Smitten by the Spinster (18 page)

Not at all wanting to return to the party, she wound her way down the back stairs, trying to find the room she was supposed to share with another of the servants. That girl would probably kick her in the night for taking up her bed, and the bed would probably be hard and lumpy, and there might not even be a fire in the room.

Lizzie walked slower, actually dragging her feet, and was disconcerted to find tears in her eyes. Of all the things to make her cry, it ended up being the prospect of an uncomfortable night’s sleep. That showed her exactly what sort of person she was. The hallway was dark and she had half a mind to hunker down against the wall and have a good cry, really wallow in her self pity.

“Hell no,” she said out loud, turning back the way she came. She’d be damned if a little rejection sank her like that. She’d be home in a few days, for God’s sake. This would all be over. She decided to have another glass or two of wine and not go to her room until she was ready to pass out.

“Miss Burnet, I’m glad ye spoke. It’s so dark down here I didna think I’d find ye.”

Just what she needed. Still, a little bit of her gloom was swept away by Quinn’s voice. He’d come looking for her, causing a bit of happiness to shine through her dark mood, only to be snuffed as quickly. He probably only wanted to report what he’d learned.

She snorted. “Did you find out anything about Lord Hollingsborn’s character?” she asked.

He stepped out of the shadows, right in front of her, and looked abashed. “Actually, I lost sight of him shortly after I sat down at cards.”

He sounded so sad, she felt it was her duty to console him. That didn’t seem like the proper reaction to have and wondered if she’d had too much wine earlier.

“You needn’t worry,” she said. “I found him. Or rather he found me. Your sister wasn’t feeling well so I sent her to bed.”

“He was with Catie the whole time?” he asked.

“Perhaps not the whole time,” she said.

“Ah, bugger, I am everything Lachlan has ever said about me.” He took a step closer to her. She was inches from the wall, but even if she could have, she didn’t want to back away from him.

“Now, sir, I was just about to feel sorry for myself, so you’re going to have to stow your own self pity as I don’t have the energy to cheer you up.” She stood on her tip toes so her nose was level with his chin and gave him her sternest spinster look.

He laughed and put his hands on her waist. “Dinna call me sir,” he said, his voice a low growl that set off a thrum in her center, as if he’d plucked a string within her. He looked around the dim hallway. “What is this god awful part of the house?” he asked. “Let us go somewhere I can see ye better.”

She looked down, ashamed at first to admit she’d have to sleep down here, then shrugging it off. “I’ve been consigned to the servant’s quarters,” she said, looking up quickly to gauge his reaction.

He didn’t blink or flinch, but shook his head and leaned close to speak in her ear. “Then we must find ye a better place to sleep, aye?”

If she’d had any room, she would have staggered. The force of his proximity, his words, his breath near her cheek, all nearly knocked her over. Her heart sped up. His eyes locked with hers and he took her hand, leading her toward the stairs. She kept pace with him, not quite sure how since she’d gone quite boneless. Her mind pleasantly blank for the moment, she struggled to concentrate on his hand resting on the small of her back as he let her go ahead of him up the stairs. That warm, sturdy presence kept her from thinking, which would of course, ruin everything.

Back on a level where the light of the moon shone through the windows, reflecting off the polished wood floor and glinting in his burnished gold hair, the wheels in her head once again began to grind, once again reminded her this was a bad idea. She had scruples. She did not sleep with her employer.

As she opened her mouth to say something to that effect, he stopped in front of one of the doors and turned, smiling down at her.

“Ye’re lovely always,” he said, tracing her jaw with his fingertip. “But especially so in the moonlight.”

“That’s not fair,” she argued faintly, unable to look away. He was distractingly lovely in the moonlight as well. His smile grew wider.

“God, I want to kiss ye,” he said.

He was drunk, she told herself. So was she, a little bit. Wouldn’t that even things out? Maybe neither one of them would remember this in the morning. Which would make it almost as if it hadn’t happened. Wait, nothing was going to happen. He placed a hand on either side of her face, his fingers sliding into her hair.

“You’re too young for me,” she said.

“I am not too young for ye,” he said, backing her against the door.

She tipped her head back to see him looking down at her, his eyes dark and intent. He ran his fingers down the sides of her throat, lingering at her collarbone. “Then you’re too big,” she argued, making him laugh.

“I think we shall be a perfect fit.”

His lips met hers, hot and forceful, and she melted against his powerful body. So much for scruples. Because she was gone. This was happening.

His tongue brushed her lower lip and she opened her mouth eagerly to him, trembling at how amazing it felt to be kissing him. He worked to free her hair from the pins that held it in its severe knot at the back of her head, and unable to stand not having him run his fingers through it, she reached up and pulled them all out herself. Her hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back felt like freedom.

He loosely gathered a handful. “It’s like candle light, all golden and soft,” he said and pulled her head back to expose her throat, leaning over and kissing her beneath her jaw.

It was a good thing he had her pressed between his body and the door. There was no way she could have remained standing as his lips made their way down the side of her neck, as gentle as rain drops, but searing hot. She felt fizzy all over, and she couldn’t find a spot to rest her hands, greedily wanting to touch him everywhere at once.

Lizzie grabbed at his shirt, pulling him closer, her head knocking against the solid wooden door when he reached the collar of her dress and began kissing back up to her ear. The noise seemed as loud as a gunshot and they both froze for a fraction of a second, waiting to see if anyone stuck their heads out into the hall. When they remained undiscovered, Quinn put his arm behind her back and lifted her up, holding her against him as he pushed open the door.

