Duchess of Mine (36 page)

“It’s too late this season,” she said. “But
maybe next year? I really don’t know how it would grow in humidity
like this, but we could see, huh? How long is the growing season
here? We could figure out what kind of corn to grow, depending on
how long it’s warm. Oh, wait, what am I saying?”

He held his breath as she widened her
smile.

“There’s probably only a couple varieties of
corn right now. But we could experiment with the crops, make a corn
just for the Highlands, something that would work with this
humidity. And in your spare time you’d write me your mystery story
about Pocahontas.”

His heart almost burst. That’s how it felt.
He’d been feeling surprisingly warm and comfortable about the
people of Durness, making his heart grow. But this—Fleur talked of
their
future. A long one with many seasons for growing.

He crushed her all over again, but this time
he just held her, too afraid he’d make an arse of himself and say
something too profound or not nearly thoughtful enough. She wanted
to be here, experiment with the crops, live with him. Well, he
hoped she wanted to live with him. Mayhap it was time to ask her to
marry him, to be his.

“We’ll have fun growing corn, growing a
garden together,” she whispered. “You’ll have to show me how to do
some things, since I probably forgot.”

He nodded, his throat so damned tight.

“We should get back to the wake, don’t you
think?”

With his future looking so bright, he nodded
again. Releasing her, he then helped her to stand beside him. Ach,
she might stand beside him for the rest of his life.

She took his hand, while giving him the
lantern. Even though he held the light, she guided him. Extracting
himself and Fleur out of the cellar, he felt a completely changed
man. Gone was the bitterness he’d had as a companion for so many
years. Gone was the worry about his mother. It was all replaced
with hope and love. He still worried. Hell, he had no clue if Fleur
loved him, but it seemed possible she did. So much seemed
possible.

She had the whisky in her hand when he closed
the doors to the cellar, her back to him.

“They left.”

He glanced up and around. Sure enough the
crowd of mourners had left in the short while he’d been gone.

“Do you think they went inside?”

Not on such a hot day. He shook his head. Had
they left because they could sense he might need to grieve for
years to come, but he was done with the heavy sadness? Done with
the solemnity of the ceremony?

He was ready for the next phase of his life .
. .

Fleur turned toward him. “I guess I should
have been quicker about getting that whisky.”

He laughed. God, it felt good to do that.

Carefully he reached for the whisky, took it
from her and set it on top of his wide, round tree stump of a
chopping block. When he straightened, he caught sight of her, as he
had that first time. She smiled at him as if she knew something,
but was surprised by it too. Her full lips thinned with the
expression, but only a little. The skin around her eyes crinkled a
tad. One day she would have wrinkles. And he’d love every single
one.

He grabbed her by her waist and forcefully
drew her against him.

She giggled, but he caught her lips, curbing
her laughter. He fisted her hair again, and the loose knot weakened
in his grasp. Her black silk flowed free within a few moments, and
he loved her wild mane gently caressing him as he kissed her.
Thrusting his tongue in her mouth, he loved how she easily opened
for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The
second her breasts touched his chest, he’d had enough of
waiting.

Lowering his hands to her backside, he lifted
her. She wrapped her legs around him as he’d wanted. There were too
many layers between them, but he’d remedy that soon enough.
Marching to the back door, he nearly kicked it down, but somehow
opened it, then closed it behind him. The kitchen was too hot, even
though they hadn’t lit the fire for days, eating the tavern’s food
or snacking on apples grown in the back of his ma’s land. Actually,
it was
his
land now. Where he would live the rest of his
days, loving Fleur.

His erection had lessened when he’d known
he’d have to be amongst people again, but now he was rock hard in
an instant, thinking of his Fleur. The woman, his woman furiously
kissing him back, her hands grabbing his plaid and shirt and
pulling. He found her bedchamber. She’d left the windows open,
which should have made it too hot like the rest of the house, but
the room was surprisingly cool with a gentle cross breeze. Lowering
her onto the bed, he landed on her, needing to feel every inch of
her wee body. She rocked into him. Somehow she tugged his hair free
and tunneled her fingers through.

