For the moment, he settled for slipping his hand over her ankle. “Might I help you remove your boots, at least while you’re here?” He slid his hand beneath her gown, up to her bare knee, and back down again. She wore no stockings, and all he could feel was the soft give of her firm calf beneath his fingertips. She shivered again, and it seemed to him that her mossy-green eyes grew darker.
She did not answer, and he suppressed a smile of triumph. So far, it seemed he was winning. But his girl could turn on a farthing, so he kept his face smooth of the passion he felt, though his own breath was coming hard and his heart pounded in his ears like the hooves of a runaway horse.
“Or should I lace them for you, as we have no maid present?”
His angel laughed then, even in the face of her own desire. “I suppose we can take them off, for a little while at least. They are uncomfortable without the laces done. And I have no stockings on.”
“So I see.” Alex tried to stop himself, but he found his hand moving up to her knee again beneath the cotton of her nightgown. His other hand traced the curve of her leg, stopping—with difficulty—at the knee. He wanted to trace higher, and feel the soft skin of her inner thighs beneath the calluses of his palms. As it was, her eyes had grown heavy-lidded with wanting, but she tensed beneath his hands, so he took them away again.
“Are your feet cold?” Alex said. “I have a thick pair of wool socks that might suit you.”
She laughed at that too, her body relaxing against the cushions behind her once more.
“It’s May, Alex. I’m warm enough, I think.”
He drew her boots off, one at a time, caressing her instep as he did so. She was not ticklish it seemed, or at least not under his hands. He began to massage her feet and she sighed deeply.
“You’re tired, Catherine. Perhaps you should leave your journeying for tomorrow.”
“No,” she said, her voice dreamy with pleasure as his large hands encompassed her small feet, soothing the tension and soreness out of them. “I have to go soon,” she said. Her voice trailed off, and she moaned a little.
The sound went straight to his loins, and he had to swallow the lust that rose like a beast inside him. “But not yet,” he managed to say.
“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”
He was sure she would sleep then, no matter what she said, but when he stopped rubbing her toes, her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled at him. “Thank you, Alex. I don’t know why I feel so at ease with you. So safe. It is not right, but there it is. I feel as if I have known you for much longer than we have, as if we grew up together in the same house, under the same roof, since I was a girl.”
Alex did not move, for fear he might break the spell. He stared up at her, taking in the soft golden strands of her braid as it fell over one shoulder, crossing her breast. He took in the sight of her sweet face, relaxed in a sleepy smile. He would make it his life’s work to make her feel this safe and happy, and to keep her that way for the rest of her days.
If she had been a more experienced woman, he would have raised her foot to his lips and kissed her instep, trailing his mouth and tongue up her leg slowly, to discover other pleasures. As it was, however, he simply kept his hand over both her feet where they rested on the fancy ducal carpet.
“You will always be safe with me,” he said. “Every day of your life, from this day forward.”
Catherine seemed to hear the vow within his words and she frowned a little, a shadow crossing her beautiful face. “Alex—” she began.
But he raised one hand and smiled at her. “Don’t trouble yourself just now, Catherine Middlebrook. Take another sip of cider with me before you go, either to bed down the hall or on your journey to back of beyond.”
She relaxed at his odd compliance, and he almost laughed out loud. How on God’s blessed earth she could think that he would ever let her go after she had clung to him in the midst of the fire, after she had come to his room in the dark of night, he could not say. Still, he would never know the all workings of this woman’s mind, and he supposed he did not need to. He need only love her, and honor her, and all the rest would follow.
Thirty-four
His hands rubbing her feet had made her almost fall asleep. But the pleasure was too great, so Catherine stayed awake.
When he vowed to keep her safe for the rest of her life, her heart almost burst in her chest. His touch was so gentle, so tender for such a large man. She should leave him. She should go to her room and change, then sneak out to find Lord Farleigh. She knew this, but she still had hours until morning, hours until full light. She wanted to keep these stolen hours, and spend them with him.
What would happen if she kissed him?
She was a bold, wanton woman. She had known this since she first touched him in her front hallway. And now she sat with him, alone in the middle of the night, in the middle of his sitting room, thinking about how it would feel to have his lips on hers again.
She drank the cider he brought her. He warmed it over the fire in front of her, and then handed it to her as if it were tribute, and she, the Queen of Sheba. She took a sip and the taste of sweet apple slid down her throat, warming her insides as much as his smile did.
“Cider is the one thing the English do right,” he said.
She smiled at him, feeling coquettish. “I must remind you again that I am an Englishwoman.”
“Do remind me.” He sat down beside her, his big body a wall of heat. He sat close this time, so that his thigh rested against the softness of her gown. The strength of him was like a bulwark against the world, and she wished again, and fervently, that she might be free to choose him, and take shelter with him for the rest of his life.
He knew nothing of her thoughts, nothing of what she owed to another. He ran his fingertip along her jaw, pushing one blonde curl gently back from her cheek. “You are from Devon, are you not?”
