School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (27 page)

Soon he was clutching her hips and driving her on and up until her fingers dug fiercely into his shoulders and she uttered a soft cry, staggering a little beneath the release, rocking her limbs. He savored the taste of her a moment longer, changing his caresses to feathery kisses scattered over her delicate curls. But he gave her no more time than that to come down, too aroused to wait any longer.
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He wanted to be inside her, wanted to make her his before she came to her senses and refused him again. So while she was still reeling, he rose and circled behind her to finish undressing her.

“You ought to be…ashamed of yourself…” she whispered, though she let him unfasten her gown and stays.

“For what?” He shoved them off before turning her to face him.

“For being so good at tempting a lady into ruin.”

The petulance in her voice made him laugh. But his laughter died when he reached for the ties of her chemise and she clutched at them protectively.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got too many clothes on still.”

“What if someone comes by and sees us?” she whispered, with a furtive glance at the bare glass windows that fronted the alleyway.

“It’s nigh on to sunset and supper,” he assured her, prying the ties free of her hold. “They won’t be lingering about here, trust me.”

“But if they do?”

“Assuming they don’t recognize you and set the dogs on me, they’ll just send us packing.” He cast her a teasing smile as he untied her chemise. “Unless they decide to watch.”

“Lachlan!” She looked thoroughly scandalized. “Surely they’d
never
—”

“They’d be mad not to.” He tugged her chemise off, then caught his breath. What a vision she was. “Any sane man who got a glimpse of you in the flesh would keep looking as long as he was able and then some.”

Though her cheeks turned the ruddy hue of autumn leaves, she suffered his gaze as he took in her heavy breasts and dusky nipples, her dimpled waist and shapely hips. “Ye’re a wonder of nature, lass, a wonder of nature.”

A hesitant smile touched her lips. “My dressmaker says my bosom is too large for the current fashions.”

“Your dressmaker is a fool.” Enjoying the mere sight of her, he took his time about unbuttoning his drawers. “And I don’t know about fashion, but there’s no such thing as a woman with breasts too large.”

He shoved his drawers off and kicked them aside. “I’m told that some women feel the same about a man’s…er…privates.”

Judging from the alarm suffusing her face as she saw his cock spring free, Venetia wasn’t one. Not yet anyway. “Oh, Lachlan, I don’t know about this.”

He dragged her down into the fleece with him. Thank God she let him. “About what?”

“That!” Lying there looking wary, she pointed to his cock. “It’s too…and I’m not…”

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“You’ll be fine, trust me,” he said with a choked laugh.

“Do you promise?” she whispered as he slid his thigh between her legs to part them. “Do you swear it?”

“I promise.” But the question brought him up short. He’d never deflowered an innocent. What if he did her serious harm? No, that didn’t usually happen, did it? “It’ll take adjustment—always does—but even with you being a maiden, you’ll come out of it whole and healthy, I swear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean,
always does
? How many women have you bedded in your lifetime, anyway?”

Uh-oh, he shouldn’t have mentioned that. “A few,” he mumbled, then covered her mouth with his to take her mind off it.

Because he was itching to go on. Just having her beneath him, open and willing, turned his cock painfully hard. The lavender smell of her intoxicated him more surely than whisky, and he could feed on her butter-soft mouth for a lifetime. But first…

He shifted to lie between her legs, all the while caressing the warm flesh of her honeypot until she relaxed. When she lifted her arms to encircle his neck, he knew she was willing. Careful not to alarm her, he replaced his fingers with his cock, pressing in, pushing inside her, restraining the urge to thrust all at once.

But Holy Christ, that took some doing. She was wet and tight, better than anything he’d imagined. And she was his, all his at last, his princess…his wife-to-be. The thought made him swell inside her.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “Are you sure—”

He tore his lips free as he braced his hands on either side of her shoulders. “I’m sure,” he said, though he’d give anything to be able to spare her this part.

