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EMMELINE
When Loftus returned without Stratford, Emmeline began to worry. She hadn’t worried when Mr. Murray and Stratford left without her. She hadn’t worried when Loftus whined to follow, and she was left alone. She hadn’t worried when the rain had started pouring down. She’d huddled under a tree with a blanket over her head and stayed, if not, dry, drier than she might have without the protection of the large tree limbs and the thick blanket.
Emmeline was not cold. Her body shivered, but inside she was warm with happiness.
How could she not be when Stratford had all but acknowledged he cared for her—not as a friend. Not as a cousin. Not as a sort of sister.
As a lover?
Emmeline wasn’t certain why she was so thrilled at this revelation. A month ago, she would have never once thought of kissing Stratford. He was her escort, someone who had to accompany her on the never-ending list of social engagements. She was miserable and only looking for escape.
But then she had escaped, and Stratford had shown up, and something changed. He wasn’t just the man she’d known since they’d been children, not just an escort who endured the Season at her side. He was a Stratford she had never seen—probably, she could admit, because she had not looked at him in so long. Of course, she’d realized he was handsome and well-built. She was not blind. Of course, she knew he had been decorated for his service to his country during the war.
But she hadn’t known how much she would like his intellect—how talking to him was refreshing and made her feel alive. She didn’t agree with all he said, but he made her think. He made her realize that running away from her mother was not the solution to her problems. She would have to face them head on.
Emmeline hadn’t known how much she would admire his bravery and cunning and loyalty to his friend. And she even appreciated his cool head and rational way of thinking. Those qualities had saved them all more than once on this adventure.
But she hadn’t thought that he felt the same about her. They had kissed, yes, and she’d known he enjoyed the kiss. But it had seemed he hadn’t wanted to enjoy it and hadn’t wanted to repeat it. And then they’d kissed again, and she’d said that idiot thing about marrying him. She hadn’t meant to say it, but at the time it seemed like such a good idea. If she married him, she would not have to endure any more Seasons. And she could keep kissing him.
But he’d seemed so appalled at the idea, and she’d been humiliated at having said it.
But then tonight he had all but told her that he thought of her in much the same way. Had something changed or had he started to feel something more than friendship for her, as she had with him?
That was when Loftus appeared. She hadn’t heard him coming, but with the rain pounding down, it was hard to hear anything. He emerged from the darkness and shook all over, trying to rid his coat of water. Emmeline laughed then looked about for Stratford.
“Where is Stratford?” she asked Loftus, who did not reply, just came to sit with her under the blanket and licked her face. She went instantly cold, afraid the plan to rescue Ines had gone wrong. But what could she do? She had no idea where the crofter’s cottage might be, and she certainly couldn’t try to find it in the dark with rain pouring down. She was better off staying here and searching for her friends in the light of day.
She knew it was the wisest decision, but it was not the easiest. As the minutes and then what seemed like hours passed, Emmeline began to wonder if Stratford might be hurt. What if he was lying in a field, bleeding? What if he was cold and wet and needed her?
She could not sit here and wait. She had to find him.
She lowered the blanket and rose, then looked at the dog. He peered up at her mournfully, eyes half-closed to keep the rain out. “Loftus, find Stratford.”
The dog whined and put his head on his paws. It was clear he didn’t intend to go anywhere. “Loftus, find Stratford!” she repeated. Loftus just looked up at her from those squinted eyes.
Well, what had she expected? That he would bound away and lead her straight to Stratford? That only happened in books. She would have to find him without the dog’s help. She knew which way the men had started out.
Wrapping the blanket about her shoulders, she began to walk in that direction.
“And where do you think you are going?” a voice asked.
Emmeline froze. She knew that voice. “Stratford?”
He moved out of the shadows, and she realized he’d been walking toward her, but she hadn’t seen him in the darkness and rain. Emmeline couldn’t stop herself. She ran toward him and threw her arms around him. He caught her, pulling her close and holding her for a long moment before he said, “Let’s find some cover.”
She led him back to the tree she’d sheltered under, but he shook his head and moved toward the woods. She followed reluctantly, but once they had entered the darkness, she saw the wisdom of his actions. With more trees clumped close together, the rain was muted. Of course, she couldn’t take more than two steps without tripping, but Stratford gripped her hand and kept her on her feet. They settled by a log, and she sank down, her back against it. Stratford took the blanket, draped it over some low-hanging branches, making a sort of shelter, feeble though it might be.
