Beautiful, so very beautiful, he thought. His whole body shuddered with desire as his fingers slipped into her wetness, stroking her. She cried out, her body writhing beneath his. She would not stop him this time—not tonight. At last she would be his. Entirely his.
Not yet, he told himself, despite the proof that she was ready enough for him, eager for him, perhaps. Such knowledge nearly made him weep with relief.
He rolled over and pulled her atop him, onto his lap. She looked up in confusion, her face flushed a delicious pink. Combing his fingers through her hair, he fanned the silky tresses across her shoulders, then drew his finger across her collarbone, eliciting a shiver. Slowly, teasingly, he trailed his fingertips lower still, across the gentle swell of one rose-tipped breast. Then he stopped, watching her.
Her eyes flew open at once. “Dinna stop now, Colin.”
“No?” he drawled, the restraint nearly killing him.
“Nay. Though I must confess, so far this is naught like I’ve heard marital relations described. Are ye sure ye know what ye are doing, Colin?” she asked, her eyes dancing mischievously.
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing, my sweet,” he answered, encircling one engorged nipple with his thumb and forefinger, kneading it.
“I suppose I must take your word, then. Still, perhaps the tales I heard were greatly exaggerated.”
“Do you think so?” Dipping his head, he took the nipple between his teeth, ever so gently. An almost-primitive sound escaped her lips as she tipped her head back.
He leisurely drew the taut skin into his mouth, suckling gently at first. “What do you think now?” he asked, drawing away.
“Nay, perhaps ‘twas no exaggeration.” She moaned softly as he took her in his mouth once more, suckling her more insistently now.
“Oh, Colin!” she cried out, squirming against him and working him to a fever pitch as her bottom rubbed teasingly against his swollen shaft.
He could hold out no longer. He had to have her—now. He rolled over, braced above her, his eyes meeting hers, seeking permission. The desire he saw in their depths nearly took his breath away. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of damp hair from her cheek, her skin hot and moist beneath his fingers. “Brenna, I...This is sure to hurt you. I’ll do what I can to—”
“Quickly,” came her breathless reply. “I canna wait any longer.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth in an effort to gain control of his lust. For if he did not, her words alone were likely to push him over the edge. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, to take his time, he pressed the tip of his phallus against her entry. Her soft moan of reply was nearly his undoing, yet slowly, carefully, he entered her. Hot, wet, tight—a multitude of exquisite sensations rushed over him, stealing away his breath.
His eyes scoured her face, wanting to memorize every detail, every expression. Her gaze met his, showing no fear, no reticence.
Trailing his fingertips along the side of her face, he pressed forward a measure until he met the proof of his wife’s innocence.
She gasped as he pressed against the barrier. Before he had the chance to react, she clasped him to her, tilting her hips so that he was fully sheathed inside her in one single stroke. “Oh!” she cried out sharply, then went still beneath him.
Clutching her to him, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. He studied her face, his heart near to bursting. If he’d hurt her, if—
Her eyes flew open, and a smile spread slowly across her face, dimpling her cheeks. At once she was moving atop him, her eyes glowing with determination.
“Say my name,” he growled between thrusts, suddenly desperate to hear his name on her lips. “Please.”
“Colin,” she responded breathlessly.
He felt himself move closer to the edge. “Say it again.”
“Colin. Oh, Colin, what’s happening, I...”
He couldn’t help but increase the speed, pulling her onto him with as much force as he could, her name tumbling from his lips, over and over again.
At once she cried out, and he felt her begin to quiver. She threw back her head and moaned—and then he felt it, her body pulsating against his deeply buried shaft, carrying him over the edge into mindless ecstasy. He clutched her body to his as his seed spilled into her, their bodies slick with sweat, burning with the heat of the fire they’d stoked.
Brenna gasped for breath, gazing up at her husband in wonderment. “Oh, my. That was...” She trailed off, shaking her head in astonishment. Lovely, her mind supplied. Extraordinary. Yet she couldn’t seem to make her lips form the words.
