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EMMELINE
Emmeline watched Ines step carefully down the stairs, avoiding steps that might creak. She took hold of the railing herself and prepared to step cautiously when a voice whispered in her ear, “Where are we going?”
She spun around and almost toppled backward and down. She might have fallen head over heels if Stratford hadn’t caught her arm and hauled her against him. Her heart had been beating hard from the fright, but it still managed to speed up when her body connected to his. She liked the feel of his chest pressed against hers. She liked it too much, which meant she immediately pushed away and then almost fell right back down again. He grabbed her and pulled her away from the precipice.
“What the devil are you about?” he hissed. “Are you trying to break your neck?”
“You scared me half to death,” she accused him. “How dare you!” It was only with a great deal of feigned indignity that she managed to move out of his embrace when everything in her told her to move closer.
“I wouldn’t have to sneak after you if you weren’t escaping in the dead of night like some sort of criminal.” He looked down the stairs and pointed at the two faces peering up at them. “I thought better of you, Duncan.”
The Scotsman muttered something about women voting.
Emmeline started back toward the stairs. “If we’re to argue, let’s do it outside. I don’t want to wake the duke or the other guests.”
“Fine.” Taking hold of her arm, Stratford escorted Emmeline down the stairs, and they followed Ines and Murray outside and into the yard. All was quiet except for the chirp of insects and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. A gibbous moon hung in the sky, the occasional cloud sailing over it.
“I told them tae fetch ye,” Murray said.
“You and I will speak later,” Stratford said.
“How did you hear us?” Emmeline asked, annoyed now that he stood before her, his expression disapproving. She pulled her arm away, and Loftus, sensing her dismay, licked her hand. She’d lost her gloves at some point on this trip, and it seemed one more indignity.
“I was listening for you,” he said. “I went through all the possible scenarios for this evening, and the most likely one was that you two”—he pointed at the women—“would try to flee. I didn’t think he’d be part of it.”
“Because ye kent Mayne planned tae drug me.”
“I shouldn’t have bet against you,” Stratford said. “Where is Mayne now?”
“He’s having a wee lie down. If the potion he thought tae slip me is worth anything, he’ll be oot for hours yet.”
“I don’t suppose I can convince the rest of you to go back inside and lie down?” Stratford asked.
In answer, Ines said, “Which way is north?”
Stratford sighed and looked at Murray. “Have you considered throwing them over our shoulders and carrying them back home?”
Murray raised a brow. “And just how far do ye think we would get before they concocted some devious plan?”
“I have a devious plan in mind right now,” Emmeline said. “If we don’t start walking, I might just put it into action.”
Grumbling, Stratford fell into step behind Murray, who led the way, Ines right behind him.
After an hour or so of walking, Emmeline had grown to appreciate the comforts of the coach. She also realized it might have been wiser to sleep a few hours before starting out. She was having difficulty focusing on where she put her feet and every muscle seemed to ache. By now the small party was well away from the inn and village, and she was relying wholly on moonlight to see the road. Emmeline tried to watch where she stepped so as to avoid large rocks or dips in the road, but she could feel Stratford looking at her. For his part, he walked as though he had slept for days and could walk as far north as Dunnet Head without pause. Seeing her looking at him, he gestured to Murray and Ines, walking ahead of them. “Duncan may seem fine, but you can’t expect him to walk all the way to Scotland. He’ll do it because he’s an idiot and then fall down dead on his doorstep.”
“I see what you are about,” she said.
He gave her an innocent look.
“You worry that I am tired and need to stop, but you think if you behave as though a rest is for Mr. Murray’s benefit then I will not object.”
“Will it work?” he asked.
“It might if I didn’t have a plan already.”
“What’s that?”
“In the morning”—please, God, let it be morning soon—“we plan to ask farmers if we can ride in their carts,” Emmeline said.
He snorted. “I suppose that seems romantic to you. Never mind the manure and chicken feathers.”
She tossed her head, even though she knew it was childish. “Then we buy a cart.”
“Oh, you have blunt, have you?”
She didn’t answer. He knew she’d lost her money on that first day in the dog/baby swindle.
“I spent almost the last of mine to hire the last coach and driver,” he said. “You know, the one we have now left back at the inn.”
How she mourned leaving that coach behind now. “Is your point that this is not the wisest decision I have ever made?” she asked. “Because I know that already.”
