The Highlander's Princess Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Lord Arnprior, my goodness,” she said in a breathless tone.

  He let his gaze drift slowly down, desire starting a hard drumbeat through his veins. Her unpinned hair streamed like a waterfall of pale moonlight thick and straight over her shoulders. Thankfully, she was still dressed in her shimmering blue gown, a glorious confection of silk and lace that he’d been dreaming of peeling off since the moment he’d laid eyes on her in it.

  Bracing a hand on the door frame, he smiled down at her. “Hello, lass. I’ve come to get that New Year’s Eve kiss you promised me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Victoria blinked, stunned by the sight of the earl’s muscular and very naked chest six inches from her nose. She could barely assemble a coherent thought.

  Then she made the mistake of glancing down. He was wearing only his kilt, and it did a splendid job of showcasing his long legs, lean hips, and flat stomach, down which a trail of black hair disappeared under his waistband toward his—

  Stop it.

  With one brawny arm braced against the door frame, his shoulders filled up nearly the entire space. Victoria was now used to living in a house full of tall, broad-shouldered men, but the earl was something entirely different. He always carried himself with a quiet power and dignity, but at the moment he looked almost raw, as if he were a wild Celtic warrior come down from the hills in search of plunder.

  The fact that he barely looked civilized was considerably more exciting than she cared to admit.

  “Um, what?” Then she winced at her silly response. Instead of gaping up at him like a henwit, she should be slamming the door in his face.

  A rogue’s smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Placing his hands around her waist, he walked her backward into the room, then kicked the door shut with his heel.

  “A New Year’s Eve kiss, remember?” he said. “You’re supposed to give me one.”

  She made a concerted effort to stop acting like a silly girl. “I don’t believe I ever promised to do such a thing, my lord.”

  He adopted a thoughtful frown as his hands drifted up her rib cage to come to rest under her breasts. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  His eyes smoldered like molten silver. “I think you should give me one anyway. It’s tradition, for good luck.”

  Victoria felt her willpower crumbling like the ancient wall at the bottom of the castle garden. “Well, I suppose if it’s tradition . . .”

  Besides, she could certainly use a little good luck.

  As he started to lower his head, she braced her hands on his chest and unconsciously went up on her toes to meet him. His big hands slid back down to her hips, gently tucking her into the shelter of his body. When they connected, she gasped at the feel of his erection pressing against her belly.

  Her shock was swept away as his lips took hers with a passion that robbed her of strength. When she swayed against him, he curled his fingers into her hips, crumpling the fabric of her gown.

  His kiss was like a storm roaring down from the craggy heights overlooking Kinglas. Victoria desperately clutched at his shoulders as he ravished her mouth with an intensity she’d never experienced—not even during their sensual interlude in his study, when he’d brought her to a shivering climax in his arms.

  When Nicholas nipped her lower lip, she moaned and parted for him. The kiss turned hot and wet, his mouth demanding and greedy as he seduced with dominant, expert kisses. He’d clearly been holding back when he kissed her before. Even that first time, when he was drunk, he’d been gentle, protecting her in spite of his need. Now his kisses said you are mine. This was the laird, the Highland chief, and he was claiming what rightfully belonged to him.

  God help her, Victoria wanted to be claimed. For once, she wanted to belong to somebody, to come before all others, body and soul.

  And she wanted to claim him, too.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close to his chest as she whimpered into his mouth. He growled in response, low in his throat like a wolf. Everything inside her quivered at the delicious sound, and she wriggled against him, trying to assuage the ache that had tightened her nipples to hard points.

  And assuage the building ache between her legs. Without thinking, she rocked into him, pressing the softest part of her against that incredibly hard part of him.

  When Nicholas stilled, Victoria’s eyes flew open and she met his wide gaze. His pupils were dilated, as if he’d been drugged, and there was a flush high on his cheekbones.

  They stared at each other, both panting for breath.

  “What . . . what’s wrong?” she stammered.

  When he didn’t answer, a realization doused her ardor like a cold bucket of water. It was one thing to respond to your presumed fiancé’s kisses with pleasure and approval. It was another thing entirely to lose control and crawl all over him like a tart.

  Like my mother would have.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” she gritted out, trying to struggle free. “I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”

  While he was also behaving very badly, a respectable woman had no business throwing her principles to the wind. Not even if she was madly in love with the man trying to seduce her. She should have given him a peck on the cheek and sent him on his way.

  The earl’s amazing blue gaze warmed with understanding, then he picked her up, turning in an effortless motion to press her against the door. When he crowded close, she didn’t know what was harder—the door at her back or his brawny physique at her front.

  He gently cupped her chin. “You are the sweetest, kindest, bonniest lass that ever walked the earth. And nothing you do with me would be wrong or sinful, so get that out of your mind.” His smile was dark and seductive. “Your enthusiasm simply surprised me for a moment—in the best kind of way.”

  Embarrassed, she squeezed her eyelids shut. “But we shouldn’t be doing this. We’re not even married.”

  “And whose fault is that, may I ask?”

