Sleepless in Scotland (13 page)

His gaze flickered, his brows contracting, but only for a split second. Almost immediately, his usual calm, inscrutable expression was back in place, but it was too late—Triona had seen that blazing look, though she was at a loss to know how to interpret it.
What did that expression mean? Did I say something wrong? Blast it, I have the
right
to ask questions!

Before she could put her thoughts into words, he spoke. “Gilmerton’s large and expansive. Most of it was built in the thirteenth century, which explains why every year we must address various roof issues.”

“It’s a ruin?”

His laughter, low and deep, washed over her. “No, although there are portions of it that are sounder than others.”

“I look forward to seeing it. It sounds immense for just the two of us, though.” She waited expectantly.

His brows lifted, his expression suddenly cool. “Most of the time.”

She shivered at his chilly expression.

“You’re cold. Where’s that extra blanket?” He took her bare hands in his gloved ones and pulled her to his side. Then he opened the seat box she’d been sitting on and removed a thick wool blanket and tucked it about her. His hands brushed her neck, warm and gentle.

Triona had to fight the inexplicable desire to lean into him. Her new husband was a blend of cold and hot, coolly rebuffing her questions one moment and then thoughtfully tucking her in with a warm blanket the next. She wanted to believe the gentler aspects of his character were a truer representation, but couldn’t. The real man had to be a combination of the two. How was she to ever understand such a conundrum?

She forced a smile. “I’m not used to such cold. Though the vicarage is north of London, it always seems much warmer there.”

“If you think it’s cold now, wait until we get farther north.”

“How long until we arrive?”

“Four days, if we make good time. Much depends on the weather. Scotland doesn’t have the roads England does, and a good rain or snow can make the going slow.” He hesitated, then added, “If you don’t mind, I thought we might press on this evening. It’s a full moon and we should be able to do so safely. When you wish to sleep, there are pillows in the box and the seats are quite well padded.”

“Of course. However you wish.”

“Excellent.” His eyes glinted. “I am anxious to get home. I believe you will like Gilmerton.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and, out of the blue, she was hit with the memory of his kiss. Heat flickered through her like an actual flame, dancing along her skin, making her breasts tingle with warmth as if he’d touched her.

All of this from a mere memory?
Her face felt so hot that it had to be afire, and for a horrid instant, she was sure he must know what she was thinking. A quick glance proved her right: his eyes glowed as if he, too, was remembering things he shouldn’t.

He pulled his gloves from his hands and tucked them into his coat pockets. “If you don’t feel warmer soon, we can stop at an inn for a hot brick for the foot warmer.” He nodded down at the metal pan that rested in the floor.

“No, thank you. We’ll save it for later, when it’s
really
cold.” She snuggled deeper into the blanket.

Hugh almost laughed at the regretful look she sent toward the foot warmer. He was learning quite a few things about his new wife. For one, she was a good sport, uncomplaining when many women would be hysterical. Her instant agreement to push through the night had surprised him. It had also made him take a new measure of her. He had little doubt that willful, center-of-attention Caitlyn Hurst would have burst into tears at the thought.

He appreciated Caitriona’s good spirits, which made him certain that this little escapade would have a peaceful ending. She would enjoy his hospitality at Gilmerton, then calmly return to her family’s home and resume her life there.

Looking at her now, huddled beneath the blanket beside him, her pert nose pink with cold, her spectacles glinting in the afternoon light, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. It was a pity life held nothing more for her than being a symbolic wife. She deserved more…only not from him.

She sneezed, her spectacles bouncing on her nose.

Hugh frowned. “You’re still cold.”

“No, no. I’m fine, really.” She promptly sneezed again.

“Like hell.” He slipped an arm about her, pulled her close, then tucked the blanket over them both.

“Hugh, I don’t need coddling! If I’m cold, I’ll tell you.”

He settled back in the corner, keeping her firmly at his side. She might not need coddling, but he’d be damned if he’d allow her to grow ill while in his care.

She sat stiffly against him, her head turned away. Hugh had to smile at her willfulness, though it did afford him a good look at her.

