He drank her in. Imbibed her. She surpassed the finest wine, the finest whisky. Her skin was luminescent, save for the auburn curls on her intimate part. Her waist was slimmer than he’d imagined, fragile in his arms, though her hips splayed in a delightful, rounded manner. Her bosom was perched high, and he circled her rosebuds with his fingers, tracing the manner it pebbled against his hand.
“You’ve gone silent,” Georgiana said, and her long lashes fluttered up.
Hamish blinked and pulled her onto his lap.
Perhaps silence was not the sort of thing a woman wanted in bed.
His throat was dry, and he willed his mouth to speak, even though speech seemed like an overly complex act in the circumstances.
“You are utterly beautiful,” he said finally, conscious that his voice was hoarse. “You’re a queen. A goddess. A—”
“You can call me goddess,” Georgiana said, rolling off his lap and displaying a wonderfully pert bottom and then splaying before him on her back.
Every part of Hamish tightened, and the room was suddenly much, much hotter than it had been moments before.
The woman didn’t understand what that position was doing for her body as she stretched, and with a groan he lowered himself over her.
Their lips met, and bliss ensued.
Her skin tasted like the ocean, and their legs tangled together. They kissed, and life was magnificent. Any initial timidity from her had vanished, as if her tongue knew just what to do to his, as if her lips were meant for him and him alone, and as if her arms knew just how to squeeze, just how to rub, just how to—
He tore himself from her, his heart beating wildly.
“Hamish?” she asked.
“Stop.”
“But—”
“Otherwise this is going to end.” He swallowed hard, conscious he wasn’t quite explaining things.
She settled back down on the bed, and Hamish placed his knees between hers and lowered himself over her, positioning himself right at her entrance.
She moved her arms around him, hugging him against her.
“I don’t want to crush you.”
“I’m strong.”
In the next moment she was pulling him even more tightly to her, as if their heartbeats might send each other some code.
And then he pushed forward into her. He moved gently, meeting with resistance and he rested against her. She was wet. Warm. Everything that he craved.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him.
He obliged.
They kissed for hours, or perhaps just minutes. He’d always prided himself on his sense of time, but his understanding of even the most basic principles seemed to disappear. She rocked against him, unconsciously, and he pushed further.
He was inside her.
Nothing rivaled this pleasure. Her eyes were wide, as if surprised.
He stroked her cheek. “Are you in pain?”
She shook her head, but he moved slowed inside her all the same and continued to feather kisses over her.
And then at some point she tightened about him. His speed quickened, and his rhythm grew more erratic, his mind consumed with one word: Georgiana.
She clung to his back, and then she let out a delightful sigh and he eased heronto the pillow. She smiled softly, and her eyes appeared dreamy.
Life could not entail any greater joy, and happiness shot through him. He pulled himself from her quickly, spilling seed over her taut stomach.
“That was—” Georgiana closed her eyes, as if she’d abandoned the use of words after all. Her bosom still heaved, and he stared, transfixed.
He squeezed her hand and wiped her stomach clean gently with a cloth before pulling her tightly toward him.
He’d never spent the night with a woman with whom he’d been intimate before, but now he didn’t want to leave a single inch between Georgiana and him. He held her tightly, stroking her lovely, luscious locks until her head seemed to grow heavy, and her breathing grew regular.
Still he forced himself to stay awake longer, wanting to remember the exact curves of her body and angles of her face and the manner in which the candlelight flickered over it.
Only when the glow of the candlelight ran out did he allow himself to sleep, soothed by the sweet scent that still clung to her.
Chapter Twenty-six
Happiness.
The emotion soared through her, undeterred by the fact that Georgiana was not supposed to feel the emotion after several days traveling with the Scotsman.
She stretched, sinking blissfully in the bed, recollecting the delicious manner that Hamish’s tongue and lips had claimed her.
Over and over and over again.
The bedspread remained over her, and sunbeams directed lovely warm light into the room, undaunted by the window panes. Happiness was an emotion Georgiana had felt before, but this sense of joy surpassed any emotion she might feel upon gazing at a well-composed landscape. She rolled over the bed. Lying still seemed to be a ridiculous notion, when her whole body emanated with life.
At some point Hamish had left the bed. Perhaps he was bringing her breakfast. Georgiana had heard that men in the full throes of romance might do that. No doubt he was debating the virtues of black pudding with the innkeeper. Georgiana had always considered black pudding to be entirely without virtue, but since they were practically at the Scottish border, the innkeeper might agree with Hamish on its supposed benefits. Perhaps Georgiana might even try some today.
But no footsteps padded up the corridor to their room, and no hand pressed against the door.
She decided to dress, wrangling her shift and dress on. The action was time consuming, but when she’d made herself presentable, he still hadn’t arrived.
How odd.
The happiness that had moved through her halted, replaced by an ever stronger worry. She paced the room.
He’s left me.
She pushed away the unbidden thought. It seemed too melodramatic, too similar to what other women might mourn about other men. Hamish was of course different.
