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INES
Ines spotted Mr. Fortescue in front of the cottage and breathed a sigh of relief. If Fortescue was here, Duncan was nearby as well. She just prayed Duncan wouldn’t do anything foolish. She worried, more than anything else, that the Scotsman would be hurt.
So much for PED. She wanted excitement and danger and gotten both plus passion, but she did not want anything if it meant she would lose Duncan.
She knew their party didn’t have enough coin to satisfy the men who had taken her. They’d dragged her to their camp, tied her to a tree, and left her alone for the afternoon. When she’d stopped shaking from terror, she had concentrated on listening to them talk. They kept some distance from her, which she appreciated, except that it made it hard to hear them very well. What she did piece together from the snatches of conversation she overheard was that they expected a large sum for her return. If her man did not have it with him, then they would keep her for a few days until he could gather it and pay them.
Ines felt sick at the prospect of having to stay with these men for even a night, but she felt sicker knowing that Duncan would never allow that. He would get her back, no matter the cost. She had already almost cost him his life. She didn’t want to do so again.
And so she felt relief at seeing Stratford Fortescue but also dread. Her gaze met Mr. Fortescue’s, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She kept her gaze on his, knowing that to look for Duncan might give him away. Better if her captors thought their only foe was Fortescue.
The man leading her, a man she had learned was called Graeme, stopped a few yards from Fortescue, and Ines stopped as well. She knew Graeme had sent men on ahead, but she didn’t see them. She wished she could warn Fortescue that Graeme had not come alone.
“I hope ye’ve brought a large purse,” Graeme said, eyeing Stratford up and down. “I’ll want a nice sum for the trouble of caring for yer woman all day.”
Fortescue looked unconcerned. “If you did not want the responsibility for her, you should have left her where you found her. Now, I suggest you give her back before I am forced to do something unpleasant.”
A light rain started to fall, and Ines blinked the water out of her eyes. She was already damp and cold from the rain that had fallen on and off all afternoon, and she dreaded the wet night ahead, especially if she was to spend it tied to a tree.
“I should think ye would be more worried aboot what I might do. I have yer woman, and if ye dinnae plan tae pay me a fine sum tae give her back, I might just keep her. She’s a bonny lass.”
“If that means she is pretty, you are right. But I can’t think she is pretty enough for all the trouble you will cause yourself if you do not hand her over right away.”
Graeme made a show of looking about. “What trouble? Ye are standing here alone. If ye had bothered tae look aboot ye, ye’d ken I have my men surrounding ye.”
“And if you’d bothered to pull your head out of your arse for three seconds, you’d realize you will be dead in the next quarter hour, if you do not release this lady immediately.”
Ines was trying to remain calm, but it was difficult when she still didn’t know where Duncan was. And it was even more difficult when she could see Graeme’s men creeping closer.
“Oh, I have my heid in my arse?” Graeme yanked Ines’s bindings, causing her to stumble forward. “Do ye want the lass or nae?”
Fortescue raised an unconcerned brow. “I said I did, but I won’t pay the likes of you for her. Now give her to me and scurry back to the hole you crawled out of.” Fortescue held out an imperious hand.
“I ought tae kill ye now,” Graeme said as his men moved even closer. Ines’s heart thundered in her chest. Soon the men would have Fortescue surrounded and then they would both be prisoners.
“I would like to see you try,” Fortescue said, seeming unconcerned by the men moving up behind him.
“Ye dinnae believe me? Then maybe ye’d like tae watch me kill her instead.” Graeme yanked Ines to the ground and grabbed her by the hair. She gasped at the bite of pain, her eyes watering.
“You won’t kill her,” Fortescue began.
And then through the drizzle and her tears, she saw Duncan. It seemed to Ines that he flew out of the crofter’s cottage. Of course, he couldn’t really fly. Her eyes must be deceiving her, but the way he moved looked like flying. He leapt, his hair streaming out behind him, his handsome face a mask of rage, his arm wielding what looked like a sword, though she could not remember him having one before.
