The Highland Dragon's Lady (15 page)

This time, Reggie had no chance to brace herself for the contact. Her mind was open when Colin drew her close, and her power active as soon as he touched his lips to hers. She didn’t get any memories, though, or even discrete thoughts. Intentionally or not, Colin’s mind was very focused just then. All she received from him was desire, formless and insistent as the wind.

She opened before him, mouth and body and will.

It was too hard to resist when she could feel how much he wanted her—not just from the hard urgency of his mouth or the firm bulge that pushed against her stomach, but from the hunger all through the back of her mind. He craved her. That gave her power—not over him, since every inch of Reggie’s skin was tingling with her own yearning, but power enough. Here and now, on this particular playing field, they could meet as equals.

She tested that theory with a slow, deliberate flex of her hips, forward and then back, teasing them both. Pulling away took more willpower than Reggie would have thought, but it was worth it, because Colin actually growled a little, a low sound in his throat that might have been frightening if it hadn’t been arousing.

“Wicked,” he said, beginning to trail a line of kisses up her jaw. Reggie tangled her hands in his dark hair, caressing and tugging, feeling the silk of it between her fingers and the building charge of his lips against her skin. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to give him better access, and this time when she arched her hips, she did it with no conscious thought of teasing.

“Very wicked, Miss Talbot-Jones,” he muttered again, his voice thick. “Although I’ll give you daring as well.”

“Daring?” She trailed her fingertips down the back of his neck, as far under his collar as she could go, and then drew them back up quickly, turning her nails to his skin this time. He hissed—not in pain—and looked up. His eyes were silver fire. Reggie swallowed. “I thought,” she said, breathless, “that I shouldn’t be afraid of you.”

Colin shook his head. “I didn’t say that, did I?” He slid one hand around her waist and up the line of her blouse, skimming over the buttons, nearing but never quite touching her breasts. Reggie stared down at the blouse, captivated by the sight of his fingers against the white linen and almost surprised to see that they weren’t actually trailing sparks. “Look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” said Reggie.

He took hold of her chin and lifted it, his fingers warm and strong. “My face, you devilish girl.”

“Oh.” She met his gaze and caught her breath. Lust was apparent on every angle and plane of Colin’s face, showing through his features like an inner light. Before he spoke, she’d forgotten what she was waiting to hear.

“I said, as I recall”—he deftly undid the button at her collar—“that it depended on who you asked.”

Corsets really were the horrible things reformers talked about, Reggie decided. For instance, if hers hadn’t been in the way, she could have leaned forward just a little and felt Colin’s chest against her breasts. Furthermore, she was increasingly short of breath, which was clearly the fault of her stays, although far more pleasant than such experiences usually were.

Heroically, she managed to think of a marginally witty rejoinder, even though Colin was on the second button now. “If I asked you?” she asked and smiled up at him.

He laughed, deep and unsteady. “I’d say no, of course.” The third button fell away. Then the fourth. He pushed her shirt aside, baring her corset and the upper slopes of her breasts. “Whether it was the truth or not.”

“I can’t really be surprised,” she said, laughing. She leaned forward and kissed him again, running her fingernails down his back. He was still wearing a shirt, and she really ought to do something about that, but it took her a minute to pull back to the proper distance. “And I’m not. Afraid. Of you.”

“Good.” He stepped forward, pushing her against a pile of hay. That was fine—scratchy, but yielding—and Reggie forgot the scratchiness when he started kissing her again. Now he was opening her corset, and even his fingers grazing over the outside were maddening. She moaned and wriggled, and Colin responded, thrusting against her through the layers of their clothing.

His rod pressed against Reggie’s inner thigh now, hot and hard beneath his trousers. Feeling it, feeling the answering throb in her own sex, cleared her head abruptly. She knew where this path led, and while she wanted it, she knew what else might happen as a result.

With her remaining willpower, she pulled back enough to talk. “Are you—” She’d heard of precautions, but her memory was hazy and secondhand. “You’re not going to get me in trouble, are you?”

“In—” It took a second for Colin to catch on, but when he did, he shook his head at once. “No, no risk of that. We can’t interbreed without magic.”

Reggie blinked, then absolutely failed to keep from giggling.

“It’s true,” said Colin, holding up a hand. “My word on it.”

“Oh, no,” said Reggie, “I didn’t doubt you. I couldn’t—nobody could make up a line like that!”

“You give men too little credit,” he said, “but I’ll not object at the present time.” He kissed her quickly and reached for her corset hooks again. “Lie still, if you please. These contraptions are trouble enough without provocation.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” said Reggie, but she didn’t move. Victory might be a thrill, but she suspected that she’d have more thrills with the corset off.

