Beware a Scot's Revenge

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Still, the searing pain when she spread the ointment on his worst one made him gasp and clutch at her arm until he caught his breath. That took a few moments. “All right. Do the rest. I’m ready.”

  With a nod, she continued her ministrations, but her shoulders shook, and next thing he knew, a wet drop landed on his upper thigh. Then another and another. Tears. Mo chreach, the lass was shedding tears over him.

  “Here now,” he said softly, “what are you crying for? It’s not so bad as all that, is it?”

  “It’s awful,” she choked out. “What you must have suffered…”

  In all this time, he hadn’t seen her cry once, not over the kidnapping or his crude remarks or anything. But here she was, crying for the pain he’d suffered. It was too sweet to bear. “Sh, sh, lassie,” he murmured, looping his arm about her waist to tug her down onto his good leg so he could comfort her. “I’ve had worse, trust me.”

  “I-I know,” she choked out, “but I can’t b-bear to think of you…”

  She trailed off into sobs, and he wrapped his arms about her, touched beyond words by her sympathy.

  God help him, but the lass surely could cry. As she buried her face in his neck and sobbed, he stroked her back, helpless to know how to ease her tender heart. “It’s all right, princess, I swear it is. I’ve been walking on the leg for weeks, dancing on it even.”

  The mention of dancing sent her into another bout of sobs. “I-I made you d-dance on your b-bad leg—”

  “No, you didn’t.” He held her close, nuzzling her hair. “If you want to blame it on somebody, blame it on yer aunt. She’s the one who started talking about my death and got me worried that you’d recognize me.”

  Venetia gave a little hiccup against his shoulder. “She did, didn’t she?”

  “Aye.” Tipping her chin up, he brushed her tears away with his thumb. “And I wasn’t about to have her resurrecting me from the grave before I was ready, you know. Dead men aren’t supposed to appear in kilts at fancy balls.”

  That garnered him a watery smile. “You didn’t look a bit dead, either,” she managed.

  “I certainly didn’t feel dead.” Taking the cloth from her fingers, he used a dry part of it to wipe her eyes, then let her blow her nose into it before he dropped it on the floor. “Especially not when we were alone.”

  She was staring at him now, her pretty green eyes huge in her flushed face, and it felt like that night at the ball. Only this time she knew what and who he was. But instead of flailing at him as she ought, she was gazing at him as if seeing him for the first time—not as a villain but as a man caught between the devil and the sea.

  “I know it doesn’t mean much,” she whispered, “but I am sorry for every time I kicked you and hit you and crawled over your poor leg while you slept—”

  “Don’t think on it,” he growled, unable to bear another word. Especially the part about her crawling over him. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t yer fault.” And having her look at him like that, perched all fresh and clean on his lap, was already more temptation than he could stand.

  He told himself to put her aside, to get her away. He even set his hands on her waist. But then she slid her arms about his neck, and he knew he was in trouble.

  “Let me make it up to you,” she whispered, the sound turning his resolve to jelly. “Let me show you that I’m not like my father.” She stretched up to kiss the scar on his forehead, and something gave way in his soul.

  “I know…you’re not like…yer father,” he said hoarsely. “You smell better, for one thing.” He’d meant the joke to keep him from doing something daft, but her throaty laugh had the reverse effect.

  So did the kisses she scattered across his collarbone. He’d never felt anything so dear. Yet he blundered on, fighting to ignore his rapidly stiffening cock. “You look a damned sight better in a gown than he ever could, too.”

  “I’m not wearing a gown just now,” she pointed out.

  The unnecessary reminder made him half lose his mind. He lost the rest of it when she trailed tender kisses down his chest, her lips lingering to caress his nipple.

  “Holy Christ, lass, you have to stop that,” he ground out.

  She jerked back. “Am I hurting you? Because I didn’t mean—”

  “Ye’re making me take leave of my senses, that’s what ye’re doing.”

  Her kittenish smile sent a jolt of heat to his groin. “I told you, I want to make up for hurting you all those times I hit you.” She slid her hand up his chest.

