She and Alec had shared so much in those few short minutes they’d been alone in the abbey. Both of them opening up their hearts, and then he’d disappeared. It seemed like every time they had a few moments to talk, to share and get to know one another—and to kiss—they were interrupted. If she didn’t see him soon, she was going to start running through the castle and grounds shouting his name.
As if the heavens heard her fervent prayer, Alec sauntered into the breakfast room, his cheeks flushed from early morning exercise. Dressed in a kilt and shirt, he was casual and dashing all at once.
His eyes met hers, sparkling with mischief. “Good morning.”
A murmuring of good mornings went up from the other guests who’d already sat at the table, but Giselle found it hard to make her mouth work. He looked so incredibly handsome. Her body sparked to life. It took quite a lot of willpower not to swipe away her toast and crawl over the table to the other side, where he stood watching her.
If only the room would melt away, leaving just the two of them. Her chest swelled with unacknowledged emotion. Lately, it felt as if every interaction between them was left unfinished. She wanted more of everything. More time. More words. More touch. More kisses.
“A game of croquet has been set up for anyone who wishes to play after breakfast,” Lady Errol said from the head of the table. “It looks as if it will be a splendid day for it.”
Giselle tried to ignore the flash of disappointment at the announcement. Organized games meant she’d not have a chance to sneak off with Alec. Besides, the last time she’d played croquet, she’d gotten a wee bit too enthusiastic and knocked her ball through a window.
Alec gathered toast, eggs and bacon and took the empty seat beside her, his knee touching hers and sending a jolt of awareness through her. As he reached for his napkin, his fingers brushed the side of her hand while she reached for her tea.
Across the table, her mother watched their every move. A shame she hadn’t been so vigilant when Joshua was near. Not that it would have mattered, as her mother didn’t seem overly concerned with the truth of that man’s manners.
“I trust ye slept well,” Alec said as he buttered his toast and then slathered on a thick layer of raspberry jam.
“Aye, my lord.” She wanted to tell him the truth, that she’d barely slept at all, that every few minutes, she had to convince herself not to rise and traipse through the house to find him.
When her mother was distracted by a conversation with one of the other guests, he whispered, “Do ye like to play croquet?”
“No’ especially. There was an unfortunate incident the last time I tried to play.” She told him about the window, and he laughed.
“Well, I’ve no’ broken any windows, but I am still no’ fond of the game because of the sheer lack of entertainment. I find it boring.”
“How should we attempt to make the game more fun for ourselves? I fear any more enthusiasm and I might take down the castle.”
“We shall have to find a way to distract ourselves—and the others. I think ye might have a sore ankle and need a rescue,” he suggested.
Giselle grinned, trying to subdue her excitement under the overly watchful gaze of her mother. She lowered her voice. “I think ye are quite right. Perhaps ten minutes into the game?”
“Or less.” He chuckled, the sound drawing her mother’s dragon gaze toward him.
“What is so funny?” she inquired. “Do tell the rest of the table.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is nothing we want to hear,” the dowager countess said, and Giselle had never liked the woman more, as no one would go against the hostess at her own table.
Giselle sipped her tea to hide her pleased smile when her mother did not push the issue.
The day was glorious, with the sun shining down on them and a gentle breeze blowing to take away the heat. The game of croquet was exuberant, and given the ladies were rushing toward their balls and whacking them with a lot of force, it was easy for Giselle to fake a tumble—without breaking a window.
Alec rushed toward her as her mother gasped. But Giselle only stifled a laugh as he grinned down at her and whispered, “Well played.”
“I think I need a lie-down,” Giselle called, forcing her face to look rather serious so her mother wouldn’t see through her lies.
Lady Bothwell narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to retort, but couldn’t get in a word as Alec spoke.
“I’ll carry ye, my lady,” Alec volunteered.
“Nay,” Giselle’s mother protested, but there again was Lady Errol at her mother’s side, drawing her away by some means Giselle couldn’t hear.
Alec lifted her into his arms, and she resisted the urge to cuddle close.
“Play on,” he called to the rest of the guests. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Giselle wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and smiled. “We did it.”
“No’ yet, but we’re getting there. Is anyone watching?”
Giselle peeked over his shoulder to look back at the coquet players. “A few, but mostly they are paying attention to themselves.”
“And your mother?”
“She keeps sneaking glances, but the dowager countess is doing a marvelous job of distracting her. I can no’ help but wonder what has persuaded her to aid our cause?”
“I think it is that your mother wants to pull us apart. Lady Errol has taken offense to the idea that Lady Bothwell thinks Sir Joshua Keith is a better match when we all know that is shite.”
Giselle giggled at his vulgar language.
“Apologies for that,” he muttered.
“No need. It is shite.”
Alec met her gaze with an unwavering stare, and for a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he pulled his gaze away ahead. Inside the house, he continued to carry her toward the library.
“Ye can put me down, ye know. I’m no’ really hurt. No’ anymore.”
“I know, but I like the way ye feel in my arms.” Inside the library, he shut the door and twisted the lock. “In case anyone tries to interrupt us.”
