My Highland Lord (Highland Lords) (25 page)

Then how was he able to think of touching her?

He slipped a hand beneath her skirt, and his warm fingers on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh caused her to jump. The feather light tickle across the curls covering her sex startled her and her rhythm faltered. Good Lord, she had to take back the advantage. She grabbed him with her other hand, covering his member from tip to root.

"You vixen," he murmured.

In the next instant he had her skirt up around her waist.

"My lord," she cried.

"Hush," he commanded. "The maids have the hearing of gods."

He pushed her legs apart and shock immobilized her when his head descended and his mouth closed over the most intimate part of her where her drawers were open at the crotch. She squirmed in surprise, then drew a sharp breath at the pleasure that rippled through her. He wasn't—he couldn't be—he was. He was sucking and, dear God in heaven, she couldn't think. Pleasure shot through her. The sucking stopped, then his tongue thrust inside her.

"Dear Lord!"

"Quiet," he warned, then, "Keep your hold tight on me. That will bring you even greater pleasure."

She jammed the fingers of one hand into his hair, while the other hand gripped his erection. She yanked on his hair and he grunted, then began sucking again.

"My lord," she pleaded.

"Soon, love," he said against her flesh, all the while making her wild. The knowledge that his mouth was pressed intimately against her flesh warred with the notion that this was not supposed to happen.

Need coursed through her and Phoebe bucked in surprise. The friction of her movement against his mouth sent a compelling wave of longing through her and she shoved his face deeper between her legs. He laughed. She recalled somewhere in the distant part of her brain that she was supposed to be driving him insane with need, and she managed to squeeze him.

"Don't stop," he urged, and again began sucking.

Phoebe feared she would los
e her mind. Somehow, the thick, hot male part of him she held incited her lust. Then his finger slipped inside her. Strange sensations radiated within her channel. He thrust quickly and her body seized in a spasm of blinding pleasure. His hand encircled hers with an iron grip that squeezed his rod. He groaned and sucked her harder. Another spasm rocked her and she bucked.

"Damnation," he cursed.

The room blurred around her.

"Phoebe," he rasped, and she realized he had shoved her hand aside
. Kiernan gripped his shaft and pumped his seed onto the blanket beside her. He unexpectedly grabbed the edge of the blanket and made a quick swipe of his penis. "I should have hired the damn chaperone," he muttered.

"What?" she said.

"I imagine he wanted to get back to Phoebe." Her uncle's voice came from the hallway.

Phoebe bolted upright.

"If you're looking for His Lordship," Brenda said, "I saw him go into his chambers earlier, Your Grace."

Phoebe drew a sharp breath.

"If you wanted my father and your uncle to call a minister to marry us this instant, you've done it," Kiernan whispered. "We may need that special license after all—if your uncle
and
my father don't murder me."

He yanked her
skirt down.

"I believe I'll return to the party," Lord Albery said.

"I'll be down directly," Kiernan's father replied.

"Get down on the other side of the bed," Kiernan ordered Phoebe.

"He's bound to notice your…" She glanced meaningfully at his groin.

"No." he
yanked his trousers up over his nearly flaccid cock. "You saw to that."

Her cheeks reddened, and he was torn between laughter and wanting to paddle her bottom. She had sneaked into his room and let him do to her what even some mistresses wouldn't allow, then blushed at the fact that she had gotten him off with a bang that nearly brought him to his knees.

He wasn't certain what his future wife was doing snooping in his bedchambers, but he was reasonably certain seduction hadn't been on the agenda. His plan had been just as foolhardy. He intended to give her a good scare. But the devil had gotten into her and she'd managed to make him forget good sense, as well as his promise to his father. Well, not quite, but his father was sure to see no distinction between bedding a lady true and proper and fucking her with his tongue.

"The other side of the bed," Kiernan ordered, and hurried to the door.

With a careful turn, he unlocked the door and hoped like hell his father hadn't heard the tiny click.  He whirled. Phoebe was out of view and, in four long strides, Kiernan reached the secretary on the left wall.

