Page 32 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Here!” Lady Farris cried up ahead. “The perfect spot.” She pointed to a gentle, grassy slope that led to a shining pond.
Beneath his arm, he also carried a blanket, and after setting down the hamper, he spread the cloth out on the ground to keep her clothing from getting stained or damp. Wiggins and Green had remained behind with the carriage, so he and the countess were alone, save for the droning bees and brightly hued butterflies skipping through the air.
Lady Farris bent and untied her boots. She set them aside before reaching farther up her skirts.
“What are you doing?” He winced at his priggish tone.
She said nothing, but then a moment later sighed. It was a sound not unlike what she’d made last night as she’d pleasured herself in the bath, and it stroked across his belly. Then she held up the filmy shape of her stocking, still holding the curves of her leg. She performed the same action with her other stocking, laying them beside her boots and straightening with a triumphant smile.
“Is there anything better than the feel of grass between your toes?”
Having seen her naked, he didn’t think that looking at her bare feet could be at all erotic. He was wrong. The throaty noises she continued to make did not help matters, either.
Heat pooled in his groin as she wiggled and curled her toes.
“A bug could bite you,” he said inanely.
“Or there could be a venomous adder hiding,” she added in a matter of fact tone. “But I can’t remember the last time I walked barefoot in grass. Must have been at least thirty years ago. How could I resist the opportunity to do it again?”
A number of dangerous scenarios played out in his brain. Roving bandits might show up and chase them. There could be a freak snowstorm.
“It’s not going to happen,” she said.
“What isn’t?”
“Any of the terrible scenes going on inside your head. Theymight, but then again, they might not.”
He frowned at how easily she’d read his thoughts. “We should eat and get back on the road.”
She ignored his comment and flicked her fingers at his boots. “Take those off. Sense the grass between your toes. It feels so delicious. Unless,” she said with a speculative tilt of her head, “you don’t actually like things that feel good?”
“Never said anything like that.” Affronted, he straightened. “I like them well enough.”
She held up her hands. “It’s all right if you don’t. You haven’t particularly enjoyed the food we’ve eaten, and you were quite willing to sleep on the hard, uncomfortable floor, so...” She shrugged.
Before he knew what he was doing, he’d tugged off his boots and stockings.
“Fine,” he said defiantly. “They’re off.”
A smile curved her lips. “And yet you’ve arranged your boots very neatly, side by side, and you tucked your discarded stockings into them. All very orderly.”
“I was trying to keep everything clean,” he muttered.
“Move your toes a bit,” she urged, wiggling her own. “Like this.”
He had the perverse urge to do no such thing, but he wasn’t a stubborn child being forced to finish his oatmeal, so he did as she suggested, giving his toes an experimental wriggle. The grass was cool against the soles of his feet and gave off a verdant aroma.
“What do you think?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
“It’s not quite as soft as I’d have expected it to be, but,” he continued when she seemed disappointed by his answer, “the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.”
Her smile widened. “It isn’t fulsome praise, but I’ll take it.”
He took a few experimental steps, finding the grass springy. Its texture tickled a little, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling.
“No hiding it, Major,” Lady Farris said. “I can see you fighting a laugh.”
“Wonder what my men would’ve thought of their commanding officer being tickled?” He snorted. “They probably thought I had iron feet.”
