Rogue of the Borders (25 page)

“Do not worry,” Abigail said, now stroking his thigh with her other hand. “We can go as slowly as you like. It will be my first time also.”

Shane growled, changing the sound quickly to a cough.
Jesu
, going slowly was not how his mind was operating. He caught her second hand before it found its way to the hard bulge in his breeches and then dropped both of them back in her lap. “’Tis better if ye rest since ye appear to be a bit addled.”

“I am not addled. I want you to make love to me, as a husband should. It does not matter if you do not know what to do.”

“I doona…” Shane could hardly get the words out without laughing. “What makes ye think I doona ken what to do?”

Abigail frowned. “Fiona mentioned it.”

He almost choked. “Fiona?”

“Yes. I wanted to find out more about your past since you would not talk about it. Fiona said you never brought a woman home—that she had not seen you with one.”

He was going to strangle his cousin.

“She said you were not randy like her brothers.”

Partially true. Still. He would speak to his overly talkative cousin. “Just because I doona flaunt lasses in front of my relatives, doesnae mean—” He stopped as Abigail’s eyes widened.

“Then you know what to do?” Abigail asked.

Before he could answer, she’d swept her hair back, exposing naked ivory mounds topped with cherry pebbles.

Jesu.
He was no saint.

She cupped them, offering herself.

They looked exactly as they had in his dream. With a groan, Shane leaned over Abigail, suckling a nipple while his fingers kneaded the other breast, tugging the sweet tip, teasing it to tautness. Abigail moaned softly, tossing her head back.

Shane took the opportunity to nuzzle her exposed neck and nibble her ear before covering her mouth with his. She parted her lips immediately, allowing him inside to explore. Abigail tasted of sweet honey and spice. He deepened the kiss, making it hard and demanding, wanting more. Abigail eagerly met his thrusts with her own, entangling their tongues like starving street urchins, not willing to let a single morsel of heavenly manna go to waste.

He slid his hands down her ribs while he trailed fevered kisses along her throat, across her collarbone and laved a tight nipple, causing Abigail to gyrate beneath him. He feathered his breath across her breasts, closing over the other tight nip and drawing deep, compelling her to gasp in pleasure. Cupping both soft, satiny mounds, he continued to torture the tips while his mouth delved into her navel and trailed downward across her belly to the soft curls protecting her womanhood.

Feminine heat and arousal rose to meet him, but Shane forced himself to continue on. Abigail’s legs shook, as though she wasn’t sure whether to keep them tightly closed or allow them to fall open. Making that decision for her, he gently pushed them wide, repositioning himself between, and lifted one thigh to his shoulder.

Her body stiffened as her eyes grew wide. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing ye willnae like.” He kissed the inside of her knee softly and then again until he felt her relax. Nibbling slowly along her inner thigh, he brought her other leg up as well, exposing her sweet center fully. She attempted to pull away, but he held her legs firmly apart.

Abigail lifted her head, trembling. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Aye, lass. I am quite sure.”

“But…but it feels…it feels scandal—oh.” She gasped for breath as Shane put his mouth to her core, tongue plundering her opening. “Oh, my God.”

Savoring her sweet juices, Shane began licking in slow, easy strokes upward along each fold, leisurely taking his time, circling and teasing the quivering little piece of flesh that stood to attention. Abigail thrashed and moaned deep in her throat. Inserting a finger inside her hot sheath, he began to slowly thrust while flicking his tongue over her throbbing, hard bud in sensuous torture.

Abigail’s back flexed, her hips moving in rhythm with his hand. She clutched and tore at the sheets, her moans and groans coming in earnest as his pressure increased. Shane felt the tension building, her inner muscles beginning to contract and he covered her pulsing nub and sucked hard. Her body shuddered in a series of spasms as she squealed her pleasure and then fell back against the pillow, utterly limp.

Slowly, Shane released Abigail and sat up. Her eyes fluttered half-open and she reached for him.

“You are still clothed.”

“Aye.” He moved out of her reach and stood, ignoring his protesting cock that wanted to finish what he’d started. Abigail looked beautiful—her face flushed, eyes luminous, lips swollen—a woman totally satiated. The room smelled of lust, the scent of her arousal still strong from the dampness between her thighs as she lay with them still spread apart. There wasn’t anything he wanted to do more than take her completely.

But he could not break his oath. Turning, he walked toward the door, not daring to look back as he closed it behind him.

Chapter Twenty One

Abigail blinked in surprise the next morning to see Shane sitting at the breakfast table with their guests.

“So you decided to leave early, after all?” Henri asked him.

“I think the kelp is dry,” Shane answered. “As soon as we finish eating, I will go down to the warehouse to make sure.”

Abigail didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, trying to quell a sudden fluttering in her stomach. She had no idea where Shane had gone when he’d left so abruptly last night after…after…well,
after
. She felt her face warm and quickly moved to the sideboard before anyone saw the tell-tale splotches on her cheeks. She did not blush prettily. Her hands began to tremble at the memory of what had transpired in their bed last night. How incredible it had been. Her body had completely shattered. Just seeing Shane had a lingering effect. She barely managed to land a spoonful of coddled eggs on her plate without half of it landing on the floor and decided to forgo trying to stab a slice of ham.

Fiona watched her openly, curiosity plainly showing since they all knew Shane didn’t spend nights in the fourth floor bedchamber. She frowned suddenly, muttering an ouch and glared at Shauna who smiled serenely and made a point of looking at her plate.

Grateful for Shauna’s diplomacy, Abigail sat down quickly and reached for her tea, only to jerk her hand back when the fragile china cup rattled dangerously in its saucer. Perhaps she needed to wait until she had some emotional control over her movements. She dared a glance at Shane, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous she was. How did lovers face each other after…?

