There she stood.
The words he was forming to greet her with upstairs withered, forgotten on his tongue as he gawked helplessly at the vision before him. His eyes drank in the sight of her as if trying to quench some inexorable thirst. But somewhere deep inside him, Ambrose knew that there was no relief.
Though her raven hair was short and her expression challenging, she was all woman beneath. She was clad in a soft yellow dress that draped off both her shoulders, leaving them pleasantly—no, exquisitely bare. He was certain his mother had worn the same dress, but somehow Elizabeth looked quite different in it. And wonderfully so.
Ambrose’s eyes traveled the surface of the exposed shoulders to the full curves of her breasts and then up again to the ivory splendor of her throat. And as he returned again to that beautiful face, so full of challenge, so full of life, he felt that familiar stirring in his loins.
Elizabeth smiled. Ambrose was wearing black. His blond hair was tied back, but the strands that spilled onto the ebony velvet of his doublet gleamed in the light of the room. The fine hose that displayed the contoured muscles of his legs was also black, so only the gold chain that hung about his neck and the puffy white sleeves that pushed through slits in the arms of the doublet offered any contrast to the image of power that emanated from his richly dark attire. Just standing in his presence, Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken.
Ambrose had to control an overpowering urge to pull her into his arms at once and devour her whole.
Elizabeth pushed past him and stepped into the room. She did not have to look to know that he followed close behind. The sound of the door closing behind them made her shiver as emotion and anticipation mingled in a volatile mix.
Like some huge and fragrant oak with branches that spread around her, Ambrose Macpherson had, even in his absence, dominated her world for a long time—indeed, he affected her very senses. Now she could not stop herself from melting inside at the thought of how it would feel to hold him, to kiss him, to feel the very weight of him.
Elizabeth was obsessed with him.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she gathered herself and stood waiting in the middle of the spacious chamber. The room was warm, and the small wood fire crackling noisily in the hearth was comforting and homelike. The shaggy gray hound trotted over to inspect her and, satisfied with the gentle pat he received, settled himself once again by the fire.
So what are you afraid of? Elizabeth asked herself. Four years ago, she had been ready to give herself to this man. She had even thought, momentarily, that the mere physical attraction that she had felt for him could carry her through the act. But now...now she felt a longing that far exceeded what she felt then. Now, something else pressed at the breath in her lungs.
Tonight, walking to this room, stepping within his arms’ reach, was a dream. A long-awaited dream. She had waited long enough. She knew that. But she also knew that she had waited for him.
There were many things she had for-gone in her life. But this was one thing she would not turn her back on. For now he wanted her, and she had made up her mind that he would have what he desired.
Ambrose bit back his smile as he leaned against the door and watched her turn and face him. She was struggling, he could tell. His silent scrutiny was unnerving her.
He let his eyes once again peruse every aspect of her dress, her body, her face. She avoided his gaze. There was a pink blush that had spread across her beautiful face. She looked exquisite and...so innocent.
“Do you approve?” Her voice trembled slightly as she glanced briefly at him.
He nodded silently.
“This dress...” She looked down and caught sight of her partially exposed breast. She looked away quickly and crossed her arms in front of her. “It’s so beautiful. My wearing it simply doesn’t do the garment justice.”
Upon hearing no response, she turned her gaze to him. He remained where he was, leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. She looked down at her own pose. Mirror images. They were standing the same way. She dropped her hands to her sides at once.
“You look beautiful.”
She waited for more. But he said no more. Uncertain of what to do next, Elizabeth glanced anxiously at the baron again. Truthfully, she had come downstairs fully prepared to be ravished on the nearest table. And she had decided that would perhaps have been the easiest solution for both of them. That way, she would never have time to dawdle over the rights and wrongs of the act.
And there would be no time to reveal to him the truth.
The truth that she was not the woman he thought her to be. The truth that Jaime was not her daughter. The truth that she was a virgin. And the most troublesome truth of all—that she simply hadn’t a clue about how to make love to him.
She was afraid.
And now she found that his flattering expression, his bold blue eyes, his smiling compliments were beginning to irk her. She wished he would do something.
“Hungry?”
“For food?” she questioned hesitantly.
“Aye, I’m starved.”
Starved? For food? She nearly snapped. What’s wrong with this man? she wondered. Let’s get on with it! Elizabeth turned away from him, disgusted with herself for not having more knowledge of the game of love, more experience in dealing with men...on this level. “I have no appetite.”
She glanced around again as Ambrose moved toward her. He was smiling confidently. “For food, I assume.”
She held her breath. At last.
He took hold of her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Too bad.” He started toward a door on the other end of the room.
Unable to stop herself in time, Elizabeth held back, resisting gently. “Where are you taking me?”
“To a room beside the great hall. To watch me eat.” He paused, taking a firmer grip on her hand. “Unless you would prefer to have dinner served here in this room.”
Elizabeth scanned the room quickly. There were chairs, a table by the fireplace, a reed mat on the floor. Her eyes lingered on the mat. It looked comfortable enough. And they were alone. “Here. I prefer it here.”
