Chapter 18
The manor house was in chaos.
News of the duel and the earl’s death had evidently already reached there. Servants ran to and fro. Some maids were crying. Guests of the house party stood about in clusters, talking in low voices.
When one approached Cameron as he entered holding June–for a second time in a week, he realized–he brushed them off quickly.
“Aye, the earl is dead. I must take the countess to her room. She’s not well.”
He stole a glance down at June. Her face was pale but she had not fainted as many women might have done already.
Of course, she was not really the countess. Not any longer. That news would soon become common knowledge.
But Cameron expected that to take at least another five minutes.
He took the stairs two at a time and moved down the hallway. He passed the doorway to June’s chamber and paused, then shook his head and kept going.
The hallway was mercifully deserted.
He opened the door to his own room then kicked it shut behind him with a bang.
He was being very brazen, he knew, but he could not bear the thought of bringing June to her own chamber–to that room where she must have had a hundred memories or more of the earl standing over her, striking her, shouting at her, berating her.
Still, “The servants will talk,” he warned, as he lay June on his bed and then stood over her. “I could bring ye to yer own chamber and leave ye in peace.”
“Let them talk,” she replied.
He nodded. Good. It was what he had hoped she would say. “We’ll arrange an annulment. ‘Twill be a tedious process, but ye’ll have it. I’ll make certain of it. So will Montague.”
“I know.”
“We’ll be married as soon as it’s official. To hell with the bans. Hell, we’ll ride to Gretna Green if we have to.”
“Or handfast.”
“Aye. Handfast.” His lips quirked as he looked down at her. Golden hair spilled over the white coverlet. Her eyes were very blue. She looked up at him, her expression serious. “I dinna know if I can trust ye to handfast.”
“Oh, you can.” Her voice was breathless. “I swear it, Cameron. I’ll never disappoint you again, if you’ll only have me.”
“Ye’ve always been my wife. Ye’ve always been mine. Say it,” he commanded.
“Yes. I’ve always been yours, Cameron. Only yours,” she whispered.
“I’ll take ye here and now in the eyes of God because ye’ve always been mine and there’s no wrong to it.”
Her eyes widened slightly but she nodded. “Yes.”
That was all he needed to hear.
“Good,” he growled.
And then he was on top of her.
He had killed a man that morning. Was it bloodlust that made him act so now? The rush of blood to his head and to his groin that made him unable to help himself as he ripped her robe and gown from her body and then prowled over her naked form like a wolf with his prey?
She was lush and lovely, all soft curves and gentle folds.
He sunk his face between her thighs and breathed deep. She was wet for him. She smelled of salt and the sea.
He licked along her slit, then dove a finger into her depths.
She clutched the bedcovers and gasped. “Cameron.”
“Hold nothing back,” he instructed. “Scream out my name. The name of yer true husband. Let all hear you. Dinna be ashamed.”
“I have no shame,” she moaned, writhing her hips beneath him. “Cameron. Please. I want you.”
He smiled against her wet heat and licked again, stroking her from top to bottom, then focusing his tongue against the small nub of her pleasure and flicking it until she was arching her hips desperately against his mouth.
“Cameron. Oh, please. Cameron.” Her voice broke.
He felt the rush of her pleasure wash over her like a waterfall. Saw the tears pour down her cheeks as she came hard against his mouth.
And then he was stripping his own clothes off. Shucking his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor, followed by the long strip of fabric he wore around his waist.
“I dinna care who hears us,” he told her, dropping the kilt to the floor. His cock felt hard as iron. He saw her eyes move straight to it and widen. “But ye must know they’ll think us wanton. Yer husband died today, they’ll say. Yer reputation…”
She sat up on her elbows. “You think I give a damn about my reputation?” she said, with an intensity that shocked him. “I don’t care about anything, Cameron–anything but you. I don’t care about John. I don’t care about Horatia. I only care about you and me and this room. Do you understand that?”
He felt a surge of relief course through him. “Good. Ye dinna have to leave this room tonight. I’ll have food brought to us. Tomorrow we’ll leave this–” It took everything he said not to say “cursed.” “–place in my carriage. I’ll bring ye to Cairn Tulloch. We’ll return for the annulment proceedings when we must.” He hesitated. “But yer sure… A woman’s reputation…”
“Do you care about my dashed reputation?” she asked, her eyes flashing.
