by Arnette Lamb
And seduction, she had to admit.
Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to her eyes and cheeks and kissed her tears away. With a gentle smile, he turned to the side and moved his lips a touch away from hers. He smelled of exotic places, and he embodied her every dream of chivalry.
On a breathless sigh, she said, “You’re seducing me.”
“Only as a prelude to ravishment.” His mouth settled on hers, and he breathed the words, “By my oath, I love you, Sarah MacKenzie.”
Desire poured over her, and as he deepened the kiss, she let his vow spin round and round in her mind, until she grew dizzy with need of him.
As if in answer, he slid his hands down her back and drew her forward, showing her the fierceness of his desire. She clung to him, wanting more, struggling to get closer, to put out the fire that raged between them. But the flames soared, and his tongue thrust into her mouth, fanning the inferno, feeding her wanton cravings, and sending her delving after the greater joy that was sure to come.
His hands kneaded her; his hips ground against her, and when the cadence of his movement slowed to a steady, constant rhythm, Sarah couldn’t hold back a moan.
He swept her into his arms, as if she were thistledown. “Hold on.”
“As if I’d let you go,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.
A chuckle vibrated deep in his chest, and the furnishings in the room sped past in a blur. Once in the bedroom, he again set his mouth to hers in a kiss that went beyond bold, past seduction, for it held a promise too precious for words.
Relaxing his arms, he let her legs slide slowly to the floor. Her knees wobbled, and the room whirled like a spun top. With suspiciously expert movements, he loosened the intricate fastenings at the back of her dress and worked it down to her hips.
The cool air teased her naked arms and turned her skin to gooseflesh, but the touch of his hands on her breasts obliterated any notion of a chill. Her own aggressive nature came to the fore, and taking his lead, she unbuttoned his waistcoat and tunneled her fingers beneath the satin lining. When she tried to ease the garment from him, he shrugged, sending it to the floor.
Her thumbs and fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and noticing her dilemma, he broke the kiss long enough to grasp the front of his shirt and rip it off.
Buttons clattered against the wall.
Sarah gasped at the sight of his thickly muscled chest and arms. Broader and stronger than she had imagined, Michael Elliot loomed before her, filling her mind with contradictory impressions: power and gentleness, elegance and might.
He grew still. “Have I frightened you?”
Never could she fear him; his strength enchanted her every feminine illusion. “No. You’re . . . beautiful.” She could have told him he had warts on his chin, so anguished was his expression. She quickly added, “In a perfectly masculine way.”
“I’m relieved, then.” He pulled off his boots. “But you have on too many clothes.”
Sarah’s gaze followed the narrowing line of jet black hair on his belly to where it disappeared beneath the waist of his velvet breeches. His hands moved to the placket there but stopped.
Glancing up, she saw him watching her.
Haste forgotten, he moved toward her, and Sarah’s heart began to pound like the drums at All Hallow’s Eve. Locking his gaze to hers, he grasped her waist and lifted her until they were nose to nose. Holding her there, seemingly without effort, he resumed the kiss. Again, his strength beckoned, and she sent her hands roaming his arms and shoulders and neck. He felt rock hard and robust; yet beneath his manly exterior thrived a gentle, loving soul.
Dragging his mouth from hers, he lifted her higher, and when his lips touched her breasts, Sarah teetered on the edge of a swoon. Her head fell back, and her hands cradled his head, pulling him closer, glorying in the feel of his silky hair sliding between her fingers. The drag of his tongue on her nipples and the soft suckling of his lips sent shafts of desire to her belly and lower. She grew damp in hidden places, and as he continued his loving assault on her senses, she discovered an odd feeling of emptiness deep in her woman’s core.
The rush of his heated breath against her skin made her shiver with longing. Her toes curled, and her legs hung useless and dangling in air. Seeking purchase, she tried to wrap herself around him, to clutch his hips with her knees, but her bulky skirts were in the way.