  She sighed and opened her eyes. “Mine. But I can’t help feeling that . . .”

  He nuzzled her cheek with a soft kiss. Even more than his strength, his tenderness completely undid her.

  “Feeling what?” he whispered.

  “That I’m not right for you.”

  “I do believe I’m the one who’s best able to decide that question.”

  She thought of the secrets she carried. “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “I am, and I’m happy to show you exactly why.”

  When he took her mouth again, she didn’t have the heart to push him away.

  His lips wandered across her cheek, then nibbled along her jaw and down her neck. Victoria tilted her head sideways, helpless to do anything but give him what he wanted—what they both wanted. When he clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her up, holding her against the door as he rocked into her, she gasped and clung tight.

  “God, lass,” he rasped. “You’ll make me spend before I even get inside you.”

  She swallowed, both shocked and excited by his blunt words.

  With easy strength, he held her against the door, flexing his hips and nudging his erection against her throbbing sex. Desire rolled over her, making her light-headed. Victoria clamped her hands around his head, kissing him with a fierce intensity. Her emotional and physical need for him was almost visceral, as if she would die if she couldn’t have him.

  Vulnerable and frightened almost out of her wits, she hoped Nicholas never stopped kissing her.

  A moment later, he froze again.

  She opened her eyes. He was frowning, his head tilted away from her.

  “Now what?” After finally letting down her guard, she just might murder him if he stopped now.

  “Hush, love,” he whispered.

  Now she understood. Someone treaded at a stately pace down the hall. It was undoubtedly the butler, making his final rounds.

  Nicholas held her securely but her position was less than comfortabl
e, with her shoulder blades wedged against the hard-oak panels and her toes just skimming the floor.

  And she was rather precariously perched on the broad head of his erection, which had somehow found its way out from under the folds of his kilt and was now rubbing into the thin silk of her gown. It was an awkward—if stimulating—position that made her feel more than slightly ridiculous. Propped against a door and all but riding on a gentleman’s manly appendage was certainly not where any proper woman should hope to find herself.

  Why not?

  Victoria firmly brushed aside the question.

  The earl’s head was still turned away as he listened to the fading footsteps. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Could you please put me down?” she asked politely.

  “Must I?” He nudged her a bit, making her squeak. “I’m quite enjoying this particular position.”

  “I’m not,” she said tartly. Well, not entirely, anyway.

  “Spoilsport.” He eased her down in a stimulating slide. It took a moment for her to catch her breath.

  “I suppose we’d better keep away from the door,” he said in a casual tone. “It was bound to get a bit noisy if we continued along as we were. That would be entirely inappropriate for your first time, anyway.”

  Victoria’s mouth sagged open. “You can do that against a door?”

  “Love, you can do it against a door, in a chair, in a carriage, or just about anyplace else you can think of.” He grinned. “You can even do it from behind, on your hands and knees. I’ll be happy to demonstrate some of the more adventurous positions once we’ve mastered the basics.”

  She of course wondered if he’d done those things with other women. “With my luck, I’d probably get a splinter from the door,” she blurted out.

  His eyes gleamed. “Och, lass, I’ll be happy to doctor your pretty arse if that happens.”

  She blushed. The conversation had become entirely mortifying.

  “I’m sure there will never be the opportunity to do so.” She pushed her tangled hair back over her shoulders. “And now that we’ve fulfilled the demands of tradition and exchanged a New Year’s kiss, thus ensuring good luck, I think we should bid each other good night.”

  She did her best to dignify her ridiculous little speech with a quick curtsy.

  Nicholas choked out a laugh. “Victoria, that’s just cruel. Especially considering this.” He glanced down at the erection that was tenting his kilt, something she’d been doing her best to ignore.

  “Sir, it’s almost two in the morning. The entire house is abed.”

  “I’d be happy to put you to bed too, Miss Knight,” he said with a comical wiggle of his eyebrows.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him—or run into his arms and kiss him. She’d rarely felt more confused, poised between pure joy and the fear she was making an awful mistake.

  Though Nicholas seemed entirely at ease, his gaze turned serious. “Love, why are you fighting this so hard?”

  “I . . . I told you. I want to be sure you’re not making a mistake.”

  Sympathy flickered across his handsome face. Or, perhaps it was pity.

  She turned and made her way to the fireplace, taking the iron and clumsily poking the logs.

  “Give me that, you daft girl,” he said as he came up behind and plucked the tool from her hand. “You’re making a mess.”

  Victoria let out an aggrieved sigh. “We can both agree on that.”

  He leaned the tool against the marble fireplace surround and then steered her to the high back chair in front of the hearth. Going down in a crouch before her, he clasped her hands.

  “Is it your parentage you’re worried about?” he asked. “Because I believe we’ve addressed that.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not an impediment, and you know it. Now, tell me the real reason you’re feeling so hen-hearted.”

  There was a simple, stark reason for his apt description of her worries, and his name was Thomas Fletcher. Nicholas would never blame her for defending herself, but no sensible man would wish to marry a woman with a potential murder charge hanging over her head, especially not a man whose marriage had ended in tragedy and scandal. Although Fletcher’s death wasn’t Victoria’s fault, in the eyes of the ton she would still be considered suspect—if not outright guilty.

