As always happened when she was with him, their ardor rapidly increased, and he clutched the neckline of her nightgown and ripped it down the center. The fabric fell away so that she was nude and stretched out beneath him.
He fumbled with his pants, and in a thrice, he was inside her and thrusting away. She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, and as he reached between their bodies to touch her, she came in an instant.
With a hearty shout, he joined her, and as quickly as that, they were finished. Together, they soared to the peak, but as they floated down, he was chuckling and smug, reminding her of what a conceited oaf he could be.
She punched him in the chest. "Get off me."
"No." He kissed her again, his cock leaping to life and not the least bit sated. "Say yes. Say you'll marry me."
"We've been through this before."
"Yes, we have, and you keep giving me the wrong answer. Tell me that you'll have me. Tell me that you love me."
"I don't love you," she declared. "I don't love anyone."
"Except yourself. But isn't it lonely on that tiny island where you hide yourself away?"
"I'm not lonely," she insisted.
"Which brings me to point out how you'll behave as my wife."
"I haven't agreed, and you're already imposing conditions? You're really pushing your luck."
"I'm positive I'll convince you, so here are the terms by which we'll carry on: You can't ever own a pistol, and you can't ever lie to me."
He could have made any stipulations in the world, and he'd chosen those?
She giggled. "You are mad."
"Mad for you."
"I understand why you'd be nervous about pistols, but why would you worry about prevarication? I've always been candid with you."
"Have you? You just told me that you're not lonely, and that you don't love me. That's two gigantic fibs in a row."
"Will you get it through your thick head? I don't love you!"
"You do, too. Stop denying it, and marry me. Let me be the strong one. Let me fight your battles for a change. You don't have to be so damned tough."
She gazed at him. He was so handsome and sexy, so stalwart and dependable, and he seemed to be genuinely fond of her. It was such a novel and frightening prospect, having a man who actually wanted her. If she consented, she'd have someone on her side, would have a best friend.
"Marry me," he urged.
She sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't kill me."
At her tepid reply, he laughed and laughed. "I can see that I'm wearing you down, so I can't quit now. By morning, I intend to have a full-on yes."
He rolled them so that she was on top and he was on the bottom, and as he clasped her breasts and started to
flex, she decided he wouldn't have to try nearly as hard or as long as he assumed.
Where is your brother?"
Caroline glared at John. As if he had any control over mulish, stubborn Ian Clayton!
"Gone to Scotland." "Scotland!" "I'm sorry, Caro."
When she'd run out of the church with Ian, she'd thought they were riding off into the proverbial sunset. Instead, he'd escorted her to John's town house and deposited her in the care of the butler. Then he'd cantered off without a good-bye.
Initially, she'd presumed that he'd returned to the church to help John with the aftermath of the wedding, but he hadn't come back. She'd tarried, expecting him, but as hours had become days, then weeks, she'd been flabbergasted and furious.
Eventually, she'd begged John to hunt for him, and he'd been searching high and low, while she'd been trapped in his home, hiding from scandal, and fretting over what to do next. Now, to learn that Ian would rather trot off to another country than be with her!
Would it have killed him to take her along? Would it have killed him to inquire as to what she wanted? Didn't the obtuse lout comprehend that she'd have followed him to the ends of the earth? Would she be forever plagued by Clayton men?
The bastard!
She was so angry that she could have bit nails in half!
"What is he doing in Scotland?" she asked. Her jaws were clenched so tightly she could barely force out the question.
"He's rented a house in Edinburgh, but I don't know how he's keeping himself busy."
"Why would he leave me here like this?"
John shrugged. "Ian has always been a mystery to me. I couldn't begin to guess."
"You must have some idea."
"He's contrary. You know that."
"But he came all the way from Scotland—just for me! Why would he simply turn around and go back?"
"Like I said, Caro, he can be perverse."
"Have you his address?"
"Yes."
She went to the window and stared out at the gray sky. It was late April, but it still seemed like winter. The temperature was frigid, the rain continuing to fall, the roads an impassible mire.
Her entire life, she'd lived under her father's thumb, and for the first time ever, she was free and alone. She could go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted, but there was only one thing that appealed.
She could have her pick of options, and what she picked was Ian Clayton. But the ass was in Scotland! In light of how much she loved him, was there any choice as to what she had to do?
"I need a favor."
"I'm completely at your disposal." "Actually, it's two favors."
"I'm happy to give you whatever is within my power to bestow," he gallantly said.
"I have a large dowry, and considering what I've been through, I think I deserve to have it. I recognize this is a huge request, but would you speak to the Earl about it? If he plans to renege, I'll hire a solicitor."
"Caro!" His brows shot up.
"What?"
"That's so ... so ..." "Unlike me?" "Yes."
"You never did know me very well, John."
"I realize that now."
"Will you meet with him?"
"I'll try my best, but you're aware that—even if I can persuade him to release it—it has to be transferred to your husband, not to you, so you have to marry in order to receive it."
"Oh, I fully intend to wed," she asserted, "which leads me to the other favor."
"What is it?"
"May I borrow a carriage?"
"Certainly. Where is it you need to go?"
"I've suddenly decided I must make a fast trip to Scotland, and when I arrive, your brother had better watch out!"
