Page 79 of Taming the Heiress
He growled something low as he pulled her back into darkness with him, behind the crowding ferns in pots, behind the glossy gardenia leaves and the drowsy, drunken scent of roses.
Her gown floated like clouds around her as he took her into his arms and kissed her, his mouth tender and hungry over hers. His hands were strong yet gentle on her bare shoulders.
She looped her arms around his neck, crying out softly in sheer, desperate relief, and gave herself into the kiss, opening her lips to him, his mouth insistent. Her tongue danced over his, slipped away, sought again. She leaned her head back and felt his mouth trail hot along her jaw, the length of her throat, his lips caressing the upper swell of her breasts, breath heating the space between her breasts, above the snug edge of her corset.
One hand snugged against her waist, pulling her hard against him, so that her skirt floated outward, its cage tipping backward like a ringing bell, the silken tulle crushing against his thighs. She pressed deep into his arms, torsos tightly meeting, and even through layers of silk and netting and cotton and the light, flexible cage of her crinoline, she could feel him against her, hot and hard and so blessedly familiar.
She sighed into his mouth with deep contentment and moaned breathily as his hand slid upward, rounded over her confined breasts, found the soft swell above the edge of her bodice. Her body pulsed and wanted to weep everywhere for him, for want of him. She wanted to tear away the layers of the exquisite gown and feel him like steel and fire against her.
"Oh, God," she whispered against his mouth, as his lips found hers again. Her knees were weak beneath crinoline and petticoats, and she clung to him, arms circling his neck, her fingers threading deep into his thick hair.
He smelled of spice and wine, of vanilla and strength and caring, and she loved him. God, she loved him. His hands were divine upon her, caressing, lightly teasing her so that she shivered and craved.
He framed her face in his palms and kissed her deeply, once more, then tore himself away, breaths coming hard.
"Lady Strathlin," he rasped out, "I must go."
She grabbed his coat sleeve. "Stay with me. I beg you, do not leave. Dougal, please," she ended in a whisper.
He stopped suddenly, cold as stone. "Do not beg, it does not become you. What do you want?" he murmured, looking down. "A night? Or forever?"
"Forever," she whispered. "You know that."
"But that would require trust," he said. "Honesty. Commitment. And it would hardly do for you to marry someone else. I wonder if you can manage that."
"Dougal, let me explain."
"Or is this another game that the lady finds amusing? Forever becomes a day or two, until the game is no longer interesting? Bare feet were pleasant last month, and this month it is precious gowns. Is that it?" His tone sliced through her.
"It is nothing like that."
"And now and then, there is the engineer to provide entertainment." He stepped away.
She moved after him. "I know I made a terrible mistake with you. But I never meant to hurt you—"
"Madam," he said, "do not make a fool of the man who loves you. He feels foolish enough already." He paused. "I think we are done." He turned.
"No, please," she whispered, her voice, her heart, breaking.
"I apologize for any inconvenience to your person or to your lovely gown. Good night." He inclined his head and stepped through the ferns, fronds brushing his black-clad shoulders.
She glided with him. "Listen to me."
"Lady Strathlin," he murmured, so softly she hardly heard, "you are beautiful—alluring. I will never forget the sight of you tonight." Then he turned.
She pushed through the ferns after him, her gown brushing along a shelf of potted green plants. "Will you not hear my explanation? I listened to you," she said firmly, as he strode away. "I gave you the chance. And I forgave you—all of it."
He stopped then, standing in the aisle between the roses and the gardenias. Meg caught up to him in a few steps. His broad back was turned to her, blocking her passage.
"Why did you do it?" he asked woodenly. "Why did you keep the truth from me about who you were?"
"When I saw you on the island, I realized that you were... that we had met before."
"On the sea rock."
"Yes. For years, I had... hated you, I think, yet I had also loved you. Loved the memory of you. Do you understand?"
"Aye," he said gruffly. "You loved the dream of me, as I loved the dream of you. Go on."