Fortescue yelled, his arms cutting through the air as though giving some sort of direction or rebuke. And then he sagged, seemed to gather himself again, turned to the man closest to him and delivered a hard kick to his hand, sending the dagger he held flying. Impressive as the move was, Ines could not keep her gaze from returning to Duncan. As he came closer, she realized what she had thought might be a sword was actually a sharpened stick.
Caramba! He was fighting men armed with real weapons with nothing more than a stick! She knew he had a dagger as well. He had a habit of tossing it when they sat waiting for another cart to pass or a merchant to finish a negotiation. He would hold the handle with the tip of his fingers, toss it in the air, and then catch it by the handle again. But where was that dagger now? He would need it against Graeme. Duncan landed, crouched, then turned his head as a lion might when scenting prey. His amber eyes fixed on his target, and he lunged for Graeme.
Graeme didn’t flinch. He met the attack head on. Ines meant to flinch—to close her eyes—but she had to see what would happen. Graeme was on his feet, arms raised for attack one moment, then flat on the ground, the next. Duncan loomed over him, sharpened stick at the ready. Suddenly, that stick looked far more dangerous than any stick had a right to, and Ines could not watch. She had the sudden realization that the rope binding her hands was slack. When Graeme fell, he must have released the end he held. She began to wriggle her wrists in an attempt to free herself. But the knots were tight, and her hands slick from the rain. Around her, men yelled and cried out in pain. Ines tried to focus on her task, but she couldn’t stop looking about her.
A man grabbed her hands and Ines cried out. She looked up and into Duncan’s leonine eyes. There was no warmth in them now, only hard determination. Duncan pulled her to her feet. The dagger she had seen him toy with on so many occasions was in his hand, and it flashed, freeing the bindings. Ines stared at the crimson liquid that washed briefly over her hands before being rinsed away by the rain, which had begun falling more steadily now.
Blood. Duncan or Graeme’s?
“Go,” Duncan said to her.
She frowned, still staring at the last droplets of pink on her skin. He shook her, and she looked up and into his face, so hard and ferocious. All of that rage, all of that fury—for her. “Go!” he said and gave her a gentle push.
As though a gear in her mind was suddenly turned, she understood. She looked about, found an opening, and ran.
The sounds of fighting followed her as she tumbled into the brush just out of view of the crofter’s cottage. She did not know who was winning, and she could not bear to watch. She heard Duncan and Fortescue’s voices in a quick exchange and knew at least they were still alive. They would stay alive, wouldn’t they? They had fought together in a war against the French. They could hold their own in a fight against a small group of bandits.
Ines rubbed at her sore wrists and tried to catch her breath. She would simply hide here until the sounds of fighting died away. Then she would hide longer until she could discern a winner. If the bandits won, she would stay where she was and hope they did not find her. It was raining harder now, and the sky had darkened considerably. She would not be easy to spot in her dark dress. But, of course, the bandits would not win. Duncan must win. He must or...
Something moved in the brush behind her. Ines hoped she had imagined it, but she heard a rustling, even the rain could not muffle. She tensed, afraid to move and give herself away. One of Graeme’s men must have hidden here. She should have paid more attention to where they’d positioned themselves.
Slowly, she turned to look into the shadows behind her. Something moved, but it didn’t look human. Caramba! There were wolves in Scotland! And then she saw the brown eyes and the patch of white fur, and she sobbed out a cry of relief. “Loftus!” The dog pushed through the undergrowth, his tongue licking her face. Ines much preferred cats to dogs. She thought dogs ill-mannered because they were always licking people they barely knew. But she would have submitted to Loftus’s ministrations for another five minutes. She was so happy to see him. He sniffed her, licked her again, and then his ears pricked up as though he were listening for something.
