There came a discernible pause.
August brushed the pad of his thumb along the naked base of her spine.
Suspended in breathless anticipation, Meghan stilled.
Pop.
The entire back of her gown fell open, and the cold brushed her skin.
Her eyes slid closed.
She would have the wedding night she’d always dreamed of after all.
And with the man she always wanted as her husband.
Chapter 9
Culross had ensured no McQuoid lady could ever be used by their family for power gain ever again. They lived for love matches. Now, were they to marry that would be the only union their ladies could make.
For the ultimate cap to the day, Culross stood with Meghan, ready to do anything for him—the heat of her desire poured like fire from her proudly erect frame.
Culross kept his hands as the fastenings at her shoulders; his fingers were all that kept her gown in place. Her own faint hold of her bodice would keep nothing up.
He let her believe her efforts were not in vain.
He allowed her the decision, but he already knew what it would be.
Just as he knew he wanted the rest of the articles she had donned for Hartwell burned to ash and scattered amidst the sands of time.
He leaned forward and breathed softly upon the narrow dip between her shoulder and collarbone.
“You are free, little bird,” Culross whispered.
The moment Meghan’s arms fell, he released his grip on her dress. It fell in a heavy, satiny whoosh about her feet.
Clasping his right hand at her insignificant waist with his other, he reached for her already seeking fingers.
Culross helped her step over the mountain of silk and organza and then freed her.
A proud Aphrodite, Meghan faced him.
Vae Victis—Woe to the Vanquished.
He drank in all of her in that filmy shift. The fire’s glow enhanced the lace garment’s translucency. The proud pink tipsof her breasts jutted forward, with her desire and cold. The thatch was darker than any strand on her head.
He sucked in a breath. “Beautiful,” he said huskily.
She had been ordained for another and so had dressed accordingly for her wedding night.
A shy smile teased Meghan’s lips.
Wordlessly, he divested her of that scrap meant for Hartwell, until Meghan stood bare as Eve, and as tempting as the succulent fruit from which all sin had sprung.
His blood would never mix with a McQuoid.
But for now—and only for now—she belonged to Culross.
He dipped a hand in and tested the water’s temperature and straightened.
