A Faerie Fated Forever (20 page)

“Why have you not cried for your father, my love? I’m ready,” he said, though tears at the eternity he would enter and spend alone still rolled unheeded down his cheeks.

Heather started to doubt his sanity. Had she driven him too far? It took a little time for her dazed heart to kick in again. It took considerably longer for her brain to function. So it was a bit before she realized that Nial’s shoulders shook with sobs. Perhaps her overworked brain still wasn’t working right for she could make no sense of his words. Why would she summon her father? And more importantly, why was he lying rigidly still, clutching the sheets? Why was he crying? She finally believed him so this should be an occasion for shared joy rather than tears.

If she couldn’t make sense of emotions just yet, well, that was no reason to ignore the physical. She could deal with that. He had left her behind a moment ago and it was now her turn. She sat up in bed and crawled between his sprawled legs. He felt her motion but couldn’t face her again so he kept his eyes closed tight. A moment later he felt her tongue licking his traitorous sex, and his eyes jerked open wide. She winked at him and reached low to lick the balls that had fascinated her earlier.

Apparently she had decided to torment him before she beckoned her father. Would she wait until his need was again rigid and uncontrollable? Perhaps she thought to lull him into believing he would reach satisfaction in her mouth, only to open it at the last moment to scream Carrick’s name and laugh as the blade severed his erect organ? He had to admire the deviousness of her plan, even as he schooled himself to resist.

Then she took the head of his staff fully into her mouth and he thrust, not surprised to find resistance beyond him. He had been an idiot to try. His need for her was within her control. It had never been within his. As her fingers reached down to tickle his balls, he spread his legs to increase her access as he groaned and surged upward, seeking her tongue again. She curled it to a point and concentrated on licking the sensitive head and though he clenched ferociously he could not stop a pulse of ecstasy. She caught the drop in her mouth, moaned and licked her lips.

He could take no more. Truly, he could not allow her to take him so far that he would beg her father to allow his completion before his traitorous tarse was severed. Another moment or two of this and he knew he would. Was it too much to ask to retain dignity and courage at the moment of death?

He shook his head at the thought. “Heather, love, I admit I deserve this but, I seek mercy in my final moments.”

Final moments? She raised her head to look into his eyes.

“Summon your father now. I would not be so far gone that I cannot at least retain the pride not to beg for completion before his blade severs my sex.”

“What on earth are you talking about? I’ve been trying ever so clearly to remind you that you left me behind a few minutes ago and you owe me now. You really don’t seem to be taking the hint well. Why would I call for my father and why would he bring his sword? You’re not making much sense.”

He finally gave up his death grip on the sheets to prop himself on his elbows as he sat up to look her in the eyes. “Love, I lost control of myself a few moments ago. My only excuse is that I was overcome that you finally understood that you were my fate as I am yours. Then I went too far. You’re going to make me admit it. Is that what you wait for? Does your father await the words? Well then I will say them loudly. I raped you. There you have it, the admission.”

She did burst out laughing then, but as moments trickled by with only her laughter and no irate sire with a blade bursting in, he sat up and seized her shoulders. “Heather?”

“Darling, you got ahead of me a bit ago, surely you did. But you didn’t rape me for goodness sake. In fact, I treasured your loss of control for it more than anything, gave truth to your words. Sever your sex? Surely not, my fine laird.”

She lay down on the sheets and spread her legs in invitation. “I have far better uses for it than that.”

It took a couple of heartbeats before her words penetrated, but when his smile came, it was brilliant in its intensity. He still wore it while he made sure she caught up with him. She caught up so thoroughly, that she fell sound asleep, moments after the loving ended. He held her tenderly, loathe to accept the inevitable.

He had to leave as a token to a society he gave less than a tinker’s damn about. Ostensibly, he must creep away before dawn so that the servants didn’t bandy tales of his presence far and wide. In truth, he didn't care if the whole house knew of it. Indeed, he cared not if the world knew. However, he would not shame her further, so he would go. But he lay a few moments longer, still unsure of her feelings. She said she loved him, but she was still uncertain. Unwittingly, as he had frantically stuffed handkerchiefs down her bosom he had reminded her of the events that brought her here.

Had he finally convinced her or did she still have a test or two up her sleeve?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He took a great deal of teasing from Boz the next morning, which was not unexpected. However, when he went with his cousin to his club, he was astonished to learn that the public gossip was about an Earl who had just informed his wife he intended to divorce her to marry his mistress. The private gossip of the sort women saved for other women – well that was a different story.

When he left the club to tend to some correspondence, he learned that the women of London had noticed his arousal, but only commented upon it in secret – or to him directly. A number of them made blatant propositions to take him up on what they thought he had been showing off. He rarely blushed, but by the time he arrived at back at Sedgewick’s his entire body was pink.

Heather overheard about seven conversations between women who could talk of little else but the “majesty of the Scot’s Highlands.” The man garnered enough attention before. It galled her that her actions increased the furor. She should demand that he never leave the house without wearing a banner that said “Heather’s property. Do not touch.” The number of women who wanted to lure him away daunted her and while she busily nurtured those insecurities and pondered her own questionable allure, she ran into Geoff. She shared a cup of tea with him, and his open admiration bolstered her confidence.

