by Judith James
It was full dark and the feast was long over, but the singing and dancing in the Great Hall would continue for most of the night. She’d stayed a while, enjoying the merriment and celebration, but two days of festivities had made her miss her own family and left her feeling isolated and alone. I’d rather be alone by myself than alone in company, making others uncomfortable or pretending that I’m not. She poured a tumbler of her own Scotch whiskey and raised it high.
“‘Here’s to the heath, the hill and the heather,
The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather!
Here’s to the heroes that Scotland can boast,
May their names never die–
To the Highlands, I toast.’
“Here’s to you, Dad. You were always my hero. I love you and miss you and I hope I make you proud.” She tilted back her head and downed the fiery liquid in one swallow, then slammed the glass on the table, her eyes watering. A slight cough startled her. Jamie lounged against the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantle.
“‘Here’s to them that like us
Them that think us swell
And here’s to them that hate us
Let’s pray for them as well.’
“To Caroline Ware and your cousin Donald. Slàinte, agus Nollaig Chridheil, Cat Drummond,” Jamie said, raising his glass to her.
“And good health and Merry Christmas to you, too, Jamie Sinclair,” she said with a grin, returning his salute. “How do you come to speak Gaelic so well?”
“I was robbed of my birthright, rescued by gypsies, and enchanted by a fairy queen who forced me to travel the Highlands peddling my wares. I’ve learned a great many things.”
“So… your father’s servants taught you?”
“Some. I like my story better. You’re lucky, mouse, to have someone to miss.”
“I know. I wonder what he’d think if he could see me now?”
“Let’s pray he can’t. Fathers of daughters don’t approve of men like me.”
“You never met my father. I suspect he would have liked you very much. Do you miss your mother?”
“I told you I don’t remember her, Cat.”
“Surely you must remember something. Is she still alive? Where is she?”
“I’ve no idea if she’s alive or dead. I’ve had no contact with her since she left.”
“But surely you must be curious. Have you ever tried to—”
“No! I… no… I’ve not tried to find her.” He finished his drink and placed his glass on the mantle. “Nor has she ever come in search of me. As to what I remember… If you must know, I remember finding her in a hallway with her skirts hiked above her waist with a man who wasn’t my father, and I remember begging her not to go. I remember she told me I was a mistake and she wished I’d never been born. She hated me, mouse, even more than he did.”
Shocked, Catherine could find no response.
“Well! It’s always nice to reminisce. The night’s still young and we’re not fit company for anyone else. Would you care to join me in a game of chess?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course!” Grateful for the change of subject and promising herself never to bring it up again, she busied herself searching for the chess set, but it wasn’t in any of the usual places. “The board appears to have absconded from the room.”
“Ah! Of course. I’d forgotten. I enjoyed a game with Kieran in my chamber last week and neglected to put it back. Would you care to join me there?”
Her heart leapt at his words, even as her head urged caution. He’d already rejected her attempts at seduction twice. She was likely the only woman in Ireland invited to a renowned rake’s bedchamber for a game of strategy instead of games of love. Still, it had to be now, or she feared it would be never.
She took another healthy swallow of whiskey and followed him into a spacious room, paneled in wood and leather. Brightly colored rugs lay strewn across the f loor, a chest, an armoire, and a wardrobe stood along the far wall, and the south wall boasted mullioned windows that overlooked the river. Brussels tapestries hugged the walls, depicting battle scenes and hunts, but though the room was comfortable, there was nothing in it to ref lect his personality. It reminded her of the façade he adopted in London, elegant and impersonal, with no hint of the man beneath. Her eyes were drawn to a carved and gilded four-poster bed with rich green hangings and a magnificent bedspread embroidered in shades of forest, leaf, and gold. Ah! Now that looks like him, she thought with a grin.
They sat across from one another in comfortable armchairs in front of a blazing fire, a rosewood-veneered chessboard, its pieces made from brass and silver, on the table between them.
