Perilous Pleasures

by Jenny Brown

  “Did you like it when I kissed you?” His voice held a note of concern.

  “I may have,” she replied. “But I should like to try it again to make sure.”

  A smile blazed up in his eyes and he brought his lips down on hers again. With delicate flutterings of his tongue he drew forth waves of longing as his hand kneaded her breast in rhythm with his kiss, his thumb stroking her nipple until she thought she must explode.

  Lost in the sensations he was awakening in her, she barely noticed that his other hand had slipped beneath the sheet that covered her nether regions, until he stroked the inside of her thigh and her awareness shifted downward with a jolt. Tremors wracked her as the long, sweeping motion of his hand lit up her lower body and she found herself opening her legs to let him reach everything.

  His hand made its way up her thigh, teasing the crease where her leg met her torso, dancing within her nether curls, as showers of sparks flew up from his fingers. All the while, his tongue, now one with these new and delicious sensations, stroked deeper within her mouth.

  As he thrust one probing finger into the cleft in her most private place, she gasped for breath and flinched away, involuntarily. But his finger wouldn’t be denied, and after drawing a lazy circle on her thigh with the tip of its nail, he invaded again that most private place of hers, brushing against her nub more gently this time. She shivered. Then he withdrew his hand, releasing her lips from his kiss, and kissed his own finger for a moment, before plunging it beneath the sheets and finding once more the warmth of her woman’s cleft.

  Now he glided over the delicate point hidden within her most private part, and she felt it awaken as his finger slid deliciously on the slickness it had brought with it. She felt as if she were made of silk—or water. She was breathing faster, responding to his probing touch with slickness of her own, and meeting the joy that was his hand by thrusting her hips. Her need for him grew with each rhythmic stroke of his fingers. She was wet and insistent with the craving he’d ignited. She gasped as her longing overwhelmed her. How could she bear such exquisite longing? Whatever could possibly make it right?

  Again, as if reading her innermost thoughts, he pulled away the sheet and sat up. Then he knelt between her legs, with his long, well-muscled torso rearing over her, and she saw once again the braided serpents that coiled around his knotted forearms. As he stroked her in the place where he’d kindled her longing, he guided his rod toward her with his other hand, and she felt it slide against her hungry wetness. It was hard and yet giving, velvety and inexorable. He slowly pushed against her opening, gently but relentlessly, until with one last thrust she felt herself tear open and receive him.

  He stopped. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, barely able to speak. The concern and kindness in his face were all she’d ever wished to see. She reached up and pulled him closer to show him without words how much she wanted him, thrusting her hips upward at the same time to drive him deeper, until he had no choice but to plow the furrow he’d made, and know that she was his.

  “Zoe,” he gasped, as he rocked gently back and forth within her, gently at first and then with increasing ardor. Each deep thrust increased the delicious torment of wanting him. She gave herself to the rhythm of it, until with a cry she yielded to a sudden overwhelming joy, as colors unfolded in waves within her, and she was whole, at last, complete, and his forever.

  He paused, giving her time to savor perfection, then with a last few fervent thrusts he convulsed within her and fell forward, embracing her still.

  When she’d floated back to earth and opened her eyes, she saw that his were closed and that his face was filled with an expression of rapture. They lay together this way for a long time. Then he gently rolled over on his side and raised himself up on one elbow. “You are my wife now. I hope you will never have reason to regret it.”

  “I could never regret it. You just made me feel as if I was the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “You are,” he said.

  “It’s your magic that has made me so.”

  “Do you wish me to remove that spell?” His eyes were soft.

  “Never. I’m coming to love your magic.” She’d come so close to telling him she loved him, too.

  He reached over and gently stroked her cheek. His touch sent streamers of light shooting up from her skin. He’d done what he’d promised. He’d made her know her beauty. She sighed with happiness and snuggled more closely against him.

  She was his wife. She would remain with him. The long uncertainty was over.

