Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  “God, you make me so hard when you do that.” He traced the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and brought her mouth down to his with a hand at the back of her neck. Eagerly, she opened her lips to the possession of his kiss, willing to give him anything and everything he wanted. When his tongue stroked hers, she returned the caress. When he thrust his hips upward, she met his movement, allowing his erection to slide along the folds of her sex.

  “You are already hard. So big and thick and long.” Her voice was a whisper, hoarse with longing.

  “That sort of talk only makes me bigger and thicker.” He nuzzled her breast before closing his teeth around one of her erect nipples and biting lightly. She moaned and held his head against her.

  “Do you want me inside you now, Iona? Is that what you want? Because you feel so hot and wet that I’m going to drive myself to the verge of madness if I don’t fuck you soon.” Needing no further encouragement, she raised herself up and moved slowly down to feel his shaft against the heat of her core.

  He shifted his hands to grip her buttocks and lifted her so he could penetrate her. Iona took him inch by throbbing inch. She squeezed her muscles tight, drawing in his size and iron hardness, trying to keep pace with him as he thrust faster. He moved one hand down to rub her clitoris with a fingertip, and she cried out. Edwin moved the finger and ran it along the point where his cock met her sheath, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

  “Here.” His voice was ragged. “Where we join. This is how perfection feels.”

  He felt his words trigger an explosion that hit her hard, radiating out from her core to touch every nerve. At the same time, he could feel every ridge and vein in his cock stand out as she clutched him tightly inside her. Edwin’s cries mingled with Iona’s as his orgasm pumped and jerked out its own rhythm.

  “I am insatiable because I have a lot of catching up to do,” Iona said when she was finally able to speak again.

  “You don’t have to do it all in one day.” He laughed.

  “Can’t we stay here and try?” She burrowed against him. “Being in bed with you is fast becoming my favourite thing in the whole world, Edwin.”

  Something warm and sweet tugged at his heartstrings, and for a brief instant, he gave himself up to the feeling. Then a series of memories came to him. Black smoke and bright flames. His cries for help strangled by the fumes that caught in his throat. A woman’s screams mingling with his own desperate sobs. The restraining hands of the men who hauled him, half-conscious, from the burning building. His self-loathing, never far away, surfaced with a vengeance. How could he hold this bright, beautiful girl in his arms yet allow such thoughts to intrude? Iona didn’t know him. She didn’t understand what he was capable of. If she ever found out what he really was that warm glow he saw in her eyes would fade and be replaced by cold disgust. Emotionally, it cost him everything he had, but he managed to turn away from her. Sliding from the bed, he reached for his clothes.

  “Come along, slug-a-bed.” He tossed her shift to her, ignoring the look of bewilderment on her face. “Your family will be wondering what has become of you.”

  Marriages worked this way all the time, he told himself as he descended the staircase in Iona’s wake. Passion did not need to be underpinned by emotions that were deeper or more tender. He would allow Iona to scorch his body, but never would he lower the guard he had worked so hard to build around his heart. It was what men in his position did. An image of the look on proud, strong Fraser Lachlan’s face whenever he smiled into the eyes of his wife forced itself into his mind. It spoke of a love that transcended all barriers. Ruthlessly, Edwin thrust it aside. Fraser might be prepared to allow a woman to rule his heart. More fool the big Scotsman. It would never be Edwin Roxburgh’s way.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was impossible to fathom what was going on behind the inscrutable darkness of Edwin’s eyes. And Iona was forced to concede that now was probably not the best time to try. After the night they had shared, her every instinct craved his nearness. She wanted to be held by him, to analyse what had occurred between them, to unpick what he felt for her. Most of all, she needed reassurance that it was going to happen again…and again. His abrupt dismissal this morning had dismayed her. Then she reminded herself how little she knew of men. Perhaps it was always this way.

  He looked up, as if sensing her eyes upon him, and he smiled. God, the things he could do to her insides with that smile! More than anything else, she wanted to grab his hand and drag him off to a quiet corner and slide her hand inside those tight breeches… Since they were in a church, and she was supposed to be performing her duties as godmother to her new nephew, she should probably stop looking at her husband and concentrate on the task in hand.