“Jamie?”
“Mmm?”
“Have you ever considered that we share a great deal in common?”
“Of course I have. We both enjoy gambling, brothels, alcohol, and adventure. We’re rogues of the first order. Speaking of which, would you care to lay a wager on this game?”
“I meant,” she said with great patience, “have you considered that it might work well for us to stay together?”
“You mean forget about a divorce? Why would you want to keep me now, at a time when our association can only hurt and hinder you? I noted you wrote your solicitor before we left London, and you were wise to do so.”
She remembered her surprise at his coldness the night she’d found him in the library. The night I wrote my solicitor about a divorce. Is that what made him angry? No. That was nonsense. “You’re right, of course. It was just a thought. Foolish, really. I could never be what you want, and you would never do for me.”
“Check.” He took one of her pawns with his knight, and then sat back, nursing his drink. “I’m curious now. What exactly do you want, Catherine?”
Her eyes caught his, then darted away. “I’m fairly certain you know.”
“And what is it you think I want?”
His voice made her shiver.
“You want a buxom beauty who’ll warm your bed, do as she’s told, ask no questions, and cause no trouble. Blonde, preferably.” She took his knight with her bishop.
“And yet I married you. You’ll grant you’re neither blonde nor biddable, though you are a buxom beauty.”
“Don’t mock me, Jamie. I’m well aware I’m not the sort of womanly creature most men want. I’m far from delicate and far too bold.”
“Your experience of men is somewhat limited. I like you well enough and you’ve never pretended to be less than who you are. Find yourself a real man, one who’ll appreciate you, not some swaggering bully.”
“Yes, thank you for the advice. I’ll bear that in mind when I’m shopping for my next husband.” She stood up, her question answered before it was asked.
“I mean it, Catherine.” He rose to his feet, the game forgotten. “Any man worthy of the name would think himself lucky to have you. Any man would want you. Surely you know that.”
“You don’t.”
“Oh no, my love. You’re very wrong about that.” Reaching out a long finger, he wrapped it in a tendril of her hair, winding it gently, and tugging her toward him. Breathless, she came. He rubbed it between his fingers, and raised it to his lips, kissing it softly as he inhaled her scent. “I think about it all the time.” His knuckles brushed the nape of her neck just below her ear and she whimpered, stepping closer and putting a hand on his chest. He trailed his fingers along her cheek and jaw, leaving delicate thrills of sensation, then caressed her throat, his eyes holding hers. Curling his fingers around the back of her neck, he drew her lips to his.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. “Please don’t stop,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and raising on her toes, pressing eagerly against him.
Grabbing her hips, he jerked her tight against him, grinding into her soft belly. “Be careful what you wish for, mouse,” he rasped. Splaying his fingers through her hair, he took her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging in and out as he walked her backwards to
the bed. Hefting her in his arms, he dropped her on the mattress, pinning her beneath him with a groan of pleasure and pain. He’d been so long without a woman his cock was nigh exploding, and he hiked up her skirts with one hand as the other scrabbled at the fastening of his breeches, trying to free himself, seeking relief. Christ, I’m going to spend before I can take her. Oh, bloody hell! I can’t take her as if she’s a common whore. Cursing, he rolled off her and sat up, panting, aching, and shaking with need.
Catherine sat up on her elbows. “What is wrong with you? What’s wrong with me? Why won’t you make love to me?” Her voice was trembling. She was almost in tears.
“You’re just a bit the worse for drink again, love,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “It seems in order to partake of love’s lusty pleasures one of us must be drunk or unconscious.”
“You were not unconscious!”
“Well, I was certainly incapacitated. You took terrible advantage of me. I’m not inclined to do the same to you.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shhh! I’m teasing, love. I enjoy the way you puff and hiss like an angry kitten.”
