After a contented silence, Keir said lazily, “When this business about Lord Ormonde is settled, and all is safe … will you visit Islay with me? You could have a look at the island, to help decide if you could make a life there.”
“Do you think I would be happy on Islay?”
“’Tis no’ for me to say what your needs are. ’Tis for you to say, and me to listen.”
“First, I need you.”
She felt him smile against her hair. “You already have that,” he said. “What else?”
“I need a comfortable home with enough rooms for my family and friends to visit.”
“My house is too small for that,” he said regretfully. “And although ’tis comfortable for me, I dinna think you would find it so.”
Her fingers slid into the cuff of his sleeve, reaching far enough to play lightly with the glinting hair of his forearm. “What if I wanted to build a house for us on the island, with my money? Would you be too proud to live in it?”
Keir made a quiet sound of amusement. “I’ve sacrificed my pride for worse reasons. I’ll live wherever you want, my heart. But we may no’ have to spend your money. I think I may be able to pay for it.”
Carefully she turned her head on his chest to give him a questioning glance.
His lips brushed her temple before he explained. “I told you before that I wanted to renounce my trust and let Lord Ormond have it. But that was when I thought I was leaving you for good. Now I’ve thought better of it. I’ll take the inheritance my mother intended for me and try to do some good with it. We can start with a house.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Merritt said.
But Keir sounded less than enthusiastic as he commented, “The trust comes with commercial lease-holds that have to be managed. I’ll no’ be giving up my distillery to collect rents and spend my days with contractors.”
“Of course not,” Merritt said. She sat up and maneuvered to face him, running her palm up and down his chest as if to soothe away his worries. “We can hire managers and keep close oversight.” Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his, feeling the heat of his mouth afterward as if she’d been softly branded. “We’ll find the answers together.”
He caught her wrist and looked at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Lass, if you’re after calming me by stroking me with your wee hand … ’tis having the opposite effect. You’d better stop if you dinna want to be ravished right here on the beach.”
Merritt crinkled her nose and laughed. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Not out in the open.”
Keir dragged her hand down his body to the hard, aroused ridge behind the front placket of his trousers. “There’s something you need to learn about Scotsmen,” he said. “We never back down from a challenge.”
Chapter 31
KEIR WAS JOKING. HE had to be. Except he’d started to kiss her in a way that meant business. Teasing at first, but soon deepening into a slow, molten exploration. Her eyes closed, a slight pinch of concentration between her brows as she was inundated with too much feeling, seeming to come from every direction. The warm pressure of his hand cradled her cheek and jaw, carefully angling her face as he caught her mouth at a deep angle. He tasted like tea and honey and the fresh, subtle flavor she’d come to recognize as his alone.
Her arms went around his shoulders, but the position was awkward. She was heaped between his thighs, her walking skirt twisted and bunched all around her. The spoon busk of her corset, with its bottom edge curved slightly inward, dug into her abdomen. Perceiving her discomfort, he rearranged their position and hiked up her walking skirts in handfuls. As he guided her knees to the outside of his, she realized he wanted her to kneel astride him.
“Keir,” she began to protest, glancing uneasily around them.
“Sit on my lap,” he wheedled. “Just for a few minutes.”
“What if someone sees?”
“No one will come out here.”
“But they might,” she persisted.
His teeth closed on her earlobe in a gentle nip. “Then we’d best be fast.”
“Keir …” Merritt squirmed and dissolved into giggles. “This is not the place … No, really …”
“’Tis the perfect place,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “Kiss me.”
She gave in to temptation and fastened her lips to his, and Keir responded with lusty enthusiasm. Beneath her skirts, his hands were busy, tugging and rearranging unseen garments until the waist of her drawers sagged to her hips, and the seams of the crotch were spread wide open.
Merritt pulled her head back to look at him, an objection hovering at her lips. But his eyes were sparkling with boyish mischief, and he was too enticing to resist.
