by Meara Platt
He ran his thumb across her still flushed cheek, wondering why he’d picked the only girl in all of London who would impose these requirements. And why he was more delighted than ever that he had. “So you’ll give me all of your heart if I give you all of mine?”
She nodded.
“All of my heart,” he said softly, knowing that accepting her terms… assuming he accepted them… was not the end of it. “That’s asking a lot.”
“I know, but I told you early on that we Farthingales marry for love. I promise you, you’ll have mine in return.”
“Lass, you aren’t the sort to simply sign away your heart. Are you saying that you love me?”
The pulse at the base of her throat was now pounding so violently it threatened to break through her silken skin. She was obviously distressed by the question, for her chest was also rising and falling so quickly he feared she might faint. No, not his Laurel. She was made of sterner stuff. She let out an eep. “What?”
He ran his thumb gently across her lower lip. “You heard me, lass. Do you love me?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
He groaned softly. “Blessed Scottish saints, don’t cry. You don’t have to answer me. I never expected you to love me. It’s all right if you don’t.”
“You oaf!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “It isn’t all right. And how dare you not require your wife… your future wife… how dare you not mind if I don’t love you.”
“Then you don’t love me?”
She shot to her feet. “I shouldn’t. You’re the densest man I’ve ever met. I would detest you if I thought for a moment that all you cared about was your title and the wealth you’d secure once you were married.”
“Assuming I marry by Midsummer’s Day.” He rose along with her and set aside his crutches, then took her into his arms. “But you know I care about much more than that. What about you, Laurel? Do you love me?”
“Why should I tell you when you’ve yet to tell me anything? I asked you first.” She placed her hands flat on his chest but made no attempt to push away. Instead, her hands slid up the front of his shirt so that she was clinging to his shoulders as her body molded to his.
He loved the way she responded to him even when she was angry. She couldn’t hide her feelings for him, and he supposed he was being an ass to require her to admit the obvious while he kept his distance and hid behind the promise he’d tricked out of her. Still, he wanted to hear her say those words aloud. I love you, Graelem.
He’d heard her whisper it when she thought he was unconscious.
It was the last thing he remembered before all went black.
When he awoke hours later, he thought he’d imagined it. But now he knew that he hadn’t. Laurel loved him. Could he love her back with his whole heart as she required?
“I will not say it, you stubborn oaf. Not until you do,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “I need to know how you feel about me.”
He was about to relent and tell her, but she had one more requirement of him. “Graelem, free me from the promise and then ask me again to marry you.”
“Damn it, Laurel.” He crushed her up against him when she tried to draw away. “My heart is yours for the taking. There’s no one else I care to give it to. I’ll sign your bloody list of demands and hold true to them. But don’t make me release you from that promise. If you truly love me, then it doesn’t matter how our marriage comes about, only that it happens.”
“And if you truly loved me, then you’d understand that I need you to trust me.”
They were alone in the parlor and he was in a dangerous state, angry and frustrated that Laurel loved him and still wouldn’t accept him. Angry that she was demanding and persistent and just stubborn enough to refuse him at the altar unless he surrendered to her terms. Mostly, he was angry with himself for wanting her so badly, even though he knew that he’d never have a day’s peace if he married her.
He had her promise. He had her love.
And she still bridled at the thought of marrying him.
He should cut his losses and offer for Anne Hollings. Cold, simple, and safe.
But he didn’t want safe. He wanted Laurel.
Her face was tipped upward in expectation of a response, one that he was not ready to give, so he did what any oaf in his position would do. He lowered his mouth to hers and poured his pent-up desire and weeks of frustration into one hard, consuming kiss, hoping that if he kissed her long enough and with enough passion she’d forget their conversation and not force him to bare his heart and soul to her.
Perhaps old Silas had the right of it, after all. Exposing one’s feelings led to pain and humiliation. Is that what Laurel was feeling now? She’d certainly exposed her heart to him and he was giving her nothing in return. This kiss wasn’t nearly enough.
He eased up on the pressure of his mouth against hers, afraid that he was too rough in grinding his lips on hers, but her hands wrapped behind his head the moment he attempted to gentle the kiss, her fingers twining in his hair and tugging him closer.
He loved the way Laurel surrendered to passion, and knew she responded this way only to him. She was eager for his kisses, almost as much as he craved hers. The only difference between them was that he could hide his feelings even as he kissed her into tomorrow, but she didn’t know how to hide hers.
He loved her honesty and wished he could toss away his years of caution and emptiness, but he couldn’t yet. “Graelem,” she whispered in a breathless moan.
He slipped his tongue between her lightly parted lips and probed the sweet treasure of her mouth, pleased when he evoked more breathy moans out of her. Lord, she’d be incredible in bed. My bed.
He drew her closer, loving the way her slight, shapely body managed to fit against his hard contours. They shouldn’t fit this perfectly against each other, for he was considerably taller and broader than she was, but somehow they did.
