“You’re very dictatorial,” he said, not moving, one corner of his mouth tugging up a little.
“I am,” she agreed, keeping her voice low and soft. Gwenn tilted her head to one side, staring unabashed at his almost naked body. She allowed her gaze to linger on that very male part of him for a long moment before looking him in the eyes again. “But don’t worry, I can be very biddable, too… later.”
There was a promise in the words, and his eyes darkened further.
“As you wish, then,” he said.
Gwenn could not hide her smile of triumph, and feeling magnanimous, bent to help him remove his boots. She remained on her knees, enjoying the view as he swept his trousers and small clothes past his narrow hips and kicked his feet free of them.
He stood still, allowing her to watch him, though she was viscerally aware of the tension in him. It was like being in the presence of something wild that might pounce at any moment. Slowly, she leaned in, not looking away from him. He stared down at her, and she suspected he was holding his breath as she touched her tongue to his erection. It was barely a caress, but his cock jerked, and he gasped.
She chuckled and moved back, daring him to complain. Sampson’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, stalking to the bed and laying down as she’d instructed.
“Such a good boy,” she murmured, eliciting a snort of amusement.
“Biding my time,” he said darkly, though there was laughter glittering in his eyes.
She smiled at him, a purely joyful smile at his acquiescence, at allowing her to tease him and have her own way, when it would have been easy for him to play the dominant part here.
Gwenn faced him, her heated gaze roaming his naked body. Not taking her eyes from his, she reached for the fabric of her skirts, raising the hem a little at a time, watching him track the movement. His eyes followed as she revealed her ankles, her stockinged legs, and the frivolous satin pink of her lacy garters. She paused for a moment, aware of the sharpening of his interest as she raised the hem a tiny bit farther, to reveal a glimpse of the dark gold curls at the apex of her thighs.
“More,” he said, the word demanding and somewhat urgent.
Gwenn tsked. “Say please.”
“Please,” he said at once.
She pursed her lips, considering as she looked at him. “Touch yourself first.”
His eyes widened with surprise as she quirked an eyebrow at him.
Gwenn’s breath hitched as he took himself in hand, and she obligingly lifted her skirts higher, watching as he stroked himself. Gathering the voluminous skirts in one hand, she touched herself with the other and gave a soft moan of pleasure.
“Christ, Gwenn, please,” he said, sounding as if he was choking the words out.
“No,” she said, pure devilry thrumming through her. “Tormenting you is too much fun.”
She let her skirts drop with a wicked chuckle as he gave a groan of protest. He stilled as her hands went to the fastenings of her gown, and she silently thanked providence that she’d put a front fastening dress on today.
Gwenn stripped for him slowly, drawing it out as her dress slid to the floor with a sensuous rustle of material. She continued disrobing in a leisurely yet deliberate way that she knew he was finding maddening. Finally, down to stockings and chemise, she moved closer, though not close enough for him to touch her, and cupped her own breasts, pinching her nipples until they were aching, taut and visible beneath the sheer fabric.
“Have pity, love,” he said, reproach in his eyes.
Gwenn bit her lip and shrugged and, in one swift movement, tugged the chemise over her head and threw it at him. He snatched at it, never taking his eyes off her. and lifted it to his face, inhaling her scent.
“You are going to pay for this….” he growled.
“I certainly hope so,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.
He laughed, and the sound of it settled in her heart. Everything was so right with him, so easy. She moved then, knowing he was at the limit of what he would endure, and raised her leg so her foot was on the end of the mattress. Reaching for her garter, she made a show of untying it and rolling the stocking down before throwing it aside. She shifted, raised her right leg, and deliberately widened her stance, ensuring to give him a glimpse of the hidden place between her thighs.
His breathing was ragged now, and she felt the pulse of her own desire, pounding in her head and throbbing in her heated centre. In the moment between her dropping the next stocking and it hitting the floor, he lunged for her.
Gwenn shrieked as he swept her up and threw her onto the bed, holding her arms captive above her, staring down at her.
“A taste of revenge is due, you little devil,” he murmured, excitement glittering in his eyes.
His sex was a burning, heavy weight between her thighs and she arched against him, sliding her own slick flesh against his. The groan that movement forced from him made her shiver with anticipation but, before she could do it again, he’d bent his head and taken one nipple into his mouth and suckled hard.
Gwenn’s breath caught as the sensation tugged deep inside her, adding fuel to the heat of the insistent throb that was demanding more and now. He repeated the action upon her other breast until she was squirming beneath him.
He looked up, wickedness glinting in his eyes.
“Retribution is sweet indeed,” he murmured.
“Go ahead,” she sighed, arching voluptuously under his weight. “Do your worst.”
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, a smug quirk pulling at his lips.
“Oh, I will.”
He did. Moving down the bed and pushing her thighs wide, he settled to the task of tormenting her aching flesh. His tongue was wicked and drove her to the brink, inching so close to a tumble into a glittering release before retreating again, leaving her clutching at the bed sheets with unfulfilled need and frustration simmering through her.
Sampson knelt back, regarding her through heavy-lidded eyes and with a deal of satisfaction.
