“This is the part that might hurt. Just this time,” he ground out. He’d exercised such control but his will was slipping.
She wound her hands into his hair again. “I know you’d never hurt me. Not really.”
Those words shredded the last of his resistance. He wanted her so much. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her and here she was, underneath him, welcoming him inside her.
He pushed past her folds, her channel achingly wet and yet tight around him. He went slowly, his body aching with the effort, and when he finally pushed past her barrier, he felt her stiffen.
Ewan stilled. “Sophie?”
“I’m all right,” she said, stroking his back. “Keep going.”
He did, fully seating himself inside her. His control unraveled as he pulled back out and slowly moved back in. He’d not last very long like this, her whispering words he couldn’t hear in his ear, but somehow, they encouraged him, and he pushed back in.
He shuddered at the pleasure tightening every muscle in his body as he kept the slow rhythm going, moving in and out until her hips began to meet his.
That was his final undoing. The last of his control melted away and his body spasmed as he finished.
It was only then that he realized she’d talked the entire time, her breath still tickling his ear. “That was so beautiful. You’re so wonderful, Ewan. Thank you for making me your wife.”
The words caused their own ripple of pleasure, and he lifted his head to kiss her again. “Sophie,” he started, his voice hoarse as he looked down at her. Her lips were puffy, her cheeks flushed, her hair a halo about her head. She was thanking him?
He forgot all about his worries as he stared down at her. He ought to thank her. Had a man ever held something so beautiful in his arms? “I don’t ken how to do this.”
She smiled then—sleepy, and soft, and so lovely, he could barely breathe. She laughed lightly. “You seemed to know exactly how to do that.”
His eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant.” He drew in a breath. “I don’t ken how to be a good husband.”
His father had yelled, blustered, and hit. His mother had played cruel games to goad his father further. How had he ended up here? He’d never wanted this.
But Sophie, unaware of all these worries, only gave him another glowing smile. “Really? Because I can’t imagine you being any more perfect.”
He looked down at her as he slid to the side, tucking her body against his. She snuggled into him. “I was meant to find you, Ewan McLaren.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. How did he tell her that she wouldn’t always feel that way?
Chapter Eleven
Sophie stared out the port window as they anchored the ship.
Two more days had passed since her wedding and she and Ewan had fallen into a pattern of behavior that made her gut churn.
He left her alone all day, not even returning for meals. Only after she’d climbed into bed did he join her again. They’d make love, then fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms; but when she woke in the morning, he was gone.
His touch still thrilled her, made her weak and breathless and she fell asleep at night secure in his arms. But the days…
She wondered and worried if she’d made a mistake.
It was what she’d feared from the beginning. She’d gone and fallen in love and he…he saw her as a means to an end. She would fill the role of wife and provide him with children, but she began to truly understand what it would mean to not have his heart while he held hers.
She’d spend her life…wanting. Longing for more.
She thought back to his comments about his parents. About his mother’s bitterness. Was this how it started? Feeling deprived.
If they ever spoke again, she’d ask him about his mother.
Her own mother had been reasonably content in her match. Her father wasn’t a bad man, he just fixated on what everyone else thought was right.
She remembered when they’d bought a new curricle simply because the neighboring lord had one as well. And when it came to marriage, her father had applied those same principles.
But Sophie had a feeling that Ewan’s childhood had been much worse.
She sighed. If only she could ask.
A knock sounded at the door and she turned, her heart jumping into her throat. “Come in.”
But it wasn’t Ewan who answered but Mr. Cutter who entered. “My lady.” He gave a stiff bow. “We’re ready to transport ye to shore.”
She nodded and smiled, attempting to disguise her disappointment. “I’m ready.” They’d reached the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonhall. Which somehow, had her nerves jangling.
What if they didn’t like her? Would that push her husband further away?
She followed Mr. Cutter onto the deck, seeing Ewan on the far end of the boat while he directed the unloading of crates. He didn’t look her way as he barked orders and she tore her gaze from him as she followed Mr. Cutter to the rail.
And then she stopped.
Because the only way off of the boat was a rope ladder leading down to a dinghy.
Her throat clogged as she pressed her hands to her cheeks. She wasn’t much for ladders, especially not in skirts.
“Mr. Cutter,” she started. “I’m not certain…”
Before he could answer a hand touched her back. Large and comforting, she knew it was Ewan before she even glanced over her shoulder. “My lady,” he rumbled low and deep.
“My lord,” she replied, their gazes colliding. She’d not seen him in the light of day since their wedding and he stole her breath now.
“Allow me to assist you.” And then she was in his arms as he climbed over the side. She stifled a yelp as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her eyes snapping shut.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered.
“Ye ken I’d never let anything happen to ye,” he replied, his voice taking on the soothing tone that quieted her racing thoughts.
He stepped into the boat, the little dinghy rocking under his feet. She clasped her arms about his neck, swallowing a yelp. “With my safety, I can trust you implicitly.”
