Taken by the Laird (23 page)

He left his greatcoat on a hook, then went in search of Brianna. She was in the dining chamber, looking as demure as a proper wife, dressed in her green gown, her hair gathered into an uncharacteristically neat chignon at her nape, bending to light the candles on the long table.

Hugh found that he wanted his impetuous lass in trews back, with her wild hair and wicked smiles, the one who’d surrendered to him in a fiery yielding of anger, need, and passion.

Without making a sound, he climbed the stairs and went to his bedchamber. He pulled off his shirt, then his boots, then went to the washbasin and cleansed away the miles from his face and body. As he took a clean shirt from his wardrobe, he noticed the portfolio that contained his marriage lines. So much for hiding it away.

Taking the leather folder from the drawer, Hugh
took it to the desk and opened it, looking over the marriage lines MacGowan had written, as well as the vows Hugh had said. But there was something missing. He sat down and took out a fresh sheet of vellum from the desk drawer, then dipped his pen into the ink.

“The Marriage Vows of Brianna Munro Christie,” he wrote.

He sat quietly for a moment with his eyes closed, remembering the words Brianna had recited before witnesses, with obvious trepidation, in a slightly breathless voice.

He looked down at the vellum and started another line. “
Before God and these witnesses I vow to take you as my husband…”

It surprised him that he was able to remember her words so clearly, those vows that were so much more elaborate than his own.

He went on writing, finishing the words that had bound her to him. “…
with all your faults and all your strengths, as I offer myself to you as wife, with my own imperfections as well as my skills from this day forward.”

He laid the pen aside and sat still, waiting for the ink to dry. There was nothing particularly romantic about writing the document. It was just something he should have done—actually Brianna should have done it—right after they’d exchanged vows. For the record.

Brianna felt foolish waiting for Hugh in the big, empty dining room, so she retreated to the smaller,
cozier library. She heard him come downstairs, and when he entered the room, he was wearing clean clothes and had combed his thick, black hair. He looked almost civilized.

Brianna suppressed her shiver of awareness that he was not. That mouth and those hands could elicit the most primal responses in her, and she wondered if she would always crave his touch. When she was a woman Claire’s age, would she ache for the touch of the lover she’d long since left? Long for the sweet moments of quiet in his arms?

“The magistrate from Stonehaven plans on coming to Glenloch to question you about Angus Kincaid’s death,” Hugh said, placing the package he carried on the mantel.

“When?” she asked, tamping down the desire that welled up at the base of her spine and inside her chest.

“Tomorrow,” he replied. “Which means our trip to Killiedown will have to be delayed another day.”

Brianna swallowed and gazed into Hugh’s glittering dark eyes, aware that he intended for them to have the wedding night they’d missed the night before. Her stomach roiled as desire and caution warred inside her. She was not sure how she was going to get through the wedding supper.

“There will be an inquest into Mr. Kincaid’s death,” said Hugh, crouching to add peat to the library fireplace, “for ’twas obviously no accident.”

“Then Mr. Kincaid did not fall from a patrolling ship?”

Hugh looked over his shoulder at her. “There’ve been no sea patrols of late, so no. He was killed and then thrown into the surf.”

“Who would have done it?”

He stood and brushed off his hands. “That’s what the inquest will try to determine.”

“And must I testify there, too?”

“No,” he said, setting his jaw, and Brianna had the distinct impression that his refusal was meant to shield her somehow. “I told the magistrate he could question you here.”

“I see.”

“So he plans to come here on the morrow,” Hugh said. “I know you are anxious to leave Glenloch…But perhaps this will help to mitigate your delay.”

He took the package he’d brought in, and set it on a table next to the sofa. “Sit down,” he said, taking her arm.

More than her curiosity about the package, Bree felt a rush of pleasure at his touch. She sat on the sofa and he took a seat right beside her, then handed her the package he’d brought. “Open it.”