Except...
She strode to the window. Though the window was not far away, she moved slowly. Some trepidation filled her. Still, she opened the window and leaned her torso outside, angling her body to see—
The space where the coach should have been. A cart was in its place now, and she swallowed hard.
He’d left.
He’d really left.
Had he used her for his own masculine purposes? All women were warned of men’s urges...had she simply been another casualty, ascribing emotions to him that were nonexistent?
She’d given herself freely. She’d felt womanly, desired. But now she felt foolish, a word that did not encompass either of those earlier feelings.
She combed her hair with her fingers, conscious her hands were shaking.
Maybe there was an explanation for his absence.
Memories floated through her mind. Good memories. Memories that made her think that the man in them couldn’t possibly have abandoned her.
Had she imagined them?
But even her imagination couldn’t have willed the glorious sensations that had rippled over her body the night before.
People were moving about downstairs, but he wasn’t there.
The man who was always eager to leave early, determined to reach Gretna Green, had gone.
Was he heading off to Gretna Green by himself? Taking a horse to best catch up with his brother? Was he going to tell the duke to not marry into a family where one daughter had given up her maidenhood so easily?
He must be outside.
Yes.
She put on her clothes, dashed down the stairs, and exited the inn. A pleasant meadow lay before her, and she was conscious now of the sounds of a babbling brook and birds chirping. Some sheep roamed the meadow, casting occasional glances at a group of lambs who seemed to delight in leaping about.
As idyllic as the scene was, it was marred by one undenia
ble fact:Hamish was entirely absent from it.
She strolled farther outside and inhaled the aroma of flowers. Perhaps Hamish had decided to pick her flowers in a fit of romantic vigor.
But no dashing Scotsman appeared.
“Hamish?” she called out. “Hamish?”
The only sound she heard was the birdsong, which had paused momentarily after she spoke, as if unsure whether she intended to lend her high-pitched voice to their song.
Uncertainty grew in her chest.
It was nonsense, she reminded herself.
Hamish wouldn’t have abandoned her in some coaching inn, no matter the picturesque attractions of its location.
But he remained absent. More carriages entered and departed the inn, and the grooms shot her curious looks. She attempted to act as if it were perfectly natural for her to be outside an inn in an evening gown. Nobody came to assist her. Her dress was tattered and stained with dirt. Perhaps they assumed her to be a lady of the night. She swallowed hard, and new questions floated through her mind. Questions that related not just to why Hamish had abandoned her, but what she should possibly do now, so far from home.
I’m alone.
HAMISH MURMURED TO the horses, urging them to quicken their gait. He’d been away from the inn longer than he’d desired. Georgiana might be awake by now.
Still, it had been worth it. He patted his purse.
He inhaled the crisp air. The sky might not be blue, but rabbits still hopped through the fields, and birds still fluttered their feathery wings. A floral scent pervaded. Spring might have come late this year, but even with fewer flowers than in past years, it most certainly had arrived.
When he rounded the final corner before the inn, he saw Georgiana at once. Wonderful. Her red locks flowed down, and she was gazing at the landscape. She looked every bit as lovely as she always did.
He pulled the horses over. “Climb up.”
She turned toward him and widened her eyes.
He smiled. She needn’t appear so shocked that they would depart now. Or perhaps... “Would you prefer to stay longer?”
She blinked, still silent, but then she shook her head furiously.
“I didn’t think you would. Gretna Green is nearby.”
If he’d realized it was so close last night, he may have had them continue on. Still, this inn was certainly more peaceful than those in its more famous neighbor village.
Georgiana strode toward the carriage, almost uncertainly. She seemed different from last night, and his heart sank. Was she regretting the passion they had shared?
She climbed onto the perch, and he smiled, conscious of her soft curves
“Is everything fine?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, but her voice sounded strained.
He hurried the horses on and soon they were on the road. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be worried.”
“I’m fine,” she said abruptly.
He assessed her, wondering if she was just acting brave.
He shook his head. Of course not. Why should she need to feign braveness? This was a pleasant day, and he’d left her in a beautiful spot.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
He hesitated, fighting the urge to share everything with her, but then shook his head. “Nothing important.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The coach wheels rumbled over the dirt lane. The sky had turned a deeper gray, and the wind swept over them with more force.
Georgiana resisted the urge to lean against Hamish. The warmth of his limbs may have brought comfort before, but now she focused on keeping some distance between them.
Soon they would separate...forever. She didn’t need to show Hamish that that fact would cause her pain.
The man hadn’t offered an explanation for his absence. Had he simply wanted to take advantage of the slivers of sunlight? Could he possibly have thought the horses needed exercise? Had he felt too constrained in the bed with her? Had he thought about her at all?
Hamish guided the coach into a village. Though the village resembled others they had visited, not exceeding them in beauty or charm, many more carriages were present. Half-timbered buildings with thatched roofs lined the road. They may have lacked the majesty of their counterparts in Mayfair or Kensington, but they seemed in possession of sufficient charm. Flowers swayed in brightly painted window boxes, a rare luxury.
