The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (12 page)

—L

P.S. Do not do anything you will later come to regret.

It was dated two days ago. Relief washed over him. At least that business was dealt with. Now, all he had to focus on was getting him and Gwen home without incident—and considering the last week that would be quite the miracle.

“The duke has found Evelyn and the others
—
”

Gwen perked up, relief in her eyes. “Does he mention
Emily?”

“Indeed, it’s seems he’s found them all and they are headed back to London posthaste.”

She released a relieved breath. “Thank heavens they are safe.”

“One room or two?” the innkeeper interrupted.

Just as she spoke up to say, “two,” he piped up to say “one.” She turned to glare at him, but he studiously ignored it. After spending days alone in that cottage, one night would make little difference. Soon, it would make no difference at all.

“If ye will follow me, I will show ye to your room—one of my finest. I will bring yer luggage up right away.”

As soon as the fire was lit and they were situated, Matthias turned to the innkeeper. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a blacksmith here directly? Ask him to bring his book.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Lindon is right across the way.” Then he turned and left.

The moment the door clicked shut behind the innkeeper, Gwen whirled on Matthias. “Only
one
room, Matthias? And why in heaven’s name would you need a blacksm—” And then she seemed to realize his intentions. Her eyes went wide. “No! You couldn’t. You
wouldn’t
!”

And there it was. The resistance he was expecting to encounter. “It must be done, Gwen. You know it as well as I do.”

Her eyes were set into an expression of determination he’d scarcely ever seen in her. “I will not do it.” Her words were hard with a sharp edge of anger to them. “And you cannot force me.”

He sighed, glancing heavenward. “Gwen, we’ve been traveling alone for more than a week. You must know that returning to London, unmarried, is entirely out of the question.”

They were at an impasse, but it didn’t matter. He would prevail in this. There was no other option. Though in truth, the thought of marriage terrified him. It would destroy them both, he was sure of it. But there was nothing for it. It was marriage or complete ruination for Gwen.

He only prayed she was prepared to be the new Countess of Hastings.

A knock sounded on the door.

Gwen sprang to open it before Matthias could reach it. She wrenched it open, revealing a man with a grease-stained apron draped over his generous middle—despite the early hour, he had already been ironworking. This must be Mr. Lindon.

“Apologies for pulling you away from your work at this early hour, sir, but your services are no longer needed. There will be no wedding this morning.”

Matthias stepped forward, catching the door just before she slammed it shut. “Mr. Lindon.” He scowled at Gwen. “Do come in.”

Mr. Lindon stepped into the room, a large leather-bound book tucked beneath his arm. He looked between Gwen and Matthias, his gaze never settling on one. “Am I here to officiate a marriage, or am I not?”

Matthias said “yes,” just as she said “no.”

“
He
may be marrying, but it will not be to
me,
” she said defiantly. “If he’s desperate to marry someone, then perhaps we should see if there is a stray maid wandering about.”

* * *

“You are not amusing,” Matthias responded flatly.

Her eyes were narrowed and her spine was stiff with indignation. Still, she looked like a damned angel—her blond hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head, golden tendrils curling around her temples. His chest constricted until he could hardly breathe.

“Perhaps I should return when the two of you have decided—”

“No,” Matthias snapped, his anger erupting. “Arguing is pointless. We are getting married, and that is the end of it.”

“Why do you insist on this? Would it not be more prudent to wait until we arrive in London and
then
decide if this rather extreme step is even necessary?”

He wasn’t certain why he was so determined to marry her—save for the sense of honor that had been bred into him. In his view, returning to London unmarried was not an option. It was simply impossible.

“When you pushed in on this rescue mission, you placed yourself under my protection. I will not embarrass you by mentioning the reasons we must do this.”

“And I have no say in the matter,” she said acidly.

He smiled tightly. “Good. You are understanding me.” He turned to the blacksmith. “Now, if you will please continue, then we stand a chance of snatching a moment or two of sleep before pushing off.”

The blacksmith’s gaze slid to Gwen, who simply threw her arms up and sat on the edge of the bed with an aggravated huff. “You are insufferable.”

