Page 50 of A Scot's Pride
Their kisses grew frenzied, and his hands wandered over her ribs to her perfect, supple breasts. His thumbs brushed over her turgid nipples, and he drank in the tiny gasps of desire she made in her throat.
An overwhelming hunger filled him. Not just for her kisses but for the taste of her skin, her neck, her breasts. He skimmed his mouth along her jawline, finding the column of her neck and the place where her heart pulsed beneath the surface.
“Och, lass, your taste, your scent. I canna get enough.”
She sighed and made a whimpering sound as his mouth traversed lower over her collarbone to the fleshy tops of her breasts that were spilling out of her gown. So smooth and soft. So warm and delicious.
He cupped one breast, his fingers skimming down the top of her gown to feel the soft, aroused flesh of her nipple, and with just a tiny tug, he freed it from captivity, resting his lips where his fingers had been.
“Oh,” she moaned, her back bowing as she pushed further into him.
“Oh, aye,” he growled, sucking her nipple into his mouth.
With his free hand, he gripped her arse, slid down her thigh and lifted her leg around his hip. The rigidness of his erection pressed to the soft space between her thighs. My god, they had on too many layers.
It was only when he moved to free them both of the barriers that he realized what the hell he was doing and forced himself to stop.
“Forgive me,” he said, his breaths heavy.
Freya stared at him, her gaze intense. “I forgive nothing.”
Her words took Bryson aback until he saw her wicked grin. “Nay?”
“Forgiveness need only be asked when there’s been a transgression. This was no transgression, my lord.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and wished he could take her back in his arms and lay her on the ground to make sweet love to her. “All the same, I’ve mussed your hair and your gown.”
Freya shrugged as if it were no big deal and started to straighten her skirts, putting her breast back inside her dress. “I’m not ashamed, my lord. I rather enjoyed being ravished by you.”
“I enjoyed myself, too, lass.” He pulled her in for another kiss, albeit shorter. “And soon, we’ll be able to do this whenever we want. I will come to speak to your father tomorrow.”
But, the following morning, an urgent matter kept him away.
18
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Never put your cart before the horse, ladies. Why should a gentleman propose if he knows he can get what he wants from a willing young lady without the commitment that comes with it?
The following morning, Freya rose before the sun. Only a sliver of moonlight peeked between a narrow slit in the curtains. Still, she couldn’t make her eyes close again. She’d spent the entire night restlessly tossing until Riley hit her with a pillow, and then she just lay there waiting for it to be morning and feeling bad she’d ruined her sister’s night of sleep.
At last, she could not wait another minute. She tossed aside the covers, the noise of which resulted in an irritated grumble from her sister, and climbed from her bed. She donned a fresh day dress and brushed her hair until it crackled. Thankfully, she knew her chamber and where her things were, so the dark didn’t bother her because she was pretty sure if she lit a candle, it would result in another pillow headed her way.
Freya went for a modest bun, put on her bonnet and shoes and was heading out of their shared bedroom when Riley sat up.
“Where are you going?” Her voice was scratchy with sleep. “It’s not even light out yet.”
Freya closed the door a fraction so as not to disturb anyone. “I can’t stay in bed another minute,” she whispered. “Today is going to be the first day of the rest of my life.”
Riley flopped back down on the bed, her arm over her face and muttered, “You say that every day.”
Freya couldn’t help the wide grin that filled her face. “But today really will be.”
“So, you say. Go away now.” In the dark, she saw her sister wave her arm wildly in the air as if she could push Freya out of the room.
Freya chuckled and shut the door to their bedroom as quietly as she could. Then she listened to make sure she hadn’t woken anyone. The last thing she needed was her mother or one of her other sisters popping their heads out of the rooms to see what she was up to. Assured she’d not disturbed anyone, she tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked.
There was a good chance Papa would be awake in his study. These days she wasn’t sure if he slept at all, and if he did, it seemed to be with his head on his desk. A sound from somewhere in the house made her pause, and she prayed Cousin Arthur didn’t keep early morning hours. She had no idea, as since he’d overstayed his welcome—despite the engagement, he was still irritating—she’d been sneaking out for her sunrise walks promptly enough to avoid anyone who woke up with the sun. Too bad she hadn’t paid more attention to his habits.
