Imogen gasped in surprise. She could feel the hard length of him against her. She could smell him all around her, invading her head with the headiness of his masculine scent. The linen of his undershirt fit against him like a second skin, molding to his form.
His mouth trailed from her lips to her throat. Imogen’s eyes rolled in mindless pleasure. Her body sought the warmth of his. “What are you doing?”
Dougal flicked his tongue over her skin, eliciting prickles of sensation on the valleys of her flesh. In a husky murmur full of promise, he said, “I’m going to have my way with you.”
“Oh,” she said, sighing in agreement, nodding her head as he continued to deeply kiss her body. “Can I have my way, too?”
Dougal stopped, pulling away to study her. A smile found his mouth as he forced her to step back. With stalking grace, he nodded his head. “I insist upon it, my lady.”
His fingers pulled at his shirt, unfastening the buttons with urgency. Once free of the linen, his hands went to the buttons at his waist. Imogen watched his fingers, her eyes warring over where they would roam next.
“Get out of that gown, lest I rip it off you,” he growled.
“I don’t look like you,” she observed hesitantly. Her eyes waited for his hands to move from his waist so she could see the protrusion that had pushed naughtily at her stomach.
“I should hope not,” he said wryly.
“Can I touch you?” she wondered, her eyes still straining at his waist. “I want to touch you.”
“If you don’t, I think I’ll die,” Dougal said, the irony of his statement not lost on him. Seeing her attention fixed in the direction of his manhood, he grimaced in pleasured longing. Softening the command, he ordered, “Take off that gown.”
Imogen obeyed, tugging the laces at her shoulders. Dougal finally managed to undo the last of his buttons. The soft linen slid off her shoulders to crash silently onto the hard floor. She stood proudly before him, a blush threatening to stain her cheeks. Seeing the tip of his member peeking through his breeches, she focused on it.
“Touch me,” he ordered her.
Instantly, Imogen reached for his manhood. Her hand cupped him boldly, her fingers wrapped around his length. He groaned, his hips flexing into her palm.
“On the bed,” he commanded. Imogen did not mind his forceful way. She liked being controlled by him. He was a controlling man. Only now, even as he ordered her about, she had the feeling it was she who commanded him. His words were too desperate, his urgency too visible.
Falling onto her back, she moved up to the pillow. The soft coverlet pressed into her length as she waited for Dougal to kick off his boots. When he was completely naked, he followed her. Crawling with determined purpose, he moved over her. His gaze swooped possessively over the creamy valleys of her skin.
Closing his eyes, he lowered himself against her. Their bodies met for the first time, free of any encumbering barriers. He sighed as she moved her legs to allow for his weight. The softness of her thighs rubbed him.
Instantly, his lips parted with a kiss. Thoroughly laying possession to her mouth, he found he could not deny himself the complete taste of her. His tongue trailed hotly to her breasts, taking a solid nipple between his lips. Her back arched. A passionate cry escaped her. He chuckled, pleased with the desire she showed so freely.
Next, he explored her waist. His hands discovered the untouched peaks of her body.
Her skin was on fire with his caresses and Imogen was no less bold in her exploration of him. She ran her hands over his chest, his back, urging his lips onward when he would linger, only to draw him back. Unable to stand the curious fire in her body, she began to push at his shoulders. He glanced up in surprise.
Hoarsely, he muttered, “I told you I cannot stop. Do not ask it of me. I want you too badly. I’ve waited too long.”
It was Imogen’s turn to be surprised. Her eyes shone with an innocence consumed by passion. Weakly, she said, “If you stop, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
“Then—”
“I want you on your back,” she commanded fervently. “I told you I wanted my way with you.”
Dougal could not deny her as she forced him to roll to the side. Her legs threaded around his thighs holding him prisoner under her silken guard. He could feel the heat of her sex pressing near him, growing moist as he rubbed his leg up against her. Her lips lacked his precise skill as they roamed and tasted his body, but she easily found ways to return the pleasure he had given her. He cupped her breasts, massaging the tips with his fingers. He couldn’t hold back much longer.