  Chapter 16

  Adam dismissed Auld Annie the next morning. He did it as gently as he could, assuring her that she would receive a generous pension and a modern stone cottage located in one of the more distant villages of his holdings. She attempted to wheedle him into reversing his decision, but when he held firm, she muttered that nothing better could be expected of a curse-born bairn than that he send his aged nurse away to die alone. At that, Adam stood up and left her with a curt command that she pack up her things and be out of the manor by noon.

  He couldn’t believe the sense of relief he felt when he knew she was gone. He walked up and down the long corridors of the manor house, feeling as if, for the first time, the air he breathed there wasn’t tainted. Silently, he blessed Zoe for her calm and earthy good sense. She’d given him the balance that he needed. He wished he had something as valuable to give her in return.

  When he’d asked her what he could give her as a morning gift, she’d replied, “You’ve given me the greatest gift already, by teaching me to believe in magic.”

  But he wanted to give her more. What would she value? Not the gowns and jewels most men gave women they loved. Those only adorned the body, but he wished to enrich her soul.

  She had asked that he rebuild the conservatory. So he would, and when it was done he would fill it with the choicest flowers, to brighten the short days of winter, even as she would brighten his long nights. But that lay in the future. What could he do for her now that would show her how much he loved her?

  Then it struck him. She’d mentioned more than once how she longed to meet her father. Perhaps he could grant her that. Now that she was Lady Ramsay with a generous estate of her own and a noble husband, perhaps the mysterious duke would be willing to acknowledge her. Adam would do all he could to make it so, but first he must find out who the man was.

  But of course, to do that he would have to apply to Isabelle, as only she could give him his answer. At that thought he almost gave up his plan. But that would be unworthy of him. If his gift were to mean anything it should cost him something. So he made his way to the office and wrote a carefully worded letter to Zoe’s mother in which he informed her of their wedding and asked her, now that her daughter was wed, if she would be so kind as to reveal to him the identity of her child’s father.

  But as he was sealing it, he had second thoughts. The truth about his wife’s birth might prove unpalatable. It wasn’t likely her father was really a duke, and even if he were, having not acknowledged her, he might wish to have no contact with his daughter. If that were the case, Adam would have to keep what he’d found from Zoe, so as not to cast a cloud over their newfound happiness. He had no wish to do that. Having just shared all his secrets with her, he had no desire to keep anything new from her. So he set the letter aside. He’d find something less risky to give her.

  As spring turned into summer, Adam continued to bless the Dark Lord for giving him such a treasure as his wife. With Zoe’s support, he was able to deal with it all—MacAlpin’s grumbles, the almost constant drizzle, and even the awareness that grew with each passing day of how badly he’d neglected his patrimony.

  He’d thought that he’d never again be able to enjoy life at Strathrimmon, haunted as it was by his sister’s memory. But now, when he spent his days exploring his holdings with his wife by his side, he saw them through her eyes, and that gave everything a freshness that made him feel what a blessing i
t was to own these green, productive acres.

  She’d been as good as her word about aiding him in his other work. When he’d begun to make weekly rounds to visit the ailing in the parish, she’d begged him to let her assist him. He’d been delighted to find that her innate practicality kept her from turning away from ugly wounds or growing faint at the sight of blood. Later, after they’d returned to the hall, she would ask him probing questions. Soon they were poring together over his choicest medical books. He was surprised how much pleasure he took in using his medical skills with her by his side. It was so much easier, now that he need no longer face the hopeless cases alone.

  At home, Zoe’s pleasure in finding herself the mistress of his ancestral manor shone forth more clearly with each passing week, now that she was confident she would be spending the rest of her life as Lady Ramsay. Hesitantly, she’d begun to suggest ways in which the older rooms might be made warmer and more homelike, though at first she’d expressed concern about putting too heavy a strain upon his purse. But once he’d assured her that his wealth, left almost untouched during the years of his travels, was sufficient for far more than the modest changes she proposed, she began to give herself full rein.

