Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (25 page)

Not that it mattered now. All governess’s
positions be damned. The delectable Mrs. Eliott was his, and she
wasn’t going anywhere as far as he was concerned.

“Yes, she did apply for the position,”
Rothsburgh replied neutrally to Maxwell. “She came highly
recommended by the Countess of Beauchamp.”

“What? Hugh Harcourt’s wife?” asked Blaire.
“I’ve only met her once or twice, but she’s another priggish blonde
I’d love to fu—”

“What time shall we go hunting tomorrow,
gentlemen?” interrupted Lord Rafe Markham. A quietly shrewd,
steely-eyed man, he obviously wasn’t keen on Blaire’s current line
of conversation either. “I must confess, I’m a trifle tired after
skulking around the moors for deer at the crack of dawn.”

Rothsburgh grinned. “Not going soft in your
old age are you, Markham?” The man had only recently returned from
Europe and it was rumored in certain circles that he’d been a spy
for the British Government in the campaign against Bonaparte.

Markham simply shrugged and smiled, not
bothering to bite back. He didn’t need to.

Rothsburgh admired the man’s sang-froid.
Markham probably knew ways to kill a man that he’d never even heard
of. Perhaps he could quietly ask him to take care of Blaire if he
stepped over the line with Beth. “Gentlemen’s hours shall we say
then, Markham? There’ll still be plenty of grouse to be had a bit
later in the morning.”

Markham inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Maxwell then steered the conversation toward
horse flesh, and Rothsburgh breathed a silent sigh of relief. The
coil of tension in his belly was as tight as ever. If he didn’t
have Beth to himself soon, he’d snap. There was no chance he could
arrange a rendezvous tonight. Despite Markham’s admission of
tiredness, he knew it was likely that they would be up until the
wee hours drinking and playing cards.

Besides, Beth was now sleeping in a tiny
room, right next door to one of the maids. Any assignation would be
noticed for certain. And it wasn’t as if he could entice Beth back
to his own bedchamber—the chance of her being spotted by one of his
guests would be high also.

Anyway Rothsburgh looked at the situation,
it was hopeless. He reached for his claret again and eyed his
companions over the rim of his glass.

As uncharitable as it sounded, the sooner
they were gone, the better.

To Rothsburgh’s relief, his chance to catch
Beth alone came the very next day. On his return from grouse
shooting, he’d entered the Great Hall with his dogs at his heels,
and had spotted Roberts and Beth disappearing down the corridor
that led to Eilean Tor’s wine cellar. As luck would have it,
Maxwell, Markham and Blaire had already disappeared upstairs,
obviously not caring to linger whilst he’d been outside in the
courtyard talking to the head groom about the need to re-shoe his
horse.

Rosencrantz whined and thumped his tail.

“I know boy, I want to see her too,”
Rothsburgh said quietly, ruffling the hound’s head. He probably
should go upstairs and change out of his hunting clothes before he
approached Beth, but then again, if he didn’t act now, he might not
have another opportunity to see her alone for another day or two.
To have but a brief exchange with her everyday about something
completely mundane and inconsequential, to pretend she was nothing
to him—it was killing him.

He bid Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to stay,
and then he all but ran across the hall and down the corridor to
the cellar. The door was ajar and he slipped inside, pausing at the
top of the stairs for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sudden
gloom. The cold, cavernous space, hewn from the rock-bed beneath
Eilean Tor, was barely lit by the soft glow of several
lanterns.

“Milord?”

Rothsburgh smiled. “Roberts. I’d like to
talk to Mrs. Eliott about tonight’s wine selection.”

Beth was standing just behind the butler,
her face hidden in shadow, but nevertheless, Rothsburgh thought he
detected the hint of a smile on her sweet lips. Lips that he would
soon be tasting. His heart began to pound, hot lust rushing
straight to his groin.

Roberts bowed and carefully placed the
bottle he was holding back in the racks. “Of course, milord.”

The clever man had taken the hint and
quickly ascended the stairs without so much as a lift of his
eyebrows, or a backward glance.

The door clicked shut and Rothsburgh smiled
with a deliberately wicked tilt to his mouth. “So what’s on the
menu, Mrs. Eliott?”

