School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (26 page)

“Why not?” Hurrying after her, he caught her again, this time about the waist. His eyes searched her face. “It’s only a kiss I’m wanting, lass.”

That was exactly the problem. He wanted a moment’s dalliance. “Two days ago, you couldn’t be bothered even to ask how I was doing.” She glared at him. “And now you expect me to
kiss
you?”

Frustration lit his features. “I didn’t…I wanted…How
are
you doing?”

“Perfectly fine. And you?”

Her remote tone made him scowl. “I’m not fine at all, damn it!”

“I hardly see what that has to do with me,” she said primly.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“I didn’t say…Holy Christ, why are you acting like we never—”

“Is someone there?” said a voice from beyond the alley.

They froze. Glancing about, Lachlan spotted the side door into a nearby cottage at the same time as she. He shoved her inside, then eased the door closed behind them. They held their breaths as someone walked down the alley and then, apparently satisfied that no one was around, left. Lachlan reached for her with clear intent, but she skittered off before he could touch her. When she then nearly stumbled over something, she glanced around to see piles of fluffy-looking muslin bags behind her. Apparently the cottage was used to store the cursed fleeces from her father’s sheep. Skirting the edge of the pile, she headed for the other door in front. If he thought he could come over here just to dally with her, he could think again.

But she should have known the arrogant wretch wouldn’t give up so easily. He was behind her in two strides and dragging her back against his body.

“Let go of me!” she cried as she pushed at his restraining arm.

“First I want my kiss, lass,” he said hoarsely.

Wriggling free, she whirled to face him. “I’m sure any of your young clanswomen would be delighted to kiss the laird.” Her voice grew brittle as she backed toward the front door. “And you don’t hate their fathers, either.”

In the dim light filtering through the windows, Lachlan seemed even larger, his hair nearly dusting the low ceiling as he stalked her. “I don’t want their kisses. Only yours.”

“Have you forgotten I’m ‘Duncannon’s daughter’?” she said sweetly. “I’m the last person you want kisses from.” She’d nearly reached the door, thank heaven.

“I don’t care about that,” he said, his tone mutinous.

“Seems to me that’s
all
you care about. You certainly don’t care about me.”

She grabbed the door handle behind her and pulled, but he was upon her now and shoved the door closed.

“I care enough to want a kiss from you.” He braced his hands on either side to trap her. “One kiss, lass.” His eyes glittered down at her. “Give me that at least.”

“Why?” She shoved against his massive chest, which didn’t do her any blessed good. Why must he be so big, so overwhelming…so persistent? “You’ve already said you don’t want to marry me, that we have no future together. So why would you want to kiss me?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve decided that debauching Duncannon’s daughter would be the ultimate revenge.”

“No, damn you,” he growled, eyes ablaze. “I’d never—”

“Ah, so
that’s
why you followed me,” she taunted him, determined to get the truth out of him, even if it meant making absurd accusations. “To ruin me.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“I wanted to protect you!” he said with a hint of belligerence.

“From what, the sheep?”

With a curse, he glanced away, clearly debating what to say. She ducked under his arm and ran for the other door. She’d nearly got it open when he called, “I wanted to see you, all right?”

Her hand froze on the door handle.

“I wanted to be with you.” When she turned, shocked by what he’d said, he approached her with eyes the warm, rich color of chocolate. “To talk to you.” Reaching her, he drew her into his arms. “To hold you. I missed you, damn it.”

“You certainly had a funny way of showing it,” she said tartly, though her heart felt as if it would slam right out of her chest. He cared. He’d missed her. He’d actually admitted it. “Any time in the past few days, you could have—”

“Been put off by the butler or my mother while you merrily slipped out the back way?” The tension in his voice was unmistakable. And unwarranted.

“Asked to speak to me. Simple as that.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He nuzzled her brow, his hot breath branding her skin. “And you won’t even give me a kiss for it.”

“Because I know why you came here.” She wasn’t ready to give in yet. It was fine for him to miss her, but that didn’t mean he wanted more. “You thought that without your mother nearby, you could dally with me to your heart’s content. Well, if that’s what you’re after, you can just head right back—”

“What if I were to say I want to marry you?” he rasped.

