He might as well have gotten a boot to his arse for all the courtesy he was shown on the way out the door. He wasn’t good enough, rich enough, aristocratic enough, or significant enough to warrant a duke’s daughter as a bride. Lady Georgiana was destined for a far more noteworthy bridegroom than the mere Lieutenant Malcolm MacKintosh.
Bluidy hell. The blasted Duke of Wharton was an even worse bastard than Mal’s own father. Though each of them had proven themselves as prejudiced as the other when it came to the idea of he and Georgie marrying.
He’d sent a messenger to his family announcing his intention to sell his commission and bring home a wife when he came back to Scotland. The response had come quickly. His mother’s short note filled with love, support, and encouragement. His father’s had been far less supportive.
You’ll no’ be marrying some bluidy Sassenach, he’d written. No MacKintosh has ever taken an English bride and ye’ll nay start now.
He’d also added a pointed, brutal threat to disinherit Mal entirely if he were to defy him.
They’d have no support from either family.
No matter. They wouldn’t need it when they had each other and their friends for encouragement. Financially, Mal had survived without familial support for the past five years and done managed. His life in service to the crown might have to endure for a while, at least, but his Georgie was the resilient sort. Adventurous in spirit, though she’d never had much of a chance to explore that side of herself. Surely, she wouldn’t mind following the drum for a few years until he could find a living to provide for them.
First, he must determine whether she’d be as resolute as he to defy their fathers. For him. For them. For a life together.
“Mal!”
Georgie poked her head around the corner at the far end of the Crescent and his heart lightened at the sight. She waved for him to come to her. He did, without hesitation. Just as he did whenever she beckoned him, as if she were a siren and her call an undeniable lure. Och, he truly did deserve all the mockery Lindsay and Coll heaped on his head these days. He’d become a smitten fool to be sure.
God help him, though. He’d fight for the right to continue to be…even if it compelled him to grander heights of idiocy. Aye, like butting heads with a duke. His determination was a far cry from his initial reluctance to engage his emotions and commit his future to one lass. But now that he had her, he refused to let her go.
He met her around the corner of the Georgian townhouse, where she threw her arms around his shoulders and gave him a sound buss.
“You may go now, Jane.” She waved her maid, who watched them with a saucy grin, away. “Have a nice visit with your beau.”
“You have a jolly time, too, my lady.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and darted off.
Georgie took him by the hand and tugged him toward the livery stables tucked behind the Crescent. Her sprigged muslin skirts swayed around her hips and flounced at the hem as she skipped ahead. The flash of her trim ankles and the coquettish, come-hither looks she tossed over her shoulder along the way had his thoughts twisted about in a completely different direction by the time they found some privacy.
He shut the door and caught her around the waist, enjoying her delighted squeal as he pinned her against the door and kissed her, reveling in her soft moans. She wrapped her slender arms around his neck and parted her lips under his. Soon her breath came in shallow, aroused pants against his, intoxicating him all the more.
“Oh, Mal,” she sighed, drawing him closer. “Yes, more.”
“Do ye no’ want to ken what he said?” he murmured against her lips.
“Later?”
How could he resist? “Aye, later.”
Pulling away, he took her slender hand in his large calloused one, disregarding the reminder of how delicately reared and pampered she was, and led her down the row of stalls. While he shifted the ladder into position, she greeted Crowley and gave him a pat on the neck. She climbed into the loft above where a pile of blankets and a lantern awaited their tryst.
Mal followed her up the ladder and she began tugging at the elaborate knot of his cravat before he firmly planted his feet. The last vestiges of his anger dissipated with her enthusiasm, his heart and spirits once again light with the joy his sweet Georgie had brought into his life.
With a chuckle, he tumbled her into the hay. “Impatient minx. Trying to tempt me again?”
“Admit it. You’re already tempted,” she taunted, her smile bewitching as she squirmed beneath him and wrapped her legs around his hips.
