Highland Heat (8 page)

Duncan might have been a little too enthusiastic when Lady Campbell had asked if he'd like to accompany her on her visit to the Earl of Norsey's house. But he didn't care. He missed Grace, damn it. He couldn't stop thinking about her soft, ivory skin, her sweet voice, those intelligent blue eyes. Her lips on his, so innocent and passionate at the same time.

Even if he only greeted her and saw her at a distance. It wouldn't be enough, but it might take the sharp edge off his craving for her. Maybe.

The drive to Mayfair was quick, as Lady Campbell kept him engaged in lively conversation the entire way. She was a pleasant lady, pretty and energetic. It was easy to see why Major Campbell had been so smitten with her.

When they arrived at the Earl of Norsey's house, Duncan grew tense. His heart thumped in his chest in a mixture of nerves and excitement. He truly was not looking forward to meeting the earl. He'd have to look the man in the face and try not to think about how he'd ravished his daughter's mouth. How, just two days ago, he'd touched her intimately.

Lady Campbell read his mood perfectly, and she patted his knee. “Don't worry. I'm going to tell Papa that Rob couldn't come so he sent you in his stead. Everything will be fine.”

He took a deep breath and nodded.

The house was more extravagant even than the townhouse he was currently inhabiting. It was a grand estate fit for an earl—or perhaps the Regent himself—set back from the street with a curving gravel driveway.

He stood off to the side, straight and at attention as the door opened to reveal a man—a butler?—who smiled at Lady Campbell, his eyes lighting upon seeing her.

“Hugh, it is so good to see you!” Lady Campbell exclaimed.

The man inclined his head, his brown eyes twinkling. “And you, milady. I'm glad your travels were safe.”

“They were,” she said, “for me, at least.”

“I trust Sir Robert is well.”

“Yes, he's almost completely recovered from his head wound. Thank you for asking.”

Hugh's gaze moved to Duncan.

“This is Mr. Duncan Mackenzie, lately of the 92nd Regiment of Gordon Highlanders.”

“Welcome, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“Thank you,” Duncan said stiffly, bowing his head.

“Lady Grace and Lord Norsey await you in the drawing room.” The butler led them inside, then opened the door to a lavish room that seemed draped ceiling to floor in burgundy silk. Duncan's pulse surged until he could feel it in his throat.

Lady Campbell stepped inside while Duncan hesitated at the door. He saw Grace immediately. Light glanced off the tendrils of blond hair escaping from the knot at her nape as she rose and hurried to her sister, enveloping Claire in a warm embrace.

And then she saw him. Their eyes caught, and Duncan's mouth went dry.

Grace's hands dropped from her sister as she stared at him over the smaller woman's shoulder, her mouth falling open.

“Duncan?” she whispered.

Grace.

A part of him registered Lady Campbell greeting and speaking to the earl, but he couldn't peel his gaze away from Grace. The slashes of pink across her cheeks. The lush lips his mouth watered for. The bonny eyes, bright with surprise and pleasure.

But then Duncan felt another set of blue eyes burning into him, and he finally was able to look away from Grace to the earl. The man was a stern, older, and far more masculine rendition of his daughters. His lips and eyes were both thin with suspicion, his brow furrowed as he stared at Duncan.

“Papa, may I present Duncan Mackenzie,” Lady Campbell said. “He was a soldier in Rob's regiment. Mr. Mackenzie, this is my father, the Earl of Norsey.”

“Milord.” Duncan bowed.

The earl gave a curt nod, and Duncan knew right then and there that the man disliked him.

“I've called for tea,” Grace murmured, her eyes darting between Duncan and the earl. “Shall we sit down?”

Lady Campbell agreed, and they all sat, the sisters on the silk-upholstered sofa and the earl on a leather armchair. Duncan took the armchair across from the earl.

The tea arrived, and they all sat awkwardly as Grace poured. The earl's gaze passed shrewdly from Duncan to the two ladies, and discomfort crawled across Duncan's skin as he took the delicate teacup and saucer from Grace. As the porcelain rattled, Duncan wondered if this was what the future would hold. Awkward cups of tea in fancy drawing rooms while being scrutinized by thin-lipped, pompous aristocrats. He'd almost prefer to be battling the French in some remote village on the Continent.

Almost.

What would his sisters say if they saw him now? They'd laugh themselves silly.

The thought brought a small smile to Duncan's lips, which only drew the earl's sharpening gaze.

“So.” The earl broke the silence and spoke directly to Duncan. “I noticed my daughter said you
were
a soldier in my son-in-law's regiment. Were you discharged from the army, then?” His gaze focused on the sling. “Was it due to your injury? Is it that serious?”

“Aye, I was discharged,” Duncan said. “But it had naught to do with my arm.”