Badgerton pressed his unexpected advantage. “The man lacks any sense of propriety. He made an idiot of himself last night, and everyone is talking about it.”

“Yes, yes he did,” she said, her current prickly frame of mood beyond fairness.

“Well, we can make up for lost time, Heather. Promise you will dance with me and have supper with me tonight?”

Thinking that a bit of jealousy would do the spoiled laird a world of good, she responded, “Why, Geoff, I would be delighted.”

That evening, she whirled around the dance floor in Geoff’s arms. She knew she looked her best in the moderately cut bronze gown because her dance card was filled. She tilted back her head to laugh at one of her companion's more blatantly admiring phrases, when Nial walked in. To say he was displeased would put it mildly. He stopped in mid-stride and absolutely glowered. The dance ended as he entered, and he sought his prey without delay.

His ire and jealousy soothed her after the day she'd endured, hearing so much about Nial’s manly charms, and about how much each speaker wanted to taste those charms.

Maclee opened his mouth to speak but Badgerton beat him to it by holding up the dance card fastened to Heather’s wrist. “Apparently the lady has come to her senses. You are out of luck tonight because every minute of her time is spoken for.”

Diplomacy was not one of the defining forces of Nial’s nature. He was too direct to allow for dissembling, and he didn’t try that now. “What is the meaning of this?”

She wasn’t prepared for the direct challenge. The fact that she wasn’t prepared indicated to her that she had been gone from home too long. The direct challenge would never have come from an English peer, but was typical of the brutal honesty of a Highland laird.

It took her a couple of seconds to respond, and her next dance partner waited at her elbow by the time she did. “I’m just having fun. At a ball it is perfectly fine to dance and have fun.”

He raised his brows and inquired coldly, “Is it acceptable to flirt and touch as well?”

“Absolutely. Why do you ask?” Her nature would not allow her to back down from the gauntlet she had cast.

“I simply wanted to make sure the rules were defined. I will trouble you no further this evening then as your time seems to be taken with others.” Nial turned and walked away.

She followed her partner in the steps of the dance as she saw him step over to Jillian Hunter, the vibrantly beautiful widow of Lord Lillington. The pair took the dance floor as the lovely widow openly assessed her partner.

Jealousy filled her to overflowing but Heather's honesty forced her to admit she brought it on herself. Nial had no need to seek out attention because it found him. As the evening progressed, he never spent an instant alone. Either he danced with one English flower or another, or stood in a circle surrounded by woman who undressed him with their eyes and teased him with touches intending to provoke.

She suffered miserably before the third song and the evening went downhill from misery to despondence and pain. Nial kept his dance partners hands off his privates by generous use of the Maclee swipe, but allowed their touch if confined to areas above his waist. She saw red when one wench played with his hair, trailed fingers down to his earlobe, and then continued trailing them down to his hand, which she took and placed on her bosom. Nial glanced down and grinned. Heather wasn’t surprised that he was male enough to appreciate the view.

He didn’t toy with the woman’s breasts, but he didn’t remove his hand either. He simply left it where she placed it and glanced at Heather, with a question in his raised brows. As her eyes narrowed to slits, she shook her head no. Nial then glanced down to where her dance partner’s hand lurked. It spoke volumes of her preoccupation with the other man that she hadn’t noticed the hand at her bosom. The challenge from her Highland laird was again like him, direct and open. The decision to share time with other partners would be as equal as the boundaries of what touches were permissible.

She removed the hand at her bosom with a sharply spoken rebuke and glanced over to see Nial do the same. At the rejection, the other woman’s eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled visibly. Nial visibly offered to end the dance, but his partner shook her head no and gathered him close again.

She and Nial changed partners again as the music changed, and she realized that he would match her dance for dance, allowance for allowance. Her current partner put her hand to his lips and she saw Nial do the same to the lady in his arms who looked thrilled with the attention. A kiss to the fingers during a dance was permissible by society’s rules, but Heather found her own to be more restrictive. She didn’t want Nial’s lips on any part of another woman, so she committed a rude social breech by snatching her hand away from her partner's mouth just after his tongue connected with her fingers. She learned how closely Nial watched when she saw him give a brief lick to the fingers he held before returning the hand to his waist.

Heather barely restrained herself from dragging Nial away from the other woman by the hair on his head. She smiled brightly as she imagined dragging him away by a lower and entirely more painful grasp. With that thought, her eyes strayed to where every woman’s in the room had been at some point in the evening – Nial’s crotch. She didn’t realize how admiring her gaze was or how filled it was with her love as she surveyed the flat surface of his trousers, but Nial could hardly miss it. He tossed a warning glance at Heather, who realized that the fit of his trousers altered under the warmth of her gaze. He glanced to the woman in his arms and back at Heather who realized that credit would be claimed where it was not due.

She forced her attention back to her current dance partner, but did it a bit too late. The other woman smiled sensuously as she took two steps closer to him allowing her to cradle his arousal. It waned rather than waxed, but due to his proportions she didn’t know that. Nial sighed deeply and glanced at the fire in Heather’s gaze as he straightened his arms and backed away from the lady. He gave thanks to the faeries as the music finally ended.

