Claimed by the Laird by Nicola Cornick Page B

eyes flew open. It was one of the things she loved about him, that he looked so cool, that he seemed so controlled, and yet beneath it he was all fire and he could make her burn, too. She was lost in the sensation, dizzy with it, disbelieving and enchanted.
    “Take me.”
    She was naturally autocratic, and now the wickedness pushed her past her inhibitions. She was pulling up her skirts as she spoke, parting her thighs, loving the cold press of the air on her skin. She wore no drawers, and she heard the harsh catch of his breath as he saw her.
    “Allegra...” He sounded shaken. It was gratifying. He had always been the one in control when they made love. It made it all the more exciting now to shock him, thrill him.
    He was fumbling with the fastening of his trousers now, kneeling between her thighs. Impatience gripped her, and fierce hunger. She felt the tip of his cock at her opening and then he was inside her and she gasped, arching back against the stone as he drove into her with such desperate need, almost out of control. She matched his desperation stroke for stroke, driven on by the ever-tightening spiral of excitement and desire. Blinding pleasure caught her hard and fast, and she cried aloud, the sound mingling with the relentless crash of the waves on the beach and the wild calls of the birds wheeling overhead.
    Afterward he drew her into the curve of his shoulder. He was breathing hard, one arm shaded across his eyes.
    She waited for him to say something sweet, something loving.
    “You have to tell your mother,” he said. He sat up, gripped her wrists. “Allegra, you have to tell your mother we are married.”
    She tried to pull away from him, feeling obscurely hurt and upset. She knew that he was right; she might be carrying his child. She had no idea how she would explain that. Yet her mind spun away from the thought of telling her family the truth. They would be angry with her, and for one terrible moment she was not sure if her love for Richard was strong enough to withstand that.
    She freed herself, straightened her gown, drew her knees up and hugged them like a little girl, hunched, protective.
    “It’s too soon, Richard.”
    He shook her, but gently. “No. It is not. We have been wed for a month now and the longer we go on like this the more difficult it will be.”
    There was silence. The pounding of the sea had dulled to a murmur. The high, plaintive call of the seabirds had faded. After a moment, Richard sighed.
    “Perhaps your father—”
    “No.” Allegra was adamant. Of all the people likely to help her, her father was last on the list. Generally he had no interest in her at all, but he would be very interested to discover that she, the heir to all the unentailed Forres fortune and estates, had thrown herself away on a penniless government official with no connections and no prospects. Interested, outraged, furious. She shuddered.
    “Then tell your aunt Christina.” Richard sounded patient, coaxing. “I met her today. She seems very nice. I am sure she could help us.”
    Allegra considered it, watching the birds sail high and fast against the deep blue of the sky. She liked Christina best of all her aunts and uncles. Christina was ancient, of course, and she could have no idea what it felt like to be desperately, hopelessly in love, or to do anything wild and mad and passionate. But Allegra knew that she cared about people and tried to help them. She had seen Christina’s kindness toward her father’s tenants and those who were sick or poor, lonely or desperate. Christina was a loving person where her own parents were cold and empty of humanity.
    She considered telling Christina what she had done, and that felt safe enough. She could do that. But the thought of going with Christina to tell her mother made her tremble. Cold fear gnawed her gut.
    Richard was talking. “Now that I have this job as riding officer I have more to offer you. Perhaps if I make a success of this commission to