Adrienne Basso by How to Be a Scottish Mistress Page A

assigned her, waiting to be summoned?
    He glanced back and forth between the two doors, trying to decide. Going with his gut instinct, he yanked open the heavy wooden door of the smaller chamber.
    There was a gasp, followed by an odd little squeak. Fiona stood. Gavin stepped forward. The door closed behind him, leaving him in uncomfortable seclusion with his brand-new mistress.
    No candle was lit, only moonlight brightened the room. Still, he could make out the glow of her unbound golden hair, the fine curves of her lush body. He was a man who appreciated beauty in its many forms and Fiona’s was special, rare.
    She seemed to expect him to say something. Perhaps give her a command? Strip off yer nightclothes, lay on yer back, and open yer legs.
    If he said it, she would obey. Like a supplicant before her master, she would do his bidding. Hell, he could rip off her thin nightgown, toss her on the bed and have his way with her and she’d never utter a word of protest. But the idea did neither heat his blood or raise his passion, nor did it give him a heady feeling of power and command. Instead it made him feel like a brutal tyrant.
    He was a leader of men, having taken the mantle of leadership of his people as a young man of twenty-three. Dominating, commanding, being in control was as much a part of his nature as it was a fulfillment of his duty.
    Yet Gavin had learned as a youth that bed sport was far more enjoyable if both partners participated. With patience and skill he had coaxed a passionate response from his virgin brides. Did his mistress not deserve the same consideration?
    “Why are ye standing here in the darkness?” he asked. “I expected to find ye in my chamber.”
    Her color flared, yet when she spoke, her voice was even. “You gave me no specific instructions. I thought it best to wait here instead of invading your bedchamber.”
    She was watching him, but nothing in the depths of her emerald-green eyes gave any hint to what she was truly thinking, what she was feeling. She presented a placid facade, but Gavin would wager every gold coin he possessed that her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.
    “We can stay here, if ye like,” he offered.
    She nodded. Gavin moved closer, deeply conscious of the small space. He inhaled her spicy lavender scent, and a heady warmth encircled him, far more powerful than all the ale he had drunk earlier tonight. The tangle in his gut drew into tight knots. He felt hot. Needy. Primed.
    How was he possibly going to keep his lust at bay and not frighten her witless?
    He tried a smile. She squinted up at him.
    Ah, hell.
    He had fantasied about what was hidden beneath the confines of Fiona’s simple gown from the moment she had knelt before him in the great hall. Now, at last, was the time to indulge that curiosity.
    Gavin stepped between her legs, bringing the full length of Fiona’s body flush against his, with only a thin layer of their garments separating them. Groaning, he cupped her lush buttocks, pressing her softness against his stiffening manhood.
    She seemed confused, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it. He pulled her closer and she stiffened in his embrace, letting him know she had no true desire for him. The gesture disturbed him. He didn’t know why. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe that the object of his intense passion was indifferent to him.
    Well, there really was only one way to uncover the truth.
    “Ye’re trembling. Tell me true, are ye afraid of me, Fiona?”
    She turned her head away and his heart sank.
    “I don’t fear you, my lord. I’m nervous. And worried that I will not please you.”
    She was lying. Her gaze wouldn’t meet his and she worried her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth so rapidly it turned bright red. Dammit! The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.
    “Where’s the bold lass who offered herself to me so brazenly this afternoon?”
    She lifted her chin, a blushing spot of color