Mia Marlowe Read online

  “Here you are.”

  He handed her the bottle but didn’t move away. Their bodies weren’t touching, but Lucinda fancied she could feel the heat of him in any case.

  “You’re patient with your aunt too,” he said, still not moving to allow more space between them.

  “Weel, o’ course, I am. She’s family,” Lucinda said.

  “What difference does that make?”

  She turned and stared up at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Dinna ye ken that our family teaches us about the world and our place in it? Whatever we may know about the important things in life, we learn at our parents’ knees. ’Tis said one may choose their friends, but God chooses a family for us.”

  Alex snorted. “The Lord must have a sense of humor to send you scurrying about trying to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

  She smiled at that. “I’m sure we all give Him reason to chuckle from time to time. Oh, I know Aunt Hester may seem like an old bother, but how d’ye know she wasn’t put into my life to teach me the patience ye see in me?”

  “So you’re saying we deserve the family we’ve been given?” He leaned a hand on the cupboard behind her. “If I’d known that, I’d have repented in sackcloth and ashes long ago.”

  “Is your family so terrible, then?”

  “More like nonexistent.”

  Lucinda knew that wasn’t true. According to The Knowledgeable Ladies’ Guide to Eligible Gentlemen, Alexander’s father and brother were very much alive. Of course, there was also that cryptic entry about madness in connection with his mother. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

  “Weel, I’ll have Aunt Hester all packed up and ready to go by the time the coach returns for us.”

  “Speaking of packing, what’s in that hatbox you’ve been so precious about?” he asked.

  “Just a little something for me wedding,” she said. The veil that her mother had worn for her wedding was tucked in the padded compartment. It was a delicious confection of lace that had been handed down through several generations of MacOwen women. Lucinda had never dreamed she’d actually ever wear it and wed such a handsome fellow in the bargain. She was still tempted to pinch herself each time she looked at Alexander Mallory. “I want ye to be surprised.”

  “No worries there. I’ve been surprised nearly every moment of the day since I arrived in Scotland. Even the word ‘wedding’ gives me a bit of a jolt.”

  She pressed down her disappointment. He was no closer to being a willing bridegroom than he was when he stepped off the Agatha May.

  “Lucinda!” Great-Aunt Hester bellowed.

  “A moment, aunt,” she called back. Alex still didn’t move away, so she tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.

  “You’ve been patient about other things besides your aunt. Like finding those other three men to kiss. There’s been no chance for you to even meet any since we’ve been delayed in moving to Dalkeith,” he said. “Unless of course you kissed Mr. Gow while I was otherwise occupied.”

  That made her chuckle. “He’s no’ exactly the sort of man who makes girls’ pantalets twist, is he?”

  “I suppose not.”

  He leaned toward her, a hand on the shelf at her shoulder. There was no need to imagine she could feel his warmth now. Their bodies were touching and it was as if a low fire had been kindled in her belly.

  “What sort of man might affect a lady’s pantalets like that?” he asked.

  “As if ye didna know, Your Much of a Muchness.” She couldn’t resist naming him thus when the hard length of him was pressed up against her.

  “I thought you wouldn’t call me that till you knew if I deserved it.”

  “I’m making . . . an educated guess.”

  “If I’m the first man to ever kiss you, I don’t think you may consider yourself educated in such matters. Not even enough for a guess.”

  “Then why dinna ye educate me?”

  His expression grew as strained as if he were wrestling Aileen’s big trunk down the staircase again. “You’ve no idea what you’re asking.”

  He stepped back a pace and Lucinda’s belly curdled in disappointment.

  “Never mind, then. Surely there’ll be a man at Dalkeith who’ll be happy to fill in the gaps in my learning. After all, I do have three kisses to dispense and I’ll warrant more than lips may be involved and—”

  Alexander pulled her roughly to him, covering her mouth with his in a possessive kiss. He cupped her bum and lifted her a bit so she could feel the feverishness of him through the thin muslin of her gown, the length and the hardness of him pressed against the apex of her thighs.

  His smell, that disturbing, warm masculine scent—all leather and fresh air and horseflesh—was everywhere. Something dark and delicious fluttered to life in her belly.

  His hands flicked over her, sending sparks of pleasure trailing after them. Up and down her spine, then around to trail under her breasts. Her nipples ached and she arched herself into him.

  He rocked against her and she rocked back, luxuriating in the flood of warmth pooling between her legs.

  Alexander straightened and looked down at her, a smile slowly spreading over his face. Then the smile faded and his gray eyes warmed to the color of burnished pewter. He bent and claimed her mouth again.

  She didn’t protest. He covered her lips with his for a moment. Then he slanted his mouth across hers, tasting her, teasing her lips open. His tongue toyed with her and she made a little noise of impatience.

  Then he took her hand and guided it between their bodies, laying her palm over his groin and pressing it against the hard bulge.

  He wants me to feel just how Much of a Muchness he is.