He feared he would be too fast, too frantic
for her. But he wasn’t sure how to slow down. Each time he told
himself to do just that, she moaned or arched or touched him,
sending him another jolt of energy to keep escalating, until they
were both sated. She tore at his plaid over his shoulder,
unlatching the broach in a hurry and dropping it with a thud on the
floor.

“I’m sorry. Should I have been more careful
with that?”

He shook his head and dove in to kiss her all
the more.

She had his belt in her wee hands before he
could think about anything other than her breasts against his
chest. Surprising him even further, she unbuckled it in a flash and
his plaid was loose around him. In a few more moves, she somehow
had the plaid off, and was lifting his shirt over his head.

“I still have my boots on.”

“I don’t care.”

That made him laugh. But not for long as her
dexterous hands traversed his body, down his arms, then found his
waist. She took advantage of the little space between them and had
her hand around his cock, making him moan.

Lord, she was stripping away his fortitude.
He’d explode soon at this rate.

Gripping her hand, he made her stop.

“Was I doing it wrong?”

The look on her face was so innocent, as if
she wanted nothing more than to please him. His chest tightened.
He’d thought she might have had a lover or two before him, but now
he wondered.

“Nay, darlin’. Doing it too good.”

Her smile melted his heart.

“I want you.” She lifted her skirts, showing
him her amazingly long stocking-clad legs. Black hose today. His
mouth went dry. He liked the stockings. Loved her legs. She didn’t
have shoes on, and he wondered how and when she’d kicked them
off.

“I do too,” he said.

“Now.”

He sat on his shins between her legs, then
cupped one of her breasts, while the other unlaced the dark dress
she wore. It was plain, and he promised himself that he’d buy her
prettier ones. Buy her silk with her favorite flowers embroidered
all around it. Something bonny that she’d like.

Why hadn’t he done it before now?

Jesus, since she’d been here, it had been
such a whirlwind of time—getting to know her in the dark of night,
smelling her light floral scent and letting it drive him mad as
she’d lean against him, then she’d gotten spirited away. His heart
barely endured that. And now...now she was his. Except she’d never
said so, and there was the constant fear of her vanishing into her
own time. But she was making plans to live
here
with
him
, grow crops, share a future. She was his.

It seemed to take an eternity to disrobe the
layers of her dress and petticoats. Now for the stays and shift,
and...Lord, her skin. He loved her golden flesh that flared pink
when she came. His cock tightened all the more when he thought of
it. Then he wondered if they might look absurd, him already naked
except for his hose and boots, and her finally unpeeled to her
undergarments.

“Do you remember what you did to me last time
you took off my corset?” Her dark eyes went wicked with lust.

He smiled and nodded.

“Do you want to do that again?”

He wanted to do
all of it
again. But
he swallowed, not sure how to articulate, “God, aye, and so much
more.”

She lifted herself up on her elbows, her legs
still open around him. Reaching around, she unlaced her stays.

“Yer so bonny, Fleur.”

“So are you, big guy.”

Her stays loosened, revealing more of her
rounded perfect globes. Her breasts were the perfect size, just
fitting in his palms. She maneuvered so she knelt in front of him
and wiggled free from the corset as she called it. Her dark nipples
hardened and poked through her shift, as if begging to be kissed.
Deciding it was best to follow orders, he curved his body to fit
one of her nubs in his mouth, even though she still wore her shift.
Utterly fascinating him, she arched into his touch at the same time
she lightly clawed up his back, her fingernails gently scraping
him. That felt ridiculously good. No one had ever done that before.
Oh, he’d jested with men who said their wives or mistresses did
such a thing, but he’d never thought it might feel—it might feel as
though she was getting into his skin, branding her mark onto him,
into him. Making him hers.

He caressed her other breast, rolling her
nipple between his thumb and finger. She arched into him again,
pulling him closer by fisting his hair. Lord, he really liked that.
Loved everything she did to him. But suddenly her hands were on his
shoulders, forcing him away from her. He ached when he obliged and
removed himself from her breasts. Scurrying off the bed, she lifted
her shift to her thighs where she rolled down her stockings. One by
one her extra-long legs were revealed, showing him the curves of
her calves, the way her muscular thighs sculpted inward but then
flared out toward her hips. So feminine. So perfect.

