Page 49 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“I doubt the activity will tax my strength to the point I won’t be able to walk, Jane.” He held out his hand to her. “Besides, in the event I am not able to leave in the morning, or something else untoward happens, I would like to make love to you one more time. If you do not carry my child at this moment, perhaps after this you will.”

Common sense and desire to please him warred briefly, but it was scarcely a contest. As Gareth had said, they were not promised tomorrow and if this would be their final hours together, then they should spend it loving one another. She grasped his hand and lay down beside him, nestling into his good shoulder, reveling in the warmth of him. No thought of what that warmth might mean would intrude on her wedding night. “What can I do so that you do not injure yourself even worse or expend all your strength and weaken your body?”

Tightening his arm around her shoulders, Gareth whispered in her ear, “You must take the lead, my love. Be bold yet gentle with me. Seduce my body, inch by inch, until it is yours entirely, waiting for you to claim me as your own.” Chuckling, he shifted her until she straddled him. “Think of me as a stallion you will ride this night. Do not ride him too long or too hard and he will serve you for many years to come.”

“You are a wicked man, Kinellan.”

“So I have been told.” He raked up the skirt of her habit, his hand meeting the flesh of her buttock. “But who is the more wicked one here? Oh, that’s right, you sacrificed your petticoat.” The look he gave her was pure lechery as he smoothed his hand over her backside. “Marvelously convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

“Marvelous indeed. But you, sir, have dispensed with none of your clothing. That is neither fair nor expedient. Can you unbutton your fall?” An insistent throbbing against her nether regions told her Gareth’s shoulder might be wounded, but other parts of his body were working just fine.

He complied, fumbling beneath her skirts until his hot flesh pressed unrelentingly against her naked sex.

A growl began deep in her throat. After the tensions of the afternoon, she needed release as much as he did. Rising above his almost erect member, Jane carefully adjusted her position, then lowered herself onto his hot, waiting flesh. The contact made her groan, the sensation of being filled completely, of actually becoming one with this man, drove her to an immediate frenzy. Never had she wanted him more, wanted him to thrust deeply into her, melding them together until they couldn’t tell who was who.

Reminding herself to be gentle, though that was the last thing she wished to be, Jane started a slow, methodical rhythm, almost exactly as though she were riding a horse. Gazing down at Gareth’s face, rapt in its concentration and jubilant in its smile, she rose higher and slid down him slower.

Sweat popped out on Gareth’s forehead and he grunted, trying to thrust upward before she could ride him down.

“Remember, love. Let me do all the work.” She rose slowly again.

“Wouldn’t call this work.” He strained upward just as she slid down.

“Ahh,” they called in unison.

Gareth thrust again and again, then she shattered around him, throbbing deeply within as he moaned sharply and spent himself inside her.

Jane laid her head on his chest, worn out by the exquisite release. She could sleep for a week, just like this. But Gareth’s ragged breathing brought her head up. “Gareth? Are you all right?”

The panting eased as his breathing slowed. “Not sure how to answer. I feel as though I could die at any moment, but wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Lord.” With care, Jane rolled off him, pulling her skirts down as she did. “Let me get your buttons.” Swiftly she did up his fall, then pulled the cover up over them as best she could. They were lying on half of it and there was not much material to go around. A sigh of weariness escaped her as she eased down next to him. “I suppose we are now married for good.”

Gareth stirred groggily. “Sweetheart, after that display of conjugal relations, we are married for more than good. We are married for the best there ever was.”

Chapter Twenty-One

As she and Lady St. Just hurried up the central stairs to the first floor’s block of guest rooms, Bella couldn’t help remembering the redhaired woman in the corner and how her odd demeanor had made her stand out. It had made her not want to engage Mrs. Seton in conversation. Had that been a mistake? And why had the woman been so distraught? Bella had been too absorbed in presenting a pleasing picture to capture the interest of Lord Harold to think about anyone else. She truly hoped her inattentiveness would not make a difference in discovering Jane’s whereabouts.

They reached the room the butler had given them directions to, one of four identical doors on each side of the corridor. Bella had no idea if any of the other rooms were still occupied. So many guests had left the castle after the bonfire. Mrs. Seton and her husband might be the only guests left on this wing. “Did Grant say the second or third door on the right, Lady St. Just?”

“The third, Bella.” She put a hand on Bella’s arm when they stopped before the door. “You really should call me Georgie as all my friends do.”

Taken aback—she’d not known Lady St. Just very long at all—Bella opened her mouth and closed it without saying anything. She’d very much like to accept, but would Maria be upset if Bella made friends with her friends? “Th . . . thank you, my lady. Georgie, I mean.” Lord it sounded so strange to call her that, even though Georgie was only a few years older than Bella.

The petite redhaired woman laughed and patted her shoulder. “I think if Hal is going to court you, we really should be calling each other by our first names. You may need support when it comes to dealing with Father.” She cocked her head. “Although I must say since his marriage to Rob’s mother, he has been much less belligerent, which has been quite a boon for all of us.”

“Did you say Lord Harold wishes to court me?” The words came out in a high-pitched squeak, sheer surprise making her unable to calm her voice.

“It certainly seems so, don’t you think?” Georgie shrugged. “He rode with you the entire time during the excursion today and then sat beside you at dinner. If I remember correctly, he accompanied you to the luncheon yesterday and spoke with you at lunch as well.” She raised her eyebrows. “Why do you doubt it, Bella?”

“I . . . I guess I didn’t see it quite that way.” That was a bag of moonshine. She’d suspected Lord Harold might be interested when he engaged her in conversation during most of the excursion.

“Unless you are disinterested in my brother, and you may well be as Hal has ever been a scamp, I suggest you try to see him in the role of suitor, because I assure you, that is how he is viewing himself.” Leaving her stunned and staring at the polished oak door, Bella couldn’t think what to say when Georgie rapped loudly on the door.

“Go away.” The voice behind the door sounded shrill, upset. Desperate.

“Mrs. Seton? This is Lady St. Just. Are you well? We missed you at dinner.” Georgie modulated her tone, softening it as one would to talk to a child.