There was something singularly sweet about her profile. He wasn’t certain if it was the firm line of her jaw, though still delicate and feminine, or the curve of her bottom lip, but whatever it was, he found it intriguing. There was so much character in her face—intelligence, wit, and a calm assurance that fascinated him. He’d only known her for a few days, but he’d already witnessed her reactions under extreme duress—first in the carriage when he’d thought she was her sister, then afterward in the inn when she’d defied her aunt and uncle in order to speak out, and the next day when Hugh had gone to tell her of their options…or lack thereof. Each and every time, even in the face of insurmountable odds, she’d responded with spirit and intelligence and an almost stately calmness. She was no shrinking violet, nor a society chit bent only on her own amusement. Here was a woman of grace
and
wit, and more than a little beauty.

Hugh tightened his arm about her, turning so that his chin rested on her silken hair. After a tense moment, she relaxed enough to sink against him. For a while they sat thus, tucked together beneath the thick blanket, sharing their bodies’ warmth, the rumbling carriage lurching from side to side.

Taking in her sweet fragrance, he closed his eyes, savoring the scent that made him think of the freshest day of spring. A low simmer of lust began to slide through his veins.

His hand slid over her shoulder and he bent to inhale her fragrance more deeply, her hair tickling his nose. She sighed and snuggled against him, turning her face into his shoulder and making his body ache with desire. For a long moment they sat savoring each other, and then, somehow, they were no longer sitting in one another’s arms, but kissing passionately, even frantically.

Blood pounded through Hugh’s veins as he devoured her, enjoying the feel of her soft body pressed against his. The simmer of passion fanned brighter and he lifted her to his lap.

Her arms linked around his neck as she pulled him closer, exciting him even more. She was an enigma to him, representing both passion and pragmatism, honor and lust, enslavement and excitement. He hardly knew what to think, and when holding her, he simply couldn’t think at all.

Her arms tightened about him and he ran his hands over her back, exploring her as she moaned against his mouth. She was generously made, soft and pliant, making a man dream of sinking into her. The thought of teaching her the joys of the bedroom sent a quiver of excitement through him. He’d always had affairs with experienced women who enjoyed sex without any emotional entanglement. So this armful of delightfully passionate innocence was heady indeed.

He slipped a hand over her rounded hip and up to cup her breast. She gasped and broke their kiss, her eyes flying open. Her spectacles had fallen to the wayside, for nothing framed the rich hazel color but the thick, vibrant sweep of her sable lashes.

Hugh paused, his entire body racked with awareness. Slowly, without breaking her gaze, he gently rubbed her breast through her gown, his thumb finding her nipple with unerring accuracy. Her eyes widened yet more, and her breath sucked between her swollen lips.

“Do you like this?” He flicked the end of her puckered nipple with his thumb.

She arched against his hand, her eyes half-closing, her mouth opening in a gasp. She dropped a hand from his neck to grasp his wrist—and to his surprise, pressed it more firmly on her breast.

Damn, she is a hot piece!
He devoured the sight of her passion-flushed face, her cheeks pink, her honey-colored hair falling loose from the pins. She appeared as wanton as a hothouse bird, though he knew she was anything but. The contrast was achingly erotic and he felt it in every part of his body.

He nipped at her lips, moving to her jaw, then her ear. She shuddered against him, squirming in his lap as she rubbed his hand over her breast. Giving her time to stop him if she wished, he slowly eased back the neckline of her gown, then undid the tie that held her chemise closed.

She stilled against him, her breath rapid. He continued to nip gently at her ear as he slipped his hand beneath her chemise to cup her bare breast. Full and warm, it filled his hand completely. He gently kneaded it, then flicked her taut nipple.

With a moan she arched against him, writhing even more, her bottom rubbing against his hard cock. He withdrew his hand and reached down for her ankle. Reclaiming her mouth, he kissed her thoroughly, his tongue slipping between her lips as his hand slipped up her stockinged leg to her knee, then higher still. He quickly moved aside the cumbersome skirts and chemise, and slid his hand up her bare leg. He gently stroked her thigh higher. Then higher still. His fingers brushed over her wetness—

She bolted upright, clenching her knees together, her hair wild about her shoulders, her lips swollen. “No!” she gasped, a frightened look in her eyes.