“Then why are you doing this? I understand you feel obligated to help Miss Neves, but Draven will catch up to her sooner or later. Sooner if he has already located Lord Jasper.”
She continued walking, her back stiff, despite how heavy her shoulders felt.
“But why won’t you see reason and go home? You have always been the cleverest and most rational female of my acquaintance. I don’t understand what you are thinking.”
Her gaze stared straight ahead, anger fueled by weariness bubbling inside her. “Why do you pretend not to know? You are the most intelligent and logical man I know. Please stop pretending you don’t see what’s in front of you.”
He jogged until he was in front of her and turned to face her, walking backward. “I always see what’s right in front of me. I have always seen you, Emmeline.”
“Then you see what a disappointment I am to my mother.”
He shook his head, but she saw in his expression that he knew exactly what she was talking about. Just as she knew how little Stratford’s father valued him. Of all the people who might question what she was doing, she had always thought Stratford would understand.
“She loves you,” he said.
“She does, in her way,” Emmeline agreed. “But all my life she has tried to change me, to make me thinner, prettier, more like the daughter she wishes I had been. I do not want to live the rest of my life trying to change myself to make someone else happy.” She’d never actually put her feelings into words before, but as she did, it all became so clear. She wanted to be loved for who she was. She’d always been told, in one way or another, she had to change. Emmeline didn’t want to change. Just because she was not what a few thousand wealthy and titled people deemed to be fashionable, did not mean she should remake herself to please them.
Before she had run away, she had taken a hard look in the mirror. She liked who she saw looking back at her. She liked her contrary opinions, her curvy body, and even her unruly hair. “I just thought that if I could get away for a few years, until I was firmly on the shelf, then I could live as I want. My sisters could marry and have children, and my mother would be able to focus on tasks other than making me into someone I will never be.”
Stratford stopped and held his hands out, locking them around her upper arms. “I had no idea you felt that way.”
“No one does. I’ve never told anyone.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I am telling you. Except I thought you might understand.”
“Do ye need a rest?” Murray called back.
“Yes!” Stratford answered. “Give me ten minutes or so.”
It was she, not he, who needed the respite, but she appreciated that Stratford kept up the ruse that she was not struggling.
“Just wait until we reach the Highlands!” Murray said. “Ye will wish for roads like this.”
Stratford moved off the road, still holding Emmeline’s arm. “Just wait until he passes out,” Stratford muttered. “I’ll make him eat his words.”
“Such a good friend,” Emmeline said.
Pausing under the gently swaying leaves of a tree, Stratford removed his hat. “I am a good friend. Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt? I wouldn’t have dragged you to all those balls.”
She smiled. “I never blamed you. Neither of us had a choice.”
“I had a choice. I just like to keep my mother happy, considering she’s the only parent who can stand the look of me.”
Emmeline sank to the ground under the tree, the weight of the day and her sympathy for him becoming too heavy. “I’m sure your father and mother love you in their own way, but I hope coming after me is not a means to earn their favor.”
He crouched down before her. “Is that what you think?”
She looked away, saw Ines help Murray to sit under another tree on the opposite side of the road.
“No. I think you are here because you wanted to come, but you should go home. I am perfectly safe with Mr. Murray and am in the company of Miss Neves. You can leave me and go back to your own life.”
“What if I don’t want to leave you?” he asked.
She shook her head and blew out an exasperated breath. “I have told you countless times, I am not going home.”
“And I have told you that I go where you go.”
“Why?” She lifted her arms in frustration. “So you can lecture me at every turn?”
“No. So I can do this.”
He reached for her, and though she could have easily moved away, she let him take her into his arms. That was where she wanted to be anyway. And then because she liked the feel of being pressed against him, she pulled him closer. Of course, that caused him to lose his balance and topple forward, toppling them both, she under him as they fell onto the grass under the tree. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at her for a long moment. She knew his eyes would be that beautiful blue she loved. Her own eyes were probably huge because she could feel his weight on her, and it was more satisfying than she could have imagined to have a man splayed on top of her.
“I must stand up,” he said.
She wrapped her hands around his neck. “No.”
“Duncan—”
“Can’t see us behind this tree and wouldn’t care if he could.” She tugged his mouth closer to hers. “What were you saying before? About why you want to stay?”
“I really should show you,” he said.
“Show me.”
