Claimed by the Laird

by Nicola Cornick

  Lucas nodded. “Thank you.”

  She was ill at ease, fidgeting with the braiding on the sleeve of her coat.

  “Was there something else, Lady Christina?” Lucas said.

  She met his gaze, hers half apologetic, half defiant.

  “It seems I need to warn you that relationships between the staff are not tolerated, Mr. Ross,” she said. “It is not appropriate for you to...become involved...with Mrs. Parmenter.”

  It was not what Lucas was expecting. He felt a pang of shock and right behind it a swift, fierce pang of anger. He fought it down. It was irrational to be angry with her for believing that he was romantically involved with Alice. What she had seen was suggestive. But that made no difference to how he felt.

  “You have no need to tell me that,” he said tightly.

  Christina sighed. “No? You certainly seem to be profligate with your affections, Mr. Ross.”

  For a moment Lucas had no idea what she was talking about, and then he remembered the previous night at the manse. Christina must have seen the MacPhersons’ housemaid ambush him in the courtyard. It would explain her coldness to him later and her predisposition now to think he was the sort of Lothario who habitually made a pass at any woman who crossed his path. He cursed. The MacPhersons’ housemaid was a flirt, and her brazen advances had surprised him but he had disentangled himself quickly enough. He had no interest in her and no time for dalliance.

  Something of his feelings must have shown in his face because Christina’s expression had changed. She did not look angry; she looked sad. Lucas realized with a shift of the heart that she had read his silence as an admission of guilt and she had not wanted to be proved right.

  “I don’t know what you saw last night,” he said carefully, “but there was nothing in it.”

  “If you say so.” Christina lifted a shoulder in so perfectly executed a gesture of aristocratic disdain that Lucas felt his temper soar still higher. “I am giving you a formal warning, however, that any sort of amorous relationship will not be tolerated whilst you are at Kilmory.” She turned away from him. “Good night, Mr. Ross.”

  Lucas reached past her and pushed the door closed with the flat of his hand. Christina spun around to face him, shock flaring in her eyes.

  “Are you jealous?” Lucas said softly.

  Color flooded her face. “Of course not!” Her tone was icy. “I have no desire to be another notch on your bedpost, Mr. Ross. Now stand aside!”

  Lucas did not move. “How contrary you are,” he said, “that you cannot see that the only woman I want is you. I think about you all the time. I dream about you. I have done since that very first night.”

  Her lips parted on a gasp. The shock in her eyes deepened, shadowed with doubt and a sudden vulnerability. It was so unusual to see her defenses falter. Normally she was so composed, so utterly in control, but now he could see straight through that self-possession to the woman beneath.

  In that moment Lucas forgot his reasons for being at Kilmory. He forgot everything in a rush of emotion so fierce he simply reached out and pulled her to him and kissed her. And when she was in his arms it felt as right as it had done the very first night.

  * * *

  CHRISTINA HAD WANTED to kiss Lucas Ross again. She had dreamed of it, longed for it. The reality, so hot, so sweet and so powerful, exceeded both her memories and her dreams. His tongue slid between her lips and his arms went around her to anchor her close. The room spun. She could feel the heat and the hardness of his body, one hand spread in the small of her back, holding her against him. She touched her tongue to his, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity.

  Lucas tugged hard on the ribbon of her bonnet and pushed it back with an impatient hand, tangling his fingers in her hair. She heard pins scatter across the floor, landing with a tinkle of metal on stone. The stroke of his tongue was more insistent now, demanding. She was sharply aware of her entire body, dizzy with pleasure. There was urgency in the kiss, but tenderness as well, so delicious and intimate that it stole her breath, stole her very thoughts. She forgot everything except this one man and this one moment.

  The ribbon on her cloak was next, unraveling between Lucas’s fingers. The heavy material slid from her shoulders like a caress to puddle at her feet. She felt cold without it, but at the same time feverishly hot and shivery. She pressed closer to Lucas, giving him back kiss for kiss, sliding her arms about his neck, shamelessly eager, until suddenly, too soon, it was over.

