All Scot and Bothered

by Kerrigan Byrne

  She was undone. Unraveled. Completely thrown open and bared to the world.

  Who’d have suspected that all this time, she’d been a lock and he was her key?

  She shaped to him as though they were made for each other. Not just sex to sex, but their bodies as well. Her curves and swells gave way for his cords and planes as they fused to each other in a singular motion.

  Cecelia kneaded his flexing back, glorying in his strength and bulk, in the sheer magnificence that was this man.

  “Christ,” he blasphemed in time to his intensifying thrusts. “Sweet. Sweet. Too sweet.”

  He swiped his thumb against his tongue before reaching down between them and thrumming at her little bead once. Twice.

  On the third time, Cecelia lost herself to the night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cecelia’s mewls of pleasure ripped him apart.

  Ramsay had always paid homage to religion, because he was supposed to and all that, but he’d never truly believed heaven existed. Not until he found it.

  Between Cecelia Teague’s thighs.

  It was there he lost his soul, his heart, nay, every part of himself. He poured the very essence of life into her in long, paralyzing pulses. Throwing his head back, he realized if there were gods, they were the pagan, bacchanalian kind who would only be appeased by blood and sex.

  Deep down, he longed to pay homage to both.

  Locked in the most intense bliss he never could have conceived of, Ramsay began to fear the loss before it had even begun to fade.

  And thereby couldn’t wait to do it again.

  Seven. Fucking. Years. He’d wait another seven for this. For her.

  He’d wait a lifetime.

  Once his bones unlocked and his limbs began to work again, Ramsay still couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He attended to her, cleaning them both with his discarded shirt before gathering her close and rolling to his back.

  He draped her over him, thighs parted and her delicious weight settled across his chest and hips. She seemed apprehensive at first, but her legs trembled too greatly to protest for long, and so she splayed in a lazy heap of luscious woman as her hair spilled across his shoulder.

  He stroked the spun-copper silk, brushing her locks gently with his fingers, massaging little points of tension on her scalp and her neck idly as they each listened to the other breathe.

  Her breath disturbed some of the hair on his chest, tickling it pleasantly, and he scratched at it.

  Cecelia took the opportunity to grasp his fingers and press a kiss to each one.

  The little gesture nearly melted him into a puddle of tenderness.

  “I felt guilty that you’d been exiled out here,” she said between her ministrations to his knuckles. “But now I see the benefits of sleeping beneath the Scottish stars.”

  A languorous yawn overtook her, and she stretched over him like a sated cat who’d had her fill of cream.

  “If ye insist upon moving like that, woman, ye’ll not have time to recover before I’m inside ye again.”

  She gave a little whuff of exhausted laughter before lifting her head to peer down at him curiously. “I understand now why people pay such lofty prices if sex is like that.”

  Ramsay was so struck by her tousled beauty, he had trouble processing her words for a good half a minute. “It’s rarely ever like that,” he said with a pleasured sigh.

  Her lashes fanned down over her cheeks as she traced an invisible design on his shoulder with her fingertip. “So … you consider me a satisfactory lover, then?”

  “Satisfactory?” He snorted, letting his head land on the ground with a thump. “If ye were any better, ye’d have killed me.”

  “You’re having me on,” she accused.

  “Do ye not see what ye’ve done to me, woman?” He swatted at her backside, a motion that turned into a grope. “How can ye question my word?”

  “Because I did little better than lie there and enjoy your skill, all told.”

  “Skilled, am I?” He flashed her a grin full of masculine arrogance.

  It had the opposite effect than he’d imagined. Her own features froze, and then fell, as she stared at him in astonished silence.

  “Did something trouble ye?” he asked with concern.

  “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed a smile on your face,” she said in a hushed tone. “It’s quite … brilliant.” Her fingers reached out and traced his mouth before she settled her soft lips against his.

  At this, Ramsay made a silent vow to smile more.