She was right. She knew she was right even before Colin touched her, because he caught his breath as she squirmed out of the corset, and then swore, quietly and almost reverently, when she impatiently rose and dispensed with her skirt and petticoat as well. His eyes went the length of her naked body, and she felt every inch of her skin tingle under their scrutiny.

“My God,” he said.

Now she did blush, like a dashed milkmaid really, and shook her head at him. “I won’t believe I’m the first naked woman you’ve seen.”

“Not the first.” He caught her hand and pulled her down to the hay again. “I’d make a strong case for the best, though.”

“You could easily have made up
that
line,” Reggie said, laughing, “but I won’t argue. Not with, um, proof at hand.” Hoping she moved with some degree of grace, she closed her hand over his member.

Colin groaned. He went completely still too, which gave Reggie a second of worry, though she’d felt no pain from his mind. She relaxed her grip. “Er—too hard?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly. Then a wry smile rose to his lips. “Not you. Me, certainly.”

Reggie hadn’t known that was possible, and she thought about saying so, but in the second before she spoke, Colin ducked his head and closed his lips around one of her nipples. At that point, she lost interest in talking. She lost interest in most things, in fact—in anything unrelated to his lips, and his tongue, and the sensations they were building inside her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the hay. Every stroke of Colin’s tongue, every touch of his hands as he cupped her breasts and raised them to his mouth, had her writhing, yearning for more.

She was aching between her legs, conscious that she was hot and almost embarrassingly wet—presumably that was supposed to happen, and Colin hadn’t seemed to mind at all before, and she was beyond caring—and when he slid a hand down to cup her there, she made a sound that was too dashed close to a squeak.

This was getting one-sided again. Reggie couldn’t think well enough to speak, but she grabbed the remnants of coherent thought and shifted her weight up and over. Dragon or not, Colin was distracted enough, and his position precarious enough, that he went with her. As she settled herself on top of him, Reggie noted with satisfaction that he didn’t manage to say anything, either.

She was not good with men’s trouser buttons. Her current situation wasn’t ideal for learning, what with Colin hard and insistent behind the buttons in question, making more of those little growling sounds every time her fingers brushed over the fly. Reggie bit her lip and focused, glaring at the buttons until they yielded to her rather clumsy efforts.

“You could have helped, you know,” she said as she undid the last.

“You seemed to—aahh—have a plan. Didn’t want to—” Colin caught his breath again. His rod sprang free, large and stiff.

It was very like some scandalous pictures Reggie had seen once, but illustrations hadn’t been able to show how red such an organ would be, or the moisture at the tip. She ran her fingers lightly up its length, and it jerked in response.

“
Reggie
,” said Colin, sounding like she’d hit him in the stomach.

This time, though, she was quite sure he wasn’t in pain—at least not that kind. She knew the urgency that made his breath ragged, that had his hands in fists at his sides. She felt his desire in her mind and her own in her sex, and the time for teasing had just about passed.

She had some idea of what to do. Life outside society was educational, at least. Reggie slid herself upward, then swung a leg over Colin’s body until she was straddling him, his organ hot and smooth between her thighs. It was a bit of a puzzle, albeit a delightfully frustrating one, getting everything lined up—one shifted back, yes, and then—

—ah. She felt Colin’s hand between their bodies, guiding himself into her. That worked. That worked very well, in fact. She sank downward, felt herself stretch around his shaft, felt the stretching become less comfortable, and then, as she’d half expected, a quick, sharp pain shot through her.

She felt Colin’s surprise even as she bit her lip, and certainly before he opened his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Reggie took a breath. In and out—that was the way to cope with pain, her sportsmistress had said. Granted, Miss Snopes had been talking about a twisted ankle on the playing fields, but the principle probably applied. “I’d hoped riding and bicycles and so forth would’ve taken care of that,” she said. “Damned archaic things, maidenheads. No place at all in the modern world. Er. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said hoarsely, and Reggie knew that he meant it. She felt his delight in her body and his struggle for control. As the secondhand sensations entered her mind, the pain began to recede, replaced by a sense of pressure that became more enjoyable by the second. “Hold still,” Colin said then, and he moved his hand to stroke her, fingers threading through the soft hair between her legs and circling over the sensitive spot there.

She didn’t hold still. Gentleness felt too much like condescension just then, even if she knew Colin was enjoying the process, even if she needed it—perhaps especially if she needed it. Even as she gasped at Colin’s touch, Reggie shifted her weight, an experimental motion of her hips up and down the length of his rod.