Heather’s hand touched her throat, indicating to her next dance partner that she was parched. That left the bloke no choice but to hie off across the room to the refreshment table. She knew the laird saw her gesture, for he missed nothing. If Nial were an English gentleman, he would have approached her. She paused, deluding herself briefly by anticipating that he would do just that. He remained leaning against the same pillar. She dealt with a stubborn Scot rather than an English fop. Nial would do nothing to ease her apology. Her own stubborn pride slowed her steps. Then she recalled the blonde cradling her property. The thought lent renewed urgency to her errand, and by the time she got to him, she ran. Her steps sped too rapidly at the end and she hurtled into him. Based upon the way he opened his arms to receive her, she didn’t think he minded that she fetched up solidly against him.

“Nial, I’m sorry. I made a mistake,” she said, knowing he would accept no half measures.

“A mistake? How so?” He asked, letting her know that he would require full measure indeed.

“I shouldn’t have encouraged Geoff or any of the others. I should have saved all my time for you because you’re the only one I want to spend it with.”

“It made me wonder if you need an admiring throng or if my admiration isn’t enough because it isn’t me you want,” Nial returned her honesty with his own.

She had imagined that he needed the adoring attention of multiple women, a need she saw as his biggest fault. Seen through his eyes, even with Sorcha, he was the prey rather than the pursuer. How much could he enjoy that? After all, in a hunt the fox never had much fun. She blanched as she pondered his words. She had never seen herself as someone who needed such admiration. Then again, fault is easier to find outside than inside. Had she turned into one of those attention-seeking social climbers she abhored?

He saw her face change and corrected his temperamental outburst. "Heather, I didn't mean that. You hurt me and like the brute I am I felt compelled to hurt you in return. Truthfully, you're the least selfish person I've ever known.

The first part of his words caught her attention. "I hurt you?"

"Only with you does her hurt boil up inside me until it spews forth with words to hurt you in return. Your opinion of me matters. Frankly, the collective opinions of the rest of humanity affects me very little."

She smiled. "Your words mattered to me because you matter too."

He cupped her beautiful face that still bore a trace of the worried, introspective expression that his words caused. “Sweetheart,” he began, as his fingers feathered over her mouth, which parted in response. Then, a movement to the side drew his notice and he said, “Damn,” as he motioned to indicate that her next dance partner was returning in tandem with a blonde that he had promised a dance.

He ignored both and tilted her chin. “Had enough of the rest of the world yet, love?”

She nodded, and sighed as she spoke, “Oh yes. Lord, yes, I have had enough of all of them. But, I fear we are caught in a trap of my making.”

“Trust me?” He asked, with twinkling eyes.

“Of course,” she replied with satisfying rapidity.

He winked. “I don't like traps. I just don’t take to them well. By and large, traps are like etiquette, propriety rules and labels – they can only contain you if you allow them to.”

He placed his arm around her and pulled her where she belonged – close to his side.

“You,” he indicated the man, whose name he neither knew nor cared about, “dance with her,” he said, indicating the blonde.

Then he reached down and ripped the dance card off Heather’s wrist and tore it into small bits that he tossed in the air. To the men who objected and within hearing of anyone else who might repeat his words, he assumed his orator's voice. “Heather’s time and her dances are spoken for. They belong to me.” Then he swept her away towards the nearby terrace.

A willing party to the escape, she tossed back her head to laugh as she followed his unerring lead towards a maze of hedges. At the center, a small gazebo perched near a pretty little pond. “It is beyond irritating that your instinct for locating such places is so well developed.”

He didn’t try to deny the obvious truth. Instead, he wiggled his eyebrows at her as he said, “Don’t resent the lessons I’ve learned when from this point forward they will only be used to benefit you.”

“Just remember that from this point forward you are a one pupil teacher.”

He drew her into his arms and muttered against her lips, “So long as you remember that you are a one teacher pupil, my love. Would forever do?”

Then his lips took hers, and she didn’t think anything at all. His touch always took her to a realm where only feeling existed. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him as she took her tongue and licked the inside of his lips until he gave a low growl and tightened his grip on her waist.

He feasted like he starved for her and drew back to laugh at himself. "Love, you must think me a glutton. We were together last night and now I seize your mouth like I've fasted for weeks. I really suspect that I could love you non-stop for a week and still harden to full staff because you smile, or because I catch a whiff of your scent, or because… Well, just because you grace my world."

"I feel exactly the same," Heather murmured before adding, "well except for the full staff part. If we change that to say, pebble to full peak, then I feel exactly the same."

He tilted her chin up to catch the mischievous twinkle in those golden eyes. "So noted. But only if you save the pebbles, the peaks and especially that wicked tongue of yours for me alone." He returned to feasting heartily enough to prove his claims of endless famine.

When he finally lifted his head, this time he motioned her to sit on the bench. He joined her and took her hands into his. She stroked his palm, noting curiously that it seemed to be damp.

He dropped her hands and pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Jesus, 'tis hotter than the kitchen hearth out here.”