The Highlander's Yuletide Love (20 page)

As they rejoined
the party, Sophy looked sidelong at Ranulf. He had a serious look on his face,
but it softened as he turned his head towards her.

 “He likes you a
great deal,” he said.

“Your father
does?”

“Indeed. You
stood up to him, as I knew you would, and he appreciates that.”

Sophy looked
perplexed. “Was this by way of being a test?”

“Not at all. I
meant it when I said he had asked to meet you. Apparently he had heard—certain
remarks from the servants.” Ranulf glanced down at her. “I am glad to know you
can hold your own against him.”

“So it was a
test.”

“It was not. Do
you think I would take his opinion to heart if he disliked you?”

“I don’t know
why any of this was necessary. It is not as though we mean to marry.”

Ranulf grimaced.
“I meant to dance with you, but that can wait.” He led her to the tall terrace
doors, and, after a quick look around, led her out, whisking her to the side,
where no one looking out through the glass panes could see them.

The last rays of
the sun were still lighting the hilltops, and the sky was a striking deep blue,
the golden stars just beginning to shine. Sophy looked up, admiring them.

“It’s so
beautiful,” she said. She recalled herself to the present. “What do you want to
say to me?”

Ranulf slipped
an arm around her waist. “I thought I wanted to talk, but now I think perhaps
there are better things to do.” He placed his lips on the side of her neck, his
breath warm and enticing.

“Don’t try to
distract me,” protested Sophy, though she did not pull away. “Your father thinks
we plan to marry.”

“I’ve not told
him so. He came to that conclusion on his own,” said Ranulf. He placed a kiss
on her temple, then slid his lips along her cheekbone. “But would it be so bad?”
His hands grasped her waist and drew her toward him, until she nestled against
him.

“Why should I
marry you?” asked Sophy, but her voice was soft as she melted into him. One of
his hands slid up to cup the back of her head, while the other pressed against
her bottom so she could feel his excitement growing.

“Because you
love Spaethness, and you love this.” Ranulf took her lips in an intoxicating
kiss, his lips warm and urgent against hers, consuming her, making her forget
anything but the feeling of his mouth on hers and his hands gently caressed
her. She opened to him, responding blindly, wrapping her arms around him and
drawing his head down to hers. He laughed softly and lifted his head, watching
as she fought her way back to reality.

“That’s not
enough,” she protested faintly. “I’ve told you I mean to paint, and be
independent. Were I Lady of Spaethness, my time would be yours and the
estate’s, not my own.”

“Sophy, were you
Lady of Spaethness, you could do anything you pleased. I would make no demands
of you—outside of this, of course.” His lips caught hers in a searing kiss as a
stream of liquid fire trickled down her spine. She opened her mouth to him as
he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling it gently as she
whimpered, raising her hands to run them through his dark hair.

“This I could
never give up—but you would not want to, either. Think of it, Sophy,” he
murmured, his lips against her throat, the hand that held her to him gathering
up her skirt so that she could feel the night breeze on her silk-covered legs, “think
how it would be to have this every night—and every morning—and every afternoon.”

She sighed,
pondering the sensual delights he offered her and she reached one hand into his
coat to feel his warm skin through the fine linen of his shirt.

“So soft,” he
murmured as he pushed her skirt aside, his hand meeting the flesh of her
bottom. He kneaded it gently as he licked his way across her cheekbone to
nuzzle at her ear. His hand slid between her buttocks to cup the soft down
between her legs as he held her firmly.

Sophy moved
fretfully in his arms. “The party,” she murmured. “Anyone might come out here.”

“They might not
see us in the shadow,” whispered Ranulf, his breathing heavily. “Or they might.
Would you care?” He parted her gently and sank a finger into her, just an inch
or two, and she gave a little cry of anticipation.

“Would you walk
away? You seem to be ready for me.” A second finger joined the first, and she
gasped. “Tell me you’re ready for me.”

“I—I’m ready. I
want you now.” She ground against his hand, seeking more, and he obliged her,
sliding in deeper, stretching her as she groaned deeply in her throat.

Ranulf chuckled.
“I thought you might feel that way.” He gave her one last searing kiss, and
then released her as she made a sound of disapproval. “Not to worry, my sweet,
you shall have what you need,” he promised.

He glanced
around and, grabbing a cushion from a nearby bench, led her to the parapet that
separated the terrace from the garden. He turned her to face it, and she looked
over her shoulder inquiringly as he placed the cushion on the dark stone. “Lean
over, darling,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened
for a moment, but she obeyed, placing her forearms on the cushion, her chest
jutting forward and her hips canted up. Ranulf paused for a moment to admire
her and then came up behind her, pressing his hips to her bottom, one hand
reaching around to cup her breasts, his hands moving over her already
tightening nipples. He bit gently at the nape of her neck and then slowly, so
she could feel the sensual slide of the silk on her skin, raised her skirts
again until her bottom was revealed. He pushed the fabric up on her back and
then stepped back a few inches, running both of hand up her legs, caressing her
inner thighs, stroking and teasing until she felt her knees grow weak and she
clutched at the edge of the stone with her fingertips. She felt him move, and
then jumped as she realized he had sunk to his knees and pressed his lips to
the point between her thigh and torso. He held her steady with one hand, while
the other played gently with the nub of desire between her legs.

“Ranulf,” moaned
Sophy.

“Wait,” he
commanded. Then she felt his mouth on her, his tongue laving the wet heat of
her, circling and sucking, creating sensations that she thought must rob her of
her sanity. She tensed as a cry rose in her throat, and he raised his mouth for
one moment.

“They will hear
you,” he warned.