His flesh was smooth but for the hair roughened stretch of his legs and arms. His thigh pushed more frantically against her as she tried to move against him, seeking an end to the torment of her body. The hard, stiff length of his member burned hotly into her tender stomach.
“You must end it,” she gasped, licking up the side of his neck to kiss his ear. She pressed herself fully against him. “Please, I don’t know how to put an end to it.”
“Sit up,” he ordered. His hands wrapped her waist. “Straddle my waist as you would a stallion. I’ll show you how to put an end to it—how to put my end into it.”
She did as he commanded though she did not understand. Unknowingly, she opened herself up for him. Being parted from him only brought a new agony to her chest. Her skin begged her to fall back against him. When she would heed her desire and once more press flesh to flesh, his strong hold stopped her.
“I was meant to fit inside of you,” he groaned when she would protest his restraint. “You were meant to take me inside of you.”
To prove his point, he lifted her by her hips. Imogen shot him a look of utter confusion. She could not comprehend how he proposed they become one person. Dougal saw her hesitation and knew she didn’t understand. With a groan, he flipped her on her back.
“No wait!” Imogen gasped in protest, her hands flinging wildly to stop him. “Don’t go.”
He stopped only to kiss the worry from her brow. His hands reached to position her body beneath him. His strong hand came up beneath her knee, lifting her leg to hold her still. Nuzzling his nose to hers, he whispered, “Next time I will let you control it my little vixen, but for now…”
She felt his member rubbing against her opening. She gasped. Her calf stirred uselessly in the air as he held firm. He took her breath into his mouth as he placed a light kiss on her lips.
“…for now it will be easier if I just show you.” And with those heated words half whispered, half growled into her mouth, he thrust himself inside. Her eyes widened in surprise at the forceful entry of his conquering hold.
Dougal moaned, his body leaping with delight. His hands gripped her knee and the coverlet by her head in sweet anguish. He kept his forehead to hers, barring his hips from their natural sought rhythm as he waited for her to adjust. The sweet scent of her skin engulfed him and he knew he was where he wanted to be. As he felt the boundary of her purity fitting around him, molding tightly to his shaft, his body tensed, shaking with violent need to find his release within her.
“Could…?” Imogen began in breathlessness. The sharp pain of his entrance took her by surprise, but quickly subsided, to be replaced by a wave of fulfillment.
Dougal slid his hand from her knee down the side of her thigh to the rounded curve of her buttocks. Hooking her leg on his shoulder, his hips thrust unwittingly as his weight adjusted more comfortably on top of her. Suddenly, she gasped, “Oh, yes! Do that!”
He growled at her passionate cry, the noise a loud, brutal possession over the chamber. His stroke was slow and deep and measured as he pushed boldly toward her core. He expertly ignited a fire within her loins. He took his time, enjoying the bittersweet temptation of his climax as he held back, wanting their touch to last forever.
Imogen’s hands fitted around his shoulders, falling to his chest to tweak his nipples as he rose up to better control his movements. Grasping her free leg, he mindlessly lif
ted it above his waist. His hands grasped her thighs, using them for leverage and control as he deepened his powered thrusts. Imogen thrashed in the senseless web he wove around her thoughts. He was everywhere—above her, at her sides, within her. And he was everything.
Dougal’s hands stroked her flesh in worshipping caresses. His eyes bore into hers, keeping her with him. His lips sought the taste of her lips, his hands the feel of her slick body. He gripped her as he rode her more feverishly—grasping her shoulder, staring at her proud breasts bobbing before him. He felt the beginning tremble of her mounting desire as she tried to kiss his wrist by her head. Her kiss turned to a bite and then a moan and then to a scream of surprise and fulfillment. And as she shrieked her rocky climax, clutching desperately at him, the shockwave of her feelings poured out onto her lover, caressing him intimately with her quivering hold of flesh wrapped around hard flesh. An instant later, Dougal lost himself, stiffening with the pleasure-pain of it, rejoicing in the agony her body wrought within him, grunting his primal release inside of her like a barbarian staking claim to his property. And as his hold on her loosened, he was oblivious to anything but her.