“They have all been discharged,” Lady Campbell said. “All seven of them were released from their commitments to the army yesterday.”

“Oh?”

Duncan and Lady Campbell exchanged a glance. Lady Campbell drew in a deep breath. “My husband and his men now work as part of a group at the Home Office in the service of the office's interests.”

“I see,” the earl said slowly, his expression shrewd. He knew more than he was letting on, Duncan realized.

Duncan glanced at Grace and found her looking at him, the surprise flaring in her eyes once again. He wondered what she was thinking, how much she understood.

The group lapsed into another long silence, punctuated now and then by pleasantries and brief comments on the weather. No topic seemed to hold for long, and the air in the room grew ever tenser. Duncan felt the strange desire to pull on his neck cloth so he'd be able to drag in more air.

Finally, the earl rose. “I must go. It is good to see you well, daughter.”

“And you, Papa,” Lady Campbell murmured.

“Give my regards to your husband.” The earl didn't spare a glance at Duncan before leaving the room.

When the door closed behind him, it seemed he'd sucked all the stale air out with him, and Duncan took his first deep breath in what felt like hours.

Lady Campbell gave him an apologetic smile. “I'm so sorry about our father. He's not the friendliest man in the best of circumstances. Even men who've been members of the same club with him for a score of years tend to label him cold and uncompromising.”

“He's not, though,” Grace added. “He's…Well, he can be a bit difficult, I admit. But that hard exterior is simply a shell. Inside he's soft as cake, truly. Claire and I have spent our lives in his house, and we just now feel we might finally understand him.”

“It only took twenty-two years,” Lady Campbell said with a small laugh. “Twenty-three, in Grace's case.”

Duncan gazed into his teacup, then looked up at Grace. He'd been wrong coming to see her. It hadn't taken the edge off his need. Instead, it had drilled in the impossibility of anything developing between them. “Maybe this wasna a good idea,” he said quietly. “I shouldna come.”

Grace's eyes widened. “Of course you should have! Do you realize how much I've—”

She broke off midsentence. Lady Campbell rose to her feet, and Duncan followed suit.

“Will you be all right alone for a while?” the lady asked Duncan, smiling apologetically. “I've so much I want to take back to the house. I should get started packing.” She gestured at her sister. “I'm sure Grace wouldn't mind keeping you company.”

Duncan didn't miss the look the sisters exchanged before Lady Campbell exited the room. After the door closed behind her, he heard the sound of a key being inserted, then a lock turning.

He glanced at Grace with raised brows. “Is she lockin' us in?” he asked in utter bewilderment.

A flush colored Grace's cheeks, and she looked down at her hands. “It seems so.” Slowly, her head rose until she was smiling up at him.

He stared at her. She was
thankful
for her sister's sudden departure. Thankful for being locked in this room with him. She
wanted
to be alone with him.

And they were. Finally alone.

It was all Grace could do not to lunge at him. So much for her lofty plans of letting all thoughts of Duncan Mackenzie fall to the wayside as soon as she stepped onto English soil. It had been hopeless from the beginning.

She clutched her hands in her lap and planted her slippered feet on the floor and smiled at him instead.

He lowered himself back into his chair and gazed at her for a long moment. “I've missed ye so much, Grace,” he said in a low voice.

Her heart melted. “I've missed you too.”

They were drawn to each other. They genuinely liked each other. And they were attracted physically to each other. Even now, Grace's heart raced, and heat flushed through her body. He appeared equally affected, his hands clutching the armrests and his breaths making his broad chest rise and fall heavily.

He glanced at the door. “Will they return soon?”

She shook her head no. Her father would be leaving for his club shortly, if he hadn't already gone. And Claire would give them some time.

Duncan and Grace rose and stepped toward each other at the same time. And when they came together she threw her arms around him. Their lips clashed in an explosion of heat, and she yanked him closer just as he wrapped his good arm around her and drew her flush against his body.

She moaned into his mouth. God, her body needed this. Needed his strength and heat and warmth. She'd known him for only a week, but some part of her had already grown addicted to him.

He drew back and cupped her cheek in his big, calloused palm, making her look up at him. He was breathing heavily, and the expression on his face was one of such awe, it made her chest constrict.

“Why?” he whispered.

She blinked at him, confused.

“You're a fine lady. Beautiful, intelligent, good. Any man would be yours with a wee crook of your finger in his direction. Why me?”

She huffed out a laugh. “I could say the same. Why me? You're a strong warrior, a powerful, capable, virile man. You could have any woman you wanted.”

He touched his forehead to hers. “I don't want any woman. I want you.”

“And I want you.”

With that declaration, a rush of misery so powerful rocked through her that she almost sank to her knees—would have, if Duncan hadn't been holding her up.

What were they going to do?