His lips brushed her temple, and she almost dropped the mug she held. He took it from her in one deft motion, setting it aside she knew not where, for her eyes were closed, that she might feel only the heat of his body and hear only the honey warmth of his voice.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding breathless in her own ears.
“I have it on good authority that Devon is practically Cornwall, and Cornwall is practically civilized.”
His lips were on hers then, moving with the soft insistence that she remembered from her dreams. The taste of him was sweet and salt together, the feel of his tongue on hers a temptation she could not turn from. He kissed her deeply, his mouth covering hers with a hunger that rose like the flames of a flash fire, threatening to consume her. She let her reason go, and gave herself up to the way his lips felt on hers. If she was to have this bliss only once, let it be tonight.
Just as that wicked thought filtered through her mind, he drew back, taking his warmth with him, leaving her unsatisfied.
She ached deep in her belly. Her throat was dry and all she could think about was the way he tasted—and that she wanted that taste on her tongue again.
“Catherine,” he said, his voice rasping against her skin, though he now sat a foot away, reclining backward on the cushions of his bedroom’s settee. “My angel, we must stop. You must go to bed. We will speak in the morning.”
Catherine knew that she might live to be a very old woman. She might live out her life in Devon, or wherever Lord Farleigh’s seat was, and never be touched by a man like this again. No. She would never be touched by this man again.
She knew now why her mother was so loud and despairing. Her mother despaired because she had once had a love like this, and lost it.
That would not be Catherine’s fate. She would not grow wild as her mother had, but once she lost Alex, a part of her heart would fade away from disuse. Her children would have her heart; her husband would have it. But there was a piece of her that would alw
ays be in this room, sitting in the firelight with Alexander Waters of Glenderrin.
That part of her deserved something to take with her when she left.
“All right,” she said, standing. Her legs were weak beneath her, but they held her weight. The look of surprise that crossed Alex’s face shored her up as well. She might be young and inexperienced, but she had seen this man cut a swath through the ladies of the ton. She knew he was not a man who was used to women walking away.
But she did not leave the room, taking her bag with her. She walked into his bedroom instead, without looking back.
She stripped off her dressing gown and laid it over a chair. She did it carefully, laying it down precisely, as if she were in her own room. She heard him in the doorway then, and she turned to smile at him.
Alex was not smiling.
“You can’t sleep here,” he said.
“I don’t mean to sleep,” she answered.
His voice was strangled. “What do you mean to do then?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I had hoped that you might show me.”
He walked out, and she felt the first flash of humiliation slide up from the ground, burning through her body. She felt her hated blush, and prayed that the horror might consume her as the heat from his touch had threatened to do. But it did not. Her blush subsided, for she saw him step back into the bedroom with her bag in hand. She watched as he closed and locked the door behind him.
He held up the key. “I have locked the outer door. As you can see, I have locked this one.”
He tossed her bag down and held the key aloft. He laid it on his open palm and offered it to her.
“The servants cannot come in now and catch us. I am giving this key to you. But in return, I would ask for your pledge that you won’t leave this room without me.”
Her heart pounded in her ears. She shook with the need to touch him, but she held her ground. She would not lie to him, and she did not.
“I promise, Alex. I will not leave by that door, not unless you walk beside me.”
He nodded then, and laid the key on his dressing table where it gleamed in the candlelight. He did not come to her, and she realized that he was still waffling, no doubt wrestling with his honor.
She would have to go to him herself.
Catherine pushed all thoughts of Lord Farleigh, of duty, of her grandmother’s teachings, out of her head. She would forget them all, and be with this one man. She would think about all the rest later. This hour, and all the wonders it held, was for her.
She stepped toward him, and stood close until her breasts brushed the white linen of his shirt.
“I still think you should go, Catherine. But if you stay, know that you’ll be mine. Not just tonight, but always.” He looked into her eyes, searching her face as he had down by the river. She hoped he could only see her love for him, and not her real plans for the future. She hoped that he saw the desire that matched his own, the heat she did not know what to do with, but which she wanted finally to indulge in with him.
“I am yours already,” she said. “Now kiss me.”
Thirty-five
Alex usually did not need to be told to kiss a woman. Usually, he did not need to be led to his own bed as a lamb on a rope. But this was no ordinary woman. This was the woman who would bear his sons, the woman who would lie by his side in that bed, and every other, for the rest of his life. It was a heavy moment, full of portents and of the future. Still, his body raged on, his lust like the background music of an opera, when all he wanted to do was stand and take in the beauty of the woman about to open her mouth to sing. His songbird stood before him, waiting. In the end, it was she who once again stepped close, rose on the tips of her toes, and kissed him.
She had learned a bit since the last time. Her knowledge seemed to grow by what it fed on, and now her lips danced over his with their own innate rhythm—not the steps he had taught her, but new ones, entirely her own. He could taste her desire and her innocence together, a heady drug.
