Her Scottish Groom

by Ann Stephens

  “Is that important?” He blurted out the question before he realized what he had said. Of course, she would consider it important; all young girls had romantic notions.

  “I thought so when I was a girl, but that’s not very practical, is it?” She withdrew her hand. “A woman must make her marriage satisfactory, I suppose.”

  Kieran took a deep breath. “Would you have preferred Emerson over me?” He did not understand why he attached so much importance to her answer, but his shoulders tensed as though waiting for a physical blow.

  “All things considered, no.” In the wave of inexplicable relief that washed over him, he did not ask her to elaborate.

  Diantha hurried upstairs as soon as they entered the house. What had possessed her to speak so freely on the drive back? She must have drunk one glass of champagne too many. Living with Papa and her brothers had taught her that gentlemen did not enter into the sentiments of females.

  She awoke Florette where she slept on a cot in the dressing room and returned to the bedroom. Sinking onto the slipper chair in front of the vanity, she removed the earrings and necklace herself before the maid came yawning out to take down her hair.

  “You can brush it out in a moment. If I’m laced up much longer, I fear I shall burst.” She turned about as Florette unfastened hooks and buttons, and stepped out of the rustling pile of satin with her help. When the corset came unlaced at last, Diantha took in a great breath, relishing the freedom of her chemise and drawers.

  She removed her own shoes and stockings as the maid gathered up the discarded gown and petticoats for cleaning and pressing. The soft creak of an opening door barely registered with either woman.

  “You’re dismissed, Florette.”

  Diantha sat up with a jerk, dropping a stocking. Kieran leaned against the frame of the doorway. Her body tightened under his heavy-lidded stare. “She hasn’t brushed my hair yet.” Her voice came out in a breathy squeak.

  “I can do that.” He advanced into the room. “Good night, Florette.”

  “Good night, milord.” The maid placidly curtsied and disappeared, leaving Diantha to face her husband with a pounding heart. The confidence that had buoyed her all evening dissipated. She clasped her hands together on the surface of the vanity, much like a schoolgirl sitting at a desk.

  Kieran picked up the brush and slowly ran the bristles through her hair. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you again?”

  “No.” Some of her tension fell away at each stroke. “I don’t think you wanted to last time.”

  The brush whispered down each strand in a gentle rhythm, followed by his hand. “What then?”

  She shook her head. The turmoil in her heart did not rise from physical fear, but from something deep in her own soul. “I feared you might think my conversation earlier was foolish.”

  “I won’t deny it took me by surprise.” He pulled Diantha to her feet, settling his hands on the curve of her hips. Heat grew low in her midriff as his thumbs made small circles at her waist. “You seemed very happy to see your former suitor this evening.”

  “I have always been very fond of him.” Her eyes widened as a suspicion struck her. “Surely you aren’t jealous of him! I told you I prefer you to him.”

  Kieran stiffened. “When I see my wife holding hands with a man I’ve never set eyes on before in my life, I am not jealous. I am concerned that she is not behaving in a manner befitting her position.”

  “It was only a harmless flirtation.” She enjoyed the look on his face when she threw his words regarding the senhora back at him. “After all, I only talked with him.”

  “You danced with him twice, and went down to supper with him.” He growled the words as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. “You are my wife, if you’ll recall.”

  She glared up at him from atop the neatly turned down coverlet and sheet. “Perhaps you should have remembered that fact before you started gallivanting all over Paris with the Marquise de Tourelle. You don’t even want me!”

  “On the contrary, I want you very much.” He untied his sash and slipped off his robe.

  She sucked in her breath at the sight of his bare chest and the burgeoning arousal pushing against the silk pyjamas.

  In the candlelit room Diantha could see him far better than in the shadows of the ship’s cabin. His chiseled features, the muscular shoulders and chest tapering to a slim waist and long legs, all combined to weaken her. He was so very beautiful, and he stood looking down at her as his own eyes darkened with desire. She could not resist the potent combination.

