Highland Heat

by Jennifer Haymore

  Oh God…he was going to be inside her. Standing, with her weight half in his arms and half against the wall. She’d never imagined anything so erotic in her life.

  He hovered there, holding, staring at her with a look that spread wildfire through her body and scorched her soul.

  And then he lowered her onto him.

  This time, Grace couldn’t help it. She cried out, but she was able to contain it—mostly. It came out as a mew of pleasure. But Duncan frowned and froze. “What did I say?”

  She closed her eyes. “No sounds,” she said breathlessly. “No words.”

  “Will I have to ask again?”

  “No, Duncan.”

  “Good,” he murmured silkily. “Because I’ll be takin’ you against this door. Deep and hard and fast. But I dinna want an audience. Do ye understand?” When she opened her mouth to say yes, he squeezed her bottom, and she gasped.

  “Dinna speak again,” he warned, “just nod if you understand.”

  She nodded.

  He blew out a breath, the challenge of his restraint apparent in the narrowness of his eyes and flatness of the corners of his lips.

  Then his expression softened. “Jesus, Grace,” he murmured. “You’re so bonny. So perfect.”

  And then he began to move. It was just as he’d promised. Deep. Hard. Fast. A storm that blew through her, within moments erupting in an explosion of heat and desire. She came silently, her mouth shut but her body racked with pleasure that burned through every inch of her flesh. She held him tighter, kissing him frantically, tasting the rough skin of his jaw and of his chest as his relentless thrusts started stoking a new fire.

  He didn’t stop until she came again, pleasure crackling through her like the sparks of a firework. He yanked out of her then pulled her close as he spilled against her stomach, soiling her nightgown and his kilt. But neither of them cared about that.

  He carried her to bed when it was over, stripped her, and tucked her beneath the blankets. After divesting himself of his shirt and kilt, he crawled in beside her and pulled her to him, her head lying on the front of his shoulder, her leg draped over both his, his arms tight around her.

  They lay like this, wrapped up in each other, for a long while. Both of them were awake, but they didn’t need to speak, not yet. Silence had grown to be a comfortable thing between them. A safe place where they could each get lost in their own thoughts without feeling compelled to share them.

  Finally, he spoke. “God help me, Grace, but I dinna want to go. I want to stay here with you.”

  “I want you to stay.”

  “You ken it’s no’ possible.”

  She nodded, then said quietly, “Do you ever wish…?” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?” he pressed.

  “That…we weren’t constrained by society’s silly rules.”

  “Oh, aye,” he said. “All the time.”

  “That people could simply look at us and see that we’re…well, that we’re good together, and simply accept us?”

  He nodded.

  “Instead of placing us into categories based on not who we are but who we were born to,” she finished bitterly.

  His arms tightened around her. “There’s no sense in wishing for things that canna be.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “It just frustrates me to no end.”

  He kissed the top of her head.

  “Did you know…the thought of betraying my father would never have crossed my mind before I met you.”

  He went very still.

  “My duty to my father and to my family and its name has always meant everything to me.”

  “Aye,” Duncan said slowly, “but you speak of it in such a bitter tone. Being dedicated to your father and family is something to be proud of, no’ to scorn.”

  “I suppose. But it all seems so meaningless when I’m with you.” She hesitated, then pressed her body tighter to his. “Duncan?”

  “Aye, lass?”

  “I wish…we could marry.” She felt more than heard his breath catch, and she plowed ahead. “I wish I could be your wife.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, then released a long sigh. “I wish for that, too, Grace.”

  “Why can’t we marry, then? Why, why, why?” She groaned. “Of course I know why. But it’s so stupid. Ridiculously stupid.”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Shh.”

  “Sometimes I feel like two different people. The woman I was born to be and the woman I am. And those two are about as opposite as two people can be.”

  He trailed his fingertips down her spine; a soft, comforting touch. “I think they’ve more in common than you might imagine.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “The woman I was born to be is prudish and sanctimonious and thinks herself better than most.”

