Secrets to Seducing a Scot

TWENTY-ONE

Though it was nigh on nine o’clock, the gloaming was not yet over. The sky was swathed in a hundred shades of blue and purple, as if the heavens were lit only by candlelight. A chill air wet the night.

Serena clutched her wrap tighter around her shoulders as she took a stroll around the gardens with Rachel Askey. She stole a glance at Malcolm, who trailed a few paces behind them.

It had been two weeks since the Saint Swithin’s Day Festival, and during that time Malcolm had spent a great deal of time with her father. Earlington had found a surprise treasure in all of Malcolm’s knowledge of the clans in general, and of Brandubh McCullough in particular. But Serena missed having him around most of the day, and she relished the opportunity to step outside the house, even for something as simple as a walk, just to be able to reclaim him.

Rachel rearranged the blanket around the sleeping child in her arms. “There, my wee rabbit. Mother missed you at dinner.”

Smiling, Serena glanced down at the baby, who raised a tiny fist to her face. The baby had Rachel’s strawberry curls, but Lord Askey’s plump cheeks. “She’s a sweeting. And such a quiet babe, too.”

“Aye. Hardly ever cries when I hold her. Nanny Muire-all is a blessing to have around—she was my nanny, too—but she likes to sing to the baby, and between you and me, she sounds like a cat caught in a roomful of rocking chairs.”

Serena laughed. “My nanny sang about as sweetly as a wooden bell. And she smelled of old woman.”

Rachel laughed. “Oh, aye. She does that and all!”

They dipped their heads as they passed under a low-hanging branch. “You’re so attached to your baby, Rachel. I know we’re about the same age, but I wonder if I’ll be nearly as devoted a mother as you are.”

“Certainly you will! It’s inevitable.”

“I’m not so sure. In London’s set, I’ll wager most of the ladies hardly even see their children most of the day. Some of them go days or even weeks without sending for them.”

Rachel looked aghast. “Sending for them? You make them sound like they were servants.”

Serena shrugged. It seemed to be the way of things.

Rachel pouted down into the baby’s face. “Oh! I can hardly stand to be apart from Annabella, even for the length of a meal. Don’t women in London love their children?”

“It’s not a question of not loving them. Among the ton, children are meant to be seen and not heard. It’s just not very fashionable to have your children about all the time.” Even as Serena said this, she could fathom the absolute stupidity of the fashion.

“Well, count me unfashionable. Imagine keeping my own daughter out of sight and out of mind! I don’t think I could do it. What do they do when their children cry?”

Serena reflected on it. Whenever she’d gone to someone’s home to call, she’d rarely seen children in the company of her hosts. Sometimes they’d be presented to her, usually just to parade their clothes or their manners, and then they’d disappear with the governess. She hadn’t ever questioned it. Until now.

“Gosh, I don’t really know.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the ladies in the southern kingdom, but we here in the north handle things a bit differently. I know that when I hear my babe cry … my insides ache. No matter what I’m doing, I must go to her. Everything natural within me yearns to soothe her and care for her.”

As if to test the theory, the infant Annabella began to fidget and then snuffled out a fussy cry.

“There, there, rabbit. Don’t you fret.” Rachel shifted the child to her shoulder. “I’ll just go back inside and lay her abed.”

Serena glanced at Malcolm, who stood with his hands crossed behind his back. “Er, I’ll come inside in just a moment. I’d like to take a turn around the rhododendrons first.”

Rachel’s gaze followed Serena’s, and she smiled surreptitiously. “Don’t be too long, now. It’s turning chilly.”

Not where she was standing, Serena thought. Whenever Malcolm was around, she felt decidedly warm all over.

Serena turned and walked deeper into the garden. Everything was steeped in shadow, the whole world in silhouette. But she could still smell the fragrance of the night-blooming flowers drifting to her on the ever-cooling breezes. A centuries-old wall, part of it in ruins, edged the formal garden. Behind it, invisible from the house, the wall was overgrown with shrubs and ivy, and it was there Serena was headed.