Chapter Eight
A sigh escaped Imogen’s lips. Her mouth formed into a dreamy smile as she slid her hands over the soft linens of her sister’s bed. Stretching with a delicate yawn, she blinked in the heavy fall of sunlight coming through the window. Her arms discovered the wide expanse of the mattress, not meeting with flesh as her limbs swept over the field of crumpled bedding. She frowned. Again, she searched blindly for Dougal. He was not beside her. Sitting up, she pulled the yellow coverlet up to hide her naked body.
“Dougal,” she called. Her head whipped around in nervousness, searching for him. The tousled length of her hair flowed down her back in tangled locks. A worried frown formed fully on her face when she received no answer to her summons. He had left her.
For a moment she wondered if the night she had spent in his arms was a sweet illusion. If so, she willed herself back asleep so that she might continue such dreams. She never wanted to wake up again, but when she moved, she felt a twinge between her thighs. The night had been very real and her body very sore from it.
With a contented smile, she assumed he must have left her for the sake of her reputation. It would not do for her parents to come home to the gossip of servants. Not that she cared, she assured herself. Nothing in her life had been as real as lying next to Dougal—the sweetness of his touch coursing through her body, the smell of him lingering on her skin, the texture of his flesh branded onto hers. With him she was alive for the first time in her life.
After their lovemaking, he had been quiet. She didn’t mind. He was always quiet and reserved. For a long moment he had held her, stroking her hair from her face with a look of intense agony in his eyes. Then, kissing her forehead, he had bid her to sleep. And she had, falling under the spell of his tenderly whispered words.
Slipping into her nightgown, she hurriedly straightened Jane’s bed. A momentary wave of guilt washed over her as she thought of her sister. She decided she would just have to tell Charlotte to have all the rooms cleaned before her parent’s arrived home. Oh, how she wished Jane was home. She would love to be able to talk to her sister, to tell her the curious feelings that poured out of her heart.
After sneaking off to her room to quickly bathe and dress in a gown of light linen, Imogen made her way to the library in search of her tutor. Her steps were lively as she skipped through the empty halls, pinning up her hair as she moved. The long swing of her skirts bounced with merriment as she fluttered about. A smile found her lips, freezing her delight beautifully on her features. She couldn’t stop grinning and didn’t care to try.
To her disappointment, the library was empty. Sighing, she crossed to the large window overlooking the garden. Her heart sped as she saw Dougal strolling over the earthen paths. The sun outlined the subtle movements of his body, movements she was only beginning to appreciate. With an excited gasp, she smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks to coloring, unaware that the natural flush that fanned her features added more life than the pinching ever could.
Spinning on her heels, she grabbed a book from the wall. As she passed the empty fireplace she stopped. A quizzical frown crossed her features. Looking down, she noticed a burnt corner of parchment. It was her letter to Jane, burnt from the fire.
“Mother,” concluded Imogen in disgust. She wondered how the woman had found it. Panic threatened as she imagined the Viscountess reading the words it had contained. She shrugged off any worry with the happiness that would not stop bubbling in her chest. She slid the burnt paper into her book and forgot it.
In the garden, Dougal’s mood was less buoyant. Damning guilt propelled his stiff movements. His night with Imogen had been sweet—sweeter than anything else in his life, or death, had been. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her pure response to him. He could smell her perfume on the wind as it caressed him with the ease of her hands. But it should never have happened. He had nothing to offer her. His whole existence must be dedicated to finding Margaret. And once he found his daughter, there would be nothing keeping him to the earth. It was the way of things.
