“Ah, Meghan with her bruised pride.” Culross pressed his hard cock against her cunny and rubbed in slow circles until the lady was moaning. “So desperate that you crave scraps of some attention from even an Archdale.”
She gave her head a dazed little shake. “What? N—!”
Culross released her skirts at once. The fabric fell back into place with a soft, whispering flutter of air between them.
“You’d love it if I told you how I want to strip you bare, lay you down, and bury myself between your sweet thighs. Is that it?”
Color exploded over her exposed cheeks. “No.”
Culross grabbed her quick by the shoulders. She gasped as he drew her up and in. He dragged a stare meant to punish over her. “I might be able to work myself up to it.”
The color bled from her cheeks.
Only when she ripped herself away from him did he realize he had retained his hold.
Meghan, her chest heaving, backed away. “I don’t like you much right now, August Archdale,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He folded his arms lazily at his chest and stared as she bumped into a bush.
Meghan stumbled and then caught herself. She glanced at the potted plant and then whipped her gaze back to Culross. Her throat moved wildly.
Culross grinned. “Alas, fortunately for both of us, whether or not we like one another is irrelevant.”
With the pride of a princess, Meghan squared her shoulders back, gathered up her skirts, and started a slow march to the door.
He waited a moment.
“Meghan?” he called after her.
The lady whipped around fast.
Culross tossed her pair of gloves.
She caught them with ease.
“A fine catch, Miss Smith,” he said, in echo of those paltry compliments he’d paid her over a year ago.
The lady eyed him like he’d gone mad and then, shaking her head, she continued backing away.
When she reached the front, she took off running. She let herself out of the orangery, slamming the door shut hard behind her.
Restless, he stared through the glass doors until she’d gone.
Bloody unquenched lust. Cursing roundly, Culross adjusted his erection.
Off to the Smiths and McQuoids, she went.
Off to Hartwell.
Off to further cement an alliance and make it so that no one else could use the chit for gains outside their own.
Culross went stock-still.
And from the fertile seeds of hate, an idea was born.
Chapter 5
The slap of Meghan’s slippers echoed against the padded carpet of the corridor.
