Mia Marlowe (22 page)

“Love leads to misery all around,” his father said whenever the subject came up. Which the marquis made certain was often. He didn’t want his sons to be unprepared for the wiles of the female of the species.

But with Lucinda, Alexander found himself wanting to imagine love was possible. That he could trust her with everything he was and she’d do him no hurt.

In this strange land of magic and mayhem, what spell was she casting on him?

If it was witchery, Alex decided he didn’t care. He picked her up and carried her to the waiting bed.

Anticipation pooled in Lucinda’s belly. Alexander stood over her and unbuttoned his shirt, baring his muscled chest. She mirrored his movements, starting to undo her own bodice.

“Let me do that,” he said. “I like undressing you. It’s like opening a present.”

A sudden pang struck her. “Oh! I dinna have a gift to give ye for Christmas.”

“Nor I you.”

“Oh, aye, ye did. Ye gave me the ‘lady’ before me name and made me chatelaine of this wonderful old castle.”

“If we’re reasoning like that, you’ve far outgiven me.” He tugged off his boots, then shucked out of his trousers and smalls and peeled off his stockings.

“How do ye reckon that?”

He stood upright before her in nothing but his glorious skin and Lucinda thought the sight might fair strike her blind. He was so fine, this broad-chested man of hers.

Hers. Her own “Much of a Muchness.” Her husband.

Alexander leaned down and cupped her cheek. “You outgave me because you gave yourself, Lucinda. Don’t you know how beautiful and brilliant you are? You make me ache for you every time I see you.”

“Oh.” Her mouth went slack. Then she raised herself to her knees. “Best ye get busy with the unwrapping of yer present then. ’Twill be midnight before ye know it and Christmas will be over.”

A shadow passed over his face.

“But dinna fret. We still have Hogmanay and Twelfth Night and, believe me, the celebration of Christmas is tame by comparison to those two.”

He still looked a shade grim, as if the passage of time were a worry to him. So she reached for him, exploring the warm expanse of exposed skin. He bent to kiss her while he finished unbuttoning her bodice. The nearness of his fingertips was torture for her breasts as he worked down the hollow between them. The hard tips ached for his touch. He peeled back the bodice of her gown and gave attention to her stays, freeing her breasts beneath her chemise.

She pulled away from his kiss for a moment. “Dinna tear my clothes this time. It fair scandalized Mrs. Fletcher when I asked her to see if that chemise could be mended.”

He chuckled, a low rumble in his belly that set his “Muchness” ajiggle. Lucinda reached to cup him, caressing and stroking. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he seemed to grow even harder and stronger under her touch.

As she stroked him, he toyed with her breasts through the thin muslin of her chemise and Lucinda began to regret telling him not to rend the fabric. But she was giving as good as she got, fondling him in smooth, sure strokes. He was all hot and hard and strong and it gave her a thrill of feminine power when he groaned softly.

However, when she looked up at his face, she sensed something was still wrong. There was a bit of sadness around his eyes. A weight at the corner of his mouth.

A thoroughly wicked idea of how she might distract him from his burden danced through her mind. She remembered how she’d fairly unraveled inside when he put his mouth on her
ruminella.

Lucinda bent down to place a soft wet kiss on the tip of him.

His breath hitched over his teeth.

“Did that hurt ye?”

His eyes squinched tight in an almost pained expression. “No, Lu. No . . .”

“Shall I do it again, ye think?”

He looked down at her, the wild light of a stallion in his gaze. “Do what you will. All I am is yours. But for God’s sake, do something.”

All the heaviness she’d sensed in him burned away in the intense wanting she saw behind his eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d carry out this experiment rightly, but she was bound and determined to try.

 

 

Alex held his breath, waiting for what she’d do next. Watching her bend down to press her lips against him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life. Her innocent licks and kisses made his gut clench and he fought the urge to move.

Then she took him into her mouth.

“Aye, Lu . . . just like that.”

His world dissolved in the wetness, the softness, the warmth of her sweet lips. He held her head, directing her gently, but she seemed to need little encouragement. She suckled and stroked him with her tongue. His hips moved without his conscious volition.

He was desperate for her to continue. Desperate for her to stop before it became too much to bear. The lavishness, the grace of her loving was more than he could ever have hoped. More than he deserved.

He had to stop her. The strain of holding back was nearly killing him. He couldn’t accept this from her. Not without giving her pleasure. He’d always had a firm policy of “ladies first.”

Alexander lifted her up and held her flush against his body, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of evergreen and cinnamon and warm woman. A Christmas gift, indeed.

“Was I doing it wrong?” she whispered.

“No, love, you were doing everything right. It was the best . . . I never thought you’d . . .” Words failed him and he kissed her instead till they were both breathless. Then he left her lips only long enough to gather her gown in his hands and pull it over her head. He kissed her again. The urge to see her naked made him hurry as he pulled off her chemise.

The sound of ripping fabric made him stop for a second, then he peeled the rest of the garment over her head.

