Reaching up, she tugged at his coat and waistcoat, fingering those buttons loose. In shirtsleeves and trousers, he pushed her hands away to pull her close, kissing her so deeply that she arched back with it, felt her knees weaken, moaned breathily into his lips.
When he sank to a knee to take her down to the floor with him, he lowered her to the thick Aubusson carpet of gold, cream, and blue that made her think of the beach at Caransay. She stretched out beside him, the soft, silky carpet a cushion beneath them as he kissed her. Sighing, she opened to the tip of his tongue, gave him hers, sighed again as he moved to sweep the shell of her ear, that feeling, tender and strong, plunging through her. Tugging at his shirt, her fingers nimble at the remaining buttons, she pulled the linen away to slide her palms over the warm, hard curves of his chest. She traced her lips there, tasting salt and man, feeling his heartbeat close and fast. Now he streamed soft kisses along her jaw and down the arch of her throat until his lips touched her upper breast. With a gasp, she threaded her fingers into his thick hair and writhed under his caressing lips, his deft fingers. As the fine golden chain around her neck shifted, she felt the slight weight of the gold locket against her throat, a reminder.
What she wanted so much was here now, almost full, almost—the father of her child declared, and they would be a family. It swelled through her, the gratitude, the love, the knowledge that she could at last be free to be herself, all of herself, mother and lover and wife, island girl and baroness. What went unsaid andyet acknowledged now, accepted now, burned through her as passion and hope together. He had called her honest once—now she felt that. Honest, loved, safe, and complete.
Her thoughts fled as the touch of his hands brought her to the moment, the feeling of his lips coaxing a kiss, another, deeper, hungrier, even as his fingers slid warm, teasing, exploring. She explored him too, with more boldness than before, slipping a hand under wool and linen to find him, shape him, caress. As he groaned against her lips with the next kiss, she took him full in her hands, warm velvet over heated steel, and he sucked in a long breath.
Then she could not stop, not then, not in the next moment as he found her, too, touching the tender places only he had ever touched, that honeyed slick for him now. Tearing at his shirt and his trousers, she rolled and shifted with him on the fat silk of the carpet. She pushed hindering clothes, hers and his, aside, wanting desperately to surge over him, rise and sink down as he filled her, as she gasped with it and moved in a rhythm with it. Merging and seeking, soaring and arching, she felt him move with her like waves of the sea. Then, through some sparkling natural magic that took all thought away but one—love, love—she vanished into him as he poured into her.
Later, breathing slowed, she rested in his arms on the floor, and ran a lazy hand over his chest. Dougal gasped, swore softly, sat up. Meg pulled back to look at him.
“I must go,” he said, reaching for his shirt.
“Go? Oh—the train!”
“I can still make it if I hurry.” He tugged on his shirt, then stood.
“Stay. Take another train.” She got to her feet, taking up her abandoned corset.
“I have a ticket.” He reached for his trousers, pulling them on, buttoning.
“Let it go. You can purchase another on the Strathlin account.”
“Meg, no,” he said as he snatched up his waistcoat, shrugged it on, adjusted his shirt.
“Just this once. Or you could miss the train and take the next one.”
“That one leaves tomorrow morning.” He spun her about to help with the laces, then stood back as she dropped her skirt over her head. “Stay the night.”
He paused, frowned. “I could take the morning train and still reach the Isles by evening to hire a boat over. But I will pay my way.”
“We will talk about that and the rest of it. Stay here tonight, husband,” she said, easing into his arms.
“Are you ready to announce our marriage?” He tipped a brow. “Or do you want a ceremony first?”
“I would tell the world if I could. We should decide, though.”
“We will. For now, I will go back to my cousin’s house for the night. It is best,” he said as she began to protest. “You know it is. Go careful, love. One step, then another.”
Meg sighed. “We did just take a big step.”
“We did.” He kissed her slowly. “Next step, best gather your lacy things from the library floor before Mrs. Shaw brings tea.”
“Oh! I forgot about that!” She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and flew out.
In the morning,Dougal knocked on the door of the Strathlin house, shifting from foot to foot, remembering his arrival just the day before, his uncertainty, his caution. Now he felt certain yet urgent, for the news he had received early this morning required immediate action. He had to take his leave of Meg now and hurry to catch the first train heading west across Scotland.
The butler admitted him, and moments later Meg fairly flew down the stairs, hearing he was there. Seeing the butler blink, Dougal then noticed Mrs. Shaw’s surprise as she came down the hallway. Though no one knew of their secret marriage yet, their devotion would be more than obvious, judging by the way Meg rushed toward him, took his hands, smiled up at him.
“Why, Mr. Stewart,” Meg said, coy, blushing, beautiful.
“Madam,” Dougal said. “I must go soon. Now.” He took her shoulders, not caring what anyone thought. She was all that mattered to him, even as Mrs. Shaw suppressed a smile and glanced at Mr. Hamilton, who came round the corner just then.
“Why? I thought we would have time—”
“I have just heard that some members of the Lighthouse Commission are heading out to Caransay. They may be there before I can get there.”
“Surely they can wait a little, look at the site, and you will be there.”
