“Whatever are you smiling about?”
“You,” he said. “That. What you’ve said.”
“That I am not biddable? That I am willing to fail? That you understand nothing about how to try a thousand failures in order to find the one success?”
“Yes. Exactly that. It is what I want you to teach my people.” He touched her face. “It is what I want in my life.” His palm flattened across her cheek while his smallest finger curled under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “I found my biddable woman with a huge dowry and a love of herbs. I arranged for a meeting with her at a ball. She was even a beautiful woman who worked hard to be pleasant.” He shrugged. “I hated her. I wanted you.”
“Who was this woman?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was at a ball, and instead of dancing, you were arguing with Mr. Walsh about Roman bridges. I stood nearby and listened, completely entranced. From that moment on, I had no interest in anyone else.”
“Mr. Walsh? You met me with Mr. Russell when we talked about castles.”
“I saw you well before then with Mr. Walsh. Specifically, when you told him he was an idiot.”
She shrugged. “Well, he is.”
“Undoubtably.”
Her face tingled where he cupped her. But more, her belly tightened, and her chest seemed to squeeze tight in an intriguing way. His words warmed her. The idea that she had appealed to him for more than her dowry made her think he knew her as more than a bank account.
“I am nothing that you want,” she finally said.
“And yet you are everything to me.” He kissed her then. As always, he was not tentative but swooped down to claim her mouth. He was ever bold in his attention to her. Yet she knew that if she withdrew, he would let her go. Such was the contradiction in him. He claimed her, then released her. He wanted her, and yet she knew he would let her have her own mind.
And nothing was more seductive to her than a man who respected her mind.
She opened her mouth to him, she let him thrust inside as he stroked every inch. The brush of his tongue spurred her to taste and duel back. She clutched his shoulders as she went up on her toes. She would have climbed his body if she could so that she could dominate him as much as he bent over her.
Then he pulled back. His eyes were dark wells of shadow, but she felt his need in the rush of his breath and the heat from his cock against her belly.
“The stream is right over there. Shall we get clean?”
“No,” she said. “Let’s take off our clothes and touch one another in the water.”
He grinned. “Never change the way you speak, Clara.”
“What?”
He bent down to her and teased his lips across hers. “Nevermind me, Clara. You have addled my wits.”
No more than she’d lost hers. She rushed to unbutton her gown, but he was there before her. His fingers were clever as he undid her buttons. She fumbled with his shirt, but his kilt was easy to lift away. And then he tugged her dress down, pinning her arms to her sides. He untied her stays and pulled it away, leaving her in her lightest shift with her dress caught around her wrists and ankles.
“Trapped,” he murmured with a grin.
“Hardly,” she retorted. She could rip her hands free or step out of her gown. But the way he looked at her had her waiting to see what would happen. Especially as the sight of him was so delightful. The muscles in his chest rippled as he stroked his hand across her belly. The breadth of his shoulders was outlined in moonlight, but the hard thrust of his cock drew her.
She stretched her hands toward it, but she was constrained by her gown. And by the fact that he ducked away from her. “Not yet,” he said. Then before she could react, he swooped forward and scooped her feet out from under her.
She gasped, then freed her wrists such that the gown dropped away. Finally, she could touch him, but he was lifting her high as he walked. He wore nothing but his boots as he carried her confidently through the brush before setting her on a large rock. Then he knelt before her to take off her shoes and stockings. His hands were large as he pulled at her footwear, and she marveled at the feel of his rough caress.
She felt safe in his hands. She felt safe with him. So much so that when he looked up from tugging down her stockings, she stripped off her shift. Now she sat naked before him and completely unconcerned.
“Finally,” she said as she stroked the corded sinews of his arm. “I can dance in a stream.”
“Dance!” he said surprised.
She shrugged. “I was told once that if I danced naked in a stream at night, the water sprites would join me.”
“We have much the same tale in Scotland.”
“And will the boy fairies carry you away to fairyland?”
He grinned. “Not me.” Then he turned and made quick work of his boots. They were naked, the both of them, and she had no interest in the water.
She caught his face and kissed him as he had kissed her. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, she tasted all she could while he coiled around and around, and he…
He scooped her up and carried her to the stream.
