Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (27 page)

“I ordered John not to get her, or
anyone else, for that matter.”

His earlier direction to the valet
finally registered, and she turned to him. Waves of auburn hair framed her pale
face, and Lyon found himself staring. Her gray eyes looked huge and almost
silvery; her lips were full and inviting, and he couldn’t wait to taste them

“Why?” she asked in a small
voice.   

“Because what is wrong with me now,
no one but you can mend.” 

“Did you fall on your arm?”

“No.”

She tried to pull away, but his arm
curved around her tighter. She braced herself, planting her hands on the pillow
on either side of his head. Her eyes narrowed.

“You tricked me.”

“I confess. I wanted to see my
wife.”

“You have been with me all day.”

“I needed you now,” he said softly.

“You could have sent for me, and I
would have come.”

“I’m sure. But that would have been
tomorrow morning, with three dozen people around.”

“Not three dozen. One person would
have been enough.”

“Indeed. One too many.” Lyon’s hand moved up and down her back caressingly. “I must say I don’t care for it much
when you stay away from my bed.”

“Really?” There was a quaver in her
voice. She seemed unable to tear her gaze from his lips. 

“I miss you,” he said under his breath.
Her body moved slightly, and her breasts brushed against his chest. “I miss
your attentions. And I miss your laughter. I miss this.”

As he spoke, he pulled her down to
him until her warm breath mingled with his.

“This?”

His gaze lifted, locking with hers.
“This.”

Lyon drew her mouth to his. She
shivered and closed her eyes, and Lyon’s lips began to move on hers, possessively
exploring each tender curve and trembling contour as if it were an uncharted
new world that he had discovered and claimed for his own.

“And there are other things I miss
about not having you here, too.” Lyon felt the shaking arms give away. Her
breasts pressed against his chest.

“What else?”

The wild pounding of her heart
matched his.

“Your beautiful body.”

His hand glided over her hip to her
thigh, urging her onto the bed. She complied, her body stretching out fully on
his. Lyon deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue in slowly and withdrawing,
realizing it was only an imitation of the act he was beginning to crave. He
wanted her. He wanted to make love to her.

With a silent moan of surrender,
Millicent cupped his face in her hands, and her lips started moving on his with
awakening ardor.

Lyon’s mouth became more demanding
as he felt his body straining painfully with his arousal. His hand moved
restlessly between their bodies. She shifted slightly, giving him room to
caress her breast. She breathed in deeply, her flesh swelling beneath his palm,
her nipple rising against the nightgown. He groaned in frustration and tore his
mouth away.

“Make love to me, Millicent.”

Her face was flushed, almost
intoxicated, when she looked into his eyes. “I…I don’t—”

“I’ll tell you what to do. Help me
make love to you.” He brushed his fingers lightly back and forth over her
nipple through the fabric of her nightdress. “I know the other night I had
started something that I did not finish. I am sorry if I hurt you. But with both of us awake, perhaps we can do better.”

She started to push herself off
him.

“Wait,” he said, bitterness
creeping into his voice. “Very well. Whatever you want. I’m certain that when
you married me, you did not bargain for this. What woman would want to take a
cripple and then be forced to watch him fail as a man? What woman would settle
for a straw man of a husband who might only make the act of love something weak
and foolish?” He shook his head. “No. It is wrong of me to ask you to accept
this useless body that cannot move even to love you. I only ask you to stay. I
shall be content if you do just that. And there will be no more demands for—”

“But I like your demands.”

Millicent pressed him back into the
pillow, kissing him deeply. Her tongue slipped tentatively into his mouth, then
grew bolder. When she finally pulled back, breaking off the kiss, they were
both breathless.

“What should I do first?”

Her innocent question had Lyon draw a few steadying breaths. “Take off your robe and nightdress.”

With her knees on either side of
his legs, Millicent knelt up slowly. Lyon saw her hands were trembling when
they pushed the robe down off her shoulders. He held his breath as she began to
untie the front of the nightgown.

“I am nervous.”