  “Artifice has never come easy to me,” he said, trying to ease his sober statement with a wry sort of half smile. “I think most people smile when they doona feel it. And I’ve mastered many skills and etiquette, but that is not one of them.”

  “I like that about you,” she said brightly. “Then your smiles are genuine. Rare. Something to be treasured. Like diamonds.”

  “The things ye say,” he murmured, wondering if the blush creeping up his skin was visible in the moonlight.

  She nuzzled him, and the affectionate gesture touched him deeply.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He chuckled. “Ye could ask me to skewer the moon with my bow and arrow at this moment and I’d give it my best effort.”

  Her eyes crinkled at him with pleasure. “Cassius isn’t exactly a Scottish name, is it? It’s unique enough I’ve often wondered why your parents might have given it to you.”

  His smile died a slow death on his face as some of the warmth leached from him. She’d poked at a wound she couldn’t have known he had. He measured his words carefully, unwilling to break the perfection of the aftermath with meaningless trifles.

  “I doona ken if they taught ye Latin at yer school.”

  “Et non est, sed in ea didici mea,” she answered. They did not, but I learned it on my own.

  Of course she did. God, she would never cease to impress him.

  “Then”—he hesitated—“ye ken the history of the word?”

  She looked up as though to retrieve a memory. “Well, it was the name of the man who killed Caesar. One of them, anyway.”

  “Not the name, lass. The word.”

  Her forehead wrinkled as it was wont to do while she puzzled something out. “Cassius could be a derivative of the word cassus but … that cannot be right.”

  Her eyes brimmed with confusion, then concern.

  Ramsay turned his head away, unwilling to see the pity that would follow.

  “Surely your mother didn’t name you…” She stalled, no doubt searching for a synonym.

  “Empty. Or nothing. Whichever ye prefer.” He finished the sentence she could not. “My mother was also a clever woman, and she had ways of being hateful that were just such as this. Almost deniable, but certainly on purpose.”

  Cecelia scooted up his body, which responded despite the ache in his soul. She laid her cheek against his and held him. “I just can’t imagine a mother doing that to an infant. You’d done nothing wrong.”

  Ramsay let out a long sigh, knowing he’d puzzled over it his own self more than a few times. “Emptiness is what she felt in this place, I think. Her marriage was empty, as was her life here. Her heart, certainly. I was a product of all that emptiness. She hated me before I even arrived here, I suspect.”

  “Do you think that is why she left you here for so long?” She pulled away to face him again, and couldn’t seem to stop herself from pressing butterfly light kisses over his cheek and jaw.

  He nodded, thinking her kisses were like a balm to him that he’d never had as a child. Or ever, really. “It would have been easier for her if I’d died. She had her duke to marry, and Piers, her heir, along with a bevy of lovers and secrets. What need did she have of me? I reminded her she was common. That she was an imposter in their world.”

  “She was wrong about you.” Cecelia’s vehement words were spoken in a voice harder than he’d imagined she could conjure, and he studied h
er features intently as she continued. “You became a credit not only to her, but to the entire empire. Despite her malicious name, and everything that came after. I’m glad she lived long enough to watch you rise. To prove her wrong. You should be proud of that.”

  He smoothed his fingers across her face, hoping to wipe away the wrath that didn’t set well on features as lovely as hers. That she felt such an emotion on his behalf was both wonderful and humbling. “I was proud when we met, but I’m not certain I should be now.”

  “And why not?” she asked anxiously. “Because of me? Because of what we’ve just done?”

  “Nay,” he soothed. “Because of the Lord Chancellor.”

  “But you had nothing to do with his crimes,” she said, and her defense of him caused his shard of a heart to double in size.

  “I’ve been shaken, to be honest. I rose to where I am because I had a keen instinct about the nature of people. If they were lying to me, or not. Which they most often are,” he added wryly. “I’d be able to tell what they wanted from me. What precipitated their actions, and how far they were willing to go to get what they wanted.”