He sat across from her, watching with eyes the color of slate, his face impassive. She would have liked a smile or at least an expression of
something
to let her know he remembered last night. She furrowed her brows. How could he possibly forget? Shane frowned in response. Good heavens. He looked almost angry. What had she done?

With the clarity of a bell clanging inside her head, Abigail knew. She had acted like a hoyden. Heat washed over her like scalding water. She had acted no better than the light skirts who frequented the area of Covent Garden at night. She’d waited for Shane half-naked and sprawled across the bed. Worse was how she had
reacted
to Shane’s ministrations. The guttural sounds she’d made, the way her body had gyrated wantonly beneath him, the way she had so willingly wrapped her legs around his shoulders, not caring she was totally exposed to him… Embarrassment flamed through her. Her face felt on fire and her body was on the brink of incineration.

Dear God. No man wanted to be married to a strumpet.

“We will be leaving but would like to accompany you to the warehouse first, if you do not mind,” Andre was saying to Shane. “Since the kelp industry is lucrative business right now, we’d like to learn more about it.”

“Aye. Ye are welcome.”

“Have you considered reducing the product to ash yourself?” Henri asked.

The conversation drifted around Abigail, fading in and out as though she had one of Shane’s tartans wrapped about her head. How could he carry on such a casual conversation about seaweed? As if…as if nothing had happened between them?

The bell inside her mind tolled again. Abigail’s hands flew to her face, surprised it wasn’t scorched already. Dear Lord. Shane’s current actions could not have been more clear. He was
dismissing
her—that was why he’d left so quickly last night. Her behavior had been slatternly—little better than a common harlot. Shane had taken what she freely offered and then left.

Although he was too polite—and honorable—to bring up the subject in front of others, he was letting her know he had no further interest.

The room suddenly became stifling. Her clothes felt too tight, as though she might suffocate any moment. She needed air—and she wanted nothing more than to run from the room and hide somewhere.

Deportment took over however. Abigail had been trained by London’s elite, after all. Whether she agreed with all the silly rules, there was a reason for at least some of them. Mustering her inner fortitude, she composed her features, lifted her chin and rose as gracefully as she could, motioning the men to stay seated.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded calm and collected, “I am not feeling well this morning.” She managed to give a brief nod toward Shane. “Since you will wish to leave on high tide, which, if I looked correctly at the tables in the office, is shortly after lunch, I wish you a safe journey.”

Amidst a chorus of sympathy for her illness, she turned and walked from the hall. All that boring practice of walking about with a book on one’s head seemed to be paying off. As long as she didn’t turn around, no one would see the tears welling in her eyes. She could—she
would—
keep her composure until she was safely in her chambers.

The future had never been more uncertain. Shane and she would have to talk when he returned. Ironically, even though he’d indicated no further interest in her, one question had been answered.

Shane had proved he definitely knew what he was doing in bed—no doubt through experience with women who had acted just as whorishly as she did.

And what man wanted a whore for a wife?

As she reached the stairs, Abigail let the tears flow.

Abigail confounded him. Shane barely paid attention to Henri and Andre as they made their way to the warehouse, nor did he listen as they asked questions of the fishermen who doubled as warehouse workers when it came to baling their kelp.

His wife was angry with him. Shane had not ever observed her acting haughty and assuming ladyship airs, not even in the most intimidating circumstances in London society. Yet, when Abigail rose from the table, she had looked and acted every inch an aristocratic noblewoman. The brief glance she’d allotted him was almost scornful. Why? What had he done?

Not for one minute did he buy her story of not feeling well. She had looked in the bloom of health when she’d appeared in the dining room earlier. Her face bore a becoming shade of pink and her eyes had sparkled—she’d looked every inch a woman who had been thoroughly satisfied the night before.

Lord, he’d wanted to satisfy her much more. As responsive as Abigail was to his hands and mouth, he could only imagine her reaction to having him buried deep inside her, awakening all her womanly instincts and giving her intense pleasure—as long and as often as she wanted.

Which was exactly why he’d left her, barely able to walk due to his engorged, painful state. He hadn’t trusted himself to spend the night in that bedchamber, to lie beside Abigail and only hold her close—something he also wanted to do, oddly enough. His boyhood tumbles in the hay with willing milkmaids had been of short duration and later, when he’d decided he preferred paid courtesans to lasses who wanted husbands, those visits had not required a length stay either. But with Abigail—he wondered what it would be like to wake up with her in his arms?

“What do you think?” Henri asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Shane started. “Sorry. What did ye say?”

Andre exchanged a bemused look with Henri. “I think our friend is still reliving last evening.”

“Not that I blame him,” Henri replied with a grin, “but I was asking if you have established kelp trade with Ireland, given that it must need ash since it produces crystal as fine as France’s?”

“Aye, even though Ireland can harvest some kelp, it doona have the firths and bays we do,” Shane answered, glad to veer off his wayward thoughts. “My ships in Glasgow make regular runs.”

His thoughts returned to Abigail as they made their way to the office to collect the paperwork from Richard. Shane didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Even though he’d spent the night on board his ship, he’d made sure to come back to the house before dawn so no one would know he’d been gone. He thought she’d be pleased with that.

Instead, she had snubbed him. Why?

Well, well. The high-and-mighty MacLeod seemed to be having a bit of a problem. Richard kept his head down, pretending to be immersed in transferring figures to his ledgers, but his ears were perked.

“Do what it takes to get those bales loaded,” Shane told Donald, his tone abrupt. “I want to be out of here on the ebb tide, but I need to go back to the townhouse.”