The Highlander's English Bride Page 18

  Her sideways glance sent his pulses rocketing. "Actually I was curious."

  "Were you indeed, you shameless hussy?"

  "My father trained me in scientific method."

  "So I was a specimen."

  Her lips quirked. "An impressive one. You’re magnificent with your clothes on, but that’s nothing compared to how you look undressed."

  He was blushing again. "You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart."

  She looked startled. "You’ve never called me that before."

  "Do you mind?"

  Another thoughtful frown. "You know, I rather like it."

  He took a risk, although to an outsider it would seem the most natural of actions. He extended one hand. When she hesitated, his fragile hopes dimmed.

  Then she leaned forward in her chair and curled her fingers around his. His heart lurched into a drunken dance. Fergus and Diarmid had told him a wife was different from every other woman in a man’s life. They were right. Emily was holding his hand, for God’s sake, and he couldn’t be more stirred up if London’s most expensive courtesan gave him the wink.

  He wondered just when Emily had stopped being the thorn in his side and become the one woman in the world he could imagine sharing his life. The change had happened before he left for Scotland. She’d already made her mark on his soul before he traveled north, stricken with grief after Sir John’s death and the failure of his marriage.

  She squeezed his hand and smiled, although uncertainty still shadowed her eyes. "In the meantime, I’m not against a few experiments."

  Hamish told his idiot heart to settle down. He didn’t yet know what she was offering. "Oh?"

  "I’ve never been kissed." She bit her lip, then spoke in a rush. "I’d like it very much if you kissed me, Hamish."

  Chapter 20

  Emily stared into Hamish’s face, desperate to read his reaction to her confession – and her request. She pulled her hand free, then was sorry she did. She liked the warm strength of his grasp. After months of feeling abominably alone, his touch soothed her loneliness.

  "Have I shocked you?" The question was unsteady.

  "You’ve made me lose what little respect I ever had for the Sassenach male. How does a pretty girl like you reach the advanced age of twenty-five without men fighting to kiss her?"

  Heat flooded her cheeks. And other parts of her. She shifted on her chair. "You’re flirting with me."

  "I am indeed. But that doesn’t stop me from being appalled."

  She spread her hands. "You know what Papa’s house was like. Everything was dedicated to science."

  "I was dedicated to science. They didn’t stop me from thinking about the naughty things I wanted to do to you."

  "You never tried to kiss me."

  "No, but I wish I had now. I certainly wanted to."

  He had, hadn’t he? Looking into his intent face, she could tell that he still did. How intriguing. "We were too busy fighting to kiss."

  "Nobody is that busy. I suppose you terrified all those other clodpolls, because you’re so clever and pretty. Even I found myself daunted – and very little daunts a gallant Scotsman."

  Emily regarded him doubtfully. "You never seemed daunted."

  "Inside I was shaking with dread."

  She struggled not to smile. "You’re such a fibber."

  “And I suppose your father’s colleagues are all past it – although I noticed that a couple of those old goats had an eye for you."

  "A few of them chased me around the library."

  He looked startled. And displeased. "Did they, by God?"

  "I only worked for Lord Pascoe once. It turned out he wanted more from me than verification of his arithmetic."

  "Frightful old duffer. He never caught you?"

  "No, only you did that."

  "I did, didn’t I?" Hamish looked thoughtful. "It’s my duty as a man of honor to give you a first kiss to remember."

  "Are you going to kiss me now?" Despite her best efforts, her voice shook as she rose. He suddenly seemed awfully tall and…male.

  "Yes, I am," he said with a solemn expression, although the glint in his eye told her that even now, he teased her.

  Emily snatched at his hand. She needed something to keep her upright. Her knees felt like blancmange.

  She’d known that kissing would be involved when she approached Hamish about making their marriage work. Good heavens, more than kissing. This craven reaction to the prospect of a kiss hinted that she’d be catatonic with nerves when it came to the marital act.

