Page 113 of Never a Duchess
A flush of heat warmed Lillian’s cheeks. She had spent most of yesterday afternoon frolicking with her husband in the heather.
“I think he pretends he’s lost because he loves walking.” Dounreay loved kissing, rolling around on the grass and touching her intimately.
“I think he pretends he’s lost because he loves spending time alone with you,” Eliza corrected. She glanced at Adam and sighed. “There’s nothing I love more than seeing my husband smile.”
“Yes,” she said, understanding perfectly.
They left her alone to wait for Dounreay.
He came striding towards her, so strong and handsome, the wind teasing the hem of his kilt. But Eliza was right. His smile held her spellbound. The glint of happiness in his eyes was perhaps the most mesmerising thing she had ever seen.
I’ve finally found my way home!
He snaked his arm around her waist and scooped her into his arms. “Sneaking off with nary a word. A man might think ye want a good tupping.”
“Do you ever think of anything but bedding me?”
He pretended to ponder the question. “I think about kissing as much as I think about bedding ye. But nae as much as I think about loving ye.”
“Well, as the months pass, we may do a little less bedding. You’ll not want to make love to me when I’m fat.”
“Have ye been stealing the tablet again?”
She cupped his cheek. “I’ve not had my courses for two months. We must be a little more careful when rolling around outdoors.”
He stared at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he buried his face in her neck and hugged her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
“Are you pleased?”
Callan looked at her, love filling his eyes. “Aye. I’m so happy, I cannae explain it in words.”
“Then will you dance with me, Dounreay?”
He had never broken his vow.
She had been the one who’d asked him to dance at the ball Adam had held in their honour. She had asked him to dance every day since.
“Aye. Seeing as ye asked so nicely.”
He twirled her around while the wind whistled a tune.
They kissed and professed abiding love before laying on the grass.
“I had a letter from Ailsa this morning,” she said, straddling his muscular thighs. “She cursed Lord Denton to the devil.”
Dounreay gripped her hips. “I know the lass is five and twenty, but I still cannae believe Angus let her remain in London.”
It was the mystic’s fault.
Angus wanted his daughter to marry and hoped fate might intervene. It helped that she had been left in the charge of Helen St Clair, Lord Denton’s married sister.
“Ever since Lord Denton won the Tudor lady’s diary at auction last month, Ailsa is determined to punish him.”
“What, by giving him a perfect pebble?” Callan snorted.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She said he’s pigheaded, stubborn, and too arrogant for his own good.”
“The lass does provoke him.” He took to sliding her back and forth over his growing erection. “She gets a thrill out of making him angry.”