Then he sat beside her, his warmth most welcome as she’d begun shivering now. Loftus came to sit on her other side, and she was a few degrees above freezing.
“Ines?” she asked.
“Safe,” he answered. “Unharmed, too, I think. She’s with Duncan at the cottage. When the rain slackens, we will go there too.”
“How far?” she asked.
“About fifteen minutes. I got turned around, which is why it took me so much longer to make my way back here. Loftus went on ahead. I thought he would comfort you.”
She shook her head, her wet hair sticking to her cheeks.
Stratford touched her cheek, brushing the hair away. “You were worried?”
She nodded. He put an arm about her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his shoulder and tried to hold back tears. “I thought—” she began, but her voice faltered.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You are safe. That’s what’s important.”
He looked down at her. “I wish this rain would stop, so we could go to the cottage. I hate that we have to sit out in the cold and wet half the night.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. It was the truth. She didn’t mind as long as he was with her. “Though I have to say thus far I do not enjoy Scotland.”
He chuckled. “We can always go back.”
She drew back and hit him lightly on the arm. “Not a chance.”
He laughed harder then pulled her close. “Having the time of your life, are you?”
“I’m miserable,” she said.
“Well, no one I would rather be miserable with than you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.
At least it started out quick, but then his mouth lingered instead of withdrew. His lips seemed to be questioning hers, asking if she wanted what he wanted.
Emmeline answered by moving her own lips against his in a light whisper of a kiss. His arms tightened on hers, pulling her hard against him as his mouth pressed firmly against hers. When he held her like this, touched her like this, she couldn’t think of anything but the way his lips felt against hers. She forgot the rain and the cold and nothing but the heady press of his mouth, the gentle probing of his tongue, and the hardness of his chest under her palms mattered.
He kissed her for what seemed hours. They would pause, come up for air, and then their mouths would be drawn inexorably closer until they began all over again. He lowered her to the soft pine needles on the ground, his body covering hers and giving her warmth. With a sniff, Loftus moved off to the side and put his head down between his paws. As Stratford kissed her, the heat in her belly caused the rest of her to tingle and ache. She pressed against him, wanting the feel of him in that spot between her legs and against her tender nipples.
He pulled back, lowering his face to her shoulder and catching his breath. No, no, no, was all she could manage in the way of forming a thought. She needed his mouth; she needed his body, so hard and heavy, against hers.
“We should go,” he said.
“What?” Moving away from this place, from his heat, was the last thing on her mind. But gradually, when he didn’t kiss her again, she noticed it wasn’t just his body keeping the rain from falling on her. The rain had slackened and now there was only a drizzle. Emmeline began to wonder if there was ever a time in Scotland when it didn’t drizzle.
“We should walk to the cottage,” he said. “Before the rain starts again.”
“It’s never stopped,” she said, irritably. She did not want to walk to the cottage. She wanted to stay right here, and she wanted him to kiss her again.
“Then before it starts to rain buckets again,” he said.
Emmeline wanted to pull him back when he moved away from her. She immediately missed the warmth of his body and his touch. She almost wished it was still pouring rain. But without the feel of him close to her, she was cold and damp and wishing for a fire and somewhere soft to lie down. She almost wished she were home again, except then she remembered how her mother slapped her hand when she reached for a biscuit and how she had to share a bed with Marjorie, who made a show of crying herself to sleep because Emmeline would not be reasonable and marry some oaf so Marjorie could marry her one true love.
Emmeline would take Scottish rain and pine needles in her hair over that any day. And she would take Stratford’s kisses over pretty much anything else. The warmth of him still infused her, and she could almost forget that she was wet and cold.
He was already gathering his things, and she resigned herself to doing the same. Without speaking, she bundled her few belongings and followed Stratford and Loftus to the cottage. Loftus seemed to know the way and frequently trotted ahead or lingered behind, sniffing something only he could smell before racing to catch up with them. For her part, Emmeline stumbled over her skirts for most of the way and was relieved to see the light in the darkness and smell the smoke of a fire. Her senses detected these signs of civilization long before they reached the cottage. She couldn’t tell the condition of the place, but the promise of a fire drew her closer, and gave her strength to stumble along. The first chance she had she would tie up these skirts. The hem had come loose, and she wouldn’t be able to stop tripping over them until she found a needle and thread.
