The Highlander’s English Bride: The Lairds Most Likely Book 6

by Anna Campbell

  Mad for her didn’t equal love, but it was a damned sight better than being his inconvenient bride. "I know you’ve been eager to…"

  "I have indeed. That’s because I’m quite addicted to you, Emily Douglas. With every day that passes, I only want you more."

  Well… Her heart turned into a ball of warm, sticky nectar. Who would have guessed that the bond between them was special for Hamish, too? Certainly not Emily Douglas, although even an innocent would notice his appetite for her. "This isn’t what usually happens to you?"

  He sighed and ran one hand through his untidy hair. "Devil take it, Emily, I can’t think of anything but you. I spend every moment away from bed wanting to carry you back to bed. You’ve turned me into an utter wreck. I used to be a worthwhile member of society. Those days are gone." He frowned at her, although the glint in his blue eyes belied his intense expression. "Now who’s looking smug?"

  She stopped trying to contain her smile. "I suppose I must be." She hesitated before she spoke again, although surely there could be no risk in the admission, given what he’d just said. "I’m quite mad about you, too."

  I love you, Hamish.

  But she backed away from that ultimate confession. Because gratifying as it was to hear how she turned his life topsy-turvy, desire wasn’t love.

  Could it be the pathway to love?

  She was too inexperienced to know. But if she had to formulate a theory, she’d speculate that at last her marriage headed in a positive direction. Which made her more determined than ever to become an equal partner when she and Hamish came together.

  For a worldly man who had had far too much feminine attention in his life, he looked ridiculously pleased. "Well, I’ll be a Dutchman. Mutual lunacy?"

  She couldn’t help laughing. "At least it’s mutual."

  "That’s true." He looked thoughtful. "You’d like to make our encounters more mutual?"

  Heat stung her cheeks at having to have this conversation, which given what he’d just done to her seemed insane. "I’d like to make you feel the way you make me feel."

  He seemed to understand, despite her mixed-up sentence. "I should have known you’d start wanting to order me about."

  Once resentment would have honed those words. Now they emerged with an affectionate tolerance that made her want to hug him. "Not always. Just now and again."

  "You want to wreak havoc on my innocent body?"

  Her lips quirked. "Not so innocent."

  He didn’t smile back. "You could be right."

  She frowned. "I’m not saying I don’t like what we’ve done so far. I love it."

  "I never doubted it, darling." He still looked like he made some abstruse calculation in his head. It was a familiar expression. "But you feel like the recipient, not the giver."

  "Exactly."

  "That’s not true by the way. I’ve never enjoyed a lover more than you."

  Another of those excited little jumps of her heart. Another catch of emotion in her throat. "Thank you."

  "You’re welcome."

  "So do you mind if we try something different?"

  Hamish spread his hands in surrender while a broad smile covered his face. "Mind? I’ll wager I’m the luckiest cove in Scotland."

  ***

  Hamish watched relief flood Emily’s features. She was such an intriguing mixture of confidence and shyness, much more interesting than the prickly, if attractive little termagant he’d once thought her.

  Her laugh held a note of surprise. "Really?"

  "I’m at your disposal, Lady Glen Lyon. What would you like to do first?"

  A wicked smile curled her luscious mouth.

  Heat blasted Hamish. Was she thinking of putting that mouth on his prick? That particular fantasy stretched all the way back to his youth, when he’d first noticed that Emily Baylor might be annoying, but she was also deuced pretty.

  "Take off your shirt."

  He cooperated. She licked her lips, as she conducted a leisurely survey of his body. He groaned. "If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be responsible for the consequences."

  "Patience," she murmured, rising from the chaise longue and prowling toward him like a panther on the hunt.

  At that moment, he realized how much she’d changed. This was a woman who claimed her right to sensual pleasure. So far he’d called the tune. Emily was right about that. He had a suspicion that after today, that would no longer be the case.