Anticipating him, she lifted her lips to his, but this was no gentle kiss. Stratford kissed her hard and thoroughly, effectively robbing her of any semblance of rational thought. She wanted more of his mouth, more of his touch, more of everything.
“Not here,” he said, pulling away, his breath as short as hers. “What am I saying?” He rolled off her, leaving her cold and lonely. “Not anywhere. We cannot do this.”
“Because we are friends,” she said.
“Exactly.”
She rolled her head to look at him. “We could be better friends.”
She saw his throat move as he swallowed. Then he looked away determinedly. “That’s not the only reason. You are an unmarried lady. I cannot—”
“Then why don’t you marry me?”
She didn’t know why she said it. She wished with all her heart she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth. His expression said it all. He looked shocked and horrified and, well, disgusted at the idea. Emmeline scrambled up. “Forget what I said. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Emmeline.” He was reaching for her, and she jumped to her feet and started away.
“I was not being serious. It was a joke that went too far.” She held out a hand to ward him away. “I need a moment alone.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about. I told you I will never marry, and I especially wouldn’t marry you. Now give me a moment alone to attend to my personal needs.”
At her cutting words, he slowed and finally paused.
“Thank you. A lady needs a few moments alone sometimes.” She pushed her way through some low brush then slid behind a tree and leaned back against the trunk for support. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep her cries silent as tears ran down her cheeks.
What was wrong with her? Why would she say such a thing? Of course, Stratford did not want to marry her. He didn’t love her any more than she loved him. He just wanted what all men wanted, though he had more honor than most. And she knew what that honor would lead to. He would tell her that he was flattered by her proposal but could not accept. He would explain, oh so gently, that he didn’t love her.
And that was fine. She would never marry any man because what would be the point of escaping a controlling mother only to wed a man and fall under his control? Then she’d be forced to change to become the woman he wanted for a wife. There was only one way she could ever be her true self—and that was to be alone.
And that was why she had left Odham Abbey. And that was why she hated Stratford coming after her.
Because he made her believe she didn’t have to be alone to be loved for who she was. And because he was making her fall in love with him.
***
DUNCAN
Duncan watched Stratford chase after Miss Wellesley and wondered when the man would admit he cared for the lass. It was as plain as the day was long that he had feelings for the woman. Duncan had known it even before he had seen them together. Stratford was always quick to defend his cousin, though from what Duncan could see of her, the criticism she received was generally fair.
Ines had held off sitting beside him at the base of the tree, but now she gave in and sat daintily with her legs under her. For such a small creature, she was a lot of trouble.
“Are you still angry with me?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said.
“I would have thought you glad to be rid of me. I have caused you problems.”
It was as though she’d heard his thoughts. “I should be, aye,” he said.
“But you are not glad to be rid of me?” she asked, turning her body toward his. Duncan had to resist pulling her onto his lap. Considering how he was feeling, it was probably best to avoid the question.
“I want ye tae be safe, lass.”
She exhaled with a loud. “Safe! Safe! Safe! Caramba! I am so tired of this talk of safe.” From the way her arms were slicing the air and her voice rose, he could see that.
“Ye’ve a taste for adventure, I ken.” He liked that about her. He liked it very much, though it made his head ache at the moment.
“Yes! And I did not seek this adventure. It found me. I was only trying to avoid Mr. Podmore.”
“Who is this Podmore?”
She explained, and Duncan felt his collar grow warm as she discussed her sister’s attempts to find a suitor for her. He didn’t like thinking of her with another man, especially a man like the Podmore she described.
“I cannae blame ye for wanting tae escape a man like that. Ye’ll want a man who kens yer need for adventure and excitement.”
She looked at him, and even in the darkness, he could feel her gaze boring into his.
He looked for an escape. “What I mean is—”
“If only I knew of such a man,” she said, tapping her chin in a show of thoughtfulness, her eyes still on him. Duncan tried to scoot away, but the tree was at his back.
“Lass, dinnae look tae me.” He shook his head and held his hands up.
“What is it they call you, senhor? The Lunatic?” She moved closer, trapping him. “Why is that, I wonder. And you are in search of a wife, não?”
He grasped her arms and held her at bay before she could crawl into his lap, which was exactly where he wanted her but beside the point. “I was in search of a wife. Now I’m for home.”
She was no good at hiding her emotions. He saw the disappointment written across her face.