His loins tightened and his blood ran hot as Laurel responded to the invasion of his tongue by squirming against him. The feel of her glorious breasts against his chest just about tipped him over the edge. The roof of this townhouse could have collapsed atop them and he wouldn’t have noticed, so lost was he in the strawberries and mountain breezes scent of her, in the warmth of her body nestled against his, and in the innocent heat of her passion.
She was splendid, to be sure.
Kissing Laurel meant so much more to him than the mere touch of her lips against his or their bodies wrapped so tightly in each other’s arms that they molded into one. Kissing Laurel meant hope and happiness and fulfillment of dreams he’d never imagined possible in his stark Moray existence. He didn’t think he would ever experience these exquisite feelings with another woman.
He knew he never would.
What he felt for Laurel went beyond a mere physical need to plunder the riches between her thighs, although he felt that hard need most acutely. No, his passion for this beautiful innocent was a long-burning flame, a yearning that would never fade but would grow more intense as the years passed, burning beautiful and golden as they got on in years, incapable of ever being extinguished.
Blessed Scottish saints!
Was he already in love with the girl?
The possibility scared the hell out of him.
He ended the kiss and drew his lips off Laurel’s plump, rosy mouth, feeling quite pleased with himself when she made an O of disappointment. She looked incredible, her lips red and lightly swollen, her eyes those beautiful swirls of turbulent green and azure blue. Her hands were resting on his shoulders as she struggled to regain her composure. “Why did you stop?”
“Laurel,” he said, planting a gentle kiss on that wildly beating pulse at the base of her neck, “we’re in my grandmother’s parlor in the middle of the afternoon. Anyone can walk in and—”
She gasped and shook her head while she fidgeted with her hair and smoothed her gown. She cast him a look of distress. “I seem to forget myself whenever
I’m with you.”
He grinned. “I’m not complaining, lass. Have we settled your list then? I’ve accepted all your terms.”
“All but one,” she said quietly.
His expression hardened and he said nothing in response.
He wasn’t letting her out of their betrothal.
Chapter 14
CRUMPETS! LAUREL KNEW she’d pushed Graelem to the edge.
He was angry.
He was hungry and possessive.
Despite all, he’d accepted her terms with surprisingly little resistance. Did it matter that he’d refused to release her from their betrothal? Perhaps it didn’t now that she actually wanted to marry him. Still, his resistance felt wrong, but not everything worked out perfectly in life, did it? If pressed, she had to admit that she wanted Graelem in her life.
Instead of her usual stomping and storming, she reached up and caressed his cheek. “Thank you for not mocking my list.”
The gesture obviously surprised him and softened his frown. “Lass, it’s a good list.”
“It is?”
He nodded, bending his head to kiss her again, his lips hard and demanding as they covered hers. His hands roamed over her body, and despite the force of his desire, there was a gentleness in the way her held her, touched her, moved his lips over hers.
Had she misjudged him? He appeared to want her with an intensity she’d never expected. It was as though he wanted to lay bare his feelings, but couldn’t yet express them with words. Would he ever trust her enough to do so?
Was he trusting her now? She suddenly realized he was speaking to her through his kisses, as though his kisses could reveal what lay hidden in his heart.
Oh, goodness!
Could she be happy with this compromise? She wanted him so badly.
But was this kiss merely one of his cruel tricks to bring her to the altar? No, Graelem may have had faults, but deceitfulness wasn’t one of them. He was stubborn and determined and direct, which was not at all the same thing as manipulating her affections or spouting lies. And hadn’t he agreed to give her his heart? That it was hers for the asking?
Sometime over the course of these weeks she’d lost hers to this big, stubborn man who was too English for the Scots and too Scottish for the English. But he was perfect for her. She loved the hard heat of his body, loved the possessive way he looked at her and the gentle way he held her.
He roused dangerous sensations within her.
He made her physically ache to be with him.
She must have been obvious in her feelings. “Blessed saints,” he whispered, closing his mouth over hers again, and groaning as he slid his hand upward to cup her breast. “Lass, tell me to stop,” he begged against her lips.
“No.” She leaned into him, arching her back and sighing as his fingers brushed across the taut nipple, amazed by how right it felt to be with him and how perfectly her breast rested in the cup of his palm. His thumb grazed across the hard, swollen peak, arousing hot tingles with every stroke. “Oh, my! Graelem, I love your touch.”
He seemed to know just how to touch and tease, and though she knew that one word from her would put an end to this exquisite madness, she was greedy and wanted more, ached for the warmth of his fingers against her skin, ached for the intimacy that ought not be shared until they were lawfully married.
But where was the harm in experiencing it all now? Her heart was his, even if she refused to admit it to him. “Graelem,” she said in an aching whisper.
“I know, love.” As though understanding her wishes, he slipped his hand beneath the muslin bodice of her gown and freed her breast from its confinement.
She felt an unbearable heat stir within her even as cool air brushed against her exposed skin.
The mix of cool air and warmth of his rough fingers aroused her more than she imagined possible. He mercilessly stroked his thumb across her taut nipple, evoking one exquisitely jolting sensation after another, and then he replaced his fingers with his mouth and began to tease it with his lips and tongue until she could hold back no more.“Graelem!”