Chapter
Twenty-Four
T
here's a woman in your bed, sir." "A woman?" Ian glared at his valet. The man had worked for him exactly two days, and Edinburgh—for all its metropolitan airs—was a very provincial place. He had to be shocked. Would he resign in a huff? "Is she pretty?" Ian asked. "She's English."
The answer provided no valuable information. As he tried to rebuild his life of vice and gambling, he'd met several intriguing females who hailed from London, but he hadn't acted on any of their blatant invitations.
Would one of them have dared breach the sanctity of his new home? Did he want one of them to?
Since he'd left Caro, his lust had fled, and he was so lacking in arousal that he wondered if he shouldn't just proceed to Arabia and become a eunuch. Obviously, he'd outgrown the need for his manly appendage, so why keep it attached?
"I don't suppose she gave you her name?"
"No, but she claimed to have traveled a great distance specifically to find you. She said she was hungry and tired and cold, and she demanded that I see to her. I advised her that she couldn't stay, but she wouldn't listen. She was extremely bossy."
Rebecca Blake? Rebecca had come from London?
It couldn't be anyone else. What was he to do with her? How would he get her out of his bedchamber? There wasn't a crowbar big enough to pry her out of it.
"Did you provide for her as she requested?"
"I couldn't very well refuse a lady."
"No, you couldn't."
"After she ate and washed, she nodded right off." Ian sighed. "That will be all. You may call it a night."
"Are you sure?" "Yes, thank you."
The man hesitated. "About the morning ..." "What about it?"
"I didn't realize you were a ... a ..."
"A what? A blatant fornicator?"
The poor fellow blushed bright red. "Well, yes, and I'm not positive of the protocol. Should I assist the two of you upon your waking? Or should I keep out till summoned? I should mention that I'm a bachelor. I don't imagine I ought to... to..."
He looked as if he might ignite with embarrassment, and Ian took pity on him, figuring he'd probably race to his room and pack his bags as soon as their conversation was finished.
"Go to bed. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"Very good, sir."
His relief palpable, he scurried away, and Ian stood in the foyer, watching him climb the stairs. After he'd disappeared, Ian trudged after him.
He was in no mood to tangle with Rebecca, and if he'd had another bed, he'd have picked her up and dumped her in it, but he hadn't had occasion to purchase much furniture. The sole bed was his own, and he wasn't about to sleep on the floor merely because she was deranged.
What was she thinking? Though the calendar indicated it was spring, the weather hadn't improved. The roads were treacherous, yet she'd ventured off on a fool's mission.
How many times should he have to tell her to go away? She'd be lucky if he didn't take a stick to her, and he wouldn't use it to paddle her bottom, either. In the hope of pounding some sense into her, he'd knock it over her hard head!
He marched into his bedchamber, tossed his coat over a chair, and rolled back his sleeves—as if preparing for a fight. A candle burned on the dresser, and as he approached her, his eyes plainly observed what his mind couldn't comprehend.
"Caro?" he murmured.
Caroline Foster was in Scotland? Why? It was painfully clear that madness afflicted her family. Had she inherited some of the dreadful traits?
He eased away, the sight of her disturbing in a fashion he didn't understand.
With her blond hair spread across the pillows, her creamy skin so pale against the dark quilts, she was so beautiful, like an enchanted fairy princess or an angel. He was so happy to see her, so joyous that she'd arrived. His absent lust returned with a vengeance. He was frantic to rip off his clothes, to crawl under the blankets and make love to her all night long, which had him wondering if he was the crazy one rather than she.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at the ceiling, scowling as she tried to recollect her location. When recognition dawned, she grinned a smile that alarmed him. He was certain Eve had flashed the very same smile at that imbecile, Adam, who'd been hooked like a fish on a line.
As it was, he was already ensnared, and he could barely keep from stumbling toward her as if she was reeling him in.
She looked rumpled and adorable, and his male parts were screaming at him to run like hell.
He was in trouble!
She rolled to the side, the covers falling away, to reveal a perfect breast. He honed in on it, immediately inundated with delectable memories he didn't want to have. He couldn't quit gaping.
"Hello, Ian," she said, her voice sultry with sleep. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Caro, you're in Scotland," he stupidly retorted.
"Yes, I am."
"Why?"
"I'm delivering some important messages." "You couldn't write me a letter?" "No. They're urgent." "In what manner?"
"Your brother, Jack, needs you to come home for his wedding."
"He's getting married?"
'To your Mrs. Blake—which is definitely peculiar, and I don't wish to be apprised of the circumstances of how their amour flourished."
"Is that it?"
"No, as a matter of fact, it's not. John's wife is about to have her baby—she's convinced it's a boy, by the way—so you're about to be an uncle. John wants you home, too, to help him celebrate."
Ian was still raw over the recent twists in his relationships with his brothers, and he couldn't talk about them coherently. He switched to the only subject that signified.
"You're in my bed again."
"I am."
"Why does this keep happening?" "Don't you know?" "I haven't a clue."
"Come here." She rose up on her elbow and patted the mattress, coaxing him closer. "Why?"
"I have a secret to tell you."
"I don't care to hear it."
"I'm going to tell it to you anyway."
She reached for the covers as if she would climb out, stroll over, and ravage him. The prospect was both electrifying and terrifying, and he was frozen in place, unable to flee as he ought. The blankets were down around her lap. As if teasing him, she stretched her arms over her head, which emphasized her fabulous bosom, her slender waist.