“So am I,” he replied softly. Lyon could feel her gaze upon him as he pulled the linen material down. She did not stop
him until it clung tenuously to her smooth hips.

She was so beautiful.

Lyon’s gaze drifted downward from
her face, admiring her cream-colored skin glowing in the candlelight. His eyes
lingered at the sight of her round, full breasts. He reached out and touched
the curve beneath one nipple, his finger brushing each tight bud.

“You are a treasure. An exquisite and beautiful treasure.” He looked into her eyes. “I want to feel your body against
me.” 

Lyon’s hand glided to her waist. He
slipped the nightdress over her hips and her knees.

"What else should I do?"

“Take this shirt off me,” he said,
sitting up, his voice husky with desire. Millicent reached over him and pulled
the nightshirt up from beneath him, but got no farther.

Lyon stretched out his hand and
caressed the smooth skin along her thigh, sliding his hand between her legs.
Immediately, she froze and clamped her legs together.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered
roughly, sitting forward and taking her breast between his lips. She moaned and
arched her back, and this time Lyon’s fingers began to probe the dark triangle
at the juncture of her thighs, seeking entrance. “Give yourself to me,
Millicent.”

With a soft moan she relaxed, and Lyon’s fingers slipped deep into her wet warmth.

After a moment he felt her begin to
pulse against his hand. He stroked her and relished the feel of her growing
passion. Her breaths quickened, and then suddenly, with a sob of startled
pleasure, she was calling his name. She clutched him to her, burying her face
in his hair and curling her entire body around his hand.

As the waves began to subside in
her, Lyon smiled. He had never really thought so much about the enjoyment of
giving pleasure to a woman. True, he had always prided himself on the ability
to please a woman, but this was different. Better.

Even as the thought flickered
through his mind, though, she moved one knee over him, and he positioned
himself between her legs.

“Take me inside of you.” 

Millicent’s hand moved ever so
slowly between their bodies, and Lyon’s breath caught in his throat when her
fingers wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and groaned out loud as her
fingers tentatively moved down his length and she positioned herself at his
peak. He heard the gasp as the head of his shaft entered her.

“Now, Millicent.”

Their gazes locked as their bodies
joined together in a perfect fit.

Though he could not move his legs,
he did not want to move at all for fear of losing control. The sensations
running through him were those that he had thought he would never experience
again. The pleasure of her tight sheath closing around him was incomparable. He
was alive again, and Millicent had made it happen.

“You are so beautiful, inside and
out.”

Her answer was a single tear that
escaped one gray eye and slid down her flawless cheek before dropping onto his
lips. Lyon tasted it and then kissed her as the urge to move became maddening.
His fingers threaded into her hair, and he drove his tongue into her mouth
again and again with the same sensual thrusts that he was incapable of doing
with his body.

When Millicent tore her mouth away,
he almost groaned with frustration. The thought ran through his mind that she
was already disgusted with his inability to pleasure either of them. But when he looked into her face, what he saw was wonder and passion. The lump of tenderness
swelling in his chest was overwhelming. Lying there, he watched Millicent as
she took his face between her hands and brushed her lips over his lips, his
bearded cheeks, his nose, his ear.

Then she started to move, ever so
slightly, on top of him.

Lyon’s fingers tightened on her
hip, and he tried to guide her body. It was obvious that she was not very
experienced in the art of love. She was following the instinct that nature
provided, her body pulsing to the rhythms within her.   

Their mouths met again, and Lyon lay back, letting Millicent set the pace. He felt the pressure building within him.
The roaring in his head nearly blocked out all other sound, and his body
strained, desperate for release. But he did not want to let go. There would be
no joy in the race if she were not there beside him. Her body was sliding
against his, her hips grinding into him. She was panting, and he could see the
color rising in her face. 

“Lyon,” she whispered against his
lips. “I have never…never…felt this.”

He moved his hand between their
bodies. The moment he touched her, she tipped over passion’s edge and cried
out, convulsing around him, and Lyon, too, reached that point of no return. As
his body shuddered, he erupted within her as a blaze of fiery colors exploded
before his eyes.

