Once, the reference to Soraya would have stung. Once, he would have intended it to sting. They’d moved far beyond those days, but even so, she suffered a twinge of insecurity.
She looked searchingly into his face. “Do you miss her?”
He raised his other hand and smoothed the tendrils of hair that escaped the braids twined around her head. “Why would I? She’s here. She’s Verity.” A very male satisfaction deepened his smile. “And she’s mine.”
Verity didn’t bother arguing. They both knew it was true. As they both knew that while this idyll lasted, he was hers.
When surrender was so equal, what shame was there in defeat? She cast him a searing glance under her lashes. She’d quickly learned that particular look drove him wild with desire.
Predictably, the fingers on her chin tightened and his voice roughened into urgency. “I want you now.”
Not the most subtle seduction, but the heat of his body and the intent glow in his eyes were enough for her. Sometimes, he wooed with sweet words and extravagant compliments. Sometimes, he swept her off her feet with a forceful passion that made her heart race.
Right now, she read the sapphire blaze in his eyes and saw he was too impatient to devote time to preliminaries. She didn’t mind. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He shook his head and his smile took on a devilish edge. “No, I mean now.”
She felt her eyes widen. “But anyone could come in.”
“They won’t. I’ve dismissed them for the day.” He let her go and strode across to lock the door. “Take off your drawers and lie down on the rug.” His voice was uncompromising.
Verity gave a shiver of anticipation at the brazen demand but didn’t immediately obey. “Just my drawers, Your Grace?”
“For now.” He turned to face her and tapped the room key on his palm, all aristocratic impatience. Only the hard bulge that pressed against his breeches belied his aura of control.
She bent her head to conceal her gathering excitement. “As you wish.”
She heard his breath catch as she raised her skirts to reach the strings. A few quick tugs and her underwear sagged to lie at her feet. She stepped out of it and draped it with deliberate provocation over the massive oak chair she’d noticed on her first day here.
The cream silk, with its elaborate embroidery of violets and lilies, looked incongruous against the heavily carved wood. Like a banner of challenge. Which, of course, it was.
His eyes were avid as he watched her every movement from where he stood near the door. She felt like a rabbit in a fox’s sights. But in this case, the rabbit was more than happy to be devoured. Her pulse skittered when she saw his gaze dwell on her drawers, shamelessly displayed for his delectation.
“The rug,” he said hoarsely.
She hid a gloating smile. His autocratic manner had cracked already. It hadn’t taken much effort on her part.
Without a word, she crossed the room and reclined on the red-and-blue Persian carpet in front of the unlit fire. She bent one knee in his direction and parted her legs slightly. He wouldn’t be able to resist the bold invitation.
Oh, what a wicked, wicked woman she was to taunt him. He really ought to punish her.
She closed her eyes and waited on a thrilling edge of suspense for him to come to her.
She didn’t have to wait long. The key clattered onto the table, and suddenly he was on his knees between her legs. He’d moved so fast that she hadn’t even heard him cross the room.
“You think I’m putty in your hands, don’t you?” he growled. He wasn’t touching her. But he would soon, she knew.
Verity pretended a yawn, knowing it would push him to the bounds of his control. How she loved teasing him like this. “Yes.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “And you’re right, damn you.”
Over his uneven breathing, she listened to the faint rustle of his clothing as he released the front of his breeches. She couldn’t mistake his eagerness. Her heart moved from a restless trot to a careening gallop that surely he must hear. She raised her other leg a fraction just so he knew she hadn’t finished tormenting him yet.
He roughly bunched her skirts and petticoats at her waist. Her excitement rose as the air flowed cool across her bare skin. She must look utterly depraved, lying before him in such abandonment. But she didn’t feel depraved, she felt free.
She let her legs fall open a little more. Even without opening her eyes, she felt the heated inspection he made of her. The room was silent, apart from the accelerating scratch of his breath.
He placed his hands on her knees and ruthlessly drew them wide apart. The heat of his palms through the thin silk of her stockings made her tremble with excitement.
With her eyes shut, all her other senses became more acute. She could smell his arousal and hear the unsteady rattle of his inhalations as he fought to contain himself. She shifted sinuously against the thick rug and waited for him to thrust into her. He must know she was ripe for his possession.
But he didn’t immediately take her as she’d expected him to do. Instead, his head nudged between her legs and his silky hair brushed against the sensitive skin of her thighs. She gave a start of surprise as the warmth of his breath touched her damp center. Then his mouth took her and she gave a low moan of rapture. He sucked and licked at her until she quivered beneath him.
He was a devil. He was her devil.
Her spine arched into a rigid curve as the tension inside her built to an unbearable pitch. He took a firm grip on her hips and shifted her so he could taste her more fully. As his tongue penetrated her, she shuddered in primitive response. But she wanted more.
“Please,” she begged raggedly, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his thick hair. She pressed herself closer, hovering on the brink. But still he played with her, forcing her higher and higher.
Then he drew hard on the source of her pleasure, and she screamed as a hundred suns exploded behind her eyes. Fire cascaded along her veins, and every muscle in her body spasmed with blinding delight.