“There’s no one here to pay us mind,” he said. “I’ll be able to see if someone comes from the holloway.” One of his hands slipped between her thighs, gently fondling. “You’ve never done this outside?”
The light caresses sent shocks of heat through her, making it difficult to speak. “The idea has never even occurred to me.”
“’Tis different out in nature, with the wind and sun on your skin.”
“And sand in my drawers.”
Keir laughed softly. “We’ll keep to the blanket.” He stroked her intimately, tickling the edges of closed lips, the soft folds and petals. The delicate sensation drew a fullness to her groin and lit her veins with anticipation. A finger entered by tender, halting degrees, wriggling with each slight pause as if he were easing it into a glove. Her flesh closed around the invasion, again and again, and he pushed deeper each time she relaxed, until finally the palm of his hand cupped snugly over the triangle of dark curls. He kneaded her, his finger stirring and undulating languidly inside.
Merritt’s vision became slightly unfocused. “We’re going to be caught,” she whimpered, writhing on his lap.
Slowly his finger withdrew. “Then dinna tarry,” he said huskily. “Undo my trousers.”
“We should wait until later.”
“I’ve gone through worlds of waiting,” he said, nuzzling her cheek. “And that’s just since this morning.”
Merritt hesitated and glanced bashfully over her shoulder at the empty beach.
Keir grinned at her indecision. “Be brave, Merry,” he coaxed with a note of teasing. “There are five buttons between you and what you want. Just reach down and …” He drew in a rough breath as he felt her grasp the erect shaft and guide him into place. “Aye,” he said gruffly, “feel that … ’tis all for you. Come take your pleasure of me.”
He steadied her hips as she sank down on him. She concentrated on relaxing to let him in, yielding to the thick, heavy glide of him inside her. When she’d taken all she could, she paused, trembling, her face level with his. She felt pulses and throbs, sensation and echoes of sensation, all centered in that naked, concealed place where they were joined. He curved his hand beneath her bottom to support her, and stared at her with those singular eyes, the cool blue so brilliant it appeared to be throwing off sparks.
Merritt touched his face, her fingertips as light as a whisper as she traced the high planes of his cheekbones, the elegant hollows beneath, the squared-off jaw. She leaned close to kiss the firm, beautiful shape of his mouth, the lower lip more deeply curved than the upper. The altered angle of her body sent a zing of delight through her, but provoked a quiet grunt from him as if she caused him pain.
“Oh—I’m sorry—” she began, but he shook his head with a breath of amusement.
“No, love—you dinna hurt me—” He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, gasping. “You nearly unmanned me, is all.”
She began to lean back, but he gripped her hips and kept her there. “Merry,” he begged desperately, laughter threading his voice, “for the love of all that’s holy, dinna move.”
Merritt turned her face against the rich amber and gold of his hair and held obediently still. It was difficult, when her body demanded that she grind and thrust against him. She tried to
stay relaxed, but every now and then her inner muscles clamped strongly on the hard pressure, eliciting a faint groan from him. How strange and delicious it was to sit here like this, entwined and filled, while sea breezes rustled through the marram grass on the dunes and quiet waves lapped at the shore.
Eventually Keir lifted his head, his eyes very light in his flushed face. “Put your legs around my waist,” he said. He helped to rearrange her limbs until they were pressed together closely in a seated embrace, with his bent knees supporting her. It was surprisingly comfortable, but didn’t permit much movement. Instead of thrusting, they were limited to a rocking motion that allowed only an inch or two of his length to withdraw and plunge.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Merritt said, her arms looped around his neck.
“Be patient.” His mouth sought hers in a warm, flirting kiss. One of his hands searched beneath her skirts to settle on her naked bottom, pulling her forward as they rocked rhythmically.