He tore his mouth from hers, and when their eyes met, she saw her own passion reflected in his fierce gaze. Gasping in ragged breaths, they spoke without words in a language springing from want and need and soul-deep longing.
How do you feel, love? his expression seemed to ask.
Safe with you, her heart answered.
He smiled and lowered her to the bed. Looming over her, he worked her remaining clothing over her hips and tossed dress, petticoats, and chemise to the floor. Then his hungry gaze embarked on an intimate roaming that began at her breasts and ended at her loins.
The air in her lungs turned to fire, and anticipation filled her, but her hands tingled with the need to hold him again. She lifted her arms in entreaty. Smiling, he took her wrists, turned her hands over, and kissed her palms. Her eyes drifted shut, but he said her name in a whisper, compelling her to observe.
With maddeningly slow progress, punctuated by hums and groans of approval, he tasted and savored her from the tips of her fingers to the soft, sensitive skin under her arms. When his mouth moved over her ribs to her navel, she felt a great well of need open inside her. When his hands eased between her legs and spread her to his view, she gasped in shock.
Giving her a devilishly daring grin, he lowered his mouth to her most intimate place.
Sarah jerked and scooted out of his reach. Too mortified to speak, she shook her head. What he had in mind went beyond debauchery, and in her befuddlement, she couldn’t fathom an intimacy so great.
“Oh, very well, my prim Sarah,” he said, and peeled off his breeches.
She stared, puzzlement turning to absolute shock. His legs were more than well formed, as she had suspected, but his masculinity, boldly jutting from his loins, made her rethink a lifetime of girlish notions. A lump of appreciation swelled in her throat. She swallowed loudly.
Watching her, anticipation in his eyes, he said, “Would you care for a glass of brandy?”
Refinement in the face of so much palpable desire brought a smile to her lips. “Not if you have to go past arm’s length to fetch it.”
With that, he moved over her, tunneling his arms beneath her shoulders, carefully taking his own greater weight. Spreading her legs to accommodate him, she felt his maleness brush her inner thigh.
He sucked in a breath and drew back. Then he shifted his weight and eased a hand between her legs. At his touch, she gasped for breath, which drew an anguished groan from him. As if exhausted, he dropped his head to her shoulder, and she felt the tickle of his long hair against her skin, but the sensation came from far away; her mind stayed fixed on the havoc his agile fingers were creating.
Of their own accord, her hips moved in harmony with the motion of his hand, but as he prolonged and expanded his ministrations, she felt as if she were soaring toward some divine circumstance. In an explosion of sheer ecstacy, she burst into an event so spiritual, she felt thrust into heaven itself. Languishing there, she concluded that passion was indeed a sound, for it echoed through her body in little joyous whispers.
He moved up and lifted her hips, wedging himself into her loins. She felt his desire nudging forward, and she shifted to accommodate him.
“Be still, Sarah,” he rasped. “I have no personal knowledge of virgins, but I’ve heard the pain is brief and better done without resistance.”
His admission that she was his first innocent charmed Sarah. “I ceased resisting when you took off all of my clothes.”
“Not entirely.” He pushed into her. Breathlessly, he said, “You balked at certain pleasures I wanted to give you.”
>
“Any decent woman would refuse such a thing.”
“Yes, well . . . not the second time. Now, I want very much to make you mine, sweetheart, and if what I see in your eyes is a sign, I believe you are ready to be free of this maidenhead, which is tickling me in an unmentionable place.”
“Unmentionable places are not allowed.”
Tried patience narrowed his gaze.
Sarah felt bound to say, “But I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Going on about nothing.”
Against her belly, she felt laughter rumble through him. “Sarah, darling. You ‘go on’ delightfully, but when a man is primed to love a woman, he—”
“Of course. He must get on with it. But do not think I believe it a duty to be suffered by a wife.”
He sighed loudly. “You know a great deal about the subject?”