He helped her onto a seat and then sat down as well, facing away from her as he began to row the boat. A minute passed in silence as she contemplated all the things she wanted to ask or say but wasn’t sure how to begin when he spoke again. “What can’t ye trust me with?”
His question caught her off guard and she blinked. “What?”
“Ye said ye could trust me with yer safety. It implies there are things with which ye cannot trust me.” He looked over his shoulder then.
She looked away, unsure of how to answer. Her heart was certainly in danger but even admitting that would start them down a road she wasn’t certain she wished to travel. So she fell back on humor to diffuse the situation. “Well, you’ve told me you have actual homes, but as far as I know, I’ll be living on a boat for the rest of my life.”
He stopped rowing. “Are ye calling me a liar? That ye can’t trust me to tell the truth?”
“Oh, that wasn’t what I meant, but you did mention being a spy or something. Tell me our marriage isn’t a ruse.” She winced, sure she’d just made the situation worse. But how did she deflect his comment without admitting the truth? Disguising her feelings had never been her strong suit.
He started rowing again but tension bounced between them. “Rest assured, I can financially care fer ye. Devonhall will vouch fer me.”
“Ewan,” she started, touching his shoulder. “I was jesting. Poorly. In all measurable ways, I am certain you will be the best husband.” It was the immeasurable unspoken factors that concerned her.
He went silent again, not turning to look at her and not speaking as he rowed the rest of the way to shore. And when he jumped into the water, to beach the boat, Sophie couldn’t help but watch his muscles at play as he easily moved the hulking wooden mass.
A second dinghy pulled up next
to them, Mr. Cutter climbing out even as Ewan reached his hand to help her over the side.
Had she just made a mistake? Should she have been honest about her growing affection?
She opened her mouth to tell him that she needed to speak with him later when he climbed back into the boat. “Mr. Cutter will see you up the bluffs. I need to return to the boat.”
She started. He wouldn’t introduce her to his family? “Perhaps I should wait here for you?”
But another female voice called from far away. “Is that you, cousin?”
Several people walked toward them along the beach.
Sophie stepped closer to Ewan as two men and two women approached.
“That’s my family,” he said by way of explanation. “Or part of them.”
She gave a nod. “I’ll be very glad to meet them, but all the same, I’d prefer if you explained our hasty wedding.”
He smiled at that, touching her arm. “Of course. That was thoughtless of me. Mr. Cutter, you’ll need to take the dinghy back to the ship and finish the unload.”
Sophie looked to her husband, who was always attentive to her physical needs. Perhaps she really should explain her feelings. Would he be attentive to those too? Or would he be angry at her for making a promise that she’d not kept?
This was supposed to be a loveless match, a matter of convenience. But, for her, her marriage was anything but loveless and far from convenient.
Ewan sat next to his wife as Isabella and Eliza stared at them both. His cousins had matching dark hair and brown eyes, but that was where the similarities ended between the two women. Isabella was soft, quiet, and shy, while Eliza dominated every situation.
Isabella’s husband, the Duke of Devonhall, stood just behind his wife while the Marquess of Milton sat in the chair perpendicular to his wife, Eliza.
Eliza cleared her throat. “I’d just like to reiterate to make certain I’ve all this correct. Lady Sophie is now your wife because she stowed away on your boat to escape an unwanted match?”
Ewan suppressed a sigh. “That just about covers it.” Truthfully, he wasn’t used to answering to family and he found it all a bit grating. Sophie clearly understood far better than him what explanations would be required. No wonder she’d been odd on the dinghy ride to shore.
She’d remained silent through most of his explanations, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
“And you needed to marry her because?” Isabella asked.
Menace, as everyone called the Marquess of Milton, snorted. “Isabella, that’s not the correct question to ask. Ewan didn’t need to marry. Look at her.” And he pointed his hand in her direction. “She’s like a DaVinci painting.”
Eliza gave a distinct huff as she glared at her husband. “Cad.”
Menace held up his hands in surrender. “Not as beautiful as you, of course, my darling.”
Isabella however, scooted forward. “You are truly lovely.” She smiled at Sophie before her gaze turned to Ewan’s. “But I was under the impression that you planned to wait a while for marriage.”
“Sometimes an opportunity falls into a man’s lap that he can’t refuse,” Menace added with a wink.
“Do shut up,” Eliza snapped.
Menace reached out and took his wife’s hand, his face growing soft, his expression tender. “I was talking about you, love.”
A flush colored Eliza’s cheeks and Ewan tensed in response. Feelings flowed so easily between both couples, it almost hurt to watch.
Partially because he experienced them too. Every time he looked at Sophie, his breath caught in his chest, his heart pounding wildly. But he didn’t want to feel that way, knew that it would only end in disaster, and so he’d been avoiding her.
He told himself he could still share her bed without losing his heart. The whole point of getting married was to create an heir.
But it was getting harder to hold himself apart and it had only been a few days.
Did he need to resign himself to giving himself over to his affection and end up becoming miserable?