He shook his head. “Nay, sweet lass, I’m beyond tempted.”
They maintained a public courtship with a proper rotation of walks, balls, teas and literary salons, but the intimacy they’d shared in Perrymead two weeks past had sparked a hunger for passion in both of them. Mal had tried to deny it, or at least fight it, but Georgie had proven that temptation and sweet entreaties could override the most chivalrous of intentions. They were in love and would be married, she’d argued. What did it matter? As she knew the livery stable and its staff well, she’d suggested the garret for their clandestine rendezvous. They’d spent long nights there making love, falling deeper under Eros’s spell.
Desire wove around them within moments. Hot, sultry like a summer breeze in the West Indies, swirling and encircling. Clinging but not overbearing. Like the Caribbean, it wrought the urge to shed one’s clothing and dive in.
And so they did. He loosened her laces quickly enough and she wiggled out of her gown without breaking their kiss.
Shedding his clothes took longer today as he’d been dressed in his best to petition the duke, but soon enough his bottle green jacket and buff breeches were tossed to the side. Battling the urgency to bury himself in her that typically struck the second he touched her, Mal forced himself to rein in his lust, to appreciate her soft curves. To incite her as she did him until her desire matched his. Tender kisses, gentle strokes of fingers and flesh, he rarely had the fortitude to constrain his ardor. Moments later, he drove into her warm receptive body to a welcoming carnal cry of delight. Georgie wrapped herself around him as he moved with swift, sure strokes in perfect rhythm to her breathless gasps.
By God, she roused him more than he’d ever dreamed possible, leaving him aching with need. He tensed as her body gripped him, striving for release.
A load thunk and crash from below froze them both in place. Mal braced himself over her, immobile, staring down into her alarmed green eyes. Her fingers, moments before gripping his shoulders in passion, curled into his biceps.
“Mal?”
He held a finger to her lips.
Mumbled curses floated up to them. “What the everlasting hell? Bert, did you leave this ladder here?” a man bellowed.
“No, sir,” a more distant voice replied from out in the yard behind the livery. “’Twern’t me.”
More swearing from below, wood knocked and scraped against wood. Finally, the string of profanities faded into a low mutter. The sounds of buckets banging against one another and water being poured joined in. A tuneless, off-key whistle replaced the curses. The man wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
* * *
Dumbfounded, Georgiana stared up at Mal still poised above her. “What do we do?” she half-whispered, half-mouthed.
A roguish grin elevated the corner of his mouth and he shifted his hips, pushing farther into her.
She stiffened beneath him, at once horrified and titillated. “We cannot!” she whispered fiercely. “He will hear us.”
“Then shush.”
He eased out of her slowly, soundlessly before thrusting once more with agonizing prolongation. Georgiana tensed again for a completely different reason. He did it again, slower this time, eliciting a gasp of delight. Excruciating, delicious friction. How had she not discovered this before?
Their lovemaking—all eight times thus far—had always been vigorously achieved. What started with sweet passion jolted into an energetic and enthusiast
ic rush to the rapture awaiting them. Unfailingly, he’d left her sweaty, aching and breathlessly replete.
She hadn’t realized there might be another approach to the matter. A slow, silky glide and rapacious abandon to pull one deeper into nirvana.
“Ma-a-a-l,” came a low, drawn out moan from deep within.
“Shush, my love.”
Mal’s hooded gaze remained locked with hers through each torturous stroke, as if he could see the sensual agony he inflicted upon her and took his own pleasure from it. Again he slipped away. This time she could see the torment reflected in him. His eyes closed, the tendons of his neck tight. His arms quivered, before he fell to his elbows. He pressed again. Mal’s back was damp with the efforts of his restraint as she ran her palms downward, cupping his hard buttocks in her hands to try to urge him into motion.
With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he lifted her arms over her head and threaded their fingers together before proceeding with this new torture.
In.
Out.
