School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (34 page)

The bulge between his legs swelled. “You’re a more devious female than I gave you credit for.”

“I learned it from you.”

He gave a choked laugh. “Aye, that’s probably true.”

She dropped the chemise off one shoulder. “So will you tell me?”

“Take off yer shift,” he ground out. “Then I’ll tell you.”

“No, you’ll tell me first.” She came up close and bent to rub her clothed breast over his cheek. Quickly he turned his head and seized it in his mouth, sucking it through the fabric. She let him…for just a moment. Then she drew back. “Tell me, Lachlan.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he glared up at her. “I’d never have let you tie me if I’d known you could be so cruel.”

“But you did, and this is what I want from you. The truth. All of it.”

“And you won’t stop plaguing me till I tell you, will you?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Fine.” Squaring his shoulders, he glanced away into the flames of the candles. “When I was sixteen, a groundskeeper at Braidmuir saw a pack of boys running off from the orchard with bags full of apples. Since they were my friends, he told yer father that he thought I was among them.”

Anger flared in his eyes as they swung to her. “It wasna true. Back then, I’d never have stolen apples or anything else from yer father. I was wild, not a thief.”

His brogue had turned heavier, thicker, as if the past years of travel and soldiering in the British army had melted away to leave him just a Highland lad again. “But yer father seized on the idea I had a part in it and stormed over to demand of
my
father that something be done, that I be brought before the magistrate and made an example of.”

She shook her head, incredulous. “Because of apples?”

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“He said ’twas the principle of the thing. He was sure I’d persuaded the other boys to do it. And even after my friends said I wasn’t with them, he believed they were just protecting ‘the laird’s son.’ ”

A rough sigh escaped him. “So my father called me in. I swore I had naught to do with it—I thought he believed me, too. But instead of taking my side, he proposed to yer father a punishment. He said it was to keep me from being brought before the magistrate, but…” He looked away again, shame spreading over his features. “I would rather have said my piece in court than endure what Father suggested; a public caning.”

She stared at him, shocked. “My father didn’t agree to it, surely.”

“Ah, but he did, lass. The earl was furious about the thieving, and my father wanted to appease him, God only knows why.” He tensed. “So Father brought me before the entire clan and yer father’s people, made me pull down my trews, then gave me the twenty strokes he and yer father had agreed upon.”

“Oh, Lachlan,” she whispered, her stomach roiling to think of the humiliation he must have suffered. For a boy as proud and defiant as Lachlan had been, even at sixteen…

“He caned me like a dog. Or a thief.” His voice grew belligerent. “I wasna a thief, no matter what yer father said.”

Then it dawned on her. Sixteen. “That’s why you left the Highlands.” She came up to lay her hand on his shoulder. “That’s why you joined the regiment.”

“Aye.” He swallowed convulsively. “After that, I couldn’t…face anyone. I couldn’t stand how they looked at me, whether with contempt
or
pity.”

“It was a horrible thing for your father to do,” she said hotly. “And a horrible thing for my father to agree to.”

“It wasn’t the strokes that bothered me,” he said, his face aflame. “God knows Father caned the devil out of me often enough when I was a boy, and he honestly thought he was saving me from a worse time with the magistrate. But that was what made it so awful—him thinking my only choices were jail or a caning. Him thinking I would actually—”

“Do such a thing. It hurt that he didn’t believe you,” she said, stroking his hair to soothe him. “It hurt because you didn’t deserve it.”

He nodded grimly, then shot her a startled glance. “How do you know I didn’t deserve it?”

“You just said you didn’t do it.”

“Aye.” He thrust out his chin. “But my own father didn’t believe me. Why should you?”

“Because I know what kind of man you really are,” she said tenderly.

“You mean, the kind who would ride the roads to steal from yer father and his friends, and kidnap a young innocent—”

“You did those things on behalf of your clan, something I well understand.”

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He snorted. “If you did, I wouldn’t be tied up here so you could make yer demands on me. Why do you think I never told you about the caning? Because I knew it would make you distrust me even more. Because I knew you could never understand.”