He kissed her forehead, then pulled her closer still, his heart beating furiously in rhythm with her own. “You’re trembling,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”
“Only for the briefest moment, Colin. ‘Twas worth it, I assure ye.”
She rolled off him, shivering as the cool air swept across her skin. Colin reached across her and plucked up the folds of her night rail from the carpet. “Here,” he said gruffly, helping her pull it over her head, then gathering her into his lap. “A bit cold this morning, isn’t it?” He reached up to the bed and pulled a blanket down across them. “I’d carry you to bed, but I’m afraid my legs won’t support me right now.”
Brenna’s easy smile disappeared. He’d been drunk. Angry. She’d nearly forgotten, so lost was she in the pleasure of their coupling. “We ought not to have done that, ye know.”
“And might I ask why not? We are husband and wife. I daresay it’s perfectly acceptable. High time, in fact.”
“Must I list the reasons? You’re drunk, for one.”
He smiled wickedly. “Obviously not so drunk, eh?”
“And two,” she continued, ignoring his remark, “because we were both so verra angry.”
“True,” he said, grasping her chin and forcing her gaze to meet his. “And yet I do not regret it, making love to you. Not the slightest bit.”
She considered his words, then shook her head. “Nay, nor do I.”
“Good. Truly, Brenna, I was near enough sober by the time I came home.”
She swallowed hard, gathering her courage for what she was about to say. “Colin, I think perhaps...perhaps ye drink too much.” She felt him stiffen beneath her, his whole body rigid against hers. “’Tis nothing to be ashamed of, but some men canna handle their spirits, and—”
“Enough, Brenna.”
“But ye must see that—”
“I will not discuss this.” He drew away from her as if he wished to distance himself. “I’m near enough exhausted, and I will not allow you to draw me into an argument. Not now.”
Brenna’s brows drew together in annoyance. “If ye hadna stayed out all night, gambling away our living, ye might not be so exhausted.”
“Touché,” he muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
She tipped her chin in the air. “Nay, there willna be a next time. No more gambling.”
He actually smiled down at her, his eyes heavy lidded. “You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you? No wonder Glenbroch has fared so well.” His hands slid up her sides, moving to cup her breasts, his thumbs massaging her still-sensitive nipples through the fabric of her nightdress. “Speaking of next time...” he trailed off, his smile a lascivious one.
Brenna marveled at the way in which he skillfully changed the subject. Still, her body could not help but respond to his touch. He sent shivers of delight racing down her spine, gooseflesh rising on her skin in the wake of his deft fingers. There was no doubt he knew just what to do to make her bend to his wishes. She had to admire such skill.
Her husband was an experienced lover; ‘twas expected, of course. Still, the knowledge sent a pang of jealousy straight through her heart. Was she not the first bride who couldn’t help but imagine her husband with the lovers who had come before her? Imagining them far more beautiful, more skilled, than she was?
She sighed, tipping her head back to allow him further access as his mouth m
oved to her throat, trailing hot, wet kisses across her skin.
“Have you any idea how very beautiful, how very desirable you are, Mrs. Rosemoor?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper beside her ear.
Her worries slipped effortlessly away, replaced by the wondrous sensations now coursing through her as he lifted her night rail, his mouth following the trail of the silk up her body.
***
“A girl? Are you certain? How lovely.” Colin heard Lucy’s soft laughter coming from Brenna’s bedchamber, and he stopped short in the hallway. Amazing. Nothing like baby talk to forge a solid bond between two females. With a smile, Colin moved toward the door, which had been left slightly ajar, and peered inside.
What the devil? Lucy was reclined on the blue velvet settee by the window with Brenna kneeling before her, something shiny clasped in her hand and suspended above Lucy’s abdomen. Whatever the object was, it was swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
“Thank you,” Lucy said, reaching for Brenna’s hand. “I cannot tell you how much this means to me. A daughter!”