She might have spoken. She might have only moaned. Reggie wasn’t sure. Pleasure swamped her mind, and if it was raw-edged with pain, she could ignore that easily enough. Colin’s organ was hot and full inside her, his fingers deft between her legs. Those things mattered. Everything else was as inconsequential as the rain on the roof.

Now she
had
to move again, to repeat what she’d felt and build on it. It was easy enough to fall into a rhythm once she’d started. Need drove her and guided her, and Colin helped, cupping one of her hips with his free hand and urging her on. She didn’t need much encouragement—the goal was just ahead, the charge building like the wind before a storm.

Then ecstasy.

Reggie threw her head back and screamed. Pulsing, shaking, eyes closed as the peak hit her, she felt Colin grip her hips with his hands and thrust upward, felt a rush of heat within her, and heard him cry out as well.

Colin had hay in his hair. He realized as much as he came slowly back down to earth: hay in his hair, no bones in his body, and a beautiful woman lying naked on top of him. The afternoon had not gone as he’d expected. Thank God for that.

Languid, letting the last lingering pulses of his climax fade away, he ran his fingers through Reggie’s hair. Her dark curls were damp, probably more from their recent exertions now than from the rain earlier. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her body still quivered slightly around him.

He wanted to tell her that she was a remarkable girl, but for one of the few instances in his life, he hesitated. It sounded too light in his mind, too sporting, the sort of thing one said to a future mistress or an enthusiastic dairymaid.

Colin frowned up at the barn roof. He had been very fond of his mistresses. He’d rather cherished the memory of the girls who’d passed a night or two with him, giving no thought to the future and not pressing him to do so. Nor, in all of his dealings with Reggie, had he gotten the impression that
she’d
press him for anything, or that light speech would upset her. No, the urge away from frivolity had come from inside him, and he didn’t know what part of his mind had given rise to it.

A man couldn’t be expected, after all, to figure out both ghosts and the sudden vagaries of his own subconscious.

He looked down at Reggie. She was smiling in a sleepy, sated way, which boded well. Even the dim vestiges of chivalry couldn’t make Colin reproach himself. She’d taken the lead quite handily when matters had come to a point, and he thought she might pinch him if he asked whether she was all right.

Startling himself for the second time in as many minutes, Colin realized that he couldn’t think of anything to say. He coiled and uncoiled a strand of Reggie’s hair and tried to come up with an appropriate comment: witty, yet considerate, yet not so considerate as to seem patronizing.

It had been a very long time since his last virgin, and the world had changed considerably. That, he decided, was where the trouble lay.

Knowing the source didn’t particularly help.

Silence proved to be its own cure. Gradually, Colin caught on to the fact that it
was
silent in the barn, save for their breathing. He’d gotten used to the steady drumming of rain on the roof. Now it was gone.

“I think the storm’s over,” he said.

“Right.” Reggie sat up, too quickly for Colin’s taste, and moved to the side, donning her corset hastily. She left the laces loose, not asking him for aid; from her brisk manner, he didn’t think he should volunteer. “Yes. Good of you to notice. Best get going before we have to explain ourselves to the farmer.”

“Could get embarrassing,” said Colin. He reached for his jacket and took a handkerchief out of the pocket. “Er—”

“Oh,” said Reggie, and she glanced down. “I’ve, um, got one. But thank you.”

“Thank
you
,” said Colin, and he smiled at her, then turned away so that each of them would have some privacy. “I’ll admit the accommodations are a bit lacking in certain respects.”

“I’ll be writing a stern letter when I get home,” said Reggie, laughing.

“Speaking of which,” Colin said, “what should we do now?” Still fastening his jacket, he turned around in time to see Reggie shoot him a nervous glance over her bare shoulder.

“Nothing to do, really,” she said. She bent and retrieved her shirt, so that he was looking at her back again. “I enjoyed myself. You enjoyed yourself. You said there wouldn’t be any consequences. There’s no reason to make anything of it, is there?”

Her voice, quick and fierce, brooked no argument. With her back turned, she buttoned her shirt. Colin could see the swift movements of her arms.

“I meant to ask,” he said with deliberate lightness, “what we should do about the auto and getting back to Whitehill.”

“Oh.” Reggie’s hands went still. Colin could see color rise up the back of her neck. It took a moment for her to clear her throat and go on. “Good thought. I suppose we’ll just have to keep walking—there should be another farmhouse farther down the road. We might as well keep on to your Mrs. Jones’s house, for that matter. We’re on the way as it is, and we’ll likely come across someone between here and there. Er. Or you could go back to Whitehill and send someone. Or I could.”

“Best if we stay together. Two of us won’t get lost as easily—and I’m less likely to get shot at if you’re with me.”

