Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Are ye goin’ to ignore me all night?”
Elijah’s voice cut through the silence of their chamber as Iris moved about, preparing for bed with deliberate, careful movements.
She’d maintained her cold politeness through supper, through the evening’s activities, through their formal goodnights to Codie.
But now, alone in their private space, the tension that had been building all day crackled between them like lightning.
“I’m nae ignorin’ ye,” she replied coolly, not looking at him as she began unpinning her hair. “I’m simply nae inclined to conversation with someone who thinks so poorly of me judgment.”
“For God’s sake, Iris.”
“Daenae.” She spun around to face him, her brown eyes flashing. “Daenae ye dare take that tone with me. Ye called me a fool in a public tavern, and now, ye want to act as if nothin’ happened?”
“I called ye a fool for puttin’ yerself down to the level of that idiot in the first place, nae for endin’ yer betrothal!” The words burst out of him with obvious frustration. “How can ye nae see the difference?”
“Because there is nay difference!” She threw her hairpins onto the dressing table with force.
“Ye think I’m foolish either way, for breakin’ off me engagement or for understandin’ me own limitations.
Either I’m too stupid to recognize a good thing when I have it, or I’m too stupid to ken me own worth. ”
“That’s nae what I meant, and ye ken it!”
“Do I? Because it seems quite clear.” She began unlacing her gown with sharp, angry movements. “Ye married a woman ye consider a fool. How flatterin’ for me.”
Elijah ran his hands through his dark hair, his expression a mix of frustration and something that might have been desperation. “Ye’re deliberately misunderstandin’ everythin’ I say.”
“Am I? Or am I finally understandin’ exactly what ye think of me?” She pulled her gown over her head, leaving her in just her shift and stays. “I may nae be the brightest woman in Scotland, but I’m nae completely dense.”
“Ye’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met!”
The declaration seemed to surprise them both. Iris stared at him, her hands stilling on her stays, while Elijah looked as if he couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth.
“Then why did ye call me a fool?” she asked quietly.
“Because ye were bein’ one!” He stepped closer, his dark eyes intense. “Sittin’ there listin’ all the reasons why ye’re nae good enough, why ye should be grateful for scraps of affection from a man who dinnae deserve to breathe the same air as ye, that was foolish!”
“But it’s true.”
“It’s nae true! None of it is true!” He was close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“And if I recall the day I met ye, those are yer parent’s voices in yer head.
But guess what, wife? Ye’re nae too tall, ye’re nae too curvy, and ye’re certainly nae too opinionated.
Any man who thinks otherwise is a big fool. ”
“Ye daenae have to lie to me, Elijah.” Her voice was softer now but still wary. “I ken what I am. I ken I’m nae... I ken ye would have preferred someone else if ye had the choice.”
“Would I? And who would that be?”
“Me sister, obviously. Lydia’s everythin’ I’m nae. She’s gentle, sweet, and conventionally beautiful. If she hadnae run away, ye’d have married her without a second thought.”
Something shifted in his expression, something dangerous and intense. “Is that what ye think?”
“Isnae it true? Ye said yerself that it dinnae matter which sister ye married. That we were interchangeable for yer purposes.”
“Aye, I said that.” He took another step closer, backing her up against the dressing table. “But I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Wrong to think it dinnae matter. Wrong to think ye were interchangeable.” His hands came up to brace against the table on either side of her, trapping her between his arms. “Wrong to think I could remain indifferent to whichever woman became me wife.”
Iris’ breath caught in her throat. They were so close now that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, could smell the masculine scent of leather and something uniquely him that always made her pulse quicken.
“I daenae understand,” she whispered.
“Daenae ye?” His voice was rough, intimate. “I never cared which Douglas daughter I married because I thought you were both just... arrangements. Convenient solutions to me problems.”
“And now?”
“Now, I thank God every day that Lydia ran away.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. “What?”
“I’m glad it was ye, Iris. Glad it was ye who walked into that great hall, absolutely magnificent in yer fury. Glad it was ye who challenged me, who stood up to me, who made me feel things I thought I’d forgotten how to feel.”
“But Lydia is bonnie, bonnier than I am.”
“But likely borin’,” he said flatly. “Bonnie perhaps but borin’. I would have been bored to tears within a week, and she would have been terrified of me within a day.” His thumb traced along her jawline, making her shiver. “But ye... ye’re never borin’, are ye, lass?”
“Elijah...” She didn’t know what to say, how to process what he was telling her.
“Do ye want to ken why I’m glad I married ye instead of yer sister?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Because ye have fire. Because ye’re brave enough to get muddy for me son’s happiness.
Because ye stand up to me when ye think I’m wrong, even when ye’re terrified.
” His other hand came up to cup her face.
“Because when ye smile, it lights up everythin’ around ye.
And when ye’re angry, ye’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. ”
“I’m nae beautiful,” she protested weakly.
