Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  He groaned, deep and ferocious, and her knees weakened.

  “Jo,” he murmured against her lips.

  She couldn’t stop herself from entwining her tongue with his. He sparred, then sucked her into his mouth. Her stomach did a flip. Her father would never allow Nicholas to cry off if she gave him her virginity. She had to stop this, stop him. His hand slid down her back and over the curve of her buttocks, and he undulated his arousal against her abdomen.

  Her head spun. What was that spell he cast over her? Her defenses—her resolve—had gone weak to the core. His fingers tightened on her derrière and he thrust against her again. In the next moment, he was backing her up. Her legs bumped into the couch and he lowered her onto the cushion. His body came down on hers, his weight pressing her down, one heavy thigh between her legs. This wasn’t the young man’s rise to passion as it had been when she’s been seventeen, and was well beyond the heart-stopping kiss they’d shared on the balcony a month ago. This raw male need demanded what had long been denied. What belonged to him.

  His tongue thrust unhurriedly into her mouth while he slid a hand over the curve of her breast. Josephine shivered, all too aware of the hard ridge of his erection against her mons. He slid his mouth along her jaw, then her neck, and still lower. His lips grazed the rise of one breast and she gripped his shoulders. He teased, gently nipping at the flesh. When he levered himself up onto an elbow and grasped the first hook on her corset, panic shot through her.

  “Nick,” she cried. “We can’t.”

  But he silenced her with a kiss, and in seconds had undone the hooks on her corset. Her breasts sprang free, taut against her chemise. He came down fully on top of her, and kissed her again, hard and without mercy.

  Through the muddle in her brain, she became aware of his warm palm covering a breast. The thin fabric of her chemise offered little protection against the heat of his flesh. He grazed a thumb over her nipple and a delicious sensation connected directly with the juncture between her legs. His fingers, long, warm, and strong kneaded the flesh, and she couldn’t bear the sensation. He thrust his rod against her mons and she suddenly understood the true danger was in the demand he was creating inside her, in that secret place that she had for so many years dreamed he might one day touch.

  He broke the kiss and before she realized his intent, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and drew on the pink bud through the fabric. Pleasure shuddered through her. This was nothing at all like what Lord Beaumond had done to her. He’d pulled down her bodice and stared at the rise of her breasts above the corset as he unfastened his trousers. It had begun just as she’d hoped, quick and without emotion. Another moment and he would have taken her maidenhead without ceremony—and without any of the pleasure that was bombarding her senses now.

  Nicholas shifted, then grasped her thigh. Cool air wafted across her legs and she realized he was pulling up her petticoats and skirt. She started when his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh. He stroked higher. A shiver rippled through her. A finger slid between the slit of her drawers and rubbed her lightly. Josephine gasped. Nick released her breast and kissed her again, this time gently. She shoved her hands beneath his coat and around his back. Muscle rippled beneath her fingertips. He groaned and eased his shaft along her thigh while still stroking the place between her legs.

  Jo writhed beneath him, half desperate to break free of the overwhelming sensations and needing release so badly it hurt. But he caged her with the weight of his body, rubbing her a little quicker while flicking his tongue against her mouth. His breath came in short pants and Josephine vaguely realized that desire was heating his blood. Panic rose to the top. This mustn’t happen. She couldn’t bear to hurt him this way.

  She turned her head aside, breaking the kiss. “Nicholas we mustn’t.”

  “You would have with Beaumond,” he said in a savage voice. “You can with me. Did he make you feel this way?”

  The demand startled her.

  Nicholas eased a finger inside her and began an in and out motion that brought an onslaught of new sensations.

  “I should have done this long ago,” he said, without faltering in his rhythm.

  “No,” she choked, and was caught off guard by a wave of pleasure that crashed into her center.

  Jo began to tremble. He stroked her sensitive nub with his thumb. Pleasure surged through. She rocked against his hand, unable to stop the blinding need that made her want him inside her, stretching her, taking what she longed to give him. She felt his warm breath in her cheek and tightened her arms around his back.

  “I love you, Jo,” he whispered.

  Then she fell over the edge.

  “Nicholas,” she cried on a shudder.

  Bliss, soul deep, ripped through her, and burst apart in her core. Her body tensed as pleasure reached clear to her toes and seemed to curl them. She arched into him and felt the rigid length of him against her thigh. Another climax rippled through her and she gulped air as if drowning. She was.

  Ever so slowly, Nicholas stroked her as the waves swelled, then receded, and swelled again. He kissed her again, even more gently, until her surroundings at last came back into focus. She at last relaxed back onto the cushion to see that he was staring down at her.

  “You didn’t…” Josephine let her voice trail off.

  “I do not plan to bed you on a couch in someone else’s house,” he said.

  “But you just—” She bit her lip.

  “I came damn close,” he said. “I have no doubt had I taken your virginity that would put an end to your foolish actions this last month.”

  Reality reasserted itself with jarring pain. “Then why didn’t you?” She tried to rise, but he kept her pinned with his heavy leg. “Get off me.”

