Bride (25 page)

“Justine.” Struan chuckled. “Do you intend to record my dimensions, madam?”

Flustered, she glanced at his face. “Your breeches must be very heavy. I hadn't know men's breeches weighed so much.” He raised his brows. “They don't.”

“But they must.”

“They absolutely do not.”

She waved a hand and her eyes returned to their previous points of interest. “It must be that you are accustomed to the heaviness. After all, Struan, one cannot deny science. Without a method of keeping… of holding … “ Her hand drew an airy, generally downward motion, then sprang up again. “Well, you do see what I mean, don't you? I don't suppose it would do to go … unrestrained, as it were. Could be a frightful nuisance. Get in the way of all sorts of things.”

He came closer. “What sorts of things?”

Justine frowned at the object of her fascination. “Tables, for one thing. Dining tables. When you were about to sit down. Might hurt, even, I should think. And doors.” She shuddered. “Oh, horrors. Imagine a mishap with a closing door. That
would
hurt. Unless there is no feeling there, perhaps? Could that be the case?”

To her amazement, he turned his back.

“I have angered you? Said the wrong thing? Oh, I do think you should make allowances for a certain degree of unworld-liness on my part.”

“There is feeling,” he said. “No part of a man's body feels more.”

His spine was straight the perfect foil to the flare of shoulder, the trimness of hip. And then there was his buttocks …

Justine closed her eyes and sent up a prayer. She prayed for forgiveness if, by her ecstasy at the sight of this man, she had committed any offense. And she prayed in thanksgiving that she had not gone to her grave without experiencing this bliss.

The mattress sank beside her.

Justine held the counterpane more firmly beneath her chin.

Struan stretched out against her entire length.

“Not even your heart?” she whispered. “Not even your heart feels more than that part?”

When he answered she knew his face was above hers. “A different kind of feeling, sweet.” His breath crossed her brow. “Do you remember what you felt when we danced and I touched you?”

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut.

“I see that you do. The feeling I am capable of experiencing in … Experiencing there. The two—your feeling and mine—they are similar, I'm sure.”

“Aren't they wonderful? She opened her eyes and looked directly into his. “Have you ever felt anything you wanted to feel again and again as much as you do that feeling? I was truly taken by surprise. I have never heard any mention of such a thing. And to think it was there all the time, why—”

One long finger descended upon her lips. “Hush. You are terrified of this moment and that's why you're chattering. I asked you to keep me company, and that is exactly what is happening.”

She shook her head fiercely. “I'm not terrified.”

“I think you are.”

“I'm not.”

“As you say.”

She thought for a moment before telling him, “But I did not expect you to take off your clothes.”

“Most people do when they go to bed.”

“Not all of their clothes.”

“I do.”

“Always?”

“Absolutely.”

“I see.”

“You certainly do.”

She would pursue this question at a later time—when she could be more detached. “What causes you to have the special feeling?” Every woman should know these things. With each new experience she became more convinced of her responsibility to enlighten her own kind.

Struan lay on his side, his head propped on a hand. He said, “For both of our sakes, these are elements we should save for another discussion.”

His scrutiny distracted her. With the very tips of his fingers, he traced her face, outlined her jaw to the point of her chin, and gently eased the bedcovers from her grip.

“Did you mean it?” he said, pulling the counterpane and bedlinens down to her waist. “That you think you love me?”

These were the moments when a woman who wasn't prepared might lose her head. Justine slipped an arm around his neck and brought his mouth to hers. “I should like the kind of kiss when you put your tongue inside my lips. It seems very intimate to me. It makes me feel joined to you.”

He made a small, growling sound and did exactly as she asked. When he had explored the area mentioned very thoroughly in the manner requested, he finally raised his head again and they both struggled for breath.

“I don't think I love you,” she told him. “I do love you.”

“Justine—”

“No.” She covered his mouth. “No, it's quite in order for you to say nothing at all.” “But—”

“Ah, ah. I am not a green girl, Struan. I am—well, we both know what I am. But I believe I shall give you value for your kindness to me. And I do not want you to concern yourself for a moment about the way I feel.” A liar. She was a liar.

