Page 67 of A Scot's Pride
23
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Lord Lovat is betrothed to Miss Freya Grysham.
Good God. He’d never wanted anything more than to kiss Freya right now.
They’d wed that morning in a quadruple ceremony, followed by festivity after festivity. Riley and Ashbury had gone to Italy for a honeymoon. Cousin Arthur and Molly convinced Papa that they should live in the manor house now with everyone else moving back to London, and Leila and Campbell had surprisingly said their “I dos,” although they’d done it begrudgingly and bickered the whole way out to the single horse that Campbell possessed.
Freya and Bryson had gotten into a carriage and ridden north toward his holding in Aberdeen, stopping at an inn along the way.
And now here they were, locked in a bedroom of an inn, with a fire in the hearth and the candles dimly lit. They’d already removed their shoes and supped before the fire in their stocking feet.
“Ye’re so beautiful,” he said. “I’m the luckiest man in Scotland, and England for that matter.”
Freya grinned at him. “I can’t believe I almost let your insult about my ability to ride a horse keep us apart.”
Bryson chuckled. “And I almost let my foolish ideas of what constituted the perfect wife lead me away from the perfect wife.”
Bryson bent forward and captured her mouth with his. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers curling against his neck. Freya kissed him back, tasting of the whisky they’d sipped after dinner. Hard, passionate. One of the things he loved so much about her was that she wasn’t shy with her desire, putting all of herself out there for him to have. And he felt like a blessed man to have her.
Their tongues dueled until neither of them could stand it. Both panting and wanting as the desire that had built up between them over the past weeks neared the edge of where they could remain in control.
Yearning hummed in Bryson’s veins and pooled in his groin. At last, the time had come to lay claim to his wife. To show her the extent of his love by worshiping her body and bringing her pleasure.
With her flush against him, he moved them closer to the bed, the heat of her breath fanning across his face. Bryson turned, sat on the bed, then lay back, pulling Freya on top of him. She hovered over him, her soft breasts pressed to his chest, her hips on his hardened arousal, his hands on her arse…
Freya gazed down at him, eyes full of desire and love, her lips a rosy red. Again, he thought about what a lucky man he was to have her in his life.
“My wife,” he murmured, leaning up to press his mouth to hers to give a little nip of her lower lip.
He slid his hands along her ribs and cupped her breasts where they pushed against the confines of her gown. Plush, soft. He wanted so badly to taste her. All he had to do was lean a little lower and give a little tug to her gown.
Bryson rolled with her until she was pinned beneath him and braced himself on his elbows. The lushness of her body molded perfectly to his. Now it was his turn to hover and stare, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the hazy look of desire in her eyes.
“I’m going to make ye mine,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
“I thought you already did.”
Bryson groaned, settling his pelvis against hers, lifting one of her long legs around his hip. “Och, but no’ in the way I’ve wanted to.”
Every inch of Freya was tingling. For so long, she’d waited for this moment. Teases here and there, kisses, touching…my god, he’d brought her to heights of pleasure she hadn’t even known existed. But this…making love to her husband—her husband—was a whole new thing she was about to experience.
Bryson swooped down to capture her lips once more, his hands roving over the front of her bodice, cupping her breasts, stroking her hardened nipples. He skimmed his fingers along her hip and then her thigh, the heat of his palm searing her as he inched the fabric of her gown higher.
“Undress me,” she said. “I want to feel my skin on yours.”
“I thought ye’d never ask.”
The slow tease of his movements was a torment when she longed to be naked. Finally, Bryson rolled them again, with her straddling his hips, and he reached behind her to pluck at the simple ties at the back of her bodice. Why hadn’t she thought to undress before kissing him?
The fabric loosened, and Freya slipped out of her dress until the gown gathered at her waist. With the hem already near her thighs, it looked like a thick belt around her chemise, and she wanted to be out of it. Freya lifted the garment over her head, tossing it behind her, and then made quick work of her chemise.
Bryson grinned up at her, his eyes scanning the swells of her breasts, the dip of her waist and the roundness of her hips.
He shook his head. “By the saints, I am so lucky.”
She laughed. “Is it luck?”