  Nicholas had already suffered too much for her to make his life more difficult.

  But more than anything, she feared losing his respect. She feared seeing the warmth in his gaze fade away, replaced by shock and dismay. He would surely recall all the reasons why she was so unsuited to be his bride.

  Then she would lose him forever.

  “Victoria?” he prompted gently.

  “I . . . I’m no saint, my lord,” she said. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and I’m nobody’s idea of the perfect woman.”

  “That’s good, because I’m far from perfect myself.” He smiled. “I have no interest in marrying a paragon, because I cannot imagine anything more boring.”

  “But—”

  “Sweetheart, you’re aware that I’ve done things I’m not proud of too. And you’ve not held that against me, have you?”

  “Of course not. You were simply trying to survive terrible situations.”

  “And when you did those things you weren’t proud of, what were you doing?”

  She sighed. “Trying to survive.”

  “Exactly. Now, tell me, have you ever intentionally hurt anyone or acted contrarily to your principles?”

  “No,” she said, trying to be fair to herself. “Not intentionally.”

  “I didn’t think so. Victoria, clearly there are things in your past that trouble you, and I hope someday you’ll tell me about them. But I respect your privacy, and I respect your secrets. How could I not? I’ve kept secrets from you until my blasted family forced them into the open.” He leaned forward and briefly kissed the tip of her nose. “I will not force anything from you, love. I will wait until you’re ready to share them of your own free will.”

  His generosity made her feel like an absolute worm, but she couldn’t deny a sneaking feeling of relief.

  “Thank you, my lord. I’m . . . I’m very grateful.”

  A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You don’t seem grateful. In fact, as Angus would say, you look as queer as Dick’s hatband.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I do?”

  “Yes, but I know just the thing to jolly you out of your bad mood.”

  “I’m not . . . never mind.” At the moment her emotions were such a mess that there was no point in trying to explain herself.

  With a quiet laugh, he reached behind and extracted something from the waistband of his kilt. When she saw the small jeweler’s box, her heart began to thud.

  “Another present, sir?” She forced a smile. “Indeed, it’s not necessary. You’ve already given me so much, including this lovely dress.”

  “Which I had to compel you to accept, as I recall,” he said dryly.

  “It’s not appropriate for you to purchase my clothing.” They’d had more than one fraught discussion about it, since the earl had insisted on garments appropriate to her status as his future countess. She’d finally agreed to allow him to purchase a few things for her, including the gown for tonight, partly because Edie and Alec had taken his side.

  “Then I’ll be happy to divest you of all your clothing, after I give you this,” he said.

  When he flipped open the box, she gasped. Nestled in dark red velvet was a flawless pink pearl surrounded by small but perfect diamonds and set on a plain gold band. Simple and elegant, it was the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen.

  “Good God, I cannot possibly wear that, my lord.”

  “I don’t see why not.” He took her limp hand and slipped it onto her finger.

  “Because everyone will think we’re betrothed,” she said in a tight voice, feeling like bursting into
tears.

  “They already do. Might as well make it official.”

  She wavered a moment, and then shook her head. “Lord Arnprior—”

  “Nicholas,” he murmured, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. His muscles felt hot and hard under her fingertips, and the pearl shone with an almost mystical gleam. “Or Nick, if you prefer.”

  She stared up into his handsome, wonderful face, and her willpower slipped completely away as she tumbled into helpless, hopeless love. She wanted him so much it made her chest ache.

  “Wear it for me, at least just for tonight.” He feathered a soft kiss across her lips.

  Victoria slid her hands around his neck and went nose to nose with him. “All right, Nicholas.”

  His eyes flared bright with triumph, and he rose, pulling her up with him. Sweeping her into his arms, he strode toward the canopied bed.

  Tomorrow. I’ll write to Dominic tomorrow. She would tell her mentor in no uncertain terms that she refused to keep secrets any longer.

  And then thoughts of anything but Nicholas scattered like flotsam as he plopped her on the bed and braced his fists on either side of her thighs.

  “I’m going to make love to you now, Victoria,” he said gruffly. “Is that all right?”

  She had to swallow twice before she could answer. “Yes, please. Sir.”

  A husky laugh was his only reply as he began to undress her, starting first with her shoes and stockings. In no time at all, he’d stripped them from her body, reaching up under her skirts to quickly work her garters down her legs. She shivered at the feel of his big hands brushing over her skin, sending waves of delicious anticipation rocketing through her body.

  Nicholas tossed her stockings and garters in the general direction of the chair.

  “My lord, those stockings were very expensive,” she said, shocked by his cavalier attitude.

  “I know exactly how much this ensemble cost, lass,” he said wryly. “I paid for it.”

  She tentatively stroked his broad shoulders. His hard muscles twitched beneath her fingertips. “And it was very nice of you to do so.”

  He tipped up her chin, studying her expression. “Victoria, I want you so much I can barely see straight, but there’s no need to rush this.”