  “Nay. This may not be a bed and it is no’ our wedding night, but I will not please you, then scurry away like Beaumond would have done.”

  She knew his frustration was rising when his perfect English gave way to a mild Scottish accent, but couldn’t halt her retort. “At least he would have gotten the job done.”

  Nicholas’ eyes darkened. “I believe I got the job done with a bang, Lady Josephine. After all, ye did call out my name when you trembled in my arms.” Embarrassed warmth flushed her cheeks warm, then intensified when he added, “I feel quite certain Beaumond didn’t have you anywhere near a pitched fever as did I.”

  “You think highly of yourself,” she retorted.

  Nicholas inhaled, then released a slow breath that lifted and expanded his broad chest. He traced a finger along her cheek and smiled. “No, my darling. It isn’t that at all. I am in love with you, and I wanted to please you.”

  Her heart broke and the tears finally crashed through her defenses.

  * * *

  Nicholas saw the moisture—and the haunted look—in her eyes. His chest twisted. “God, Jo. Don’t cry.”

  “Why did you have to come back?” she said.

  “Love.” He sat up, pulling her up and across his lap.

  She twisted in an effort to free herself, but he held her tight. Her bare shoulders were cold to the touch and he grabbed the afghan hanging off the left side of the couch. Nicholas draped it over her shoulders, then pulled her tight against him and rested his chin on her head.

  “A man might worry when the woman he just made love to bursts into tears afterwards,” he said.

  “I did not burst into tears. You were not supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to—” She broke off.

  “Make you feel that way?” he offered.

  “I want to go my room,” she said.

  “In a minute. Tell me what’s wrong. You might refuse my suit, but I find it difficult to believe you would punish me this way. You were never a vindictive woman.”

  “You do not know me.”

  “But I do. You have grown up, but you are still the same girl.” Though he had glimpsed that girl far more in the first days of his return than he had lately.

  She lifted her
gaze to his face. “Just like you are the same boy?”

  His chest tightened at sight of the weariness in her eyes. “Essentially, yes. I still love you. I loved you all along. I told you why I didn’t return as promised.”

  “A dozen times.” She lowered her eyes and heaved a sigh. “You’ve told me everything a dozen times.”

  “And I will keep telling you until you believe me.”

  “I do believe you,” she said. “I know you thought I was to marry. But that was so long ago. I am long over it…over you, Nick, whether you want to believe it or not.”

  “I returned the moment I learned you hadn’t married Helmsley,” he said.

  “You would have done better to stay on your ship.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’m not the girl you think I am.”

  A murmur of voices sounded in the hallway.

  She bolted upright. “Someone is coming.”

  “You weren’t this concerned when I found you with Beaumond,” Nicholas said with frustration.

  “You have no notion what my concerns are.” She pushed free of his hold and he released her.

  “It really doesn’t matter if someone catches us,” he said as she jumped to her feet. The afghan slid from her shoulders exposing the stiff rosy areolas beneath the thin white of her chemise. The desire that had hammered through him when he’d had his mouth on her hardened nipple tightened his bollocks. “We are to be married, after all.”

  “To be married.” The murmur of voices drifted past the room and she scooped the corset off the carpet beside the couch. “We are not yet married, and I will not have it said I trapped you with my body.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he said.

  Josephine jerked her gaze onto his face. Her nipples seemed to tighten even more under his scrutiny and his mouth went dry.

  She yanked the corset up over her breasts. “Nicholas.”

  He lifted his gaze to her face. “You are very beautiful, Jo. I plan to look at you a great deal over the years.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. She wasn’t the jaded woman she would have him believe. He’d seen that same blush on her cheeks when he’d kissed her before he left six years ago. She’d been but seventeen, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and he’d fallen hard. He’d missed seeing that blush, and planned to see her flush that way many a time in the coming years—most especially when he was inside her, bringing her to climax.

  Her blush deepened and he half wondered if she’d read his mind—or perhaps had glimpsed the lift of his kilt. She whirled away from him and fitted the corset around her torso then latched the hooks in front. When she grasped the first sleeve of her dress to slip her arm inside, Nicholas rose and grasped her wrist. Her head snapped up, her eyes on his face as he gently guided her arm into the long, silk sleeve. He helped with the second sleeve, then stepped back. She adjusted the neckline, which dipped lower than most day dresses, but the look had been her fashion of choice since his return—and the neckline had lowered to the point of scandalous since they’d announced their betrothal.

  A lock of her light brown hair fell forward across her cheek. She drew the hair back and ran her fingers along her hair where her chignon had loosened. “See what you’ve done.” She pulled out a pin and wound the lock around the chignon, then pinned it back into place.

  “I see quite well,” he said.

  Josephine paused in smoothing her hair and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Nick.”

  “Never,” he said.

  Her lips pursed, but she finished fixing her hair, then he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Shall we join the other guests in the grand parlor?” he asked. “I imagine we can find a game of cards, or perhaps chess. You did say you wanted a chance to get even for my beating you last time.” He led her to the door and opened it.

