An Heiress for All Seasons (7 page)

He quickly led Devil to the barn to investigate, falling back against the wall in relief and scrubbing both hands over his face at finding the familiar mare there, unsaddled in one of the stalls, munching serenely on coarse, long-forgotten hay.

He dismounted and quickly tended to Devil, securing the stallion in another stall while the wind howled outside, knocking at the structure’s walls.

Pulling the collar of his coat high around his ears again, he jogged across the yard, sinking to the middle of his boots. He closed a hand around the latch and pushed the thick door in, entering the cottage, his heart rising up in his throat in that moment, the irrational, remote fears still there, clinging to his clammy-cold skin.

What if he stepped inside an empty room? What if she was still out there?
Still lost to him?

Wind and snow swirled inside with him, the door clanging against the interior wall.

She was there. Lips blue-tinged, teeth chattering loudly enough for him to hear where he stood . . . but alive.

He took a long blink, relief rushing over him. His eyes opened, watching her push up with one hand from where she had been kneeling, stoking the fire to life, her eyes wide and luminous in her pale face. The elegant arrangement of hair his mother had complimented her upon at dinner was a thing of the past. Only the remnants of it remained, tumbling in disarray down her shoulders. He preferred it this way. The firelight licked over the thick mass, gilding the damp waves.

He reached for the latch and closed the door, shutting out the moan of wind, reducing it to a mere whispering drone in the world beyond their shelter. The fire was already at work, creating a toasty haven from the winter raging just outside.

He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, feeling its tremble and knowing it was a release of his anxiety. Another emotion took its place, snaking over him, eating its way into muscle and bone, heating his blood to a steady simmer.

Anxiety faded, and fury replaced it.

“M-My lord? How did you find me?” Her gaze jumped from him, flicking to the single bed in the modest dwelling, a reminder that she had likely never stood near a bed and a man simultaneously. Flags of color marred her cheeks and she suddenly became fascinated with the toes of her boots.

“Will,” he said, the growl of his voice unrecognizable to his ears. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry with another human being. Not even upon his father’s death, when he learned the extent of damage his sire had wrought upon the family’s finances, had he felt this level of fury.

“I told you to call me Will.” Of all the things he could have said, this was the only thing that stuck, the only words he could manage. It struck him as ridiculous . . . annoying and insulting that she would still address him by his title. Especially considering they would marry. More than ever now he was determined that this would happen. Someone had to keep her from killing herself. Clearly, she needed him. Now it was time to make her realize that.

He glanced around the cottage. It would be their accommodation for the night. Perhaps longer, depending on the storm. She must realize that this would require they marry.

He faced her again. Those wide, unblinking eyes of hers looked him over. He glanced down, following her gaze. The dark of his cloak was hidden beneath the powder of white covering him. Even now he could feel the snow seeping into his pores from his soaked garments. She could be no better. She’d hung her cloak on a peg near the door, but he could see her dress hung heavy with damp upon her shivering body. The fabric molded perfectly to her breasts and his gut stirred with an emotion other than fury.

He removed his cloak, unbuttoning it and flinging it from his shoulders. He hung it on the peg near the door and then started on the buttons of his waistcoat, his movements brisk and efficient.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Removing my wet garments. You need to do the same.” He draped his waistcoat over the back of a chair and then pulled his shirt over his head in one motion.

Her eyes widened, and she held out a hand, palm face out. “Please! Stop!”

“Don’t be foolish. Undress.”

Her chin shot up, the familiar fire back in her eyes. “I will not!”

He inhaled swiftly and advanced two steps before forcing himself to stop, curling and uncurling his hands at his sides. “You realize you could have died out there tonight. And for what?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left—”

“Are you seriously trying to suggest that you used good judgment? That you
weren’t
foolish?” He waved at her. “You will undress yourself, Violet . . . or I will do it for you.”

E
qual parts terror and excitement raced down her spine as Will squared off in front of her, his chest bare, smooth skin stretched tight over firm-looking muscles that beckoned her questing fingers.

She’d never been alone with a near-naked man
and
in such proximity to a bed before. It was scandalous, but she was certain the circumstances would forgive the breach in impropriety. As long as nothing improper occurred between them. As long as they maintained a respectable distance—
and she remained clothed at all times
.

She moistened her lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He sank down into a chair and tugged off his boots. “Have you noticed that we’re both wet and freezing with naught but that fire and these walls to keep us from freezing to death?” His boots thunked to the floor. He looked back at her. “And each other. So, yes. I do dare.”

She shook her head. “It’s highly improper—”

“We’re past propriety.” He rose and advanced on her with long strides.

She yelped and ran. Not that there was anywhere to go. At the wall, she stopped and turned, her back digging into the rough-hewn wood.

He halted in front of her, looking mildly bored. His bare chest lifted on a deep breath. “You’re being foolish.”

“Oh, foolish again, am I?” She flung the words out, still stinging over his earlier accusation.

“Yes,” he countered.

“I was doing just fine on my own. I found shelter. Started a fire. You didn’t need to come after me. I don’t know why you did! Shouldn’t you be proposing to Miss Little by now?”

He propped his hands on his waist. “I don’t usually propose to one female once I have already decided to marry another.”

She inhaled, fighting back the small thrill his words gave her. For whatever reason he was fixated on her, he still only wanted her for her dowry. It was tempting to forget that. She couldn’t permit herself to do so. “You cannot mean—”

“You. I mean you. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I haven’t said yes.”
She wouldn’t say yes
. “In fact, I’ve said no.”

He folded his arms across his chest. Her eyes roamed the cut of his biceps before snapping back to fasten on his face.

“You think you have much choice now?”