But for all the years he had spent searching, he now found he was not so quick to leave as he had once been. It was all because of her. Imogen bewitched him with her mere presence.
“Dougal!”
He froze. A tentative pleasure threatened his good sense at the sound of her voice. He had worked all morning, and most of the night, steeling himself for what must be done. With one call of her voice she destroyed it all. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Slowly he turned as she again beckoned him.
“Dougal,” this time her voice was nearer. He refused to look at her—afraid the torment of his soul would shoot out from his eyes to curse her as it did him. He forced all emotion from his body. He stood rigidly before her.
She beamed happily at him, not stopping as she raced forward to greet him. Seeing his handsome face, she couldn’t help herself. The book dropped from her hands with a thud. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Moaning lightly, she took a quick taste of his mouth.
Dougal gasped in surprise, his arms automatically wrapping about her waist to keep from falling over with the force of her affections. Despite the screaming of his mind, he returned her kiss, deepening it as she did.
“Mm,” Imogen murmured contentedly against his mouth. She brought her fingers to hold his face. Her lids drifted open to gaze adoringly at him. She pulled back to study his solemn features.
Dougal gulped, his eyes meeting hers more slowly. He tried to harden his expression and failed. Her face was too beautiful, her joy in seeing him too palpable.
“Imogen,” he said and sighed.
“I know you had to leave me this morning,” she whispered, not letting him go. “But still I missed you. I just had to find you.” Then, with a shy cast of her features, she admitted, “I wanted to see what other lessons you planned for me.”
Her reminder of their deed hit him like a slap in the face. He untangled his hands from her back, drawing away from her. Swallowing, he disciplined himself against her blissfulness.
“We shouldn’t…” When he pulled her from him, he took a step back. Undecided, he looked around the garden for he couldn’t look at her.
“What?” Imogen said in stunned surprise. Why was he not smiling at her? What had happened to the sweet man who had held her so tenderly? As an idea struck her, she began to relax, swallowing to get her nervous heart from her throat. “Oh, you’re worried that someone will see us, aren’t you? I don’t care. I want the world to know how I feel this fine morning!”
“Imogen, don’t,” he pleaded. Guilt flowed through his veins.
“Don’t what?” she questioned, her tone growing sharp with indignation at his coolness. “Don’t be happy?”
“Just don’t.” He turned his back on her. “We can’t do this.”
“No—”
“It is my father you are worried about, isn’t it? I can handle my father. He will naturally be upset that I am still refusing the Colonel, but he can hardly find fault with your character—”
“Imogen,” Dougal snapped sternly to get her attention. She eyed him, her face so innocent and sweet. Swallowing, he looked over her shoulder, unable to meet her steadfast gaze. He hesitated, saying at last, “You dropped your book.”
“Oh,” Imogen turned to pick the volume up from the dirt. Brushing it off, she noticed the letter from Jane fell out. She grabbed it in her hand.
“What have you there?” he asked with a sinking stomach. He already knew.
“A letter to my sister,” she answered carefully. “After I saw the spirits in the garden, I wrote to her about them. She knows more about the history of Rothfield Park than anyone does. I thought that mayhap she would know what the spirits wanted with me.”
“She cannot help you,” Dougal said.
“Oh, I know, but I just thought that maybe she could explain it to me. You’re not angry I wrote to her, are you?”
“No, of course not.” He was not saying what he must. In frustration, he turned from her.
“Dougal, wait.” She raced to catch up to him. “About what happened—”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Well, no, I suppose it shouldn’t have happened like that, but I do not regret it.” She tried to smile but his hard stare stopped her. “It is all right. Really it is. You are so proud and honorable. That must be why you are so upset with yourself.”
When he didn’t answer, merely snorted in self-disgust, she took his arm forcing him to look at her. Her eyes shone with the depth of her feelings for him.
“That is why I have fallen in love with you,” she whispered shyly. Her expression dimmed with insecurity as she waited for him to answer in kind. She knew he cared for her, could feel it in him.
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