He’d never seen his parents happy, he could confess that, and part of him had been contemplating if his match with Sophie could be different. But every time he considered telling her all this, his tongue stilled. Because what if he was wrong? What if he shared his heart and Sophie didn’t return his affection?
He’d surely end up as bitter and angry as his father had been.
Isabella cleared her throat. “Is that why you wed her, Ewan? Is it like Menace said?”
He was certain that Isabella stared at him. In fact, he could feel her gaze heating his skin. For the span of a few seconds, he didn’t look at her as he contemplated his answer, and the repercussions of whatever he said. He’d been a spy in a criminal ring, he’d weighed every word carefully when he’d been undercover and he applied that same technique now.
Finally, he turned to look at her. Sophie caught his gaze, her eyes carrying a question that she didn’t ask out loud. Was she wondering what he might say? “I married her because if I did not, she’d be in danger again.”
He knew it wasn’t much of an answer, he’d planned it that way. His words tread upon established ground and revealed nothing more about his motivations or the depth of feeling pooling inside him.
Sophie’s mouth pressed together, her gaze dropping. “I am very fortunate to have met your cousin.”
Ewan grimaced. Fortunate? The word sat bitter between them. Sophie had managed to accomplish his same feat, expressing her gratitude while keeping any other thoughts or feelings from her words. She was a terrible liar and so he had to believe she didn’t say any more because she didn’t feel any more.
Quite suddenly, he wanted the same marital bliss Isabella and Eliza had. He watched as Devonhall’s hand rested on Isabella’s shoulder, her hand coming up to cover his. His mouth filled with bile. Safety. Gratitude. What shite emotions to build a future upon.
“That’s why I’m here,” Ewan added, looking at his two cousins-in-law. “I’m about to return to London. The man Sophie was to marry, Maxwell Hughes—”
“Hughes,” Devonhall spit out. “No wonder you ran.”
“You know him?” Sophie asked, twisting her hands.
“He’s a rogue and a thief. A ne’er do well of the first order.” He looked at Menace. “And he’s one of the last names on our list.”
Menace raked a hand over the back of his neck before he turned back to Ewan. “Tell us more of what you know about Maxwell Hughes.”
“He attempted to ruin Sophie to win her hand.” Ewan wanted to reach out and hold Sophie’s. Exactly like the other couples had done. But hers were firmly clasped, and somehow, the gulf widened between them.
Isabella gasped. “How terrible.”
Menace titled his head to the side. “He was taken with you?”
Sophie shook her head as she studied her hands. “I believe he was more enamored with my dowry.”
Devonhall muttered under his breath. “He needs money now that his means of income, stealing from our business, has dried up.”
Ewan scrubbed his face with his palm. “He’ll have to find another lady. Sophie is under my protection now and I wish fer her father to legitimize our match, but the persuasion of a duke and marquess might be of great assistance.”
The two men shared a glance then nodded. Devonhall leaned forward. “Perhaps we could watch Hughes first. Go to Sophie’s father with evidence of his treachery. It might persuade him that you are the better choice.”
“And help us catch some of the last men on our list,” Menace added with a clap. Then he winked at Ewan. “You’re a good man, Ewan McLaren, and an even better business partner.”
Ewan didn’t respond. He didn’t feel particularly good about anything.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, the entire group stood on the beach once again. They’d decided to travel to London together.
Sophie had to confess, even the idea of returning to the city fi
lled her with apprehension. When she’d left, she’d expected never to return again, and now she was going back just days after she’d run from the city that had been her home her entire life.
Though, to be fair, her circumstances could not be more different.
They’d stayed up late into the evening discussing the details. Sophie would stay on the boat, not leaving its confines, and no one would share that she’d returned to London at all. Only if the conversation went well with her father, and Hughes was outed as the criminal he was, would she step foot in the city again.
Still, her hand sought out Ewan’s arm as the dinghies made their ways toward them. They’d gone to bed so late, they’d collapsed into sleep as soon as they’d reached their room.
Sophie longed to speak with him. A real conversation, but all of that would have to wait. She wished she’d used her time better in the dinghy yesterday because the unsaid words only added to her worry.
They loaded onto the boat and rowed out to the ship. Ewan carried her up onto the deck, and she pressed her cheek to his as he did. He said nothing, but he pressed against her too, his arm tightening about her waist.
Once they’d made their way onboard, he set her down, slowly unwrapping his arm from her waist. “I’ll see ye tonight.”
She nodded, regret at spending another day in silence lancing through her as he strode across the deck.
Isabella nudged her arm and Sophie tore her gaze from her husband’s back to address the other woman. “You make a lovely couple.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile.
Eliza stepped up to her other side. “It’s impressive you got him to marry at all.”
She looked over at Eliza, surprise widening her eyes. The beautifully confident woman gave her a wink in return. That was interesting information. She nibbled at her lip as she considered how she might learn more. “I know his parents had a difficult marriage.”
Laird of Longing: Regency Romance Page 7
