Page 44 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
A nightgown had been thoughtfully draped at the foot of the bed, so she reached for it. He shifted from foot to foot as she removed the last of her borrowed clothing and pulled the fabric over her head. Then she dragged herself under the covers.
“Go ’head. I stripped for you, now you strip for me.” When he hesitated, she made a show of clapping her hand across her eyes. “Can’t see anything.”
“You’ll peek,” he said without much accusation.
“I will,” she agreed amenably. With a more level tone, she said, “Unless you truly don’t want me to.”
There was a pause—a weighted pause that held immeasurable possibility. And, oh, how she loved possibility.
At last, he rumbled thrillingly, “Go ahead.”
He began removing his own loaned garments—and suddenly, she wasn’t quite so tired anymore.
Chapter 10
Arousal drummed beneath Duncan’s skin as he removed his clothing. He kept his back to her. Better to let her see his arse than get an eyeful of his rapidly hardening cock. It didn’t seem possible that after this trying night he could evengethard, and yet here he was, conscious of her ogling him, and all he wanted was to stride to the bed and press her hands into the mattress whilst he settled between her invitingly open legs.
He already knew what it was like to kiss her, and damn if it wasn’t the most passionate kiss he’d ever experienced. Just the remembrance of her tongue lapping at his sent pure heat through him.
Bill had provided him with a man’s nightgown—something Duncan was unused to wearing—and thankfully because the innkeeper was taller and stouter than he was, the nightgown hung very loosely. But it didn’t fully disguise his erection. He’d no choice but to turn around.
“Please don’t say you’re sleeping on the floor,” she said, her hand over her eyes still providing the fiction that she wasn’t watching.
“After the evening we’ve had, I’m definitely sleeping in the bed.” It would be safer, wiser, to make a pallet. But his body yearned for softness, even just to lie beside her, and he was so damned tired of fighting against what he wanted so desperately.
Concentrating on mundane tasks to keep him from lunging for her, he stoked the fire and doused the lamps before sliding into bed beside her. She shifted, the bedclothes making soft noises as they moved against her body. There was a barely audible sound—she wet her lips with her tongue—followed by her long, breathy sigh. One of her toes brushed alongside his.
Today he’d learned that every part of hercould be erotic, including her toes.
Only moments ago, his nightgown had been baggy and loose. Now it felt plastered to him, as tight as a sausage casing. He exhaled, as if through his breath he could dissolve into the darkness, leaving behind his overly sensitized body.
The unlit roomwasfreeing, in a way. It took away barriers, and words came more easily—including words he’d wanted to say for a long time but been too uncertain to speak aloud.
“I heard something about you,” he said in the darkness. “Something that happened in London after you’d come out of mourning. About a wager.”
There was a pause, and then she said sardonically, “Ah, yes, when honorable gentlemen make bets on women’s bodies, everyone emerges the victor.”
“So it’s true, then.”
“It is. A handful of England’s most well-bred lords had a bet to see who would be the first to get me into bed once I’d left mourning behind. The Duke of Lighthorn was gracious enough to come to my aid, protecting me against men who would have tried to seduce me. I emerged with myhonorintact.” Her words were acidic.
Anger on her behalf seethed through him.Fucking men.He wished to pummel the teeth right out of their faces, and he vowed that when he returned to London, he would do just that.
Still, his voice was admirably calm when he said, “I see.”
“Forgive me,” she said tightly, “but what do you see?”
“Something else about why you’re going to Nottinghamshire, to that house party.” It felt easier to speak into the shadows enveloping the room than talk in bright and unyielding light. “It’syourchoice.Youdecide who to sleep with. When and where. And there’s no doubt, no equivocation or wondering at anyone’s motivations—it’s a sure thing.”
Silence reigned for a long while, and then she gave a quiet laugh. “I suppose you’re right, Major.”
“Duncan,” he corrected gently. He reached betweenthem and found her hand, then wove their fingers together. It was warm and soft but not weak in the slightest.
“I’m sorry about what I said at the ruin, Duncan,” she whispered. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
The memory of Susannah’s rejection seeped in, but he fought back against its poison. At this moment, all that existed was now. He could face his old injuries later.
“I know,” he said, lowly. There was no anger for Beatrice—she couldn’t have known—and he wouldn’t give more power to being jilted.