“Lass, did ye nae tell me ye were hiding in my coach tae avoid a suitor and running away because ye dinnae want tae be trapped in a marriage?”
She tilted her head, her gaze seeming to see him clearly through the shadows of the night. “Marriage to you would be no trap, senhor.”
He felt a lump rise in his throat, and his lungs seemed to push all the air out so he could not breathe.
“But I am not proposing we marry,” she said. Duncan didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or hold his breath in preparation for what she might say next. “It is an excuse for me to travel with you. And if you bring me home, then your mother cannot say you did not find a bride, não?”
“Nae.” He shook his head. He could see her plan now. It was the sort of haphazard, half-baked idea he would have. He had to admire her. She wanted an adventure and a real or pretend engagement gave her presence with him legitimacy. She probably thought he could benefit too.
But she did not know Lady Charlotte.
“Then you do not want me with you,” she said, shrinking back from him. He pulled her back where she’d been.
“I dinnae say that. But nor do I want ye tae reach Kirkmoray and believe ye’ll receive a warm welcome from my mother. She willnae accept ye for my wife.”
She tensed. He could feel her body go rigid, though he only held her arms. Without thinking, he slid his hands down her arms and back up again, comforting her. He also enjoyed the feel of the soft, bare skin of her forearms under his fingers. “It’s nothing tae do with ye, lass,” he said. “She wants me to marry an Englishwoman. Nae, not just an Englishwoman but the daughter of a peer.” He pulled her closer yet when she tried to jerk away. He didn’t want to bruise her arms, so he lowered his hands to her waist. His hands were already firmly about that slim waist when he realized his mistake. Her waist was too close to her hips, which was too close to her bottom, which he desperately wanted to plant two hands on and squeeze. She was a slender lass who looked as though she might blow away in a strong wind, but he’d paid enough attention to see that under the loose folds of her dress, she had a shapely bottom. He wondered just how shapely.
Keeping his hands firmly on her waist, he continued. “Ye dinnae ken the history of England. The English have hated the Scottish for years. They’ve done all they can tae do away with us. Whole villages struggle with finding enough food tae feed their children. Clans are scattered tae the four winds.”
“Not your clan,” she said, seeming to relax now under his touch.
“Nae, not mine. And one reason for that, it cannae be denied, is my mother. Lady Charlotte is an Englishwoman and the daughter of an earl. She married a Scot, which lowered her in the Crown’s esteem, but she is still esteemed, ye ken?”
“And what about you? You are a war hero, não?”
“I’m nae hero, lass.” And he wasn’t. She wasn’t the only one who’d wanted adventure or an escape. The guilt of his father’s death—well, Duncan had thought fighting with the English would make him forget it. When it hadn’t, he’d accepted a dangerous commission, thinking that perhaps in death he could forget. “But I will admit that my service is another protection for the clan.”
“But not enough for your mother. I am not good enough.” She looked away. Duncan had to wonder how his mother, a woman Ines had never met, was able to extend the long arm of disapproval all the way into England and Ines’s heart. Duncan began to wonder if perhaps all the years of living with his mother’s disapproval meant he carried it with him and spread it like pollen. Only what grew were not flowers but weeds and thorns.
“Nae lass is good enough for her,” he said. “But then she never did ken what tae look for.”
She slowly turned back to him. The sky behind her had lightened to a steel gray, pearling her olive skin and making her brown eyes look even darker. Duncan lifted one hand to touch her soft cheek. “She doesnae appreciate the desire for adventure or escape.”
“Não?” she whispered, leaning her cheek into his touch. Duncan seemed to have always known Ines would respond to his touch this way. He hadn’t been surprised at her response to his kiss. She was a sensual creature, one who craved connection, touch, passion. He recognized that part of himself in her. “What else does she not appreciate, senhor?”
“Duncan. Nae senhor.”
She smiled, probably at his poor accent on the term.
“What else does she not appreciate, Duncan?”
He liked the way she said his name. It sounded exotic and foreign. The English always seemed to make it flat and squish it together. He preferred the lilt of the Scots brogue for his name, but if he had a second choice it would be Ines’s soft way of breathing it.
“She is a woman who is always skeptical. She doesnae trust anyone. Ye, ye trust easily. Perhaps tae easily.” His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.
“I can trust you. Benedict trusts you.”