“I only hope I’m right.” Brenna stopped the object’s movement and clutched it in her palm. “I’m woefully out of practice.”
“Do you think we could ask the babe’s date of birth? I’d like to be prepared.”
“Why not?” Brenna dangled the object before Lucy’s reclining form once more.
Colin shouldered his way through the doorway. “What the devil are you doing to her, Brenna?”
Whatever Brenna had been holding aloft clattered to the floor.
“Colin!” Lucy called out, sitting up in haste and smoothing her skirts. “You startled us.”
Brenna shook her head and blinked rapidly, reaching for the object and clutching it in her palm. “I was just...that is, we were only—”
“Dowsing,” Lucy supplied with a smile.
“What the h—” he broke off, reining in the curse. “Pardon me. What in God’s name is dolsing?”
“Not dolsing, Colin.” Lucy waved a hand at him. “Dowsing, you fool.”
He looked to Brenna, whose cheeks had pinkened considerably.
“Pray, enlighten me.”
“The ancient art of divination,” Brenna said brightly. “Ye use a pendulum. Well, in this case I’m using Lucy’s wedding ring.” She opened her hand to reveal a shiny gold band attached to a thin black cord. “Normally one would use a pendulum of some sort—I’ve a drop of amethyst at home—to find sources of water, lost objects, or even to foretell the future. I was just...well, ‘tis also used to determine the sex of an unborn child, and Lucy was curious, so—”
Colin’s eyes widened in surprise. “So you were employing some sort of witchcraft on Lucy? Some type of ancient sorcery?”
“Nay, not witchcraft. ‘Tis not magic, not really.” Brenna tilted her head to one side and bit her lower lip, as if she was carefully considering his suggestion. “Well, perhaps a bit of white magic, but nothing more. ‘Tis harmless, really. Just a useful skill passed from one generation to the next. My nursemaid Jenny taught me, much to my mam—much to Lady Maclachlan’s despair. Lady Maclachlan refused to believe in such things, ye see.”
“Lady Maclachlan sounds like a reasonable woman.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Colin, you do realize you sound like a horse’s arse, don’t you?” she asked.
“I sound like a...” He broke off, shaking his head in amazement. “Does your husband allow you to speak in such a manner?”
“My husband allows me to say and do as I please, Colin Rosemoor.” Lucy’s emerald eyes flashed angrily. “He doesn’t make silly judgments and pronouncements based in ignorance. Well, not anymore, that is,” she corrected. “Nor does he slink about, eavesdropping on private conversations conducted behind closed doors.”
“I wasn’t slinking, and I’ll have you know the door was open,” Colin retorted, reaching up to loosen his cravat.
Brenna’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Perhaps a quarter of an inch, no more.” Both women advanced on him, their hands planted on their hips.
Bloody hell, they were ganging up on him. “I’ll leave you to your counsel, then.” Colin took several steps backward toward the door.
“Aye, ye shall,” Brenna said. “Didna ye say ye had urgent business to attend to?”
“Er, yes. I do.”
“And you won’t breathe a word of this to Henry,” Lucy added with a scowl. “I’d like to surprise him. Let him wonder how it is that I can accurately predict the gender of our children.”
“Just chalk it up to female intuition,” Brenna suggested.
“Exactly. Good day, Colin.” Lucy dismissed him with a nod.
Colin took another step backward, catching his boot on the bedpost and stumbling awkwardly before catching his balance.
Both women turned their backs to him, laughing softly as they linked arms and glided back toward the chaise. Brenna cast one last glance over her shoulder, her aquamarine eyes shining as she smiled sweetly at him.
Colin turned and strode out, more gracefully this time, his boots tapping the floorboards as he hurried down the corridor toward the stairs, grinning like a fool.
At last, everything seemed perfectly right in his life. Perhaps fate was finally on his side.