“Ye are beautiful, intelligent, brave, perfect.” He kissed her on her forehead, shoulder, and neck “And I’m goin’ to spend the rest of the night provin’ it to ye.”
Before she could ask how, his mouth was on hers. But this kiss was different from the desperate passion at the river. This was slow, deliberate, worshipful. He kissed her like she was precious, like she was something to be treasured rather than conquered.
His other hand slid to her waist, urging her closer until she could feel the hard plane of his chest against her softer curves.
“Elijah,” she whispered when he broke the kiss just long enough for them both to breathe.
“Aye,” he said, his lips curving against her cheek. “Say it again.”
She didn’t get the chance. His mouth had found the tender spot beneath her ear, and when he bit down gently, her breath caught in a sharp, embarrassing sound that made him chuckle low in his throat.
His hands were moving now, sliding over the curve of her hips, along the small of her back, exploring her as though she were something worth studying.
She grabbed fistfuls of his tunic, half from instinct, half because she didn’t trust her balance. When his calloused palm smoothed up over her ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise, she jolted like she’d been struck.
“Elijah.”
“Easy.” His tone was commanding but not unkind, and it made her pulse jump. “Ye’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
Her heart was hammering so loud, she was sure he could hear it, but she didn’t tell him to stop.
He seemed to take that as permission. His mouth moved lower, across her throat, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl in her shoes. His fingers worked at the laces of her stays with infuriating patience until they came loose, and then he took off her chemise.
Cool air hit her skin, cupping the swell of her breasts, his thumbs brushing across the peaks until she gasped.
“Ye’re shakin’,” he said roughly, almost in wonder.
“Ye started it,” she shot back, breathless.
And then his mouth followed, his stubble rasping deliciously against her breast as he tasted the newly bared skin. Iris’ hand flew to the back of his neck, clutching him there without even meaning to. A sound escaped her, low and startled and nothing like the proper lady she was supposed to be.
His free hand slid over the curve of her hip, gripping firmly before trailing down to the back of her thigh.
When he hitched her leg against his, pressing her closer, heat shot straight through her middle, making her gasp.
His thumb swept lower, teasing her, and Iris was trembling with need.
She barely recognized the sound she made when he finally cupped her naked body and carried her to the bed.
Iris felt herself growing wetter by the second, arousal thrumming through her veins.
He bent his head then, trailing kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, leaving a path of fire wherever he went.
She gasped when he dropped to one knee before her, his hands sliding down her hips, pushing her legs higher.
He pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee, then higher, until heat pooled low in her belly and her fingers tangled desperately in his hair.
“Elijah,” she gasped, half plea, half warning.
He glanced up, his expression wicked, reverent, starving.
He pressed one last, slow kiss to the sensitive skin of her thigh before rising again, his chest heaving.
. She felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her as he pulled her close, and her nails dug into his back with every kiss he gave her, every rough sweep of his mouth.
He worshipped her body.
Elijah seemed to sense her urgency, his touch turning more purposeful.
He pushed her thighs apart to make room for his bulk.
Iris whimpered as she felt the thick length of his manhood slide against her slick folds, pulsing with need.
She wanted him inside her, wanted to feel him stretching her open and filling her up until she was screaming his name.
But Elijah seemed determined to drive her wild, grinding his shaft against her wet folds with purposeful strokes. Iris cried out, hands scrabbling for the sheets as pleasure sparked through her core. Her hips bucked up to meet his, desperate for more friction.
“I want to taste ye,” he growled.
Iris could only whimper in response as Elijah lowered his head. The first swipe of his tongue against her most sensitive flesh had her seeing stars, legs clamping around his head. He didn’t let that deter him; if anything, it seemed to spur him on.
He licked and sucked at her like a starving man at a feast, long strokes followed by fluttering flicks against her aching clit.
Iris panted and moaned above him, hands fisted in the sheets as he drove her higher and higher.
She could feel the tension coiling in her core, growing tighter with each pass of his tongue.
And then he closed his lips around her sensitive spot and sucked hard, and Iris was flying apart with a sharp cry. Pleasure crashed over her in waves as she came against his mouth, back arching clear off the bed.
“Elijah, please. I want to feel ye inside me.”
He raised his head. “Nay, lass. I want to take it slow with ye. Make ye properly ready. If I take ye now, I will devour ye. I want ye to ken what ye will have for the rest of our lives.”
Elijah continued pleasuring her, working her through it, continuing to lick and suck until she was a boneless, trembling mess beneath him. Only then did he pull back, face damp with her essence and a thoroughly self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
“Do ye believe me now?” Elijah asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. “About how beautiful ye are. About how much I want ye.”
She was quiet for a long moment, processing everything that had happened. “I’m beginning to,” she said finally.
“Good. Because I intend to remind ye every day for the rest of our lives.”
As she drifted off to sleep in her husband’s arms, Iris found herself thinking about how much had changed since that first day when she’d marched into the great hall. And how more satisfying being Elijah Craig’s wife was becoming every day.