When they finally neared the cottage, the door opened, and Duncan Murray stood in the frame. “I’d begun tae wonder if it would ever stop,” he said. Giving Emmeline a concerned look, he moved aside. “Come warm yerself by the fire, lass.”
She moved inside the cottage, her eyes stinging at the smoke lingering near the ceiling—what there was of it—and her nose wrinkling at the dirt and general ruin of the place. But it was mostly dry and warm, and she could appreciate that. She went to the fire, where Ines was curled up under Murray’s coat. The woman was sleeping, her face resting on one cheek. She looked peaceful and unhurt, and Emmeline sat next to her and put a hand on her back. Behind them, the men spoke in low tones, something about horses and lace. Emmeline would normally have wanted to be involved in the conversation, but she was too tired. Her eyelids were too heavy.
The next thing she knew, her back hurt. Her bed was hard and unyielding, and her body ached. She was warm, though, and something heavy was draped over her, keeping her from rolling to her side. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into Stratford’s face. He was smiling at her, eyes already open.
She started, and the arm he’d draped over her kept her from bolting to her feet.
“Shh,” he said. “Miss Neves is still sleeping.”
Emmeline looked on the other side of the room, where a small form under a heap of cloth must have been Ines. She looked back at Stratford. “Where is Mr. Murray?”
“He went to surveil the surroundings,” he said, sounding very military-esque.
“Why didn’t you go?” she whispered.
“I stayed back to protect the women.”
She raised a brow. “By lying here and staring at me.”
“There have to be some benefits to staying behind.” He pushed a strand of her hair off her face, and Emmeline tried not to imagine how absolutely wild she must look—her hair unkempt and frizzy, her clothing rumpled, and her face probably smeared with mud or soot.
“You looked too beautiful for me to look away,” Stratford said.
Emmeline stared at him.
“I know it’s wildly inappropriate for me to lie here with you, but you smell a great deal better than Duncan.”
“I’m sure I smell rank and look just as bad,” she said, turning her head away from him. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wished he would move his arm so she could sit up and avoid his gaze. Except she didn’t want him to move away so much that she would actually ask him to do so or lift his arm.
“You look a bit...”
She glanced at him, and his brow was furrowed in thought.
“Be careful of your words, Fortescue,” she said.
He grinned, and it was such a boyish grin that she was taken back to those summers at Odham Abbey and all the many times she had wished he would invite her to play with him and the older children. “Mussed,” he finally said, and she nodded her approval.
“Good choice.”
“Thank you.”
She looked down at his arm and regretfully motioned at it. “Could you?”
Of course. He lifted it, and she wriggled away, giving her tight muscles some relief. She sat and stretched her back. “I do wish we could find an inn or a bucket of hot water somewhere.” She glanced at him when he didn’t reply and found him staring at her. He blinked.
“Pardon?”
“Hot water, I said. I would kill for some.”
“So would I, but we need horses even more desperately.”
Emmeline thought that statement debatable.
“I would like food,” said a small voice from the pile of clothing.
Emmeline laughed. “So would I. Are you well?”
Two brown eyes poked out. Emmeline sighed when she saw how pretty Ines still looked. The other woman might have bathed and brushed her hair the night before for all she looked neat enough. “I am very well.” She touched her throat, and Emmeline spotted the red triangle-shaped wound the reiver had made with his blade. It was not bleeding, but it looked angry and raw.
Stratford rose to his feet. “Duncan said the men didn’t hurt you?”
“They only wanted money,” Ines said. She sat slowly. “Where is Duncan?”
Stratford indicated the window. “He went to scout the area. We’ll need to find someone with horses to loan.”
“And a farmer’s wife who likes my lace,” Ines said.
Stratford nodded. “It’s lucky you have it with you.”
“How will lace help us?” Emmeline asked, and the two of them explained the plan to her. A half hour later, the three of them had brushed the dust from their clothes and hair and were pacing impatiently about the cottage. Emmeline was pleased to note the rain had stopped, though the day was gray and overcast. She looked up when Loftus let out a low warning bark and spotted Duncan through the window. He was returning, a smile on his face. He raised a hand to her, and she went to the door and opened it for him.