A warm, husky voice caressed her from behind. “I’d like to see ye with a bairn in yer arms.”

She flicked him a mischievous grin. “And one in my belly, no doubt,” she said as she plucked a pink bloom.

“Aye. And that.”

Serena hid her smile in the rhododendron blossom. “And in this tender picture of domesticity, do you also see me with a husband?”

“No.”

She spun around to face him. “What?”

Even in the dearth of light, a sparkle glinted in his eye. “I imagine ye’d already sliced him to shards with yer tongue.”

She rolled her eyes and continued walking. “I can see now that protectors are a lot like children,” she tossed over her shoulder. “They, too, are meant to be seen and not heard.”

Malcolm sighed. “Serena, Serena. Feathers on the one side and thorns on the other.”

“Are you going to continue to make belligerent remarks?”

“I speak as I find.”

“That’s the trouble with you. In England, a lady can tell a man anything, and the gentleman’s code would compel him to believe it … or at least pretend to. It would do you good to be more circumspect.”

He laughed. “And leave myself defenseless to yer verbal fencing? No.”

“Verbal fencing? You make me sound like I should be wearing a suit of armor.”

“Ye’ve already got one of those. And a mace and shield. I can lob words at ye all I want, but they’ll just fall away like rocks against a turret wall.”

She pursed her lips in mock anger. “Is my father paying extra for all this abuse or is it part of your service?”

“I like to think of it as a gratuity.”

Serena had to chuckle. She pulled the gossamer mantle closer around her shoulders, a gesture that was not lost on him.

“And I canna help but notice that ye still haven’t learnt anything about Highland dress.”

“How do you mean?” she responded, secretly tickled by the way he rolled his R’s. Not dress, but drrress. “I’ll have you know this is quite au courant.”

“Whatever ye call it, it is going to cause yer death of cold.” He slipped off his coat, revealing a white shirt and a leather holster fastened around his chest, and draped the warm garment upon her shoulders. “When will ye learn to see things with yer own eyes and not through the eyes of others?”

“Well, how could anyone have anticipated such cold weather in the middle of summer? These temperatures are fit only for Highland cattle. Or Highlanders.”

He smirked, and it made his eyes go quite boyish. “Are you equating me to a Highland coo?”

Serena shook her head. “That’s cow, not coo.”

“And now ye’re making fun of my English.”

“Ha! That’s a far cry from English.”

He laughed then. “By God, Serena, ye would ha’ made a good plague on Egypt.”

She proceeded imperiously ahead of him down the path. “And that’s another thing. I must remark that you are becoming entirely too casual. For the second time, you have used my given name.”

“Aye. So I did.”

“Do you find it proper that you should become so informal?”

“It’s one thing to become familiar. It’s another to take liberties.”

“Is there a difference?”

Serena gasped as his hand gripped her elbow and spun her around. She found herself pressed against his battle-honed body, his arm holding her tightly against him. Her eyes snapped to his face.

“Let me show you.” His voice was gravelly with heat.

His head descended slowly, and his lips pressed upon her cheek. Soft and warm on her wind-chilled cheek, she wanted to bathe in that one kiss.

“That is getting familiar. And this,” he whispered, placing a hot kiss on her exposed neck, “is taking liberties.”

His steamy breath on her neck sent shivers of pleasure skipping down her spine. She closed her eyes. Just underneath his lips, her heated blood delivered the erotic sensation throughout her body.

He slipped the coat from her shoulders, and it fell to the ground. Slowly, his mouth trailed down to her chest, the kisses dripping upon her like warm rain. As he did so, his hips curved into her imprisoned body, multiplying the heavenly sensations. Surely he was well past taking liberties … he was also taking her will to resist.

“Malcolm,” she breathed, but wasn’t certain what she wanted to say. Except that she liked the sound it made coming from her mouth.

He straightened, his silky hair caressing her cheek. A callused hand stroked the place on her neck that his lips had just savored. Tender and rough. She desired more.