“You taste so sweet, love.” He drew her nipple between his lips and suckled it, sending her into raptures with the unrelenting pleasure of his mouth against her bare skin and the hot flicks of his tongue.
She closed her eyes and wound her fingers in his hair, breathlessly whispering his name over and over. “Oh, heavens! Graelem.” Is this what they would share each night in their marriage bed? Her legs turned to pudding and she would have fallen had he not been holding her in his arms.
She thought she might expire from the exquisite pleasure, but he wasn’t finished yet. He moved his hand beneath her gown and gently tugged it upward to slide his fingers up her leg in one smooth motion. He paused at the junction of her thighs as though waiting for her consent to touch her there. “Please,” she said, her voice low and breathless as she shifted her body slightly to allow him access to the most intimate part of her.
She felt no shame or fear, for this was Graelem, and despite her demands and that forced promise, she knew there was no other man for her. She loved him.
“Lass, you’re so beautiful.” His fingers were a gentle onslaught against her core, stroking and swirling until she responded to the heat of his touch, a wet heat that evoked possessive groans of delight from his lips and gasps from hers. “So soft and beautiful.”
He eased his mouth off her breast to kiss her on the lips, his hand still working its hot magic below. She felt the hard swell of his groin and knew that he was as aroused as she was. Did she dare touch him?
She was hot and wanton and no longer cared about propriety. Nothing seemed to matter but being in Graelem’s arms as he carried her off to new realms. She cupped his hard length in her hand. He let out a sharp, laughing oath and almost lost his balance. “Not yet, love. Not here.”
He took her hand in his and settled it against his chest. She felt the steady, rhythmic pounding of his heart. Hers was rampant and racing wildly. She moved her hand upward to clutch his shoulder as an intense heat suddenly built between her legs. He continued to stroke her there, until an intense pressure built within her and she lost control of her body. “Oh, Graelem!”
He cupped her trembling heat and encouraged her release as her flushed body floated upward and exploded in a burst of brilliant starlight. Liquid tingles caressed her thighs. He held her tightly, held her close and lovingly. An exquisite numbness washed over her body in slow, undulating waves. “I never knew it could be like this,” she whispered when the wave finally began to ebb and she found her voice.
“We’ve only just started, love. It gets even better.” He smiled and tipped her chin upward, at the same time bending his head down to kiss her lightly on the lips. When he drew away, there was a look of pride and a deep satisfaction of conquest in the soft curve of his mouth. His eyes were warm and expressive, reflecting awe and something deeper, a genuine affection. She knew this moment held meaning for him as well for her.
Merciful heaven! She couldn’t steady her breathing, for it was still quick and shallow. Her body was still tingling, no doubt because she was still reveling in the afterglow. She knew her feet were on the ground, but she knew that she was floating. How long before these wondrous sensations faded away? Would they ever?
Graelem already seemed to have calmed. Of course, it was to be expected since this was not his first time and he hadn’t been carried along on languid waves or swallowed up by these powerful sensations. She wasn’t his first conquest. But would she be his last? Would he abide by their agreement if she married him?
“Sweetheart,” he said in a gentle whisper, seeming to read her thoughts, “there will never be anyone for me but you.”
“Truly, Graelem?” Her heart was still racing and her skin was hot and damp.
He gave her a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. “Truly, lass.”
She rested her head against his chest, suddenly afraid to look at him. Goodness! What had they just do
ne? Why hadn’t she stopped him? “I’ve never felt like this before. I seem to turn wanton whenever I’m with you.”
He laughed softly. “And I turn lecherous and possessive whenever I’m with you. Laurel, we’re meant to be together. Let’s just accept it for now and worry about the next steps after we’re married. I don’t pretend to understand what’s happening, only that it’s good. Very good.”
“It felt magical.”
“It was, lass.” He said nothing more, simply held her a while longer and caressed her until her breathing steadied. Then he helped smooth her gown in place, his fingers grazing her breast as he tucked the fabric back over its engorged peak and settled the lace trim back in place. Her skin had yet to cool. It was still moist and flushed from the heat of her desire.
She wouldn’t fool anyone who happened to walk in on them now. The parlor door was merely closed, not even locked! Had she completely lost her senses? She seemed to whenever she was around Graelem. Her face suffused with heat. “What must you think of me?”
Anyone could have walked through that door.
“I think you’re incredible, Laurel. I know you’re the only woman on this earth I could ever take as my wife.” He gave her an exquisitely soft smile. “Your idea about sharing sleeping quarters is inspired. I want you in my bed, sweetheart. Every night for the rest of our lives.”
She laughed in relief, although she was still shocked and embarrassed by her behavior. “I’m glad, because you’ve turned me into a shameless wanton. After what you did to me with your fingers and lips, I will insist that requirement be moved to the top of my list.”
“You’ll have no protest from me.”
She knew the wisest thing to do was to pull away from him now because she was still enveloped in his embrace and breathing unsteadily. Graelem felt so good against her, his touch continuing to ignite little sparks of pleasure throughout her body. “I don’t know why I respond to you the way I do. You seem to drag me deeper and deeper into this betrothal every time we meet.”
