The Laird's Forbidden Lady (24 page)

He swallowed. ‘
Leannan,
’ he breathed. ‘My lovely wife.’ There was awe in his voice.

It was nothing new, her beauty, or male admiration, but there was something of awe in the way he said the words that seemed to caress a soft place in her heart.

She didn’t want tenderness. She reached up and clasped her hands around the back of his neck, drawing herself up to tease his lips with her tongue and her teeth. A soft groan filled her ears and he pressed his thigh between her legs. She shifted, parting her thighs, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips, telling him she was ready for their joining and the pleasure she had learned it would bring.

‘Selina, love,’ he rasped against her mouth. ‘Slow down. You’ll unman me.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’ she asked with a teasing note in her voice.

He took a deep ragged breath. ‘It might be.’ And then he was pressing hot kisses to her
throat, licking the rise of her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue, making her writhe and squirm beneath him as the pull of tension tightened within her.

His hand went to the apex of her thighs and he parted the soft folds and she felt his fingers slide within her slick passage. She cried out as a shudder of desire swept through her as he teased her with his touch.

She wanted to curse him, when he stopped and raised his head to look into her face with a dark smile of satisfaction. She let her hands slide down his back to the rise of his buttocks and pulled him tight against the heart of her that ached with a need for his flesh against hers.

The expression on his face tightened to one of painful intensity.

To see the effect of her actions on his face jolted through her like lightning, a hot spark of lust that darkened the edge of her vision and brought her close to the edge of bliss and yet keeping it just out of reach; she wanted to scream her frustration.

The inner core of her fluttered and tightened and she lifted her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist. And then, as if in obedience to her will, he drove home. Deep within her, he filled her and remained utterly still.

On a moan, she twisted her hips, fought to find the deeper pleasure waiting just beyond
reach. One large hand went beneath her, bringing her body tight against his. The other curved around her breast. He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

And then he suckled.

The sharpest sweetest pain she could ever imagine pierced her to the core.

He drove into her again and again as she shattered in a fiery burst of light behind her eyes as her core pulsed around his shaft. A deep sound in his throat and the convulsive shudders of his body heightened her bliss.

It seemed like hours before her heartbeat returned to normal and she noticed the hot weight of him on her body. It could not have been more than a moment or two, but the warmth went on and on, waves of it making her languid and content. When he eased off her and pulled her close against his chest, she felt replete and complete.

Dangerous, she thought, but undeniably wonderful.

After a week, Selina’s life at Dunross Keep settled into a rhythm. Tumultuous passion at night, followed by long, hellishly boring days.

Tonight, as usual, her husband sat with his dram of whisky beside the hearth, reading the news from London, while with a stomach tied in knots she pretended to read a book.

From beneath her lowered lashes she couldn’t
help but watch him, the way he sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him encased in a pair of buckskins, his shirt closed by a practical stock, rather than a cravat, and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He’d discarded his coats because of the warmth of the evening.

He looked handsome, relaxed and very much the Laird of Dunross.

He belonged here. Unlike her. There was nothing for her here. No society. No friends. No purpose. She was nothing but a china ornament to be admired and caressed and put away at the beginning of each day.

Three more weeks and she’d be free to leave. No matter how he wooed her in the bedroom, she was determined to make him stand by their bargain.

Chapter Eighteen

I
an had tricked her into thinking there was more between them than there was, and she wasn’t going to pretend it was otherwise.

Every day he left her alone and went off to the mill. Each day, she carefully erected reasons why she should not give herself to this man. And each night it was ridiculous how easily he tore down those objections with his lovemaking.

She had no illusions about why they had married, and he might torment her body each night until she cried out with the pleasure of it, but he was not going to touch her heart. Not a second time.

He must have sensed her looking at him, since he glanced up.

She bit her lip.

‘Out with it, lass,’ he said quietly. ‘What troubles you?’

‘How do you know something troubles me?’