Malcolm’s lips pressed against her mouth. His lips were soft and smooth, a stark contrast with the emerging roughness on his face. So delightful. She returned the affection, their lips sliding gently upon one another.

He began a slow descent to a crouch, and she held their unbroken kiss as his head lowered. His open hands glided down her back and over her bottom cheeks, squeezing their roundness. She gasped in surprise at how quickly her body responded. Her nether regions came alive at his touch, igniting each of her feminine parts. Her hands gripped his biceps in protest, but she didn’t want to stop him. And when he straightened against her, his own passion was aroused.

In the gathering darkness, she gave her other senses free rein to explore. She slid her hands up to his shoulders, reveling in the dense muscle under her fingertips. It swelled and tightened, like the sinews of a running stallion, as his hands explored the rest of her. Behind his neck, her fingers threaded through the glossy waves of his thick hair. It felt soft and strong between her fingers, like rushing water. Everything about him reminded her of something wild and untamable, and the farther along she let herself get, the more dangerous she knew it would become.

A hand slid under her arm and spun her toward the wall. She braced herself against the ancient stones, the ivy leaves crunching between her fingers. The rose-colored poplin at her shoulder edged by the dark pink ribbon collapsed in his clawed fingers as he drew it down.

A hot tongue laved at the exposed flesh of her shoulder, sending ripples throughout her body. Her breath came out in raw gasps as a large hand cupped her right breast, still imprisoned in the fabric of her dress. Her nipple tightened, rising into the warmth of his open palm. Instinctively, her back arched, pushing her bottom into the rock-hard bulge in his trousers.

Both hands now squeezed her breasts, stoking her passion as well as his. Her hands flew to her breasts and flattened upon his own. She could feel the two hands now, one smooth and veined, the other scored and welted. But oh, what magic was in them that made her want to feel forever connected to him! His imperfections made him perfect for her.

He crouched low and she felt his fingers against her stockinged legs. The gentle pressure of his palm against the curve of her calf sparked a flame in her womanly parts that made her moan.

Higher his hand climbed. His callused flesh snagged at the fabric of her stockings as his hand brushed upward—across her knee, along the crest of her garter, and between her naked thighs.

The feeling of so rough a thing on her soft skin awakened a hunger long forgotten. Malcolm’s touch aroused more than her ardor—it also aroused her affection. The scars that were left upon her heart when her first and only lover cast her aside were changing, shifting … healing.

A gentle finger probed and pushed apart the folds of her whetted womanhood. A thousand pleasant things flashed through Serena’s fevered mind, but there was one warning voice loudly complaining. She had made the mistake of giving herself once to a man, and it had ended in disaster. Don’t do this again, not with this man. He’s too special to lose.

The shame of her secret was still fresh, as daily she hoped no one would find out that she had acted like a wanton. But now the man with the disfigured hand was inside her, and he was about to learn that she was scarred down there, too. Her virginity was gone, replaced by the smoothness that belonged only to she who was married.

His hand stilled, and her heart stopped. Facing away from him, she was relieved not to be able to see the expression on his face. She had expected to have this confrontation on her wedding night, and she would have an answer ready by then. But she hadn’t expected to need that answer tonight.

She tensed, bracing for an appalled pronouncement—or worse, a snide remark. But nothing came.

Instead she felt his fingers begin a slow back-and-forth motion. She expelled her breath, unaware she had been holding it. Had he even noticed she was no longer pure? It didn’t matter, she realized. Whether she had given herself to another man or just to Malcolm right now, she was no longer an innocent.

As the pleasurable sensation grew, she allowed herself the delicious oblivion of putting her shame out of her mind. Languorously, she rested her head back against his shoulder, allowing him greater ease in pleasuring her. The delirium grew as the sensation intensified. She rocked her body against the organ of his hand, her bottom bouncing against his thighs. His own arousal had grown—she could feel it—and it also cried for release. But right now, he wanted her pleasure, and she was prepared to give it to him.

