To Scotland, With Love

by Karen Hawkins

  Delicious color raced over her face and neck, and he burned to follow it with his lips.

  She took a nervous gulp of the sherry.

  Gregor lifted his brows when he saw the empty glass. “Would you like some more?”

  She nodded thankfully. “Yes, please.”

  He poured her half a glass.

  Venetia frowned. “There’s plenty more in the decanter.”

  “I don’t wish you to wake up with a headache, which will happen if you keep gulping it down like that.”

  “I am not gulping,” she said in a lofty voice. “I was savoring it quickly. That is a different thing altogether.”

  “I see,” he agreed gravely. He could tell from the glitter in her eyes that she was already a bit bosky from the sherry. A true gentleman would have refused to serve her more, but Gregor couldn’t help but think that if she was relaxed and warmed by a glass or two of sherry, she might be more willing to listen to his proposal. He was determined to make it again, only this time, he’d do it right.

  He’d realized one thing during the long ride here and that was that Venetia was too important to him for him to merely accept her refusal. “Very well, then. You may have more.” He filled her glass to the top. “But don’t blame me if you awaken with a headache.”

  Like a rainbow bursting from a storm-dark sky, she smiled. “Thank you. It’s nice that we’re talking again.”

  It was nice. “I’ve missed you.” The words were past his lips before he knew that he’d said them.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She set the glass down and leaned forward, the thin night rail stretched over her full breasts. “Gregor, I don’t know what’s happened to us, but I want things to return to the way they used to be.” She frowned, her gaze locked with his. “I don’t know if that’s possible, but now I wonder if perhaps…”

  He lifted his brows. “Perhaps?”

  She took a fortifying drink, her lips moist from the sherry. “Gregor, I have been thinking that perhaps you had the right idea about exploring this attraction between us.” She met his eyes and whispered, “It’s not going away. I—I find myself thinking about you and…I still want you.”

  His hand tightened about his glass. This was what he’d wanted and hoped for. He sat still, afraid that any movement, any word might ruin this moment, yet his heart thumped against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage.

  Still he couldn’t help but let his hungry gaze roam over her.

  If there was one part of a woman’s body that Gregor loved, it was her breasts. He loved them full and rich, creamy white with large, rose-colored areolas. As Venetia leaned forward, her breasts were clearly outlined, her erect nipples pressing against the thin material. Gregor heard her voice and knew he needed to listen, for he was almost certain he agreed with what she was saying. But all he could do was stare at her breasts, wondering…imagining…

  Venetia gasped and crossed her arms over her chest, standing uncertainly. “Gregor, I—”

  He grinned. The thin lawn of her night rail was like gauze. Her arms might be covering her lovely breasts, but the rest of her body was fully outlined for his pleasure.

  She was all woman, his Venetia. Her calves were pleasingly plump, just the size to fill a man’s hands. Her sweetly curved hips begged to be held, explored, enticing a man to passion. Her hair fell in long, sweeping curls around her shoulders, her rounded arms dimpled and womanly. God, she was beautiful!

  She stomped one foot, her breasts bouncing at the movement. “Gregor, say something! Were you even listening to me?”

  Gregor realized she was growing angry with his lack of response. If only she knew how much he was responding to her. Like a banked volcano, he boiled beneath the surface. Any movement might send his thinly held control flying.

  “Oh! Never mind!” She whirled away, her night rail shifting at her hips, tugging across her thighs, and lifting at her ankles.

  One thought tore through the red mist of lust. She was leaving, and he had to stop her.

  The next moment, he was standing, cradling her in his arms.

  She blinked up at him, shock and uncertainty flashing across her face, turning her silver eyes to dark gray. “What—what are you doing?”

  He looked into her eyes, and suddenly he knew this was right. That this moment was meant to be. “I am making your grandmother’s dreams come true.”

  Excitement and nervousness warred in her eyes as he bent to capture her lips.

  That touch ignited the banked passions that had been simmering inside Gregor for this last week. A raging desire not just to make love to her, but to possess her, body and soul, flared through his veins. He would have her; whether she knew it or not, she was his.

  Their marriage was inevitable. Not because she had to marry or face a life of ostracism, but because Venetia was his and no one else’s. And the sooner she realized it, the better things would be for them all.

  Without another thought, he broke the kiss and lifted her in his arms. She gasped, her eyes meeting his, and that was all it took. Gregor kissed her to brand her. He kissed her because every sinew of his body cried out for her. He kissed her because she was dear and beloved and the only woman who had ever sent his senses tumbling, caused his heart to ache, made him crazed with wanting.

  She moaned against his mouth, tasting of sherry and desire, her arms slipping around his neck as she pressed forward. Gregor deepened the kiss, plundering her sweetness. She filled his arms, and his groin ached with the need to bury himself in her.

  God, but she was amazing, every delectable inch. He strode the three steps to the bed and paused there, his breath harsh in the stillness of the room, a question in his eyes.

  Venetia’s breathing was just as ragged, her nipples pressing against the thin night rail, her lips moist and swollen from his kiss. “Gregor.”