She was trying so bravely not to flinch, his bold lassie, but her taut lips showed the strain of that effort.

“I’m taking it as slow as I can,” he murmured, brushing kisses over her lips, her cheeks, her brow, “but being inside you is the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.”

A tentative smile touched her lips. “And those are the sweetest words a man has ever said to me.” She relaxed a little, and he slipped inside her another inch.

Relieved, he managed to smile, too. “I can hardly believe that. Don’t yer fancy London lords whisper compliments at the balls…about yer pretty hair and yer sparkling eyes and yer fine mouth…”

“Occasionally.”

He’d said it to tease her, but the ready admission made him frown. “Do they now? And did you ever let them kiss that fine mouth?”

Her eyes lit up with mischief. “Occasionally.”

He came up against the barrier of her innocence. “How many times?”

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With a laugh, she pressed her breasts up against his chest and echoed his answer. “A few.”

Oh, she thought she was so witty, did she? “Well, they won’t be doing it anymore,” he vowed. Then, seizing her mouth with his, he plunged his cock deep.

When she moaned against his lips, he prayed that was the worst of it. He stayed still inside her, though it took an act of will. She encased him like a hot glove, making him ache to press on. But he didn’t. He just kept kissing her and holding her and caressing her wherever he could reach. It humbled him that she’d given herself to him so trustingly—he wasn’t about to ruin that. After a moment, he felt her relax, and he drew back to murmur, “All right?”

“I think so.” She wiggled her hips. “It’s not…it wasn’t too bad.”

A groan escaped him as her motion wrung his cock. “It will be, if you don’t stop doing that,” he said hoarsely.

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“Because I want to go on, but I need to be slow and easy—and I can’t when you’re driving me mad like that.”

“Like what?”

“Moving like that.”

She wriggled her hips again. “Like this, you mean?”

“Now, lass—”

“I could move like this instead.” Eyes alight, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. “Or like this.” She shifted her lower body so that his cock sank in deeper.

“So you mean to drive me mad, do you?” he rasped as he began to move. “You want me to take you hard and fast, I suppose.”

A minxish smile touched her luscious lips. “Could you, please? It sounds perfectly…delicious.”

Just the way she said “delicious,” all proper-like, was doing things to his insides no woman ever had.

“Ye’re a teasing wench, lassie,” he growled as he drove into her again and again, dizzy from the feel of her wringing his cock. “A proper-speaking, princess-walking wench with a body made in heaven.”

“Am I?” she whispered, but her eyes slid closed and her face flushed. He’d never seen anything prettier…or more arousing. “You like that, do you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes…yes…”

“Mo chreach.”
He’d heard that some women took naturally to lovemaking. No surprise she was one of them, given how well she’d pleasured him in Kingussie.

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Now if only he didn’t die of
this
pleasuring…She shimmied beneath him like a gypsy dancer, her full breast ripening beneath his questing hand and her hips rolling, sucking him in deeper, rising in time to his thrusts until he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear for the blood roaring in his ears. Princess Proud was his at last, his forever. His to hold, his to protect, his to defend even from Duncannon.

No, he wouldn’t think of that devil now. Not with his release hard upon him, dragging him on like a team of horses pounding recklessly down a steep hill…not with her sweet honeypot tensing and convulsing and her body straining beneath him.

Not when the woman he’d coveted night upon sleepless night was giving herself to him at last.

“Lord save me!” she cried as her release hit her. “Heavens!”

“Aye…princess…aye…” He came with one final thunderous thrust, his heart pounding fiercely. “Holy Christ!” He clutched her to him as his seed gushed out of him like a mountain spring. “Holy Christ…”

It had the sound of a vow, and that was fine. Because now that he had her, he meant to keep her. No matter what happened between him and Duncannon.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dear Cousin,

Your news about Lord Duncannon is disturbing indeed. His daughter said he swore an oath never
to return to his homeland. If he’s willing to break it, then something dreadful must have happened
to Venetia. Can you use your sources to find out what it might be?
Your alarmed relation,

Charlotte

V
enetia rested her head on Lachlan’s chest as she lay naked in the fleece, completely content, his breath ruffling her hair and his arms wrapped about her. The strong beat of his heart comforted her, as did the tender way he brushed kisses over her hair. He was her strong Highland lover, and no one could take that away from her now.