The fighting. Of course, he had heard it. But if he was here, did that mean Emmeline was nearby as well? Ines couldn’t imagine Mr. Fortescue or Duncan would allow her anywhere near this place. They would have left her behind with Loftus. Loftus whined, looked at Ines, then back at the sounds of the fight. Finally, seeming to make up his mind, he slid back under the brush and toward the fighting. Duncan and Fortescue would soon have another soldier, but where was Emmeline?
***
DUNCAN
Duncan had to admit Stratford was a better fighter than he would have guessed. The two hadn’t fought together often. Duncan and other members of the troop, usually Ewan and Rowden, were sent in when hand-to-hand combat was required. Stratford was usually positioned with Nash to oversee the strategy he’d laid out, while Nash picked off any men Duncan and the others didn’t disarm in their first sortie.
Duncan supposed he had seen Stratford fight before. No one escaped the war without some blood on their hands. He just hadn’t realized how graceful and controlled Stratford’s technique could be. That was the word for it—technique. He didn’t fight as Duncan did—with wild abandon. He fought with precision and efficiency. Duncan had to admire the style, even as he tore his own way through the last few bandits still standing. There had only been about seven of them. With their leader down, the others had swarmed. Half had gone for Stratford and the others for Duncan. On the Continent, the men of Draven’s had always fought toward each other, until they could press their backs together defensively. Duncan did that now, without thinking. After a few minutes, Stratford’s back pressed into his.
“Seems like old times,” Stratford said, panting.
“Aye, except I had a sword then.” Duncan threw a punch and hoped the man stayed down.
“And I had a pistol.” He grunted as one of their opponents obviously landed a blow. Duncan had one more man to take down, then he would finish off Stratford’s foes. “You still don’t follow plans,” Stratford said, obviously annoyed that Duncan had left his position early.
“Make a better one and I might.” Duncan dodged his man’s right hook.
“The weather is the same,” Stratford said.
“Always wet and muddy, aye. I was so tired of the pissing rain.” Duncan hit his man across from him with his stick, opening a gash on the man’s forehead and causing him to fall to his knees. Duncan kicked him, and when the man went down, Duncan leaned close and said, “Stay down or I’ll slide my dagger between yer ribs.”
The man stayed down.
Duncan turned to Stratford’s last adversary, a big man with dark red hair plastered to his face. He had to weigh two of Stratford, and he had arms like tree limbs. He seemed to have no weapon but his fists, and that was probably all he needed.
This might take a while. The man was obviously besting Stratford, judging by the blood at the corner of his friend’s mouth. When Duncan stepped forward, the man smiled.
And then his smile froze. It only took Duncan a moment to realize why. He too heard the growl. With a smile, Duncan spotted Loftus behind the reiver, crouched low, teeth bared.
“Put yer fists down, and I’ll call him off,” Duncan said. “Otherwise, I’ll let him eat ye for dinner.”
The man put his fists down, his eyes wild with fright.
“Loftus, come,” Stratford said.
Loftus trotted to his side, his eyes still trained on the large Scot. Sensing his opportunity, the man ran. Loftus started to go after him, but Duncan grasped him by the scruff of the neck and held him. “Let him go, boy. He willnae trouble us more.”
Stratford bent at the waist, catching his breath. “How do we know they won’t lick their wounds and ambush us?”
“Because I killed their leader.”
Stratford’s head came up. “Bloody hell.”
But Duncan felt no remorse. The man had touched Ines. He’d abducted her, bound her, and God knew what he had done to her while he’d had her. And he’d probably terrorized countless other travelers or nearby landholders. The man did not deserve to live.
And he knew that was not the only reason. He’d lost his temper, lost control. He had been worried for Ines, but that was not all. He’d wanted revenge, though of course the man he killed wasn’t the one who’d really deserved it.
As Duncan and Stratford caught their breath, the small group of men began slinking away, limping and staggering. Two of them took their leader by the arms and dragged him off as well.
Stratford straightened. “I told her to stay with the dog,” he said.