  Lucinda was equal parts shocked and intrigued. There was something vulnerable about the way he invited her to explore him. She ran an experimental hand over his length and he groaned into her mouth. When she gave him a squeeze, he thrust his tongue between her lips as if showing her how he’d like to thrust that other part of him into another place in her. He was long and thick and she ached to feel him without the layers of his trousers and undergarments between them.

  “Lucinda!” Her great-aunt’s voice sing-songed down the hallway and into the kitchen. “Dinna make me wait for me rum, girl!”

  Alexander stopped kissing her and buried his nose in her hair. He drew a deep breath as if he might inhale her all the way down to his toes. She gave him one last stroke as he stepped back.

  “Lucinda, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “We’re betrothed, Alex. ’Tis only a matter of a few days and the bit of naughtiness we’re about now will be Church-sanctioned naughtiness then.”

  A dark shadow seemed to pass over his face at that.

  He still doesna want me. Not really.

  The realization struck her with the force of a blow, but Lucinda swallowed back her hurt. However much her chest ached at the thought that Alexander still felt trapped by their betrothal, she still needed to make the match work. For the sake of her family’s future. For her brother, Dougal, on the wrong side of the law. For too many reasons to count.

  Not the least of which was the way Alexander Mallory twisted her pantalets.

  It was early days yet, she decided with dogged determination. She’d make him love her, one way or another. Jealousy might be a way to goad him down the road. And he was the one who brought up their wager and the three kisses she was due before their Christmas Day wedding.

  “Thank ye kindly, Alexander, for that little dollop of education,” she said with what she hoped was a winsome smile. “Ye’ve given me ever so many interesting things to compare when I start kissing other men.”

  “As a general rule, a lady should never attempt to make a gentleman jealous. It is deceitful, manipulative, and unworthy of a gentlewoman’s character. However, one should not underestimate its effectiveness if done correctly.”

  From The Knowledgeable Ladies’ Guide

&n
bsp; to Eligible Gentlemen

  Chapter Six

  Once the carriage returned for them, Alexander and the driver loaded Aunt Hester’s trunks in the boot and bundled the old woman into the equipage. Both were neat tricks because the lady and her luggage claimed a goodly amount of the available space. Alex and Lucinda crowded together on the rear-facing squab.

  Ordinarily, he’d like nothing more than to be close to such a lovely young lady, but not this one who seemed more convinced than ever that he intended to marry her. He’d mentally kicked his arse up between his shoulder blades several times for kissing her in the kitchen like that when he ought to be looking for ways to end this sham betrothal.

  Encouraging her to fondle his cock probably hadn’t been the best way to begin to break things off with her either. Usually, he took his mistress to dinner or dropped by with flowers and broke the news to her gently. He was always kind about it how he phrased it. Something on the order of “while their association had been memorable and oh, so pleasurable, it was now time for them to go their separate ways.”

  He rarely faced tears and recriminations because most of his light-o-loves had husbands to turn to. Or else they were worldly widows who collected men like some women collected Delft pottery. He had no objection to joining such collections temporarily, but when he was ready to climb off the display shelf, nothing could stop him.

  Alex had never dealt with a virgin before and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. So, he folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. With any luck at all, the weeping woman who’d plagued his dreams wouldn’t find him in the rocking coach.

  The back and forth movement was sensual, like the give and take of a vigorous swive and so, contemplating silken limbs and deep thrusts, Alex drifted to sleep.

  The woman moved slowly across the room, shedding her night rail as she came. One button at a time. One more delicious inch of alabaster skin was bared with each unfastened seed pearl. The thin fabric slid off her shoulders and her breasts gleamed in the flickering light of the fire, but her face was still in shadow.

  Not knowing who she was made it better somehow.

  “I’ve come for ye, Alexander,” she whispered.

  “If you haven’t come for me yet, you will,” he promised, grinning at the double entendre. Then he plastered a stern look on his face. “But you must stop moving right now and do nothing unless I give you leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I mean to give you pleasure and I mean for you to accept it without argument.”

  The faint light teased up her neck and chin to her lovely bow of a mouth, but he still didn’t recognize her. She closed her lips firmly, accepting his mastery over her. A satisfied rush of power coursed over him.

  “Come and kiss me,” he ordered.

  Her night rail was hung up on her elbows. The hem trailed the ground as she approached, her neat little bare feet peeping from beneath the thin linen. Her breasts bounced a bit with each step, her berry-colored nipples drawn tight. When she bent to kiss him, her breasts fell forward, luscious fruit for him to pluck. He kneaded and squeezed and flicked her peaks with his thumbs till she moaned into his mouth.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She obeyed instantly. He undid a few more buttons and thrust a hand between her thighs. Her skin smelled of lilac, sweet enough to make his mouth water. He wondered if she must bathe in the stuff to so ingrain her flesh with the scent.

  She was wet and soft and she whimpered when he touched her, little bleating sounds of distress and longing. They went right to his cock and made the pressure in his shaft rise to the tipping point.

  He grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length though she continued to strain toward him. “Go lie down on the bed.”

  She straightened and obeyed him, though she did allow the night rail to slip off her arms as she went. He decided not to complain. It might have been an accident and she hadn’t meant to disobey his dictum not to do anything unless he gave the word.