Catherine sat up, straightening her skirts and gathering her composure. “You’re a jade, sir. You make pretty promises and when the time comes and the thing is upon us you are suddenly coy. Do you find it amusing?”
“Dear girl, when you speak like that I find it intimidating. You’re making me feel like a timorous maid.”
“This game you play is cruel! You lead me along and then abandon me, always with some sorry excuse. I am not drunk, and I wasn’t at the cottage. I was nervous and cold and I drank to give me courage and relax, but I knew what I wanted. I remember it clearly, and I know what I want now. The problem isn’t me, Sinclair. It’s you. I’ve offered you something you haven’t the ability to appreciate. I apologize. You can rest assured I shan’t trouble you this way again.”
“You trouble me this way with every breath you take, love, but I know what you want and I know your worth, and it’s more than I can give you.”
“And what is it you think I want, Jamie?”
“This.” He trapped her face between his palms, capturing her lips in a sweet slow kiss, then murmured low against her ear. “I love you, hellcat. I want you and need you and can think of nothing else. You’re my heart and soul. Every time I see you the world is fresh and new. I’m yours… now and always.” His voice was warm and tender, and he smelled of citrus and spice. Even though she knew he feigned it, her knees turned to water and her heart thudded in her chest.
“That, love,” he said, letting her go, “is what you want. And that I can’t give you.”
“You’re wrong,” she lied. “If you told me that, I’d wonder what ailed you. I lived a full life before I met you, and I’ll continue to do so after you’re gone. I expect you to treat me with honesty and respect, nothing more, but I’m a grown woman and right now, you’re the only husband I have. What I want is to know what all the fuss is about. I want to know what happens between a man and a woman that makes poets write about it, men duel over it, and women risk their reputations. I want you to show me. I want you to teach me, but if you can’t or won’t, I’ll find someone who can.”
Jaw thrust forward, back rigid, she stood to leave, but he caught at her elbow and with a skillful tug and a nudge from his knee, he toppled her backwards and into his arms. Rolling over, he positioned himself above her, trapping her beneath him at wrist, chest, and thigh. Despite a heroic effort, his attempts to protect her—and himself—had failed miserably. If anyone would be teaching her lessons it was he, but he owed her honesty, and one last chance to repent.
“I like you, Catherine… as much as I’ve ever liked anyone… more, in fact. I’ve had many lovers, but very few friends. You’ve been a good one. One I can trust. God knows I want you, but if I disappoint you—when I do—I’m afraid I’ll lose your friendship and I don’t want that. The biggest mistakes I’ve made have all involved you, and each time I’ve known I was making one, yet I’ve done it nonetheless. I’m decidedly uncomfortable that things have come this far, but I can’t seem to stop. I need you to understand I offer friendship and pleasure, nothing more.”
“That’s all I ask.” She relaxed beneath him, unclenching her fists and parting her lips in unwitting invitation. His admission was more than she’d expected, and more than she’d dared hope. Oh my God! It’s really going to happen! She felt a thrill of fear and anticipation, knowing this was a moment she’d been waiting for all her life.
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, nibbling and caressing, breathing the rich sweet taste of brandy into her mouth. His skillful tongue cajoled and teased, coaxing her to open, and when she did, he moaned and thrust deep inside her mouth. His tongue joined hers in a voluptuous dance as his hand roamed her body, squeezing and kneading and claiming all the places he’d been longing to touch.
“You wore this gown to breakfast once,” he murmured between lazy kisses, trailing his fingers across her silk-clad breasts. He tugged at the jeweled clasps that joined her bodice. “I was jealous of the way these held you… here.” His whispered words sent a tickling sensation along her back and arms that raised the hair on the nape of her neck.
“You were angry with me, and I wished you weren’t, because I longed to kiss and hold you… here.” He caressed the luscious curves that strained against her clothing, his fingers itching to feel her naked skin. “And here… ” He trailed hot kisses across the mounds that swelled above her lace and ribbons. “And… here.” His finger f licked a pebble-hard nipple that begged attention through the sheer fabric of her dress.