She pressed herself against him and he could feel the soft contours of her breasts against his chest. His arms went around her in spite of his better judgment. He knew he would have to choose: surrender or send her away. But he also knew himself. He had locked both doors, not just to keep her in, but to keep the rest of the world out. He intended to have her, and to make it such a night that the priest’s blessing to come would seem like an afterthought. This was their true wedding night, and he would vow himself to her before he took her under him.
He pulled back from her, and when she moaned in protest, he pressed his lips to hers once, swiftly, in consolation. “I must speak, my angel, before we go on.”
“Must you?”
She wriggled against him, trying to give her hungry body solace, trying to find a way to assuage the need she felt. But she rubbed hard against his nether region, and he felt desire spike in his blood and in his chest like a lance. He took a deep breath, thanking God he was a man, and in control of himself.
He looked into her fevered eyes. The mossy green had burned away, and brightly lit emeralds had taken their place. He almost said to hell with it and kissed her again, but this moment between them was sacred. Impatient as she was, she would thank him for it later.
“You must know that I have a special license. We will be married tomorrow, by my uncle, the Bishop of London, quietly. Your mother and sister will attend, as will Robert and Mary Elizabeth. You may even have Mr. Pridemore there, if you prefer.”
The last was a sad attempt at a joke, but his angel did not think it was funny. He could see that he was dampening her ardor with all this talk of planning. She pressed herself against him again, no doubt in an effort to distract him from his folly. He swallowed hard, his lust beginning to rise like a flash tide that would never go out.
“But this night is our wedding night, for all that a priest has not blessed us yet. My uncle is Church of England, and good for little other than to circumvent English law. But I will marry you again in the Highlands, at Glenderrin, with both our families present, before a true priest of the Church.” Alex realized he’d been issuing orders as if she were his valet. He swallowed hard, and watched the firelight as it played over the gentle planes of her face.
She was as still as a rabbit in his hand, a rabbit who hoped to deceive the hunter into passing on.
“Will you marry me, Catherine Middlebrook?”
She swallowed hard and kissed him, fiercely. She looked into his eyes. “The day we find ourselves before a true priest of the Church, I will wed you, and bless the day as the best of my life.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. It was an odd way to agree to be his wife, when all she had to do was say yes, but nothing was easy with his girl.
“All right, then,” he said.
It seemed that there was a shadow in her eyes, dimming the emerald brilliance. But she pressed herself against him as if she were drowning at sea and he was the last rock in the world. He kissed her then, and wondered how he was going to coax her nightgown off without frightening her when she wriggled out of his arms and walked away.
* * *
Catherine could not bear one more moment of talking about a marriage that would never be. She knew now that she would be breaking his heart as well as her own. Once she was safely wed to another, she would write to Alex and explain all she had done, and why. No doubt he would curse her, and all the love he felt for her now would turn to bitterness. Catherine knew that she was selfish. She should leave him where he stood, even now. The key waited for her. All she had to do was pick it up, and turn it in the lock. But she knew that she would not do it.
She walked to his bed and climbed up on it. She was no siren, and had no way of knowing how fashionable ladies got their husbands to come to them when they were reluctant. She would have to simply be herself, and improvise.
She dr
ew her borrowed nightgown up and over her head, tossing it down on the thick rug. She felt a blush rise, but for once it was not from embarrassment. Alex’s jaw went slack from shock, his eyes darkening almost to black with desire. A sudden wave of triumph broke over her, and she felt drunk with power. That she could make the man she loved look at her like that by only taking off a cotton gown was a miracle.
Next, she undid her braid.
He did not move to her side but watched her as a cat watched a mouse hole. Something new and strange seemed bound to happen when he leaped on her as that cat might. She had no doubt that he would make sure that she enjoyed it.
She knew a little of what went on from watching the birds dance and the sheep cover each other in the fall, but she was not ready to turn her back on him and let him mount her yet. As much as she wanted his body on hers, she wanted to keep looking at him even more.
Her hair fell about her shoulders and down her back like a curtain. She sighed at the feeling of the softness of her own hair against her skin. Her hair was always up, except when she brushed it out. She had never felt it against her naked skin before. She rolled her neck back and forth and her long hair moved with it, sliding over her back and shoulders like a blessing. She almost forgot about Alex for a moment of sensual pleasure, but he was beside her then, reminding her of his presence.
“You are the most beautiful woman God ever made,” he said. He placed his hand gently against her cheek, leaning down to kiss her. He did not devour her, as she wished he would, but skated his lips across hers, then down her cheek, to her throat, where his mouth caressed the beat of her pulse.
He laved his tongue there against her skin, and she shivered, grabbing on to him. She rose up on her knees, trying to draw him closer. But he was much bigger than she was. There was no doubt from the moment he touched her who was in control.
She let him draw her down onto the bed, the soft sheets and blankets cushioning her as she fell. She smelled the scent of bergamot all around her then, both from the heat of his skin and from the sheets beneath her head, and she knew in that moment that she had come home.
How to Seduce a Scot Page 21