Her gaze leaped to his. She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. Though surprise lit his own face, he steadied his shoulders. “Aye. What if I were to marry you?”

Hope stole through her, despite her efforts not to be too hasty. “I thought you said we couldn’t marry because of Papa and the money.”

“We’ll work it out somehow. Just say you’ll marry me.”

She stared at him. He’d changed his mind. The word “yes” flew to her lips, but she caught it just in time. What about the hurtful things he’d said? Or how she’d practically had to bludgeon him into admitting he missed her? He finally mentioned marriage as a possibility, and now the cocky lad thought that should have her falling at his feet?

Well, he could wait a bit longer for that. She’d suffered for three days, uncertain of his feelings—she was
not
going to give in easily. “I don’t know if I
want
to marry you anymore,” she said with a lofty sniff. “I think you should just trot back to your stills and your bachelor’s cottage and—”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
This time his kiss gave her no quarter. His mouth sought the secrets of hers with an intensity that left her breathless…aching…hungry. She must have shown it, for when he drew back, he wore a decidedly self-assured expression.

“Mayhap you’d like to reconsider that answer, lass,” he taunted her. He was so blessed sure of himself, wasn’t he? Worse yet, he was sure of
her
. And that simply wouldn’t do, or she’d never be able to live with him.

Ruthlessly, she quelled the thundering in her chest and forced a blithe smile to her lips. “Rethink it? Why? I hardly think one kiss changes anything.”

His self-assurance vanished. “So you’re going to be stubborn, are you?” He moved forward, walking her backward. “Going to try and make me slobber after you like one of yer fancy London suitors. Make me beg.”

“Absolutely. You’re the one who said I’m too fine a lady for life in the Highlands.” She thrust out her chin. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’d be better off finding an English husband with pots of money and a grand title—”

The next thing she knew, he’d pushed her down onto the soft fleece bags. She was so stunned, she just gaped at him as he shed his coat and waistcoat, then removed his shirt. Surely he didn’t mean…he wasn’t planning…

“So you seek an English husband, do you?” The amber light of the setting sun turned his hair a rich mahogany and burnished his tanned chest a fine gold hue that made her hands itch to touch it. “Then I know what I have to do, lassie.” He yanked off his boots, then stripped off his trousers in one swift jerk. The little thrill that coursed through her veins sent the blood right to her head. Lord save her. “Wh-what do you mean?” she whispered, though she was pretty sure she knew. Her mouth went dry as he threw himself down beside her and unbuckled her belt, then drew her
arisaid
aside to reveal the servant’s gown she’d donned since nothing else at Braidmuir fitted her. He didn’t seem to mind the worn seams or the ragged fabric. Tugging loose the fichu that barely made the too tight bodice respectable, he ran his hot, hungry gaze over the breasts practically spilling out of her bodice.

“Can’t have a Scottish lady as lovely as you falling into the hands of a Sassenach. I have to save you from that.” His eyes met hers, and a slow seducer’s smile spread over his lips. “If you won’t be sensible, you leave me no choice but to ruin you. Then you’ll
have
to marry me.”

Chapter Twenty

Dear Charlotte,

Think no more of my difficulties. I’ve heard disturbing news for you about Lord Duncannon.
Apparently he left for Scotland rather suddenly yesterday. No one seems to know why, but I fear it
has something to do with your former charge, Lady Venetia.
Your friend,

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Michael

L
achlan wasn’t entirely surprised when Venetia scowled at him, then said, “Of all the arrogant, presumptuous—”

He kissed her hard, gripping her head so he could take her mouth fierce and deep, the way he knew she liked it. He wasn’t about to lose his chance with her just because she’d turned missish about his methods. And though she dug her fingers into his shoulders as if to push him away, she opened her lips to him, her body straining against his.

Thank God. He hadn’t come here meaning to offer marriage, and he sure as the devil hadn’t come to ruin her. But after he’d seen her wandering her father’s estate with tears streaming down her cheeks, losing her temper at the sheep…

What self-respecting Scot wouldn’t want a wife like that? One who saw the land for what it could be, was meant to be: a place for nurturing families? Clearly he’d been wrong about her never belonging at Rosscraig. She’d already seduced half his clan into accepting her. The way she was seducing him now with her generous mouth. Hungering for more than kisses, he covered her breast through the gown.

