her hand up and down in a slow pistoning motion. Down until his flesh pulled so tight she feared she would hurt him, then up until his penis nearly slipped from her grasp.
"Tighter, Phoebe," he urged.
"I-I don't want to hurt you, my lord."
He gave a husky chuckle that made her feel warm all over.
"You can't hurt me," he said. "In fact, you may abuse me all you like."
She squeezed tighter and continued the up and down motion. He slowly thrust into her hand as his teeth closed over her ear lobe. An unexpected picture rose of him thrusting inside her. She heard a whimper, then realized the sound emanated from her. His hand cupped the juncture between her legs.
"Sir."
"Turnabout is fair play, Phoebe. I would be no gentleman if I let you pleasure me while I did not return the favor. Now you keep on as you are and we'll both benefit, I promise."
Panic flooded her. Heddy had said men went insane when a woman touched them in this manner. Kiernan gently massaged her mound. Faster, she realized, she had to stroke him faster. That would bring him to a frenzy, and once he'd reached his pleasure they would be finished. She increased her speed on his erection.
"Slow down," he ordered.
Moisture on the tip of his shaft slicked her fingers. He ceased his attentions on her sex and she breathed a sigh of relief only to find he'd yanked her skirt to her thigh.
"Doesn't this please you?" she asked, and squeezed his erection on the up motion.
"It pleases me too much," he growled.
Then how was he able to think of touching her?
He slipped a hand beneath her skirt, and his warm fingers on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh caused her to jump. The feather light tickle across the curls covering her sex startled her and her rhythm faltered. Good Lord, she had to take back the advantage. She grabbed him with her other hand, covering his member from tip to root.
"You vixen," he murmured.
In the next instant he had her skirt up around her waist.
"My lord," she cried.
"Hush," he commanded. "The maids have the hearing of gods."
He pushed her legs apart and shock immobilized her when his head descended and his mouth closed over the most intimate part of her where her drawers were open at the crotch. She squirmed in surprise, then drew a sharp breath at the pleasure that rippled through her. He wasn't—he couldn't be—he was. He was sucking and, dear God in heaven, she couldn't think. Pleasure shot through her. The sucking stopped, then his tongue thrust inside her.
"Dear Lord!"
"Quiet," he warned, then, "Keep your hold tight on me. That will bring you even greater pleasure."
She jammed the fingers of one hand into his hair, while the other hand gripped his erection. She yanked on his hair and he grunted, then began sucking again.
"My lord," she pleaded.
"Soon, love," he said against her flesh, all the while making her wild. The knowledge that his mouth was pressed intimately against her flesh warred with the notion that this was not supposed to happen.
Need coursed through her and Phoebe bucked in surprise. The friction of her movement against his mouth sent a compelling wave of longing through her and she shoved his face deeper between her legs. He laughed. She recalled somewhere in the distant part of her brain that she was supposed to be driving him insane with need, and she managed to squeeze him.
"Don't stop," he urged, and again began sucking.
Phoebe feared she would lose her mind. Somehow, the thick, hot male part of him she held incited her lust. Then his finger slipped inside her. Strange sensations radiated within her channel. He thrust quickly and her body seized in a spasm of blinding pleasure. His hand encircled hers with an iron grip that squeezed his rod. He groaned and sucked her harder. Another spasm rocked her and she bucked.
"Damnation," he cursed.
The room blurred around her.
"Phoebe," he rasped, and she realized he had shoved her hand aside. Kiernan gripped his shaft and pumped his
seed onto the blanket beside her. He unexpectedly grabbed the edge of the blanket and made a quick swipe of his penis. "I should have hired the damn chaperone," he muttered.
"What?" she said.
"I imagine he wanted to get back to Phoebe." Her uncle's voice came from the hallway.
Phoebe bolted upright.
"If you're looking for His Lordship," Brenda said, "I saw him go into his chambers earlier, Your Grace."
Phoebe drew a sharp breath.
"If you wanted my father and your uncle to call a minister to marry us this instant, you've done it," Kiernan whispered. "We may need that special license after all—if your uncle and my father don't murder me."