  As if he read her mind, he seated himself on the edge of the bed. Balancing with a hand on either side of her head, he bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips. She opened to him and within seconds, he wrapped her in his embrace as their tongues mated over and over. The jut of flesh between his thighs hardened rapidly, but when he drew back, it was only to stroke his fingertips down her throat.

  Catching sight of the ostrich feather fan on the table beside her bed, he picked it up and lazily stroked the inside of her bare arm with it.

  She inhaled in surprise when goose bumps rose over her entire body from the gossamer touch. Watching her intently, he trailed the plumes across her exposed breastbone and down the other arm. Her nipples peaked against the thin linen chemise and a tingle came to life in the flesh between her legs.

  He teased her neck with the end of the feathers, playing the cloud softness over her sensitive skin till she squirmed and giggled. “Stop, you’re tickling me!”

  He desisted at once, setting the fan aside before returning to unbutton the chemise. She closed her eyes as he settled over her, his weight unfamiliar and yet welcome. Air cooled her breasts as the cloth fell away, followed by Kieran’s warm hands caressing them. She hoped he would suckle, but instead he slid a palm under her back to lift her slightly.

  Opening her eyes, she saw that he wanted to remove the chemise completely. Sitting up a little she assisted him in freeing her. Then he eased her back down to the bed, running his fingertips over the soft globes with their puckered tips. She arched against his touch, silently begging for more.

  “Not yet.” He murmured the words as he sat back on his heels. The sight of the hardened erection between his silk-covered thighs made her breath come faster. The idea of being impaled on his member without pain excited her. Following the direction of her gaze, his lips curved in a sensual smile. “Soon, my bonny wife.”

  His hands dropped to her waist and he pulled at the silk tie holding her drawers up. Sliding the loosened garment over her hips and down her legs, he discarded it and impulsively dropped a kiss onto her navel. As his tongue swirled around the tiny indentation, she shivered in anticipation.

  He lifted his head, his own breath coming in quick puffs. As if reading her mind, he touched himself through the straining silk. “You want this, don’t you?”

  Heat rose in her face. She would rather die than admit something so wanton out loud. “No!”

  “Oh?” One thick eyebrow arched. “We’ll have to do something about that then.” Standing up, he made short work of freeing himself from the pyjama trousers, letting the silk pool around his feet before crawling back onto the bed.

  His eyes lit with a wicked twinkle, he stretched out over her and kissed her deeply.

  She responded fully. Her hand buried itself in the curls at the back of his neck. Sighing happily into his mouth, she twined her tongue around his.

  “You taste like brandy.” She whispered the words against his lips.

  He lifted his head, eyes gleaming. “I had some while I waited to come in.” Their light softened as his knuckles grazed the side of her face.

  She snorted. “That was waiting? I didn’t even have my nightgown on!”

  Rolling onto his side, he laughed down at her. “I saved myself the trouble of removing it.” Before she could reply, he pulled her to him and nuzzled the soft curve under her jaw.

  Diantha moaned softly as his mouth drove coheren
t thought from her mind. Vaguely aware that he reached past her for something, she could only cling to his shoulders under the onslaught from his lips and tongue.

  She jumped as something soft stroked up the back of her leg and lingered on a bare buttock. She broke the kiss to discover he had reclaimed the fan.

  “Kieran!” The word tore out of her with a gasp as he traced the contours of her behind with the cloud-soft feathers. “That’s disgraceful!”

  “I suppose I’ll just have to stop then.” As soon as the ticklish fronds left her skin, she scooted onto her back. Undeterred, he merely switched his attention to her front, running the fan along the side of her face onto her neck. She twitched and instinctively raised her hands to push it away.

  He easily trapped them and held her hands above her head under his forearm. “Leave them there, darling. Just lay back and feel.” He whispered the words against her ear as he slid one leg over both of hers, effectively holding Diantha in place.