“Of course not,” he said with surprise. “I’m only trying to protect ye.”
“Then I don’t care either. Please don’t ask me to. I have tried to care about a great many things for the past ten years. Now I find I’m free. Free to love you.” Her voice was choked. “Do you not see what that means to me?”
Cameron felt his own throat constricting. He leaned over her, feeling her breasts brush against his chest. “Aye, lass.” He stroked her cheek gently. “Aye, I do.”
“Then give me yourself,” she said quietly. “And I will give you all I have in turn.”
He shivered. The words were a vow. A promise. He held them close to his heart.
Then he looked down at her–all of her spread bare beneath him–and was filled with uncontrollable desire once more.
He thrust into her, spreading her hips as he filled her. She was tight, so tight he worried he might hurt her.
His hands gripped her waist, tightening around them and he lifted her from the bed, hoisting her onto him.
She moaned as she sank further onto his shaft and leaned against him, her soft breasts bobbing against the planes of his chest.
“Yer in control now, wife,” he said, clenching his jaw as he held himself back from thrusting.
She looked down at him in surprise for a moment, then seemed to understand. Her eyes closed for a moment, her expression blissful.
Then, gripping his shoulders, she raised herself up and lowered her body again. Quickly, they found a rhythm together, matching one another in ardor and desperate desire. Cameron savored the stretch of her body around his cock, the exquisite tightness of her sheath. He thrust into her forcefully, filling her completely, and they groaned together.
“Yer mine,” he growled, biting down on her shoulder. “Mine. Say it.”
“Always yours,” she gasped. “Oh, Cameron. I think… I’m close… Please.”
He gave another ferocious thrust and watched in fascination as she leaned backwards, exposing the white of her throat as her head tipped back, and she let out a low moan of purest ecstasy.
Her center throbbed around him as she exploded, breaking into a million pieces, her body trembling with radiance.
He had held himself back and now he let himself reach his peak as she came, sinking deep inside her, feeling a oneness with her he had only felt once before, the night they had wed.
And it can always be this good, he thought, feeling almost dizzy with the knowledge. This closeness. This feeling that he never wanted to leave.
Then his lips were on hers, crushing the soft petals like a marauder, and thrusting his tongue inside her as his cock exploded, shooting his seed deep into her core.
They stayed like that, his head resting on her head, her thighs straddling his hips, for a long time, not wishing to break the spell, to pull apart, to return to being separate beings.
“This is how it was always meant to be,” she whispered finally.
Cameron pulled back slightly. She was crying, he realized.
“Oh, Cameron. What a waste. Such a waste. Ten years.” She shook her head.
He put his mouth to her cheek, kissing away the tears. “We’re together now. Everything starts anew now. A new beginning. Everything is possible.”
“Everything,” she agreed. “
He kissed her forehead. “Besides, that was only the start. Ye’re not tired are ye?”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he growled playfully, flipping her suddenly onto her back and taking delight in the small squeaking sound she emitted. “That I mean to have ye again and again. Every which way.”
“Every which way? How many ways are there?” she asked, with a fascinated expression.
He felt a pang then, knowing she had been trapped for ten long years, like a princess in a fairy story trapped in a tower. She truly did not know. He must be patient and go more slowly. But it would be hard. Very hard.
“I mean to have ye from behind, for one. Holding onto the headboard and screaming my name.” He leaned down and brushed his tongue against her nipple. She gasped aloud. “On yer side. On that desk over there. Against the wall. And then tomorrow, in the carriage…”
“In the carriage?” she squeaked.
“Aye, ye canna expect me to go more than a week with ye sitting across from me–or better yet, beside me. Nay, strike that. Ye’d best sit on my lap.” He grinned down at her wickedly. “Aye, that’s the best place for ye, Wife.”
“Wherever you want me,” she said breathlessly. “I live to serve.”
“Aye, and I to serve ye,” he reminded her, gesturing with another grin to the places between her thighs and licking his lips like a ravenous beast. “I mean to serve ye well.”
“Don’t say such things,” she begged. “It makes me…”
“It makes ye what?” he encouraged.
“It makes me want you endlessly,” she whispered.
He leaned down so his mouth was beside her ear. “Good. That’s verra good.”
And then he flipped her onto her stomach before she could say another word.