His knowing expression infuriated her. She stamped one foot. “You planned this! You followed me and—”

“Oh, I
planned
that you would be daft enough to ride out tonight? I
planned
this snowstorm? I
planned
for you to find this cottage?”

She shook her head, too angry to admit that she was being unreasonable. “I won’t be forced into marrying anyone. So you can find yourself another heiress! Your Miss Little should do well enough. She appears fond of you.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re fond of me.”

Oh, the maddening man! “Keep telling yourself that and you’re going to lose out on not one but two heiresses. Your precious Miss Little is going to slip between your fingers if you don’t—”

“You sound jealous.” His smile turned smug. “You don’t need to be.”

“Jealous?” She laughed, but something shaky jumped inside her chest and her face burned hotter. “That’s absurd.”

His hand shot out to circle the back of her neck. Her laughter died at the sensation of his fingers on her neck, pulling her hard to him, trapping her between him and the wall.

All levity fled his expression. His deep voice roughened as he uttered, “I couldn’t give a bloody damn about Miss Little.”

She shook her head, but his hand tightened on her neck, stopping the movement. His eyes drilled into her, relentless blue. “It’s time we had an understanding, you and I.”

His head descended and the treacherous thought drifted through her head.
Finally
.

She didn’t have time to examine that sentiment as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was nothing like the one she’d experienced before. There was nothing tentative or gentle or
safe
about it.

For a moment, she could hardly move, too stunned at the pressure of his mouth on hers, at his chest crushing hers.

He lifted up slightly to growl at her, his eyes flashing, “Open your mouth to me.”

She wasn’t sure if she obeyed because he commanded her to or because the mere boldness of his words made her gasp. Either way, her lips parted and his mouth was back on hers again.

He brought one hand to hold her face, his thumb beneath her chin, tipping her mouth higher for him.

He kissed her bottom lip, then her top lip, briefly pulling it between his teeth. She moaned. His mouth slanted over hers, kissing her deeper. His tongue slid within. He licked along the inside of her mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as though she feared he would stop—that he would take this new and exciting thing away from her. His tongue touched hers. Stroked it once. Twice.

“Move your tongue against mine,” he breathed into her mouth.

With a partial nod, she touched her tongue to his. He made a low sound of approval. She felt it vibrate from his chest to hers as she mimicked his kiss, stroking his tongue back.

His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off her feet, mashing her breasts into his chest—breasts that felt aching and heavy in a way she didn’t know was possible.

Then she was moving. His hard body walked her to the bed, his mouth never breaking from hers. He brought her down on the bed, never parting with her, coming over her.

He kissed her forever, holding her face with both of his hands like she was the most treasured thing in the world to him. Desire pumped thick through her blood. Her hands roamed his arms, his back, reveling in the firm flesh.

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes,” he growled against her mouth.

She nodded and made an incoherent sound of approval as his fingers worked the buttons free down the front of her damp bodice. He yanked the jacket of her habit open and tugged it free of her arms with anxious movements. She lifted half up off the bed, eagerly accommodating him. He tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a smack, and he went to work on her stays. He paused once he had stripped her down to her chemise, sitting back and devouring her with his eyes.

Her chest lifted high on sawing breaths. His eyes were the color of a winter storm now, icy blue, the dark ring of cobalt almost black. His fierce expression absorbed her—first her face and then her bared shoulders, drifting down to the nearly translucent fabric of her chemise. He cupped her breast through the thin fabric and she moaned as his deft fingers stroked her, working so surely, so confidently. A sharp cry tore from her as he found her nipple and pinched it, rolling it between his fingers.

“P-Please,” she choked.

“Please what? Say my name,” he commanded.

“Will, please,” she begged, without knowing what she was asking.

His mouth closed over hers again in a blistering kiss. He settled between the voluminous folds of her skirt and she growled, her legs fighting against the heavy fabric, hungry for the feel of him.

“Violet,” he whispered into her mouth, and the hoarse sound of her name from him undid her. Something snapped then—a fine thread of control severed. Everything became frantic and feverish.

She dragged her palms down his back and gripped his backside in a desperate move to pull him closer, to bring him against that aching part of her.

He cursed and lifted off her. Instantly she felt bereft, aching until she realized his intent was to remove the last of her garments. She responded to the swift pressure of his hands directing her to turn one way and then another as he stripped the last of her clothes off.

Then she was naked.

Not even Josie had seen her bared in such a way. So exposed and vulnerable. He sat back a moment to observe her, raking her with eyes that burned, scalding her everywhere they looked.

Propped up on her elbows, she was panting, gasping, and shaking on the bed. The urge to cover herself was there—but not nearly as strong as the urge to have him over her again—his mouth, his hands, all of him.

“W-Will?” she queried, bewildered at his utter stillness.

His gaze fastened on her face. “You’re beautiful, Vi.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “And you’re mine.”

He hopped off the bed in one swift move and divested himself of his trousers. She hardly had time to look her fill of him before he was back over her, his smooth, firm flesh surrounding and sliding against her.

She gasped at the sensation, the shock of a man
naked
. Against her. He slid down her body, his mouth everywhere, at her breasts, her stomach, her hips, then lower.
There
.

She clutched fistfuls of his hair, arching up off the bed with an astonished cry. “Will, what are you doing—”

He splayed a hand on her belly, pushing her back down on the bed, his lips moving against her. “Tasting you,” he growled, his tongue working against her and doing delicious, impossible,
improper
things that left her writhing on the bed. Her hands groped, searching for something to hang on to.

Then his fingers were there, too, stroking her, finding that secret, buried spot and rubbing it in circles, pinching it, squeezing until small, unrecognizable sounds erupted for some place deep within her.

He added his mouth again and sucked that tiny button between his lips, scraping it with his teeth until she came apart, until she shuddered and cried out as great ripples of sensation claimed her.