  He laughed. “That might be the lass society wishes you were, but I’ve seen none of those traits in you, ever. Even when you play the role assigned to you at birth, you are generous and kind. And others may think you a prude, but the aristocratic Grace I know is secretly a vixen.”

  “How would you know?” she teased.

  “Hmm…you played the part of Aristocratic Grace at dinner tonight, aye?”

  She laughed against his skin, remembering how she’d seated him beside her and then cupped her hand over his cock below the tablecloth as the footmen had moved to the other side of the table to serve the duck. “Goodness. I suppose you’re right.”

  “You are who you are, love. No façade you wear can change who you are inside.”

  The words sank into her slowly. Who was she, really, on the inside? How much of a person’s identity was tied to their desires? To how they had been raised? To the expectations laid upon their shoulders?

  With these thoughts swirling in her head, she drifted off to sleep, only to wake hours later to the pleasant sensation of Duncan’s body over her. He made love to her, moving into her body in slow, heavy thrusts. She moved her hands over his chest, his arms, his buttocks, trying to burn every line and angle of his body into her memory.

  He pressed his hand between them, touching her in that most sensitive place with firm strokes. It didn’t take long before a shuddering orgasm overtook her, making her toes curl and her fingers clench over his biceps as she cried out in release.

  When he too had found his pleasure, he sat her up and pulled her nightgown on over her head. Then he wrapped a plaid around himself and drew her into his arms. He carried her to her own room, closing the door behind them and laying her on her bed. He bent down to kiss her gently.

  “Sleep now, lass. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Chapter 17

  Breakfast was a quiet affair. The four of them picked at their food as the minutes ticked away until it was time for the men to go. And that time came quickly, when a footman entered the breakfast room to tell them that their horses were saddled and ready.

  Grace watched her sister and the major’s farewell. They wrapped their arms around each other, whispered in each other’s ear, and finally kissed tenderly. “Be safe, my love,” Claire said before the major turned to mount his horse.

  As propriety dictated, Grace stood off to the side and said, “Goodbye!” with false cheer, wishing with all her heart that she could fall into Duncan’s arms and tell him to be safe. That she loved him and she expected him to come home soon.

  She couldn’t do any of that. Instead, she had to pretend that she felt nothing for this man, even as a part of her seemed to disappear as he rode at the major’s side down the long, winding driveway.

  She hated lying to the world.

  She hated lying to herself.

  After the men disappeared at the bend that led to the main road, Claire turned to her, took one look, and grabbed her hand. “Come upstairs with me.”

  Grace followed her sister, filled to bursting with emotion that she was so busy trying to control she had nothing left with which to argue.

  Claire led her up to the la
dies’ sitting room, sat her in the most comfortable armchair, and called for tea. When they were alone, she turned to Grace and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought I told you to be careful,” she said sternly. “If Papa were here, he would have known right away that something has happened between you and Duncan Mackenzie. As it is, Rob has been about to confront Duncan several times, but I’ve managed—just barely—to call him off.” She shook her head. “Really, Grace. I never took you for a ninny before.”

  Grace’s lips tightened and her back straightened. “You’ve no idea how I…” Her voice broke and she looked away, her cheeks heating.

  Suddenly, Claire was in front of her, kneeling. She gathered Grace’s hands in hers and kissed her knuckles. “Oh, dear sister, I do know. When I first fell in love with Rob, we were in the exact same position as you and Duncan.”

  Claire was right. But a miracle had happened—the major had saved Wellington, been promoted to major and awarded a title, and become one of the most famous and respected soldiers in England. It was ridiculous to even hope that that kind of lightning would strike more than once.

  “I’m not as lucky as you, Claire. I never have been. And Duncan’s social status is far lower than the major’s ever was.”

  Claire sighed but didn’t argue, because they both knew Grace’s words were absolutely true.