“And when has Emmeline Wellesley ever done as anyone bade her? Take the dog and find her. The roof of the cottage has a few holes, but we can sleep in here tonight. It will be better than huddling out in the rain.”
“Where is Miss Neves?” Stratford asked, looking about the gloomy darkness.
“Let me worry aboot her.” He knew exactly where she was. He’d seen her run into the brush and duck down. He was pleased she had enough sense to stay there, hidden.
Stratford slapped him on the back and started away, the dog leading him. Duncan started for Ines, covering the ground between them in a few steps. She popped up when she heard him coming. “Is it over?” she asked.
It was so good to see her face, to see her alive and well. His heart ached at the sight. “Aye,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
“Did you win?” she asked.
“Aye.” He reached her, scooped her into his arms, and began to carry her. She squealed in surprise.
“What are you doing, senhor?”
“Getting ye inside.” And holding her. He needed to hold her in the moment.
He reached the crofter’s cottage, kicked the door open, and carried her in. It was dark and chilly inside, but at least it was mostly dry. He remembered the dry corner where he had waited for Stratford’s signal—a signal he’d forgotten about as soon as he saw Ines fall to her knees—and deposited Ines there. He’d taken off his coat inside because he’d known he’d want more freedom of movement when he attacked, and it had proved a wise decision as it was still warm. He dropped it over Ines’s shoulders and felt around for several abandoned birds’ nests he’d seen.
He’d already brought wood inside. He’d used his dagger to whittle one of the sticks into a sharp lance. The others were still in a pile near the hearth. When he’d gathered the bird nests, he used a foot to shove the wood into the hearth, dumped the dry tinder of the old nests on the top of the kindling, and reached into his satchel for his tinder box. A few moments later, he had a small fire started. With a bit of patience and careful manipulation of his kindling, the fire took hold and didn’t smoke too badly. The activity was what he needed to settle his emotions and calm his racing blood after the fight.
“Come closer,” Duncan said, when he was once again in control of himself. He spotted Ines, still huddled in the corner where he’d deposited her. “Ye look like a wet kitten.”
“You look...” Her eyes shone in the firelight.
Duncan swallowed hard. She didn’t look like a wet kitten at all. She looked like a beautiful woman.
“You look magnificent,” she breathed.
Duncan clenched his hands, steeling himself against the rush of desire her words elicited. Then, against his better judgement, he opened his arms. “Come here,” he said. She went to him, burying her head against his chest. He rubbed her back and pulled her close. She was so cold and felt so small and fragile shivering against him. He wanted to hold her until she was warm and safe in his arms. “Did they hurt ye, lass?”
She shook her head, but he needed to hear the words and see her face. He pulled back and looked down at her. “Tell me the truth. Did they hurt ye? Did they touch ye?”
“Não,” she said, gaze direct. “They tied me to a tree near their camp and ignored me. I heard them discussing me, but they did not come near me.”
Duncan touched the small red mark on the side of her throat, and her eyes widened. “What happened here?”
She touched the mark. “I tried to get away at first.” She closed her eyes. “I should have fought harder.”
“Nae, lass.” Duncan rubbed her upper arms, trying to warm her. “Ye were right to go with them and nae tae cause trouble. Men like that have nae honor. They steal what’s nae theirs and terrorize small farms and villages rather than eke oot a living like the rest of us. They dinnae care about the pain they cause or the destruction they leave in their wake. I dinnae think they plan tae hurt ye, but they would if ye became inconvenient. Life doesnae matter to them in the least,” he said bitterly. He knew that too well.
She wrapped her arms about him again. “You have met men like this before?”
He took a long, deep breath. “They’re called reivers, and aye. I have met men like them before.”
She clutched him tighter. “They hurt you?”
He did not want to speak of that. Even if now had been the right time. But she was cold and wet, and he needed to take care of her. “I am nae hurt. It’s ye I’m worried aboot.”
She buried her head in his shoulder. “I am so sorry, senhor. Our travel was going so well, and I have ruined everything.”