  For a week, he’d basked in unrivaled physical satisfaction. He’d relished watching Emily’s tentative responses transform to blazing ecstasy. She was perfect in his arms, the most wonderful lover he’d ever known. But this predatory version of his wife set him ablaze with an excitement he’d never felt before. She was dangerous and daring and full of unexpected surprises. He couldn’t wait to see what she did next.

  What she did next was run her hands over his bare chest with an appreciative languor that turned him as hard as an iron bar. He exhaled in an agony of delight. "You’re going to spin this out, aren’t you?"

  A superior smile hovered around her lips. "You have somewhere you need to be?"

  "I’m sure I can spare the time." The last words escaped as a gasp, because she kissed his chest. The heat of her lips on his skin shuddered through him like summer lightning.

  She ran her hands up and down his arms. "You’re a magnificent figure of a man, you know."

  "Thank you." Another groan escaped him, as she flicked her tongue over one nipple then the other. Shaking hands reached for her. "Emily…"

  "No." She dodged out of reach. "I want to find out what gives you pleasure. It’s…it’s a scientific investigation."

  Despite his frustration, a laugh escaped. "Even if you kill your subject?"

  She kept smiling. "It’s in a good cause."

  He raised one eyebrow. "You like having me at your mercy."

  "Definitely."

  "Then go ahead." He set his jaw and told himself he could endure. "Anything to further the sum of human knowledge."

  Her smile widened. "I hoped you’d feel like that."

  She went back to kissing his chest. He trembled as she dipped her head low and traced a sizzling path down his belly to the belt that cinched his kilt. She moved to his back, scraping her teeth across his skin. He sucked in a deep breath, then released it when she bit him. His cock twitched, and he nearly came there and then.

  Her incoherent sounds of pleasure only heightened his arousal. He always relished Emily’s unabashed enjoyment of what they did together. He’d thought her an exciting lover when she followed his lead. Now with her dedicating that impressive brain to his titillation, he wanted to get down on his knees in thanks.

  He might yet fall to his knees. Under this slow, thorough seduction, his legs didn’t feel too steady.

  The tendons of his neck tightened as she nibbled a line across his shoulder. He’d never had a lover take this amount of trouble over him. The close focus was as arousing as the touch of her lips.

  Well, almost.

  "You’re so warm," she murmured into his skin.

  Warm? Hell, she had no idea. One stray spark and he’d burst into flames.

  "And so large and strong."

  "Emily…" Her name was a drawn-out plea to stop tormenting him.

  She shifted behind him again and fiddled with the tie in his hair. Her sigh when his hair slipped about his shoulders made his gut clench in longing.

  She smoothed his hair, stroking him like a big cat. "I suppose you’ll have to chop your hair off when we go back to London."

  He closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He already knew she liked his long hair. That was one of the reasons he hadn’t cut it. "They won’t let me into Almack’s if I look like a Norse raider."

  "Then devil take Almack’s. We’ll just have to stay here forever."

  Through the storm of arousal swirling through his veins, he registered that she seemed content to remain in Scotland with him. Then all coherent thought fled
as she stood in front of him and began to undo his belt. The lingering seduction was taking its toll on her, too. Her usually deft hands were unsteady, and the time she spent loosening the buckle turned into an exercise in excruciating self-control for Hamish.

  Finally… Finally she slid the belt free. His blue and gold Douglas plaid slid to the floor in a colorful heap.

  "Goodness me…" she whispered. "No wonder you’ve been huffing and puffing like an overworked draft horse."

  He gave a grunt of wry amusement. "Goodness has nothing to do with it."

  "Oh, I hope not." She reached out and curled her fingers around his throbbing dick. Reaction jolted through him and turned the world red hot. He thrust his hips forward in encouragement.

  Her hand formed a fist and began to move up and down, milking him. He closed his eyes, giving himself up to flaring delight. She’d touched him before, and he’d shown her what gave him pleasure. Now she turned those lessons upon him with a few variations of her own that had him shaking and panting like a man in a fever.

  "If you…keep doing…that…this is going…to be…a quick encounter," he bit out as he braced against spilling into her hand.