  It was only one word, but the timbre said so much more. Gregor placed her on the bed, her hair splayed across the silk pillows. He slid beside her, placed one hand on her gently rounded stomach, and traced a kiss from her temple to the corner of her lips. Had she been more experienced and less precious, he would have disrobed first, but he didn’t wish to scare her. Venetia deserved to be cherished. And though he ached to possess her, after he did so, she would remember not just the passion of the moment, but the care he’d taken as well.

  Gregor nipped at her ear as he ran his hand across her stomach to her hip. Venetia stirred restlessly, tugging him closer, her hands tight around his open shirt, her legs pressing against him, driving him mad with want.

  He had to regain his control. He pushed himself back and looked into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Venetia?”

  Her eyes were the dark of a stormy sky. “Yes.” The passionate whisper warmed his heart.

  Gregor slowly reached down and slid her night rail up her leg. She gasped when the fine lawn material reached her knees, and he paused, looking up at her questioningly.

  Her hands clenched on his shoulders, but she didn’t ask him to stop. If anything, her hungry look urged him on.

  He pulled the night rail higher, to the middle of her thighs.

  Her skin danced with goose bumps, her toes curled, her chest rose and fell rapidly. Gregor noted the curve of her dimpled knees and thighs, revealed to his hungry gaze. He lifted her leg to expose the soft, sensitive back of her knee, then kissed her there. She gasped and arched wildly, grasping his hair.

  Gregor grinned. “Easy, sweet. That hair is attached, you know.”

  A trembling smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She released his hair, sliding her fingers to his cheek. “I’m sorry. That spot is ticklish.”

  “I know.” He flicked his tongue over the spot once more and blew softly over the dampness.

  “Oh!” She grasped the sheets, her hips lifting from the bed.

  Gregor slid up a bit, his tongue laving a path from the back of her knee to the inside of her thigh. There he let his tongue dance upon her tender skin, enjoying her delighted gasps
and shivers. Her breath quickened; her hips began to move with wild recklessness. Then her hands were back in his hair, tugging.

  “Gregor,” she gasped. “I—I can’t—don’t.”

  He stopped immediately, holding statue-still. I must be gentle. God help me, but I must. He placed his hand on hers. “If you say not to, then I won’t,” he said simply.

  Her gaze flicked to his. For a long moment, she just looked at him, her breathing returning to normal, her eyes dark with thought. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she bent her knees and moved them apart, opening for him.

  The gesture was delicate, perfect, delicious. Gregor’s heart pounded against his throat as he bent forward. to press a kiss on the inside of her thigh.

  She quivered but held completely still, her thighs still parted, her feet planted firmly on the bed. Gregor slowly slid all the way up her thigh…and delicately ran his tongue across her womanhood.

  She gasped his name as she writhed against him.

  Gregor slid his hands beneath her thighs and pulled her closer. He took her with his mouth, worshiping her sweetness, teasing and tormenting her until, with a cry, she arched upward, crying out his name.

  Gregor pulled her against him, cradling her in his arms. She panted into his chest, clutching him to her, her hair tickling his chin. “Gregor!” She pressed her face against him, deep quivers still racking her body.

  He held her tightly until her breathing slowed to a normal rate. He was so hot he ached. But still he held her, her warmth enclosed in his arms.

  Venetia began to regain her sanity. Was that what lovemaking was like? Good God, why hadn’t anyone told her? She was well past thirty, and she’d waited. What had she been thinking?

  The problem was, all she’d been doing was thinking. This was about feeling, and, oh, how marvelous those feelings were. She wanted more. Now.

  She tilted her head back and met Gregor’s eyes. Now that her heart had stopped thudding, she was aware of how loudly his beat in his chest. She could feel his manhood against her thigh and knew that he was holding back for her, waiting for a sign that he could continue.

  Venetia placed her hands on either side of his dear, dear face, tracing a light path down his cheek as she pulled his mouth to hers. She opened beneath him, rolling to her side and pulling him with her. He exploded in passion, his mouth hot and possessive, his hands moving and never stilling.

  In no time, his pants were undone, and he was shoving out of them. With eager hands, she tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it off the bed with a soft laugh.

  He rolled atop her, his body naked against hers. The feel of his skin and the roughness of the hair on his chest and legs abraded her deliciously, sending welcome shivers through her. His hands, large and warm, touched and stroked, his mouth following.

  He cupped her breasts, looking at them as if amazed. Then he bent to capture her nipple, laving it with his tongue until she thrashed wildly beneath him. A deep, hungering ache built, and she welcomed it, loving the sensations that flooded through her.

  Gregor moved against her, and she felt the tip of his manhood poised between her thighs. Venetia’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, yes. This was what she wanted, more than anything.

  “Venetia?” His voice was harsh with restraint.

  She opened her eyes.

  An unspoken question blazed in his, his mouth white with the effort to remain in control.

  She slid her hands to his and laced her fingers with his, then gently lifted her hips, pressing against him, welcoming him.

  He groaned as he slid inside her. She gasped at the fullness of him, at the new sensations that rippled through her. Suddenly, he paused, still pressing, but more gently now. A deep pang caused her to wince and gasp. His hands tightened over her, and he pressed deeper still. “Easy, my love,” he murmured against her hair.