  Lucas let her go and she took a step back, resisting the need to steady herself by grabbing hold of him again. She was shivering, and she wrapped her arms about her for warmth and comfort. All her senses seemed magnified; she could hear the soft hush of the wind in the pines outside the cottage, and beneath that, distantly, the break of the waves on the beach. She could smell the oil from the lamp as the wick burned down. It mingled with the scent of dust and damp.

  We should try to improve these cottages if we expect people to live in them, she thought irrelevantly. I will speak to Papa about it. I have done my best to make them comfortable, but they are damp; probably Mr. Ross will get the consumption.

  “Are you all right?” Lucas asked gently, and she realized that she had been staring blankly ahead of her as though in a trance.

  She looked at Lucas and felt a pang of longing, a skipped beat of the heart. He was looking at her, too, quizzically, with amusement. Suddenly she felt unconscionably cross that he could kiss her so thoroughly and then seem so untouched by the experience when she was trembling, her good sense fragmented by his touch.

  Had he been lying to her about Alice Parmenter and had kissed her only to distract her? Very probably he had. And yet it had felt real, all too real. She shivered, confused.

  “Aren’t you going to dismiss me on the spot?” Lucas did not sound particularly bothered. Perhaps he really did go around kissing noble ladies for sport. She was not sure whether she should believe his denials. She certainly did not believe the assertion that she was the only one he had an interest in. That could not possibly be true, not her, the plain spinster sister, old, faded, on the shelf, good only to run the house and chaperone the nieces her siblings furnished her with. Lucas could have no real interest in her when he was so handsome and so charming that women were falling over themselves in the rush to warm his bed.

  He smiled at her. Damn him for that, when she felt as though the world was still tilting on its axis, as though the ground she was standing on was as unstable as quicksand. She had no idea how to deal with situations like this because normally she never got herself into them. “It would be unfair to dismiss you,” she said, striving to be impartial.

  She sensed his surprise, although his face remained as impassive as ever.

  “Would it?” he said. “Why?”

  “I did not object to you kissing me.” She was not sure why she was being so honest but it felt important. “I did not protest.” Her face heated. “I kissed you back.”

  She had. With interest. And she would do it again in a heartbeat if only she could. She was not even sure if it mattered if he was pretending to like her. Not when he could kiss like that.

  “That is very...charitable of you,” Lucas said.

  She was not sure whether he meant the kissing or the fact that she would not sack him, and she certainly was not going to ask for clarification in case he took it as encouragement. Her lips still tingled from the touch of his. The blood still beat hot through her body.

  “Perhaps,” Lucas said, “I should do it again if there is no sanction to stop me.”

  Christina’s heart bumped hard against her ribs. She took a step back. “I would certainly dismiss you if you were to kiss me a second time.”

  “So it is a straight choice between kissing you and my job.” Lucas sounded as though he was genuinely considering whether it was worth it. “Hmm. In that case, there is no real contest.” He reached out a negligent hand and pulled her close to him. Gentle fingers grazed her cheek, tilting
up her chin. “I enjoy my work,” he said, his lips brushing hers, “but I adore kissing you.”

  And after that they did not speak for a very long time.

  * * *

  “I WAS NOT SURE,” Christina said later, “whether the feeling was entirely on my side. I felt sure it must be.”

  He could ask her anything now and she could not lie. She was undone by the pleasure of his kisses, lost in bliss, heated and adrift with feelings she barely knew.

  Lucas was sitting on one of the upright wooden chairs and she was sitting on his lap, cradled in his arms, a position that was not ideal for kissing, although they seemed to have managed well enough.

  I must make sure that these cottages are furnished with more comfortable seating, Christina thought vaguely, her palm spread against Lucas’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. These chairs are far too hard and quite unsuitable for lovemaking.