“Aye, ye can trust me. But only so far, lass.”
“Can I trust you here?” she asked, gesturing at the space between them.
“Aye.”
She scooted closer. “Here?”
“Aye.” But his voice had grown gruffer and deeper.
She moved onto his lap. “Here?
All but gritting his teeth, he said, “Aye.”
“What else does Lady Charlotte not appreciate?”
“Passion,” he said above the pounding of his heart. He wanted to pull her the last few inches until she was pressed against him, her mouth on his. “She says tae much passion makes a man—or woman—unpredictable and...dangerous.”
Ines’s mouth curved slowly into a smile. “Dangerous. Do you think I am dangerous?”
“Oh, aye. Ye are a hazard, lass.”
“Oh? Am I?” she whispered, wriggling closer. That made his cock sit up and take notice. Just a little further and she’d be warm and cozy over it.
“A hazard tae my good intentions.”
“I detest good intentions, Duncan.”
“So do I.” His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, where he grasped a fistful of her disheveled hair and drew her mouth to his. He hadn’t intended to plunder her, but as soon as their lips touched, the craving he felt for more of her, all of her, gripped him and would not let go. She opened to him without protest, and her tongue met his with a fervor that nearly drove him over the edge. He yanked her against him so she straddled him, that warm place between her legs resting over his hard cock, which strained at his trousers. He resisted the urge to lift his hips and press his erection into that warm spot, but he could not resist allowing his hand to trail down over the swell of her bottom. He’d pulled her forward, and she was lifted just enough that he could run a hand over its roundness and firmness. It was high and tight, a good bottom for a playful slap or where a man could grab a handful and hold on.
Her arse moved under his hand, probably testing the feel of it, and he could not resist sliding his hand lower until he slid between her cheeks for a moment. He thought she might stiffen or gasp in shock, but instead she gave a moan so wanton that he almost came. Duncan couldn’t think clearly any longer. He just knew he needed to hear that moan again. He needed to see her face when she climaxed. She was the kind of woman who would burn bright and so hot a man might incinerate if he came too close.
Duncan was a man who liked a risk like that. Releasing her hair, he slid both hands to the middle of her spine and eased her back. Much as it pained him to break their kiss, to tear his mouth from her warm, inviting one, he did so. She drew in a breath, her back arching and her small, round breasts close enough to his mouth that he could kiss them over the fabric of her gown. Instead, he anchored her with one arm and slid the other down her neck and between her breasts. “Can I touch ye, lass?” he asked.
She looked down at him, eyes unfocused, expression one of confusion. His hand moved down further to her belly and then lower, and her eyes widened.
“Can I touch ye, lass?” he asked again.
“Please,” she said, and the word was barely a puff of air. He tugged up her skirts until he had the hem then slid his hand underneath. The warmth of her thigh met his flesh, and he cupped it, allowing his hand to heat to her temperature. Their eyes met now, her expression clear to him in the growing lightness. How long had they been sitting here? A quarter hour? An hour? Three? Where was Stratford?
And why did he care when she was looking at him like that, like a lioness watching her prey, waiting for the hunt, the catch, the pleasure of the kill.
His hand slid higher and there was that moan again. Her slim body trembled beneath his touch, her knees gripping his thighs tightly as if to hold on and anchor her. He inched higher, closer to her heat, to the core of her. Her breathing grew rapid, her tongue wet her lips, and Duncan’s own breath rasped in his throat.
His fingers brushed moist hair and she made a sound like Oh. He brushed against her again, and her hips rocked so his fingers slipped over her outer lips. Her entire body shivered, and she moaned.
Christ and all the saints, he’d never heard a woman moan like that. It was the sort of sound that came from somewhere deep within, a well of passion he did not think most women, nor most men, even possessed. And he’d barely tapped it.
His fingers caressed her now, learning the shape of her sex, the creases and folds and the heat of her.
And then he found the wetness. He drew it along a finger and slaked it over her, making her flesh slick and slippery. She was gasping, soft little moans, but she went silent when he found her channel. She tightened with anticipation as he moved his fingers up until he found that wet, hard bud just waiting for him.
“Oh!” Her exhalation seemed to echo about them, and Duncan had a fleeting thought of Stratford again, but one look at Ines’s face and he could think of nothing but her. She was an attractive woman, no one could deny that, but the expression of pleasure he saw on her face made her absolutely radiant. He could hardly breathe at the sight of her.