  He moved again, sliding back. The pain was gone now, and in its place was a quiver of something new, something just out of reach. Venetia moved beneath him, searching for that something.

  He gasped once, and then he was moving, faster and faster, stroking her inside and out. She moved with him, lifting to meet each thrust, as desperate now as he was. They strained together, every moment sending them higher and higher. Suddenly, Gregor tensed, and Venetia’s body exploded. She arched, lifting against him with a cry.

  Unable to hold back a second more, Gregor tumbled over the edge of ecstasy with her.

  Chapter 20

  Och, me lassies! The fun ye’ll have when ye’ve a man of yer own to torment!

  OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

  V enetia awoke slowly, her body feeling soft and full. She and Gregor had made love two more times last night, each time as passionate and demanding as the first. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. They didn’t speak much but met each other’s gaze with bemusement and a sort of awe.

  She stretched, wincing at the soreness between her thighs, then reached for him…but he was gone.

  She sat upright, tossing her hair out of her eyes.

  A soft clink beside the fireplace drew her attention. Gregor stood by a large tray. Fully dressed, he looked calm and gentlemanly, unlike the wild rogue who’d so thoroughly pleasured her just hours before. Uncertainty trickled through her, but then his eyes devoured her with the same hunger that had kept them awake most of the night.

  Venetia grinned. “I thought for a moment you had left.”

  “Just long enough to wash and dress. I requested breakfast here. I thought you might like that better than having to face everyone in the breakfast room.”

  Venetia slid to the edge of the bed, rolling her shoulders a little.

  “Are you stiff?”

  She sent him a humorous gaze. “A little. I would ask you the same, but I suspect stiff is the only thing you’re not.”

  He laughed.

  She tugged on her robe and was halfway to the tray when a thought made her stop. “Gregor, did Raffley bring the tray?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “The servants will talk, and—”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t matter. When we marry—”

  “Gregor, wait. We made love, yes, but that doesn’t change anything.”

  His mouth tightened. “Venetia, we have to marry. I won’t let you face the future alone.”

  Her hands clenched. Was it just chivalry, then, and nothing more? Slowly, another thought intruded. “Last night, you thought that if we made love, I wouldn’t refuse you.”

  Gregor’s gaze darkened. “That wasn’t the only reason.”

  Her heart sank. “What else, then?”

  “Venetia, we’ve always gotten along better than any other couple I know. Now that this has happened”—he gestured toward the bed—“we should complete it.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “We’ve made love, Gregor, but nothing else has changed.”

  “Venetia, we could have a wonderful life.”

  “Until you find yourself interested in another woman. Or I meet someone and believe he could truly love me.” She looked up at him, her heart aching. “Gregor, I’ve watched my parents through the years. Through all their trials and tribulations, they are as in love with each other, and as faithful, as the first day of their marriage.”

  “Our friendship has survived ups and downs. Our marriage would, too.”

  “Marrying without love would make that unlikely. But there’s more. Gregor, I love people, and I love helping them. You don’t. During this entire adventure, every time I’ve tried to help someone, you’ve told me not to, sometimes in a very angry tone of voice.”

  “People take advantage of you.”

  “Sometimes they do, but more have been happy for a helping hand. I like one myself sometimes. You just want to be left alone. We’re too different.”

  Gregor was silent a long time, his brow drawn. Finally, he shot a hard look at her. “Love won’
t solve everything.”

  “No, but it’s the most necessary ingredient of a successful marriage. Without it, nothing works.”

  He turned away, pacing a few steps, then turned back. “Do you realize what a good life we could have? We could build the best stables in the country; I know you’d like that. And we could travel, too.” He glinted a smile at her. “Perhaps even Italy, though I promise not to ask you to take in laundry or tutor ill-behaved children.”

  She gave him a faint smile but said nothing. She crossed to the washstand and cleaned herself, then looked in the wardrobe for a gown.

  Gregor watched her solemnly, his smile gone.

  Venetia found it frustrating that they were so compatible in some ways and so different in others. She dressed in a pink morning gown and then sat before the gilt-edged dressing mirror. She found her silver-backed brush and tugged it through her hair. It took only a few pins, and the long strands were fastened back in place. She met her own glance in the mirror. She didn’t look any different. No one who saw her would know she’d spent the night lost in passion. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  “Venetia, come and eat.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Gregor was standing beside the table, his arms crossed over his chest, an angry expression in his eyes.

  “And then?”

  “I don’t suppose there is any then. You have made your wishes very clear. If you’d like, I will see you back to London. I shall return immediately.”

  She winced at the bitterness in his voice. “No. We brought Miss Platt and Miss Higganbotham and Sir Henry here. I have to get them settled before I leave.”

  “Blast it, Venetia! They can take care of themselves, and—” He clamped his mouth closed.

  “They’re people, Gregor. Just like you and me.”“They are not like you and me. When we have a problem, we fix it. They all want you to do it for them.”

  “Some people don’t have our gift for finding answers.”

  “Some people won’t know what gifts they have if you keep doing things for them.”