“Everything except those ‘certain pleasures’ you tried to foist off on me.”
“Yes, well. I have another pleasure in mind at the moment.”
“But not if I keep nattering on.”
She looked beautifully abashed to Michael, and yet provocatively daring at once. “You will forgive a wee bit of pain when I make you mine?”
“ ’Tis only delays I cannot abide.”
He took her quickly, completely. The message in her eyes screamed surprise and distress, and he soothed her with soft words and long, deep kisses.
Now that the pain had eased, Sarah became the aggressor, finding the cadence that produced his deepest groans and heightened her own need. He thrust deep, capturing her completely, only to draw back, and like a fierce, dragging tide, he seemed to pull her desire and stretch it taut. When the pressure grew too great, she felt the rapture engulf her. Knowing her pleasure was at hand, he took her mouth at the moment she cried out, and a heartbeat later, he returned the sound in a roar of male contentment.
Feeling deliriously complete, Sarah clutched him in her arms until their breathing slowed, and he rolled to his side, pulling her with him.
Details of the room sharpened into focus; the lamplight glowed brighter than before, and the clock ticked in a steady cadence. She noticed his neatly stacked clothing trunks against the wall, and on the vanity, his combs, brushes, and shaving tools were lined up like soldiers on parade.
On the table by the bed, a decanter and glass stood no more than arm’s length away. He had offered her the wine, but she’d been too entranced by him and the loving to come to give the offered refreshment more than a passing thought.
A glass of water sounded divine, but at the prospect of leaving his embrace, her thirst declined.
With a swift smack of a kiss, he threw the bedcovers aside and moved to leave the bed. As quickly, he stopped and covered himself. “Sarah?”
“Um, yes?”
“I must get up and see to a few things for—”
“Of course,” she blurted, suddenly self-conscious. “Do what you must.”
Patiently, he said, “But I haven’t anything to wear within reach except the suit of clothes I was born in.”
“I’m also wearing that.”
He gave her smile rife with pure male serenity. “Gloriously so, I must confess.”
Her unease fled. “ ’Tis better than sackcloth.”
“Just so, and I wondered if you would be embarrassed now with my nakedness.”
His thoughtfulness pleased her, and she knew that consideration for others came naturally to him.
“No,” she said. “I rather enjoy looking at you.”
He jiggled his eyebrows in a mocking leer. “Look your fill, my dear.”
“But if you discover a robe or two, you might leave them within arm’s reach.”
He padded, bare of foot and everywhere else, across the room to the high chest of drawers. Pouring water from a pitcher, he wetted a soft cloth and returned to the bed. In naked awe, she watched him perform the gentle task of bathing her most intimate places.
Completely uninhibited, he smiled as he worked.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
“For water,” she said.
He placed a pair of robes at the end of the bed and poured her a drink of water from a corked bottle. When she’d had her fill, she slid beneath the covers. He lowered the flame of the lamp, climbed into bed, and nestled her against his chest.
The ticking of the clock grew loud.
“I will not sleep,” she said.
“I know.” He rubbed her arm.
“I’ve never been in bed with a man before.”
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I know.”
“We’re to sleep na-naked?”
“The notion appeals to me.”
“I’ve never been—”
“Ravished twice in one night, if you do not go to sleep.”
She walked her fingers down his chest. “I told you that I left Tain for adventure.”
“Adventure,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Much more of your teasing, Sarah, and you’ll think war is a lightsome moment.”
His thick black hair tickled her palm. “Are you tired?”
“Not in the least.”
With a fingernail, she traced the edge of the bed sheet. “I could dance a jig.”
His hand covered hers. “There was a little blood. You’ll be sore.”
Peering up at him, she looked deeply into his eyes. Desire smoldered there. Lowering her gaze, she said, “Just my feet will be sore—if we dance.”
His groan of indecision vibrated against her cheek. She asked, “Do you know the twosome reel?”