The blazing peak seemed to last forever. She hung suspended in the splendor only he could create in her. He made her dance among the stars. How she adored him.
When the fiery joy had subsided into rippling aftershocks, she opened her eyes to find him watching her from between her splayed legs. She lay exposed, and enough of her girlhood self remained for her to slide one hand down to fiddle her skirts into modesty. Even that simple action tested her strength. She felt as though her bones had turned into wet muslin.
“We’re not finished yet,” he murmured, stopping her before she could cover herself.
“I don’t think I could move a muscle,” she protested.
It wasn’t true. Already, her interest stirred. Just because he looked at her as if she were a miracle sent down to him from heaven. Sometimes his sway over her frightened her.
“I think you could.” His lips curled in a smile of promise.
He hooked his arms around her and drew her upright so she knelt facing him when he sat back on his heels. She rested one hand on his chest. Her fingers tightened in his shirt as she felt his furious heartbeat beneath the fine white lawn. Then he lifted her over him until her dark green skirts settled around them, lending a spurious decorum to their profligacy.
But beneath that concealing material, she straddled him, open and ready for his entry. His erection pressed imperiously against the damp curls at the base of her belly, making her womb clench with a pang of desire.
She wanted all that heat and power. She wanted him inside her.
She grasped his sinewy shoulders with both hands and raised herself up and forward. His hold on her back tightened convulsively and she watched his eyes go opaque as she slowly slid down upon him. Even wet as she was, there was a moment’s delicious resistance before she took all of him. His breath escaped in a rasping sigh when she settled around him. She gave a mew of pleasure as she stretched to accommodate his size.
Their gazes met, mesh
ed, held. She read in his eyes that for now, he was willing to let her set the pace. A knowledge of her own power thrilled her as she established an undulating rhythm on him, almost withdrawing, then descending to accept him fully. Every thrust probed deep.
At times like this, the bond between them seemed unbreakable, although she knew that could never be true. She loved him slowly, thoroughly, intently, giving him all of herself with each rise and fall of her body.
He dragged her up for a long, passionate kiss. He used his tongue and teeth on her mouth as he’d used his tongue and teeth on her core. She tasted her juices in his kiss.
The idea was astonishingly arousing. Her interior muscles contracted to grip him, and she moved more quickly.
Her peak was so close. So close. She clenched her hands in the front of his shirt as she hurtled toward the abyss.
He tore his mouth from hers and flung his head back as he strained into her. All vestige of control disintegrated in the frenzy. She bit and scratched at him like an animal and reveled in her wildness.
Her climax hit with blinding force just as he wrenched upward and erupted into her. Even through her crisis, she felt the scalding heat of his seed flood her. For an eon of flame, she clung to him while her world reeled around her.
When it was over, they collapsed upon the rug. Verity sprawled across Kylemore’s heaving chest and listened as his heart gradually calmed. Her body ached with glorious exhaustion. She wasn’t convinced she’d ever have the energy to move again.
Surely one day she would die of this pleasure. But not yet.
After a long, emotion-filled silence, he raised a shaking hand to touch her hair. She felt the tenderness in the caress right to her toes.
“Now there are no more ghosts,” he said softly.
Following the destruction of his grandfather’s grisly trophies, Verity thought that Kylemore had finally sloughed off the miseries of his past. As each day passed in a haze of joy, she began to nurture fragile hope that he’d vanquished his demons.
Unfortunately, her own demons clamored closer and closer.
And they wanted blood.
In this secret valley, the world didn’t intrude. It hardly mattered that Kylemore was one of the kingdom’s greatest noblemen or she was a harlot with a name bandied about in every tavern from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
But she couldn’t forget the duke had responsibilities he ignored. He must wed and beget an heir. And it was brutally apparent he couldn’t marry his mistress, in spite of his insane proposal in Kensington. She guessed now that he’d intended his marriage as an attack against his family. Thank God that confused, angry man no longer existed.
Every moment with Kylemore, every time they made love so sweetly, every time they laughed or argued or spoke quietly by the fire after a long, fulfilled day, she knew that as long as she stayed, he’d never seek a wife.
He hadn’t said he loved her, just as she hadn’t said she loved him. But each look, each gesture, each word announced that his attachment to her was the kind that shook kingdoms.
And a fallen woman like her wasn’t worthy.
Loving her would destroy him. She couldn’t bear to see him debased, mocked and derided because he was brave and good enough to see past her notoriety to the real woman. She had to make him release her.
But as every new day dawned and she woke in his arms, drowsy, happy, replete, she promised herself she’d leave him tomorrow.
When the time came, it struck her with the force of a physical blow.
At this latitude, autumn set in quickly and the night air carried a chill even while the hillsides were still hazy purple with heather. Kylemore came into the parlor carrying the fresh scent of the late afternoon with him.
Verity had difficulty remembering her elegant protector. After a month in Scotland, his hair had grown and he looked tanned and relaxed. In his rough clothes, one could easily mistake him for a well-to-do farmer. Until one noted the effortless command in his stance.