She allowed him to escort her to the table. He sat her in a chair and moved away.
Elizabeth watched him as he strode to a door and spoke briefly with someone just outside.
No longer having his intense blue eyes on her, Elizabeth felt she could breath once again. She had to get control of herself and her emotions. She looked about the room, noticing for the first time the marvelous paintings that adorned each wall. Rising to her feet at once, she crossed over to them and studied each canvas one by one. They were mostly the works of Europe’s most renowned painters.
Ambrose gestured for the servant who had spread the food on the trestle table to leave them. With a cordial bow, the man departed.
As he moved behind her, the baron could tell that she once again was feeling at ease. Lost in the artwork of the lodge, she was in her element. He smiled. Fate had played a trick on him.
He studied her profile, the faint line of the scar that barely showed on her perfect skin. She smelled of wildflowers in an open field. His eyes caressed her slender neck. The soft curls that came short of hiding the exquisite splendor of her ivory skin. He could almost taste that skin under his lips. He wanted her so much that it hurt.
Elizabeth heard him come near. Then she felt the gentle touch of his lips on the skin of her neck. She looked down and saw his large hands encircle her waist. She leaned back against his strong body.
“It’s time,” he said huskily.
She turned slowly in his embrace. Facing him. Holding her heart in her hand.
“Aye. The food is here, Elizabeth. It’s time to eat.”
Elizabeth reached up, placing her fingers around his thick neck. She wanted to strangle him. “Why are you doing this to me?” The sound of his laugh soothed her heart.
“Doing what?” he protested coyly, as he pushed her hands behind his neck and cr
ushed her to his chest. His lips came down and brushed fleetingly across hers.
“Making me wait like this. Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted to make love to me.” She concentrated on the cleft of his strong chin. “What are you waiting for? When are we going to...do it?”
Ambrose looked at her with raised eyebrows. “A wee bit impatient, wouldn’t you say, lass?”
“If you’re going to pretend that you did not bring me here to make love to me, then you are a liar, Ambrose Macpherson.”
“Nay. But our lovemaking can wait, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps until we’ve eaten some of this fine food. Then drunk some wine. Then we’ll go for a walk outside. There is full moon out there, you know. Then I might be able to persuade the gardener to cut you some fresh flowers—”
“Stop it!” She yanked her hands from behind his neck and struck him solidly in his chest with her fist. “Why must you go on like this? And don’t tell me this is some Scottish courting ritual. I know it’s probably the same thing you’ve used on all the women you bring to this place.”
Ambrose paused and looked teasingly into her face. “Nay, Elizabeth. I’m not courting you. And for your information, I don’t play games like that with women. I have no need for it. In fact, by the time I’ve closed the door to this room behind them, we’ve already made love twice in the bedchambers and once on the stairway.”
She pushed at his chest and tried to get away. He wouldn’t let her. She punched at his chest once again. She was hurt. He ensnared her hands with his own. She gave up her struggle.
“Then why?” Elizabeth whispered. “Why are you doing this to me? If you are so disappointed—if you don’t want me—then why don’t you just let me go. Why did you bring me here, anyway?”
“To make love to you. To ravish you. To make you forget everything and everyone. To hear you cry out my name with more feeling than a she-wolf howls in the light of the full moon.”
Elizabeth shuddered in his arms as she hung on his every word.
“But first—” Ambrose smiled mischievously— “I have to give you a taste of what you’ve given me. That’s all. Waiting, Elizabeth. Waiting. The agony of wanting someone. The physical pain of languishing ever so patiently without really knowing for sure if she intends to go through with it. I’ve waited for you for quite some time now, my sweet. Shall we turn the tables? You see, two can play that game, lass. And now, shall I make you wait as I have?”
“This is quite different, m’lord. I’m here tonight at my own free will. I want to be here in your arms. This is no fate or accident that has thrown us together. I’m here because I want to be here.”
“You have never been in my arms any other way, but still—”
“I want you, Ambrose.” Elizabeth placed a hand gently on his lips, silencing him. “I want you now. Please take me.”
He stood still, looking at her.
She moved her hand away from his lips and caressed his cheek. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the line of his cheekbone, and then she touched the scar that crossed his forehead. “I will not put a stop to this lovemaking. I’ll not make you wait again. Ever. That I promise.”
Elizabeth stood on tiptoe and kissed the point of his chin.
Ambrose tightened his grip. Whom did he think he was fooling? He couldn’t wait any more than she could. He watched her eyes close as she brushed his lips, his face with light kisses. His body, coming alive at her nearness, pressed seductively against hers. His hand moved up and cupped her breast through the soft fabric.
Elizabeth shuddered at the feel of his hand and opened her eyes. Like the sky in spring, the blue of his eyes glistened as he gazed into her face. Reaching behind his neck and removing the leather thong that bound his blond hair, Elizabeth ran her hands gently through the thick flaxen locks.
Ambrose found himself lost in her eyes. He wanted her more than the air he breathed. What he’d said earlier of waiting all faded quickly into oblivion. What was it about this woman’s touch?
