Page 68 of No One's Bride
“Fate has given us its blessing.” Looking like a woodland nymph in his secluded garden, she reached into her hair and began pulling the pins, discarding them on the ground and shaking out her fiery locks.
Mother of all saints!
Blood pooled low in his loins. “Come. We should seek cover before you catch a chill.” He was desperate to sink his hands into her hair, anchor her lips to his and ravage her with maddening kisses.
“Catch a chill?” she mocked, opening her arms wide and surrendering to the heavens. “Have ye never entertained a Scotswoman? We’re made to withstand the harsh weather.”
The rain lashed down, bouncing off the hothouse roof. Droplets trickled down the slender column of her throat, the rivulets creating an enticing path to the valley between her breasts. He needed her out of that damn dress. To feast on her flesh. To rid himself of this blasted ache.
Like a fool, he had laid down the gauntlet and could do nothing but watch in awe as she turned her back and said, “Quickly. Help me out of Delphine’s gown. I mean to take my pleasure here.”
“Here?” He almost choked in shock. The garden was cold and damp. Nothing good would come from joining bodies while battling the elements.
Still, he fiddled with the tiny gilt buttons, slid the silk off her shoulders and helped her out of the sumptuous gown.
A lump tightened his throat.
Her hourglass silhouette left his mouth dry.
Upon her command, he loosened the laces of her corset, the power of each tug pulsing deep in his ballocks. “Don’t forget about your love letter,” he muttered, kissing her bare shoulder.
She shivered at his touch. “How could I? ’Tis the first gift ye’ve given me. It may be the last.”
While he battled with the sudden heaviness in his chest, she retrieved the love letter, gathered her garments and deposited them carefully in the orangery.
She returned moments later, dressed in nothing but her chemise, shoes and stockings. He might have suggested they move the deflowering to the hothouse, but raindrops glistened like diamonds on her porcelain skin. The sodden garment clung to her lush breasts, breasts he longed to fondle and caress.
His cock thickened in his trousers.
“We need to get ye out of these clothes.” Like a consummate seducer, she pushed his black evening coat off his shoulders and ran her hands over the hard muscles. “Let the rain wash away yer Tiffin cologne.”
No woman had ever undressed him.
No woman had ever stripped him naked in the rain.
Her delicate hands made light work of his waistcoat, her delightful pants coming quicker when the garment joined his coat on the wet grass.
“Allow me.” He removed the sapphire pin from his cravat and yanked the fashionable knot. With mounting impatience, he dragged his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground.
The lady inhaled sharply, her gaze focusing on the rainwater running over the muscles in his chest. “In case I forget to tell ye once we’ve broken the spell, yer body does strange things to me.”
“Strange things?” he said, smiling.
“Aye, a fluttering deep in my belly.”
“The sight of erect nipples pushing against wet cotton causes me equal discomfort.” He captured her hand, smoothing it down the solid ridge in his trousers. “This is what you do to me, Ailsa. This is how much I want you.”
Hell! The merest touch made him weep.
Her eyes widened. “Just promise ye’ll nae get me with child.”
It should have been an easy promise to make, yet he faltered. Unlike others of his acquaintance, he never broke a vow. “I assure you, there will be no child from our lovemakingtonight.” The distinction seemed important.
“But ye plan on removing yer trousers?”
Sebastian glanced towards the house. Although they were hidden in the dark depths of the garden, about to answer lust’s persistent call, he couldn’t quite find the impetus needed to surrender.
When conditioned to be a pillar of society, one did not chase their dreams. One did not indulge their desires. One remained firm. Steadfast.
