Regency Proposal. Ann Lethbridge
Ian had hold of her. She closed her eyes and waited for the horrible sensations to pass. Slowly she became aware that she was sitting on his knee, cradled within his arms. He was stroking her back. She opened her eyes and was glad to see that nothing was spinning.
‘Feeling better?’ he murmured, his voice low in her ear, the roll of his ‘r’ a sweet comforting sensation in the pit of her stomach. She always seemed to feel better when he had his arms around her. Too bad he couldn’t keep them there.
‘I’m such a coward,’ she said, trying to sit up, but he held her against his chest and she realised he was rocking gently back and forth.
‘No, you are not. You have been very brave. I promise everything will be all right,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get you safely to your friend and we will sort it all out.’
She half groaned, half laughed. ‘I’m not worried about that. The sight of blood always makes me feel ill.’
His rocking ceased briefly, then continued. ‘Then I am all the more grateful, lass.’
Oh, that wonderful deep velvety voice, so close to her ear. She was melting, burning up with a fever of longing and desire.
‘You must think me completely useless.’
‘You are braver than anyone I know, because you knew how it would affect you.’
But she hadn’t been thinking. She’d acted on instinct. She never seemed to think straight around him.
A prickle of awareness made her look up at his face. A slight curve to his mouth and the twinkle in his eye caused her heart to clench.
She couldn’t resist the temptation. She reached up and put her hands on his nape and kissed him full on the lips.
He groaned softly.
His lips parted against hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. It felt delicious. Her spine tingled, her hands cradled his head, feeling the soft curl of his hair between her fingers.
His hand came to her cheek, his fingers shaking with the power of this moment between them. Never had her heart raced so fast or her body grown so warm with such a whisper of touch.
He was a big man, huge in comparison to her, and for him to tremble at the mere touch of her lips was heady indeed.
Many men had desired her over the years, lusted for her and declared their love, but they’d only ever seen what she wanted them to see. The perfect nobleman’s daughter. The diamond of the first water. The impeccable manners. The flirtatious wit. This man knew her weaknesses, and yet he trembled.
The knowledge melted her bones.
She parted her lips and let him into her soul. The kiss wasn’t all one-sided. Oh, no. Her tongue slid wantonly along his, tasting whisky and earthy man, while she inhaled the scent of horse and leather and fresh air tinged with peat smoke. Sensual sensations rippled through her body with every beat of her heart.
She arched against him, pressing her breasts against his hard wall of a chest, wound her arms around his neck and submitted to her hunger.
He growled deep in his throat, shifting beneath her, making her aware of the male part of him that pressed against her thigh through her layers of clothing.
She breathed his scent, revelled in his heat and the feel of hard muscle and sinew beneath her exploring hands.
Breathing hard, he slowly pulled away, looking into her face. Could he see in her face the awe and wonder rioting through her body? Could he feel the heat burning in her belly, in her breasts, flowing through her veins?
Helpless with need, she gazed up, waiting.
‘You’d tempt the devil himself, Lady Selina.’
She didn’t want the devil. She wanted him. She gazed back at him with longing and desire and a sweet softness that made her insides feel open and yearning.
He reached around to catch her hands clinging around his neck and tore them free, holding them fast in his. ‘This must stop,’ he said harshly. He disengaged his hands from hers.
‘Don’t you want me?’ she asked, feeling suddenly bereft, even knowing the question was unfair. She felt his desire, insistent, rampant against her bottom.
‘Not want you?’ he growled. His mouth descended in a punishing kiss, full of ardour and passion and heat. Her mind refused to form a single thought. Her hands, freed from his grip, wandered his broad sculpted chest and floated over his back, measuring the width and strength of him.
Lacking air, they slowly parted, their chests rising and falling in perfect harmony as he nibbled and licked at her lips, her chin, her jaw. He teased the tender place beneath her ear, breathing against her neck. ‘I want you. But if we do this now there will be no going back. We will have to be married.’
The words were like a splash of cold water. Have to be married? Clearly it was not something he wanted, any more than she did. Did she?
He groaned and rose to his feet with her still in his arms. He set her back on the stool, wrapped the blanket around her and cleared the opening to the outside.
‘Where are you going?’ To her chagrin, panic edged her voice.
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘That wasn’t an answer,’ she said. Too late. He was gone.
Shame at her cowardice roiled in her stomach. Why would he abandon her here? It didn’t make any sense, but the fear was real enough. The fear of being left as her father had abandoned her the year he’d brought her to Dunross. For years, she’d worried that he would forget about her again, when she was at school, when he was away on business. Even now, when she knew the reason why, she hated knowing that people important to you could just walk away. It was better if you did not allow them to become important, then you didn’t have to worry.
And Ian hadn’t left. He sounded as if he was searching through the heather. Hunting?
Then he was back, pushing something ahead of him. The smell of fresh-cut vegetation filled the cave. Fuel for a fire?
But, no, he didn’t go to the hearth. He spread it out in the corner. ‘Give me your blanket,’ he said.
‘Why?’ The thought of losing even the little amount of warmth it provided was unwelcome.
‘We need it to make a bed.’
‘A bed?’
‘Aye. We can’t sleep sitting up. The heather is springy enough that it will do us for one night. With a blanket beneath us and my kilt for a quilt, we’ll be warmer than toast. Drew and I did it all the time as lads.’
A bed. With him, and after her wanton behaviour? She blushed from head to toe. Now was really the time she should object. Somehow the words wouldn’t form. She stood up and handed him the blanket. He laid it across the shrubbery.
‘Lay yourself down,’ he said. His voice was grim and when she peeped at his face, she saw his mouth was set in a stern line.
What was the matter with him? She settled herself down on one side of the makeshift bed, looking up at him.
His hands went to his belt, then glanced at her. He picked up his shirt and drew it over his head. ‘Close your eyes.’
‘A bit late for modesty, isn’t it?’ she asked, stifling the urge to giggle.
He turned away, uttering a sound between a curse and a laugh of his own.
A huff of his breath blew out the candle and a moment or two later came the sound of him unfastening his belt. Her unruly mind travelled right back to the scene in the cave, him standing there dressing. Now he was undressing. She didn’t need a candle to see.
Cursing silently, she tried not to envisage what was taking place.
A moment later, she felt his warmth along