  Grace lowered her face into her hands. “I just…My life feels like it’s been turned upside down. I used to like my life.”

  Claire raised a brow. “Really? I think like is a bit of a strong word.”

  “Fine. I was content with my life.”

  “Only because you didn’t know what you were missing—you didn’t know the Theory of Scots. If you had, you surely would have gone looking for more.”

  Grace stared at her sister. Yes, that’s what this was. More. Being with Duncan didn’t make her simply “content.” Instead, it brought her a soul-deep contentment that bloomed through her and sheltered her heart.

  “Oh, Claire,” she whispered, “what am I going to do?”

  —

  The rest of the day passed slowly. Claire was busy preparing to leave Norsey House, because Rob had told her that if it was safe enough in Manchester he’d send for her as soon as he could. Grace thought her sister’s packing somewhat premature, but it kept Claire busy, and happy. So Grace wasn’t going to be the one to point out that if the major did send for her, it wouldn’t be for at least a few more days.

  Claire’s distraction and the men’s absence gave Grace plenty of time to work on correspondence, plans for the house party, and her other duties. But she couldn’t focus on any of it.

  Instead, her thoughts were on one thing and one thing alone. Who was Lady Grace Carrington? Who did she want to be?

  And the more she thought about it, the clearer her answer became.

  She hated hurting people she loved, and she loved her father dearly, even as stiff and stern as he could be. The earl had that softness in him that he rarely showed the world—a true, deep, and abiding love for his daughters. Betraying him would hurt him beyond measure. She would do almost anything to prevent him from feeling pain.

  Almost anything. But where would she draw the line? Would she forsake her own happiness—and Duncan’s—to prevent her father’s pain? Would she go so far as to forsake her own identity?

  The earl would never agree to a match between Duncan and Grace. In fact, if he knew that either of them was even contemplating marriage, he’d go to great lengths to prevent it.

  Which meant that if they were to marry, they’d have to do so secretly.

  They’d have to go to Scotland.

  Grace clenched her fist, wrinkling the parchment of one of the letters she’d been holding and pretending to read.

  God, the thought of Duncan taking vows with her, his kilt tickling his knees, standing tall and proud in a kirk tucked within the Scottish moors while a piper played a wedding song…

  She sucked in a breath, cutting the fantasy short.

  Her father was a man who cherished his image and that of his family. He was proud that the rumor mill had never found anything worthy of grinding when it came to him or his daughters. Because of the major’s accomplishments, Claire’s love match with him had been given the ton’s blessing. Grace and Duncan’s would be a subject of scorn.

  The earl would be devastated. Absolutely, irrevocably devastated.

  —

  That night, they had a visit from the Belner family, their closest neighbors. Grace fell into her role as hostess easily, welcoming them, offering them refreshment, and then inviting them to stay for dinner.

  The Belners were an older couple who’d been friends with Grace and Claire’s parents. They had two sons, both of whom were now attending university at Cambridge. They were lovely people, and Grace admired them both.

  After dinner, they were sitting at a pair of card tables, having agreed to a backgammon tournament. Claire would play Mrs. Belner while Grace played Mr. Belner, and the winners would play each other for the championship.

  Grace smiled at Mr. Belner as he handed her the dice and her smile grew when she rolled doubles. Mr. Belner sighed dramatically. “How is it that you always beat me, my lady? It seems after all the times we’ve played, I might’ve beaten you at least once or twice.”

  Grace laughed. “I am an expert backgammon player. Hardly anyone ever beats me, and when they do it’s a result of pure luck.”

  They played on, speaking of London in the summer and the upcoming house party. And then, at the table on the other side of the room, Mrs. Belner laughed and exclaimed, “Well, that’s hardly fair, now, isn’t it?” and Grace heard the twang of the commoner in her voice.