  She hired new maids and set them to washing the walls and polishing the woodwork, and called in a man to see to the smoking chimneys. She pulled down the moldering old hangings in the principal rooms and replaced them with brighter ones that let in more sun and brought out the beauty of the old wood. Though much work still remained to be done, Adam could hardly connect the cheerful home he walked through now with the somber, holland-draped chambers of his blighted childhood.

  Zoe had even found a local man who was able to turn some sketches he’d done of his sister into a painting that managed, somehow, to capture the way that she’d looked. Zoe insisted he have it opulently framed, and it hung now in the long gallery, proudly claiming for his sister the rightful place that should have been hers during her lifetime

  It was after that, that he sent Isabelle the letter he’d hidden away, the one inquiring about the identity of Zoe’s father. His wife had given him back his family. He would do the same for her. Whoever had sired her had given birth to a treasure. Ramsay must let the man know it and bring about the reunion Zoe had longed for all her life.

  As the weeks passed, his anxiety that his city-bred wife would be unhappy living in so remote a district faded. She showed no desire to leave Strathrimmon, save for the visits they made to the neighboring gentry. Though it pained him that she had only the few gowns she’d brought with her, which even he, unworldly as he was, knew did not befit her new rank, Zoe told him not to worry. There were trunks full of beautiful fabrics stored away in the attics. And sure enough, she found a bolt of sea green silk among his mother’s abandoned things, and with the skill he was coming to realize she brought to everything she did, she turned it into a gown that was a masterpiece. It showed off her slim figure to perfection and brought out the beauty of her deep brown eyes. She wore it often, and he never tired of admiring her in it.

  He vowed he would take her to London the next winter, where she could order a whole new wardrobe and jewels. When she tired of that, they’d visit all the best showrooms and choose new furniture with which to brighten the rooms of the old manor house. They’d bring home comfortable sofas and chairs, and the latest prints, to say nothing of new linens, and papers for the walls.

  Perhaps they would buy new furnishings for the nursery, too. With the amount of time they had spent in each other’s arms over these past months a child must be on the way. At that thought, he stopped, feeling a quiver of superstitious dread. His father’s plans to brighten his home had been so similar—and had foundered so tragically during his mother’s pregnancy. But he wasn’t his father, and Zoe had proved time and again how different she was from his gently raised, oversensitive mother.

  He stretched his long legs as he strode down the ancestral corridors, past the conservatory, where Zoe was busy tending the seedlings she would set out in the garden in another week, when the threat of frost was past. It was still not completely finished—workmen being what they were—but he was glad she was able to use it even in its current unfinished state. Given her love for flowers, perhaps they might make a brief excursion to Glasgow later this fall when the harvest was done. There they could find some botanical prints with which to brighten up the saloon. He relished the thought of such improvements. There was so much for the two of them to do together, here in his home, and he took such unexpected pleasure in doing it.

  He’d never known that ordinary life could contain such richness. Only the other night Zoe had asked him when he planned to go to Iskeny and claim the Dark Lord’s heritage. The answer that had leapt to his lips had been “Never.”

  He had all he’d ever wanted here. He’d learned, at last, to find happiness in his own heritage here on these Ramsay lands. The thought of receiving the Final Teaching no longer moved him, for he no longer hungered to know the secrets of the universe. He was satisfied to explore the simple things he’d ignored for so long, the human things.

  But of course, some day he would have to go to Iskeny. He owed his teacher that. But he was grateful that, in his wisdom, the Dark Lord had given him this year and a day before he must take on the ancient burden, and even more grateful for the most precious gift his teacher had given him, his bride.