He landed in the desk chair and yanked papers from the drawer in the instant before the door opened. He waited an instant as if breaking from deep concen
tration, then looked at his father.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"This letter from Harris has weighed on my mind."

"Harris informed me that the cottages will be rebuilt by month's end. He can manage the project. You have other matters to deal with."

Kiernan wondered how Phoebe liked being referred to as 'other matters.' How much of his conversation with his father and her uncle had she overheard before ducking into his room? He was relatively certain that's where she'd been, then got trapped when the maids arrived on this floor. His father stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Kiernan silently cursed. His father would pick now to discuss something private. Kiernan rose, hoping to forestall him saying something neither of them wanted overheard. He was going to have to tell Phoebe the truth about his involvement with Clachair, but he hoped to hear from the man first.

"Send the maid
s to the kitchen on some errand," his father said.

Kiernan sti
lled. This was a strange order. "As you wish, Father."

"And, Kiernan."

"Yes?"

"Please inform Miss Wallington that I see no reason for a year's engageme
nt. I am certain her uncle will agree."

Kiernan canted his head in acknowledgement and his father left—leaving the door wide open. Kiernan started forward, then his gaze caught on Phoebe's comb on the bed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

P
hoebe leaned back in the chair at her secretary and opened the note from Kiernan, his second missive in as many days.

Phoebe,

I left word to have this small wedding gift forwarded to you if it arrived while I was away. There will be many more gifts forthcoming—Elise looks for every excuse to give gifts. She tells me she plans to spend time with you while my father and I are away—again, I apologize, but our business in Suffolk
simply can't wait. I hope this book gives you something to do until my return.

Kiernan

She reread the line:
I hope this book gives you something to do until my return.
In other words,
if you're busy reading, you'll stay out of trouble
. Confound the man's arrogance. He'd seen her in a bookstore and decided he could manipulate her with a book. Phoebe pulled the large package from the desk and unwrapped the paper to reveal three leather-bound books inside a leather-trimmed box. She drew a sharp breath at sight of the author and title:
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley.
Carefully, she pulled volume one from the box and turned to the title page.

London

Printed for Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones Finsbury Square

1818

She brushed her fingers over the date, 1818. An early edition. She'd underestimated Kiernan MacGregor. He knew exactly what he was doing—and could all-too-easily succeed in distracting her. If that distraction didn't work, he'd arranged for Elise to spend time with her while he was gone. This explained the duchess' appearance on her doorstep yesterday, less than an hour after Phoebe sent word that she would leave for Scotland the next day. She hadn't been surprised when the duchess protested in favor of waiting for the men to return. Phoebe’s assurance that she would go alone brought a knowing smile to Elise’s face, and she said,
“Actually, it’s a fine idea. After all, they will likely catch up with us on the road.
”

Phoebe gently inserted the book back into the box. She hoped the men would be gone long enough for her and the duchess to reach Scotland…and for Phoebe to catch her breath. Tw
o days had passed since the
interlude
with Kiernan
and she couldn't seem to regain her equilibrium. It seems the duchess had been correct. God help her, Kiernan MacGregor was, indeed, an experienced lover. A tender lover, damn his soul, and Phoebe had only tasted of his talents. She shivered as she had a hundred times since that night, the feel of his rigid staff between her fingers still so real…the memory of his tongue inside her—Molly appeared in the open doorway of Phoebe’s bedchamber.

“The duchess’ coach has arrived, Miss.”

“Thank you, Molly. This trunk is ready. Please inform Gaylon.”

"Are you all right?" the maid asked.

She smiled. "Distracted. I'm fine."

Molly left and Phoebe gathered her reticule, the two books she had purchased, and her cloak, then made h
er way to the parlor where the duchess and her aunt waited.

Elise smiled. “I hope I'm not too early.”

“Not at all. Gaylon should have my trunks loaded right away.” She sat on the sofa beside her aunt.

“Phoebe,” Lady Albery said, “are you sure
you won’t change your mind and wait until Lord Ashlund returns?”

“We've discussed this, Aunt. My uncle has
afforded four men as escort in addition to Calders. Plus, we have the duchess' entourage. We're quite safe.”