She froze, then broke the kiss to stare up at him. “I haven’t yet said I’d
let
you ruin me, have I?” she chided as she stayed his hand.

“Oh, but you will, lass, you will.” Shrugging off her grip, he kneaded her breast shamelessly. Her breath quickened, and he could feel her nipple hardening through the worsted wool. “What makes you so sure?” she asked in a throaty whisper that clutched at his heart.

“Because I know yer deepest secret.”

A wary light shone in her eyes. “And what is that?”

With a grin, he reached beneath her to undo her buttons, then bent to whisper against her lips, “Ye’re not as much a fine lady as you pretend.”

That got her dander up something fierce, for she shoved him back, then rose to cast him a haughty glance. “I’m certainly too fine a lady to be letting you tumble me in the fleece, Lachlan Ross.”

“Are you now?” With a laugh, he grabbed her gown as she tried to stalk off. He didn’t mind her playing Princess Proud when he knew he could demolish the sham with one kiss. Well, not
one
kiss, mayhap, since she fought to jerk her skirts from his grip.

“Now, lassie,” he said as he reached beneath them with his free hand to grab her foot. “I have the greatest admiration for yer expensive schooling and yer fine bloodlines and yer fancy London accent, I do.”

Ignoring her snort, he dragged off her shoe, tossed it aside, then seized her stocking foot and brought it to his lips. “And I realize I’m scarcely fit to kiss yer feet.” Though he did it anyway—twice.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
As he rose to his knees, she stopped fighting, staring down at him with eyes turned the sultry green of lush fields. He had to favor his stronger leg while kneeling, but that didn’t keep him from sliding his hand up her stocking-clad calf with lascivious intent. Or from following the caress with kisses that traced the same path, up the inside of her leg to her knee and the garter tied above it.

“But there’s times even a fine lady should put aside her pretty ways,” he said hoarsely. Inching her skirts up her lovely long legs, he gazed at the twin swaths of smooth white thigh above her garters, and the blood rushed rampant through his veins. “Times she should let a rough Highland laddie do what he does best.”

“And what is that, pray tell?” she asked in a voice turned breathy and low. He lifted her skirts high enough to bare the silky black triangle of hair beneath, for she wore no drawers.

“Make her ribbons reel.”

“Ribbons re—You stole that line from one of my ballads!”

“Aye. I’m not much good at wooing with my own words.” He grinned up at her, then parted her curls to expose her dewy flesh to his gaze. “But this, lassie,
this
I can do right well.” Then he covered her tender parts with his mouth.

With a sharply indrawn breath, she caught his head as if to push him away. But as he began to caress her with his mouth, she curled her fingers into his hair, then drew him closer. “Lachlan…my word…that is…very naughty.”

“Can’t help myself, lass.” He laved her with his tongue, relishing her sweet smell of aroused female. Her thighs trembled as he caught them to hold her still for his caresses. “You
taste
naughty.”

Half drunk with need, he fondled her with his mouth, inside and out, strafing her delicate pearl with his tongue until he thought he’d go mad with wanting. She was such a heady treat after days of fasting, he feared he’d come off just from tasting her.

Her hands dropped to grip his shoulders hard, and she moaned low in her throat. For all her proprieties, his London lass was a quick study in the enjoyment of pleasure. No doubt it was those naughty ballads and books she read.

Then he glanced up at her blushing face and noticed she wouldn’t meet his gaze, though her eyes were open. He chuckled against her hot, satiny skin. Mayhap not so quick a study after all. “Tell me, lass,” he murmured between quick licks, “is this how a fine lady likes to be caressed? Because if I’m not pleasing you, I can always stop.”

When her answer was to arch herself against his mouth, he exulted. He drove his tongue deep inside her silky flesh, delighting in the urgent gasping breaths she gave as he stroked strong and sure, his blood afire with the thrill of watching her find her pleasure.