Hugh took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and fought off the passion that flooded his veins.
Bloody hell, this is no way to treat a virginal wife!
He was no crass lout who took his own pleasure without returning the same to the fairer sex. Attempting to initiate an innocent into the pleasures of coupling while careening down an uneven road in a trundling carriage was foolish.

She deserved better and, if it killed him, he’d see that she received the gentlest treatment. She might have been forced to marry him, but he meant for them both to enjoy their physical pleasures, and the seat of a carriage was not the right place.

For this seduction, he wanted only the best: the luxury of a large feather mattress covered with fine linen sheets, in a room warmed by a crackling fire that gleamed off his large brass bathtub. There, he’d show her the pleasures of intimacy. Not here; not this way. Not for her very first encounter. And not for his wife.

Why that mattered, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t ignore it. He gently disentangled his hand from her skirts and pulled them down about her ankles. Then he tugged her gown back into place on her shoulder. She assisted him with trembling hands, her face red enough to ignite a fire.

“Caitriona, we will do this, but not here.”

She couldn’t seem to look at him. Instead, she said in a husky voice that held a faint quaver, “I should find my hairpins.”

He helped her. At some point the blanket had fallen off, though neither had noticed it. Hugh retrieved it and discovered her spectacles tangled in its folds. He handed them to her and she slipped them onto her nose, then repinned her long hair, the silken strands capturing his gaze.

“Here.” He tucked her under the blanket and reached up to knock on the ceiling of the coach. It began to slow.

Triona huddled beneath her blanket, confused and embarrassed, yet still aching for his touch. “What…what are you doing?”

“I am going to ride my horse for a while. Shadow’s tied to the back of the coach and could use the exercise.” He smiled at her, a tight, almost pained smile. “I am not a man to do things halfway, and taking your innocence in a coach on the open road—no. It is best for us to wait, but I have to admit that I am very…” He rubbed a hand over his face, and she noted with amazement that it shook just as her own did. “The truth is that I need some cold, brisk air and some exercise, and—” He caught her gaze and gave a rueful grin. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“You are tired of being in the carriage with me?”

“No, not at all! Caitriona, I’m very…” He caught her confused expression and winced. “Oh, blast it—here.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lap. His manhood pushed against his breeches, long and hard.

She snatched her hand back, her face so hot it burned. “I see,” she managed.

He laughed softly. “Don’t look embarrassed; it’s a compliment of the highest sort.”

She tucked her hand back under the blanket. “Then—” She bit her lip.

The carriage rocked as the footmen climbed down. MacLean leaned forward to say quietly, “I didn’t stop because you failed to arouse me; it is quite the opposite. I stopped because I don’t wish your first time to be on a hard bench in a carriage.”

Oh. Well. Since he was being kind, she supposed she should appreciate his thoughtfulness. Still…she’d enjoyed his touch so very much. “Does it matter? The seats aren’t
that
hard and—”

He laughed softly, then gave her a quick kiss. “Trust me on this: you deserve better.”

There was a sharp knock at the door. It opened and the coachman leaned in. “Aye, m’lord? Ye knocked?”

“Yes, Ferguson. Have my horse saddled. I wish to ride for a while.”

“Very good, m’lord.” The man withdrew and could be heard shouting orders to the others.

With a wink, MacLean climbed down, the cool air swirling into the carriage.

Triona cleared her throat. “Will you ride the rest of the way to Scotland?”

“Oh, no.” His eyes crinkled with humor. “I just plan on riding until I am too tired to do more than stare at you longingly. An hour or two should do it.”

At least she wouldn’t be alone for long. She smiled. “Very well, then. I hope you enjoy your ride.”

“I’m sure it will be wretched and cold, which is exactly what I need. Meanwhile, get some rest. We’re days yet to go before we reach Scotland. Once we’re there…” He gave her a heated look, then closed the door.