“Good news, lads and lassies,” he said. “I’ve found a farmer we can negotiate with.”
“He has a wife who might like my lace?” Ines asked.
Duncan winked. “Even better. He has two daughters.”
***
STRATFORD
Stratford liked Malcolm Campbell right away. He was a short, plump man with an easy laugh and blue eyes that all but disappeared in his round face when he was amused. He also had two plump daughters, all of thirteen and fifteen, who were sweet and pretty enough to turn the local boys’ heads.
Campbell had offered them all a meal and hot water to wash faces and hands, and even though he said his great-grandfather had a grievance with someone who was a relation to the Duke of Atholl, Duncan’s uncle, he would not hold that against Duncan.
And Stratford had thought the English had long memories.
When their bellies were full, Campbell took Duncan and Stratford to his barn, where he showed them his horses. He had a large farm and several horses. Stratford was as good a judge of horseflesh as any other man, and he nodded in agreement when Duncan picked the best three. The beasts were work horses, to be sure, and Stratford thought they would have little trouble making the journey to the Highlands.
“And ye can do withoot them for a few weeks?” Duncan asked, though now that he spoke to one of his countrymen, his accent had deepened, and Stratford had to strain to understand him.
“Och, the planting is done. I can spare them for a time, and the coin ye promised will buy my seeds for the fall planting.” He gave Duncan a rueful look. “Not tae mention, my girls fell in love with the lace yer lady showed them. They’ll cry for days if I deny them now.”
“Then we should discuss particulars,” Duncan said. At least that’s what Stratford thought he said.
“Aye.” The farmer looked at Stratford, and Duncan looked at him too. Clearly the two Scotsmen preferred to negotiate in private.
“I’ll go for a walk,” Stratford said.
“There’s a pond just a quarter mile west,” the farmer said. “It’s fed by a hot spring. It’s nae as good as a bath in a tub, but it will do tae wash the dust off yer feet.”
“Thank you,” Stratford said and went off in search of the pond. He didn’t believe it would actually be warm—the Scots’ idea of warmth and the English’s were vastly different—but he’d risk a cold plunge to clean the dust and grime from his body. He could wash out his clothing as well. He’d have to wear them damp, but he’d done that often in the army.
He found the pond easily enough and was a bit surprised at the steam rising from it. The farmer had not exaggerated the hot spring. Stratford wouldn’t have called it a proper pond, more like a watering hole about fifteen feet across. At the far end, a group of rocks were the perfect spot to swim to if the watering hole was as deep as it looked to be.
He stripped off his clothing, quickly and efficiently, rinsed them in the warm water—God it would be like heaven when he went in—and laid them to dry on the rocks to the side. He waded into the water. It was deep. The rocks beneath his feet were slippery and dropped off quickly. Stratford went under, dunked his head, and enjoyed the feeling of warmth he hadn’t experienced for days. Well, except when he’d had Emmeline in his arms. Then he’d been warm enough. She seemed to possess a small furnace inside her that heated them both whenever their bodies came together.
But he’d better not think of that now. It had been hard enough to lie beside her all night and mind his manners, harder still when she’d risen this morning and stretched, arching her back and thrusting those glorious breasts out. He’d wanted to touch her so badly, he could taste it. But he’d already done enough damage. He’d given into temptation and kissed her far too much. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself, but if he continued down this path, he wouldn’t be able to do that.
Stratford began to swim for the rocks, reflecting that Emmeline had seemed to enjoy his kisses well enough. Considering she hadn’t really noticed him much before, that was definitely a change. But of course her thoughts went to marriage, as they probably should, and Stratford knew better than anyone that both their families would frown upon that match. There had been ample opportunity for either his parents or her mother to encourage a relationship between them, but no one ever had. In fact, he’d been tasked with escorting her to balls, where she would be thrown into the path of other men.
Men who were not bastards masquerading as legitimate sons.
He reached the rocks and put his hand on one then jumped back when he felt something soft and pliant. Something that couldn’t be a rock at all. “What the devil?”