Insufferable he could live with. He’d won—
this
argument, at least. And heaven only knew what price he would pay for this victory. She wasn’t likely to thank him and commit herself to domestic bliss.

“Very well,” Mr. Lindon said slowly. “I suppose we shall begin.”

The entire business was dispatched in a quarter of an hour with the innkeeper standing in as a witness. Gwen, for her part, seemed resigned to her fate and only managed to sigh a total of only three times in the course of the ceremony.

When they were finally alone again, Matthias bolted the door and turned to face her. She sat in an upholstered chair by the fire, looking both astonished and exhausted.

“I am your wife now,” she said, her gaze fixed on the flames of the fire as they danced in the hearth. “What will you expect of me?”

He knew better than to expect anything from a woman like Gwendolyn. She was a woman of her own mind—an admirable quality that her father had tried assiduously to snuff out.

“We’ll face all that later,” he said. “Right now, you need to get some rest.”

She stood, brushing her hands down her skirts. “I would argue, except that I am dreadfully tired.”

She fumbled with the ties at her back—the ties he’d secured for her yesterday. At the cottage they’d fallen into an easy, comfortable companionship. And now…She had the feeling that things had shifted irrevocably.

He pushed her hands aside. “Allow me.”

Unlacing the ties at her back, Matthias pulled the fabric down, off her shoulders. He sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to run his fingers along her delicate shoulder blade. The need to taste her skin, to lay her down and claim every inch of her, was strong. Heat pulsed through his veins, and it took everything for him not to toss her skirts up and claim her right then and there.

She stepped out of her dress, and in nothing but her shift, crawled between the coverlets. When they were at the cottage she’d dispensed with her stays entirely. In the company of only Matthias, and with no lady’s maid to help her, the stays were an unnecessary burden.

“We are sharing the bed, I suppose.”

“You are my wife now,” he said simply. “And there is no use pretending we aren’t familiar.”

Stiffly, he pulled off each layer of clothing until he stood in nothing but his breeches. As he stepped toward the bed, he noted her gaze wandering over his naked torso.

He climbed beneath the covers and as he settled onto his side, facing her, one of his feet grazed her shin. “Oh! Your toes are cold!” she cried.

With a low chuckle, he pulled her against him. “Then perhaps you should warm me.”

“Matthias!” She pushed against his chest, but he held her fast. It was a token protest. Seconds later, she was curled against him like a kitten. Warmth returned to his limbs and for the first time in his life, a sense of contentment filled him.

Hours later, a sharp knock sounded on the door, jolting Matthias awake. Groaning, he rolled out of bed. Gwen was still asleep, her blond hair spilled across the pillow, her angelic face relaxed, peaceful.

Opening the door a crack, he was surprised to see a maid.

“Pardon me, sir. There’s a coach waiting for you downstairs. The driver asked me to fetch ye and the missus.”

Matthias nodded. Earlier, he’d asked the innkeeper to arrange transport for them.

“Please tell him we will be down shortly.”

She curtsied. “Yes, sir.”

Closing the door, he turned to look at Gwen, still sleeping peacefully. She was so damned beautiful—not in the conventional way. But in a way all her own. For the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and wrap her long, shapely legs around him, surrounding him in warmth as he fell back to sleep.

Matthias climbed onto the bed, hovering over Gwen’s sleeping form. He ran his finger along the line of her jaw, her chin, the fullness of her bottom lip…He never wanted to let this moment go. If only they could remain here, entwined in each other, resisting the pull of reality.

But they couldn’t. He knew they couldn’t.

“Gwen, love,” he whispered. “It’s time to wake.”

A delicate sighed escaped from her throat as she turned her head away from him. “Three more minutes,” she murmured.

“I’m afraid not. The coach is waiting. We must get you dressed.”

When she sighed again, tucking her head beneath a pillow, he smiled to himself. She was going to be a challenge, this one.

“Very well,” he warned, amusement lightening his tone. “You’ve given me no other choice.”