Somehow, he knew she possessed a short fuse. If he stroked that tight bud, she would climax quickly. He wanted to give her more than a quick burst of pleasure. He slid his finger back to her wet channel, entered it a fraction, and stroked. She was mewling now, moving against him. He tried to keep her hips steady, but she managed to take more of him inside her—one finger to the knuckle. He felt her tighten around him. He slid his finger out and then back in again, and her mouth opened soundlessly. She wanted more, and he wanted to give it to her—two fingers, three, his cock. But someone had to be in control here. Later Duncan would be amused that he was the one to hold back, to keep from rushing in. It was so utterly unlike him.
Duncan tightened his grip on her waist, pulled her close enough so that their eyes were mere inches apart. “Look at me, lass,” he said.
Her unfocused eyes landed on his then her gaze flitted away as her body reached for pleasure. He stroked her, slid his finger to that tender nub, and pressed lightly. Her gaze fastened on him.
“Duncan,” she breathed.
“That’s right. Look at me, lass.”
He rubbed the nub again then slid away and entered her.
“Não! Sim! Por favor.”
“I’ll give ye what ye want, lass, but ye have to give up control. Do ye trust me?”
She shook her head. “I do not trust any man.”
Duncan would explore that sentiment later. For the time being, he would try a different tact. “Do ye think I ken what ye want?”
Her hips bucked as though to show him, her face an agony of waiting. “Then believe me when I tell ye that my way will make it better for ye.”
She gave a brief nod that conveyed tacit agreement. Duncan didn’t mistake the nod for trust or a complete relinquishing of control. But for the moment, she would allow him to show her how it could be.
He stroked her with the finger still inside her, pulled out, then entered her slowly. Her eyes closed, and he whispered, “Eyes on me, lass.”
She stared at him, her beautiful brown eyes so dark and large they seemed to take up her entire face. Slowly, he slid his thumb over her sensitive bud. She inhaled sharply, but he kept his touch light and teasing. She bit her lip as he circled her. Her hips began to move, and he stilled. She glared at him but remained still until he began to tease her again, his movements so slow they must be torturous. They tortured him. She was so warm and tight. He wanted to replace that finger with his cock. But he also wanted to live, and Draven would kill him if he deflowered her. Draven would kill him for what he was doing now.
But Duncan would rather die than stop.
He flicked at the bud, circled it, felt her shiver. She was close now and he withdrew just for a moment then returned. Her breathing was hitched and loud. Her entire body trembled in his arms. Her gaze was hot and sharp as it bored into his. He gave her a slow smile as he slid his thumb over her center of pleasure one more time. The touch was light, but the pressure was just enough that he knew it would send her over the edge.
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Her body stilled, though, as if it were drawing tightly into itself. Her legs gripped his thighs as he pleasured her. And then with what seemed like almost an explosion, she let out a moan erotic enough that he might have come just from hearing it if he wasn’t so focused on what he was doing. Her inner walls tightened on his finger and her body jerked convulsively as she climaxed. As he’d instructed, her eyes never left his, and he saw in them the wonder and pleasure and surprise of the experience.
He saw the beauty too. This was what the experience should be—beauty and bliss and a reach for something just beyond oneself.
Finally, she threw her head back and pushed her hips forward, pressing harder against him to take all of the pleasure she could. Her hands held fast to his shoulders and though her nails were short, her hands were those of a woman who worked. As she dug her fingers into him she caused just a small bite of pain.
Finally, she fell forward, and he caught her against his chest. Her breathing was rapid as though she took in gulps after a long run. Her face against his neck was hot and...wet? He pulled her back and looked at her face. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“What’s this now?” he asked. He removed his hand from under her skirts to hold her in place while wiping the tears away with his other hand.
She said something in Portuguese, and though he didn’t understand he understood the shrug of her shoulders and shake of her head. She did not know why she cried. She was overwhelmed by the emotions.
He was overwhelmed as well. He’d never been so enraptured by a woman before. He’d never gotten so much pleasure from giving pleasure.
And though he did not want to cry, he was having trouble making sense of all the emotions he felt in that moment. Rage, he understood. Exhilaration, he understood. Impatience, he understood. Lust, he understood.
But this was none of those. And for the first time in many years Duncan felt something that might have been fear and just beyond that an emotion he dared not name.