  Adam’s reverie was broken by the sound of a vehicle clattering to a standstill outside the manor. He wondered which of their neighbors was dropping by to pay a call. He made a point of being at home to everyone from the neighborhood who might seek him out, as he intended to rebuild the connections his mother had severed with the local families. As he made his way down the staircase, he heard a woman’s raised voice outside. Perhaps the mistress of the neighboring estate had come to pay a call. But the vehicle he glimpsed through the window was a rough cart such as a farmer might use to go to market. Their visitor must be one of the local people needing doctoring, not a member of their local circle of polite society.

  But closer inspection revealed that their visitor was not a member of any polite society. For the woman swathed in diaphanous rose muslin with her hair done up in the latest London fashion, who was engaged now in a loud and bitter altercation with the stolid farmer who drove the cart, was none other than Zoe’s mother, Isabelle.

  Adam’s throat constricted. When he’d sent her the letter asking about Zoe’s father less than two weeks ago, it had never occurred to him she’d respond to it by paying them a visit. But she had, so he must do his best to welcome her.

  He swallowed hard and strode outside to greet her, just as Isabelle ended her exchange with the farmer by disdainfully extracting two coins from her purse and flinging them at his feet. She sprang from the box on which she’d been perched, and, as her feet touched the ground, pulled herself to her full height. After adjusting her gown, she swept majestically toward the door. Like an automaton, Adam opened it for her.

  “These peasants!” she cried. “Because I am dressed à la mode and have the air of the Town they think they can cheat me, I who was born in the countryside and know all their ways. Hein! That one has learned his lesson. I paid him half a crown and nothing more. The cost of the journey was ruinous enough. Do you know what they charge to ride on the mail coach? It is a scandale.”

  She held up her reticule and with a flourish turned it upside down. “See, I have not a penny left. That robber has taken my last farthing.” Then lowering her long lashes over her childish blue eyes, she continued, “But surely you don’t wish to hear my sad complaints. It must be enough that I am here.” She adjusted her face into a dazzling smile, as wide as it was insincere, and then, as if she’d just realized to whom she was speaking, opened her arms wide to embrace Adam, murmuring, “Mon beau-fils!”

  My son-in-law.

  “Belle-mère,” he responded woodenly, though with the utmost politeness.

  But welcoming her didn’t come easily. The lush, mu
sky perfume she wore nauseated him. He could barely keep himself from turning away from the rounded, childlike face she turned up toward him, its look of calculation barely disguised.

  “I trust I am not intruding on the nest of the birds of love?” she said archly. “But ever since I learn that my only child is wed—and to a lord!—I have been longing to see her in her new ménage. And such a beautiful ménage it is!” She craned her neck toward the high, groined ceiling of the entranceway, then turned to inspect the portraits that lined the stairwell. “Those must have cost a pretty penny! But of course,” she added, in a tone of sudden uncertainty, “perhaps I’m not welcome in your so distinguished home?”

  Zoe had joined them in the entry hall, and hastened to reassure her. “Of course you’re welcome, Mama. But why didn’t you send ahead to tell us you were coming? We would have sent the coachman to meet you at the mail stage.”

  “Pah, you know I can’t write, and even if I could, I wished to surprise you. For perhaps you would not be so happy to see your poor mother. When Eugenie Marvelle’s daughter married the earl, her protector, he would never allow her mother or her brothers into their home.”

  “Well, that isn’t at all surprising, since Eugenie’s boys were the most accomplished cracksmen in London. He must have feared for his plate. But surely you didn’t expect me to turn you out after you’d come all this way to see me.”

  “I did not know,” Isabelle admitted plaintively. “I wasn’t sure that you would welcome me after what happened the last time we were together.”

  She favored Adam with a telling glare before turning back to her daughter. “You were so vexed with me, were you not? You didn’t trust your mother, though I had your best interests at heart. Though, as usual, all your worries were for naught. All has worked out for the very best, though why that should be is a wonder, when you will never listen to your mother. Still, what a coup it is that you, who everyone thought must end up as nothing, so ugly, and with no charm or address, may style yourself a baroness!” Isabelle smiled as happily as if she’d arranged the match herself.