Nothing, that's what. There was nothing that could be done.

“Don't think about it,” he warned softly.

“I miss you already, and you're not even gone.” She wanted to wail in frustration.

“Dinna do that.” A touch of sternness entered his voice. “I'm here now. That's what matters.”

“But you won't be soon.” Her eyes stung at the thought. Her arrangements and letters and invitations and dinner plans—all of it seemed so insignificant when her body was pressed up against this man.

“Are you going to be staying in London?” she asked hopefully. Maybe they could see each other again…

“Aye,” he said. “For the time being, at least. We've much to learn.”

She looked into his eyes, searching. “What kind of work will you be doing for the Home Office?”

He hesitated, but only for the briefest of moments. “We will be working in the service of the Crown. To protect it from those who might attempt to undermine it.”

“Like traitors and rebels? Anti-monarchists?”

“Aye. All of those.”

She shuddered. “That sounds like dangerous work.”

“It will be,” he admitted, “but no more dangerous than being in the army.”

“Still…I will worry for you. For your safety.”

He smiled and brushed a gentle kiss over her lips. “The thought of you thinking of me when I'm on a mission will steady me. Make me stronger.”

“It will?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze moved to his injury. “Tell me you've been caring for it.”

He chuckled. “Now that you're not there to coddle me, Lady Campbell is taking up the task.”

“Good,” she proclaimed. “You'll be in good hands with Claire. I trust her skills. You must do everything she says.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, his eyes dancing with humor.

He led her back to the sofa where she'd been sitting with Claire. He sat and arranged her on his lap, their arms wrapped around each other, though she was careful not to upset his healing arm, which was still held tightly against his body in its sling. She laid her cheek against his chest.

“Will you tell me?”

“Tell you?” he asked.

“Yes. I want to hear everything that has happened since we parted.”

And to her great pleasure, he obliged her. He told her of how amazed he was that he'd been sleeping not in the stables or the servants' quarters but in a true bedroom of the elegant Westminster townhouse. He told her of Claire's easiness with the men, how they'd already grown to admire her pluck, how she put a feminine perspective on things, and how she had a propensity to fuss maternally over them, even though she was younger than them all.

He told her how the men had been taken not to the War Office, but to the Home Office, where they'd spoken to a shadowy man who gave them the details of what their new positions would be, should they choose to accept the offer.

He told her about their debate last evening, about Captain Stirling's hesitance to rush into it and about the major's desire to proceed, even though they wouldn't be given the intricate details of their orders until they accepted.

He told her of the ill effects the men were suffering. The jarring nature of being back on English soil after so many months of bloody violence. Captain Stirling seemed particularly affected—he'd not been himself since the battle of Waterloo. He was distant and quiet, and Duncan worried about him.

“But we're no longer captain and sergeant,” he told Grace. “We'll just be Stirling and Mackenzie. That'll take some getting used to.”

“I can only imagine,” Grace said. “After so long calling him Captain and deferring to him—it must be strange for all of you.”

Duncan shook his head. “Aye, 'tis strange. But also freeing, in a way.”

She smiled. “I'm glad.”

“Though I wager it'll be nigh impossible for anyone to call Major Campbell by name. I expect he'll always be the major to us, even as he insists we call him Campbell.”

“My brother-in-law is an imposing man. I doubt I could call him anything but Major, either.”

“Do ye never call him Sir Robert?”

She shook her head. “No. Those in our social circle call him Sir Robert, but Claire and I knew him before he was a Sir, and the honorific sounds so strange on my tongue.”

Duncan squeezed her tighter against him, and her breath quickened. “Now tell me what you've been doing since we parted.”

So she did, in almost as much detail as he'd given her. But though she'd been busy, her activities hadn't been nearly as new or exciting as Duncan's, so her rendition of the past two days' events went much faster than his had.

After she told him everything, she shook her head in bemusement. “How can you seem so interested? The vast majority of men would think my life utterly dull.”

“ 'Tis
your
life, Grace,” he told her. “And everythin' about you fascinates me.”

“Really?” she asked, that little rush of disbelief streaking through her.

“Really.”

She wrapped her fingers around his neck and drew his lips down to hers.

Desperate, hot kisses. Duncan could kiss this woman for the rest of his life. He could die kissing her.

But his body demanded more, his need growing with every press of her skin against his.

He pushed those thoughts aside, determined to focus on the here and now, on her eager sensuality, erotic in and of itself. She was inexperienced but open. She moaned softly when his good hand closed around her ankle, then wiggled as he trailed his palm up her silk stocking, bunching up her skirt as he went.

She arched, pressing her body more firmly against him, kissing him frantically, her lips moving to press kisses over his jaw as he gently explored her thigh with his fingertips, knowing how rough the calluses must feel against her delicate skin.