  The baptism was a mix of Christian ceremony and folk ritual. Fraser and Martha, accompanied by their guests, had brought their newborn son the short distance from the castle to the loch-side kirk. Birth was considered a time of great peril. Mother and child were regarded by those such as Cora who clung steadfastly to the old beliefs, as vulnerable to attack by witches, fairies and other malevolent spirits. Before Martha and baby Jack entered the church, a fiery peat torch was passed three times around them. Fraser threw a burning coal into a bowl of water held by Iona and Jack’s godfather, one of the neighbouring lairds. The godparents used this water to wash the baby’s face. The minister broke fresh-baked bannocks and distributed these with cheese to the guests as they entered the kirk. Extra portions were placed in a basket and left outside to appease the ever-watchful fairies.

  Now, as the minister completed his blessing and the congregation rose to say a prayer, Iona pinned an iron brooch onto Jack’s shawl. This was a special pin, fastened to the clothing of a baby as a talisman against witches. It had belonged to Iona when she was a baby and had been her mother’s before her. Martha pressed Iona’s hand in thanks when the task was completed.

  Back at the castle, the festivities began in earnest, and Cora had excelled herself with a banquet that would have shamed the English court in its variety and quantity. Iona had unaccountably lost her appetite. As the other guests ate their way through courses including pureed chestnut soup, hare stew, wild salmon and candied fruit, all she could think about was the man at her side. Her eyes lingered on Edwin’s hands as he cut his food and remembered how they felt as they probed the most intimate parts of her body. She watched in fascination as he sipped his wine and thought of how his lips tasted on hers. Her eyes dropped lower to his thighs just an inch from hers, and she pictured their muscular hardness forcing her own legs apart.

  “Stop looking at me in that way,” he murmured.

  “Hmmm?” With difficulty Iona lifted her gaze up to his face.

  “You are assessing me. As though you are analysing the contents of my breeches. Or as if you would like me to drag you to our bedchamber and fuck you again.”

  “Mayhap I would,” she said boldly, and the blaze of passion in his eyes caused an answering shudder to run through her. “Will you?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.” He bent his head closer. “Patience, Iona. I will give you everything you want in just a little while.”

  A soft, impatient groan escaped her lips, and Edwin answered her with a low laugh before turning back to his meal. Could it be normal to exist in such a heightened state of arousal? One in which every breath she took seemed designed solely to draw in his scent? Her eyes insisted, despite his comment, on lingering on Edwin, and her ears tuned out all but the sound of his voice. She felt like a giddy maid embarking on a clandestine encounter. Was this to be her fate forever more? She hoped so because she was loving every breathless moment of it.

  “You are looking particularly delectable this evening, my lady.” The guests were mingling as the meal drew to a close, and Sir Garwen’s voice roused Iona from her sensual reverie. Her nerve endings made an abrupt swerve from stimulation to caution. “Would you care to dance?”

  An impromptu set had formed for a country dance
, and deciding it would appear churlish to refuse, Iona inclined her head. She was aware of the frown in Edwin’s eyes as he watched her take her place opposite Sir Garwen. The presence of two English soldiers had prevented the company from indulging in any reels or circles that might be construed as highland celebrations. Instead, the dancers formed two lines, facing their partners, and each couple took a turn to meet at the top of the set and promenade down the length of the line while the others clapped them on. When it was their turn to perform this sedate routine, Sir Garwen took the opportunity to engage Iona in further conversation.

  “I confess I was most surprised to learn of Sir Edwin’s marriage. Of all men alive, I had believed him the most confirmed of bachelors.”

  In the short period of her acquaintance with Sir Garwen, Iona had already learned that he did not waste words on idle chatter. This opening gambit was leading somewhere, and she probably was not going to like its conclusion. Nevertheless, the conversation offered a tantalising insight into her enigmatic husband that she had not, until now, been allowed.

  “Why so, Sir Garwen?”