“Oh, I feel better now,” he said, amused by her glare of indignation.
She laughed then, knowing she’d earned her torment and not regretting a moment of it.
“Sampson,” she said, all the teasing gone from her voice. She reached for him and he went to her at once, gathering her in his arms and kissing her. Such a kiss it was, too, an endless tangle of tongues as their bodies entwined and Sampson rocked against her until she was trembling with need.
“Please….” she begged him, arching her hips towards his.
“Gwenn,” he said, his forehead against hers as the blunt head of his sex pressed against her, between her thighs and her body clamoured for him.
“Yes,” she said, urging him forward and gasping with surprise as he surged into her, filling her in one smooth movement that stole her breath.
“Love?”
She let out a little huff of laughter and looked up at him, rendered speechless by sensation. It hadn’t hurt, though it felt strange and not terribly comfortable. He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, and her body relaxed around his, accepting the intimate invasion without further protest.
When he moved again, her breath hitched once more, though not from discomfort. He stared down at her, such emotion in his eyes that she wished this moment might endure, captured in amber like a dragonfly to preserve it for always. Foolish of her, when she knew such pleasures were fleeting, but that look of adoration would live in her memory for as long as she lived, and would warm her heart when everything else left it cold and untouched.
She drank him in, all of it: the weight of his body, the slide of his passion-damp flesh under her palms, the sounds of pleasure torn from him, and the gentle murmur of sweet words that she wanted written on her skin so she might have them with her always.
“Gwenn,” he said, her name a helpless sound of devotion as the pinnacle beckoned them on, urging them to the end of this transitory burst of happiness. “I love you.”
; The words sank into her, into her bones, her heart, and her soul, and she laughed, though she was breaking into pieces and would never be whole again.
“Yes,” she said, needing him to hear it too. “I love you, Sampson. I do.”
He held her as the climax shook her body and sent her spiralling into ecstasy and then withdrew with a tortured groan, turning his head into his arm to muffle his cries as he spent, his seed splashing hotly upon her skin.
Gwenn tried to catch her breath, to gain a hold on her emotions, but they were hurtling out of control. He’d done it to save her, fearing an unwanted child, she knew that, knew that he was taking care of her, that he always would take care of her, if she let him. Yet it broke her heart, this evidence that they had no future together.
Sampson kissed her and held her, and she clung to him, turning her head into his neck and breathing in deeply, the combined scents of heated male flesh and their lovemaking sharp and intimate. They stayed that way, clinging together, and then Sampson got up and poured water from the jug into the bowl and wet a cloth, returning to clean and dry her with such careful attention that her resolution to be brave faltered.
You’re being ridiculous, she told herself, and knew it was true. Hadn’t she already resigned herself to there being only this… this one time together?
As he removed the cloth she saw that there was only the faintest trace of blood, barely discernible, and wondered at the fact such a high price was put on it, that without that tiny hint of innocence the world would consider a woman ruined and worthless.
Not her, mind.
Yes, she had devalued herself, Marie would tell her so in no uncertain terms, but she’d been ruined at birth, the illegitimate daughter of a courtesan.
Her future was written in stone, or it may as well be.
Despite her best intentions, she burst into tears.
Chapter 20
“Wherein a seasonal celebration marks the closing of the year… and of a love affair.”
Sampson smiled, watching his sisters’ enthusiasm as they decorated the castle. Everywhere the clean scent of pine and rosemary permeated the air, along with the spicy perfumes of Christmas treats that emanated from the kitchen. They’d returned to the house at midday, rosy-cheeked and happy, sitting on a cart loaded with huge pine boughs, holly, ivy, and laurel.
Aunt May, Freddie, and Gwenn had set to, ordering everyone about and making garlands to decorates mantles, windows, and every available surface. They decorated them with apples, clove-studded oranges, red ribbons, pinecones, and Christmas roses, and made a kissing bough, too, with evergreen and mistletoe. Ross had been quick to steal a kiss from his wife and Sampson had fought a burst of jealousy. It was so easy for them to be together, especially here in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. Why could he and Gwenn not love each other so openly and with no shame? Bitterness rose inside of him and he forced it down, determined not to spoil the pleasure of watching his family enjoying themselves.
He looked at Gwenn, who had thrown herself into the celebrations with enthusiasm. A little too much enthusiasm perhaps, he thought, an uneasy feeling in his heart. There was a touch of desperation to her happiness, a sense of someone grasping for every drop of joy that could be wrung from the day.
Sampson remembered that morning and his chest ached with longing for her, to have that with her again. Making love to her had changed something in him. He couldn’t say exactly what, only that he felt he’d gained some deeper understanding of what it meant to love someone. He knew now, and with clarity, the difference between lust and infatuation, and the kind of love that endured for a lifetime.
He remembered too, the devastation of her tears, the way she’d clung to him. She’d lied to him then. At first, he’d feared she regretted giving herself to him, but it wasn’t that. She’d told him she was emotional because she was so happy to be with him, and that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the only reason for her tears. Sampson wasn’t a fool. He knew she feared the future as he did, but she knew the reasons that would keep them apart, he did not. Was it so bad? What kind of scandal was she embroiled in that she was so scared of it touching him and his family?