  On the way north, she’d looked forward to learning what made people go silly when two pairs of lips met. But when she imagined kissing Hamish, she’d forgotten how big and powerful he was. While she wasn’t a tiny woman, compared to him she felt like a mere speck.

  "The setting leaves something to be desired." He glanced around the parlor. "You’re lucky you married an astronomer, my girl."

  "I am?" she said faintly. "Because you’ll make me see stars?"

  He responded with a soft laugh. She liked his laugh. She liked the way the low rumble of amusement resonated in her bones. "I do hope so. Although I meant something else. An astronomer keeps a close watch on the phases of the moon. As luck would have it, there’s a moon out tonight and the evening has set fair. That’s not always the case in this beautiful country of mine."

  "You’re taking me outside." She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed at her reprieve. Once she mentioned kissing, she’d expected him to jump on her.

  "Doesn’t every maiden dream of a kiss in the moonlight?"

  She swallowed to ease a dry throat. "I dream of discovering a new planet like Herschel did."

  The burgeoning delight in his smile puzzled her. "Emily, you’re the most marvelous girl in creation, and I’m so happy we got caught in flagrante in Greenwich."

  "Hardly in flagrante—" She stopped and regarded him in amazement. "What did you say?"

  Hamish lifted her hand and placed a fervent kiss on her palm. Heat rippled along her arm and set her heart beating even faster. Since Hamish saying he meant to kiss her, it had already been galloping fit to win the Derby.

  "I’m deuced glad that you didn’t marry one of those milksops who hung on your father’s every word. I’m even gladder that you didn’t settle for a doddering old codger like Pascoe. I’m so happy you decided to marry me instead."

  "I am…"

  Good heavens, she didn’t know what she was. She’d never imagined Hamish saying such things. When he’d proposed, his manner had conveyed a grim determination to do the right thing, no matter what it cost him. Or her.

  His smile filled with the sweetness she so rarely saw. Which was a good thing for her health. That smile did wicked things to her heart, made it bounce and bound about.

  His other hand rose to touch her lips. "You are lovely."

  The sensation of his lips on her hand had made her feel most unlike herself. The touch of his fingers on her lips turned out to be equally devastating. And when all that was combined with what sounded like a heartfelt compliment, her head reeled.

  Goodness, he hadn’t even kissed her on the mouth yet. Already she was completely doolally.

  Emily’s reading about copulation had described a purely physical process. It hadn’t prepared her for this hazy, shivery, restless reaction. That time Hamish had mistaken his room, she’d thrilled to his touch on her breast. That was the limit of the physical pleasure they’d shared, although she often dreamed of those charged moments when he’d taken down her hair.

  "Do you still want me to kiss you?" His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. The caress’s erratic rhythm made her blood simmer in a way that was both disturbing and enjoyable.

  Did she want him to kiss her? From the first, she’d feared that if she married Hamish, his larger-than-life personality would swamp her. On the brink of sharing her body with him, she recognized that she was about to change forever. In ways her innocence prevented her from imag
ining.

  But her answer emerged before she stopped to consider it. She’d come too far toward him, physically, intellectually, emotionally, to retreat now.

  Nor did she want to retreat. She just had to recall the desert of her life in London to admit that.

  "More than ever."

  Another breathtaking smile rewarded her. "Then come out into the moonlight, fair maiden." He tucked her hand through his arm and paused to collect one of the lamps. "It’s as dark as Satan’s coalmine downstairs. My plans for you don’t include a broken leg."

  She shivered in anticipation, as she wondered what his plans might include instead. For the first time, she pressed close to Hamish’s side. She didn’t want anything to separate them, which was a frightening admission from someone who had always prided herself on her independence.

  The closeness worked well until they reached the stairway. It was so narrow that she let him go ahead. "I must ask you about the history of this tower," she said, as the weight of expectation between them grew oppressive.

  He squeezed her hand as they navigated the stairs. "Not now."

  "No, not now."