“You really should take Molly with you,” Lady Albery
continued.

“No thank you. As I said, I'm not accustomed to traveling with a maid, so I won't miss her.”

“Don’t worry,” the duchess said, “I have Sue. She can deal very nicely with the both of us.”

Lady Albery tsked, but Pho
ebe only nodded and wondered how much time she'd have in Scotland before her nemesis caught up with her.

Three quarters
of an hour later, they drove through the gate, leaving her aunt waving a woeful handkerchief.

“Are you and your aunt close?” Elise asked.

“No,” Phoebe replied. “Though, the way she has acted these last few days, one would think she was losing a daughter.”

“Yes, one would.” Elise smiled. “So, we're off. I can’t tell you
how pleased I am to have you visit Ashlund. We're going to have a wonderful time.”

“Where exactly is Ashlund?”

“Two hours north of Edinburgh.”

“Not in the Highlands then?” Phoebe asked.

Elise shook her head. “No. It's another two hour ride before you enter the southernmost part of the Highlands. Tell me, did you like Brahan Seer?”

“
I did. The castle is beautiful and Loch Katrine is spectacular.”

“Yes,” Elise smiled, “it is magnificent. Marcus and I spend a great deal of time there. Though, with the education of the twins, we don't stay as long as we used to.” She sighed. “I would prefer they receive
d their education there, but my husband insists they receive a formal education in Edinburgh.”

“Is that where Lord Ashlund stu
died?” Phoebe asked.

“No, he studied at Oxford, which is why Ethan is to study at the university in Edinburgh.”

“Ethan?”

“Our son. Our daughter is Jacqueline.”

“I see, and what does Lord Ashlund having studied in Oxford have to do with your son studying in Edinburgh?”

A twinkle entered Elise’s eyes. “Marcus feels one son educated by the English is enough. I know what you're thinking,” she went on. “He has an American wife and his future daughter-in-law is English.”

"Ma'am, I would never say such a thing," Phoebe demurred.

“It's not all English h
e dislikes,” the duchess said with a laugh in her voice, “only the ones who attempt to give MacGregor land to their English kinsmen. Of course, the Scottish crown has been known to do the same.”

“It's a wonder the MacGregors aren't homeless, one and all,” Phoebe said.

“Many are,” Elise replied.

“Your Grace, f
orgive me, I forgot—”

“It isn't your history, Phoebe. We have many good books on Highland history in Ashlund. If you are interested, I'm sure Kiernan will take you to visit many of the places where historical events
took place.” She grimaced. “Beware, though, it's likely to turn into a long journey. You’ll soon learn that every road in the Highlands is famous for some battle or another.”

*****

Phoebe glanced at Elise, whose tired face said three days in a carriage and now horseback had taken its toll.

“Perhaps we should stop at the next inn?” Phoebe said.

“Oh no,” Elise replied. “It is just past five o’clock. The horses have been in their traces for a mere two hours. Do you mind riding at night? It'll be dark soon.”

“Not at all.” The guards
who rode with them could withstand the chill, but the duchess had her cloak wrapped tightly about her. “Though, the night is cold.”

“Would you prefer the carriage?”

Phoebe shook her head. “No, ma’am. To be honest, only pouring rain or snow can compel me to ride inside a carriage when I have a good mount. I was thinking of you.”

Elise smiled. “I'm of the same mind. If we are to reach Ashlund by the end of the week, we must stay on course.” She sighed. “It's good to be in Scotland again. I made arrangements for accommodations with cousins. They are only two hours away.”

“How is it you were able to arrange lodging at so late a date?”

Elise gave her a
reproachful look and Phoebe knew she was, again, being reprimanded for being so formal.
“Time will solve your dilemma, Phoebe,”
she had said the day they'd left London.
“You'll soon grow tired of the formality in your own family.”

“I sent word the night you informed me
you wanted to leave,” Elise said.

“You're sure they won’t mind?”

“Quite sure.”

“If you—b
y heavens." Phoebe drew a sharp breath at sight of an overturned coach that came into view around the bend. The vehicle lay on its side, wheels spinning. “Calders,” she called, but he yelled, “Whoa!” and pulled back on the carriage reins.

