‘Sweet lass…’ he laughed, cupping her chin in one hand ‘…I cannot. He has no manners, I fear. None at all. When he sees something he wants, he refuses to lie quiet. Can we not appease him now?’ His hands slipped down to her breasts, setting her alight once more.
‘I want you desperately, Fergus, even more than I did this morning. We both want it, the way you’ve been waiting to show me. But come,’ she said, drawing him towards the bed, turning down the covers and easing him backwards on to it. ‘I am willing to wait longer, for I am not going to allow you to exert yourself again today. If I’d known, we would have stayed at my brother’s house, though I’m glad we didn’t. But enough is enough, Fergus.’ She laid a finger upon his lips as he began a protest. ‘No, I’m not going to leave you alone in my bed. Not after all that.’ Pulling the covers over him, she went to the lanterns to put out the flames before climbing in beside him, half-laying her long smooth body over his, her arm resting gently across his bruised chest.
‘Now I’m just Nicola Coldyngham lying naked in bed with Fergus Melrose,’ she teased him, ‘and he’s not going to make a move because he’s never taken the slightest interest. In fact, he’s already half-asleep with boredom without knowing how she let him win, just this once.’
‘Wicked, wicked woman,’ he whispered, grinning. He turned himself to her, trapping her under him. ‘I can take you any time I like. D’ye think a few bruises can stop me?’ His hand started to wander before she caught it.
‘Not bruises, perhaps, but my common sense can. Let’s keep the best till the morrow, Fergus. Or perhaps the next day? Sleep in my arms now, while I examine your bruises more carefully. I might have missed one.’
‘Nicola, I want you.’
‘No, you don’t. And I don’t want you, either. Not really. Never have done. Go to sleep.’ Snuggling closer, she pushed him back and hooked one leg over his, letting her hand begin its journey while her heart melted in the unaccustomed security of his embrace.
As for Fergus, it was some time before his aching body would allow him to sleep, for the part that ached most would not settle under Nicola’s lightly questing hand. Moreover, he knew that, had he taken her without the preamble, she would not have had the opportunity to see the injuries that had racked her with pity and concern. The interruption, however, had not been altogether wasted, having given her another chance to control a situation that had initially been quite out of her hands. And if anything could be guaranteed to salve her wounds, that could.
Chapter Nine
The wavering glow of a candle broke into her sleep, making her wonder drowsily what it was that her maids needed to see. She turned her head away to avoid the light, putting out a hand to pull the sheet over her shoulders, but touching instead the forearm of the one who had occupied her thoughts before she slept. ‘Fergus?’ she said, blinking up into his eyes.
He was leaning on one elbow, gazing at her as if sleep had evaded him altogether, his knuckles hovering over the point of her shoulder, hesitating. She could not fathom his mood, though the eyes gave something away.
‘You lit the candle?’ She yawned.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘To see you.’ His face was close, his hand even closer, close enough to take the sheet from her fingers and draw it downwards, slowly, as far as her waist, resting his hand lightly upon her warm skin.
No, it was not a dream. She had never dreamt this part.
‘Is that all?’ she said, finding herself suddenly short of breath.
It was some moments before he brought his gaze back to hers. ‘No, woman, it’s not all. You said wait till the morrow, so I’ve waited, and now it is the morrow, and I want you, Nicola.’ His hand moved down to rest on her hip with the pad of his thumb settling neatly into the hollow of her groin, and the temptation to protest, argue, delay, was snuffed out like a flame.
She lifted a hand to caress his strong face, knowing every line of it, sliding her palms over his close-cropped head, touching the fine white scar on his forehead and teasing his firm lips with her fingertips. ‘Then show me,’ she whispered. ‘Show me how it should be, Fergus. Your way.’
What Nicola had learnt by her previous experience on the ship was hardly relevant this time under Fergus’s tuition, for there had been no real lovemaking, only the powerful urge to be taken, then and there, in the manner of her choosing. Now, in direct opposition to that hurried event, he took her carefully and tenderly through every sweet phase of loving, stoking the fires that lay perilously close to the surface and skilfully holding her at the point where her cries became pleas for him to take her without more delay. But delay was what he intended.
Blissfully, she gave herself yet again to the mastery of his mouth, to its journey over throat and breast, to the exquisite fondling that sent waves pulsing into her womb as never before, quivering the chords like harp strings in her thighs. She moaned when his hand sought out her most sensitive parts, gasping at the flood of excitement, though his lips were close enough to drink her cries into his mouth. The sensations were almost too much for her to bear.
Quite unprepared for these new and overwhelming needs of her body that exceeded by far the excitable longings of the previous day, she prised his head away to free her mouth. ‘Fergus…I want you…now, now. I can wait no longer.’
She thought he was about to oblige her when he nudged her legs further apart and covered her, letting her feel the bliss of a man’s weight upon her, briefly. Then he crouched, raining kisses upon her flat stomach, her hips, her groin and down the inside of her thighs, reminding her once more of how little she knew about the art of making love, how poorly the first time compared to this, how she should follow his lead and learn to trust him.