  “This meant nothing, Nicholas,” she said, as he closed the door behind them.

  He started them forward. “Of course it did, Jo. You just aren’t certain what.”

  Chapter Three

  Josephine feared that the tremble working its way through her body would reach her hands. Nicholas’ warm fingers covered hers around his solid arm, and the play of muscle beneath her fingers caused her heart to pick up speed again. Desire uncoiled in a languid stretch in her stomach. How she could want him again after what he had just done to her, she had no idea, but if he discerned how much his touch affected her all would be lost.

  Nicholas slowed his stride to match hers as he led her down the hallway. She commanded her legs to remain steady and, minutes later, as they neared the grand parlor, Josephine glanced up at him, then stopped short.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Your hair, it looks as though...”

  “As though I’ve just come from my lover’s bed?” he offered.

  Josephine shot him a recriminating look. He was right, which didn’t comfort her one bit. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair in an effort to bring the thick mane into submission. Jo startled at the softness of the hair and forced a steady hand as she tucked a lock behind his ear.

  “Keep that up, Jo, and I’ll drag you into the nearest closet and make love to you for real, this time.”

  She jerked her eyes to his face. Were his eyes even darker than they had been when he’d—she yanked her hand back and started to step away. Nicholas grasped her hand, slipped it back into the crook of his arm, then strolled forward as if he hadn’t had his mouth so intimately on her only minutes ago. They soon entered the parlor and, as he’d predicted, guests were playing cards and board games.

  To her relief, Lord Beaumond was absent. She prayed Nicholas was right, and the marquess would flee like the rat he was. Nick hadn’t challenged him when he’d had the affair with Deanna, and it hadn’t occurred to Josephine he would do so now. The need to cry rose again, as much because of what had passed between them as the question of how she was going to get herself ruined—and allow him to call off the wedding—without getting him killed.

  Would you like a game of cards, Lady Josephine?” Nicholas asked.

  “I never cared for cards,” she said.

  “Really? I thought you lost ten pounds to Everley playing cards last night. Didn’t he forgive the debt for a kiss?”

  “A kiss to my hand,” she snapped under her breath, then regretted the outburst. She should have said it was a kiss on the lips, but realized he knew the truth and was purposely egging her on. “Do not expect me to change after we are married, Nicholas,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  “This silliness will change,” he replied, “for you won’t have the energy to entertain other male attention.”

  “Arrogant fool,” she muttered, then caught sight of their hostess, Lady Allaway. She groaned when the woman’s gaze landed on them with interest. She rose off the couch where she sat alongside several other ladies and started toward forward with the obvious intention of intercepting them. “Now look what you’ve done,” Josephine complained. “She is sure to bore us with another half-hour of praise for her gardener’s skills at cutting her shrubberies. If I am forced to listen to another long-winded—” She broke off as Lady Allaway neared them, and a corner of Nicholas’ mouth twitched in amusement.

  He released Jo’s hand. “You’re looking lovely this evening, Lady Allaway.” He bent over her fingers and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “You are a rogue, Lord Grayson. You must keep your eye on him, Lady Josephine.”

  “Indeed,” Josephine said.

  Lady Allaway turned to her. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”

  “I am. You are without a doubt, the best hostess in all of Inverness.”

  She glowed. “I do try, and Lord Allaway is kind enough to indulge my fancy for parties.”

  Josephine caught the amused glance Nick sent her way and knew he was thinking the same thing she was: Lord Allaway was rich enough to indulge her fancy. This
party alone boasted thirty people for the whole of two weeks.

  “You are a fortunate woman,” Josephine said.

  “I am.”

  She glanced at her husband, who stood with a group of men watching a card game in the left corner of the room. An affectionate sparkle appeared in her eyes, and Josephine wondered that a woman who had been married for thirty years could still look at her husband with such unabashed warmth.

  Lady Allaway returned her attention to them. “Your wedding is only two months away. Are you ready?”

  The abrupt question caught Josephine off guard, but Nicholas laughed and said, “When is any man ready for marriage?”

  “Never,” she replied without hesitation. “But we adore you one and all for trying.”

  He laughed again. “Otherwise you would murder us in our sleep?”

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed, then looked at Jo, “And you, Lady Josephine, are you ready for marriage?”

  Jo detected an underlying curiosity that went beyond the question. The lady had clearly noticed the fact that Josephine had been flirting shamelessly with other men at the party last night. But then, no one could have missed the fact that she danced with the same man three times last night—a man who wasn’t Nicholas.

  “I am coping,” she said. “You know how weddings are, a million details and not nearly enough time to prepare.”

  “So true, and the details will drive a person to distraction. I imagine your mother has things well in hand, though?”

  “I wouldn’t survive without her,” Josephine said, and her heart gave a twist. Spending time with her mother was taking an added toll on her.

  “I haven’t seen your mother this afternoon,” Lady Allaway said.