The box, wrapped in plain paper and tied with a thin string, fit easily on her lap. She pulled off the string and unfolded the paper, then looked up at him. But his expression was closed, giving her no indication of his reason for bringing her a gift…if, in fact that’s what it was. Perhaps it was something entirely practical.

She opened the box and her breath caught.

“Oh my.”

Inside was a pair of delicate ivory slippers made of
butter-soft leather. As Brianna touched one of them, a surge of something beyond mere gratitude went through her, and she felt a sudden burning behind her eyes. “These are…They’re beautiful.”

He stood up and walked to the fireplace. “You should try them on,” he said, his voice detached. “’Tis merely a pair of ready-made shoes, the only ones in Stonehaven that looked as though they might fit you.”

She wondered if that meant he’d scoured every shop in town, but quickly decided that would not have been the case, for his business in Stonehaven had been quite clear and he would not have bothered to delay his return home by…shopping. Nonetheless, Brianna was grateful for the gift and bent down to unlace the boots she’d been wearing since her flight from Killiedown.

She knew better than to make anything of this. Hugh had been quite aware of her desire to get out of the ugly, ill-fitting boots she wore.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. “’Tis a practical matter. Your return to Killiedown is delayed, and those boots are ill-fitting. I’ve seen your blisters.”

She swallowed thickly and bent down, but had trouble with the tattered lace of one of the old boots. Hugh muttered something under his breath and came to her, kneeling on one knee before her. “I’ll do it,” he said impatiently.

He took her foot in his hand and untied the knot, then slipped the boot off. Moving slowly and deliberately, he held her stocking-clad foot while he took one of the
slippers from the box and slid it on. “A little too large, I think.”

His voice was husky, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Hardly at all,” Brianna replied, softly. “’Tis a fine fit.”

He took his time removing the boot from her other foot, and Brianna felt his hand trailing up the back of her leg, settling on her calf. She closed her eyes at the heavenly sensation of his touch, and waited for him to put the remaining shoe on.

But he did not. He eased her skirt up to her knees and leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her thigh.

Brianna could not breathe as he slid both his hands up the backs of her legs. She held on to the cushions on either side of her and waited anxiously as he moved between her legs and reached up to cup her jaw in his hand. He drew her down to him, touching his mouth to hers softly, gently, as though she were as fragile as a china teacup.

He feathered kisses across her lips, then down to the sensitive skin just below her ear. Bree let her head drop back as he kissed her jaw and throat, then moved down to the neckline of her gown. She felt him unlacing the bodice, then shuddered with arousal when he opened her gown and buried his face between her breasts.

He turned and took one achingly hard nipple into his mouth, and Brianna sighed with pleasure. His hand found its way under her skirt again and slid upward to the point where Brianna needed him most, and her bones melted at his touch.

“Yes, Hugh,” she whispered. “Please.”

She cupped his head in her hands and relished the attention he laved upon each breast. She quickened at the intense sensation of his fingers penetrating her, sliding across her moist flesh, and wanted more.

“Just as soft as I remembered,” he said, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

The intimacy of the moment, of his gaze on hers as he pleasured her, was nearly unbearable. Brianna drew him up for her kiss, and their mouths melded together in a heated coupling that took her breath away. Hugh laid her down on the sofa and came over her, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth. Brianna felt him unfastening his trews, and she tore at his shirt buttons, wanting to feel his chest against her naked, sensitive breasts.

He broke away long enough to pull his shirt over his head, then pushed her legs apart as he covered her. With his hands bracketing either side of her head, he entered her in one quick thrust, then held perfectly still, his eyes darker than Brianna had ever seen them. She skimmed her hands up his chest and around to his nape, pulling him down to her, face to face, chest to chest.

Arching her back, she made a low sound of pleasure at the sensation of his rough chest hair against her sensitive breasts, and he groaned and moved inside her. ’Twas a slow rhythm at first, but as Brianna dug her fingertips into his back, he increased the pace. She made a hushed, primal sound at the back of her throat and met every one of his drives with more than just her body.

She feared her entire heart and soul were involved.

