Chapter 19
Something happened this morning...
No, it is too humiliating to bear repeating.
Even on paper.
~From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—March 1893
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Fiona didn’t acquiesce, nor did she protest when his lips met hers.It was like ascending to heaven, but Harry was no angel.He was the devil, tormenting her senses as his lips played over hers.Brushing.Coaxing.Urging her to play along.
She tried to resist him.She truly did.But resistance and mental resolve were about as helpful then as they had ever been when he was so close.Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she lifted herself to her toes and hesitantly kissed him back.
“Fiona,” he murmured his encouragement against her lips, his hands trailing over her arms and around her waist, pulling her closer.
He kissed her again, crushing her breasts against his hard chest, leaving her no choice but to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders.With a low moan of approval, he parted her lips with his so that his tongue could explore, chafing against hers.Head spinning deliciously, she surrendered her better judgment and met him kiss for kiss.Entangling her fingers in his hair, she clasped him to her and even tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss.
The ever-present spark between them ignited into flame within seconds—so quickly, too quickly.Her heart was pounding as desire coursed like a lit fuse through her limbs and pooled at her core when he rocked his hips against her.The hard length of him was noticeable even through the many layers of her skirts, enflaming her even more.Aching for him, for something she couldn’t identify, Fiona was taken by the need to alternately squeeze her thighs together to stifle the throbbing that was building between them and part them farther, to feel him against her.
Surrendering to the latter impulse, she arched against him just as he cupped her bottom and lifted her against him, turning until her back was against the wall.Lifting her leg around his hip, he ground against her.A ragged moan escaped her hoarsely but was answered by a guttural appreciation.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, defenseless against the wave of hunger overwhelming her.
She wanted him.Wanted his body flush against hers, between her thighs, driving away the desperation he had roused in her.
She always had.
And he knew it.He slipped a hand between them, cupping his hand over the juncture between her legs and curling his fingers through her skirts.Electricity shot through Fiona, almost painful in its pleasure.
“Oh God, Harry,” she gasped, bowing against his hand helplessly.
She’d never felt anything like it, never imagined being wound so tightly.Couldn’t conceive what would follow.Whatever it was, she had to have it.Her body demanded it.
“Please,” she panted against his lips.“Harry, please.”
She felt him gathering her skirts up one side.Then his palm was hot against her bare thigh, his fingers tangling in the curls at the apex of her thighs and finding the well of her desire with unerring accuracy before dipping into the heated pool.Flinching against the contact, she cried out, pained and tormented.
“Shh, darling,” he whispered huskily before parting his lips and pressing his hot mouth against her neck.
But Fiona couldn’t remain silent as his deft fingers circled and teased, winding her tighter than she’d ever thought possible.Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she hung on for dear life, her every muscle quivering weakly as the fever raged through her veins.His fingers probed, then entered her, and she cried out.And again, as his thumb continued that torturous rotation.
His talented fingers thrust deeply inside of her, curling, and she erupted with a strangled scream that Harry muffled as his mouth returned to hers.Moaning then humming against his lips as the stars burst then cascaded, she stilled against his hand, gasping as his fingers left her and his palm skimmed across her thigh once more.Flexing his hips, the thick length of his still rampant arousal thrust against the liquid heat of her core and Fiona gasped with him.
She trembled, hearing the groan of agony that escaped him as he ground against her once more.“Harry?”she questioned tentatively, running her fingers through his hair.
“I cannot,” he said shakily.“God help me, but I want to.”
“I do, too.”
Her fingers stilled.Her rational thought must have done the same to say such a thing.Shaking his head with a husky chuckle, he parted her lips with his in a languid kiss, but contrary to his words, his hand slid up her thigh once more.With a squeeze on her bottom, his fingers again slipped between her thighs, and she jumped at the light caress.
A light knock sounded at the door, and she involuntarily clenched her thighs around his hand.Quickly enough, he drew away, allowing her skirts to fall in place.He turned to the fireplace just as the door opened.
“Tea, my lord.My lady,” his butler, Pembrooke, said calmly, carrying the tea tray in himself and setting it at a small table near the window.
The rattle of the china was nothing compared to Fiona’s jangled nerves as she fought the mortification that heated her cheeks.Such perfect timing in his knock, just when silence had fallen, just when her disconcertingly vocal cries of enthusiasm had stopped!There was no saying how long Pembrooke had been out there or that he heard while he waited.