***
Colin’s step was light as he headed down Gracechurch Street toward Cheapside’s strand of shops, whistling a happy tune as he made his way through the boisterous crowd. He was in love—truly in love this time. He could no longer deny it. The sentiment had been there, lurking in his heart all along. Only he’d dared not name it, fearing he could never have her. Only now, now that she was his, could he acknowledge such feelings. Welcome feelings, indeed.
His heart sang with pleasure at the memories of their coupling. Not surprisingly, Brenna had been an enthusiastic lover, willing and eager. She’d displayed no virginal shyness, despite the evidence he’d seen of her innocence, now staining his bedsheets. She’d left him no doubt she’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. What man wouldn’t long for a woman like her—passionate, intelligent, amusing? Together, they would start anew, a fresh beginning. And, by God, he wouldn’t destroy it this time.
He hurried his step, eager to meet with Nigel so that he could return posthaste to his wife’s side. He could hardly bear to be apart from her, yet it was time to tell Nigel to cease his efforts as far as Ballard and Sinclair were concerned. Colin had lost the urge to expose the men for what they were. Despite a hint of rumor that a waiter at White’s was somehow involved, no further information had come to light. He couldn’t allow Brenna to come forward with the information she’d overheard, and, without a confession, they were at an impasse.
Time to move forward, to forget the unfortunate past and create their own future. Time would prove him trustworthy again, and, until that time, they’d remain busy building a life together. He would take his place in Parliament, stay away from gaming hells, and prove himself worthy once more—worthy of his wife’s respect. Her trust. Her forgiveness. And, dare he hope it? Her love.
If only he hadn’t imprudently lost so much blunt at the tables last night. What piss-poor timing on his part. Worse still, his losses were likely heavier than he imagined, as he had nothing but hazy memories of the evening’s conclusion. He vaguely remembered sitting across from Harold Mifflin, cursing the ever-fickle Lady Luck. Next thing he remembered he was in a hired hack with Staunton, headed toward Rosemoor House at the first light of dawn. He only hoped Brenna would forgive him his foolishness. He would make it up to her, make it right. Somehow.
At last reaching his destination, he ducked beside the same curiosities shop where he and Nigel had last met. One of these days he’d actually have to step inside the shop and inspect the wares. If the oddities in the window were any indication, it certainly looked to be an interesting establishment.
“Well, it’s Viscount Rosemoor now, isn’t it?” Nigel said, clapping him on the shoulder. At once his joviality faded as
he no doubt remembered just how Colin had come into the title. “My deepest condolences on the loss of your father,” he added soberly.
“Thank you,” Colin muttered.
“Yet my heartiest felicitations on your marriage.” Nigel brightened once more. “I should have been there, you know. Standing up for you. I’ve grown weary of this blasted business, this pretense.”
“As have I, Nigel. Which is precisely why I asked to meet you today. I’m through with this.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean what’s done is done. Enough searching for evidence against Ballard and Sinclair. I’m willing to let it be.”
“You would let them get away with this, the bloody bastards? I cannot believe you would simply give up.”
“I’m not giving up, Nigel. I’m simply moving forward. I have a wife now, Parliamentary duties, estates to manage.”
“And a mark on your honor. Can you forget that?” Nigel reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, then dabbed at his brow.
Colin shoved his hands into his pockets. “Time will prove me honorable again. Besides, in many ways they’ve done me a favor. Kept me from marrying Miss Lyttle-Brown, didn’t they? If not for them, I might have made the single biggest mistake of my life, and I wouldn’t be married to Brenna now. I say, I’m almost grateful to the bastards.”
“But we’re so close to exposing them. I’ve obtained some new information, a new lead.”
“Go on,” Colin urged. “Though it’s not likely to affect my decision.”
Nigel nodded. “One of Sinclair’s employees. Correction, former employees. A footman. He overheard several mentions of a bargain the pair had struck. The two apparently got in quite a row when you managed to...ahem, after your engagement to the Danville’s daughter was announced. It would seem that your wife played some role in the bargain.”
“This is old news. Brenna herself discovered as much.”
Undressed (Undone by Love) Page 23