  “And now you know that it was not just you,” Lucas said. “Far from it.” He was toying with her hair, his fingers gentle amongst her curls, touching her as though she was infinitely precious. It felt delicious and it made her heart turn over with longing. “From the very start I found you shockingly attractive,” he said. “I did not even need to see you to want you.”

  Christina gave a little giggle. “I could have been anyone.”

  “I’m not sure that would have made a difference.”

  “But then you did see me—”

  “And wanted to kiss you even more.”

  Lucas cupped her face and kissed her again, long and slow and languorous this time, and the tight spiral of lust in her belly tightened still further.

  It seemed impossible that he shared her feelings, dangerous feelings, feelings of desire and lust and need. His lips were tracing a tender path down the line of her throat now, and her skin rose to the touch, wanting more. Her bodice felt too tight. She was nearly panting. There was a constant, deep, disturbing ache low in her stomach, and her clothes frustrated her, layers of material that were superfluous. She knew a sudden shameless urge to rip them all away so that she could feel his mouth against her skin, and moaned when he slid his hand down over one breast, and her nipple hardened into a tight peak against his palm.

  His mouth returned to hers and she heard him groan against her lips, a rough sound of desire that echoed hers. The kiss slid deeper into heat and fiery need. Everything was happening so quickly, but Christina did not want to stop. She did not want to think. There was no reality but this man, his kiss, his hands on her. She had fought these feelings for what seemed such a long time. Now all she wanted was to stop fighting.

  She wrenched off her spencer and started to unbutton her blouse with fingers that shook.

  “Christina...” Lucas covered her hands with his. He was shaking, too.

  “Don’t stop me,” Christina said. “Please—”

  He shook his head. His eyes were smoky dark with desire. “You will regret it.”

  “I want it,” Christina said. “I want you.”

  He made a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan and she knew that for the first time she had broken through that cold reserve and reached the man beneath. A feeling took her that was part fear, part triumph, and wholly exciting. She wanted this man, needed him desperately.

  He kissed her again. He tasted so good, hot and masculine, and he smelled good, too, of fresh air and summer grass and a musky scent that was the essence of him. Her senses drank him up. Something shifted and opened within her, a willingness to recognize her own desires at last. It felt arousing, dangerous and yet so right because it was Lucas that she was with and it was Lucas she needed.

  He picked her up and carried her through to the inner room, placing her gently on the bed, coming down beside her, propping himself on one elbow. She wanted him to kiss her again but he was still, leaning over her, studying her face. She sensed hesitation in him and another emotion she could not place. Confusion? She doubted Lucas Ross was ever confused in his dealings with women, yet he was uncertain now.

  “It shouldn’t be like this,” he started to say, but she pressed her fingers to his lips.

  “Hush.” She drew his head down to kiss him again and felt the resistance in him melt. Through the thick material of his breeches she could feel his erection hard against her thigh. She pressed against it and heard him groan again with a harsh urgency. Suddenly it was too much; she had waited too long. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders with hands made clumsy with eagerness. She had wanted to touch him since the day she had seen him cutting the lilacs in the gardens, so powerfully built, so elegant with the slide of muscle under warm, smooth skin. She ran her hands over his shoulder and back, exulting in the sensation, then reached down to unfasten his breeches. His hands bumped hers. They were as awkward as virgins; she wanted to laugh and yet there was such a tight, sharp ache inside her that defied laughter.

  “Lucas, please...”

  She heard him swear under his breath as he stripped off his breeches, and then his body was hot and hard against her softness—and she was definitely overdressed. She thought of the time it would take to remove her clothes, the frustration to struggle out of all the layers, and then she felt something rip and Lucas’s hands on her bare shoulders, pushing down her bodice, and she could almost have wept with relief.

