her bonnet listing to the left and a feather drooping over one eye, Catriona looked like a little girl who had borrowed her mother’s finery to parade around in. A glowing curl had escaped her neat chignon to trail around the ivory curve of her throat.
Given the shameless way he had behaved in her bed that morning, he was surprised she still trusted him enough to relax her guard. She had every right to fear that the minute she closed her eyes he would fall upon her like some sort of rutting stag with no control over his baser impulses.
He would swear before the bewigged members of Parliament itself that he had only intended to steal an innocent kiss from her parted lips. But her lips had been so soft…so warm…so inviting…
When she had breathed his name into his mouth with a hint of an enchanting Scottish lilt, he had been well and truly lost.
If Alice hadn’t barged into the bedchamber looking for her infernal hair ribbons, he would be atoning for an even greater sin than just stealing a kiss. He still couldn’t decide if it had been relief or regret that had overwhelmed him in that moment.
He would do well to remember that he was nothing but Catriona’s hired gun. It would be impossible for her to petition the church for an annulment based on his failure to perform his marital duties if she returned to London with his child already growing in her belly. He’d learned how to prevent such mishaps when he was little more than a lad, but this morning when he had heard her moan his name and felt her shudder with ecstasy beneath his fingertips, all thoughts of coitus interruptus and French letters had flown right out of his head, along with caution and common sense. All he had wanted in that moment was to push his way deep inside of her and make her his own.
Desperate to distract himself from the provocative images that thought invoked, he glanced at the portmanteau resting on the seat beside her. This might be his best opportunity to find out exactly what she was so eager to hide from his prying eyes. But some ghost of conscience stayed his hand. Or perhaps it was just the fear of being caught.
If she awoke to find him rummaging through her personal belongings like some Covent Garden footpad, she might never nap again.
The carriage jounced through a deep rut, bumping her head against the back of the seat.
She frowned, her delicate eyelids fluttering. Simon turned to gaze out the carriage window at the rising moon, testing his resolve. He was nothing but her hired man. Her comfort was none of his concern.
The next bump jarred his own teeth and wrung an unhappy little moan from Catriona’s throat. Blowing out a sigh, Simon reluctantly shifted himself to her seat. He scooped Robert the Bruce from her lap, hoping he wasn’t about to lose a finger or perhaps even a thumb. The cat simply hung there in his grasp, boneless yet ridiculously heavy. He gingerly settled it on the seat he’d just vacated. The beast gave him a cross look before curling into a sullen ball and closing its golden eyes.
Simon tugged off Catriona’s bonnet, then drew her into the circle of his arms so his chest could cushion her against the blows of the road. But it seemed the greedy little minx was not to be content with using his chest for her pillow. Before Simon could fully absorb what was happening, she had wiggled her rump across the seat and slid her head into his lap.
As she nestled her cheek against him, trying to find the most comfortable spot, he swore softly beneath his breath. If she kept rubbing him in that maddening manner, it wouldn’t be any different than resting her head on a rock.
She curled one hand around his upper thigh and went still, her rosebud lips curving into a contented smile. She had no way of knowing that her bliss was his agony. The caress of her warm breath through the thin doeskin of his trousers was a taste of both heaven and hell. He rolled his eyes toward the carriage’s roof. If this was his
Given the shameless way he had behaved in her bed that morning, he was surprised she still trusted him enough to relax her guard. She had every right to fear that the minute she closed her eyes he would fall upon her like some sort of rutting stag with no control over his baser impulses.
He would swear before the bewigged members of Parliament itself that he had only intended to steal an innocent kiss from her parted lips. But her lips had been so soft…so warm…so inviting…
When she had breathed his name into his mouth with a hint of an enchanting Scottish lilt, he had been well and truly lost.
If Alice hadn’t barged into the bedchamber looking for her infernal hair ribbons, he would be atoning for an even greater sin than just stealing a kiss. He still couldn’t decide if it had been relief or regret that had overwhelmed him in that moment.
He would do well to remember that he was nothing but Catriona’s hired gun. It would be impossible for her to petition the church for an annulment based on his failure to perform his marital duties if she returned to London with his child already growing in her belly. He’d learned how to prevent such mishaps when he was little more than a lad, but this morning when he had heard her moan his name and felt her shudder with ecstasy beneath his fingertips, all thoughts of coitus interruptus and French letters had flown right out of his head, along with caution and common sense. All he had wanted in that moment was to push his way deep inside of her and make her his own.
Desperate to distract himself from the provocative images that thought invoked, he glanced at the portmanteau resting on the seat beside her. This might be his best opportunity to find out exactly what she was so eager to hide from his prying eyes. But some ghost of conscience stayed his hand. Or perhaps it was just the fear of being caught.
If she awoke to find him rummaging through her personal belongings like some Covent Garden footpad, she might never nap again.
The carriage jounced through a deep rut, bumping her head against the back of the seat.
She frowned, her delicate eyelids fluttering. Simon turned to gaze out the carriage window at the rising moon, testing his resolve. He was nothing but her hired man. Her comfort was none of his concern.
The next bump jarred his own teeth and wrung an unhappy little moan from Catriona’s throat. Blowing out a sigh, Simon reluctantly shifted himself to her seat. He scooped Robert the Bruce from her lap, hoping he wasn’t about to lose a finger or perhaps even a thumb. The cat simply hung there in his grasp, boneless yet ridiculously heavy. He gingerly settled it on the seat he’d just vacated. The beast gave him a cross look before curling into a sullen ball and closing its golden eyes.
Simon tugged off Catriona’s bonnet, then drew her into the circle of his arms so his chest could cushion her against the blows of the road. But it seemed the greedy little minx was not to be content with using his chest for her pillow. Before Simon could fully absorb what was happening, she had wiggled her rump across the seat and slid her head into his lap.
As she nestled her cheek against him, trying to find the most comfortable spot, he swore softly beneath his breath. If she kept rubbing him in that maddening manner, it wouldn’t be any different than resting her head on a rock.
She curled one hand around his upper thigh and went still, her rosebud lips curving into a contented smile. She had no way of knowing that her bliss was his agony. The caress of her warm breath through the thin doeskin of his trousers was a taste of both heaven and hell. He rolled his eyes toward the carriage’s roof. If this was his
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