“I have deep feelings for you, sweet.”

“Thank you. I could ask for nothing more.” She could ask for a great deal more. She longed for a great deal more. “Now, I don't want to discuss that subject anymore. I like lying with you.” She adored lying with him.

“Good.”

Tentatively, she touched the hair on his chest. “Soft.” Softness over solid muscle. The skin at his side was smooth—and upon his shoulder. The line of hair to his navel felt rougher over the ridged flesh beneath. She noted how each part of him recoiled a little at her touch and frowned up at him.

“I see you meant what you said.”

Justine smiled questioningly.

“That you wanted to find out what each part of me feels like.”

“I do.”

“What a coincidence.”

The bone at his hip did not protrude as hers did. “Why is it a coincidence?” Against the backs of her fingers his belly was at once rough and smooth—and very tense.

“Because I want to find out what each part of you feels like.”

Her gaze flew to his face. “Would you rather I didn't do this?”

“I'd rather you didn't stop—ever.”

She grew hot. “I could never be naked before you.”

Struan covered her hand on his belly and held it still. “It's natural for a woman like you to feel modest. That will fade as you become accustomed to—”

“No!” His intense stare made it difficult to concentrate. She averted her face. “Anyway, before Pippa married she told me Grandmama said gentlemen don't require their wives to disrobe.”

“Hah!”

His outburst made her forget her awkwardness. “What do you mean by that?”

“You tell me you want to dispel the myths of old women. Then, when it suits your purpose, you quote one of those myths.”

Justine pursed her lips. “Well…” He had her there.

“I assure you, sweet, that I am a man who will want my wife to disrobe—as you put it. It would bring me the greatest of pleasure to touch you as you have touched me.”

Her long-sleeved night rail, also edged with daffodils, fitted loosely. Holding her breath, she slipped it from one shoulder, then from the other, and eased it down until it barely covered her breasts. “You may touch me, if you like.”

“You do not have to do things that make you uncomfortable just to please me.”

“I would do anything to please you.”

“Because you believe I want a submissive woman?”

“You said you wished to touch me as I've touched you.”

“That and more. A great deal more.”

Her next, huge breath raised her breasts enough to tighten the gown across her nipples. “Then do a great deal more,” she told him. “Now. I want you to do a great deal more, now.” Quickly, she bared her breasts.

Struan's eyes became intent, hot and intent. With restrained gentleness, he stroked what she had revealed. “Funny girl,” he said. “Funny, wonderful girl. So determined to be a pioneer.”

Justine bit into her bottom lip.

The fondling stung in an intoxicating manner she could not describe even to herself. Struan circled each breast with his fingertips, then supported and pressed the aching flesh. Slowly, he bent over her.

“Struan!” She arched her spine and clapped her hands to the back of his head. “Oh, Struan!” Rather than pull him away, she urged him closer.

He had taken a nipple into his mouth. With his tongue he ran circles around the very rim. And then he sucked …

A blast seared Justine from breast to belly, to deep between her legs.

Mindlessly, she clasped him to her. Dimly she heard the tear of fabric. Her night rail would never be the same, and she didn't care a fig.

“Oh, my dear one,” Struan murmured. He removed his lips from her breast and drew her into his arms. His face rested in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “You are all I could ever hope for.”

The hair on his chest grazed her nipples, and she moaned. So much exquisite sensation. Struan ran his hand over her back and her bottom. He caught at the night rail and began pulling it up her leg.

Justine grew still.

The flush receded, replaced by chill.

“Can we … Is it possible to do
It
without removing all of one's clothes?” she said rapidly. “I do believe it's growing cold, don't you?”

He grew still. “It?”

Justine withdrew her hands from his hair and attempted to wiggle the remnants of her night rail back into place. “The ultimate between a man and a woman. That which is necessary to the production of offspring.”

