Smitten by the Spinster

by Cassidy Cayman

  Lizzie grabbed at his shirt, pulling him closer, her head knocking against the solid wooden door when he reached the collar of her dress and began kissing back up to her ear. The noise seemed as loud as a gunshot and they both froze for a fraction of a second, waiting to see if anyone stuck their heads out into the hall. When they remained undiscovered, Quinn put his arm behind her back and lifted her up, holding her against him as he pushed open the door.

  Inside his room, he loosened his hold, letting her slide down the length of his hard body, making her ache to get closer to him. When her feet touched the floor, he grabbed her once again behind her head, kissing her more thoroughly than in the hall. He kicked the door shut and she should have been alarmed that she was alone with Quinn in his bedroom, or questioned how it had happened in the first place, but Lizzie only wanted to concentrate on the soft, insistent pressure of his lips against hers.

  “This is better,” he said after breaking the kiss.

  “So much better,” she agreed, sighing when he slid his hands down her arms to settle in a firm grip at her waist.

  He glanced at the banked fire and back to her. “Are ye warm enough?” he asked solicitously.

  If he stopped touching her so that he could go build up the fire, she was sure she would expire from unfulfilled lust. “You keep me warm,” she demanded.

  She grabbed the waistband of his breeches and pulled, barely tugging him forward. He got the gist of what she wanted and swept her back into an embrace. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she breathed him in, the scent of woodsmoke from his clothes drying in front of the fire, a faint hint of whiskey, and just him, clean and manly. Her fingers itched to touch his skin, the hard chest she’d been pressing against. She pushed away from him, and with trembling hands, began to pull up his shirt.

  Quinn took her hand and pressed her palm to his mouth. She really loved that. When had men in her time stopped with the hand-kissing?

  “Let me,” he said.

  In an instant the shirt was off, and she stood back, momentarily enthralled by his chest. And his abs. He was chiseled all over, and his skin had a smooth, tawny glow. She imagined him at home on his farm, shirtless and effortlessly tossing a hay bale as the sun’s rays bronzed his skin. He reached for her and the muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled, his washboard stomach tightened. She held out her hand to stop him. As much as she wanted to run her hands all over him, she wanted to look some more.

  “Well, wow,” she said, unable to think of anything eighteenth century appropriate to say.

  He stood still for a second, letting her ogle him, then took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Fair’s fair,” he said.

  As he unlaced her and the gown opened down her back, he kissed every bit of exposed skin, finally pushing the dress off her shoulders so she stood before him in her shift. The way his eyes roamed appreciatively over her body, every bit of insecurity she had disappeared.

  There was something about his look, a mix of hunger and pure delight, that made her feel truly beautiful for the first time, a feeling that was completely new and extraordinary. It was part of her job to have her looks constantly under scrutiny and almost as often come up short, and she’d come to accept it. But this was better. She could get used to the way he gazed at her as if she was a rare piece of art.

  Keeping her eyes on his face, she reached down and took the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head. Dropping her arms and standing before him in nothing but her stockings, she half expected to see his look change, disappointment cloud his rapt expression. He breathed out hard and bit his lip, taking a step closer to her.

  “God, ye’re beautiful,” he said. He flexed his hands. “I want so much to touch ye.”

  She closed the short distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck as their lips met. He gripped her sides and she felt his muscles shake as he struggled to control himself. His hands were warm and slightly rough as he spread them across her back and down her bottom, pressing her to the hard length that throbbed against his breeches.

  “Oh, take these off,” she begged, pulling at them. Her knuckles brushed against his smooth skin and she spread her palms flat over the expanse of his chest. She dug in gently with her nails, loving the feel of him and wanting more. “Fair’s fair, right?”

  He got out of the breeches and she struggled between wanting to look and wanting to touch, her hands winning that battle as she wrapped her fingers around him, while pulling his head down for another kiss.

  With a groan, he stood stock still as she gripped him, seeming unable to concentrate on her kiss. She grinned against his mouth, enjoying the moment of control she had over him, when he picked her up and made his way to the bed.

  She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his middle, sighing with pleasure when she was settled on the soft coverlet, Quinn on top of her. He propped himself up on his elbows, running his fingertips over her breasts and leaning down to take her nipple in his mouth. She arched closer and curled her fingers in his hair, whimpering with impatience when he slid his hand down between her thighs.

  “I’m not a virgin,” she confessed frantically, afraid he’d stop if he thought she was, more afraid he’d stop after he knew she wasn’t.

  He paused with his lips against her breast, his breath warm on her skin, shredding her meager control. She squirmed under him, needing to have him, all of him.

  “Nor am I,” he said, then laughed. The rich sound sent vibrations straight down her body, along with the relief that he didn’t care. “Now we’ve established we both know where everything goes …”

  She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, threading her fingers through his hair. She loved the silky waves and all the different golden shades, how when it got in the way of his kissing her, he’d impatiently toss his head ever so slightly to move it. Everything about him was so effortlessly gorgeous.