  “Oh, yes...” His mouth at her breast made her twist and writhe. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted Lucas now. She was the one who pulled up her skirts, shameless now, brazen. There was a moment of longing, of desperate anticipation, and then he was kneeling between her thighs and sliding inside her. It was fast, fierce and desperate. She came at once in a helpless tumble of ecstasy that would have had her crying out had Lucas not covered her mouth with his.

  She had experienced nothing like this before. The lovemaking she had known as a debutante was a pale imitation of the passion and emotion she felt now. It had been the exploration of a young woman on the cusp of adulthood who had been eager to grasp at life and understand its secrets. In contrast, the depth of her feelings now scared and awed her so much she could not think about them, and she let them float away and emptied her mind to everything except sensation. She clung to Lucas as he continued to move inside her, the smooth slide of his body over and in hers an almost unendurable pleasure.

  He bent his head to her breasts again and the sensation ripped through her, building, always building, toward that ultimate pleasure. She grasped the wooden bars of the bed head and clung to them as his body took hers, feeling him through every inch of her, a part of her. At each stroke the feelings intensified and she released her grip on the bed and slid her hands down over his back, his taut buttocks, drawing him in ever closer. She came again, hard, shattering with a gasp of shocked pleasure at the sheer, brilliant beauty of it. She felt the tension in him as her body drove his over the edge and at the last moment she felt him withdraw from her and collapse at her side, breathing hard.

  “Oh!” She lay still in a welter of tumbled clothes and equally confused emotions. She was afraid; at the back of her mind feelings started to stir, and she did not want to confront them. Then she felt Lucas’s hands moving over her with leisurely ease, unfastening buttons and untying laces. The realization that he was undressing her, stripping her, shocked her so much that everything was driven from her mind other than wanton need. She had thought herself sated. Now, though, in the darkness, with shifting shadow and patterns of moonlight, with Lucas’s touch on her bare skin, she felt shameless and wicked.

  Her clothes were gone. There was the kiss of the cool air on her bare skin, and then Lucas was touching her again, exploring her with his lips and fingers and tongue, and her body seemed to open to each and every caress, each demand he made of her. He slid a hand down from her shoulder to her breast. She could feel it lie warm and heavy in his palm just as it had done on the first night he had almost made love to her. Her body jerked at the inciting memory. He ran his fingers over her nipple and she felt
it harden, heard herself moan. Already she could feel her body tightening with renewed need. He played with her nipples, tweaking them, rolling them until they were tight buds of pleasure and the hot, tight sensation within her intensified.

  “My breasts...” she whispered. “I always thought they were too big.”

  She heard Lucas laugh. The sound, so low and intimate, made her shiver. He ran his tongue up the underside of one breast and she shifted restlessly. “There is no such thing,” he said, his lips against her nipple. “Your breasts are perfect. You are perfect.”

  His bit down gently and Christina writhed, stifling another cry.

  “How do you feel?” Lucas’s voice was soft. “How do I make you feel, Christina?”

  “Wicked,” Christina admitted. “Shameless.” She could hear both pleading and pleasure in her tone. She had not quite abandoned all modesty, and lying here naked, spread beneath him, she felt utterly exposed. Her mind trembled at the wantonness of it but she did not want to stop. He had unleashed in her something so wild she could only beg for surcease.

  “You can be more wicked still.”

  Lucas slid his hand down and between her thighs, spreading them apart. She caught her breath. His hand covered her mound, his fingers sliding over the damp folds between her thighs. She could feel herself shaking now. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he could affect her, yet there was no hiding it from him. His fingers unerringly found her swollen nub and pinched it very gently. Christina gasped, arching. He did it again, and the sensation shot through her body so sharply she cried out. She was snared by the feelings he aroused in her, captured by the powerful sensuality and the sheer wicked pleasure. He stroked her nub, rubbing gently, fueling those sensations. Her body twitched. She could not stop it. She moaned again.

  “And how do you feel now?” Lucas’s question was accompanied by another sly stroke that made her quiver.

  “I feel so breathless,” she whispered. “So strange.”