The words tore at her. He was right—she
hadn’t
understood. When she’d asked that he give up his right to confront her father, she hadn’t known how much she was expecting him to give up. He’d waited sixteen years to get his due, to learn why his father had bowed to Papa’s will even though Papa had owed him money. To find out why Papa never paid, and why Alasdair Ross hadn’t made him. He’d waited sixteen years for his justice, and she’d expected him to throw it aside for her. That wasn’t fair.

“So what’s yer next demand?” he said dully. “I suppose it’s that I do what you please with yer father. Ye’re going to prance about driving me insane, trying to make me say—”

“No.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “Not anymore.” This game had taken an ugly turn she’d never intended. “You win. Do as you please with Papa, though I hope you’ll remember that I prefer a live husband to a dead one.”

He gazed up at her, relief showing in his face. Then his eyes darkened and he caught her finger in his mouth to suck it. Her breath quickened. She drew out the finger and bent to replace it with her mouth, kissing him slowly, deeply. He tasted of smoke and malt, the bittersweet tang of whisky adding to the growing fog of need and desire overtaking her brain. As his tongue delved and stroked, toying with hers, she felt her heart fill with love.

Love? Yes, love. She loved him. It probably wasn’t wise, but she couldn’t help that. She loved that he cared so fiercely for the land and its people, she loved his stubborn pride, she loved that he had come to treat her like one of his clan.

Did she dare to tell him? Dare to give him that much power over her when he already had more than was wise? She would die if he didn’t feel the same.

Unsure and vulnerable, she drew back only to hear him murmur, “Take off the shift, lass. I told you what you wanted, so now I get to see you. And taste you.”

She would show him instead. For now, she would simply show him how she felt. She shimmied out of her chemise, then leaned on his good leg to thrust her breast against his mouth. With a hungry growl, he caught the nipple between his teeth, then sucked it in so he could flick his tongue over it repeatedly. Throwing her head back, she uttered a sigh of sheer delight. Lord, he did that so well. Eager for more, she sat down across his lap and pushed the other breast in his face so he could pleasure that one, too. Greedily he took it, licking and nipping it until she thought she’d go mad. She spread her hands over his chest, reveling in his slick skin, his flexing muscle, the heat coming off him like that off a thoroughbred after a race.

“Lower,” he said hoarsely. “Please, lass…touch me lower, I beg you. Touch my cock…”

The coarse word startled her, but she’d been acting less than a lady, so she could hardly expect him to act like a gentleman. In keeping with her newfound pleasure in wickedness, she not only unbuttoned his
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trousers and his drawers to allow his “cock” to spring free, she left his lap to kneel on the floor between his legs.

When he caught his breath, his shaft thrusting forward like an impudent rogue, she smiled up at him. “I did promise to lick you everywhere, didn’t I?”

“Lass!” he said, looking shocked as she closed her mouth around him. Then a sigh of pure pleasure slid out of him. “Lass…”

Remembering how he’d liked her to stroke him that night in Kingussie, she tried to do it with her lips and tongue. And she must have done it partly right, for he was muttering, “Oh yes…Holy Christ, yes…like that…yes…”

But it was awkward, and her mouth didn’t seem large enough to hold him.

“Come here, princess,” he rasped, confirming her fears.

She released his flesh to shoot him a pained glance. “I…I’m doing it badly, aren’t I?”

He choked out a laugh. “If that’s how badly you do it with no knowledge whatsoever, I shudder to think what you’d be like with experience.” His voice lowered to a heavy thrum. “I want to see you while you make love to me, all of you, your pretty breasts, your fine mouth. Come ride me, wife. Before I go mad.”

Drunk from the sweet liquor of his words, she rose. “Shall I untie you first?”

He arched one eyebrow. “Only if you think I’ve atoned for having tricked you. I couldn’t survive another night like this.”

“You know perfectly well you’d never let me tie you up again, anyway.” With a laugh, she stood between his legs and stretched over his head to reach the carving knife she’d left on the table while tying him. It put her breast in close proximity to his mouth, and he seized it, sucking it with eager fervor. That made it difficult to stay properly still to slice his bonds. “I’d stop doing that if I were you,” she muttered. “Unless you want me to slice off a finger.”

