In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (30 page)

This was the woman who’d always been tamped down, pushed to the back and ignored. Richard had never seen this creature. The only person who ever really knew her was Lennox.

She wanted him in a way she’d never wanted any other man. He was hers and he had always been hers since she was a child and first saw him.

His clothes were too concealing for this summer night with its warm air and soft scented breeze.

A tide was rushing in to nearly drown her.

She needed her clothes off. She was too hot, too constrained.

If she’d felt any modesty before he arrived, it was gone now, buried beneath a need racing through her like lightning.

His lips on her throat accelerated her pulse even further. She shivered, gripping his shoulders as he unfastened the bow holding her nightgown closed.

Her knees weakened as he pushed the garment open. His fingers danced across her skin, hesitated at the top of her breasts.

“Yes,” she whispered.
Yes, oh yes.

She felt as if she’d never been truly alive until his fingertips skimmed her skin. He thumbed a nipple, then tipped her chin up to place a kiss on her mouth.

Her heart was beating so quickly she felt breathless.

“Did you imagine this, too?” he asked, looking down at her.

Words were impossible.

How could she, when she’d never experienced anything like this passion before tonight?

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her eyes on his face.

Delight and tenderness warred for dominance, and shot through it all was wonder he could do this to her. With a kiss he’d changed her to a woman wild with desire.

He led her to the bed but she didn’t care where they were. He could have loved her on the soil of Scotland, the earth a pillow for her head. In a carriage, on one of his ships, in a balloon tethered high in the air: the location didn’t matter. Only he mattered. Only Lennox.

When he placed his lips on her breast, her heart
stopped, then thudded to a start again. She heard her nightgown tear but she didn’t care. Tear every garment she had, it wasn’t important.

She stared up at him, grateful he’d left the lamp lit. A lock of hair fell and she brushed it back with tender fingers. His shirt hung open, and now his trousers were, too. She reached down and cupped him, amazed and thrilled.

“At least you’re not wearing a hoop, Glynis,” he said. His voice was breathless but held a note of humor.

“And you’re still wearing too many clothes, Lennox.”

His laughter summoned her own. She had the thought passion should involve all the senses: joy and wonder and perhaps a little trepidation.

His lips were on her breasts again, worshipping them. She lay exposed to him in the lamplight and didn’t care. He pulled on one nipple and she could feel the sensation in the core of her. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, her nails probably making a mark. Good, let her claim him as her own.

She wanted to touch him everywhere but she also wanted to be touched. There, where her waist flared to her hips. There, at the base of her neck, and then all the other spots craving his touch. Her breasts, between her thighs, her bottom, all seemed to be sentient parts of her, craving to be stroked and loved and praised.

His hands were suddenly between her thighs, stroking her, learning her intimately. She should’ve been flustered, nearly virginal. But she widened her legs and pulled on his arms, a wordless encouragement.

Delight shuddered through her.

T
his wild woman in his arms was Glynis. The realization made him slow his movements, mark these moments as rare and special.

This was Glynis, and his fingers stroked across her skin, feeling her pebbled response. He cupped her breasts, his thumb smoothing an erect nipple. Hearing her gasp harnessed his own breath, stilled his heart and set it to racing again.

This was Glynis and he’d never forget this night.

Glynis. His wife, his love.

He pressed his lips to her throat, her pulse jumping at his touch. She placed her hands against his chest and he could feel her touch all the way to his heart.

God, the Kirk, and the whole of Scotland applauded this consummation.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sighed his name against his throat, making him close his eyes in wonder and thanksgiving.

She was perfect. From her pointed chin to her beautiful collarbones to her shoulders to her full breasts with their large areolas and perky nipples to the long line of her legs, Glynis was a woman to fuel his dreams.

His fingers splayed across her concave belly.

She raised up a little at his touch. He smiled, pressed a kiss to her navel, inciting a shiver from her.

He kissed her again and his thoughts simply
stopped, adrift in the sheer physical delight of kissing Glynis.

His right hand trailed from breast to navel, delved lower to play among the curls guarding her mound. She was wet for him, her body readying. Her legs opened as he gently stroked her.

“Lennox,” she said, her voice a gasp of sound. Her eyes fluttered open, her glazed look making his heart thud. “Please.”

You’re mine now, Glynis. Mine.

Words he kept to himself, but a sentiment he tried to express in the tenderness of his touch.

He entered her a second later, every sensation in his body attuned to that slow movement. This was Glynis and she was ensnaring him with her sighs, her gasps, the hitch in her breathing. This was Glynis. When she opened her arms, he lowered his forehead to the pillow, inhaling her scent. This was Glynis. When she shivered and sobbed in his arms, he held her, too, feeling like he’d achieved the greatest feat in the world to bring her satisfaction.

This was Glynis—a last thought before everything grayed and bliss stormed through him.

S
HE COULD
feel herself flush and knew he was looking at her. The lamp was still lit. Surely she should have demanded it be extinguished. She’d been so hungry for him it hadn’t mattered if every freckle, mole, or wrinkle showed.

Now, however, she really should pull up the sheet, shouldn’t she? Perhaps demand a bit of privacy, decorum—modesty, if nothing else.