With that realization, her climax came over her, driving her to a height of sensation she had not experienced
before. Spasms of pure bliss originated in her feminine center and spread throughout her body. Her muscles and bones seemed to melt, and when Brianna felt Hugh’s spasm within her, and his body trembling above her, she peaked again with an even greater force than before.

It was some time before their passionate shudders ended. When it was over, Hugh rolled to his side, with Brianna caught between his body and the back cushions of the sofa. Their faces were mere inches apart, and when he tucked back the lock of her hair that had come loose, she closed her eyes, aware that it was beyond unwise to reflect on how warm or how sheltered she felt.

Hugh knew Brianna had experienced nothing more than the moment, else she’d have kept her gaze locked with his when he moved inside her, while he pleasured her and brought her to her climax.

He hadn’t, either. ’Twas just the passion of the moment that had tricked him into imagining a depth of emotion that plainly did not exist. He’d known very few couples who ever attained profound connections with each other, and it was unrealistic to expect such a bond to occur with Brianna. Hell, they’d known each other barely a week, and she had deceived him for most of the duration.

“I can hear your stomach,” he said to her, more than ready to put some space between them. “You must be hungry.”

She nodded. “I waited for you.”

“Ah. The wedding supper.” He hadn’t planned on
taking her here on the sofa. He’d intended to give her the shoes, and thought they would then sup together, enjoying Mrs. Ramsay’s meal and a glass of wine before retiring to his bedchamber. To consummate the marriage.

And yet it was made clear once again that restraint was impossible with this exquisite woman. Especially when most of his thoughts on the return trip to Glenloch had been of her plump breasts filling his hands, her sleek legs wrapped around his waist, and her breathy sighs while he was deep inside her.

He was already partly aroused again, but he contained the urge to make love to her once again and sat up. He located his clothes on the floor nearby and stood to pull on his trews while Brianna lay sated, watching him.

Slowing his movements, he allowed her to look her fill of him…the man who would soon be her husband in name only.

It was a relief, really, to know that she was just as anxious to return to Killiedown as he was to take her there. His bachelor freedom was far more appealing than the thought of living through the disappointments and sorrows of another marriage, through the perfunctory marital coupling and the frustration of failing to conceive, month after month.

He looked at Brianna—superbly dazed and disheveled as she started to hold her bodice together—and suspected that marital coupling with this woman would never be perfunctory. ’Twould eventually be disappointing as they failed to bring about a pregnancy, but lovemaking would never be an obligatory performance.

He took her hand and assisted her to sit up. She stood and turned her back to him as she fastened her laces, and Hugh found himself swallowing an annoying wave of frustration at the knowledge that he would never see her grow large with his child under her breast.

‘Twas a fool’s dissatisfaction, for Hugh knew naught of being a father, and his example for such a role had been terribly flawed. Far better for Sir John Hartford and all his progeny—hopefully a male heir, one day—to inherit the Newbury lands.

They had not spoken all night, not even during the two times Hugh woke her, or the instance when she’d done the same to him. For there was naught to be said between them.

‘Twas late in the morn when Brianna awoke for the day and found Hugh, freshly shaved and fully dressed, waiting for her. She drew the linen sheet up to her chest and sat up. “Have you been up long?”

“Long enough. Here.” He draped a deep red dressing gown of soft wool around her shoulders, then took her hand. “I’ve got something for you.”

He led her down to the nursery, and when he pushed open the door, Brianna saw a fire blazing in the grate. In front of it was a large copper bathtub full of steaming water waiting for her.

She fairly melted with delight and gratitude.

“Let’s not let it get cold,” Hugh said. He slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

Standing fully naked before him, Brianna cupped his
face in her hands and kissed him lightly, as a courtesan might do to a generous benefactor. And, as delightful as the setting was, Bree knew better than to form any deeper attachment to this charming little room or the warm, intimate bedchamber at the far end of the gallery.

Or to Laird Glenloch himself. She put a seductive smile on her face. “Thank you. ’Twas very thoughtful.”