Minutes. Hours. And eternity for each. She threw back her head, straining her hips upward with a low keening moan that lacked harmony with the whistling below them.
He covered her mouth with his to stifle the sound. “Shhh.”
His hot lips trailed over her cheek to her temple. He continued his torment to the point that Georgiana could hardly give a fig if the whole town heard her cries of ecstasy. There was something incredibly wanton, arousing in the thought that they might be caught as they were. On the other hand, she wanted nothing to intrude upon their sanctuary or call a halt to the bliss seizing her body.
The whistling below faded away slowly, indicating the departure of their would-be audience. Georgiana tried to wrench her hands away from Mal’s, longing to wrap her arms around him, rake her fingernails down his back. To spur him to the finish while they were truly alone. He squeezed her hands but didn’t release her or change his languid pace. She locked her legs around his hips instead and buried her face in the crook of his neck to muffle her harsh pants.
“Aye, my sweet Georgie,” he murmured unsteadily into her ear. The dark lust in his brogue had her blood running harder. Her body tensed, aching. Desperately yearning. Seeking. He looked down at her, his gaze ablaze with hot satisfaction “Aye, my love. I can feel it. Ye want to come. Come wi’ me now.”
He punctuated the command with a hard thrust and her orgasm struck, not in gentle waves but a brutal deluge of rapture. A soundless cry of ecstasy bowed her against him. Her heart pounded ruthlessly against her chest. As did his. Black spots swam before her eyes, blood rushed to her head, until Georgiana feared she would swoon. Mal buried his face against her shoulder, his guttural shout vibrating down her body. Another shudder of pleasure shook her in turn.
Then incredibly, a sob.
Immediately, Mal released her hands and rolled her into his embrace. He held her tight against his chest, his heart still beating a rapid tattoo against her cheek.
“Och, lass. Did I hurt ye?”
Georgiana shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m…oh, it’s nonsense.”
“What is?” he whispered, pressing his lips against her hair.
“It’s so affecting what happens between us,” she told him. “Sometimes it’s almost too…I don’t know.”
“Too incredible?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, yet beneath it she could hear concern. “Do ye have regrets, Georgie?”
“None,” she said without hesitation, trying to find the words to explain. There were few logical explanations for her headlong tumble into this crazy love. She’d never expected it, but she couldn’t deny its power. “I never expected that making love could be so overwhelming. It shakes me to the core.”
“It does the same to me.” He surprised her with the admission. “Do ye recall the poem I sent ye last week?”
“You send me one every day,” she reminded, relaxing against him now. “Which one?”
“Born was I, luv’d and laid bare in my mother’s arms wi’ ne’er a hope beyond./ Reborn was I, my puir heart made rich by the blessing of my bonny luv.” Mal’s thick brogue caressed the words, imbuing them with passion. “O my life in truth begun, sprung by desire I canst describe, afire for but one./ And at last, my sweet, alive am I, my body laid bare in my luv’s embrace, consumed./ O, my lass, my soul undone.”
Georgiana snuggled against him, warmed once again by his heartfelt prose. “I love that one.”
“This isnae the norm, lass. Passion that consumes ye body and soul is rare. Precious.” He kissed her tenderly then dropped his head back against the hay. “I dinnae ever want to lose this. To lose ye.”
“You won’t.” Her response was prompt and assured, but Mal didn’t respond other than with a squeeze of her shoulder. Georgiana propped herself on one elbow. “Mal?” She stroked his cheek with her fingertips before more forcibly compelling him to face her. A chill of trepidation raked over her at his bleak countenance. “Mal, what did my father say?”
His fingers threaded in her hair, sifting through the long length to the ends. A tranquil motion, yet she could feel the tension winding through the length of his body. Lingering hurt for her father’s harsh rejection?
“I’m an impertinent young buck for daring to ask at all. Or a fortune hunter. Or guttersnipe, perchance? Hard to determine the actual reason among all the insults.”