His fingertip made a tight circle against one side of her nub, heating it to beyond tolerance. The pain-pleasure increased, and she grasped his hand, partly to still, partly to guide. But as he cocooned her from behind, he seemed to know precisely what would bring her to release. His hand kneaded her breast harder through her bodice, and she felt enveloped in a sheath of eroticism. His lips nibbled on the spot just beneath her earlobe, sending her spiraling toward a weakening surrender. The place between her legs that was now joined to his hand became hotter, tighter, more insistent—until her pleasure exploded in a blinding burst.

She pulsated onto him for several moments, her hands squeezing his forearms involuntarily. She emerged from the orgasm to find him kissing her tenderly on her cheek.

Contentment flooded her, and she turned in his arms. She snaked her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss of pure delight. He breathed in the kiss, his chest swelling to enormity.

She’d give him anything at that moment, so grateful was she. His acceptance, his selflessness, his gentleness, his desire for her … she felt beholden almost, and wanted to give him the same experience.

But Malcolm broke off the kiss. He stiffened and pulled away.

Worry quaked within her. Had she displeased him? Repulsed him? Was she about to lose this man’s respect and regard? Please, dear God, not again.

His gaze focused on a spot beyond her, his ears perking. His eyes bristled with danger.

“Malcolm?”

He looked down at her and put a finger on her mouth, warning her to be quiet.

He reached over and pulled his pistol from the holster. She had no idea what had alerted him, nor even what threat he perceived. Night had stolen upon them, and she couldn’t see a thing under the moonless sky. But whatever it was, in a flash Malcolm had transformed from a lover into a warrior. He shoved her behind him, his weapon leading ahead of them.

His breath made no sound as he crept along the wall like a predator. Terrified, she clutched the back of his shirt, the invisible fear making her own breath falter. Though her heartbeat hammered in her chest, she tried to be as quiet as he was as he advanced toward the end of the wall.

Then she heard it. A faint rustling. Then earth-muffled footsteps, moving in quickly. The sounds seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. In panic, Serena scanned around her, every shadow a potential assassin. Her every instinct was to run from the danger. Yet Malcolm was advancing toward it. She swallowed her horror and followed him.

The footsteps—a man’s—drew closer and closer. Malcolm stopped before the end of the wall and stretched out his weapon, waiting. A shape walked by, and Malcolm cocked his pistol.

Just as the barrel of Malcolm’s pistol touched the back of the man’s head, the unknown assailant froze in his tracks.

“Ye can either kneel down, or be shot down. Which is it to be?”

Instinctively, the man raised his arms. “Slayter, it’s me, Marsh.”

Serena unclenched and ran toward him. “Father!” Malcolm exhaled and uncocked his weapon. “Ambassador. I thought ye were an enemy.”

Earlington embraced his daughter. “You were so long in returning from your walk, I came looking for you. I thought something had happened to you both.”

“I’m so sorry, Father. It was my fault. I wanted a long walk to clear my head. I just … lost count of the hour.”

“I’m just happy you’re all right. My mind began to imagine the worst.”

“Quite understandable, sir,” Malcolm said, relief straining his voice. “In future, I will give ye a report on Serena’s planned comings and goings.”

Serena glanced at Malcolm. She couldn’t help but chuckle at his unintentional double entendre.

“What’s so funny, poppet?” asked her father.

“Nothing, Father. I’m just happy you weren’t hurt.”

Earlington chuckled weakly. “I wasn’t. But with Mr. Slayter around, I pity the man who comes at you from behind.”

Her nervous laughter intensified. She reached for Malcolm’s hand. “I pity him, too.”

Embarrassed, he squeezed her hand. “Serena,” muttered Malcolm, a warning clear in his tone. “We should be getting indoors. Now.”

“Certainly, Malcolm,” she replied, unable to stop giggling. “Whatever you say. I know I’m in good hands with you.”

He narrowed his eyes on her as she walked past him, arm in arm with her father back toward the house.