  After a moment of panic, she realized she could easily slide her hands out from under his arm. He slowly drew the fan down the center of her body to the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs. She could only clutch at him, panting, as jolts of pleasure snaked over her skin.

  “No more.” He growled the words and tossed the fan aside. His mouth fastened over one aching peak, greedily suckling and nibbling. His free hand wandered to the damp cleft between her thighs. Mindless with desire, she opened to admit him.

  “Let me go, Kieran, I want to touch you.” The ragged whisper tore from her throat as his circling fingers found slick flesh and teased her most sensitive spot.

  “Yes.” He took her hand and placed it on his engorged manhood. “Here.” She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly. As she cautiously stroked him, his eyes fluttered shut and he groaned.

  Amazed, she realized she had the power to affect him the same way he did her. A sense of power unlike anything she had ever known overcame her as she watched his response to her touch.

  When he opened his eyes and pushed her onto her back, she accepted him without hesitation, spreading her legs to accommodate his body. She did tense when he carefully pushed into her, but he had not lied. Instead of pain, she felt only an exquisite sensation of being filled that increased with each thrust.

  Her heart pounded as she felt her entire body tightening as it had before. At last Kieran ground into her with a guttural cry. His explosion set off her own, waves of pleasure washing over her until she could only lie, spent and sweating, beneath him while he rained kisses on her face.

  Wordlessly, he eased off her onto his side. Pulling her close, he tucked the bedclothes around Diantha and stroked her hair. She fell asleep with her cheek pressed into the crisp hair on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

  Diantha hoped she had not made a mistake in giving in to him.

  Chapter 8

  She woke up alone. Scrambling into a nightgown and summoning Florette, Diantha’s heart twisted curiously as she looked about the room. Only the indentation he had left in the mattress showed that Kieran had come to her last night.

  Sabine had confided that the baron spent the night with her after they made love, but perhaps he differed from most men. She shied away from asking Kieran directly. It seemed indelicate, and in the back of her mind she feared he would abandon her bed again if she made too many demands on him.

  “Damn.” She didn’t dare say the vulgar word too loudly. “I want him too much.”

  As his lordship insisted on what he referred to as “a braw proper breakfast,” the servants set up a table for two in the back salon each day. Normally, Diantha avoided the room until she knew he had finished eating. But this morning her appetite demanded something more filling than her usual cup of chocolate and buttered croissant.

  As soon as the maid arrived, Diantha dressed and ordered her hair done in a simple chignon. Soon she stood in front of the closed door to the salon, her fist lifted to knock.

  She caught herself. As the lady of the house, temporary or not, she did not need anyone’s permission to enter. She opened the door. “Good morning.”

  Kieran lifted his eyes from a copy of the Times thoughtfully provided by the house’s owner. He stood up as soon as he saw Diantha and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning. May I fill a plate for you?”

  An assortment of warming dishes sat on a credenza nearby, each holding a different kind of food. She regarded his plate. It held ham, smoked herring, brioche, and what appeared to be the remains of poached egg and toast.

  “No, thank you for offering. By all means go on with your breakfast; I shall serve myself.” A few minutes later, she sat down with what she considered a suitable meal.

  As he pushed in her chair, Kieran observed her selections with a frown. “You’ll never last the day with a single egg and a dab of stewed fruit! Allow me to bring you a slice of ham.”

  “I don’t care for any meat, thank you!” His brows snapped together and she realized she had spoken more forcefully than he deserved.

  “Please forgive me for speaking so sharply. I appreciate your concern, but I do know what I wish to eat.” She watched his face, hoping he would not scold her too severely.

  “Of course you do. I shouldn’t have treated you like a child.” He sat down at his place and she waited for the recriminations to start. Instead, he cut off a bite of herring.