Feeling awkward, but also having fun, Merritt experimented by bracing her feet on the ground and pushing to help their momentum. The combination of pressure and movement had a stunning effect on her. Every forward pitch brought her weight fully onto him, in deep steady nudges that sent bolts of pure erotic feeling through every nerve pathway. The tension was building, compelling her toward a culmination more intense than anything she’d ever felt. She couldn’t drive herself hard enough onto the heavy shaft, her body taking every inch and clenching frantically on each withdrawal as if trying to keep him inside. Nothing mattered except the rhythmic lunges that pumped more and more pleasure into her.
Keir’s breath hissed through his teeth as he felt her electrified response, the cinch of her intimate muscles. His hand gripped over her bottom, pulling her onto him again, again, again, until the relentless unfaltering movement finally catapulted her into a climax that was like losing consciousness, blinding her vision with a shower of white sparks and extinguishing every rational thought. When she emerged from the euphoria, she was locked tightly to Keir, who was still a hard presence within her. She rested her head on the shoulder of his coat, wishing she could feel the warmth of his skin and the hair on his chest. His hand coasted over her hips and bottom, slowly chasing the last few shivers that raced over her skin. He kissed her neck, letting her feel the edge of his teeth, the heat of his tongue. He began the rocking motion again, his powerful thighs tensing and relaxing, his hand guiding her hips.
Merritt moaned, too weak and shaky to move. “Keir, I can’t—”
“I’ll do it all,” he murmured against her neck. “Just hold on to me, darlin’.”
“This is only for you,” she managed to say. “Can’t come again … too tired …”
“I know.”
But the patient rhythm didn’t cease. As she sat implanted on that hard, unyielding flesh and felt its altering pressures inside with each back-and-forth sway, the tension began again. She started to move with him, her breath hastening with renewed effort. He braced one hand on the ground and slid the other low on her backside, pulling her into each thrust. She jerked as she felt one of his fingers accidentally slip into the crevice between the halves of her bottom. A guttural sound escaped his lips as her body clenched tightly around his shaft. The finger teased deeper, and she responded with a little squeal of protest, clamping down hard on him again. Keir groaned in pleasure and kept thrusting, while she yelped and writhed to avoid that impudently delving, stroking finger, her muscles squeezing over and over until she stiffened with a climax that stole her breath away. Somewhere in the midst of the white-hot shudders, she was aware of Keir finding his own release, his entire body turning to iron beneath hers. She subsided on him in a limp heap, panting, and gradually realized he was lying flat on his back. His chest vibrated with drafty chuckles that made her head bounce. Oh, he was pleased with himself.
“Did that hurt your ribs?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, still snickering.
“Serves you right,” she said tartly. “Keir, if you don’t remove that hand from my posterior in the next three seconds—”
He pulled it away obligingly, and lifted his head to grin at her. “Merry, my bonnie, heartsome, lively lass. ’Tis my jo, you are, and will be ’til my last breath.”
“Your jo?”
“My joy … my lover … my dearest companion and the spark of my soul. ‘Jo’ is a small word of large meaning … perfect for the woman who means everything to me.”
Chapter 32
OVER THE NEXT TWO days, Keir was in an unfamiliar state of acute happiness mingled with occasional unease. “Gleamy” was the Scots word for weather like this: sunshine interrupted by clouds or showers. There were no threads of continuity between his old life and this one, no rough edges anywhere. No recognizable faces or voices. Even the clothes he wore were new and strange. And yet it was all so comfortable and beautiful, he couldn’t help liking it immensely.
In a way, it would be easier if the Challons and Marsdens put on airs around him, or pretended he was beneath their interest. That way, he could preserve his sense of separateness, and remain a stranger in a strange land. But no, they had to be warm and friendly and interesting. He was especially charmed by the two youngest Challons, Ivo and Seraphina, both of them engaging and warm, but also possessing their father’s knack for a perfectly timed witticism—a bon mot, Merritt called it.
They asked countless questions about Islay, his friends, his dog, and the distillery, and they entertained him with stories of their own. To Keir’s relief, neither of them seemed to have difficulty accepting him as a half brother, despite the vast differences in their ages. They had been brought up in an environment filled with so much abundance, it didn’t occur to them to feel threatened by anyone.