There was a shriek from
their coach and Phoebe realized Sue had been take unawares by the sudden stop. Donald, who rode ahead of them, along with Niall, Elise’s private guard, kicked their horses into a gallop. Phoebe dug her heels into her mount and followed. The men arrived at the fallen carriage and vaulted from their saddles. An instant later Phoebe arrived at the overturned coach.

"Dear God,” she exclaimed at sight of the wheeler’s hind feet
pinned by the carriage tongue.

His front hooves w
ere curled up and his belly pressed to the road. His head was turned back as the driver worked to loose the animal, talking softly as another man straddled his neck trying to prevent his struggles from inflicting further damage. Phoebe noted the horses badly skinned hind legs. If he lived, there would be swelling and serious bruises.

Phoebe leapt from her saddle as Elise arrived with the coach close behind. Calders
halted a safe distance behind the downed vehicle, tossed the reins to the livery, then jumped to the ground.

“Is the w
heeler all right?” Phoebe called to the man who stood some feet away, calming the second horse.

The man nodded.

"Where are the other—” She spotted two horses standing side by side just within over of the thickening forest.

“We’ve got to get the harness off
and lift the tongue,” cried the man who worked to loose the fallen horse.

Donald and Niall rushed to the front of the carriage and Phoebe followed.

“Ye havena’ got a knife, man?” Niall demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he whipped a dagger from his boot, bent, and, in one swift slice, cut the harness. He then swung around and straddled the tongue, facing the horse. Squatting, he took a deep breath and gripped the wood. With a great heave, he rose slowly, lifting the tongue. The carriage creaked and a moan came from the compartment.

“For God’s sake, man,” Niall said in a strained whisper, “get the
beast out.”

The man on the horse’s neck jumped off and the other man urged the horse up. The horse gave a
low whinny and struggled to his feet. The driver drew him away from the carriage. Slowly, Niall lowered the tongue. The instant it touched the ground, Calders jumped onto the side of the coach. Niall leapt over the tongue and bound up beside him so fast, Phoebe blinked.

“A beast of a man,” she murmured.

“Precisely the reason my husband insists he accompany me everywhere I go.” Elise stepped forward and, placing her palms on the coach, craned her neck in order to see inside the compartment.

Niall glanced over her shoulder. “Your Grace.” He ceased yanking on the carriage door and jumped lightly to the ground. Phoebe
's mouth fell open and she stepped back when he lifted the duchess bodily from the ground and set her back away from the carriage.

“Dinna’ come any closer,” he admonished as if talking to a child.

“Niall,” Elise threw her cloak over her shoulders, “out of my way.”

“Nay, Your Grace,” he replied. “His Grace wouldna’ allow you near the carriage and neither can I.”

A loud creak drew Phoebe's attention back to the carriage. Donald stood atop the vehicle, where and he and Calders managed to wrench the door open. Donald lowered himself inside the coach.

“The lass first,” he called up. Calders squatted, lifted the woman from the doorway, then motioned for Niall to take her.

“Dinna’ move, Your Grace,” Niall ordered, and returned to the carriage.

Calders gently lowered
the woman into his arms, and Phoebe and Elise hurried alongside as Niall strode several paces from the carriage. He laid the woman in the wet grass and Elise went to her knees beside her, pressed an ear at her chest, then looked up at Phoebe.

“A strong heartbeat. Quick, there's a bottle of water in the carriage, and smelling salts in my reticule.”

Phoebe started to turn, but Sue shouted from the carriage door, “I’ll get it.”

An instant later, Sue returned with the salts and water. Niall and Calders approached, the gentleman who had been inside the carriage
slouched between them, an arm slung over each of their shoulders. They lowered him to the ground next to the woman. He remained upright and pressed his palm against his forehead.

“My wife,”
the man whispered.

“She'll live,” Elise said, and
took the smelling salts Sue held out and opened them beneath the woman’s nose. The woman turned her head aside, but Elise kept the salts beneath her nose.

“
Douglas,” the woman moaned, again turning her head away from the smelling salts.