Duncan let out a surprised laugh, and she pulled back to look at him. “Ye think this is going well?” he asked. “We’ve little coin, we’ve nae horses or coach, we’ve angered two of the most powerful men in the country, and we’re still days away from my home, where my mother will nae doubt scold me for arriving withoot the one thing she sent me tae London for.”
Ines stepped back. “That is one way to look at it, but we are also in the company of friends, we are safe now, and we have met many lovely people who offered to let us ride in the back of carts or wagons. And I have seen the beauty of this country. I will never forget this adventure.”
Duncan did not know where she found her optimism, but he couldn’t find the will to oppose it. “If I dinnae get ye warm and dry, ye’ll never forget the ague that develops. Come closer tae the fire, lass.” He settled her before it, and she sighed in contentment. He had a bit of bread in his satchel, and he gave it to her. “Eat this.”
She took it, broke it, and offered him half. But of course, she did. “I do not want to eat alone. Sit with me, por favor.”
Duncan did not think that was a good idea, but he couldn’t seem to refuse her anything. He sat beside her, took half the bread, and ate it in one bite. She looked at the piece she had only nibbled and offered it to him. “I think you need this more than I.”
“Eat it,” he said. “I willnae have ye starve. Draven will have my heid for that too then.”
“Is that the last of our food?” she asked.
“Aye. Stratford and I will have tae hunt if we want tae eat after this.”
She seemed to consider his words, tilting her head to the side so that her long, damp hair fell over her shoulder and brushed his arm. The feel of it alerted every one of his nerves. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from lowering his head to sniff at her hair, which held the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He had to be imagining that. They both must smell like damp wool and smoke.
“You said it is still days until we reach your home?”
“Aye.” Duncan could imagine wrapping his hand in her hair and bringing it to his nose to inhale her fragrance more deeply. He’d like to press his face into her neck, taste her skin, touch her until she was not only warm but hot under his fingertips.
“What would make the trip faster?”
“Four horses,” he said without thinking.
Ines shook her head. “Three. I do not know how to ride.”
“Three then,” he agreed, playing along. “Ye could ride with me.” He’d like to have her seated before him, wrap his arms about her, feel her thighs against his... His body reacted to that thought predictably, and he tamped down the image. She was speaking again, and he tried to listen. “And what would ye sell, lass? Ye’ve no jewelry, and even if ye did, I wouldnae let ye sell it.”
“I have this,” she said, pulling a collar of lace from a pocket under her dress. He remembered she had been wearing it when he’d first met her, with the yellow dress that he’d ruined with his blood.
“A scrap of lace?” he said.
She stiffened, indignant. “This scrap is worth five pounds, at least.”
“Nae Scotswoman in her right mind will pay ye five pounds for lace.” He looked closer. It was remarkably fine work. “This is Catarina lace?”
She nodded.
The ladies in London had certainly driven up the price of the lace, but it would not sell for enough to provide them with three horses. But it could serve as a gesture of goodwill. “I have an idea,” he said. “We might be able tae find a farmer or stableman tae loan us three horses. I can use my uncle’s name, promise payment after we arrive. These lowlanders willnae want tae travel all that way to retrieve their horses, not even for a decent price, but if we had this pretty lace tae offer him tae give tae his wife or sweetheart, he might agree.”
Ines nodded. “Good. Where is this man? We should speak to him as soon as possible.”
Duncan pressed her back down as she’d half risen with excitement. “We’ll nae find anyone willing tae do business tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
Ines sighed then leaned against him, bringing her hair and that scent he so enjoyed even closer. Duncan was well aware he should move away from her. He should keep several feet between them. But he did not move.
“Where are Mr. Fortescue and Miss Wellesley?” she asked.
“We left her at the camp. Stratford went tae fetch her. I imagine he’ll bring her back here, since it’s drier than sleeping under the trees. But it will take him some time tae find his way to her and return.”
She looked up at him. He didn’t like the glint in her eyes. “Then we will be alone for a while longer?”