  They crossed the stone floor to the door. Hamish set down the lantern and raised the latch. He pushed the door open and stood back to let Emily precede him. She stepped across the threshold into a world of enchantment.

  The moon turned the dramatic landscape to silver. The brook chuckled its way across the field. The breeze created its own music through the grove of Scots pines growing beside the tower.

  "You approve?"

  "I approve," she murmured.

  He kept hold of her hand and turned to face her. In the moonlight, his sculpted features were all mystery.

  "You’re so beautiful," he said, after a long while.

  Emily trembled and swayed forward to catch his scent. She’d missed that scent since the day he left. The deep breath she drew was rich with his spicy male tang and the pure clear air of the Highlands. "Shut up, Hamish."

  Even in the dark, she saw him jerk in surprise. "Shut up?"

  "Yes, shut up and kiss me before I die of longing."

  "Well, damn me for a porridge-brained fool…"

  He caught her around the waist and hauled her against his body. She had a moment to gasp in surprise before he bent his head, blocking out the moonlight. His lips found hers, and she instinctively opened. He tasted hot and delicious, and when his tongue flicked her lower lip, her stomach turned over in immediate pleasure. It was all so unfamiliar and fascinating, she wasn’t even frightened when his tongue slid deep inside her mouth.

  He did it again, and her knees gave up the fight. On a sigh of surrender, she sagged and her arms found their way around his neck.

  She’d expected something tentative and gentle, if only out of respect for her innocence, but the instant his lips met hers, he swept her up into a whirlwind. This time when his tongue moved against hers, she responded.

  He gave a growl of appreciation and gathered her closer. Her blood ignited to flame. The whole world turned from dark to light. The onslaught of physical pleasure made her head swim. A demanding pulse set up in her belly.

  When he raised his head, he was breathing roughly, while Emily felt as if he’d waltzed her through every constellation in the Milky Way. After that swirling voyage through the galaxy, it was difficult coming back to earth.

  "Good Lord, Hamish, if I’d known you could do that, I’d never have left off pestering you."

  His low laugh made her skin tingle with pleasure. "I’ve had plenty of time to think about how I’d like to kiss you, sweetheart."

  "Do it again," she whispered, leaning closer. This greedy wanton couldn’t possibly be self-sufficient, self-contained Emily Baylor.

  Except she wasn’t Emily Baylor anymore. She’d been Emily Douglas since November, even if it was only now that the name felt like hers.

  "With pleasure," he murmured. They kept their voices low, although there was nobody to hear. The occasion seemed to demand reverence, even as her body awakened to a carnal delight she’d never known. "And I mean that most sincerely."

  She thought she’d learned passion in his first kiss, but this one was even more voracious. Caught up in tumultuous response, she forgot that she was a novice, she forgot to fret over whether she was making a mess of this because of her inexperience. She just sank into the warm ocean of Hamish’s passion.

  She greeted the entry of his tongue into her mouth with a flutter of her own. Through the blood thundering in her ears, she heard another of those rumbles of approval. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she, eager for more of this dazzling new experience, copied him.

  When his lips left hers, she couldn’t suppress a moan of disappointment, until he began to kiss her face and her ears, dizzying little contacts that made her burn for more.

  This time his groan expressed frustration. She pulled away to see his face. Or as much of his face as the moonlight allowed. Her earlier uncertainty came flooding back. "Have I done something wrong?"

  "Hell, no." His hair hung loose, ruffled from her roving hands. The cord that had confined it must be lying on the grass somewhere. "You’re a dream come true."

  She blinked. "I wish you’d said these things to me years ago. We wouldn’t have spent so much time at odds."

  He gave a grunt of amusement and kissed her quickly on the lips. Another thrill raced through her. It had been an altogether thrilling night. "You’d have laughed in my face."

  She smiled, although she couldn’t help thinking how much time they’d wasted. Time when they could have been in each other’s arms. "Not if you’d been kissing me at the time."