He hadn’t said he loved her, true, but then she wasn’t sure she loved the pigheaded fellow, either. Until she knew what he meant to do about Papa, she dared not give him her heart. She probably shouldn’t have given him her body either, but his words had lifted her hopes. If he’d been willing to propose marriage, he must have changed his plans for Papa. Sounds of activity outside the cottage penetrated her sensual haze, though whoever was out there quickly passed on. But it reminded her that lying about on her father’s estate with Lachlan wasn’t the best idea, especially with the sun setting.

She sighed. “Your mother will wonder where I am. We should go back. Besides, we’ll soon have trouble finding our way back in the dark.”

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“Then mayhap we should stay until morn,” he said, his voice a contented rumble. A laugh bubbled out of her. “You are perfectly wicked, do you know that?”

“Aye, that’s why you like me. I remind you of those fellows in yer ballads—the ones always meeting their lovers in bowers and barns and fields, taking their pleasure amidst the flowers or hay. You ought to leap at the chance to spend the night upon the fleece, like one of the people in yer songs.”

Sadly enough, she would. She just couldn’t. “Don’t tempt me. We’re not married yet, you know.”

“Oh, but we are, lass.”

Propping her chin on his chest, she eyed him quizzically. “How on earth do you figure that?”

“Scottish law says that as long as we agree between ourselves and speak ‘mutual consents’ to marry, then we’re married, at least in the eyes of the law.”

She gaped at him. “Surely there’d have to be a minister present.”

With a grin, he shook his head no.

“Witnesses?”

“None of it. Why do you think Englishmen always carry women to Gretna Green to marry? Because it’s so easy. They do it in front of witnesses in case anyone contests it, but the law says you don’t need that. Just mutual consents.”

“Except that we didn’t speak any consents,” she pointed out.

“True. But here’s where the law gets tricky. It allows for three kinds of irregular marriage—you can live in sin and have your marriage considered legal by ‘habit and repute,’ you can exchange present consents to marry, or you can exchange future consents and then consummate the marriage. We just did the last.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Aye, that’s Scotland for you.” He twined a lock of her hair pensively about his hand. “But truth is, while irregular marriages are legal, most everyone frowns on people not having a proper wedding in the kirk. My mother will expect one. As will yer father, I imagine.”

“He certainly will. Especially since I haven’t yet consented to marry you. Which means we’re still unwed, Scottish law or no. Because the consummation came before any promises to marry.”

A frown touched his brow. “Did it? I could have sworn you said—”

“No.” She cast him a teasing smile as she traced the curly whorls of hair about his nipples. “If you’ll recall, I told you I was too fine a lady to marry you.”

With a black frown, he caught her hand. “Well, then, we’ll have to remedy that oversight, won’t we?”

When she remained silent, he said, “You
are
going to marry me, lass. I ruined you. At the very least, yer father will demand it.”

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Much as she wanted to lose herself in this moment with Lachlan, it was time to settle a few things. “First I need to know what you plan for him.”

His face darkened. “I expect him to pay the money. That hasn’t changed.”

“Of course not.” She pushed up from him and reached for her chemise. “But if he…well…refuses and turns stubborn about it? Will you call him out?” He was silent so long that her heart began to pound in her chest. “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, mind you, but…well…”

“He’s yer father.”

“Exactly.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “And you’d never forgive me if I murdered him, I suppose.”

“Never,” she whispered.

“Very well.” A sigh escaped his lips. “I won’t call him out.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding.

A scowl knit his brow as he watched her rise and pick up her corset. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him get away with not paying the money.”