His shoulders moved upwards like smooth boulders beneath her hands, hard and wide. ‘Fergus,’ she whispered, opening herself wider to him, ‘will it pain you too much?’ She saw his face in the candlelight before it came too close, craggy and deep-shadowed with a flash of white teeth and a spark of laughter in his eyes.
‘Not as much as it would to stop, sweet lass,’ he said, guiding himself into her. ‘But we’ll take our time, shall we? I want this to be for you too, not just for me. Let’s make it last.’ Following his words, his entry was leisurely and tender while he watched her eyes widen and blink in astonishment at the incredible rippling, dilating invasion and the stealthy advance at each move of his body.
Her eyes flickered and closed, then opened again, bleary with desire. ‘I didn’t know.’ She sighed raggedly. ‘I didn’t…know…it would be like this.’
‘Shall you let me teach you now? Have you begun to trust me a little? Eh? Is that good, Nicola?’
‘I scorned you. I wanted to hurt you.’
‘Aye, lass. I know that. It made me want you more. You were magnificent, spitting fire. I wanted to take you right there, to subdue you, make you rue your words, proud woman. Like this…and this…to quieten you.’ His loins beat gently against her as he spoke, scattering her thoughts into fragments, then melding them into sensations of pristine newness.
Quiet she was, except for the mewing of pleasure, the sighs that seemed to spread into her limbs to hold him close, binding him to her. Like her sighs, her hands swept over him, softly exploring. ‘Make this last, Fergus,’ was all she said, not realising how her head tossed from side to side on the pillow of dark silky hair, forecasting that it would not, could not, last.
A new and unexpected wave of excitement began to grow from some deep place within, making her cry out and curl her fingers into the hardness of his arms, gripping her in its power as she gripped him. Fergus responded, quickening his plunging strokes, deeper and deeper as the fire in her rose to the surface and exploded, consuming her with a force all its own, and Fergus went on, fiercely pulling her back as she arched away as if to escape him. ‘Mine,’ he growled. ‘Mine. At last I have you.’ His groan was soft against her neck, and Nicola could not be sure whether it was for relief, or pain
.
Shattered by the experience, she rose slowly to the surface of reality, dazed and breathless, smoothing her hand over the velvety cap of his hair and finding an ear to fondle, then his muscled neck damp with sweat. She had never thought to find such pleasure in the aroma of a man’s heat, but nor had she known anything of real men till now, only of duplicity and shallowness.
Was now the time to tell him of her feelings, her love? Was it safe to trust him with her heart so soon after trusting him with her body?
Caution, memories, and a remnant of fear held her back, still too aware of lingering doubts to lay herself open completely. ‘Fergus?’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right? Did it pain you badly?’
Lifting himself from her, he tenderly brushed the dark veil of hair from her face. ‘Woman of my dreams,’ he said, ‘I am more than all right. But ’tis I who should be asking you. I used you roughly at the end, but you ride like the wind. Did you know that?’
His teasing words made her blush. ‘I am a novice. I need more lessons,’ she said, touching the dimpled corner of his laughing mouth.
‘You learn fast, too. But last time I told you that, you tried to box my ears. Shall I teach you more, lass? Shall we fight and make love all our lives together? Shall you obey me in all things?’
‘Highly unlikely, sir, unless it pleases me.’
‘I can find ways of pleasing you,’ he whispered, looking deep into her eyes with a sudden change of mood. ‘I think I’ve already found at least one, have I not, my lady?’
It was true, though it was not only the lovemaking that pleased her, but the whole experience of being the centre of his attention after so many years of neglect. Something warned her that it could not last or be true, and something also reminded her that, for both of them, there was a strong element of duty tied up in this affair, and to put all this down to coincidence was stretching credulity to its limits, for duty to one’s parents was hardly ever of this order. In her own experience, never. Now, however, she must go through with it and hope that her discoveries in Scotland would lay her concerns to rest once and for always.
Meanwhile, she could do no other than agree with Fergus that she had indeed found as much pleasure in his expert tuition as he had in her innocent eagerness to learn. Allowing her to boss him gently and to try out some skittishness only made him laugh with delight, both of them knowing where it would all end. The dawn came well before they were ready for it.
Master Secretary Coldyngham, as his brother George had called him yesterday, had certain business to attend to before the unexpected voyage to Scotland with Fergus and Nicola. Some of it was his own, and much of it was his new employer’s, for being secretary to a prosperous merchant shipowner was going to take all Ramond’s organising skills. Having taken his personal belongings on board ship and arranged them in the small cabin he’d been given, he went to Fergus’s larger cabin to attend to the boxes of paperwork sent over from the Holyrood warehouse, bills of sale, receipts, lists and orders, IOUs and bags of coins, books of accounts and letters. He had been instructed to sort them out.
In the arms of a helpful young seaman, the bundles of papers and log-books teetered precariously as the lad stepped over the ledge, but he was caught by the swinging door and knocked sideways. ‘Whoops!’ he yelped, grinning. Half of the pile slithered out of his arms, the rest followed soon afterwards. ‘Sorry, sir. Shall I pick ’em up?’