  His body against hers and the taste of his lips, the soft brush of his hair on her skin as he blazed a trail of kisses down her belly, the insistent grip of his fingers, all made her forget everything except how perfect she felt at that moment.

  “Quinn,” she breathed when he reached her thighs and parted them, licking a path along the inside of her leg.

  He glanced up at her, a slow, sexy smile spreading across his face. “Ye finally said it.”

  She laughed, half crazed from the onslaught of sensations he’d put her through as he kissed and stroked his way down her body. She reached down and brushed aside his mop of hair, pressing her palm against his cheek and resting her thumb against his kiss-swollen lower lip. She felt cozily suspended halfway between two worlds, never wanting to land. He blinked slowly and pulled the tip of her thumb into his mouth, nipping it before settling down between her legs.

  A low noise escaped her throat and she writhed on the bed as he wrapped his arms around her upper thighs and pulled her down closer to him. She trembled, waiting, goosebumps raising on her stomach as he breathed softly on her skin. She would have combusted if he’d stoked the fire, so much heat pulsed between them now.

  “Lizzie,” he said, and pressed his tongue against her.

  There was a moment when everything went blank. It was almost exactly like when she’d stepped into the portal near the dresser at Belmary House. One second there, the next second somewhere else, and in the infinitesimal moment in between, nothing.

  She gasped out the breath she’d been holding and loosened her grip on the bedclothes, everything swirling back as Quinn moved his tongue in slow rhythm.

  “Oh, God,” she said to the ceiling as she reached for his shoulders, needing a tether, wanting to feel his strong arms.

  “Quinn will suffice,” he said with a sideways grin, returning to his exquisite teasing.

  She started a laugh, but it ended in a squeak when he increased his pressure and she dug her fingers into his arms. “You’re killing me,” she said.

  He shook his head and pulled her c
loser, while she arched her back and finally let go. Of her fears and worries and hopes, of the character she’d grown to hate. Of everything except what she felt that moment, of …

  “Quinn,” she said again, breathlessly, her hands melting from his shoulders, her entire body going limp into the mattress as tendrils of delicious pleasure unfurled from deep within her.

  “I do love to hear ye say it,” he said, pulling himself up and lying down with his arm across her chest. He kissed her forehead and nestled beside her. “Well, goodnight lass.”

  She rolled over with lightning speed and gaped at him. “Wait, what?” she asked. Then smacked him when she saw the teasing gleam in his eyes. “It would serve you right if I did just go to sleep.”

  He leaned up on his elbow and kissed her shoulder, the side of her neck, then lingeringly on the mouth. His other hand traveled up her arm to find her breast, slowly rolling his thumb over her nipple.

  “Well, ye can certainly try,” he murmured.

  With a contented sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

  ***

  Lizzie nestled under his arm, resting her cheek against his hard chest. “Tell me a story, Quinn,” she said. She felt him turn his head to look down at her, but she kept her eyes closed.

  “A story?” he repeated.

  She nodded and kissed his collarbone. She’d tried this before. It was a test of hers, a stupid one apparently, since no man ever rose to pass it. All she wanted was for someone to have the same love of imagination that she did. Her first boyfriend in college laughed at her and ignored the request. The second time she asked, her boyfriend at the time told her what he’d done that day at work. Trent had smacked her behind and said “There once was a girl who had a great ass. The end.”

  “I shall tell ye a true tale,” he started, running his finger up and down her arm. “It’s quite fantastic, so ye probably willna believe me.”

  “I’ll believe you,” she promised, feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with his trailing touch.

  “Once there was a Scots warrior, who was also the leader of his clan.”

  “Is this person you?” she interrupted.

  Quinn poked her, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “No, ninny, it wasna me. Do ye think I’m the sort to tell a story about my own adventures? I’m far too modest for that.”

  She giggled and nudged him to continue.

  “The warrior traveled the countryside, generally making an arse of himself and leaving the running of his family farm to his handsome younger brother.”

  “Ha! That has to be you,” she crowed.

  “Aye, love, that’s me.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the careless endearment. She steadied her breathing. “Who’s the hero of this story? You or your brother?”

  Quinn paused for several breaths and she feared he wouldn’t continue. Everything was perfect, exactly the way she’d always envisioned it should go. She hoped she hadn’t ruined it somehow.

  “That remains to be seen, I suppose,” he said. “But back to it. The warrior was imprisoned by an unfriendly clan, and before he could be rescued, disappeared completely.” He paused again, this time for effect, and she gasped like she knew she was supposed to. “He was sent forward in time, to the verra distant future, by a witch.”

  This time Lizzie’s gasp was quite real and she went still in his arms. He’d jokingly said it was a true story. Had he really been joking? The mention of a time traveling witch raised goosebumps all over her exposed skin. Was the witch in his story one of the ones Wodge had accused her of being in league with? She didn’t know how it could be anything else. He leaned up on one elbow and peered down at her, pushing her hair behind her ear and smoothing the gooseflesh on her arm.

  “Are ye all right? Your heart is pounding,” he said worriedly. “I didna mean to frighten ye.”