  “Perhaps he would not wish me to speak of such things.” His gaze flickered across to where Edwin still watched them, his expression unreadable. Sir Garwen’s own smile held a hint of triumph. “After all, no man wants his carnal adventures discussed with his wife.”

  Iona decided to call his bluff. The man was blatantly out to cause mischief. He had something he wished to impart and he was going to say it. This feigned reticence was fooling no-one. “As you wish.”

  The dance parted them briefly. When they came back together, Sir Garwen was clearly determined to pursue his barbed theme to its end. “I am sure, however, that having acquired a wife of such beauty as yours, my lady, Sir Edwin’s roving days are now well and truly over. How sad the London ladies will be to hear of his matrimonial state! One in particular will, I think, be quite distraught.”

  Iona was unprepared for the storm those words provoked within her. An image of Edwin sharing the same intimate moments he had spent with her on the previous night with another woman flashed into her mind. Jealousy was a new emotion for Iona, but it was just as well for that unnamed lady that several hundred miles separated them. Iona felt her eyes narrow and her fingers curl into claws before she managed to collect herself. Sir Garwen was watching her closely. His smile deepened. The dance came to an end, and Iona sank into a curtsy. Crossing the hall with a purposeful stride, she sought out her sister-in-law.

  “Fraser said he would ask you to write to Rosie in London to see what you could discover about Edwin. Did you do so?”

  Martha blinked in surprise at this abrupt approach. Looking up at Iona’s face, her own features clouded with concern. She placed a hand on Iona’s arm. “Yes, I did. My sweet Iona, are you quite well?”

  Iona drew a shuddering inward breath. “I am fine. Please, Martha. Did your letter go by mail coach or did Fraser send a special messenger?”

  “He sent a messenger.” Iona could sense Martha’s reluctance to discuss the matter. “The reply came a few days ago.”

  “Did Rosie tell you aught of Edwin?”

  “Well, yes. She did. But I didn’t wish to trouble you with what must surely be idle gossip.”

  Iona had never come so close to losing her temper with her sister-in-law. “Tell me, Martha.” It was difficult to get the words out when her jaw was trying to lock itself into place.

  “Rosie said in her letter that the Roxburghs are a wealthy family and that Sir Edwin moves in the very finest circles. And—” she stole another glance at Iona’s face, “—he is accounted something of a rake. But that, as I said, must surely be gossip?”

  “He is a rake.” Iona’s eyes narrowed as she looked across at her husband. She had asked him if he had mistresses. He had not attempted to lie to her. She supposed the matter of his rakish reputation rested, therefore, upon number. Yet Sir Garwen’s words had implied something more than immorality. He had raised the prospect of a rival. “That is all she said?”

  Martha’s expression began to resemble that of a hunted animal. She threw a longing look in her own husband’s direction, but Fraser was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman. Quailing slightly under Iona’s glare, Martha continued. “Not exactly. She did say that he is known for having a vast number of mistresses and for moving swiftly from one to the next with very little pause between. There is one he returns to regularly, however. A Mrs. Weston. She is a wealthy married lady with a scandalous reputation, and Rosie says that she and Edwin have frequently set the town alight with their antics.” She risked giving Iona’s arm a squeeze. “I daresay that is an exaggeration.”

  “I daresay,” Iona repeated mechanically. She stayed still for a moment. Then, aware that Edwin was still watching her, she tilted her chin and tossed her hair back. “I think I will find Captain Fleetwood and see if he can be persuaded to dance with me.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you sat here quietly a while?” Martha suggested, her voice conveying a touch of anxiety.

  Iona threw her a scornful look and went in search of the hapless captain. He seemed surprised, but gratified, to find himself the object of her attention. Having danced twice with Captain Fleetwood, during which time she relentlessly flirted him into a state of devoted idiocy, Iona found her hand claimed by one of the young crofters. This man was one of Fraser’s tenants who she had known since childhood, and he was only too happy to renew their acquaintance. His admiring glances did much to restore Iona’s hurt pride. Then Sir Garwen claimed her hand once more. At the end of this fifth dance, she was in need of refreshment and returned to her place at the table with the intention of filling her goblet with Cora’s fine mead. Before she could resume her seat, a viselike hand closed over her wrist.