A breath, two, and then he wrenched the warm blankets off her body. Tossing the pillow aside, she squealed, reaching for the blankets he held just out of her reach.

“You wretched man! It’s cold! I will catch my death.”

She rolled over, onto her back, taking one of the pillows with her—using it to cover her body. But not before he’d snatched a glimpse of her ripe, generous breasts. His cock instantly sprang to life beneath his breeches.

Perhaps this wasn’t his brightest idea.

His body craved her. It was a deep, knowing hunger that he feared he’d never shake. Perhaps with a lifetime touching her, tasting her,
fucking
her, he could rid himself of this damned obsession.

Leaning forward, he snatched the pillow out of her hands and tossed it aside. Then with a growl, he descended on her, gripping her ankle and tugging her toward him.

“Did you not just say the carriage was waiting?” she said coyly.

“The carriage can continue to wait. My hunger for you cannot.”

Indeed, it’d been too long since he’d last touched her, and he was beginning to feel as though he’d go mad if he didn’t fuck her soon. What better time than now—before they were forced to return home, to the harsh reality of life and responsibility.

“In any event, it is my duty to consummate our marriage.”

He pulled her chemise up over her head and flung it aside. Yes,
finally
. She was completely naked beneath him.

“You’re shivering,” he said.

She licked her bottom lip. “It’s cold.”

He smiled. “Then I shall warm
you
.”

Brushing the hair away from her face, he looked into her eyes. He was going to claim this woman. His
wife
.

He cupped her breast in his palm, brushing his thumb over her tight, petal-pink nipple. With a stuttering breath, her eyes fluttered closed. He continued to caress her breast, testing the weight of it, savoring her smooth, flawless skin.

“You are so damn beautiful. So perfectly constructed. I commend God’s artistry.”

Opening her eyes, she smiled. “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.”

Indeed, he’d called many women beautiful—but never had he been gripped with the need to learn every inch of any of them. They’d been instruments for his pleasure, nothing more. He’d never felt a connection to them—perhaps he’d never allowed himself to.

Until Gwen.

He wanted to know her body as intimately as he knew his own—every scar, every freckle, every fleck of green in her eyes.

She didn’t protest as he kissed her eyes, her nose, her chin—working his way down her body. When he reached her breast, he swirled his tongue around her nipple. She rewarded him with a sharp intake of breath, then let out a low, delicious moan.

Gwen dropped her hand to his head, threading her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. And he obliged, sucking on her nipple, devouring her in a frenzied hunger. She tasted like a fucking miracle, and already, he knew he’d never get enough of her.

Up on his elbow, he used his free hand to spread her thighs and find the sweet, heavenly heat of her entrance.

“Christ,”
he breathed against her nipple. “You are so wet for me.”

He slid his finger inside her, and then pulled out, mimicking the rhythm of sex. Once her body grew accustomed to him, he added another finger, then another—until she could take no more.

She groaned, her voice dripping with the agony of unspent pleasure. “Matthias. Oh, God.
Please
.”

“Please
what,
love?”

Tilting her head back, she dug her heels into the mattress, her back arching. “I don’t…” Her words dissolved into whimpers as her body began to tremble.

His body ached to own her, body and soul. Removing his fingers, he stood and shucked his breeches. Climbing back onto the bed, he spread her thighs and looked her in the eyes.

“This will be unpleasant.”

She nodded once, and that was all he needed.

* * *

“Look at me,” he said harshly. “Look into my eyes as I enter you.”

She did as he asked, looking into his deep azure eyes as he slowly guided himself into her. She tensed, feeling the head of his shaft, and expecting immediate pain. It wasn’t until he surged into her that she felt it—a sharp, painful rending inside her that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she arched her back. “Oh!”

He froze with his shaft buried deep within her. Several seconds ticked by as her body adjusted to the feel of him. Then he dipped his head, kissed her eyes and her cheeks before capturing her lips. His tongue slipped into her mouth as his hips began to slowly rock against her.

With each gentle thrust, the pain eased somewhat and her body came alive. Fire and pleasure coursed through her, building, building with the promise of
something
…