“Not the devil at all.” The pale hand soon gave way to a pale arm and then a head peeked around one of the rocks. It was Emmeline. Her hair slicked back, and her skin glistening with droplets of water. Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the spring. Treading water, Stratford stared at her.
“Where did you come from?”
“The other side,” she said, indicating the clothing laid out on the rocks and hanging from the branches of a tree. How had he not seen that before? “I was here before you. At least twenty minutes before,” she said.
He would have seen her for certain if she’d been swimming. “Then you’ve been sitting behind this rock since—”
“Since you appeared and removed your clothing?” She nodded. “Yes.”
Good God. He was almost embarrassed, except he was too aroused to be embarrassed. She had watched him disrobe and said nothing?
“You should have made your presence known.”
“Yes, I should have.” She didn’t sound the least bit contrite. “But if I had, you would have left, and I wanted you to be able to enjoy the spring as well. I promise I closed my eyes.” She smiled. “Except for maybe one peek.”
“Bloody hell.”
“You’ve changed since I last spied on you, swimming at Odham Abbey.”
His cheeks felt hot.
“Are you blushing?” she asked. “I promise it was only a very quick peek.”
“Well, don’t peek again. I’ll get out and leave the pool to you.” He did not relish putting his wet clothes back on so quickly. He’d thought they’d have a few minutes to dry.
Emmeline reached around the rock and grabbed his arm. His bare arm. “Oh, no! Don’t leave.”
“You know it’s not proper for me to stay.”
She stuck out her lip. “Then I will leave. I was here first. It seems only fair.” She released him and disappeared behind the rock.
“No! You stay,” he said, his voice almost frantic.
Her head appeared from behind the rock again. “Why?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid you will peek?”
“No.”
“Yes. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Well...” She seemed to consider something. “It does seem only fair.”
His breath caught. “What seems only fair?” Why had he even asked? Why was he not swimming to the side and climbing out instead of prolonging this agony? Because even though she was behind a rock, and he was on the other side of it, his mind knew that she was naked. Completely naked. And that meant his body knew he was close to a naked woman—and not just any naked woman, Emmeline. He’d gone hard as the rock between them, and his cock was making it difficult for his head to think clearly.
“That you get a peek at me. I saw you, after all.”
“Emmeline, no.”
But she continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “I admit I really only saw your behind. You had turned to place your clothing on the rocks, and I caught sight of your back and your, er, backside.”
“Emmeline.”
“It was a very nice backside. Not that I am much of a judge, but—"
“I will swim to the other side and get out now,” he said.
“If you must, but I am not about to allow the silly rules I ran away from to ruin this lovely day and a swim in this pool. I may never have this chance again.” And she swam away from the rock, passing close enough to him that he felt the push of water away from her feet. And he saw—oh, what he saw. He spotted a long streak of pale skin beneath the dark water. He couldn’t make out body parts, exactly, but he could imagine what was what.
And because he was so busy imagining it, he did not move. He stayed exactly where he was as she swam behind him, not close, keeping her distance, and then back around to pause at the rock in front of him.
Now she was close. He could feel the movement of water where her feet and hands pushed at it to keep her afloat. His gaze remained on a spot just above her head except for the one second, he lowered his gaze to catch a glimpse of her face.
She was smiling at him, bemused. “You have more fortitude than I.”
“Do I?” he asked.
“I peeked and you haven’t.”
“It’s a fight by the second,” he said.
“Then why not give in?” she asked.
His gaze met hers. “Do you want me to look?”
Her blue eyes were clear. “Yes.”
Well, how was he to resist now? The answer was that he could not. His gaze lowered to her nose, her lips, her chin, and then the column of her neck. And then the slow perusal ended because there, at the rim of the water were the orbs of her breasts. They were submerged for the most part, but there was no hiding their roundness and fullness. And just beneath the surface he could see the peach of her nipples.
“Are we even now?” she asked, her voice husky. He forced his eyes back to her face, forced his hand to stay at his side as well. “Can we share the pool in peace?”
“No,” he said. “We can share it, but not in peace. I’m afraid I’m not feeling very peaceful.” He moved toward her, small strokes of his hands and feet bringing him closer to her. She might have swum away, might have ducked under the water or swam off to one side or another, but she stayed where she was until his body slid against hers and those magnificent breasts rubbed against his bare chest.