  Her thumb teased the sensitive head, already slick with moisture. "I love that I make you burn."

  Her voice rang with new confidence. He opened hazy eyes to see her drop to her knees in front of him. Surely she wouldn’t…

  By God, it turned out she would.

  A long guttural sound of surrender escaped him, as she fitted her lips around the head and her fingers encircled the base. He staggered and reached for her shoulders.

  The slide of her tongue on his swollen flesh struck him like cannon fire, then the world turned scarlet as she tentatively sucked. When she increased the pressure, he tangled shaking hands in her thick hair.

  For endless blazing seconds, Hamish submitted to her clumsy, arousing, glorious attentions. He was so close, yet he couldn’t come in her mouth. She’d blasted through barriers he’d imagined no lady would cross. But that would be a step too far. He couldn’t bear to think that anything he did might repulse or frighten her.

  "Emily…" His fingers tightened on her scalp. "Emily, sweetheart, you must stop."

  With voluptuous slowness, she released him. He’d always thought her pretty. Now on her knees before him, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes heavy with desire, and her mouth damp and swollen after pleasuring him, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  "Don’t you like it?" Her husky question almost made him lose himself.

  "I like it too much." He bent and kissed her with a succulent carnality that did nothing to promote control. Her lips tasted of salt and musk. The knowledge that she’d been willing to do that for him shuddered through him like a tidal wave.

  "Lie on the chaise longue," he said roughly, too stirred up for politeness.

  Dark eyebrows arched with a haughtiness that reminded him of the girl he’d known in London. She’d been exciting then, but he’d never have imagined quite how exciting she’d end up becoming. "No, you lie on the chaise longue."

  Disbelief turned Hamish as still as a rock. "What the devil…"

  "I want to sit on you."

  "Sit?"

  She looked disconcerted. "Won’t the physics work?"

  What an Emily question. He’d laugh, if he wasn’t so close to the brink. "Yes, it will work."

  "Then?"

  He seized her in his arms and kissed her with all the astounded gratitude rushing through him. He’d called her exciting? He’d had no idea.

  "Hamish…" she gasped, looking delightfully rumpled.

  He released her and arranged himself on the chaise. When he spread out before her, her sizzling survey made his cock even harder. He struggled to hold himself in. In return for her extraordinary generosity, he owed her pleasure. Anyway, he wanted to be inside her when he spilled his seed. A week of wedded bliss had convinced him that nothing compared to the feeling of his wife’s muscles gripping him as he lost himself.

  She crossed to straddle him, hitching her skirts to give him a glimpse of the sweet nest of curls below her stomach.

  "Please don’t delay," he said in a hoarse voice as she balanced over him. "I’m only human."

  "You? Only human? Don’t make me laugh." The anticipation in her smile made him shake. Clever hands gripped him, ready for her descent. "You’re the heroic Laird of Glen Lyon."

  When she slid down, it was even more perfect than he could have imagined. There was a delicious slippery moment when he realized that what they’d done had aroused her to madness, then he was deep inside her. With a gasp of female excitement, Emily clenched around him. Every time she moved, sensation crashed through him like hot gunfire.

  Hamish fought for control, but he was too close. A ragged groan escaped him, as she leaned forward to press an openmouthed kiss to his lips. When her tongue thrust into his mouth, she squeezed him. He bit back a whimper and slipped one shaking hand between their bodies.

  She bucked and cried out. Hamish’s control shattered. On another broken groan, he lifted his hips and filled her. He dived headlong into a fiery inferno where the only reality was his wife’s passion and the incendiary pleasure they created together.

  When he came back to himself, an exhausted bundle of fragrant femininity sprawled across his chest. The air was thick with sexual satisfaction.

  He firmed his grip on Emily and smiled up at the painted ceiling. The luckiest man in Scotland? He was the luckiest man in the entire world.

  Eventually Emily stirred and raised her head. She looked happy. She looked tired. She looked beautiful. For a long time, they stared at each other before he reached forward and stroked the tumble of sable hair back from her forehead.

