And he held her and let himself bathe in joy.
Hours later, Alasdair held his breath as Arabella looked at his watch. She then looked out the window, checking the position of the sun, he supposed. It had grown colder still and the sky was still clouded. It was about an hour before they would stop for the evening.
She turned to Alasdair.
“A half an hour,” she said. “A half an hour only for kissing and then a half an hour of no kissing for us to calm ourselves. I do not want to get out of the carriage in front of Ewen MacEwen again with my lips swollen.”
“Half an hour,” he repeated solemnly and then reached out and drew her to him with a calm that belied his inner excitement.
He used his lips, his tongue, his hands. Her face, her wrists, her hands he lavished with attention. But then she thought she heard a noise outside the carriage and she turned her head and her white throat was exposed to him and he kissed her there and was rewarded by a breathy high-pitched noise that hardened his cock to stone. He thought he had never heard a more beautiful sound than the sound of her arousal that he had caused.
And then, as he kissed her throat, he did not know what to do with his hands. He could not hold her hands, her arms were around his neck, buried in the hair at the back of his head. When he had been kissing her face, he had used his hands to hold her head, but that was awkward now that he was kissing her throat.
He thought for a very long time about touching her breasts through her coat. Her breaths were coming quickly now and her chest was heaving up to him.
But he remembered how his feverish use of his tongue in her mouth, his pushing her down, had made her tremble.
Let him advance cautiously, gradually. Let him explore his new territory thoroughly before sending out another vanguard.
Her throat this afternoon, for example. This was his new dominion. And it was fertile, lush territory at that. Her neck was beautiful, the skin luxuriously soft and warm and fragrant and he could feel her pulse quicken under his mouth. And, even more importantly, as he had already discovered, the front of her throat was extremely sensitive and she made all kinds of sounds when he was not covering her mouth with his.
And the half an hour turned into three quarters of an hour and then into just a minute before the carriage wheels came to a complete stop, and Arabella’s and his own lips were quite swollen, their faces flushed, when they climbed out of the carriage that evening to go into the coaching inn.
They were extremely decorous throughout dinner, and after dinner, he walked her to the door of her bedchamber.
She did not kiss him in the hallway of the inn but she held out her hand and he took it and was surprised to have her shake it as if they were two men who had just greeted each other or made a bargain.
“I will see you on the morrow, Doctor.” She lowered her eyes and looked up at him through her lashes. “In the carriage.”
“Yes,” he said, knowing that the expectation of a kiss outside or inside her bedchamber was greedy. He did not mean to frown or look disappointed, but he feared he did.
She went into the room and as she was closing the door, she peeked around it with an impish expression and said, “Open Sesame.”
He grinned and showed her his dimples. And he went off to his own bedchamber, heartened by the prospect of more kissing tomorrow in the carriage. He would allow himself a full day with her in his arms. He would not press his suit until tomorrow evening. Then he would find out if she wanted any more from him. And if she didn’t ... Well, he would not think on that now.
Sixteen
The sky was still cloudy the next morning. There was wind. It was colder than ever. They stood outside the coaching inn, Arabella shivering and Alasdair longed to put his arm around her, there in the yard.
“We’ll be in England in two hours,” Paterson told them.
“What of these clouds?” Arabella asked, looking up.
Paterson shrugged. “We’re close enough to England to have English weather. I only ken Scottish weather.”
Alasdair also shrugged. “We may have some snow, a few flakes.” He had no care for the weather. He was anxious to get into the carriage, to be closeted with Arabella, to have his arms around her, to kiss her.
“Ewen,” Arabella said. “It’s too cold for you to be outside with Paterson.”
Alasdair’s heart sank at this. He had spent much of the night in anticipation of the hours ahead, what she might allow, what he might dare. He did not want Ewen MacEwen in the carriage with them.
He was elated by the boy’s response.
“We’re going south, ’tis bound to get warmer as we go,” Ewen said.
And was it his imagination or did the lad wink at him as he turned to climb up on the driver’s seat?
And then they were together in the carriage and she was the one kissing him, up on her knees on the seat next to him so he did not have to bend his head to hers. She held his face and kissed him, pressing into him, making sounds of impatient arousal. She was fevered, rushed, sloppy with her kisses.