“Oh…Duncan.” She pulled back, raising wide blue eyes to him.

He froze. “Do ye want me to stop?”

She swallowed hard, then shook her head. “No. I feel…I feel…”

“What do you feel, lass?” he asked softly, trying not to move, not to rub his steel-hard cock against the press of her backside.

“I feel like I want you to cover every inch of me. Like my whole body is reaching for you. I want you to touch me, soothe me, everywhere. I've never…” She breathed out, as if in awe, then blinked at him. “I've never felt anything like it.”

“It's arousal,” Duncan murmured, nuzzling his lips into her hair. “Have ye never felt it before?”

“Not like this.”

He chuckled. “Me either,” he said truthfully. It was good he'd been trained as a soldier, to deny his desires over and over again—if he hadn't, he wasn't sure he could resist taking her to the floor, sinking deep into her, and having her sweetness wrapped tight around his aching cock.

“Touch me,” she begged.

“Only if you kiss me.”

She stared at him through half-lidded eyes then tilted her head up and offered her lips. He bent his head down and took them greedily. God, he loved the taste of her.

He moved his palm higher up her thigh until his fingertips touched the edge of her drawers, then higher, up the outside of her thigh, then, ever so slowly, sliding toward her center.

Her arms squeezed him tight. She knew where he was headed. They both did, and he imagined their hearts beating the same frantic rhythm. Anticipation, heat, and need.

He cupped the mound between her legs, and she went stiff.

“Shh,” he murmured. “Let me soothe you.”

He found the slit in her drawers and slid his fingers between the lips of her sex. She was burning hot, and slick with arousal. He stroked her, gentle but firm, and she jerked back when his fingers moved over the bud just above her opening.

“Oh God,” she choked out.

He chuckled. “Ye like that?”

“I…”

He stroked her again, and she whimpered. She did like it. He moved his fingers over it again and again, studying her, learning what made her gasp and moan, what seemed to bring the most pleasure, what made her body wind up and go tense with oncoming orgasm.

He pressed a single finger into her body. She cried out and arched against him. God almighty, he'd never been this intimate with a virgin before. She was so tight, and he couldn't help but fantasize what she'd feel like wrapped around him like a vise. It would be so good. He grew impossibly harder, his cock pulsing under her bottom.

He hadn't stopped kissing her. She was still on his lap, his arm wrapped tightly around her and between her legs, her skirt hitched up. He drew out then thrust that finger back inside her, simulating the motions of true intercourse. But when he pressed his thumb over her nub and started rubbing small circles over it while moving his finger inside her, he felt her coiling in the circle of his arm.

“Come for me,” he murmured against the skin of her cheek. “That's right, lass. Come for me.”

A few moments later, she did, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open in a silent scream as she shuddered on his lap before her whole body undulated with the force of her orgasm. She grew impossibly tight, squeezing his finger in heavy pulses that resonated through her entire body.

Finally, she relaxed, warm fluid rushing over his finger, and he gently pulled his hand from her body and straightened her skirt, looking down at her.

Gratitude surged through him. She'd completely let herself go. Opened herself up to his touch and let him manipulate her body into orgasm. It was an enormous privilege, one he could hardly contemplate.

She'd held nothing back, and now she was pink and flushed, and her blue eyes stared at him with a sort of drowsy adoration.

“What,” she asked, “was
that
?”

He raised his brows. “Surely ye've done that to yourself before?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. Though I certainly would have if I'd known what it was like.”

He laughed. “I'll take that to mean ye approved of it, then.”

“I did,” she whispered. She'd been sagging limply in his lap, and now she collected herself, shifting into a more comfortable position, with her arms draped over his shoulders.

“I never knew anything like that was possible,” she said, looking into his eyes, her own gaze full of curiosity.

“No one ever told you?”

“Claire has told me a lot. Like how wonderful certain things could be, even though we as women are told to endure the unpleasantness of it. Claire told me it is only unpleasant the first time. But that wasn't unpleasant…” Her voice trailed off.

“It was only a finger, lass,” he said gravely. “If it were…a certain other part o' me, it'd hurt, I assure you.”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “She said afterward, it could be wonderful. But I didn't take it to mean
that
.”

“What did you take it to mean?”

She smiled ruefully. “I thought it would be the pleasure in seeing your husband so physically gratified. I didn't know there would be such gratification on the woman's part as well.”

“There isn't always,” he said. “Not all women are as responsive as you. And not all men enjoy bringing pleasure to their woman.”

“But you do?”

He smiled. “I dinna think I've ever experienced anything so bonny as seein' you fall apart in my arms.”

She smiled shyly. “You liked it too?”

“I loved it.”

She wiggled on his lap, her bottom causing the fabric of his kilt to rub over the painful length of his erection. “But what about you?”