A little thrill ran through Giselle at the idea that he too wanted to be alone. Alec settled her on a soft sofa and sat down beside her. Now that they were isolated, she wasn’t quite certain what to do about it. She wanted to kiss him, to ask him if he’d changed his mind about the duel, but she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to know his answer. Not now, when if the answer was what she thought it might be, it would spoil this moment of respite they had together.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing ye since yesterday,” he said, his arm crossing the back of the sofa and his fingers dancing over her shoulder.
“Me too. Ye’d better do it soon before they take the croquet mallets to the door.”
Alec chuckled. “That would certainly put a damper on the mood, to have all the guests marching on their library with their proverbial pitchforks.”
Giselle grinned. “Aye.”
Alec leaned over her, brushing his lips on hers. She sighed at the touch as every inch of her skin came to life, wanting more of his kiss, more of his touch.
“Do ye play chess?” he asked abruptly.
“Aye.”
“I have an idea.”
“Oh?” She sat back, folding her hands in her lap, eagerly awaiting.
He took both her hands in his and tugged her to her feet, drawing her toward the chess table set up by the banked hearth.
“How do ye feel about naughty games?” He raised a brow in a challenge to her senses.
“Naughty games?” Oh, my. Giselle felt a blush coming on strong.
Alec grinned. “Aye.”
“To be fair, my lord, I’ve never played one.” But he’d intrigued her now.
His grin widened, and he stepped toward a sideboard. “Then ye’re in for an awakening.” He lifted the topper on a glass decanter of dark amber liquid and poured a dram into two crystal cups.
An awakening. From the moment he’d lifted her off th
e muddy slope on the moors, she’d been doing nothing but awakening. “What are the rules?”
“For every pawn that I take of yours, ye get to direct me in some...act. And the same for if I take a pawn of yours.” He handed her a cup of whisky.
“What sort of act?” Her heart thudded against her ribs as the smell of the spirits rose to greet her. She didn’t drink whisky—had sipped some once years before, but her mother found the drink to be very unladylike. Ladies were to stick to champagne, sherry, tea, lemonade. No spirits or ale—that was for men who wanted to have hair on their chests.
“Say a kiss on the hand...or the lips.”
“Oh.” All the air left her in a whoosh. A kiss. She licked her lips as she thought of his mouth on her own. This was a very naughty game, indeed. And she was entirely fascinated. “What if we are caught?” She glanced toward the door as if she suspected to find her mother barging through at any moment.
“Well, lass, there is a secret door on the second floor of this verra library. In case ye did no’ see it behind the hearth.”
The one door she’d wondered where it led. “I’ve seen it before.”
He wiggled his brows. “Ye’ll make your escape through there, and I’ll answer the door to say I’d no’ seen ye.”
“Will your mother suspect?”
“Aye, but even if she decided to divulge the information, what are they going to do, force us to wed? We’re already planning on it.”
“That is true.” And she really wanted to play.
“Game on, then. Cheers.” Alec clinked his glass to hers and brought it to his lips.
She followed, sipping slowly on the whisky, which burned the moment it hit her tongue. She sucked in a breath, feeling her lungs expand, and even the inhalation of the scent of the spirits made them feel a little as if they were burning too. Somehow, she forced herself not to cough but to swallow it as he had.
Alec settled in the seat across from where she was to sit. “Ladies move first.”
Giselle sat down, her belly warm and her skin feeling a little flushed. With her whisky cup settled beside the board, she stared down at her pieces. She couldn’t make up her mind, so she moved one of her pawns. Alec followed suit, moving one of his into the direct line of attack, forcing her to take it. He picked up his whisky and clicked her glass.
“Ye’ve made your first winning move,” he said.
Giselle sipped her whisky, too, the sensation of heat growing inside her.
“Now, my lady, what is your request?”
That was a loaded question. There was a lot she wanted from him. But perhaps she ought to take this slow. Giselle wriggled her gloved fingers over the chessboard.
“Remove my gloves, my lord.” If her mother were to see this, she would not think this was dawdling at all but a grave sin, which made Giselle all the more excited for it.
Alec grinned. “That is verra naughty, my lady. What will your mother think if she saw ye in my company without your gloves?”
Giselle laughed. “I daresay she’d lock me in my room.”
Alec danced his fingers up the length of her arm, past her elbow to where her glove began. He slipped his fingers beneath the edge, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. She bit her lip as he unhurriedly peeled away the layer of silk to reveal her naked flesh. The move was so sensual, so forbidden, that he could have been taking off her gown for all it mattered. Was it the whisky or the intensity of his green regard?
When he’d removed one, he moved to her other arm, repeating the undertaking, and by the end, her cheeks were aflame, and she hoped he didn’t notice her sudden need to breathe harder. All he was doing was taking off her gloves, for goodness’ sake. But she knew it was so much more than that. The way the pads of his fingers slid scandalously over the sensitive flesh of her inner elbow, down to her fingers and between them. Everything tickled and sent hot frissons of need coursing through her.
“All finished.” Her gloves were draped over his outstretched hand, and she snatched them back, trying to smile when she felt like sighing. “My turn.”