Instead, she lay there with a smile curving her lips, her heart dancing a little jig, her skin pebbling. Delight surged through her, as if every part of her rejoiced in this new sensation.

Passion was a heady drug and she could easily become addicted.

“Did I bring you pleasure, Glynis?”

She felt her cheeks heat. Even the tips of her ears warmed. She really wanted the sheet but she blinked open her eyes and forced herself to face him.

“Are you very experienced, Lennox?”

He smiled but didn’t answer her. She wanted to press him but it didn’t seem at all proper to ask how many women he’d loved right at the moment.

“I should hire you out to the Americans. They could use you as a weapon in their war. All you have to do is look at the women of America and they’d fall swooning at your feet.”

His laugh made her smile.

She took his hand and pressed it against her breast where he could feel the pounding beat of her heart.

The pleasure had splintered her, making her moan aloud.

More than I have ever felt. More than I ever imagined. Until tonight I hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way. I had not even dreamed my soul could go spinning among the stars and I would be left here, to be reborn again by the sight of your smile.

How did she say that?

She was so filled with emotion she could barely speak. Why hadn’t she seduced him seven years ago?

He was so kissable, she had to cup his face with one hand and move her mouth to his.

The world slid away like a silk chemise.

He tasted wonderful, his tongue moving deep. She opened her mouth wider, welcoming and willing.

Long moments later she pulled back to find Lennox smiling at her.

She moved to her side and he did as well until they faced each other. Although she was naked she
felt heated. The warmth must come from him being so near, or that his arm was around her, pulling her close.

She hadn’t known anything about lovemaking, had she? She could count how many times she and Richard had conjugal relations, as he called it. She didn’t want to recall those nights. Not like now. She’d remember
now
forever.

“I’m not as good as you,” she said, sliding her hand across the sheet until their fingertips joined.

“Am I good?” he said.

“I’m not as kind or generous or giving.”

His face changed, the easy teasing look in his eyes vanishing.

“Yes, you are. You always have been. You would do anything for your parents or for Duncan.”

She would do anything for him. Didn’t he know that?

Her fingers reached out, played at the nape of his neck.

“I’ve always liked your hair,” she said. The words came without her volition, as if the nineteen-year-old girl inside her was being urged forward.
Come and say whatever you will. Tell him how he fascinates you. Leave no secret unspoken.

“I’ve always liked yours,” he said. “I like how it’s lighter at your temples.”

“And your eyes,” she said. “I like how sometimes they look green and sometimes gray.”

“I like the dark circle around yours,” he said. “It makes your eyes look mysterious.”

She rolled over on her back, smiling up at the ceiling.

“I’m not that mysterious,” she said, turning her head.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his smile vanishing.

She wouldn’t allow Baumann to intrude yet. Soon. Soon, she would tell him everything.

Would Lennox regret marrying her? She would have years to change his mind, wouldn’t she?

“I’m glad I kissed you,” she said. “I’m glad I came to Hillshead and Lucy saw.”

“So am I.”

“I should have seduced you,” she said. “But I suspect you would have been honorable and refused me.”

“A man made of stone?”

She smiled.

“If you had succeeded, what would Lucy have said then?”

She shook her head. “No more than she already said.”

“But you, independent as you are, were prepared to face down the gossips.”

She glanced at him again, considering his words. “Only until you kissed me,” she said.

“You agreed before I kissed you.”

“Did I? Perhaps I was simply anticipating the kiss.”

She forced a smile to her face because she felt suddenly on the verge of tears. How odd to go from bright amusement to confused tears in the space of seconds.

“Why didn’t you marry Rose?” she asked.

“She wasn’t you.”

Her heart sputtered to a stop then started again.

She looked at him, allowing everything she felt to show on her face, in her eyes. She couldn’t recall ever feeling as vulnerable as now.

He was her lover. But more, he was her love.

The knock on the bedroom door startled her. In one movement Lennox was up, donning his trousers.

She grabbed the sheet, wrapped it around herself and sat listening.

“Tell him I’ll be with him shortly,” Lennox said.

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Hurst said.

Lennox closed the door and turned to her, his face stony.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“The
Raven.
It’s on fire.”

T
he messenger was one of the apprentice designers, a lad he’d hired from Edinburgh who had a love of ships as strong as his own. Henry was tall and gangly still, with a long neck and a prominent Adam’s apple. His face was lean almost to the point of being emaciated and his wrists hung out of the sleeves of his shirts.

He’d heard one of the other draftsmen call Henry a stork, and the description seemed apt. But once he had enough to eat, the lad would fill in and not look so scrawny or ill-fitting in his own body.

“Sir,” he said, standing when Lennox entered the library.

“What happened, Henry?”

“Sir,” Henry said again, turning his hat in his hands and staring down at the floor.

Lennox could handle most problems by remembering two rules: nothing was as desperate as it seemed and little was accomplished overnight.

“Is she gone?”

“No, sir, the extra watchmen you assigned saw it quick enough. They were able to put the fire out. But the wheelhouse is damaged and part of the deck will have to be rebuilt.”

“Go on back to the yard,” he said now. “Tell Samuel I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Henry nodded.

“You’ll be rebuilding her, sir?”