Ann Lethbridge - Regency Proposal

‘I never forgave myself for what I said to you, that day at the beach,’ he murmured low in her ear. ‘Children are cruel, but I was old enough to know better. I had an overabundance of pride in those days.’

Surprised, she twisted in his arms to better see his expression, to assure herself he wasn’t mocking.

Indeed, his lips did smile, but it was a lovely generous smile, youthful, touched by regret, his eyes gleaming with firelight.

Her insides drew tight, pulsed with a sensation that made her eyelids droop and her body soften.

Looking down at her, he inhaled a swift breath. The glimmer in his eyes burst into searing flames.

The air crackled and warmed. All around them heat conspired to make them short of breath and wordless. His arms tightened around her body, his head dipped until his mouth was close enough to brush her lips. The soft caress of each exhale tickled her lips, the scent of him, salt and sea air, and something very male filled her senses.

‘It seems we are destined to rescue each other from time to time,’ she said on a breathless laugh. Though it must never happen again.

Without thought, she put her arms around his neck, tipped her head and kissed his cheek, much as she had as a girl. ‘I’m glad I reached you in time.’

A groan broke in his throat. ‘Me, too.’ His hand came to her jaw, cradling her chin, angling her head the better to kiss her back.

His lips firmed over hers, testing and teasing. His lips parted and his tongue licked her bottom lip. Thrills ran amok in her body, making her gasp with shock at the pleasure of such an intimate touch.

Heavenly sensations coursed through her veins and turned her bones liquid.

His parted lips matched hers and, open-mouthed, their lips melded and moved in a harmony she hadn’t expected. Tentatively, she tried a taste of her own. Their tongues met and danced and played, at first gently, carefully, and then with wild fervour.

Dizzy, breathing hard, she lay in his arms. The magic of his kiss took her out of her body. Whereas she’d been floating before, now she was flying, soaring, released from the chains of the world.

Inside she trembled.

Never in her adult life had she lost her sense of self so utterly as now, as if some part of them had fused and become something different altogether. It exhilarated. And terrified.

Fear made her struggle.

He drew back, breathing hard, looking into her face with a jaw of granite, with eyes the colour of midnight, hot and demanding.

‘We must not,’ he said, gravel-voiced.

‘No,’ she agreed, gazing up at his hard expression. Yet longing was there, in the way his gaze devoured her face, in the way his hands trembled where they touched her cheek, light and gentle as a butterfly. Forbidden wanting. Or was it only her fevered blood making her wish it?

She closed her eyes against such traitorous thoughts. She’d made her choice.

When she opened her eyes she saw anger in his. Perhaps even revulsion. Yet it did not seem so much directed at her as directed at himself as he stood up, leaving her cold and bereft.

‘You must be warm by now,’ Ian said, matter of factly.

Warm? She was burning. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ There, didn’t she sound equally calm? Equally unaffected?

‘Here.’ He handed over her skirts and her bodice. ‘These are dry.’ He frowned when her breeches fell to the floor.

‘For riding,’ she said defensively. ‘What about you?’ She glanced at the blanket he had wrapped around his waist and then at the still-steaming mass of his kilt. It would take hours to dry. A small shiver ran down her back at the thought of hours of temptation in this cave.

‘There are spare clothes here.’ He picked up one of the packages and unwrapped it.

Fascinated, she watched him. ‘You would spare your maidenly blushes if you will look away now, Lady Selina.’ The mockery was back in his voice. Maidenly blushes. After that kiss he no doubt suspected they were nothing more than a front.

Her cheeks hotter than the fires of hell, she whipped her face away and fluffed the billowing fabric of her skirts. Yet for all her good intentions, she could not help but cast a glance from the corner of her eye as he let the blanket fall silently to the floor.

At the edge of the firelight the gleam of his skin was like marble. The image of wide sculpted shoulders tapering to lean waist and firm flanks, the swell of firm lean buttocks and strong thighs seared her vision. Her body clenched at his sheer beauty.

So large and so male. Lithe and perfectly formed. Athletic and sure in his movements as he bent to adjust the cloth. So opposite to her small stature and rounded curves and the awkwardness of her halting gait.

The silhouette of his erection made her gasp. Had he heard and guessed she was watching? If so, he gave no sign. She ducked her head and busied herself with her clothes. Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she kept her gaze fixed on her task.

The fire was hot and the light cotton fabric dried quickly. She concentrated on holding her breeches out to the flames. She glanced up when he returned bare-chested. Another delicious clench of her insides. He picked up his shirt and held it to the warmth. The trousers were on the tight side and too short and made his thighs look huge. Not that she was measuring. She wasn’t. But a woman would have to be blind not to notice how strong his legs were and that his feet were large, just like his … She forced the thought to be gone.

But never would she forget the image of his body, the way he looked in profile. Different. Glorious.

‘Time for you to dress now,’ he said, ‘if we are to get you home before dawn.’

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He was right. They really should not linger. ‘Turn your back while I dress.’

An eyebrow flickered up—no doubt she had sounded too harsh, but he walked away, went to his horse with clearly no interest in spying on her.

So they’d kissed. A moment of passion after a wild escape. Whatever had happened between them had been the result of shock. Mutual comfort. Nothing more.

She pulled her hair back from her face; it felt matted and still damp, but she didn’t care. She made a rough plait to hold it, then dressed beneath her blanket, not because she feared he would look, but to ward off some of the chill of the cave. Dressed, she turned back to find him rubbing the horse down with the blanket he had discarded earlier.

She picked up her shawl, still saturated from the sea, and folded it up. A blanket would make a better cloak and be warmer, though heaven knew what her maid was going to say. She wrapped it around her shoulders and tied it behind her waist as peasant girls did, then gathered up his kilt, folding it to give her hands something to do while she waited for him.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked, leading the horse towards her.

She nodded. It was a lie. A knot formed in her stomach. The thought of returning home made her feel the way an escaped prisoner must feel about the return to prison. A prison of her own making. Which didn’t make a bit of sense, not when she was about to marry the man she had chosen for herself. She held out his kilt. ‘You will want this.’

He used one of the ropes to tie it, then rested it across the horse’s withers. ‘We’ll mount up outside.’ He picked up a bucket and emptied it on the fire. Choking smoke filled the cave.

Selina coughed and rubbed at her streaming eyes. ‘You idiot. Couldn’t you wait until we had left?’

He chuckled. The next moment, he was behind her, lifting her onto the horse. ‘We need to make haste, now.’ He jerked on the bridle and led the big black into the tunnel, holding a torch up so they could see ahead of them. They climbed upwards through the narrow space. Sometimes, when the surf was quiet, she could hear running water—what was left of the stream that had carved its way through the rock and out to the sea, no doubt. And then they were out in the cold night air.