“A short while,” he said, though he thought it could be an hour or even two, considering how hard it was raining now. Water ran through the holes in the roof like a faucet had opened. In Stratford’s place, Duncan would have waited for the rain to ease before trying to find his way back to the cottage.
“Then you have time to kiss me again,” she said.
He shook his head. “That’s nae a good idea. Remember what happened the last time I kissed ye?”
She nodded. “I remember. Do you think I am very wicked if I want you to do that again?”
Christ and all the saints.
“I think ye are a woman who enjoys pleasure and is nae afraid tae admit it.”
“I enjoy you, Duncan,” she said. “I want you to kiss me.”
He was sorely tempted. He knew he should be content to have her beside him, to know she was safe and unhurt. Since the moment the dog had appeared in the clearing without her, his chest had felt tight, and he hadn’t been able to take a deep breath. Not until he had her safe at his side again. She was safe and beside him, but he needed more of her.
She touched his face, running her fingers lightly over his cheek, then leaning forward slowly. Duncan did not move, merely closed his eyes when her lips brushed over his. She was so sweet, so soft, and her lips were so tempting. He couldn’t stop himself from responding to the kiss. Her hands settled on his shoulders then roamed over his back, gathering fistfuls of his shirt as she deepened the kiss. Duncan felt the sweet press of her soft body against him. He lifted her and settled her on his lap, wanting her even closer. She drew back to settle herself, and he tried not to think about how her legs straddled him and her skirts were hiked up to her knees. Instead, he ran his mouth over her jaw then down her throat, eliciting shivers of pleasure from her as he explored the smooth column of her neck.
She leaned back, and his mouth slid easily to the hollow at the base of her throat and then lower. Her neckline was modest, but he knew where the pins holding the bodice had been placed, and it seemed a natural thing to pluck them out and lower the material. She wore a thin shift under the dress, thin enough that he could see the dark nipples of her small breasts, erect against the linen. With a shaking hand, he loosed the tie of the shift, so it fell open, exposing that lovely swath of skin.
She murmured and then her hand was at the tie. He thought she might close it again. He half-hoped she would. Instead, she drew the material down over the swell of her flesh, revealing pale brown areolas tipped with hard buds that tilted upward, begging for his tongue.
Duncan put his mouth on her, on the top of her breast, then slid his lips down until he circled the center of her. She moaned, that moan that always made his blood race. He had to hear her make that sound again, and so he drew one nipple into his mouth as his hand palmed the other, the tight little peak growing even harder against his skin. She moved against him as he took her into his mouth, whispering words that made no sense in any language—words of encouragement and pleading and pleasure.
Those words were like whisky to him. He savored each one and enjoyed them as he might a fine, aged single malt. He savored the feel of her in his mouth and against his hand. It was difficult not to notice the heat of her sex near his cock as she wriggled to move closer to him. She had all but given herself up to sensation. He loved that she could do that, loved that he could make her forget everything but his hands and his mouth and his body. She arched her small breasts higher, giving him better access to those pretty nipples. He circled them with his tongue and felt her shiver as her fingers dug into his shoulders. His hands ached to reach between her legs and feel the heat and wetness of her. As though she knew what he was thinking, she drew his face up to hers and kissed him. When they parted, she said, “Por favor. Touch me.”
His hands drifted down to her slim hips and then he drew up her skirts and slipped under the material where he found the softness of her thighs. She was warm, so warm, and he needed to feel the heat of her sex. Sliding closer to her core, he watched her face tense in anticipation. He slowed, drawing the moment out longer until she began to tremble with want.
Finally, his fingers brushed her curls and the wetness there. He slid between her slick folds, making her cry out with pleasure. Christ but he wanted to give her that pleasure. He wanted to feel her climax around his fingers. He pushed her gently back, his hand behind her to cushion her. Arms braced on either side of her, he looked down at her. She was beautiful, with her flushed cheeks, her rosy mouth, and her turgid nipples all but aching for him to kiss them.