Although he’d not wanted to, she’d made him promise not to speak of the future until after Christmas. She didn’t wish to think of it now, or for the troubles that awaited them to take the joy from this happy time. Though he was frustrated to keep living in ignorance when he wanted to face their problems head on, he’d not had the heart to insist. Gwenn had promised he would know everything as soon as Christmas Day was over. She would reveal the whole story to him. So, it was only one more day. He could give her that time and, if he could not be open in his feelings for her, at least he could enjoy having her near. He could share his family’s happiness with her at their first proper Christmas together, out from under the shadow of their father, at last.
***
Christmas Day was a raucous affair and Gwenn was glad of it. The girls were thoroughly over excited and the castle rang with the sound of laughter and chatter as presents were opened and silly games played. By the time dinner was served, everyone was starving and ready to be impressed by everything Mrs Murray had achieved. Ross had employed some girls from the village to help her as it was to be such a lavish dinner, and she’d made full use of them. The table groaned under the weight of food and everyone exclaimed with delight as they saw the treat set before them.
A roasted boar’s head with an apple in its mouth was the centre piece of the magnificent spread. Gwenn declined that particular delicacy, but there was also been a roast goose, roast beef, a huge brawn, and a raised pie so heavy Digby looked strained as he carried it to the table. It was stuffed with every variety of fowl and game you could think to name, and obviously a source of great pride to Mrs Murray. There were also dozens of side dishes, roast potatoes and vegetables and mince pies, and Mrs Murray insisted that everyone try everything on offer.
Gwenn sat down with relief after participating in a particularly energetic game of blind man’s buff. The mulled wine had gone to her head somewhat, and she felt rather giddy, so she followed the example everyone else set and filled her belly until she felt she would burst. Sampson sat on her right and, though she did her best not to let it show, she was terribly aware of him. He would touch her whenever he could, just a brush of his fingers against hers as he passed her a plate but enough to send awareness and longing thrumming beneath her skin.
It was lovely, if surprising, to find Mrs Murray and Digby eating with them at the table, with Digby’s wife, Maggie, also in attendance. As Ross had told them on arriving at the castle, they were very informal, and Gwenn smiled at the affectionate banter between him and Mrs Murray. She was clearly a motherly figure and, despite the way she teased him, she also saw that Ross got the best of everything and stuffed him as if he was being fattened for next Christmas.
“Ach, no more,” he protested as she tried to persuade him to a third helping of Christmas pudding. “I’ll burst, and that’ll nae be pretty.”
Everyone laughed, and he got to his feet and raised his glass. “I propose a toast to Mrs Murray, the finest cook to be found anywhere in Scotland. Despite fearing the sharp side of her tongue, she’s the heart of this castle, and we’d all go to the devil without her. God bless ye and keep ye, Mrs Murray, for all our sakes.”
Everyone cheered and raised their glasses as Mrs Murray blushed and dabbed at her eyes and scolded everyone for being so daft, though her pleasure in his words was obvious enough.
Once everyone had settled again, they looked back to Ross who had clearly not finished. “I’ll not keep blethering on long,” he promised, ignoring Samuel’s heckling from the far end of the table with dignity. “But… I would like to say how glad I am to see you all here. Some of us are blood kin, and some of us are not, but we are all family.”
Gwenn felt her eyes prickle with tears, touched by his words, knowing he knew well of her affair with Sampson, but knowing too that this family would ne
ver be hers.
“People say ye cannae choose yer kin, but I disagree. Perhaps there are those we’d rather not have a tie to, but there are also those we can bring into our lives and keep close. So, to all my kin, blood or nae, I wish ye all a very merry Christmas, and that the coming year brings ye happiness, health and all the blessings ye deserve. Slàinte mhath!”
Beneath the table Sampson sought her hand and held it in his grasp, firm and reassuring, a promise to her that he would make things right. It took everything she had not to cry then, but to smile and release Sampson’s hand to raise a glass and toast the good fortunes of the family’s future. That, at least, she could do. She wished them joy and prosperity, good health and good fortune, and everything they deserved. There was a part of her that knew she should wish that Sampson could fall in love with a respectable woman, that he could marry and have a family… but she wasn’t strong or selfless enough for that.
Perhaps one day, but not yet.
“Merry Christmas.”
Gwenn turned to see Sampson smiling at her, too much emotion in his expression. She looked away from him before glancing about the table to see if anyone else had noticed, but everyone seemed to be chattering and occupied.
“Merry Christmas to you,” she replied softly, not looking at him.
“Gwenn.”
She turned then and found herself caught in eyes as blue as a summer sky. I love you, they said, without him ever speaking a word. Gwenn stared back, hoping he could read the truth of her heart in her own expression, knowing this day was their last. He didn’t know they’d shared their last kiss, did not know that when she bade the family goodnight, it would be the last time he saw her. It was best he did not know, for she did, and her heart was breaking.
***
It was late before they could persuade Susan and Selina that the day was truly over, though they were both dropping with exhaustion, their eyes open only through sheer determination. Gwenn went into their room to wish them a good night and sat on the edge of the bed they shared.
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 20