He yanked her skirt down.
"I believe I'll return to the party," Lord Albery said.
"I'll be down directly," Kiernan's father replied.
"Get down on the other side of the bed," Kiernan ordered Phoebe.
"He's bound to notice your…" She glanced meaningfully at his groin.
"No." he yanked his trousers up over his nearly flaccid cock. "You saw to that."
Her cheeks reddened, and he was torn between laughter and wanting to paddle her bottom. She had sneaked into his room and let him do to her what even some mistresses wouldn't allow, then blushed at the fact that she had gotten him off with a bang that nearly brought him to his knees.
He wasn't certain what his future wife was doing snooping in his bedchambers, but he was reasonably certain seduction hadn't been on the agenda. His plan had been just as foolhardy. He intended to give her a good scare. But the devil had gotten into her and she'd managed to make him forget good sense, as well as his promise to his father. Well, not quite, but his father was sure to see no distinction between bedding a lady true and proper and fucking her with his tongue.
"The other side of the bed," Kiernan ordered, and hurried to the door.
With a careful turn, he unlocked the door and hoped like hell his father hadn't heard the tiny click. He whirled. Phoebe was out of view and, in four long strides, Kiernan reached the secretary on the left wall.
He landed in the desk chair and yanked papers from the drawer in the instant before the door opened. He waited an instant as if breaking from deep concentration, then looked at his father.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"This letter from Harris has weighed on my mind."
"Harris informed me that the cottages will be rebuilt by month's end. He can manage the project. You have other matters to deal with."
Kiernan wondered how Phoebe liked being referred to as 'other matters.' How much of his conversation with his father and her uncle had she overheard before ducking into his room? He was relatively certain that's where she'd been, then got trapped when the maids arrived on this floor. His father stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Kiernan silently cursed. His father would pick now to discuss something private. Kiernan rose, hoping to forestall him saying something neither of them wanted overheard. He was going to have to tell Phoebe the truth about his involvement with Clachair, but he hoped to hear from the man first.
"Send the maids to the kitchen on some errand," his father said.
Kiernan stilled. This was a strange order. "As you wish, Father."
"And, Kiernan."
"Yes?"
"Please inform Miss Wallington that I see no reason for a year's engagement. I am certain her uncle will agree."
Kiernan canted his head in acknowledgement and his father left—leaving the door wide open. Kiernan started forward, then his gaze caught on Phoebe's comb on the bed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Phoebe leaned back in the chair at her secretary and opened the note from Kiernan, his second missive in as many days.
Phoebe,
I left word to have this small wedding gift forwarded to you if it arrived while I was away. There will be many more gifts forthcoming—Elise looks for every excuse to give gifts. She tells me she plans to spend time with you while my father and I are away—again, I apologize, but our business in Suffolk simply can't wait. I hope this book gives you something to do until my return.
Kiernan
She reread the line: I hope this book gives you something to do until my return. In other words, if you're busy reading, you'll stay out of trouble. Confound the man's arrogance. He'd seen her in a bookstore and decided he could manipulate her with a book. Phoebe pulled the large package from the desk and unwrapped the paper to reveal three leather-bound books inside a leather-trimmed box. She drew a sharp breath at sight of the author and title: Frankenstein, Mary Shelley. Carefully, she pulled volume one from the box and turned to the title page.
London
Printed for Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones Finsbury Square
1818
She brushed her fingers over the date, 1818. An early edition. She'd underestimated Kiernan MacGregor. He knew exactly what he was doing—and could all-too-easily succeed in distracting her. If that distraction didn't work, he'd arranged for Elise to spend time with her while he was gone. This explained the duchess' appearance on her doorstep yesterday, less than an hour after Phoebe sent word that she would leave for Scotland the next day. She hadn't been surprised when the duchess protested in favor of waiting for the men to return. Phoebe’s assurance that she would go alone brought a knowing smile to Elise’s face, and she said, “Actually, it’s a fine idea. After all, they will likely catch up with us on the road.”