“Mrs. Fletcher will just have to be scandalized.” He bent to capture the tip of her breast in his mouth and worried that sensitive bit of flesh with a gentle suck, a skillful tongue, and a light scrape of his teeth. Lucinda’s longing escaped her lips in wordless cries.

He reached between her legs where her pantalets left her sex bared and softly invaded her nest of curls. He circled. He stroked. When her desperate gasps rent his heart, he laid her down and focused on her tender little spot.

Lucinda writhed under his touch. She arched her back. Her eyes, usually so bright, went out of focus and he suspected she saw nothing. Her brow furrowed with wanting, her face caught in an expression that was equal parts pleasure and anguish. He kissed her neck and suckled her earlobe.

“Come for me, sweeting,” Alex urged. “Dinna ye see how I love ye?”

His words released her and her whole body bucked with the force of her climax. He held her as she came, riding the waves of joy.

As soon as she stilled, he kneed her thighs farther apart and settled between them. She was so ready he slid into her snugness without resistance. Then he began to move, looking for the right angle, the right speed and motion that would build her pleasure again.

He ran his hands along her hips, the sides of her ribs, and breasts. Little by little, he rolled so she could be on top. He let her control their rhythm.

It was torture to hold back when part of him wanted to plunge in and take her like a rutting beast. When she found the right combination of friction and speed, her breathing changed. Her short gasps and the way her head fell back told him she was close.

He slipped a hand between them to stroke her over the edge.

“Look at me, Lu,” he urged.

Her eyes fluttered open and she met his gaze as her first contraction began.

“Say my name,” he commanded.

She practically sang it. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He rolled over, fully seated inside her, and emptied himself into her, driving in deep. All his hopes, all his fears, all he was. For better or worse, he was hers.

He collapsed on her and they sank deeply into the feather tick, gasping in unison. Time unraveled around them and the world might have spun a rotation or two without their notice. Their breathing settled and the only sound was the soft rustle of the fire in the grate and the barely audible whoosh of air moving around the cavernous room.

Lucinda finally broke the silence. “I’ve heard that men sometimes say things in bed that they dinna mean in the parlor.”

He lifted himself on his elbows. “I meant every word I’ve ever spoke to you.”

“Then ye love me.”

“Aye, lass, I do.” He kissed her again and decided not to fight the brogue any longer. Somehow, his brain had been touched with a Scottish spell and expressing himself this way was as natural as breathing. Why it had come upon him was as mysterious as the rest of the doings at Bonniebroch Castle and just as beyond his will to question. “Do ye no’ have somewhat to say to me?”

“Aye.” She draped her arms around his neck and grinned up at him. “As husbands go, ye’ll do, Alexander Mallory. Ye’ll certainly do.”

 

 

The dream felt so real, he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t sleepwalked down the long staircase behind the walls to the dungeon. Alexander found himself in the dim cell as usual only now he recognized where it was. The weeping woman wasn’t there this time. He didn’t hear any sobbing. His mouth formed the word “Mother” but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

At the sound of
his
name, he turned around. The ghostly sibilance washed over him in diminishing echoes. There she was, standing at the doorway, on the outside of the reinforced bars.

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

With one graceful hand, she reached up and removed the veil that obscured her face. She was as pretty as he remembered, with fine even features and a sweet smile.

Pity she was also completely dotty.

“No, son,”
Finella said.
“I’m no’ mad.”

He was past surprise that yet another ghost seemed able to peer into his thoughts. “But Father says—”

Alexander’s hands bunched into fists. It felt like a betrayal of his father to even listen to her. But she hadn’t really said a word against his father, which was something the marquis couldn’t claim. He’d spouted poison about his mad wife whenever he had the chance. “What was the alternative?”

She turned and floated away from the cell toward a brighter spot on the horizon. Alexander couldn’t help but follow. Why had he never heard any of this before?

His mother’s face brightened and color began to return to her lips and cheeks. Even her black clothing began to subtly shift to soft gray with lavender piping.

“Father always said you could have come back to us if you’d wanted to,” he accused. “You just didn’t want to badly enough.”

Alex thought his father probably would have come after them even if she’d taken only him. Not that the marquis was overburdened with familial feelings, but he regarded both his sons as assets to be controlled. He wouldn’t allow one to slip away while there might be some use for him.

“My room was always locked by night, but the windows were not.”
She allowed herself a small smile.
“I’d convinced them that I didna believe I could fly, ye ken. So I tore up my bed linens and fashioned a rope to let meself down from the window of me third-story room.”

Her face crumpled and tears started to flow. Alexander steeled himself for the sobs that were sure to come, but she contained herself.

Brodie appeared suddenly and stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders in a gesture of support.
“Go on with yer tale, lass.”

Alexander looked away. His chest hurt too badly to continue meeting her gray gaze.

Unshed tears pressed against the backs of his eyes. He’d been carrying this old bitterness so long, he didn’t know how to let it go.