  He drew her down for a kiss that spoke of tenderness rather than desire. "Thank you."

  Hamish shifted, bringing her with him so they rested against the back of the chaise longue. She draped across his lap, boneless with exhaustion and the lingering remnants of her climax. Emily buried her face in his chest, and he felt her lips move in a kiss. Her sweetness in this aftermath touched him anew.

  He was startled to hear a muffled giggle. "What is it?"

  Sparkling hazel eyes more gold than green focused on him. "I can’t believe I was so very wicked – yet somehow I’m still wearing my dress."

  "I’ll fix that next time."

  "I can’t wait."

  It was his turn to laugh. "You may have to – at least until I’ve recovered. You drained me to the dregs." His voice lowered. "You’re the lover a man dreams of, Emily."

  She blushed, which he found touching, given what she’d just done to him. "I’m sorry I was so afraid when we married. If I had any idea—"

  "Shh, sweetheart," he crooned, stroking her back. "What we have now is worth any amount of waiting."

  "The things you make me feel…" Her gesture conveyed what words could not.

  He smiled at her, enchanted anew. "Do you know what we should do now?"

  Eyes shining with curiosity leveled on him. "What?"

  His smile widened. "I think we should have a party."

  Chapter 27

  These Scots certainly knew how to celebrate.

  Emily clung to Hamish’s arm and surveyed the crowd of jubilant people crammed into Lyon House’s vast ballroom. Most of them were strangers to her, and the throng included all levels of society. Crofters. Villagers. Neighbors. The local grandees. All mixing with an ease that impressed someone from the much more class-ridden south.

  Most of them were strangers, but not all. Big Billy towered over everyone. There were the people she’d come to know who worked at the house. And standing with her and Hamish were Diarmid and Fiona and Fergus and Marina.

  The noise was terrific. Chatter. Laughter. A cohort of fiddlers doing their best to be heard above the cacophony.

  "Not like a London party," Hamish said, smiling at her.

  "No, not at all," Emily said faintly. In this riotous ga
thering, she felt awfully English and hidebound and out of place. And it was so important that these people liked her and welcomed her to the glen. For her sake and for Hamish’s.

  "You look wonderful, Emily," Fiona said. "The clan will take you to their hearts."

  Emily wore a red silk gown trimmed with gold braid, and the diamond necklace and pearl pins Hamish had given her in London.

  "I hope so," she said, still staring out at the chaos.

  "How could you fail?" Marina said. "Coraggio, ragazza. These are your people now."

  "Yes, you’re my wife, and the Lady of Glen Lyon." Hamish stepped away and held out his hand. He looked every inch the laird in his blue and gold kilt and his black velvet formal jacket. Her susceptible heart skipped a beat at how handsome he was. "Let’s show them the way to dance a reel, sweetheart."

  When Emily looked into his eyes, she saw that he was proud to show her off to his friends and kinfolk. An uncertain smile curled her lips. "We haven’t danced together since our engagement."

  When they’d seethed with mutual resentment and dread for the future. Now the future was here, and she’d never been happier, if she ignored the tiny niggle that Hamish didn’t love her. But compared to the joy these last three weeks had brought, that was a small niggle indeed. They passed their days in harmony and their nights in passionate communion. The marriage which had started so badly promised a lifetime of joy ahead.

  "Then it’s time you danced together again." Fergus looked magnificent in the red Mackinnon plaid.

  Diarmid had chosen to dress in the English style. He and Fiona made a spectacular couple, with her silvery beauty set off in pale blue organza and him so dark and brooding at her side.

  The night turned into a whirl of excitement. The dances were different up here, too, but fortunately most people tolerated Emily’s mistakes. Once she’d danced with Hamish, she partnered his neighbors and even shared a jig with Big Billy, who swung her around so fast, she became dizzy. It was a relief to return to Hamish and feel his arms slide around her.

  "Having fun?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes," she said breathlessly. "If this is what you grew up with, you must have found London balls very staid."