Page 32 of Never a Duchess
The world stopped for a second or two. A beautiful moment where nothing else mattered. No one else existed. Just two souls merging into one.
He closed his eyes as he captured her mouth, their lips moving together in a dance more dangerous than any ballroom waltz.
Heat pooled between her thighs.
Every inch of her skin tingled.
She knew what to expect next: his tongue slipping into her mouth, his hands on her body, desire spiralling until she was drunk, intoxicated.
But Dounreay dragged his lips free, leaving them both gasping.
He stared at her, but she could not read his expression.
What role are you playing now?
Tell me, so I might prepare!
He stepped back, biting his bottom lip like he wanted to finish what she’d started. “I think ye have the measure of the situation, Miss Ware.”
“I have a better understanding of how one might lose oneself in the moment,” she admitted, though did not say this rampant hunger for him still consumed her. A barrel of brandy would not help her sleep tonight.
“Be warned.” He adjusted the front of his kilt, touching himself. “The next time ye succumb to the scoundrel, the kiss willnae be as tame.” He inclined his head. “Good night, madam.”
Don’t go!
“Good night,” the farewell was but a whisper as she watched him leave. The front door opened and closed despite her willing him to return.
Lillian stared into the darkness, her eyelids fluttering closed. She touched her fingers to her lips, bathed in the erotic feelings until they disappeared like the sound of Dounreay’s carriage into the night.
The man had put a spell on her.
With minimal effort, he had left her wanting.
How was it possible?
She had known what to expect yet lacked the restraint to keep him at bay. Lust’s potency was a powerful thing. He had quite literally stolen her breath.
The experience gave rise to an interesting thought. As a woman desperate to avoid the worries that came with loving a man, with Dounreay, she might indulge her wild desires.
Unlike the painful ache that accompanied love, lust’s ripples had subsided quite quickly. Indeed, a plan formed in her mind. A daring plan. A dangerous plan. The answer to her prayers. Who safer to experience life’s pleasures with than a Scot who refused to marry an Englishwoman?
ChapterSix
Callan had barely slept a wink. When he wasn’t taking himself in hand amid visions of kissing an auburn-haired temptress, he had spent the night worrying about MacTavish and reliving the harrowing moment he lost his mother to poison.
Life was precarious—a constant pivot between pleasure and pain. Darkness and light. Sunshine and rain. There were good days and bad days and mediocre ones in between.
He might have spent miserable years wallowing in the past, but MacTavish said if one changed one’s mindset, one changed one’s life. No one wanted to live beneath a permanent cloud of sadness.
Still, when Callan called at MacTavish’s house on Pall Mall, he struggled to rouse his usual optimism. He waited in the hall, his gaze shifting between the gloomy staircase and the drawing room.
What if MacTavish failed to recover?
What if Miss Ware regretted sharing one chaste kiss?
God, the woman fired his blood like no one else. Now he had sampled the forbidden fruit, he was desperate to scoff the whole darn apple. To sin and sin and sin until sated.
“Dounreay?” Lorna called, descending the stairs slowly. Through tired eyes, she scanned his face. “Do ye nae have an appointment at Lord Kinver’s home this morning?”