He groaned. “Emmeline.” His mouth came down on hers at the same time that she gripped his shoulders for balance. He gripped the rock behind her, pushing her gently against it and feeling her nipples, large and growing turgid now, press, impertinent, against him. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, and she opened for him, kissing him back with an abandonment that set alarm bells off in his head.
Alarm bells he ignored because how could he think with her naked body against his? His cock pressed against the soft flesh of her belly, and her legs tangled with his until she finally found the ledge that rose beneath the rock and stood on it. That brought her breasts out of the water, and Stratford, no longer needing to keep her afloat, lowered one hand to cup her.
Christ. They were perfect. His hand couldn’t even fit around the plump flesh, and when he pressed her nipple lightly between two fingers, her head fell back. He had to kiss her then, had to kiss those thick nipples that jutted upward and seemed to beg for his tongue. He ran it along them, took one in his mouth, letting his tongue lave it until she was all but panting and her arms were around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back.
He lifted his mouth, balanced by his toes on the rock ledge, and looked down at her. If he’d thought her cheeks were pink before, the flush had spread to her entire face, making her eyes even bluer. He filled his hands with her breasts again, kneading them gently. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you here, touch you here? God, since that first time I saw you and they’d seemed to grown out of nowhere.”
“It didn’t seem that way to me,” she said. “They grew and grew and pretty soon they were so large I didn’t know what to do with them.”
He kissed her lips. “They’re perfect, and I know what to do with them.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re making me feel...”
“What?” he asked.
“Tingly,” she said. “You’re making me want your hands...everywhere.”
“I want to put my hands everywhere.” He slid them down from her breasts, over her generous hips, and back up to the wonder of those pale orbs. “But do you know where I really want to put my hands?”
“I don’t think I should say.”
He grinned. “Yes, there.” He rubbed his thigh against the curls he felt between her legs. “But first, here.” His hands slid back to her hips and then down and over her bottom. God, he could have come just from touching it. It was so firm and round, and he wanted to see it, bite it, part it and slide his cock...
He took a shaky breath, fighting to find control, even as the decadence that was her body made him all but dizzy with desire.
“Can I touch you?” she asked. And then without waiting for his permission, her hands went from his shoulders down and over his chest. “Where did all these muscles come from?” she asked.
“Fighting, riding, carrying—Emmeline!” He grabbed her hand before it could drift any lower than his belly. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I always like to see what happens when I add kindling to a fire.” She wriggled her hand free and slid down further until her hand brushed over his jutting cock. Finding it, she closed over it, her grip tentative. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” she said.
“That’s what happens when I’m naked with a goddess.”
Her eyes met his, and he could see in her expression she thought he was mocking her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said before she could try and push the compliment away. “Your body is beautiful.”
He took her hand away from his cock, which was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life and slid his hands back to her hips then down over her belly to the curls at the juncture of her thighs. “Have you ever touched yourself here?” he asked, his fingers delving into the curls until he found the soft flesh there.
She gasped as he made a V with two fingers and stroked her outer lips between them.
“Yes,” she said, not seeming at all embarrassed.
“What about here?” His fingers parted her lips and delved inside, finding her channel and stroking its entrance.
“Yes, but it didn’t feel like this.” The pink from her face had spread to her neck and the top of her chest. He kissed it, dipping his mouth to kiss the valley between her breasts as he moved his fingers slowly in search of her clitoris.
“And what about here? Have you touched here?” he asked, rubbing it gently.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And did you come?” He bit the top of one of her breasts lightly then licked the spot with his tongue. Biting again until her nipple was in his mouth.
“What do you—”
“Did you climax?” he asked. “Did you find pleasure?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It felt good.”
“Then you didn’t come. You’d know if you’d come.”
He moved his hand back to her opening and pressed one finger against it. He could feel her wetness, thicker and slicker than the water, against his finger. He pressed into her, just the tip of his finger, and she jerked her hips toward him.
“I like that.”
He made a sound of acknowledgement, stroked her again, and repeated the gesture. Then his thumb found the tight bud of her clitoris and circled it. He could feel it swell as he attended to it, felt her body opening to him, her hips angling toward his cock.
“Can you make me come?” she asked.