  Relieved, she took a fresh brioche from the napkin-covered bowl between them and availed herself of the butter and marmalade. When asked about her plans for the day, she replied that she intended to call at the Hôtel Pontrevault that afternoon, but had no other decided plans.

  “Would you care to come for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne before that? We could wait on the comtesse together afterward.”

  Her pulse leaped. He had escorted her to balls, teas, and concerts since their engagement was first announced, but her mother had orchestrated those outings. He had never before invited her anywhere of his own accord.

  “I should like that very much!” She tried to control her delight. He would think her a great fool if he knew how much this meant to her.

  He finished the last of his tea. “I beg you to excuse me until luncheon. I have some instructions to send to my steward that will take some time.” He nodded to her and left the room.

  Seeing that he had abandoned his newspaper, she picked it up and opened it with a delicious thrill. Her father never permitted his womenfolk to read any newspapers but those aimed at ladies. Filled with gossip and fashion news, Mama and Granny devoured them, but the inane content bored her to tears. A glance at the clock told her she had twenty minutes before the servants entered to clear away the breakfast items. Sipping a cup of café au lait, she settled down to read.

  The sound of the door opening ten minutes later to admit her husband again startled her into nearly dropping her cup. Thrusting the newspaper under the table, she prayed he had not noticed it.

  “We forgot to settle on a time for our drive. Would two o’clock suit you?” A bemused smile curved his lips. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “I fear I am also slow this morning.” She paused in scrubbing a spot from her gown with a napkin, relieved that she had not chosen one of her new ones to wear. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and my coffee when you entered.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “The article you were absorbed in reading must be interesting.”

  Her heart plummeted. Stooping to retrieve the hapless newspaper from under the table, she held it out to him.

  He stared at her and shook his head, perplexed. “I’m finished with it.”

  “You don’t mind that I read it?” She folded it nervously.

  “Good God, no!” He waved her back to her chair. “I’ve never seen the point of forbidding a woman to read about anything but fripperies. I should be thankful to have a wife who can discuss something besides her embroidery and her neighbors.”

  In
stead of returning to her seat, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! I shall try not to sound like a bluestocking in front of your friends.” His strong arms tightened around her and he laughed in her ear.

  “Here I was going to step out to Cartier, and I find I only needed to offer you a newspaper to get on your good side.”

  The embrace loosened as she stepped back to look up into his face. “I shall be proud to wear the rubies you gave me. Besides, I gather that you have pressing needs on your estate to spend money on.”

  His hands rested at her waist. “I do, but I think I could spare something for a few baubles.” A wry smile twisted the lips so near her own. “I’m afraid my father sold most of our family treasures to provide for our tenants.”

  “That must have been difficult for all of you.” She lifted a hand from his shoulder to touch his jaw. His smooth skin warmed her fingertips.

  He shrugged. “It was, but it had to be done.”

  Catching her neatly manicured fingers, he brought them to his mouth for a kiss. “Perhaps I might find some sapphires to match your eyes.”

  She gulped as shivers ran down her arm. She hoped the novelty of his touch would wear off soon, for it undeniably impaired her thought process. “There’s no need for sarcasm, my lord. My eyes are quite ordinary.”

  “I am beginning to think, my lady, that there is a great deal about you that is far from ordinary.” Before she could ask him his meaning, he bowed and took his leave of her for the second time that morning.

  The drive that afternoon proved more entertaining than Kieran expected. The realization that Diantha at least took an interest in events beyond society drawing rooms heartened him, and as they tooled along the rue du Bois, he introduced subjects of discussion he found interesting. Although she did not pretend to follow everything he said about agriculture and horses, she listened attentively and even asked a few timid questions.

  “I am terribly sorry to keep pestering you, but my education is unremarkable, except that I was allowed to listen to my brothers’ mathematics lessons.” She colored a little as they drove through the dappled shade cast by the leafy canopy above. “It seems that I have inherited Papa’s gifts in that area, and it tickled him to encourage it. Mama was appalled.”