  “I am glad you can spare a moment for your husband, my lady.”

  Twin impulses instantly went to war within Iona’s breast. The first was to storm and rage at him for daring to have a favourite mistress. The second was the urge to hurl herself into his arms and erase any memory of the charms of Mrs. Weston from his mind forever. She resisted them both with an effort.

  “Did you wish to dance with me next, Edwin?” She smiled down at him.

  He leaned back in his chair, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. Even with that light innocuous touch, it felt like he was trailing fire over her flesh. “I’ll not dance when you call the tune, Iona. I thought you knew me better than that. You seem to have enough poor fools willing enough to indulge you in that game.” He nodded in the direction of Captain Fleetwood, who had been watching Iona and who looked swiftly away as he caught Edwin’s eye.

  “So why did you want me?”

  He rose to his feet, his grip tightening on her wrist. “Let me show you.”

  It was on the tip of Iona’s tongue to protest at his high-handed manner, but even after one night, something in his eyes had the power to ignite an instant flame within her. Meekly, she allowed Edwin to lead her into the corridor that ran the length of the castle beyond the great hall. Finding a darkened alcove beyond the pools of light cast by the wall sconces, Edwin swung Iona into its gloom.

  “Why did I want you?” Retaining his grip on her hand, he drew it down, pressing her palm into his groin so that she could feel the throbbing length of his erection through his breeches. “God help me, Iona. Do you really have to ask? I want you all the time. And, if all that determined flirting and head tossing was intended to drive me mad with wanting, let me assure you…it succeeded.”

  Iona looked up at the strong lines of his jaw and the perfect curve of his lips. As much as she wanted to melt into his arms, the shadow of the mysterious Mrs. Weston insinuated herself between them, and she drew her hand away. “Must what I do be about you, Edwin? Can I not just enjoy the dance without it being a signal that I want you to bed me?”

  A sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl escaped him. “Try and fool yourself with that, if you will, Iona. But do not exp
ect me to be likewise duped by your words. After last night, we both know how much you want me.” He caught his hand in her hair, tugging her head back. “Shall I make you say it…or shall I make you scream it?”

  Wild excitement thrummed through her veins. Edwin was right, of course. It would take very little persuasion on his part to have her quivering in his arms, but this game was too tempting to resist. She made another halfhearted attempt to draw away. “We should return to the hall.”

  “Not yet, my rebel lady. This is a matter that needs to be settled. I may not be able to tame you when it comes to riding your horse or wielding your sword, but in this I will be your master. Now and always.” As he spoke, Edwin drew the back of her skirts up.

  “Here?” Iona was surprised she managed to whisper the word since her throat had tightened to the point of pain. He didn’t reply, and she found she could no longer speak. Instead, she rested her forehead against his chest as his fingers probed and separated her buttocks before pressing a firm circle over the flesh between them. Edwin bent his head, touching his lips to the side of her neck before nipping the tender skin.

  “I’m going to tame you, Iona. I’m going to make you come so hard that every time you look at me in future you will remember this moment and be instantly wet and wanting.”

  “Please, Edwin.” But whether she was pleading for him to stop or continue, she could not be sure.

  They stood pressed together in the shadows as the sounds of revelry reached them. Iona opened her legs wider, allowing him to reach her core. His mouth descended on hers, hot and demanding. His kiss stifled her moans as his fingers stroked and teased. Pressure built inside her as Edwin rubbed her clitoris. His tongue delved into her mouth, and in a mirror movement, he pressed one long finger deep inside her. Her muscles tightened around him, and her breasts ached as they pressed against the muscled hardness of his chest. His erection was rock hard as he ground himself against her, stimulating himself while he pleasured her. Iona cried out into his mouth as Edwin finally tipped her over the edge. Their kisses grew more desperate as he rocked his fingers against her a few more times, then he pulled her skirts back into place.