  He studied her for a long time, wondering why he was about to reveal this. “I thought ye were among the first people I’d ever met who’d truly muddled that instinct. Who’d been able to distract me long enough to fool me.”

  “I didn’t set out to fool you,” she said. “I hope you believe that.”

  He shaped his hand to her jaw. “I ken, lass, I ken. But to suspect I might have been working for the worst kind of criminal for so long. That I’ve been aspiring to become like him. Allowing him to influence my prejudices … It makes me question everything I ever believed about which side is good and which is not.”

  “Your heart has always been good, that’s what matters.” She quirked a smile down at him, this one full of sadness and softness, but no true sense of pity. “I am sorry for what you have suffered,” she said. And he knew she meant it. “But I am also glad you’ve questioned your instincts about me.”

  “Ye’re not the only one,” he muttered.

  “How so?”

  “Count Armediano. The first time I met him, I thought he was a trustworthy sort. I sensed something of a kinship there.”

  She frowned. “But then you found out he was at Miss Henrietta’s right before the explosion.”

  “I hated him before that, darling.” He filled his palms with her rump, enjoying the pliant curves of abundant flesh. “I hated him the moment he touched ye.”

  She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her shy but pleased smile, but there was no hiding from him. “I’m glad you’re no longer my enemy. I wanted very much for you to like me from the start.”

  “I do like ye.” He touched his nose to hers, learning the language of affection. “It’s impossible not to. Ye have a way that captures everyone’s heart.”

  “Not everyone,” she grieved, burying her face in his neck.

  Ramsay rubbed his hands across the impossibly smooth skin of her back and locked his arms around her, wondering if he’d ever bring himself to let go.

  “You know,” she sighed, “when I was little … I used to dream about this.”

  “About what?” he murmured, thinking he might be lulled off to sleep by a goddess.

  “I confess I was a lonely little girl before the Rogues came into my life. And I would sometimes think about how lovely it would be for someone to hold me like this. To shelter me. To accept me and care for me. Care about me.”

  Ramsay ached for that lonely little girl. If only they’d always been able to keep each other’s loneliness at bay. “I meant what I said. I would care for ye for the rest of our lives.” He held his breath as she stilled, and considered not letting her up when she struggled onto her hands to look down at him again.

  “You’re not proposing, Lord Chief Justice?” Her eyes sparkled at him as she regarded him with mock distress. “After everything we’ve said against it?”

  He remained stone-cold sober, staring up at her with all the earnestness in the world. “Aye, I’d make ye my wife, Cecelia. I’d not have taken ye to bed otherwise.”

  “I know that about you,” she said ruefully. “You’re nothing if not honorable. Though…” She made a great show of looking about their surroundings. “I wouldn’t say you’ve taken me to bed, exactly. More … to nest.” She let out a little laugh, stretching and arching up in a way that lifted her breasts.

  Ramsay would have buried his face between them if one thing didn’t trouble him mightily. “Ye havena answered,” he prodded. “Would ye consider being my wife?”

  She sobered as well. Leaning back, she dismounted him in a fashion that gave him the most erotic view of his life. Sitting next to him, she dragged a blanket to cover her more diverting bits.

  “I worry for our future, don’t you?” She caught her cheek in her teeth in that way she did when she was puzzling over a conundrum. Lord, he wondered how she had any cheek left.

  “Ye needn’t worry,” he reassured her. “I ken I’ve been insufferable, but we’ve proven we make better allies than enemies. That we can trust each other. Everything is different now.”

  “Is it?” she fretted. “How will you explain taking the Scarlet Lady as your consort? Won’t that make things indescribably difficult for you? Are you willing to give up all you’ve achieved to tie your tidy life to my chaotic one?”