  He groaned. “And how do you mean to do that—by tempting me into ruining you?”

  Her smile faltered, yet she persisted. “Isn’t there some way I could give you enjoyment without ruining myself?”

  The very words put ideas in his head that bloody well shouldn’t be there. He ought to ignore them. So of course he promptly answered, “Aye, there is.”

  Her face brightened, and he groaned.

  “But you can’t be doing things like that, you know,” he added hastily, trying to reverse his dangerous admission. “It isn’t wise. It can only lead to trouble.”

  “And lying alone together in a room all night when we desire each other won’t lead to trouble? Show me how to give you enjoyment without ruining myself, and I swear it will end there. It has to.”

  “Mo chreach,” he muttered under his breath. He was done for.

  “Is it kissing that you like best?” she murmured, pressing her lips, her luscious lips, against his throat. “Should I kiss you here?” She dusted kisses over his chin. “Or here?” She delved into the corner of his lips with the tip of her tongue.

  That was all it took—a few sinful kisses from her very proper little mouth—and his control snapped. With a growled curse, he caught her head in his hands and kissed her back, thrusting deeply, hungrily inside. Her mouth held a profound warmth he could lose himself in, opening easily beneath his urgent tongue to let him plunder and plunge.

  Reveling in how she twined her tongue with his, he skimmed his fingers down her throat to caress the twin pulses that beat and throbbed wildly beneath his thumbs. Then he slid his hands further to the ties of her shift, untying them in one swift jerk before shoving the linen off her shoulders so he could fill his hands with her bountiful bare breasts.

  “Wait, Lachlan ,” she tore her lips from his to murmur, “I’m supposed to be…giving you pleasure.”

  “Touching you gives me pleasure,” he rasped, thumbing her nipples until she gasped. “Giving you pleasure gives me pleasure.”

  “But…I want…”

  “Here,” he said, seizing her hand and dragging it down to his rearing cock, “if you want to please me, stroke me here.”

  Her minxish smile as she grabbed hold of his flesh was almost more than he could bear. This could get very dangerous very fast, with his curious little virgin trying out her innocent wiles on him for God knew what reason.

  “Stop.” He caught her hand to stay it, and she cast him a startled glance. “If we’re to do this, lassie, then we must have rules, ye ken?”

  “Rules?” she whispered. “Why?”

  “Without them we’re sure to end up rolling about in that bed over there, and I know you don’t want that.”

  Nor did he. Because nothing would destroy his plans faster than ruining the daughter of the Earl of Duncannon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dear Cousin,

  Are you so familiar with what women want that you can make pronouncements about it? I was under the impression that you are a bit of a recluse, that you do not like to go out into society. Or am I mistaken?

  Your curious friend,

  Charlotte

  Rules are good, the sane part of Venetia argued. Remember Mrs. Harris’s main rule—if you think you shouldn’t do something, you probably shouldn’t.

  Rules were good if you could follow them. Clearly, she’d lost the capacity. Because she was fairly certain she shouldn’t be perched on a man’s lap half naked, with her hand
on his privates, contemplating the unthinkable.

  And all for an apology that he said she didn’t owe him. He was probably right. It had been his choice to kidnap her, his choice not to tell her of his injuries, his choice to put himself in a situation where he got hurt in the first place.

  But those perfectly logical thoughts vanished whenever she saw his scars and remembered the agony coursing over his face. Then it was hard to think of him as anything but incredibly brave for surviving his ordeal. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to reward such bravery with a bit of pleasure.

  All right, so that was just an excuse. The truth was, the walls of rules she’d erected to keep him at bay were crumbling down around her, and she couldn’t shore them up. She’d clung to them for a long time, thinking they would protect her, yet it hadn’t stopped her from being kidnapped.

  And why? Because Papa had been breaking the rules, not honoring his debts, ruining people’s lives even as he pretended to be an honorable man.