“What?” he asked as he caught her watching him from where she stood at the window.
“I was just thinking what a handsome lover I’ve got,” she said with perfect honesty.
It never failed to surprise her how patently unused he was to compliments. He gave her an embarrassed half smile.
“Och, but you’re a foolish wee lassie.”
She laughed at the theatrically broad brogue. “Well, if you doubt me, ask Morag and Kirsty. I swear those girls go red as rowan berries just at the sound of your voice.”
It was true. The duke’s improved temper had percolated through the whole household so even the maids, once utterly in awe of him, had taken to mooning after him like lost lambs.
Not that he noticed. Once she’d thought him puffed up with conceit, but personal vanity had been only another element in the complex disguise he’d cultivated in London.
“They’re as foolish as you are, mo cridhe.”
Hamish had told her mo cridhe meant “my heart” and mo leannan meant “my beloved.” She knew she shouldn’t quiver with delight every time Kylemore used the endearments, but she couldn’t help it.
He was right. She was most definitely a foolish lassie.
Kylemore crossed to take her hand and lead her toward the couch in front of the grate. A fire was a constant feature now the year drew in.
“I want to talk to you.”
He didn’t sound as if he had anything serious on his mind. He lounged against the cushions like a young sultan contemplating his favorite concubine.
“For the last time, I don’t want to learn to ride.” She sat next to him.
“No, it’s something else.” He raised the hand he held and placed a kiss on her palm. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
She gave a husky laugh and leaned forward to press her mouth briefly to his. How she loved this physical ease. It bubbled under the surface of her new life as an ever-flowing source of joy.
“You’ve only been away for the afternoon.”
“I know, but I still missed you.” Gently, he folded her fingers closed as if to keep his kiss safe.
“Now who’s foolish?” She reached up to stroke the silky dark hair back from his face. “Shall I cut your hair tonight? You’re turning into a shaggy Highlander. I find myself quite terrified of you.”
“My valet at Kylemore Castle sees to such tasks.”
“Yes, but…” Then, as though she staggered under a punch, she understood the significance of what he’d just said. “Kylemore Castle,” she repeated, although she’d heard him perfectly clearly.
“Autumn’s closing in, Verity. We can’t stay over winter. The place is uninhabitable and totally inaccessible. Not to mention colder than an ice cave in Hades.”
He spoke as if what he said was reasonable, while in reality, it rang the death knell to all her happiness.
“I…I see,” she said shakily.
And of course, she did.
Their idyll had lasted a little over three weeks. Twenty-two short days. Such a paltry reward for her lonely years of struggle.
It wasn’t fair, she wanted to rage although she’d come to terms with life’s essential unfairness at fifteen.
Just another week. Another day.
I’m not ready to give you up yet.
And all the while, she knew no reprieve would ever be enough unless it promised forever. And forever couldn’t be.
“So can you be ready to leave tomorrow?” Still that calm voice went on as if he didn’t crush her with every measured word. “Angus and Andy have left to sail the boat in from the coast. They and Hamish travel with us. The others will pack up the house and follow when the boat returns to collect them.”
“So soon?” she whispered. Once she’d loathed every blade of grass in this valley. Now it broke her heart to leave.
Oh, Verity, a voice inside her whispered. It’s not leaving the valley that breaks your heart and you know it.
“This far north, the weather can turn in an i
nstant. I want to be sure I get you out safely.”
“Yes,” she said dully. “Of course I’ll be ready.”
At her side, hidden from his eyes, her free hand clenched into a fist as she battled for control.
He frowned, and she saw he finally registered her distress. He was usually so quick to pick up on her slightest reaction, but practical matters distracted him this afternoon.
“What’s wrong?” He pressed another kiss to her tense fingers. “Don’t worry, mo gradh. You’ll like the castle. It looks out to sea and has acres of gardens for you to devastate.”
She couldn’t summon a smile. Not when her world crumbled around her. “Yes,” she said blankly.
He paused, studying her with a puzzled expression. She couldn’t doubt she had his complete attention now.
“And the castle is closer to medical attention if you need it,” he said slowly.
That startled her out of her dazed misery. “I’m not sick. I’m never sick.”
He smiled as if he were the happiest man in the world. “No, but you may already carry my child.”
Wrenching her hand from his, she struggled to her feet. She spun around to face him with her back to the fireplace. She shivered with such cold that she hardly noticed the warmth of the flames.
“No. No, that’s not possible.”
His dark blue eyes remained steady. “I’d say it’s more than possible.”
She sucked in a deep breath to calm her agitation. “You don’t understand. I’m barren.”
It was foolish to be ashamed to admit something she’d accepted for so long, yet ashamed she was.
“You can’t know that,” he said evenly.
She curled her hands at her sides so hard that the nails bit into her palms. “Yes, I can. Even when they use preventatives, women get caught. I’ve slept with men since I was fifteen. I’m twenty-eight and I’ve never conceived.” At first, her infertility had seemed a blessing, but as the years had passed, she’d come to abhor her unnatural state. “I…I still took precautions, but more from habit than necessity.”
“You’re guessing,” he said firmly.
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