“Only the recumbent kind.”
She giggled and hugged him.
He squeezed her, then turned her to face him.
Only soft cloth and his sense of honor separated them.
Feeling warm and cozy, she laid her hand against his jaw. The stubble tickled her palm. “But if you don’t want to—”
He growled, his gaze sharp, his grip like steel. “Send your other hand exploring, my little adventurer, and you’ll discover a new land of ‘want.’ ”
“Yes, well—”
“Sarah! Teasing will be returned in kind.”
“You said you wanted me to act the wanton in your bed. But I’m not acting. I feel deliciously debauched. And deflowered is a seriously flawed word to describe what has occurred here.”
Michael couldn’t decide which he loved more, her lush body or her bright mind. When her hand slipped below the covers and touched him, he cast off all notions of chivalry and made love to her again.
Later, too exhausted to move, he nestled her against him and drifted to sleep, his soul at peace and his body content.
He was awakened by the sound of his mother’s voice. He opened his eyes. Sunshine flooded the room.
The countess of Glenforth stood at the foot of his bed, a flutter-fingered Turnbull at her side.
16
Wake up, Michael!” his mother said. “You must get up. The most wretched thing has happened—” She sucked in a breath and looked at Turnbull. “You said nothing about a wo-woman in Michael’s bed.”
The valet’s mouth worked, but he made no sound.
Offended beyond good manners, Michael yanked the covers higher to conceal his nakedness and Sarah, who was cuddled against his chest. She ducked beneath the blankets.
As still as a statue, his mother continued to glare. “Oh, goodness, the magistrate will be—”
“What are you doing here?” Michael demanded.
A befuddled Turnbull wrung his hands.
His mother waved a piece of paper. “Richmond has ordered Henry transported to a prison in Botany Bay—’tis a penal colony across the ocean. We must do something! They’ll send him away in chains.”
“He deserves it,” Sarah murmured against Michael’s shoulder.
His mother’s gaze flitted from the clothing strewn on the floor, to both occupants of the bed. “Is that woman Sarah MacKenzie?”
“This woman is none of your affair, Mother. Turnbull, wait i
n the hall. Mother, go into the sitting room.”
Sarah said, “I hope the sitting room’s in Glasgow.”
“What did she say?” his mother demanded. “I will not allow her to cast further aspersions on the Elliots.”
Struggling to keep a tight rein on his temper, Michael held up his hand for silence and began counting to 10.
Turnbull made a speedy exit.
At the count of six, Michael heard his mother say, “If that strumpet is speaking lies about me, or if she had anything to do with poor Henry’s being transported, I’ll have her thrown in jail for peddling her tawdry wares among the gentry.”
He heard Sarah emit a low, feminine growl.
Michael gave up. “Mother!” he snapped. “Take yourself into the other room. Do it now! I’ll join you there in a moment.”
“Something will have to be made of this muddle.” She whirled and sailed out, pulling the door closed behind her.
Michael threw back the covers and donned one of the robes, tossing the second to Sarah.
She looked beautifully disheveled, her thick blond hair falling to her waist in a tangle of waves, her skin slightly flushed with anger. Or was it shame?
“How do you feel?” he asked.
She slid him a sidelong glance. “Betrayed.”
“By whom?”
Taking the robe, she thrust her arms into the sleeves, but the garment was so big, her hands were completely concealed. As she fumbled to work her fingers free, the motion set her breasts to bouncing.
In spite of the trouble awaiting him in the other room, Michael couldn’t stave off a new rush of desire. He had hoped to lounge in bed all day long with her. He had planned to order up a meal, after he’d first feasted on her. But if her jerky movements were an indication of her mood, Sarah was not the least bit interested in making love with him again.
He got to his feet and held out a hand to help her from the bed. “Talk to me, Sarah. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes, which now blazed fire. Ignoring his offer of assistance, she scrambled from the bed and started snatching up her clothes.