In a quick move she had her muslin shift up
and over her head, exposing her naked, luscious body. Her breasts
lifted, her stomach fluttered flat, he loved the way her waist
curved in, her hips though never particularly flared out. She
didn’t have an hourglass figure. Nay, hers was stronger, revealing
little lines where her stomach had worked hard for her, her legs
even more so. Her tiny body was nonetheless divinely womanly. He
liked her form, her frame. Nay, that wasn’t a fervent enough word.
He
loved
her wee body.

He was panting by the time she placed her
knees back on the bed.

“Lay down, Duncan.”

He settled back with a thump, making her
softly chuckle. Still with his bloody boots on, he adjusted his
head on a pillow and stared at her as she looked at him. He loved
watching her gaze take him in. Her face had gone serious, her eyes
glowed. Her little nose flared, especially as she gazed at his
length, lying on his stomach.

“You are the most beautiful man.”

Before he could reciprocate a compliment—and,
Lord, how it swelled his chest, head, and even his cock—she
straddled his legs then scooted up, placing the heels of her hands
on his chest. Reaching down, she kissed him. Over and over again,
she teased, her body hovering too far away. Her hands on his chest
and the inside of her thighs touched him, but that wasn’t enough.
He wrapped his arms around her hips, trying to lower her, but she
snatched one of his hands and had him cup her breast. He massaged
and caressed, while the other hand pulled her down. Then finally
her warm, wet core met his. They both moaned at contact.

Her kisses became frantic and needy. Her
tongue invaded his mouth, then her hips bucked, sliding up his
length. Slipping back down, she mewled. Such a thoroughly feminine
noise, so full of pleasure, making him worry he’d come soon. He
wasn’t even inside her, but it felt damned good, her grinding
against him, her sex wet and slick. Every time she’d ride up on
him, his cock would strain to be inside her, just entering her
opening. Then she’d ride back down, teasing him senseless.

He pinched and rolled her nipples, while her
kisses became clumsy, almost knocking her teeth into him. The
sounds she emitted were frantic. But he loved it all. He wasn’t
going to grab her hips and force himself inside her as he so wanted
to do. This was driving her crazy, mayhap as much as him. Her body
began to shake, starting with her legs, then he felt the vibrations
along her chest. Fisting her hair, he kissed her then, deep and
meaningfully. God, he loved her. Loved this.

Then she slid up his member and let him enter
her. So slowly she descended. Her breath caught. She made a small
noise that sounded like she was in pain. And he worried, pulling
away from the kiss.

“Duncan.” Her eyes were glassy, she sounded
drunk.

“Did I hurt ye?” He reached for her hips to
stop the slow movement she made, even though it was torture to do
so.

She shook her head. “It’s so good. Nothing’s
ever felt this good.” Her breath was hot and sweet like the berries
she’d eaten at the wake. “I—I can’t believe how good this feels. I
know I keep saying that, but...has anything felt this good for
you?” Her eyes worried.

He finally did stop her, making sure she was
looking at him when he said, “Nay. Nothing compares to you, my
Fleur.” Then he was going to tell her he loved her. Instead, he
kissed her when she smiled at him, her hair all over her face, down
her back, hiding her breasts.

She swayed against him again. Her internal
muscles squeezed him tight, making any other thought in his mind
evaporate. All he could think of was the way she moved, the way she
felt on him, the way she felt inside. She straightened, sitting
erect, then lowered and lifted herself on him. Well, that was going
to do him in.

He held his breath, trying to hang onto some
control, while he traced down her flat stomach, then found her
little love pearl at the juncture of her legs, circling around it,
over it. She moaned and arched her back as she swayed. He wrapped a
hand around one of her buttocks, loving the firmness of it. Then
she had him unhinged as she lightly hugged herself, pushing her
breasts together. Her fingertips drew up her arms, then she
tunneled them through her own hair, splaying out the black silk in
a fan of dark beauty.