Inside his room, he loosened his hold, letting her slide down the length of his hard body, making her ache to get closer to him. When her feet touched the floor, he grabbed her once again behind her head, kissing her more thoroughly than in the hall. He kicked the door shut and she should have been alarmed that she was alone with Quinn in his bedroom, or questioned how it had happened in the first place, but Lizzie only wanted to concentrate on the soft, insistent pressure of his lips against hers.

“This is better,” he said after breaking the kiss.

“So much better,” she agreed, sighing when he slid his hands down her arms to settle in a firm grip at her waist.

He glanced at the banked fire and back to her. “Are ye warm enough?” he asked solicitously.

If he stopped touching her so that he could go build up the fire, she was sure she would expire from unfulfilled lust. “You keep me warm,” she demanded.

She grabbed the waistband of his breeches and pulled, barely tugging him forward. He got the gist of what she wanted and swept her back into an embrace. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she breathed him in, the scent of woodsmoke from his clothes drying in front of the fire, a faint hint of whiskey, and just him, clean and manly. Her fingers itched to touch his skin, the hard chest she’d been pressing against. She pushed away from him, and with trembling hands, began to pull up his shirt.

Quinn took her hand and pressed her palm to his mouth. She really loved that. When had men in her time stopped with the hand-kissing?

“Let me,” he said.

In an instant the shirt was off, and she stood back, momentarily enthralled by his chest. And his abs. He was chiseled all over, and his skin had a smooth, tawny glow. She imagined him at home on his farm, shirtless and effortlessly tossing a hay bale as the sun’s rays bronzed his skin. He reached for her and the muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled, his washboard stomach tightened. She held out her hand to stop him. As much as she wanted to run her hands all over him, she wanted to look some more.

“Well, wow,” she said, unable to think of anything eighteenth century appropriate to say.

He stood still for a second, letting her ogle him, then took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Fair’s fair,” he said.

As he unlaced her and the gown opened down her back, he kissed every bit of exposed skin, finally pushing the dress off her shoulders so she stood before him in her shift. The way his eyes roamed appreciatively over her body, every bit of insecurity she had disappeared.

There was something about his look, a mix of hunger and pure delight, that made her feel truly beautiful for the first time, a feeling that was completely new and extraordinary. It was part of her job to have her looks constantly under scrutiny and almost as often come up short, and she’d come to accept it. But this was better. She could get used to the way he gazed at her as if she was a rare piece of art.

Keeping her eyes on his face, she reached down and took the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head. Dropping her arms and standing before him in nothing but her stockings, she half expected to see his look change, disappointment cloud his rapt expression. He breathed out hard and bit his lip, taking a step closer to her.

“God, ye’re beautiful,” he said. He flexed his hands. “I want so much to touch ye.”

She closed the short distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck as their lips met. He gripped her sides and she felt his muscles shake as he struggled to control himself. His hands were warm and slightly rough as he spread them across her back and down her bottom, pressing her to the hard length that throbbed against his breeches.

“Oh, take these off,” she begged, pulling at them. Her knuckles brushed against his smooth skin and she spread her palms flat over the expanse of his chest. She dug in gently with her nails, loving the feel of him and wanting more. “Fair’s fair, right?”

He got out of the breeches and she struggled between wanting to look and wanting to touch, her hands winning that battle as she wrapped her fingers around him, while pulling his head down for another kiss.

With a groan, he stood stock still as she gripped him, seeming unable to concentrate on her kiss. She grinned against his mouth, enjoying the moment of control she had over him, when he picked her up and made his way to the bed.

She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his middle, sighing with pleasure when she was settled on the soft coverlet, Quinn on top of her. He propped himself up on his elbows, running his fingertips over her breasts and leaning down to take her nipple in his mouth. She arched closer and curled her fingers in his hair, whimpering with impatience when he slid his hand down between her thighs.

“I’m not a virgin,” she confessed frantically, afraid he’d stop if he thought she was, more afraid he’d stop after he knew she wasn’t.

He paused with his lips against her breast, his breath warm on her skin, shredding her meager control. She squirmed under him, needing to have him, all of him.

“Nor am I,” he said, then laughed. The rich sound sent vibrations straight down her body, along with the relief that he didn’t care. “Now we’ve established we both know where everything goes …”

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, threading her fingers through his hair. She loved the silky waves and all the different golden shades, how when it got in the way of his kissing her, he’d impatiently toss his head ever so slightly to move it. Everything about him was so effortlessly gorgeous.

His body against hers and the taste of his lips, the soft brush of his hair on her skin as he blazed a trail of kisses down her belly, the insistent grip of his fingers, all made her forget everything except how perfect she felt at that moment.

“Quinn,” she breathed when he reached her thighs and parted them, licking a path along the inside of her leg.

He glanced up at her, a slow, sexy smile spreading across his face. “Ye finally said it.”

She laughed, half crazed from the onslaught of sensations he’d put her through as he kissed and stroked his way down her body. She reached down and brushed aside his mop of hair, pressing her palm against his cheek and resting her thumb against his kiss-swollen lower lip. She felt cozily suspended halfway between two worlds, never wanting to land. He blinked slowly and pulled the tip of her thumb into his mouth, nipping it before settling down between her legs.

A low noise escaped her throat and she writhed on the bed as he wrapped his arms around her upper thighs and pulled her down closer to him. She trembled, waiting, goosebumps raising on her stomach as he breathed softly on her skin. She would have combusted if he’d stoked the fire, so much heat pulsed between them now.

“Lizzie,” he said, and pressed his tongue against her.

There was a moment when everything went blank. It was almost exactly like when she’d stepped into the portal near the dresser at Belmary House. One second there, the next second somewhere else, and in the infinitesimal moment in between, nothing.