  Touched by her concern, he reached out and tucked a silken ringlet behind her ear before lifting her chin with the crook of his finger. “Ye needn’t worry,” he soothed. “It’s no widely known ye’re the Scarlet Lady. Once we indict the criminals responsible for yer troubles, we’ll marry and I’ll adopt Phoebe right away. We’ll dismantle Miss Henrietta’s and sell the property under any number of business holdings I own. No one need trace it back to ye—”

  She pulled out of his reach, her face a mask of denial. “I don’t want to sell Miss Henrietta’s.”

  “Why wouldn’t ye?” He shook his head at her.

  “Because it’s necessary. So many women depend on it,” she insisted gently. “I intend to rebuild Miss Henrietta’s as soon as possible with the help and patronage of Alexandra and others like her. I want Genny and whichever girls still work there to remain, and I intend to expand the school.”

  He sat up, his heart pounding. “Ye canna be serious.”

  “I’m perfectly serious,” she said earnestly. “I’ve been looking for my path for so long, Ramsay, and I believe I’ve found it. These women, they rely upon me for their incomes. Alexander, Frank, and I have been all over the world, and the one thing I’ve noticed is that when women are educated and able to work, not only are their lives made better but so are those of their children and their communities. I want to be part of that in my home country. I feel very passionate about this.”

  “And that is commendable,” Ramsay said carefully, meaning it with every part of himself. “But surely ye can do it in some other way then a gambling hell.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m very good with numbers. I could make a go of it.” She thrust her chin forward in a stubborn fashion. “Ever since Henrietta’s was attacked, I’ve become more determined than ever to see it rise from the ashes for the betterment of all.”

  “Where does that leave us, then?” he demanded. “Because ye were right to worry, I canna remain Lord Chief Justice and marry an infamous game maker. Do ye have any idea what people get up to in yer establishment? Ye’ve not even opened yet.” His blood began to rise in concert with his fear. Was this falling apart before it had a chance to be knitted together?

  “I have some idea, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not asking you to marry me,” she replied with determined patience. “Perhaps we could make a less … conventional arrangement?”

  His frown darkened. “I’d not turn ye into my whore.”

  “Mistress, then,” she offered with a teasing waggle of her eyebrows.

  “Semantics,” he growled.

  “Not seman
tics. You wouldn’t pay me, obviously. We’ve each our own fortunes. We could just … be together.”

  “Nay,” he said. “It’s impossible.” He had to have her. To possess and protect her. How could she not understand that?

  A sober frown wrinkled her forehead. “But only moments ago, you said you would shoot the moon if I asked it of you. That you could stay here with me forever.”

  “Aye, then let us stay here.” He seized her shoulders, desperately needing her to understand. “Let us work the earth if we must. Or do nothing at all. I’m wealthy enough to retire. Let us do anything where we are not considered lower than the sewer rats in the eyes of London society.”

  Cecelia put her hands over his and brought one to her lips. “I love it here. But I cannot stay. I am resolved. I would share my life with you, if you are brave enough to share my chosen future with me.” She gestured to the air between them. The space that seemed to be growing into a chasm by the second.

  “Ye have to understand what ye’re asking,” Ramsay said. “Ye’re expecting me to give up not only my hard-won position, but my reputation. My very reason for existence.”

  “No,” she rushed. “No, I do not intend for you to give up your life. But that certainly seems to be your expectation of me. To give up what I have, what I want, so that we might be together. Do you expect me to conform to the societal expectation of what a woman should be so that I’ll fit neatly into the world?”

  “Well…” He blinked rapidly, wondering why her question suddenly sounded like he wasn’t being at all logical. “Yes.”

  She gasped in as if someone had punctured her lungs with a knife, and then breathed out a shaky sigh. “If there’s one thing you’d have learned in a lifetime with me, it’s that I don’t fit neatly anywhere.” She regarded him with infinite sadness, but he could tell he’d not surprised her in the least.

  Ramsay fought desperation at the retreat he read in her eyes, and on its heels a fury surged.

  “I’m not the one being unreasonable here!” He slapped the ground in frustration. “I simply doona want a mistress or an exile. Ye’ve seen how dangerous this life is.”