This was Gretna Green.
This was Scotland.
This was the end of the journey.
“What do you think?” Hamish asked.
“It’s beautiful,” Georgiana said, not needing to be polite.
Hamish grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I do.”
“But I assure you,” Hamish said. “The Highlands far exceed this in beauty.”
Georgiana’s smile wobbled. She didn’t want to think about other things. She didn’t want to be reminded that Hamish’s home was far away, and he was likely to want to return to it. After all, last night had been just that...one night. A single experience to remember forever.
She smoothed her tattered dress, though movement felt unnatural. Her limbs were stiff, as if already preparing for a quiet life.
There were things she could say, if she were the type of woman prone to romantic outbursts. She wanted everything for Hamish. She wanted the young boy he’d once been to be fine. The young boy who’d lost both his parents and still wanted to impress his guardians, even after they too had left this world behind. She didn’t expect the man he was now to make a place for her in his life.
The man had been devastated to discover his brother’s engagement. He was hardly going to desire to tie his life to the sister of the woman who would ruin his family’s estate.
Young couples sat on benches beside a blacksmith’s shop, and Georgiana shivered. There was something about their open affection that caused an ache to make its way through Georgiana’s chest.
She didn’t want to look at Hamish.
She didn’t want to think about the intimate moments they’d shared. Not when soon they would have to go their separate ways.
“Don’t look sad.” Hamish stepped closer to her, and despite the abundances of horses on the streets, and their accompanying fragrances, Hamish’s particular scent of cotton and cedar wafted over her.
For a wild, wondrous moment she thought that the man might kiss her. She gazed up, noting the way in which the sunlight shone over the chestnut strands of his hair, revealing a variety of golden colors, all of them beautiful. His eyes though, his green, mysterious eyes, were filled only with concern.
She stepped back rapidly, stumbling over some pebbles and her cheeks pinkened. “I-I’m fine.”
She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. Heavens. What was wrong with her? She didn’t need him to think she was mourning the end of their time together. She wanted him to think her strong.
Perhaps she was a wallflower. Perhaps she’d just had her third season, and perhaps she’d missed her chance for love. But she would have to make do. She would find other things to keep her company. She wouldn’t bemoan the fact that Hamish hadn’t been born in some neighboring village in Norfolk or that he seemed far too intrigued with Lady Isla, someone to whom she could never compare. And she certainly wouldn’t be anything except bright and cheerful.
He’d asked her if she was certain about the experience, and she’d said yes. It would be unfair for her to change the rules now and cling to his shirt and wish they could always remain together—something, she realized, she was regrettably tempted to do.
Gretna Green was the place for other couples to vow to spend the rest of their lives together. Not her.
She forced herself to smile and to be happy for those couples. Somewhere her sister was among them.
Of course, she didn’t know just where. She glanced up, and Hamish must have seen the questioning look on her face. He certainly understood it.
“Gretna Green weddings ar
e usually performed by anvil priests.”
She blinked.
“The blacksmiths. We should go and investigate.”
“Wonderful.” Georgiana nodded, happy to have a plan. Now the only thing she needed to think about was how to best explain to her sister and her soon-to-be brother-in-law (and hopefully he already was her brother-in-law so that Hamish would not feel compelled to stop the wedding), what she was doing here.
Hamish led her toward the blacksmith’s shop. He seemed to know just where everything was. The blacksmith’s shop was a long, white building, and the interior was painted a similar white, though parts of it had darkened. Fires sizzled inside, and a variety of tools were perched on tables and shelves.
“It’s you!” The blacksmith smiled. “But you’ll need to go to the end of the line outside.”
The man’s friendliness was unexpected, and she blinked. “Sorry. We’ve come to attend a wedding.”
The blacksmith looked puzzled. Evidently the weddings here did not tend to have guests.
“There are many weddings,” the blacksmith’s assistant said.
“Er—yes.” Georgiana considering the row of couples sitting outside the man’s shop. “Have you seen a blond English woman and a Scottish man? He’s blond too. And—er—a duke.”
The blacksmith raised his eyebrows. “I would have remembered them.”
“Perhaps yesterday? Or the day before?” Georgiana’s voice sounded strained, and Hamish squeezed her shoulder. She fought to resist the urge to sink into the pleasant sensation.
“They must not have arrived yet. You can wait outside.”
Georgiana nodded meekly and then exited the blacksmith’s shop, conscious of Hamish behind her. She scrutinized the line of couples. Some of them looked blissfully happy and excited, and others looked nervous, as if half-expecting angry relatives to ride up to put a halt to the wedding. Still others looked resigned. None of them resembled Charlotte or the duke.
“I don’t see them,” Georgiana whispered. “Perhaps they’re already married.”
Hamish squeezed her hand.
Had she missed her sister’s wedding?
Don't Tie the Knot (Wedding Trouble Book 1) Page 17