  The globes of her heart-shaped bum undulated with each step. When she climbed up into the tester bed, her buttocks tipped up and he was treated to a glimpse of her glistening slit. Then she raised herself to her knees, faced him, and fisted her hands at her waist.

  It was beginning to bother him that her face was still in shadow.

  “On my stomach or back?” she asked.

  “Surprise me.”

  She settled on her stomach. He rose and walked toward the bed, realizing for the first time that he was already naked. His cock led the way, bobbing merrily toward its goal.

  She was a delight to his eyes. Her thick cloud of hair reached below her shoulder blades. He gathered it in one hand and forced her to raise up, arching her spine. He bent and planted kisses on the two dimples above her bum. He trailed a fingertip down her back and teased the cleft of her bottom. She quivered with delight. Then he flipped her over and settled between her legs in one smooth motion.

  “You didn’t really think I’d let you choose, did you?” he asked. “If I want your ankles over my shoulders or you on your knees like a dog, that’s how you’ll be.”

  He lowered his mouth and claimed hers roughly as he slid into her hot, tight channel. She hooked her ankles behind his back. It felt so good. So uncomplicated, this joining of bodies without any more promise than that of pleasure, given and received, between them.

  Then suddenly, she rolled, pinning him beneath her.

  “Dinna move without my leave, ye say.” Her voice was thick with derision. “Ye didna think I’d allow meself no’ say in this matter, did ye? If there’s anything on God’s earth as takes two hearts deciding and doing together, it’s this.”

  She sat up on his groin, impaling herself on his thick cock. She raised her arms over her head in mock surrender, the long white length of her throat exposed as her head lolled back. Every bit of him strained toward her, even though she had disobeyed him.

  “Love me, Alexander,” she said throatily. “And I’ll love ye right back.”

  She leaned down then and before he was engulfed by the thick curtain of her hair, the light finally reached her face.

  It was Lucinda MacOwen.

  The coach sank into a pothole and tossed its occupants upward so their bums left the tufted squabs for a moment. Alex woke with a start, but Aunt Hester merely grunted and burrowed deeper into the arms of Morpheus.

  He glanced sideways at Lucinda, who was peering out the window, blissfully ignorant of the way she was about to be rutted six ways from Sunday in his dream.

  As dreams went, that one was a close call. Another minute or two of it and he might have gone off like a fountain in his trousers. Alex took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wiped his brow.

  “How much farther is it to Dalkeith?” he asked, willing his body to settle.

  “Shh!”

  Lucinda put a finger to his lips. “My aunt has finally stopped grumbling and fallen to sleep,” she whispered. “An’ ye know what’s good for ye, ye’ll help me keep her in that state.”

  He nodded his agreement.

  She lifted the heavy curtain to get her bearings. Despite the rare December sunshine, a cold draught washed over them before she dropped the curtain back in place.

  “Not so far,” she whispered. “Only a wee bit more now.”

  “You’ve been to Dalkeith before?” He matched her soft tone to keep from waking Hester. Lucinda was right. Best to let sleeping dragons lie.

  “Only to walk the grounds,” she admitted. “’Tis supposed to be ever so grand on the inside, ye ken. Queen Mary lived there for a time, but that was long before she ran afoul of her wicked English cousin Elizabeth.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Do you know any bit of history that doesn’t involve allegations of English oppression?”

  “I’d say lopping off a body’s head is a good bit more than allegations of oppression.”

  She laced her fingers primly on her lap, those same lovely fingers that had danc
ed over his hard length only that morning. He was forced to look away.

  “Dinna blame me if your people have a history of mistreating the Scots in general and our queens in particular,” she went on in a louder whisper. “Mary Stuart had as good a claim to the English throne as your Virgin Queen. Better, some would say.”

  “That all happened a very long time ago.”

  “Aye, but we Scots have verra long memories.”

  “And a misplaced sense of whom to blame for your past woes. I had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “I’m thinkin’ ye and yer friends have more to do with our future woe. Ye’re here to bring an English king to us, are ye no’?”

  Alex ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s not just the English king. He’s your king too, whether you like it or not.”

  “Whether I like it or no’,” she repeated. “You’re right. How daft I am. That doesna sound like oppression at all.”

  Hester MacGibbon snorted wetly in her sleep, a truly horrendous sound that reminded Alex of a wild boar thrashing in the brush.

  “You’re upsetting your aunt,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Maybe we shouldna speak at all,” she said tersely and turned her face to the curtained window as if she could see through the heavy damask.

  He folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes again. Lucinda MacOwen couldn’t start kissing those other men soon enough to suit him, he decided.

  If only his gut didn’t roil at the thought.

  The pale stone of Dalkeith rose from its sheltered place among hundred-year-old Caledonian oaks. In high summer, it would be breathtaking. Now with bare limbs and a broad expanse of winter-brown grass, the edifice was just shy of forbidding. The palace was styled after William of Orange’s Holland estate. The Continental influences showed in its sloped lead rooflines that sprouted over a dozen tall chimneys. The multi-paned windows spread across the front of the building in rigid symmetry.