She gave a sob
of frustration as his mouth returned to her, leading her further down the path
to fulfillment, then pulling back, leaving her always just short. His hand
joined his mouth, moving gently in and out of her as his lips closed around
what felt to her to be the very center of her being. Just as she felt the wave
begin to crash over her, he pulled back and stood.

“Damn you, Ranulf,”
she panted.

“We both need
our satisfaction,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “Don’t move.”

She waited as
she heard him unbutton his trousers and then he was behind her, one hand
encircling her waist to hold her steady. She could feel his erection against
her, sliding gently over her damp curls and the spot that ached for him.

“Please,” she
said.

“Ask again,”
said Ranulf. “I like it when you do that.” He slid his cock slowly between her
legs, increasing her already swamping need. “You feel good.”

“Please,” she
repeated, though a touch of temper had entered her voice.

“That’s very
good.” He slid into her swiftly, in one hard stroke, filling her completely. His
hand splayed over her bottom, then slid down to caress her thigh. He held her
there for a moment, gasping, and then pulled out slowly, leaving only the tip
of his erection inside her.

“Would you do
something for me?” he asked.

“What?” asked
Sophy dreamily.

Ranulf’s hands
moved to open the tapes on the back of her dress. “Lower your bodice.”

Sophy did so,
looking down at her breasts in the deepening twilight. They seemed fuller than
they had been before, the tips jewel-hard.

Ranulf sank back
into her as she raised up on her toes and canted her hips up, seeking greater
contact. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, and nipped at her
earlobe. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered. He held her hips firmly, pushing in
more deeply as Sophy gave a yelp, hastily suppressed, of satisfaction. “Squeeze
your nipples,” he said.

“What?” Sophy
tried to turn her head toward him, but he stopped her with his cheek, keeping
her facing forward. He pulled out slightly and waited a moment.

“If you want me,
you’ll squeeze your nipples for me. You’ll see, it will feel delightful.”

“How do you
know?” asked Sophy crossly.

He pulled out a
bit more, and she tried to wiggle back. He stopped her, holding her hips
firmly. “I know. Squeeze them.”

After a moment,
Sophy, flushing furiously, obeyed him and raised her hands to her breasts,
clamping down on them and squeezing firmly. She moaned as a bolt of desire shot
directly to the point between her legs. At the same moment, Ranulf thrust into
her deeply, pushing so far in that Sophy thought she must die.

“You see. If you
marry me, you could have this every day,” said Ranulf, holding himself against
her, thrusting in another sensational fraction of an inch. “Say you’ll stay at
Spaethness.”

“I—I will,”
gasped Sophy, giving way, unable to do anything but pulse around him as
everything shattered. Ranulf came with her, spilling himself into her with a
violence that surprised him.

Sophy sagged in
his arms, gasping for breath. Ranulf pulled gently out of her, adjusting his
trousers and allowing her skirts to fall back over her legs with a silken
rustle. He drew her up, cradling her back against his chest, his hands cupping
her still naked breasts, his fingers gently brushing her nipples. “So lovely,
so sweet,” he murmured into her ear. She made a sound between a laugh and a
sob.

 “They’ll be
looking for us,” she said.

He turned her to
face him. “My father, if he is still about, doubtless guesses where we are. Your
family must have some notion of our attraction to each other at this point. As
for the others—” Ranulf shrugged, “I don’t care in the least what they think. Promise
you’ll think on this, Sophy. I will speak to your father tomorrow. I doubt he
will be surprised when I ask for your hand in marriage.”

“But—”

Ranulf cupped
her chin in his hand and smothered her protest with his lips. “Must I convince
you again?”

She dimpled. “I
wouldn’t mind.”

He laughed. “We
must go inside or I’ll have you on your back on these flagstones.” He
reluctantly pulled up her bodice, fastening the tapes with gentle, unhurried
fingers, and then turned her face toward the rising moon.

“You look as though
you’ve been recently kissed—more than kissed,” he said. “But it only makes you
more beautiful.”

“Will anyone
know?” fretted Sophy.

“No, why would
they? They will think you have been dancing too energetically, perhaps. Only
you and I know what we have been doing. You go in first, and I will wait a bit.
No one will guess.” Ranulf opened the door, and, after looking around briefly,
pushed her into the room. He gave her a formal bow, but looked at her with such
warmth in his eyes as he stood that her heart filled with it.

As Ranulf joined
some of his other guests, Sophy stood for a moment, blinking in the suddenly
bright candlelight, before making her way toward Harriet, who sat on a
silk-covered chair across the room, speaking to Isobel.

“Lady Sophia?”

She turned at
the sound of her name to see a woman she was not acquainted with smiling
brittlely at her. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

“I regret we did
not meet earlier, but my husband and I arrived late, and you were already
dancing,” said the woman. “I am Davina Sheehy, Lady of Ardfern.”

“Ardfern? Oh,
yes, one of the neighboring estates,” said Sophy. She realized suddenly how
much she had learned of Spaethness in her brief time here.

“Yes, Ardfern.” The
woman said it as though it should have some meaning to Sophy, and she looked at
her more closely. Davina was very beautiful, with fine white-gold hair curling
away from her brow and eyes of a pale, icy blue. She was fair, slender, and
looked almost ghost-like to Sophy’s eye, although the breasts that were amply
displayed by her low neckline were very full.

“I beg your
pardon. Have we met before?” asked Sophy.

“No, we haven’t.
But I‘ve heard a great deal about you.”

Sophy’s brow
furrowed. “You have? Do you visit London often, or the border counties?”

“Not at all. My
family is from Dumbarton, and I was married out of the schoolroom to the Laird
of Ardfern.”

“I’m sorry, I
must be more than ordinarily dull tonight,” said Sophy cheerfully. “Why would
you know of me?”

Davina stepped
closer. “Do you think no one knows what you and Ranulf are up to? The whole
neighborhood is talking of it.”