The Challons were nothing like the noble families Keir had heard of, in which the children were raised mostly by servants and seldom saw their parents. These people were close and openly affectionate, with no trace of aristocratic stuffiness. Keir thought that was in no small part due to the duchess, who made no pretense about the fact that her father had made his start as a professional boxer. Evie was the anchor who kept the family from drifting too far in the dizzying altitude of their social position. It was at her insistence that the children had at least a passing acquaintance with ordinary life. For example, it was one of Ivo’s chores to wash the dog, and Seraphina sometimes accompanied the cook to market to talk with local tradespeople.
Although Evie was far quieter than the rest of the family, everyone paid close attention whenever she spoke. For all her gentleness, she possessed a core of inner strength that had made her the center of the Challons’ world. And she was so kind that Keir couldn’t help but like her. When they’d first met, the duchess had stared at him for a moment of wonder, and then had smiled and embraced him with tear-glittered eyes, as if he were her own long-lost child instead of Kingston’s.
On the second day after the Westcliffs’ arrival, Keir sat in the morning room with the other men, having an early breakfast. He found much to admire in Merritt’s father, a man’s man who loved to hunt, ride, fish, and shoot. Like Kingston, Westcliff had long ago foreseen the need to develop sources of income other than farming rents from his estate. He’d invested in industry and commerce, and had become financially powerful at a time when other ennobled families were destitute.
In the middle of breakfast, the butler entered the morning room and brought a message on a silver tray to Kingston. Having never seen a telegram with a seal on it, Keir watched alertly as Kingston opened and read it.
The duke frowned slightly. “Ethan Ransom will arrive this afternoon.”
Westcliff drained his coffee before commenting, “It’s about bloody time.”
Keir glanced at the telegram in Kingston’s hand. “Did Ransom say they caught the man from the alley? Or whoever set the warehouse fire?”
The duke shook his head and handed the piece of paper to Keir.
“Are we assumi
ng one man committed both crimes?” Westcliff asked.
“Not necessarily,” Kingston replied. “Although if you’re hiring someone to commit murder, it’s better to keep it to one.”
Westcliff’s dark eyes glinted with amusement as he remarked blandly, “You say that with unsettling authority.”
Kingston’s lips twitched. “Don’t be absurd, Westcliff. If I wanted to murder someone, I’d never deny myself the pleasure of doing it personally.” He reached for a water goblet and idly rubbed his thumb over the cut crystal surface. “I’d lay odds Ransom still hasn’t caught the bastard,” he said, and frowned as he glanced at Keir. “It’s been almost a year since Cordelia’s death. As the executor of her will, I’m due to appear at the High Court the day after tomorrow. Once I tell the Chancery judges I was able to locate you, Ormonde’s lawyers will try to cast doubt on the fact that you’re Cordelia’s son.”
“Will I need to be there?” Keir asked.
“No, I’d prefer you to stay out of sight for the time being. My solicitors will present evidence of your identity, including hospital records, witness statements, and as many of the facts surrounding your birth as we can provide … at which point I’ll also have to publicly reveal that I’m”—Kingston hesitated—“the one who sired you.”
“Ah,” Keir said softly, while a sick feeling came over him. He set down his fork, having immediately lost his appetite. The news would be a sensation far beyond London. An overwhelming amount of unwanted attention would be focused on him, Kingston, and the rest of the Challons. He shrank inwardly from the idea of instant notoriety, especially for the sake of an inheritance he didn’t want in the first place.
“After I reveal your existence to the court,” Kingston continued, “Ormonde will know you survived the warehouse explosion. And his only hope of acquiring Cordelia’s trust will be to kill you before Chancery reaches a judgment in your favor.”
“How long will that take?” Westcliff asked.
“Two days, I’d guess. Unless they want to call in witnesses for questioning—that could draw it out to a week.”
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