Ann Lethbridge - Regency Proposal

He reached around to catch her hands clinging around his neck and tore them free, holding them fast in his. ‘This must stop,’ he said harshly. He disengaged his hands from hers.

‘Don’t you want me?’ she asked, feeling suddenly bereft, even knowing the question was unfair. She felt his desire, insistent, rampant against her bottom.

‘Not want you?’ he growled. His mouth descended in a punishing kiss, full of ardour and passion and heat. Her mind refused to form a single thought. Her hands, freed from his grip, wandered his broad sculpted chest and floated over his back, measuring the width and strength of him.

Lacking air, they slowly parted, their chests rising and falling in perfect harmony as he nibbled and licked at her lips, her chin, her jaw. He teased the tender place beneath her ear, breathing against her neck. ‘I want you. But if we do this now there will be no going back. We will have to be married.’

The words were like a splash of cold water. Have to be married? Clearly it was not something he wanted, any more than she did. Did she?

He groaned and rose to his feet with her still in his arms. He set her back on the stool, wrapped the blanket around her and cleared the opening to the outside.

‘Where are you going?’ To her chagrin, panic edged her voice.

‘I’ll be right back.’

‘That wasn’t an answer,’ she said. Too late. He was gone.

Shame at her cowardice roiled in her stomach. Why would he abandon her here? It didn’t make any sense, but the fear was real enough. The fear of being left as her father had abandoned her the year he’d brought her to Dunross. For years, she’d worried that he would forget about her again, when she was at school, when he was away on business. Even now, when she knew the reason why, she hated knowing that people important to you could just walk away. It was better if you did not allow them to become important, then you didn’t have to worry.

And Ian hadn’t left. He sounded as if he was searching through the heather. Hunting?

Then he was back, pushing something ahead of him. The smell of fresh-cut vegetation filled the cave. Fuel for a fire?

But, no, he didn’t go to the hearth. He spread it out in the corner. ‘Give me your blanket,’ he said.

‘Why?’ The thought of losing even the little amount of warmth it provided was unwelcome.

‘We need it to make a bed.’

‘A bed?’

‘Aye. We can’t sleep sitting up. The heather is springy enough that it will do us for one night. With a blanket beneath us and my kilt for a quilt, we’ll be warmer than toast. Drew and I did it all the time as lads.’

A bed. With him, and after her wanton behaviour? She blushed from head to toe. Now was really the time she should object. Somehow the words wouldn’t form. She stood up and handed him the blanket. He laid it across the shrubbery.

‘Lay yourself down,’ he said. His voice was grim and when she peeped at his face, she saw his mouth was set in a stern line.

What was the matter with him? She settled herself down on one side of the makeshift bed, looking up at him.

His hands went to his belt, then glanced at her. He picked up his shirt and drew it over his head. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘A bit late for modesty, isn’t it?’ she asked, stifling the urge to giggle.

He turned away, uttering a sound between a curse and a laugh of his own.

A huff of his breath blew out the candle and a moment or two later came the sound of him unfastening his belt. Her unruly mind travelled right back to the scene in the cave, him standing there dressing. Now he was undressing. She didn’t need a candle to see.

Cursing silently, she tried not to envisage what was taking place.

A moment later, she felt his warmth along her side and the weight of the thick wool of his kilt settle onto her body. It retained some of his warmth.

She’d slept on softer mattresses, been covered by finer linens, but given her state of exhaustion she could not say that any had felt better than this bed of heather.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You are welcome.’

She shivered.

Ian’s arm came around her shoulders and he pulled her towards him, tucking her against him so her head rested on his chest. Instantly, she felt warmed by his heat, by the feel of his hand on her waist. But more than that, she felt safe. Protected.

It felt wonderful.

She snuggled closer. ‘Body heat,’ she said, laughing softly, feeling wicked and a little giddy suddenly from lack of breath. ‘Goodnight,’ she breathed and tipped her face up to kiss his cheek. At least she was sure that was what she had intended, but she found his mouth instead.

He kissed her back, long and deep until her senses swam. He rolled her on her back, plundering her mouth with his tongue, gently cupping her breast, tenderly pressing her legs open with his firm thigh.

She moaned as her feminine centre responded to the pressure. Her hips arched upwards as she accepted Ian’s deepening kiss.

Suddenly, he jerked away as if stung and uttered a curse. He rolled away from her and she could hear the sound of his ragged breathing in the dark.

‘Ian,’ she said tentatively.

‘Go to sleep, little Sassenach. I’ll no be touching you and you’ll no be touching me. Are we agreed?’ It seemed that what to her had been a moment of bliss to him had been … well, something inconvenient.

He lay perfectly still beside her, slowing his breathing, pretending to be asleep, no doubt. Unbelievable. She was lying next to a nearly naked man, out in the wilds of Scotland, a man she found hugely attractive and who had just kissed her senseless, and he was acting as if he was her brother.

Perhaps the idea of making love to a cripple was more than he could stand. It was hard to blame him if that was the case. She had to admit the scars were pretty ugly and the limp was far from alluring. She was lucky Dunstan had been willing to overlook her flaws. Her stomach sank. Dunstan had done it for the money. He was also a nice man. Kind. Sweet.

A thought, crystal clear and dreadful, came out of nowhere. For the first time since they’d left the keep, her mind seemed sharp.

She shoved at his shoulder.

‘What now, lass?’ he mumbled as if he was really asleep.

‘My father will guess I have gone to Alice. I always do.’

‘So?’ Ah, now he sounded more awake.

‘What if he gets to her first?’

‘What if he does?’

‘Then the alibi won’t work.’

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