*****

The sounds coming from the room
were unmistakable. A woman’s whimpering cries. The man’s groans of exertion.
Violet put an unsteady hand on the wall and approached the closed door with
hesitant steps.

She was no longer aware of the
numbness in her hands and feet, or the weight of the basket of food she had
carried all the way from Melbury Hall. Against her principles, against her better
judgment, she had come. Now Violet felt ill as she stood frozen by the door.

Silently, she prayed that Ned was
not in there. Perhaps someone else was using his room for the night. When he
had not stopped for dinner at the hall tonight, Violet had thought he might
appreciate it if she brought him some supper at the inn. Now she prayed that he
had not come because he was away. Perhaps he had been called to St. Albans. 

The noises inside increased in
volume as well as cadence.

“Neddy!” The voice of the young
woman spilled clearly into the hallway. “Oh, my God!”

Violet’s insides churned. The
handle of the basket slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She stared
down at the food that had spilled out around her frozen feet.

Suddenly, her blood coursed hotly
through her veins. Vi pounded on the door. A muffled curse came from the room,
and in a moment the door jerked open. Ned filled the doorway, a candle inside
the room shadowing his face.

“By the de’il! What do ye want
here?”

Violet stared at his bare chest.
His breeches had been pulled up to his hips, but hid nothing. She looked up
into his fierce glower and saw the temper brewing there. She didn’t care that
he was angry.

“I brought you dinner.”

He looked down and then viciously
kicked the basket with his bare foot. “I’ve already eaten. Get out.”

He started closing the door in her
face, but Violet put a hand out to stop him.

“Who is inside there?”

“’Tis none of yer bloody business.”

“Who do you have there?” she said
more forcefully, shoving the door open.

With a malicious smirk, Ned let the
door swing open. Vi saw one of the young girls from the village peering
wide-eyed at her from behind a blanket on the bed. The woman’s clothes were
heaped in a pile on the floor. Ned’s shirt and boots had been thrown carelessly
beside them.

Even as she stared, Violet couldn’t
push away the memory of her and Ned making love on this same bed. Her head was
still filled with his whispered words of love. Her only dream for weeks had
been that of Ned asking her to marry him. Their future together had dominated
her every conscious thought. Another look at the bed and the woman and Violet
felt her temper rise, the hot blade of jealousy cutting deep.

“Get out!” she screamed, shoving
past Ned and marching toward the woman. “Get out of here now!”

The girl only cringed behind the
blanket, and Violet gave a sharp kick to the woman’s feet. “You despicable
wench. You harlot!”

“Who the de’il d’ye think ye are?”
Ned grabbed Violet by the shoulder and spun her around.

Vi didn’t see his fist coming.
Suddenly she was against the wall, stunned by the blow, half of her face numb.
Her knees buckled and she sagged against rough plaster. She put her hand to her
mouth. She could taste the blood. 

“You…you hit me,” she whispered in
disbelief, trying to straighten up. Tears started blurring her vision. “How
dare you?”

Ned loomed over her. “Ye asked for
it, slut. What right do ye think ye have to come in here and spout off?”

“The right of a lover. The right of
a woman whose honor you have defiled. Of one deflowered with lies.” With the
back of her hand she wiped her bloody lip. “I was a virgin, and you took me.
You made me believe that you had honorable intentions.”

“Honorable intentions? Deflowered?”
He gave an insolent laugh and poked a blunt finger into her shoulder. “This is
what books does for ye. Well, I’m telling ye, those are big words coming from a
brazen wench. Ye spread yer legs willingly for me, an’ ye wanted it the first
time ye laid eyes on me. Ye followed me around, even into St. Albans, so as to
get it from me. An’ now, like a bloody bitch in heat, ye can’t wait for a man
while he goes elsewheres. Well, slut, ye can just wait yer turn.”

Tears burned Violet eyes. She
pushed away from the wall and faced him.