Chapter Fourteen #2
“You are my wife, Grace, and as such, you are welcome to all that is mine. You do no’ have to ask.”
She blinked at this sudden change of heart. “That wasn’t what you said before we were married.”
He picked up her pen and put it down again. “Things have changed.”
“Have they?” She gave him a keen look.
“You caused them to change,” he said flatly and raised his auburn brows. “We are linked together now, married in truth. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
It was, of course it was. She was safe now. Or was she? Being together physically meant her feelings were engaged, they couldn’t help but be. And that meant that he could hurt her in ways he would not have been able to before.
“You were going to find me somewhere to live,” she heard herself say. “A place I can invite my sisters to stay.”
“I was. There’s no hurry.”
Again, Grace marveled at the change in him. When they married, he had assured her he would plan for her future, and now there was no hurry? She swallowed and asked the question she did not want to ask. “Aren’t you returning to Scotland soon?”
“There’s no hurry for that either,” he said.
He reached out and took her hand in his.
Her fingers fluttered and he lifted them to his lips, sucking on the tip of first one and then another.
She watched him wide-eyed. The sensation of his warm mouth on her skin was stirring those feelings inside her as well as that ache between her thighs, and he must know it because he smiled.
“Did Buckingham do this?” he asked softly. When she shook her head, he looked pleased. “It seems that Buckingham knew very little when it came to what women enjoy.” He sounded arrogant, but again, she liked it.
Grace moved closer, resting one hand on his shoulder. “Is that why you are here?” she said, her voice low. “To find out what Bolton did?”
He caught her around the waist and bent his head, his warm breath against her lips. “I think you know why I am here, wife.”
And she did. Her mouth brushed his and her eyelids closed.
“You have awoken the wolf in me,” he growled. “Are you sorry?”
Her eyelids lifted, they were very heavy. “No,” she breathed, “I am not sorry at all.”
*
Rory smiled as he claimed her mouth in a heated, passionate kiss.
There was something about her taste that had lodged in him, as if he recognized it.
He knew now what he had been running from when he went riding so early.
It was this. Somehow Grace had wangled her way inside him until he wanted her every minute of the day.
He wanted her now, desperately.
She was as desperate for him too, pressing close.
He lifted her onto the edge of the desk, and she clasped him with her legs.
She reached down at the same time as him, fumbling with the fastenings on his pantaloons.
He groaned with relief when his cock was free, and nudged against her warm, slick entrance.
He hesitated, fighting the urge to thrust deep, his voice a husky rasp, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she squeaked. “Yes, Rory.”
“Thank God,” he said, and holding her hips drove inside her.
Her eyes widened as they looked into his.
It felt so good he couldn’t speak for a moment, and neither could she.
He nuzzled against her cheek, his lips sliding to her mouth.
The kiss was deep and passionate, and for a moment he forgot where he was. He may even have forgotten who he was.
Suddenly she asked him, breathless, “Is the door locked?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know when I walked in here that I was going to do this.”
“Then perhaps we should hurry up,” she whispered.
He grinned, and began to move against her, as she wriggled to find the best position.
And then she gasped, clinging to him, her eyes closing.
Had he ever had a woman who seemed to enjoy congress so much?
Who wasn’t afraid to show him that enjoyment?
He wasn’t sure he had. Perhaps he was selfish, but he had been more concerned with his own pleasure. It felt different this time.
He watched her face, seeing the minute changes in her expression, the softening of her mouth—swollen from their kisses—and the fluttering of her long eyelashes. His pleasure soared but he held it in check. Waiting, waiting . . .
She cried out, stifling the sound against his shoulder, her body shaking and then relaxing as she breathed in a deep breath.
Satisfied, Rory began to move again, feeling the tight spasms of her channel, the tremors as her climax faded.
Then his own pleasure soared and he groaned loudly, holding her to him, his release so strong it was as if she had drawn his heart out through his cock.
Somewhere far at the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he should have withdrawn. It was safer that way. But she was his wife, wasn’t she? A man did not have to withdraw if the woman was his wife. Did he?
She was gently tangling her fingers in his hair which she had released from its tie, her face still pressed to his shoulder.
He held her against him, breathing in the scent of her skin and their union.
It was a mixture of fragrances he was learning to enjoy.
But of course now that he was sated and had regained his thought processes, he had begun to wonder if this was such a good idea.
As if thinking the same thing, Grace leaned away from him and he helped her down to her feet.
She smoothed her skirts and pushed at her hair, which seemed to have fallen down at the back.
It reminded him of the first time he had met her, the wild state of her, and he could see how much had changed.
She looked like a lady, well dressed and groomed—apart from the hair and her flushed cheeks.
She shot him a sideways glance, watchful, as if she weren’t sure what he was thinking. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. “My letter?” she said.
“Of course.” He held out his hand. “I will see it is sent today.”
She smiled and gave him her letter. “Thank you,” she said.
He bowed, and then felt foolish for doing so, and left the room, closing the door after him.
Good God, what was wrong with him? At least Kilsyth would be here tonight, and perhaps his presence could reduce some of this awkwardness.
The man seemed genuinely kind and thoughtful, and he had interesting things to say.
What would Kilsyth think of his behavior just now?
Rory knew he could not continue to pretend everything was normal, that he was a typical married man.
He should follow up on his promise to find somewhere for Grace to live once he had returned to Bonnyrigg.
She needed a place that was in a respectable area, somewhere that Ormsby could not find fault with, and where she would be safe.
Something inside him seemed to drop, as if the thought of her here and him far away was not one he wanted to think about. But he must and it was time he did.
Hocking was passing the bottom of the stairs, and Rory took the opportunity to call to him. The butler turned, his expression as politely blank as usual. Rory was aware that the fellow disliked him, but then he seemed to dislike anyone who wasn’t Aunt Jennie.
“I have a letter here to post,” he said. “The direction is on the front. They will need money to pay the postage at the other end. Can you see it is sent today?”
Hocking looked at the letter as if it might burn him and then delicately retrieved the wad of paper with his fingertips. “Of course, my lord.”
Rory squared his shoulders. “While I have you here, I wondered if you knew of someone I could contact about purchasing a house. Or—or leasing it.”
Hocking stared. “For yourself, my lord?”
“No, for my wife.”
Hocking’s face didn’t show what Rory was sure he was thinking. “I will make enquiries, sir.”
A movement beyond the butler caught Rory’s eye. Bothwell was strolling toward the drawing room, tail in the air. The cat paused and began to sharpen his claws on one of the pretty little chairs against the wall. Hocking spun around as if shot.
“Get off that or I’ll cut you into stewing steak!” He growled and then stopped, as if remembering he had an audience, glancing nervously at Rory.
Rory grinned. “Aye, my aunt would not be pleased if you harmed her cat.”
Hocking swallowed his ire. “If that is all, sir?”
“It is.”
The butler marched away toward the door into the kitchen, his back very straight, ignoring Bothwell as he passed. The cat was now sitting and watching him with gleaming yellow eyes.
Rory chuckled to himself. Hocking was human after all.
There had been times when he had wondered.
As for the cat, it seemed to have a malicious streak a mile wide.
His brother Callum had spoken of Bothwell with distaste, and had told the story of how he had rescued a mouse from the creature and the embarrassment he had caused himself at a ball when the mouse decided to escape from his pocket.
At least Rory had not done anything so ill-judged as that.
He chuckled again, and then his smile faded. No, he hadn’t taken a mouse to a ball. He had only married a woman he had known for five minutes. How Callum would crow about that!