God, he hoped so. The pink had reached the tops of her breasts now, and he wanted it to spread over them, wanted to see her nipples turn dark with arousal.
“Tell me what feels good,” he said. He circled her swelling nub, then flicked his thumb against it.
“That,” she panted. “That feels good.”
“And this?” He dipped his finger back into the heat of her sex, just the tip again, but he pressed his thumb on her clitoris as he did so.
“Oh, yes. Oh, please. More.”
“More of my finger?” he asked, pushing a little deeper.
“Yes, and more...”
His thumb made lazy circles on her clitoris, and he felt her inner muscles tighten against his finger. She was close, so close. Her muscles relaxed, and he pushed deeper. She moaned and thrust her body toward him, taking his finger all the way to the knuckle. She would come soon, and he would enjoy watching it. He would enjoy hearing the sounds she made as he pleasured her.
And then she took his cock in her hand again, and he lost all semblance of the control he’d thought he had. “Emmeline,” he half-groaned.
“I like how you feel in my hand,” she murmured, her eyes almost closed now.
He liked how he felt in her hand too. He would have liked how he felt inside her, but there were limits to his depravity. It seemed pleasuring her in a pool in the middle of a Scottish farm was not the limit, but he would reevaluate his obviously lacking morals later. Right now she was stroking him and he was stroking her, and her breath was coming very fast. His own seemed to be coming equally fast.
They were both racing toward a finish line, and he knew once he reached it, he’d be too lost to bring her along. He steeled himself to hold his own pleasure in check, but then she let out a small cry of wonder. Her hand tightened around him like a slick glove, and the pressure of it was perfect. He came just as he felt her inner muscles contracting around his finger.
He pushed her against the rock, kissing her hard. Her legs wrapped around him, bringing their bodies into slick, satisfying contact. Christ, he could have started all over again with her. The feel of her body against his made him want her again. He could only think of all the evenings they’d spent together, not touching, not even speaking really. There were so many carriage rides, balls, walks in gardens. Why hadn’t he ever kissed her, touched her before?
Because he’d known she thought of him like a brother, if she thought of him at all.
And if she had thought of him, he would have discouraged the interest. He wasn’t worthy of her. Hadn’t his own mother told him he was nothing more than a mistake? And then Stratford himself discovered he was the son of the Marquess of Wight, who everyone assumed was mad. That meant Stratford had two strikes beside his name. He wasn’t good enough for Emmeline. He wasn’t good enough for anyone.
He pulled back, and she tried to follow him. “Don’t stop.”
“I have to stop.”
Something in his voice must have gotten through her pleasure-muddied brain because her gaze sharpened. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No,” he said pushing back from her. “I have. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I had no right.”
She tilted her head. “I think when I begged you to continue, that gave you the right.”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, not debauching you.”
“Maybe I like being debauched.” Her brows rose. “It’s a great deal more fun than being protected.”
“Yes, well you won’t thank me when your reputation is ruined.”
She shrugged, and he realized her breasts were fully visible. He had to get away or he would be drawn back by her body. He couldn’t think when she was naked and so close.
“My reputation is ruined anyway.”
“We can still salvage it, but you’ll have a devil of a time explaining to your husband why you’re not a virgin. And you won’t be if I stay much longer.”
A flash of anger crossed her face. “Since I don’t plan to marry, and even if I did it wouldn’t be the sort of man who would judge me for something he no doubt had done himself, I don’t see how that is a concern. And please do not worry. I know you don’t want to marry me. This isn’t a ploy to trap you.”
How could she stand there arguing, looking so magnificent in her nakedness? Was he supposed to think clearly enough to formulate some sort of response? He couldn’t.
And then he didn’t have to because she plunged back into the water and started to swim to the other side of the pond, where her clothing had been laid out.
Before he could look away, she was climbing out of the pond, her round bottom coming into view. It was even better than he’d imagined, and he was aware that his heart sped up. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m good enough to ogle but not to marry, is that it?” she said, her voice cutting through his desire like ice.
Stratford turned his back. He closed his eyes as well to avoid the temptation of peeking. He didn’t open them until he heard her walk away, and then he still kept them closed for a long time.
She thought he didn’t want to marry her. She thought he considered her not good enough. He would have to tell her the truth—that he was the one not good enough.