He froze. But the second she’d cut him free and tossed the knife onto the table, he grabbed her. Shoving his thigh between hers, he widened her so he could force her astride his lap.

“Take me inside you,” he ordered, his eyes hot and needy in the candlelight. When she blinked, he softened his voice. “Lower yerself onto me, ye ken?”

“Ohhh,” she said, and did just that, reveling in his throttled groan as her flesh met his, groin to groin.

“That’s it…ah, princess…ye’re a wonder, you are…”

There were no more words then, just her all over him, him all over her. His hand kneaded her breast, her hands clutched his shoulders. His mouth razed her flesh with openmouthed kisses while they began to move together, her up and down, him in and out.

Soon the glory was building inside her, coupled with a sheer, dark pleasure that had her writhing atop him and begging him in half-coherent words. “Oh, my darling…yes, Lachlan…take me, my love…make
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me yours…”

She reached her pinnacle in a thrilling rush, her body screaming its joy as she shot over the edge into ecstasy. With an answering growl, he thrust hard and poured his warm seed deep inside her. As they strained together to wring every drop of delight from their union, a sudden hope consumed her. Heaven grant her that his seed would take root, that they had just now created a life on this, their wedding night.

Because as she cradled him close and he clutched her fiercely to him, burying his face in her neck, she felt more than just part of his flesh. She felt part of his soul, the wild and tender soul that was Lachlan. Her Lachlan. Forever.

Before she could stop herself, she murmured, “Love me, Lachlan.”

Lachlan nuzzled her neck and said hoarsely, “I do, wife. I do.”

And her joy was complete.

She had little chance to enjoy the moment before sounds of the servants at the back of the manor warned of the approaching dawn. Laughing like children, she and Lachlan scurried about the dining room to scoop up clothes and hide the evidence of their intimacy.

Once they’d crept up the stairs and into the master bedchamber, they quickly stripped down to nothing and crawled into bed and each other’s arms.

Venetia’s heart leaped as she gazed into the face that became dearer to her with every hour. “Did you mean it?” she whispered.

“I did,” he said solemnly, brushing a kiss over her brow.

The fact that he didn’t have to ask what she was talking about touched her more than anything.

“I started falling in love with you when you actually discussed with me what lay beneath a man’s kilt. Then after Kingussie, when you doctored me…”

He shook his head. “Do you know how hard it was for me to let you go to bed alone that night? How little I slept for imagining you beneath me, murmuring yer ladylike sighs while I showed you how badly I wanted you? It damned near killed me to refuse you. ’Tis a miracle I resisted you as long as I did.”

“Indeed it is,” she teased. “But think how much longer I had to resist you.” She cupped his whisker-rough cheek. “I’ve loved you ever since I was seven and you climbed an oak to fetch down my kite.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“I’m not surprised. You only did it because I plagued you about it, and there was no one else around to help me. Back then I was just a pest to you. But to me you were the most wonderful fellow in the world.”

Tears clogged her throat. “And if I’d had even an inkling of the awful thing Papa made your father do to you—”

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“Shh, lassie, shh. Let’s not speak of that.” Rolling onto his back, he pulled her into his arms.

“I know it embarrasses you, but it shouldn’t. You were brave to endure that caning, even when you knew it was unjust.”

“Right before I ran off and abandoned my family.”

“Who can blame you? You felt betrayed. Besides, the important thing is that eventually you came back.”

She propped her chin on his chest. “Why?”

He looked pensive. “This is my home, my clan. No matter how far I traveled, I could never escape the longing for it. Especially after what I saw at the Battle of New Orleans. We lost half of our men that day. Our British commander wouldn’t give the order to retreat, despite the lack of ladders to climb over the American bulwarks.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “So we had to stand there and let the Americans cut us down one by one, with musket and cannon. Discipline, you know. We Scots are nothing if not disciplined in battle.”