“Do not stop.” She looked up at him, her brown eyes hazy with need. “I want you.”
He gave her a warning look. It would be too easy to be guided by her desire and his cock. Instead, he dug for his meager reserves of restraint. They were limited in the best of times, but now the well was all but empty. “I’ll nae take yer virginity on the floor in a dirty cottage. Ye deserve better than that.”
“I deserve for my first time to be with a man I love.”
Duncan’s heart all but stopped. “Lass, ye dinnae love me. Ye dinnae even ken me.”
She shook her head. “I know you. I knew you even before you knew who I was. My brother-in-law told me all about your bravery in battle.”
Duncan raised a brow. “He said bravery?”
She smiled and reached up to caress his cheek. “That is what he meant, não? And I confess”—she let her fingers brush over his cheeks then his lips—“I spied on you when you came to call. I enjoyed looking at you.”
He grinned. “Did ye now?”
She nodded. “You are tall and strong with this wild hair.” Her hand slid over the few pieces of hair that had escaped his queue. “And those eyes that make me shiver when you look at me.”
Duncan lowered his forehead to hers. “Lass, that’s lust, nae love.”
She kissed him quickly. “That was lust, but now I do know you. And do you know what I love about you?”
He should not allow her to continue. She shouldn’t love him. He couldn’t marry her. He could never be the man she wanted or needed. “I’m nae the man ye think I am, lass.” He began to pull away, but she cupped the back of his neck and forced him to meet her gaze.
“The man I think you are never complains, even when he is injured. The man I think you are goes out of his way to help a woman he does not know and cannot talk to just because she is in his carriage.”
“Nae, I—”
“The man I think you are hardly sleeps to watch over the rest of us.”
“I gave Stratford a turn—”
“I found you sleeping on the floor outside my room at the inn! And that was before you risked your life to rescue me tonight.”
“Dinnae make it sound like I am some sort of hero. I should never have let ye be taken in the first place.”
She cupped his face. “I know you, Senhor Murray. I love you, Duncan.”
What was he supposed to say to that? What could he say? He didn’t have the words, so he showed her with his actions. He kissed her, and when she kissed him back, there was the proof of her feelings. How had he not known she loved him before? She had told him in so many ways. But he’d wanted to pretend those looks were just the product of an infatuation.
It was more than infatuation. And he should end this now before he let it go too far and broke her heart.
“Kiss me,” she murmured against his lips, and his heart lurched. He didn’t love her back. He didn’t love anyone—he couldn’t. But he felt something, something more than what he’d wanted to feel. He’d known it the past few days, and it was the reason he tried to keep his distance from her.
But now here they were, and she was asking him to kiss her, touch her. And Christ but he wanted her. She did deserve to have someone she loved show her what passion could be and should be. He wanted to be the one to give her these first pleasures.
She pressed her hips up, sliding against his erection, and he realized he’d lowered himself over her. As much as his body wanted to join with hers, her virginity was for her husband. That didn’t mean Duncan was prepared to be wholly honorable. He was no saint. He lowered his mouth to kiss her throat, and the soft skin there seemed to lead to the soft skin of her bare shoulder and her collarbone and then the gentle swell of her breasts.
Her skin was so soft and sweet. She smelled of rain and starched linen and under all of it the faint scent of vanilla that was her own. He teased her nipple with his tongue while his hand moved under her skirts to mold his hand over her knee then her thigh. She opened for him without him even having to prompt her, and he slid his hand between her thighs. The silk of her inner thighs made his head spin. The heat of her sex was like a beacon calling to him. He slid higher, stroking her soft curls.
Slowly, drawing his tongue over her nipple, he looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, and her chin tilted upward in what looked like sheer pleasure. “I want tae taste ye, lass,” he murmured.
Her eyes opened. “Show me.”