* * * *

Elizabeth’s pulse leapt and her cheeks
flamed as James shot her a clearly calculated, rakish grin. He was
no longer the indifferent master—the role he’d been forced to adopt
since the arrival of the hunting party. Her lover—her thoroughly
disarming, deliciously sinful James—had returned. Even dressed in
his hunting clothes—tight-fitting buckskin breeches that showed off
his muscular legs to perfection, Hussar boots, a simple linen
shirt, and a dark brown hunting jacket—he was utterly mesmerizing.
There was no doubt that what was on his mind, right at this moment,
wasn’t dinner or the wine that would accompany it.

Not after she’d glanced at the front of his
breeches.

Elizabeth licked her lips. Her mouth was
suddenly dry with nervous anticipation—although how she could be
nervous after everything they had shared, she didn’t know—and her
heart was fluttering like a trapped bird within her chest. Perhaps
it was because she still wasn’t used to being the recipient of such
focused sexual attention. Or maybe it was because she and James
were about to make love in the middle of the day whilst there were
house guests about.

Or maybe it was simply because she was still
plagued by her conscience and her plans to leave him.

Regardless of her qualms, it would not
change what was about to happen between them. Despite her doubts
and fears, she suddenly wanted James so very much—as much as he
seemed to want her. She needed to enjoy these moments and live life
to the full while she still could, because all too soon this would
be over.

“What would you like, my lord?” she asked,
her voice sounding breathless, even to her own ears. That wicked
smile again and she felt a sweet ache begin to pulse within her
loins.

Rothsburgh—James—held her gaze steadily as
he descended, no almost prowled down the stone stairs.
“Everything.”

She gasped. “Everything?”
Here in the
wine cellar?

He laughed and on reaching her, caught her
hand and brought it to his lips. His kiss seared her knuckles
making her shiver. “Don’t look so alarmed, my love. I know we won’t
have time for absolutely everything. We’ll both be missed before
too long.”

He drew her in so that her hand rested
against the hard wall of his chest. Even through the linen of his
shirt, she could feel the heat of his flesh, the steady beat of his
heart.

“Whatever we do, I promise I won’t mess up
your hair,” he murmured with a crooked smile as he tucked a loose
strand behind her ear. His smoldering gaze then dropped to her
mouth, and he brushed a thumb across her lower lip. Why was he
waiting? She couldn’t bear the suspense.

“James,” she breathed gripping his shirt—it
was both a plea and a demand.

“God, I miss you, Beth.” He groaned. And
then his mouth was upon hers, his arms crushing her to the
rock-hard length of his body. She opened for him willingly and
tangled her tongue with his, desperately seeking the taste of him,
rejoicing in the deep throaty growl he made as their kiss deepened,
became wilder, more urgent. She’d missed him, too, missed this raw
intimacy. How was she to survive when this was all over?

All such thoughts soon fled, however, when
one of James’s hands slid from the nape of her neck around to the
front of her black wool bodice, and his fingers deftly flicked open
the buttons, before sliding beneath her corset and shift to find
her breast. He rolled her already erect nipple between his thumb
and fingers, and she arched toward his hot touch, a low moan
escaping her lips. The banked fire of suppressed desire flared
within her, releasing her abandoned, reckless self.

She wanted more, so much more. She reached
downward to stroke the iron hard shaft of James’s erection—it
pressed insistently against her belly, even through all the layers
of their clothing. She desperately wanted to taste him, pleasure
him there, until he lost control and cried out her name.

As she fumbled for the opening to his
breeches, he stilled her hand. “Not yet, my angel,” he murmured
against her kiss-bruised lips. “I have something else in mind
first. Are you wearing drawers?”

Her pulse thrummed and the apex of her
thighs was suddenly slippery with the dew of her increasing
arousal. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice no more than a husky
whisper. With so many male house guests it didn’t feel appropriate
to be wandering around sans-undergarments.