He moved another pawn forward, and she did the same without even considering another piece on the board—because of what happened next. He took her pawn and grinned at her as though he were a cat that had caught a mouse. Again, he lifted his whisky, and she mimicked him, taking a long, slow sip as she watched him over the rim of his glass.
“Ah, now I get to make a request.”
Giselle’s heart skittered somewhere up her throat as she waited on bated breath for what he’d say next.
“I should like to request a shoulder massage.”
She cocked her head to the side. “A shoulder massage?” She’d never given anyone a massage or received one either. How exactly did one go about that? Was she just supposed to rub his shoulders?
“Aye.” He shot her a wicked grin. “With your bare hands.”
“Ye will no’ feel the difference with your clothes on,” she pointed out, realizing too late what she’d just said.
“Are ye saying that I should remove my clothes?” He winked at her, and her face felt afire from having insinuated that—but also because now she was thinking about him removing his jacket, unraveling his cravat, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing inch after inch of male skin.
Giselle swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent thought.
“Well, lass, I would have expected ye to say nay, but if ye wish.” He reached for his cravat, linking a finger in the space between his neck and the fabric.
“Nay,” she said, thrusting her hands out and laughing. “No’ yet…”
“Ah, leaving it open for possibility then.”
“I meant for...” Och! She picked up her cup and took another small sip. But the whisky only seemed to heighten her sensations, making her skin tingle.
Alec reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His breath fanned over her skin, and heat seared her where his lips seized ownership of her hand. A shiver skated from her knuckles, over her arms, and to the rest of her body. Her nipples grew hard, and the way he stared up at her through heavily lidded eyes was enough to make her gulp.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to play the game anymore. She wanted to sit in his lap, loop her arms around his neck, and press her lips firmly to his. Her breasts to his chest. Legs to his legs.
“What are ye thinking about?” he asked, his voice bearing a huskier, more sensual tone.
Had he been able to read her thoughts? “Ye.”
“What about me?”
“Kissing ye.”
“Do ye want to kiss me?” Alec leaned back in his chair, casually watching her with intoxicating eyes that made things inside her stir, things she’d not felt before.
Giselle nodded, moving around the back of his chair, sliding her bare fingers over the soft wool of his frockcoat and kneading the muscles beneath. Alec’s head fell back, barely touching her breasts, and she sucked in a heady breath. He looked up at her, green eyes flashing desire, and it felt as if her mind went blank.
He reached up, fingers gently nudging behind her neck for her to come forward. Following his direction, she bent low and kissed him. The hair of his head tickled her neck in this position, but she relished it. He flicked his tongue out to tease her lips, slipping between and toying with her tongue. The potent flavor of the whisky mixed with something spicier and exotic on his tongue. Cinnamon. All of those frissons of need, of desire, pulsed in a storm through her.
Forget propriety. With her mouth still on his, Giselle stepped to the side until she stood between his spread-out legs. Alec’s hands skimmed down her spine to her derriere the way he had before, massaging and pulling her closer until her belly flattened to his chest, her breasts hovering beneath his chin.
She was never going to get used to kissing him, the way it made her skin sing with pleasure, and her insides heat as though being held to a delicious flame. The desire for more made her squirm in his embrace.
“Are ye all right?” he asked. “Is
this too much?”
“Nay. I am perfect...I—” But how could she put to voice her desires? “I want—” She swallowed, uncertain what to even ask of him.
“Tell me. Or show me.”
Giselle lifted one of his hands from her behind and placed it on her breast, giving a little shudder of desire when she did. The heavy weight of his palm made her nipple tighten more than it already was. A delicious torment that only seemed to increase rather than ease.
Unexpectedly, he bowed forward, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin of her décolletage, and then lower until his mouth touched the fabric of her taupe day dress, the heat singeing right through to her skin. Giselle’s knees buckled at the sensation, and she let out a little whimper.
“I want to kiss ye here,” he said, “without the barrier.”
She wanted that too and nodded, watching wide-eyed with wonder as his fingers skimmed the neckline of her dress and gave a little tug until her turgid nipple popped free. Pink and hard and an inch from his mouth. Alec grazed his tongue over the peak, and she gasped as liquid heat melted her insides.
My, but that was delicious. And then he did it again, and again. Wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking gently.
“Oh,” she moaned, knees truly buckling this time, but he caught her, holding her up by her arse.
She had that same mad urge to wrap her leg up around him, to feel the hardness of his body between her thighs as she had in the abbey. The whisky made her worries about her mother run away. The door was locked. No one was coming in.
And if they tried, she’d simply escape the way he’d told her to.
Knowing all of that made it a lot easier to lift her leg until her shin rested on his thigh, to slide it to the side as he elevated her the remainder of the way, until both of her legs straddled his in the chair, and the hardness of something else pressed wickedly to the pulsing heat between her thighs.
Alec’s mouth came back to hers then, in a kiss that rivaled all the others for passion. A kiss that felt very much as though he were claiming her for his own. And Giselle was ready to let him.
The Scot is Hers: The Scots of Honor Series Page 18