Duncan tried to stop the world from spinning. This woman seemed to have no fear. She was open to his every suggestion, ready for any adventure. He slid down her body, trailing kisses over the material of her dress until he reached the heap of her skirts. He pushed them out of the way, revealing her shapely legs and the triangle of dark hair at their apex. Duncan parted her legs until the pink flesh of her sex was visible. He expected she would resist, but when he looked up at her, she was propped on her elbows looking down at him with curiosity. “Now what will you do?” she asked.
“What do ye want me tae do, lass?”
“Touch me,” she said without any embarrassment.
“Here?” He slid two fingers over her outer lips.
“Sim. More.”
“What if I touch ye with my mouth. Would that shock ye?”
Her eyes widened. “I like when you shock me.”
He chuckled. “I ken ye do. Open wider for me, lass.”
She obeyed, and he parted her lips until he saw the small nub that would bring her to climax. Turning his head, he kissed her inner thighs, moving slowly upward until his mouth brushed her downy hair. She moaned and arched her breasts upward, already seeming to be half in ecstasy.
He touched her outer lips with his tongue then slid over them, deliberately avoiding her clitoris, for fear she would come too fast. She writhed and opened wider, welcoming his touch.
“Duncan,” she said on a breath. Her legs started to tremble as he opened her and slid his tongue against her inner flesh. She was wet and tasted so sweet. He dipped his tongue inside her channel and felt her muscles clench slightly. He could imagine how wet and tight she would feel against his cock.
“Ye like this, lass?” he asked.
She answered with a moan and some unintelligible words. He didn’t think they even made sense in Portuguese. She was lost to sensation, lost to the feel of his mouth against her. Her hips arched as her body sought pleasure. He knew how to give it and slid his tongue slowly upward until he barely touched her plump pearl. She moaned and her head thrashed from side to side. Duncan drew back, then touched the tip of his tongue to her again, this time swirling it over her. Her hands fisted in her skirts as she cried out. Her whole body seemed to vibrate, and he took her hips in his hands to steady her. Her body was tight as a violin string, reaching for the pleasure he could give her.
He flicked at that sensitive bud again, drew back, licked, drew back, and repeated the torment until she was all but begging him por favor.
Finally, he pressed his tongue upon her fully, licking her with a deep sweeping motion. He felt her orgasm shudder through her. Her entire body went rigid for what seemed long moments, then she cried out and her hips undulated violently. He kept his mouth on her, feeling the way her clitoris pulsed against his tongue as her hips drove her harder against his mouth.
Duncan had never found so much pleasure in giving a woman release before. He enjoyed a woman’s pleasure, but then no woman reacted like Ines. No woman reacted to him as she did. She gave her whole self to him, opening to him, not holding anything back. He sincerely hoped Stratford hadn’t come directly to the cottage because her screams were loud enough to be heard outside.
When she finally stilled, only moaning faintly in protest when he tongued her again, he lifted his head and looked at her. He could pleasure her again. She was the sort of woman who could come over and over. He hoped whoever she married realized that about her and gave her many nights full of pleasure. But it was hard to think of her with any other man. It was impossible to imagine another seeing her as she was now. Her lips were slightly swollen and red. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes half-lidded. Her hair was wild, a tangle of chocolate ribbon beneath her. Her dress had all but come off her arms, and her nipples were still hard and had gone dark. The burn of his beard brushing against her sensitive skin was still visible on the curve of her breasts. She looked thoroughly debauched, a woman well-pleasured. A woman no man could resist bedding.
Except Duncan had to resist.
He moved away from her, and she opened her eyes. “Come here,” she said, lifting her arms to him. He wanted to go into those arms. He wanted her to press against him, but if he did, she would never leave this cottage a virgin.
“I need some air,” he said, rising to his knees. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
She frowned, some of the pleasurable haze clearing from her vision. “Duncan?”
“Just give me a moment, lass.” He stood on shaky legs and walked, unsteadily, out into the cold rain.
He shivered in the cool night air, but he knew it would take more than this to cool his need for her. Duncan feared it might never be extinguished.