‘There’s an expression you get on your face.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t quite explain it.’

‘I am troubled by the idea that you are smuggling again. Not that I care if you endanger yourself, understand, but I think the people of Dunross deserve better.’

His lips twisted wryly. ‘‘Tis kind of you to worry, but the people of Dunross are my concern.’

‘Don’t you think I have a right to know if you are involved in a criminal activity? Something that might bring the law down on my head, too?’

He folded his paper and put it on one side with a sigh. ‘We are turning the mill into a commercial still,’ he said quietly.

‘An illegal still, you mean. Are you mad?’

He grimaced. ‘My family, my people, have been making whisky for centuries. It is our right.’ He gave a hard laugh. ‘Anywhere else in Britain, apart from the Highlands, what I am doing would be perfectly legal.’

‘How so?’

‘When they passed the law delineating the Highlands, the English Parliament also passed a law that no still beyond that line should have a capacity of less than five hundred gallons. Anything less is outside the law.’

‘And that is what you are building?’ She felt a flicker of relief. Not for him, he could do just as he wished, she assured herself, but for the people of Dunross.

‘That,’ he said flatly, ‘is well nigh impossible. We can’t grow enough barley for a still of that size.’

‘Surely if the farmers all got together?’

He nodded. ‘We might come close. But if we don’t, we are still taxed as if we did. And even so, we can only sell what we produce in the Highlands. Pointless, when every man worth his salt makes his own. We are being penalised for the sins of our forefathers.’ He frowned. ‘Not to mention that distillers in England don’t like the competition because they know our whisky is better than any geneva they can make.’

‘Why make whisky at all? Or is it your dearest wish to go to prison?’ Or worse.

‘You don’t understand.’

‘I understand well enough that you are taking risks with other people’s lives.’

A crease formed between his brows. ‘You were out today. Where did you go?’

Changing the topic, because her opinion mattered not one wit.

‘I went for a ride. What else is there for me to do?’ She winced, knowing she sounded like a sulky child. ‘I rode to Balnaen Cove. Topaz needed the exercise.’

He frowned. ‘You should not go so far from the keep.’

‘Why? Are you afraid I might see more smugglers?’

He cast her a dark glance. ‘We still don’t know who betrayed us to the gaugers. Or whether they intend more mischief. If you wish to exercise your horse, you will do it in my company.’

‘You are never here during the day.’

A seductive smile curved his lips, his eyes becoming heavy-lidded and lighting with a wicked gleam. ‘Are you telling me you are missing me during the day, lass?’

Heat flashed through her. Unwelcome little stirrings trickled through her blood. She stiffened against them. ‘Certainly not. I am telling you I do not intend to sit inside these walls all day long with nothing to do.’

He frowned. ‘You have things to do. The running of the household.’

‘It pretty well runs itself. It isn’t as if we have a vast number of servants and nor do we have guests to entertain. I tried visiting your mother, but was turned away at the door.’

His gaze shuttered. ‘You know she isn’t well.’

‘I thought to ask her to live here at the keep. She would be more comfortable. She could have her own suite of rooms.’

‘‘Tis kind of you, lass,’ he said and there was warmth in his expression, but he shook his head.
‘She’s still not used to the idea of our marriage. You have to give her more time.’

‘Not used to it? She hates it.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be gone soon enough.’

The warmth in his eyes fled, replaced by a look of hurt. Or was she mistaken, as she was mistaken in so much about this man? For now it was determination on his face. His gaze dropped to her breasts and then rose again. Heat flooded through her.

Her body tingled.

She fought the sudden rush of desire. To no avail. He was already rising to his feet, a hand held out for hers. It seemed that conversation was over.

Ian wanted to curse as he looked at his beautiful wife. Every day she grew less and less happy. A woman like her should be dancing at balls, be the centre of society instead of stuck in a backwater like Dunross.

What had he expected? That she would be happy here, because she was with him? Four weeks she had given him. And every night he did his best to bind her to him. And every morning he knew it wasn’t working.