“What utter rot,” she gasped, using a phrase she’d learned from him. Georgiana laid her cheek against his chest once more, wondering what else to say or how to soothe him. “I’m sorry he’s upset you.”
“I’m no’ upset, lass. I’m bluidy pissed. I’ll no’ gi’ ye up because he says I no’ good enough for ye.”
She delighted in his confidence and took heart in it. Wharton’s response wasn’t a surprise. He wanted more for her. Demanded more. As a result of his own stubbornness, he’d never warmed to Mal despite Mal’s dogged determination to gain his approval. Her father’s ducal status had convinced him that the wants of others usually had no bearing upon any situation. His wants and needs came first.
What Wharton had forgotten, or chosen to dismiss, was that Georgiana was his daughter, through and through. She’d been raised from birth with only one expectation made of her—namely that she make an advantageous marriage and hold high position in society—however, she’d been nurtured through the superior life of a duke’s daughter to expect much from life in return. Beyond indulging her bluestocking tendencies, she hadn’t taken much advantage of her position or wavered from those expectations.
Nevertheless, her father had cultivated in her his supreme sense of entitlement. Those teachings were deeply ingrained. She was as accustomed to getting what she wanted as he was when demanding his. And what she wanted was Mal.
The world lay at her feet and she was determined to have it.
“I will talk to him.” There was skepticism in his expression, but she was stronger than he thought and her purpose an honorable one. She pushed against Mal’s chest and cast about for her bodice. “I’ll make him see that we’re in love and that is that.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.”
“Yer conviction is most rousing, lass.” His evident pleasure warmed her. “I’m inspired to take up arms and join the battle.”
Georgiana squared her shoulders. A dose of trepidation rattled her at the prospect of going toe to toe with the duke, but she wouldn’t let him deny her the most important thing in her world. She’d be the daughter he raised her to be and demand he let them marry.
“I need to talk to him straightaway.”
“No’ straightaway, lass.” Mal sat up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve a mind to show ye how rousing yer confidence is.”
“Now?”
“Aye, now. Besides that smarmy stableman took the ladder away.”
Her gaze darted to the edge of the loft. “How are we to get down?”
“It’ll
no’ be difficult for me to climb down. I’ll find the ladder and fetch it back.”
“What if someone sees you?” What if someone did? What if all of Bath did? A scandal would force her father’s hand and they’d be wed by the week’s end. Well, that would be one way to win the battle. She nudged him on the shoulder. “Yes, go find the ladder, Mal.”
“My brazen lass.” He chuckled and dragged her back into the hay. “How about we wait it out until they retire for the night?”
“That could be hours from now.”
“I’ll figure a way for us to pass the time.”
Chapter Thirteen
Outside Glen Cairn
August 1821
Now go, he’d commanded. And she did. Without hesitation, though it took all of Georgiana’s strength not to dash away like an admonished child. She managed a crisp nod and pivoted sharply, without so much as a shaky breath or a single bereft tear for him to witness. The tears of joy upon seeing him washed away by those of rejection. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. He never had, not one of the millions of tears she’d shed over him. She wasn’t about to start in the face of such disdain.
Walking away as fast as she could while retaining some semblance of her dignity, she hurried back to the carriage. Aware of the burning anger of his stare trailing her, like a searing blade in her back. With a sharp command, she urged first Baird and then Bernie into the coach. After William whipped the horses into motion, she collapsed against her dog, seeking solace.
Not until they passed the front gates did Bernie speak. “It didn’t go well, I assume.”
Georgiana didn’t budge, but kept her face buried in the thick ruff of fur around Baird’s neck. If she did lift her head, she feared she might take a page from the dog’s life and hang her head out the window, panting for one last glimpse of Mal before he was gone from sight.
Forever this time.
Regrettably, behind her closed eyes, there was nothing to stop what had just happened from replaying over and over, so she looked up at her friend. “What else did you expect?”
Once Again, My Laird Page 9