‘No…no, thank you,’ said Ramond. ‘Leave them. I’ll manage.’ He sighed, casting an eye over the sad beginning to his organising attempts. The task was almost complete when his eye was caught by a certain piece of folded paper upon which the handwriting was uncannily familiar. ‘Father?’ he whispered. ‘What are you doing here?’ There was no envelope, but the paper was folded diagonally to look like one, and sealed with a blob of dark red wax, his father’s arms impressed upon it. The seal was broken; there was the address of Sir Findlay Melrose, Bart., Fergus’s late father, at the Sign of the Thistle, Holyrood Wharf, London, and the letter invited him to read what he knew to be none of his business.
No one was there to see him read it twice, then stare at it for quite some time before making a copy of it on his own paper. He then restored the original to the pile of letters and carried on with his task, forcing himself to keep his mind on the job. And having done that to his satisfaction, he hired a wherry to row him to the River House where his sister and his employer were about to celebrate their betrothal. He had the entire journey in which to wonder how much of the matter Nicola knew, whether this was the business to which she had mysteriously referred and, if not, whether he should discuss it with her. And why was his father expressing gratitude to Sir Findlay Melrose? He realised that he would not know the answer to any of these questions unless he revealed to her the contents of the letter, and that if Fergus were to discover that he had already taken advantage of his privileged position, he would lose it. The quandary occupied him for the whole watery journey while the copy almost burned a hole in his leather pouch, though he did not believe that Fergus had been aware of the letter amongst his late father’s effects, otherwise he would surely have put it in a safer place.
In view of the limited time before their marriage, the informal ceremony that Nicola and Fergus requested took place in the garden at River House quite near to where they had first kissed, though no one else knew of it. It caused some teasing whispers in the lady’s ear.
Nicola had dressed for the occasion in pale rose silk and silver tissue with a brocaded pattern in a deeper rose, cream silk sleeve-linings and underskirts, and borders of silver-fox fur, not only around the wide neckline but trailing behind her, too. Over her swept-back and braided hair she wore a huge Flemish-type butterfly of floating white veils anchored with pins to a wire frame that needed several pairs of hands to construct it, causing the men to comment outrageously on alternative uses for it. Fergus’s reaction was to duck as if a seagull was about to attack him, but was forgiven when he told her how beautiful she was and how determined he had been to win her, after the fierce opposition.
On purpose, Nicola had not sent invitations to any of her London friends, for not one of them had bothered to offer condolences or help after the disastrous fire or tried to contact her, not even the few women she knew. It had become clear to her that they were fair-weather friends she could well do without. The main guests were her close family, with Fergus’s chaplain, his sea captain and senior members of his household, but the scene was almost stolen by the arrival of two enchanting children and one indulged white rabbit wearing aquamarines.
The ceremony was brief and simple: an exchange of vows to marry in the future at some time convenient to them both, an exchange of rings and kisses, and some tomfoolery which was quite the norm when brothers were present. Then the signing of agreements stating Nicola’s dowry and jointures that would come to them both from their relatives, but, since they were both independently wealthy, this was relatively simple and Fergus’s comment that she had been expensive was more to do with effort than money. Not unnaturally, there was some loud banter about the lady’s change of heart after her emphatic denials that she would ever marry Fergus Melrose. What had he done to her? they wanted to know.
They were not the only ones who wanted to know. ‘Something’s happened to her,’ said George, only stating what the rest of them knew. ‘I think she’s in love with him all over again.’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Charlotte.
‘I shall go and have a quiet word with her before they leave.’
Charlotte held his arm. ‘I think, dearest, that it may be best to say nothing at this stage. You’ve done all that an eldest brother is required to do, and now they need to be left alone to sort themselves out. Ramond will be with them, remember. He’ll tell you if there’s anything you need to know. Don’t look like that, love: it’s far too soon for Nicola to be able to tell you how she feels.’
‘What should I do, then?’
‘Just remind her of our support
and protection, that’s all.’
‘In case it all turns sour, you mean?’
‘Of course it’s not going to turn sour, dear. Why should it?’
George swiped a hand across his mouth, remembering Nicola’s invective on that day of their first meeting as adults. ‘Yes…well, he said he’d not be put off, and you have to give him full marks for determination. Now, it’s that funeral tomorrow. Perhaps next week we can settle down to some real work.’
After the congratulations, the cosy feast, the giving of gifts and the inevitable laughter, Fergus took his newly betrothed in his beautiful canopied barge on the last tide to Holyrood Wharf. Rather than risk shooting the dangerous current as it passed under London Bridge, they walked the short distance while the empty boat was taken through, for Fergus would not jeopardise his passengers’ safety. Once again, Nicola could not resist the comparison between this new Fergus and the one she had known as a child who would have risked everything and everyone to prove how skilled his boatmen were and how little he cared for safety.
She twisted the new gold ring on her finger, stealing a glance at its beautiful workmanship, two linked hands with diamonds at their wrists, a businesslike symbol that carefully omitted any suggestion of love and lovers. Sure that he must by now have guessed something of her feelings for him, she had carefully avoided any mention of love, even though he had given her plenty of chances, for there was one more barrier to cross before she would give him her heart as well as her body.
His Duty, Her Destiny Page 19