  She never thought much on it, but she’d always known about Mr. and Mrs. Belner. Mr. Belner was the fourth son of a viscount, but Mrs. Belner…well, she’d been a housemaid at the viscount’s manor. It was there that Mr. Belner had met her as a youth and had fallen in love with her. They still loved and held great respect for each other.

  Grace bit her lip, handing the dice back to Mr. Belner after her roll. “Do you mind very much if I ask you a personal question?”

  Mr. Belner grinned. “Of course not, my dear. Ask away.”

  She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “When you married Mrs. Belner, did your father approve?”

  Mr. Belner nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh no. Not at all.”

  “And yet you married her regardless of his approval?”

  He nodded proudly. “Indeed I did. And I’ve never regretted it.”

  Would she feel like that if she married Duncan? Would she have no regrets? Was that even possible?

  “Why?” she asked.

  His smile was soft. “Have you looked at Margie recently, my lady? Can you not see how she is the most beautiful woman in England?”

  Grace glanced over at the older woman. Margie Belner was round and plump, with flushed pink cheeks and hair that had once been blond but now erred on the side of white. She was very pretty…but Grace certainly never would have claimed she was the most beautiful woman in England.

  But that was how her husband saw her. Grace smiled. “I see exactly what you mean,” she told Mr. Belner. “But what of your father? Did he forgive you?”

  Mr. Belner nodded. “Oh yes. Eventually, in his old age. Margie was very kind to him when he was ill, and at one point he pulled her to him and said he loved her more than any of his children.”

  “But nevertheless he was angry with you for many years.”

  “He was.”

  “Was it difficult?”

  Mr. Belner sighed. “My father was a difficult man in his prime. It had to do with more than my marriage.”

  “I understand,” she said. “And what of society? Were you shunned at social events? Balls? Parties?”

  “No, I never was.” He sighed. “But Margie was. She bore it with dignity—she behaved with more grace than any of those snobbish biddies.”

  “I�
�m sure she did,” Grace said. “And it couldn’t have been so bad, if you’ve never regretted it.”

  “I’ve never regretted a moment of our marriage, my lady. A few ton grumblings meant nothing to us. My father’s rejection was the most difficult part of it, but I never doubted the choice to be with my Margie. Not once.”

  “Thank you so much for telling me about it, Mr. Belner.” Grace moved her last backgammon checker off the board and grinned at him. “I win.”

  The Belners left late, and Grace and Claire went straight to their bedrooms to go to bed. But after she undressed, Grace slipped on her robe and went across the passage to knock on her sister’s door.

  Claire opened it, looking disheveled and half-dressed. Mary was still there helping her undress, so Grace sat on the bed and waited until Mary had finished. When the maid finally left, Claire cocked a brow at her. “I think you have something to tell me.”

  “I do.” Grace smoothed the skirt of her nightdress calmly, even though inside her, excitement was rising to a fever pitch.

  Claire sank down beside her. “Well, what is it?”

  “I’m going to London. Tomorrow.”

  Claire’s brows popped up. “What?”

  Grace nodded. “I’m taking the carriage, but I’ll send it back straightaway in case the major calls you to Manchester.”

  Claire raised her hand. “Wait a moment. I don’t understand. Why, exactly, are you going to London?”

  “I hope to catch Duncan before they depart for Manchester. They did say it would probably be a few days, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but why do you need to catch him?”

  Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands in her lap. Then she held her sister’s gaze evenly as she said, “I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

  Chapter 18

  Grace and her maid arrived in London the following evening. Grace was terribly tempted to go straight to the Highland Knights’ house to propose marriage, but she was travel weary, and she wanted to be at her best when she asked a man to marry her.

  So she went home instead, finding the house empty, as the earl had chosen to dine at his club that evening. She retired straight to her bedchamber, then spent her time choosing her dress for the next day—her blue-ribbon-trimmed white muslin. Not extravagant but simple and pretty, and an item of clothing she felt comfortable in and knew showed her shape to advantage.