But Elizabeth lowered her eyes, feeling her skin burn at her own awkwardness.
“I, too, have waited,” she whispered, laying her face against the soft dark velvet of the doublet. “I, too, have suffered.”
Ambrose lowered his eyes and placed his lips in her ebony hair. My God, he wanted her. He couldn’t wait.
“We have such little time together,” she continued. She turned her gaze upward again, her eyes searching his face for a sign. “Tomorrow we will be back with others, and this dream will all come to an end.”
“Is this a dream, lass?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know what it is!” she whispered. “I’m living the life of a man, but the feelings that threaten to burst out of my every pore tell me I am a woman. I don’t know what is a dream or what is real. But I do know one thing, Ambrose. I want you.”
“Waiting—” he began.
“Nay!” she broke in, her voice quiet but clear. “Let’s not waste this moment with bad feelings and grudges.”
As Elizabeth lifted her lips, his mouth descended on hers.
Ambrose slid his fingers into her hair as he crushed her mouth to his. He’d begun to say that waiting was a fool’s game. But that thought was gone—dispersed in the moment like smoke in the wind. Now he had one purpose in mind. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to show her the reality of what she should believe. She was a woman. A very desirable woman. Certainly she was a talented painter—she had that to be proud of. But now he wanted her to know how much they needed to be only themselves. A man and a woman. No pretense, no façade, just themselves.
They had so much time to make up for.
Ambrose lifted her in his arms as he headed for the door. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her mouth resting on the skin of his neck.
“Not here?” she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Nay, lass.” The Highlander smiled back at her and pushed through the door. “Nor on the stairway, either.”
Chapter 23
The massive oak door swung easily on its hinges as the two swept into the room. Ambrose kicked the door shut with his foot as he carried her to the bed.
All the way up the wide stairway and through the long corridor, Elizabeth’s mouth had never left his. Kissing him, she had been coaxing him on until they had burst into the bedchamber.
He was mad with desire.
There was no thought of gentle caresses, soft touches, beautiful words. Elizabeth tore at his velvet doublet, searching for the feel of his skin. She urged him on, and he followed her passionate demands with wild abandon.
Ambrose whipped the comforter from her bed and dropped her into the billows of down as he detached his mouth from her lips. A momentary flash of conscious thought told him that he should step away, slow this reckless pace. If he could only pause for a breath, regain control of his discipline, of his desire. Then, gazing down at her, he could see the clouds of passion in her eyes. Her hair spread in disarray on the smooth white linen, and her flesh showed above the top of her pulled-down dress.
He knew there was no hope. Lowering himself onto her, he was ready to take all that she wanted to give.
Elizabeth couldn’t lie still. Her mind raced into a thousand new worlds, worlds she’d seen only in her most vivid and wondrous dreams. Her heart pounded wildly, her blood roared in her head. She pushed at his clothes and grasped him by the neck, wanting him closer against her body.
“Take me, Ambrose. Please! Take me now.”
There was no thought beyond the actions of their hands. Mindless to anything else but the fulfillment they each sought, they tore at one another’s clothes. Elizabeth felt Ambrose rise from her and then saw him above her, stripping the doublet and shirt from his upper body in a single motion. She tried to reach for the tie that belted his hose, but instead fell back as she felt herself dragged by the ankle to the edge of the bed. There he stood, and Elizabeth looked up to his handsome face, his eyes burning with desire.
> Ambrose pushed her dress up to her waist as he freed himself. The soft silk of her undergarment tore in his hands. He was lost in his abandon. All discipline crumbled like spent tinder before the flames of carnal need.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. His fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her closer, spreading her legs apart and moving between them. “Only this once, we’ll not take our time.”
Clinging to the sheet, she raised her hips to him as he pressed into her soft, moist folds. “Take me, Ambrose.”
In a single motion, he plunged deep within her.
Elizabeth let out a sharp cry as she reached up and grabbed him around the neck. She was seized with a momentary shock of pain. She gasped for breath and held him.
My God, he thought, she was a virgin. The thought cut like the cold, keen blade of a knife into a brain dulled and confused by the fires of desire. Ambrose took a deep breath and tried not to move. He was fully rooted within her. The tightness of her threatened to kill him. But still he remained motionless. His heart hammered against his chest, and his breath was coming in short, quick pants.
Then, gently, the Highlander lowered her to the bed. “You were a virgin,” he growled.
“Don’t hold it against me,” she whispered, trying to lighten his scowl. The pain was beginning to subside. She ran her fingers caressingly over his chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Looking down at her passion-filled eyes, he saw a tear break away from the corner of her eye and disappear into her dark hairline. “Jaime. Whose daughter is Jaime?”
“Please don’t be angry,” Elizabeth pleaded in a ragged voice as she saw the fierce light in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all you want to know. I’m sorry.” She covered her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”
He looked down at the woman stretched in his arms. He was the first man to lay with her. Without being able to explain it, he felt a deep sense of pride.
Heart of Gold Page 23