“Good God!” He rolled to his back and rested the back of an arm over his eyes. “Forgive me. You are trying very hard, dearest, but we may have to deal with your many questions when we are not all but naked and on the verge, as it were.”

“The verge?”

“Forget I said that. Time enough when we come to the next lesson. And that particular lesson should be saved for our wedding night. Yes, indeed, we shall have that to look forward to.”

“Oh, no!” She had dealt with everything very badly. “I believe you were ready for those feelings, and I don't want to stop now.”

“You don't want to stop, but you don't want to take any more of your clothes off.”

He didn't understand. How could he if she didn't tell him? “If I take all of my clothes off you will not want me at all,” she said quietly. “We must deal with this now—at once. I am deformed. You knew that, of course, but you had forgotten in the, er,
ardor
of the moment.”

“You are not deformed.”

“You have not seen my deformity.”

“Show me.”

She cringed into the pillows, rolled into a ball on her side. “My hip isn't properly made. I was young when I was injured. It did not grow as it should. And there are scars. And my leg is thinner than the other and also scarred. Ask Grandmama. She will tell you it is a frightful sight. She often reminds me, because she believes it is soul-building to confront one's defects.”

Whatever he said next was totally incomprehensible to Justine. He pulled her roughly against his chest, tucked her head beneath his chin, and hauled the covers over both of them.

“You will never want to look at it, Struan. I shall never want you to look at it. Grandmama—”

“Damn your bloody grandmama to
hell!”

“Oh.”

“I shall make it the most important mission in my life to prove to you that you are not deformed.”

“But—”

“You shall dance. You shall ride. You shall walk and climb and run. You shall enter London's ballrooms upon my arm and every man will wish me dead that he might have the chance to take my place. And, if God wishes it, you and I will produce children together. You will be a marvelous mother. There is nothing you wish to do that you shall not do. Do you understand?”

She held very still.

“Very well. Do not answer me. Listen, for once. In that beloved book of yours you will write about triumph over the expected—flaunting the expected—am I not correct?”

“Correct,” she murmured.

“Quite so. And you, my dear one, are the perfect woman to write such a tome, because you have an added destructive expectation to foil. You asked for my help with this project, and you shall get it. I shall not rest until you stop thinking of yourself as less than whole.”

“Perhaps we should go back to our original arrangement and forget this marriage.”

“Hah!”

“Sin's ears, Struan.” She struggled to release herself from his embrace but accomplished nothing. “Do not
hah
at me again. I find it tiresome.”

“Your family has agreed that you shall marry me. My family has also agreed. And so have you. Tomorrow I am to meet with your wretched elder relative—to discuss financial arrangements, no doubt. Then we shall get the matter over with.”

Like settling on the price of a horse … or a
cow.
“I shall go with you to Grandmama. At what time are we meeting?”

“You are not meeting. Struan, Calum, and I will do what must be done.”

Justine planted her fists in the middle of his chest and shoved. “You will do no such thing. It was I, not you, who instigated this entire situation.”

He was not to be budged from his hold upon her. “You are very bold about this thing. You may not go to the meeting.”

“Bold indeed. Yes, indeed, I am bold and I will not have my future decided in my absence.”

“But you have just said you designed your own future.
Fait accompli, ma chérie.
Whatever minor discussion takes place tomorrow is of no interest to you.”

“I want—”

“No.”

This was insupportable.

Infuriating.

And she was taking the completely wrong approach. She sighed. “You see? this is what happens when you allow yourself to be tricked into marriage by a conniving old ape leader.

You find yourself constantly henpecked. But you are right, Struan. I must allow you to guide me in these matters.”

He was silent for far too long.

“Of course,” Justine said, “there will be times when—after a suitable interval—you will come to see that I may be more insightful than you had at first thought.”

“Perhaps.” Arranging himself more comfortably, he turned her over and tucked her bottom neatly into his lap. “Perhaps.”

Justine shivered deliciously. If simply being pressed to his naked skin made her pulse all the way to her toes, what would
It
do to her? She intended to find out—and enjoy every moment. She wiggled her bottom to get more comfortable.