“I do seem to be useful that way, don’t I?”

“You’re a pearl beyond price, or whatever it is a woman is supposed to be.”

“You might stand alone with that opinion,” said Reggie, but she didn’t sound bitter about it, and she smiled when she turned around.

“My powers of judgment are simply”—Colin flung one hand out in a theatrical gesture—“far beyond those of mortal men.”

“Yes,
that’s
how you’ve wound up in a houseful of ghosts and spiritualists. Superior judgment.”

“Superior enough to know how boring complete safety would be. Besides,” Colin said, and this time he didn’t think long enough to doubt himself, “the company makes the whole experience worth it.”

“Very gentlemanly. Top marks for form,” said Reggie, grinning up at him.

He wanted to linger. He wanted to ask why she’d remained a virgin—whether she’d held back because of her power or the last vestiges of propriety—and why she’d chosen him. He wondered if he’d been merely the first man she’d liked whose mind had been disciplined enough to make the experience bearable. That, Colin supposed, would have been at least flattering to his powers of concentration.

Asking was likely a bad idea. Her quick dismissal earlier, even if it had been mistaken, was a sign that she wouldn’t welcome personal questions, and the time for them was probably past at any rate.

At the ladder, he stood aside to let her descend first. Their eyes met as she passed, and she stopped for a second, the air between them growing thick once more. Their sport showed very clearly in Reggie’s face, Colin thought. Her lips were faintly swollen, her eyes bright, and her hair considerably disarranged. In fact—he reached out, as she stood, and gently plucked a strand of hay out of her curls.

“I think this is the only one,” he said, and the emptiness of the barn made him soften his voice.

“Oh. Much obliged,” said Reggie. She drew a breath to speak on, then thought better of it, turned, and darted down the ladder like a small animal seeking shelter.

* * *

Out on the road, the tension ebbed. It was hard to sustain any sort of awkwardness when one was tromping along the side of a country road, particularly when dodging puddles was now a significant part of the journey. By the time they’d found a farmhouse where the owner actually
was
present, Reggie and Colin had passed through a companionable silence and into an offhand conversation about dogs, the seashore, and brothers.

It was easy to talk about Stephen with Reggie—easy despite how foreign the two of them were to each other, or perhaps because of it. Explaining Loch Arach and life as a MacAlasdair was a matter of putting facts together, not much awkwardness there.

“I’ve generally been glad that I’m not heir to anything,” Reggie said. “It sounds like even more trouble for your family.”

“Self-inflicted, much of it,” said Colin. “The Fabians I knew would’ve said we could always give it up, and thus aren’t much to be pitied—although our children would have quite a time living in London. Even this”—he gestured to the fields around them—“would be a tricky situation. Too little privacy, and not enough deer.”

“You could become shepherds,” said Reggie. She tucked an errant lock of hair back up under her hat and asked offhandedly, “Your children?”

“The MacAlasdairs.” Colin surreptitiously looked over, but couldn’t make out the expression on her face. “There’s only my niece just now. Stephen’s the fatherly sort, though, and his wife’s a healthy girl—among her other sterling qualities,” he added with a wry smile. Mina MacAlasdair had been formidably practical when her last name was Seymour. Titled marriage and sharing the MacAlasdair blood had turned her into something like a force of very organized nature. “I should think they’ll do very well by the line.”

“Thus taking a weight off your mind,” Reggie said, laughing. “Is she another dragon, or—I mean, I’d think it’d be a surprise for a human girl. Not to mention it’d be the devil to explain why you looked thirty and your wife was sixty-five.”

“It would,” said Colin, “but marriage helps. Children, more accurately. If a human woman does bear one of our children, she gets some of our blood.”

“So she lives longer?”

“Among other things.”

“I’m surprised you’re not all knee-deep in women.”

She was still looking for a farmhouse, and Colin couldn’t tell if she was saying the prospect would appeal to her or making a statement about women in general. “The lady doesn’t always survive,” he said.

Their boots squished in the mud. “Not good odds, I take it?” Reggie asked.

“Worse than most women face, I hear. I like to think that they’re better now—science has come a long way, no reason that magic shouldn’t do likewise—but we have damned few sample cases. We live long and breed rarely. Stephen’s wife took the chance and made it through.” Colin shrugged. “It’s not unheard of for us to marry human women, but it’s not common, either. When we do, they’re generally familiar with magic. Mina’s the first in a while.”

“Maybe that’s a sign of progress,” said Reggie. “I don’t claim to know much about magic, but we’re finding new worlds every day. Sooner or later, we’ll all have to start living with each other.”