  She swallowed and forced all her muscles to relax, smiling waveringly at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Tell me the rest.” She couldn’t keep the urgency out of her tone and he frowned before continuing.

  “The witch sent him to the future, where another witch helped him to get back. He fell in love with that one and after many trials and tribulations, they were able to be together. But he had to leave his own time, and everything he owned, and his family.”

  Lizzie took a long quiet breath. “Did they live happily ever after?” she asked.

  “Who? The warrior and the witch, or his family he left behind?” The bitterness seeped into his voice and he shook his head. “I dinna know,” he said. “For either.”

  Her heart hurt for him, at the same time as her mind reeled at his tale. The hard look on his face told her it was true. He smiled down at her then, clearly not expecting her to believe a word of it.

  “I believe you,” she whispered, pulling herself up and leaning in to kiss him.

  She wanted to say more, ask more questions, confess that she too was from the future. What a relief it would be to say the words and possibly have him believe her. Her thoughts tumbled over one another too fast to make any one come out in a way that would make sense.

  “Shall I tell ye another?’ he asked, sliding his hand below the sheets to squeeze her hip. “About how much I like lying in bed with ye?”

  She shook off her befuddled thoughts and sighed as his lips met her throat, already working their way downward. “Show me,” she said, holding onto him and forgetting everything else.

  Chapter 17

  Catie paced the length of the sitting room, jumping at every noise that might wake her aunt, who sat dozing in a ray of sunlight like a plump cat. The needlework on her lap looked as if it might slide to the floor at the slightest twitch, but Catie didn’t dare go take it from her, afraid that might wake her as well.

  She scooted closer to the door, praying Quinn and Miss Burnet wouldn’t decide to peek in at them. Neither one knew Edwin was due any moment, or they never would have left her alone. She glanced again at her aunt. If either her brother or her chaperone wandered past and saw Edwin, she’d just sneeze loudly enough to wake her, making it all perfectly proper.

  She shoved aside the little squeeze of guilt she felt for orchestrating this visit. Catie made a point to go over all the things that fed her anger, an emotion that was much easier to deal with, especially since they’d become constant companions.

  Hmmph, thinking of constant companions, her mind turned to Quinn and Miss Burnet. They’d practically been in each other’s laps since the overnight stay at the Hollingsborn estate. The hypocrites thought they were so subtle and clever, but she saw every stolen look and brush of the hand, and the sickening secretive smiles. It turned her stomach. She’d taken to waking up early so she could eat her breakfast without having to look at them.

  Their dalliance might have been something she could overlook, after all, Quinn was notorious for his dalliances, but then Quinn went and told her he had real feelings for Miss Burnet. Ugh, he called her Lizzie now! He wanted to ask Lizzie to accompany him back to Scotland after she was settled, which she at first thought she could use to her advantage in getting him to give Edwin his blessing, but Quinn infuriatingly still refused.

  Which brought her to the final draft of her plan, which she meant to set in motion if Edwin ever got here. If she really meant to marry him, she would speak to him about the importance of punctuality. She rolled her eyes as she peered down the hall toward the front entrance. If she meant to marry him, that was a laugh.

  Finally, she heard the door open and the butler greet Edwin. She stood in the doorway and intercepted them before he loudly announced him, shooing the butler away. When she told him they would not be needing refreshments and he gave a suspicious look, she knew she’d gone too far, and her time was severely limited. That damn butler would be back with biscuits and tea despite her refusal, just to see what she was up to.

  Her paranoia had never been higher, and she jumped again when Edwin made to take her hand in greeting.
/>   “You look more lovely than ever,” he said, glancing at Lady Amberly, then smiling at Catie when he saw she was asleep.

  “Thank ye, Edwin,” she said in response to his compliment.

  She didn’t feel as if she looked lovely. She felt as if her hair stood on end. With forced calm, she led him to a seat far from her aunt. When he didn’t respond to her meaningful looks and prattled on about the weather, she finally placed her hand on his knee. That got his attention well enough and she swallowed hard. It was now or never.

  “My brother told me he willna give his consent,” she said, forcing her eyes open wide until tears glistened. “What shall we do?”

  Edwin furrowed his brow. “Perhaps I can speak to him again,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you, but can’t see causing a rift in your family.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he hurried onward. “I wouldn’t want you to resent me for it one day.”

  “I could never resent ye,” she said, leaning toward him. “And as for family, when ye made your intentions known, I began to think of ye as my family.”

  She didn’t want to bring up her money unless she absolutely had to. She’d do anything to achieve her goal, even something so unsavory as to dangle her fortune in front of this fortune hunter.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Of course. As do I. Think of you as family. As my wife.” He lowered his voice and looked around the room, his face going crimson. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “But how can ye think of me as such, without my brother’s consent?” she asked, closing her eyes and praying he’d remember what she’d said at his house. He took her hand and she opened her eyes.

  “Did you not say I had yours?” he asked.

  The smile that split her face was quite sincere and she nodded, a real tear sliding down her cheek at the rush of relief she felt. “I did,” she breathed. “But what of it?” She held his gaze, unblinking, willing him to say the words.