She gasped and arched against him.
“Easy, love, we’re only just beginning. I’m going to touch you and taste you all over,” he promised, warm against her ear.
He nipped at an earlobe and a thrill of sensation traveled down her spine, pulsing and rippling between her legs and curling her toes. She tossed and moaned as his wet tongue teased and tickled, and his hot breath played against her ear. He trailed kisses along her jaw, the edge of her mouth, and along her throat, and then returned his attention to the fastenings of her gown, loosing them with expert fingers, freeing her eager breasts from their confinement, groaning with pleasure as they bobbed and bounced beneath the loose fabric of her chemise. “Good Christ, sweetheart, I could devour you.”
He caught one breast in his hand, squeezing it like ripe fruit, brushing its tip with his thumb. Catherine whimpered, straining against him, begging for she knew not what. He bent his head and bit her gently through the fabric, and a wild jolt of pleasure coursed through her, making her cry out. He busied himself with tongue and mouth until the silk was soaked and plastered to her skin, then blowing softly upon it, he slowly peeled it back. When his mouth fastened on her bared nipple and his hot tongue stroked her naked f lesh, he took her well past doubt or caution, banishing modesty or restraint.
Gripping his shoulders, she begged and pleaded, bucked and writhed, moaning, “Please… please… please,” between ragged breaths.
He sucked and nibbled, nipped and teased, one peak and then the other, while his hands roamed her body, playing her like a virtuoso, each touch, each kiss, striking a new chord as he used teeth and tongue, palm and fingers to weave delicious thrills, guiding and shaping her, but denying her release.
Her body responded, aching and tender, and unable to separate feeling and sensation, body and soul; her heart did, too, swelling with emotion as her f lesh ripened with pleasure. Kiss me, touch me, love me, Jamie, as I love you.
Unable to say it, afraid to break his rules, she tried to show him with her touch what she couldn’t say with words. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and sliding her hand underneath to feel his naked f lesh. His skin was smooth and hot and he shuddered at her touch. “Show me what to do,” she whispered against his throat.
“God bless you, lass.” Catching her wrist, he guided her to the bulge in his breeches,
pressing her hand against his engorged penis as he worked to set it free. It fell into her hand with a soft thump, and he moaned and shivered as she hefted it curiously, testing its weight. “It’s smooth as silk and hot and rather heavy,” she whispered, running her fingers along its length. She tapped it curiously with her finger, smiling slightly as it bounced and twitched. “It’s moving by itself!” Continuing her exploration, she squeezed experimentally, stopping at his groan. “Am I doing it wrong? Am I hurting you?” she asked, pulling her hand away.
“It’s an exquisite torture, love. Don’t stop.”
He gripped her hand and pulled it back, wrapping her fingers around him and moving her hand up and down his shaft. He let go and she continued on her own, fascinated as he arched and bucked as she’d done earlier, realizing for the first time that in the games he played, she had power, too.
“What else shall I do?”
Christ! She was going to unman him. “You could kiss it… if you like,” he gasped.
“Really? You’d like that?” She continued to stroke him.
“It’s very pleasurable to a man,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“If it gives you pleasure, it will make me happy, too.” She lifted his penis in the palm of her hand and pressed an awkward kiss on the underside, then wrapped her fingers around him and kissed its tip. His hips jerked under her inexpert ministrations as if she was a houri come from paradise itself.
Taking her by the waist, Jamie hauled her up against him, then took her face between his palms for a searing kiss. “I thank you, Catherine, for all your gifts, but it’s been months since I’ve had a woman and I need to have you now.” He eased her onto her back and straddled her, then bent to plunder her mouth once more. His roving hand caressed a breast, fondled her waist and brushed across her belly, leaving a trail of heat and shivers in its wake. He found the hem of her gown and, in one swift move, he hiked her skirts above her hips.