Phoebe gently inserted the book back into the box. She hoped the men would be gone long enough for her and the duchess to reach Scotland…and for Phoebe to catch her breath. Two days had passed since the interlude with Kiernan and she couldn't seem to regain her equilibrium. It seems the duchess had been correct. God help her, Kiernan MacGregor was, indeed, an experienced lover. A tender lover, damn his soul, and Phoebe had only tasted of his talents. She shivered as she had a hundred times since that night, the feel of his rigid staff between her fingers still so real…the memory of his tongue inside her—Molly appeared in the open doorway of Phoebe’s bedchamber.
“The duchess’ coach has arrived, Miss.”
“Thank you, Molly. This trunk is ready. Please inform Gaylon.”
"Are you all right?" the maid asked.
She smiled. "Distracted. I'm fine."
Molly left and Phoebe gathered her reticule, the two books she had purchased, and her cloak, then made her way to the parlor where the duchess and her aunt waited.
Elise smiled. “I hope I'm not too early.”
“Not at all. Gaylon should have my trunks loaded right away.” She sat on the sofa beside her aunt.
“Phoebe,” Lady Albery said, “are you sure you won’t change your mind and wait until Lord Ashlund returns?”
“We've discussed this, Aunt. My uncle has afforded four men as escort in addition to Calders. Plus, we have the duchess' entourage. We're quite safe.”
“You really should take Molly with you,” Lady Albery continued.
“No thank you. As I said, I'm not accustomed to traveling with a maid, so I won't miss her.”
“Don’t worry,” the duchess said, “I have Sue. She can deal very nicely with the both of us.”
Lady Albery tsked, but Phoebe only nodded and wondered how much time she'd have in Scotland before her nemesis caught up with her.
Three quarters of an hour later, they drove through the gate, leaving her aunt waving a woeful handkerchief.
“Are you and your aunt close?” Elise asked.
“No,” Phoebe replied. “Though, the way she has acted these last few days, one would think she was losing a daughter.”
“Yes, one would.” Elise smiled. “So, we're off. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have you visit Ashlund. We're going to have a wonderful time.”
“Where exactly is Ashlund?”
“Two hours north of Edinburgh.”
“Not in the Highlands then?” Phoebe asked.
Elise shook her head. “No. It's a
nother two hour ride before you enter the southernmost part of the Highlands. Tell me, did you like Brahan Seer?”
“I did. The castle is beautiful and Loch Katrine is spectacular.”
“Yes,” Elise smiled, “it is magnificent. Marcus and I spend a great deal of time there. Though, with the education of the twins, we don't stay as long as we used to.” She sighed. “I would prefer they received their education there, but my husband insists they receive a formal education in Edinburgh.”
“Is that where Lord Ashlund studied?” Phoebe asked.
“No, he studied at Oxford, which is why Ethan is to study at the university in Edinburgh.”
“Ethan?”
“Our son. Our daughter is Jacqueline.”
“I see, and what does Lord Ashlund having studied in Oxford have to do with your son studying in Edinburgh?”
A twinkle entered Elise’s eyes. “Marcus feels one son educated by the English is enough. I know what you're thinking,” she went on. “He has an American wife and his future daughter-in-law is English.”
"Ma'am, I would never say such a thing," Phoebe demurred.
“It's not all English he dislikes,” the duchess said with a laugh in her voice, “only the ones who attempt to give MacGregor land to their English kinsmen. Of course, the Scottish crown has been known to do the same.”
“It's a wonder the MacGregors aren't homeless, one and all,” Phoebe said.
“Many are,” Elise replied.
“Your Grace, forgive me, I forgot—”
“It isn't your history, Phoebe. We have many good books on Highland history in Ashlund. If you are interested, I'm sure Kiernan will take you to visit many of the places where historical events took place.” She grimaced. “Beware, though, it's likely to turn into a long journey. You’ll soon learn that every road in the Highlands is famous for some battle or another.”
*****
Phoebe glanced at Elise, whose tired face said three days in a carriage and now horseback had taken its toll.