  "So whenever you disagree with me, I should kiss you?"

  "If it means more kisses, I approve."

  He laughed and kissed her again, and she dived deep into the pleasure and heat. He stroked her back and when his hands lowered to clasp her bottom through her skirts, another of those giddy thrills rushed through her. He hoisted her up and clamped her into his body. Her hands curled around those brawny shoulders, and she growled when her skirt hindered her from getting as close as she wanted.

  Hardness pressed into her stomach. Thanks to her wedding night, she knew what that meant.

  An hour ago, this excitement would have perturbed her, made her retreat. Now she rubbed luxuriantly against him and basked in his groan of frustration. Desire rushed through her, and the place between her legs turned hot and liquid.

  In her naivety, she’d imagined a kiss would be a simple thing. She’d been mistaken. This passion between them was profound and earthy and urgent. Somewhere at the back of her whirling mind, she knew Hamish would need little encouragement to lay her down on the soft grass at their feet.

  Under her hands, he was shaking and his scent had turned humid and musky. Their kisses had flared into a conflagration so quickly that she’d lost her grip on reality.

  She pulled back and sucked in a huge breath to feed starved lungs. When he stared down at her, the moon was bright on his face. "You’re wearing too many clothes."

  "Oh," she said, disturbed and excited at the same time.

  To her regret, he set her down. "Let me."

  "Yes," she whispered, although even in her heightened state, she knew the risks of letting Hamish remove her garments. "You’re shaking."

  She found it disarming that his fingers fumbled as he undid the tiny pearl buttons fastening her shirt’s high collar.

  "You strike straight to the heart of me, Emily, and that’s the truth."

  More poetry. Here in Scotland, he unleashed a strain of Celtic romanticism that he kept under wraps in London. His mother had told her that she’d never understand the man she’d married until she saw him at Glen Lyon.

  He brushed away the material covering her neck and began to kiss her there. Volleys of breathtaking thrills sizzled through her, and she released a helpless gasp as her knees buckled.

  She grabbed the front of his linen shirt. "Hamish…"


  Until now, her neck had seemed a prosaic part of her body, a mere apparatus for holding up her head. Under the depredations of Hamish’s lips, it turned out to be a location ripe for delight.

  As he kissed along her shoulder, Emily was vaguely aware of his fingers tugging more buttons loose. When his hand insinuated itself under the shirt to cup her breast through her stays, she cried out in surprise.

  Gently he squeezed, and the breath caught in her throat. The pulse between her legs hammered so frantically that it shook her whole body. Her nipples tightened, and her undergarments turned into instruments of torture. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted her hands on his bare skin.

  Emily realized that she needed to decide here and now whether she meant him to continue. The wild woman he’d conjured to life was more than ready to lose her maidenhead on a rugged Scottish hillside. Anything, so long as he didn’t stop touching her. The more cautious creature who had held sway all her life reminded her that this was an experiment. Now she’d satisfied her original question, it was time to stop.

  She’d wanted to know what a kiss was like. More, she’d wanted to know if she enjoyed Hamish’s kisses. It turned out that kissing was a splendid pastime, especially when her husband did it. This was the best experiment she’d ever conducted.

  "Hamish," she said in a breathy voice that bore no resemblance to her throaty murmur only moments ago.

  "Hmm?" He kissed her behind the ear. For a second, she was tempted to consign prudence to perdition. His thumb idly brushed her nipple and even through her shift, the effect was shattering.

  "Hamish…" She heard failing will in the quivering sound.

  "Yes?" He nipped at her ear lobe. "May I take down your hair? I love your hair."

  She knew he did. She knew now how close he’d come to kissing her during those charged moments in the library at Bloomsbury. "That’s not sensible."

  "Sensible can go to blazes," he muttered against her neck.

  She really shouldn’t, but she tilted her head to give him greater access. "You don’t mean that," she said with no conviction whatsoever.

  "By God, I do."