  Well, Papa could go to blazes. And so could the rules. “I don’t think we need rules.” She fingered the damp curls at the nape of Lachlan’s neck. “I’ve had enough of them to last me a lifetime.”

  His troubled gaze burned into her. “You say that now, when the heat is upon you, but in the morning you’ll regret throwing them aside. Then you’ll hate me.”

  Knowing he might be right only made it worse. Oh, why couldn’t he just kiss her and let her forget who he was and how much he despised her family? Why couldn’t he lose himself in her the way she lost herself in him?

  Despite his grip staying her other hand, she could feel his flesh swell against her. Clearly he wanted her. What had happened to the wild Lachlan who took what he wanted with reckless abandon?

  Why must he behave wisely now, when she just wanted to be reckless? He only balked because of his cursed plans for her father. Well, if it took her all night, she would banish from his mind any thought of what lay between their families. She would banish his soldierly control.

  Defiantly, she lifted her mouth to his, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth, then soothing it with her tongue. Though he still kept that iron grip on her wrist, she was rewarded by his heartfelt groan, followed by his mouth opening over hers to deepen the kiss. Soon their tongues were entangled again and their mouths warmly locked, and she felt herself sliding down into that place where it was just the two of them, nothing more.

  But when she tried to shrug her hand from his grip, he drew back to stare at her. “One rule, then,” he said hoarsely. “Only one. To keep us from going too far.”

  She cast him an exasperated glance. “What rule is that?”

  “You don’t leave my knee. As long as you remain there, I can’t take yer innocence. But we can still use our mouths and hands to pleasure each other.” He leaned her back against his arm so his hot gaze could pour over her naked breasts. “We can still enjoy each other. Like this.” Lowering his head, he sucked her breast, tonguing and teasing the nipple until she moaned.

  “Lachlan, oh, my word…”

  “Do you agree to my rule?” he demanded, in between tormenting her breasts with his deft mouth.

  Desire pooled low in her loins. She would agree to anything if he would just keep doing what he was doing. “Yes, yes, I swear.” She brushed a kiss to his hair. “Now let me…touch you, too.”

  With a growl of satisfaction, he released her wrist, only to close her hand around his thickening shaft. She glanced down to see her fingers partly obscured by rich, dark curls. The sight startled her. “I-I never knew that a man had hair down there.”

  Squeezing her hand into a stroke along his shaft, he gasped, “Didn’t you?”

  “How could I?” She brushed his hand away so she could stroke him on her own. “My only experience of naked men comes from statues, and they have smooth, grapelike privates.”

  “Statues and ballads,” he groaned as she fondled him. “Had you no real men in yer life to learn from, lassie? No kissing cousins? No brothers of schoolgirl friends to dally with in the woods?” He tugged on her nipple with his teeth, sending sensations shooting through her.

  “None to teach me anything naughty.” Or delicious. She blew out a labored breath. “Although there was a book…”

  A choked laugh erupted from him. “Of course there was. To go with the naked statues. What sort of girls’ school did you go to, anyway?”

  “A fine one,” she said haughtily. “Naked statues are art, you know.”

  “And the book? Was that art, too?”

  “Hardly. It was about a harem, but it wasn’t terribly detailed about…well…something like this. So I don’t know…that is…” She caressed him tentatively, hesitantly. “Am I doing it properly?”

  “There’s nothing proper about what you’re doing to me, lassie.”

  “I mean, am I doing it right? Does it please you?”

  “It pleases me something fierce.” He arched against her hand. “But if you could hold a bit tighter and squeeze a bit harder…”

  She did as he said, marveling at the silkiness of his skin and rigidity of the flesh beneath.

  After a few of her long pulls, his eyes slid closed and he hissed a breath through his teeth. “For a woman…who got her knowledge from statues and ballads…you sure know how to…arouse a man. Ye’ll be the death of me yet.”

  “That’s my plan. To kill you with pleasure so I can escape.”

  “Good plan,” he choked out. “Wish you’d thought of it sooner.”

  “So do I.”