Yet.

A Gilvry never gave up.

Sitting with her after dinner in her sitting room always helped him relax. Made him forget
the day’s worries in the anticipation of the night to come.

But his guilt over Andrew was always there, a looming shadow between them. He didn’t blame her for what he’d done. She’d only asked for his help. The urge to win her gratitude had made him act against his brother more harshly than was warranted.

Thank God no one else knew what he had done. Nor would he ever let her influence him that way again. He would not let her twist him around her little finger. He was the Laird of Dunross and she would abide by his decisions as did the rest of his people.

Even so, he was gnawed by guilt, a feeling in his gut, that Drew had died so Ian could have everything he ever wanted. Dunross. Selina.

Except he didn’t really have Selina. She clearly still had every intention of leaving. He should just let her go. It would be easier on them all. But the thought of her returning to her London friends, a married woman, free to do as she pleased, drove him to the madness of trying to win her.

And God knew they were compatible in bed. Blissfully so. Not that she came like a lamb. Each night he had to woo her anew. But the pleasure was not all one sided. Not in the least.

Lust surged through him. And something else. A kind of softness he did not want to examine
too closely. He was already weak enough when it came to this woman.

He swept her up in his arms, gazed down into her face and saw her eyes were the colour of whisky. No shadows now. Only desire. Whatever the differences between them, in their desire for each other they were equally matched. And that was enough for him. Wasn’t it?

It had to be. It was more than he deserved.

Heat raced through his veins and he strode for their bed.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, clearly knowing very well what he was doing, but bedevilling him none the less.

‘I’ve had enough of arguments for one night. And talk of leaving.’

He set her down on her feet and pulled her into his arms, kissing and nibbling at her full lush lips, teasing them with his tongue until he felt her body start to melt beneath his hands, the way she always did. He just wished that once she would initiate their lovemaking. His body hardened to granite at the thought and he almost groaned aloud just imagining such a thing.

Sometimes she did things with her hands and her mouth that sent him far too quickly over the edge and he wondered if it was intentional. But he doubted it. She was too angry with him for tricking her into this marriage for her to care about his pleasure. He wasn’t sure she would
ever let go of that anger, but he would continue to attempt to convince her. As long as she’d let him.

Just as he would try to make her forget Dunstan.

He plundered her mouth with his tongue and she slipped her arms around his neck in sensual surrender. Perhaps tonight would be the night he’d win more than her body.

The next morning it was pouring with rain so Selina was surprised when a grim-faced Angus brought a message to the breakfast table that Mr Tearny urgently wanted to see Ian in the hall.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘That is for the Laird to say.’ Angus didn’t like the land agent, who was employed by both Carrick and the Dunross estate, and had remained after her father left. As Angus had. By choice.

Ian put down his knife and fork. His face took on hard lines as he rose from the table. ‘I had better see him right away.’ He followed Angus from the room.

Selina frowned at her toast. He hadn’t asked her to join him. Nor had he said she should not. And Angus’s grim countenance had aroused her curiosity.

It was a large space, once used by the Laird for his men-at-arms and the keep’s servants. It still had the raised dais at one end where in
the old days the lord and his family would have taken their meal. Now the space was primarily used for storage.

Her father had also used it when in residence as a place to fulfil his responsibilities as Justice of the Peace. It seemed that Ian was doing the same. A solitary chair and small table held the centre of the dais and Ian was already seated by the time Selina reached the bottom of the stairs behind him.

She remained in the shadows. Silent. Watching. It was the first time she had seen him in the role of Laird. He looked stern, perhaps even harsh, where the light from a window high in the wall cast his face in shadow.

Tearny stood before him with a firm grasp around the arm of a young lad. A brace of rabbits lay at his feet. The boy brushed his russet hair out of his green eyes with defiance. There was a large red mark on his face, like a recent blow from a fist. Selina had a sense of recognition, yet she did not think she knew the lad.