“Well, you won’t be needing those any
longer.” He dropped to his knees and reached up beneath her widow’s
weeds, his large warm hands sliding slowly over the thin cotton of
her drawers from her calves, to her thighs to caress her buttocks,
making her already sensitized flesh quiver. She closed her eyes and
gripped his wide shoulders for support as one of his hands tugged
loose the ribbon tie at her waist. Her drawers immediately slid to
her ankles, and she rejoiced in the feeling of James’s hands on her
bare skin. When had she become so willingly and shockingly
licentious? She was about to have sex in a wine cellar in the
middle of the day and she was breathless with anticipation.

James helped her to step out of her drawers,
then swiftly rose to his feet. Then, before she knew what was
happening, he grasped her about the waist and effortlessly lifted
her onto one of the sizeable wine casks that lay securely in a rack
against the wall behind her.

“What…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, placing a long finger
against her lips. “Trust me.”

“I do…always,” she murmured and caressed his
jaw with trembling fingers, holding his gaze steadily.

I love you.
The words Elizabeth could
never say to him threatened to spill from her lips, so she leant
forward and kissed him gently, trying to show him how she felt even
if she couldn’t tell him.

His firm lips slid tantalizingly beneath
hers. He seemed content to let her lead for a few moments—until she
teasingly ran her tongue over his bottom lip; she wanted to drive
him wild again. He responded to her invitation immediately. With a
low growl, he claimed her mouth, his tongue grazing against hers,
and the firestorm of desire rose up again to engulf them both.

He pushed up her skirts to her waist and the
musky scent of her arousal rose up around them. Continuing to
ravish her mouth, he slid a finger up and down between her slick
innermost folds, as his thumb began to stroke her quivering,
swollen center of pleasure. Leaning back against the rock wall
behind her, she couldn’t resist the urge to part her thighs to
allow him greater access. It was so wicked, so wanton…so
wonderful.

James dragged his mouth from hers. “Let me
taste you, Beth,” he rasped against her ear, his fingers and thumb
continuing to drive her need even higher. She made an inarticulate
whimpering sound, perhaps she even nodded, as she opened her legs
wider, straddling the barrel. Whatever she did, it was all the
consent James needed. Bending forward, he dipped his dark head and
alternately curled and flicked his tongue against her pulsating
core. She began to shudder and gripped his shoulders with
talon-like fingers as the exquisite tension began to build higher,
tighter almost to the point of pain. An abandoned moan rose in her
throat, and she mindlessly spread wider for him. He ruthlessly took
advantage of her exposed sex—he slid his tongue deep into her inner
passage, thrusting and retreating as her hips began to undulate
back and forth, matching his rhythm.

But she couldn’t take much more of this
calculated torture—her breath was coming in short ragged bursts
that she couldn’t control. She was so close to her peak, so close
it hurt. Perhaps James recognized she was at her extremity because
his mouth suddenly returned to her core and he suckled her—hard.
And she shattered. Incandescent light exploded behind her eyes and
she bit her lip, attempting to stifle the hoarse scream that rose
within her as her womb finally clenched, and spasms of blinding
pleasure coursed through her entire being, rendering her senseless
to everything else around her.

Until James began to nuzzle behind her ear.
Sighing, she arched her neck to allow his clever mouth and tongue
better access to the sensitive flesh. She was well satisfied, but
what about him?

“James, I think it’s time that I returned
the favor, don’t you?” Elizabeth reached forward to stroke his
rigid cock through the leather of his breeches. He groaned and
pushed his groin into her hand, his mouth seeking hers. She could
taste her own, slightly salty essence on his lips and tongue. It
fired her own desire again, the desire to please him as he had
pleased her.

“I want to taste you too,” she whispered and
loosened the ties of his breeches. He sprang free and she grasped
his hot, pulsing length, running her hand from base to silky smooth
head, squeezing gently.

“God help me…yes.” He lifted her down, and
once she stood steadily, he released his hold about her waist and
eased himself onto the barrel. Legs astride, he leaned back, his
cock standing up proudly, whilst his eyes—now black as
midnight—were completely focused on her. He was breathing hard,
almost trembling with need, waiting for her to ease his agony, to
pleasure him.

A deep thrill coursed through her as she
realized how much power she wielded—that at this moment, this
virile, powerful male was completely hers, to do with as she
wished. Yes, she would pleasure him. And she would savor every
single minute of it.