  With a dark chuckle, he seized her mouth again, his tongue delving deeply as her hand worked his flesh. But kissing her wasn’t enough for him, oh no. Rogue that he was, he soon had her chemise lifted and his hand inside her drawers so he could stroke her between the legs, softly at first and then more firmly.

  She liked it. A lot. Far more than she’d have expected. Which only proved he’d been right when he’d accused her of being secretly wicked. Every time he touched her, he seemed to rub off more of the lady’s veneer that Mrs. Harris had striven hard to cover her with.

  A hysterical giggle bubbled out of her, making Lachlan jerk back with a frown. “And what do you find so amusing, lassie?”

  “I was thinking…Mrs. Harris should add…this to her curriculum,” she managed to gasp, although what he was doing to her was muddling her mind. “She’d get lots more…pupils.”

  His eyebrow arched high. “Do you like it, then?”

  “T-too much…yes…” she stammered as she tilted her pelvis against his practiced hand.

  With a gleam in his heated gaze, he slid a finger inside her.

  “Lachlan!” she cried, shocked by the bold maneuver. “You can’t do that!”

  “Ah, but I can. As long as you stay on my knee, we’ll be fine.” He plumbed her flesh with a knowing smile. “Better than fine, if I’ve anything to say about it.”

  His hand certainly had a lot to say about it. It was devilishly witty, too, fondling her below with a deftness that had her squirming for more.

  Suddenly he fingered a particularly sensitive spot, and she practically leaped off his lap. “Lord save me!”

  “Too late for that, lassie.” He stroked her senseless, making her writhe and wriggle on his knee. “No one’s saving you from me now. I mean to see you find your bliss before the night is gone.”

  “My bliss…” She stared up into his heavy-lidded eyes as the word provoked a memory. “So that’s what it means!”

  He blinked, but didn’t pause in his caresses. “What?”

  “A-a naughty ballad I read. It talks about…bliss. I never understood it before…it says Darby wants to seize on the lock…that lies in Oonagh’s moss of curls between two red lips…”

  A rasp of a chuckle left his lips. “I know the ballad. And you, princess, must be wickeder than I realized, if that’s the sort of ballad you collect.”

  She tried to glare at him, but how could she when he was touching her so wonderfully? “It was merely�
��an academic interest,” she said, then shamelessly belied the words when he thrust another finger deep inside her, and she grabbed at his forearm to guide his motion. “Oh, my…that is…”

  “Aye,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Perhaps you’d care to…share that academic interest with me.”

  His fingers drove into her below with a rhythm that beat through her like a gypsy’s tambourine, drowning out conscious thought. “What?”

  “You’re not doing yer part, princess,” he reminded her.

  Only then did she realize she’d stopped fondling him, too caught up in what he was doing to her to notice. “Oh! Right…sorry…”

  She returned to stroking him, and he let out a sigh that soon turned to gasping. “Ah, lass…yes…keep doing that…until I say to stop…harder now…faster…aye, like that…God help me…”

  After that there were no more words, for they were straining together, each intent on the other’s enjoyment, working their hands in counterpoint, caressing heated skin and slick flesh as their need drummed higher and higher, crescendoing to a roar and then a scream—

  Her scream as pleasure pierced her, sharp and sweet, driving her beyond her senses. Lachlan swallowed her scream with his hot, searching mouth even while his own body went taut, his flesh spasming beneath her fingers.

  As she reeled from the unfamiliar shocks of sensation, he yanked his hand from between her legs to grip the towel tightly around her hand. Then a warm fluid poured out of him, over her fingers and into the cloth.

  He dragged his mouth free of hers. “Holy Christ! Holy Mother of God…”

  Her pulse sang in time to his oaths. Dear Lord, what a feeling! What on earth had he done to her?

  Whatever it was, he must have felt the same, for he clutched her tightly against him, burying his face in her neck, breathing hard into her hair as he shook against her.

  It took a moment for the clamor in her loins to subside, and another for his body to slump, as if drained of substance.

  Then he murmured, “That was…a damned sight better than…academic.”