Scotsman of My Dreams Page 23

“No corset?”

  “No. Or corset cover, I’m afraid.”

  “So there is just one layer of clothing between you and nakedness, is that it?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you traveled through London nearly naked to come to me?”

  “It’s not all that far from my house, but yes.”

  Before he could say anything further, she narrowed the gap between them, reaching out and touching his face much as he had hers. Her left hand trailed gently over the scars near his right eye, fingers dancing over the closed lid. Whoever had done this terrible thing to him should be punished, but it wasn’t Neville.

  Her brother, however, had no part in this moment or this night.

  “Shall I take off my clothes?” she asked.

  He smiled, the expression so sweet it made her heart swell.

  “I wish you would. A little description would be welcome, too.”

  “Why should I describe myself? In a few minutes you’ll feel me. Wouldn’t your hands be your eyes?”

  “Then by all that’s holy, Minerva, would you please hurry?”

  “I’m supposed to be seducing you, Dalton,” she said, smiling.

  Stepping back, she pulled her bodice out of the waistband of her skirt and began to unfasten the buttons.

  “My breasts are quite large, too large for my frame, probably. You’ll find that out in a moment. They’re also very sensitive.”

  He grabbed one of the four posters and swung himself up into the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She wanted to reach out and stroke his leg, her fingers dancing along the hair there or through the dusting of hair on his chest.

  “I’m removing my bodice now,” she said.

  “Slowly,” he said. “Too damn slowly.”

  Her smile widened.

  “I have two buttons at my waist. I’m unfastening these now.”

  “Thank God for progress.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Once you’re naked, Minerva, would you join me here?”

  She stepped out of her trousers skirt and left it on the floor.

  “You sound as proper as if we’re having tea,” he said.

  “But I don’t feel the least bit proper.”

  Nor did he look that way.

  She took two steps to the bed and reached out her hand, her fingers trailing up his erection.

  “You have an obelisk,” she said.

  His bark of laughter sparked her own smile.

  “An obelisk?”

  “Or a fertility statue. Or even a learning aid. The better to acquaint young maidens with what might happen on their wedding night. If they’re fortunate.”

  “You have the most unfettered imagination,”

  “Oh,” she said bending her head. “I don’t think it’s imagination at all. Anticipation, perhaps.”

  She bestowed a soft kiss on the tip of his erection.

  He jerked, startled.

  “Bloody hell, Minerva,” he said.

  “I’m not a virgin. If you wish me to have had absolutely no experience in the act, I can pretend, I suppose.”

  He reached out and grabbed her arm and before she could say anything else he had somehow lifted her and placed her on the mattress. Now he knelt over her, a study of shadows in the pale moonlight.

  “You’re going to call me astounding again, aren’t you?” she said. “I do wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it makes me sound like I’m doing something terrible. Like I’m odd. There goes astounding Minerva Todd, with her trousers skirt and her yen to dig in the dirt.”

  “There goes astounding Minerva Todd, with her ability to kiss like a demon and her surprising sensuality. Who would have guessed it, with her being all proper and proud?”

  “Sensuality? I’ve never been called sensual.”

  He moved so he was straddling her.

  “There,” he said. “I have you trapped. You can’t disappear like a dream in the night.”

  “Did you dream of me?”

  “I envisioned you here,” he said, surprising her. “But the reality is so much better than what I imagined.”

  “I have to say the same,” she said, reaching up and placing her hand against his chest.

  His muscles flexed as if to welcome her touch. She stroked upward to his shoulders, feeling the power of his arms and marveling at how muscled he was.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  “And lose my mind again? I think I’d rather touch you first, learn you.”

  A thrill raced through her at his words.

  “Only if I can touch you in return.”

  “Not right now,” he said, bending and placing a kiss between her breasts. “Your breasts are sensitive?”

  “Yes,” she said, and the sound came out a sibilant whisper.

  He trailed a path with his lips to the tip of one breast. First, a gentle, acquainting kiss. Then, the touch of his tongue on her nipple.

  A sound escaped her. Not quite a moan, but more an approving acknowledgment of what he was doing, of his teasing touch and the smile she felt against her breast.

  “I quite like large breasts,” he said. “And the more sensitive, the better.”

  “How very fortunate for both of us,” she said, the breath leaving her as he placed his mouth over her nipple and softly began to suck.

  Her lower body wanted to move—­hips to arch, feet to plant themselves firmly on the bed, the better to offer her entire body to him. She stroked her hands up and down his arms, her short nails gently scratching at his skin.

  He was spending entirely too much time on her breasts when there were other parts that wanted to be touched or kissed.

  She felt molten inside as if her entire body was heating to welcome him.

  Come into me. Were those words too shocking to utter? But, oh, how she wished he would.

  She reached down between them and grabbed his erection with both hands, stroking it, measuring it with her fingers. It was at least nine fingers long and so wide around that her thumb and forefinger didn’t meet when she extended them around it.

  How very much she wanted to experience him. Each time he drew a nipple into his mouth or grazed it gently with his teeth, the ache grew.

  “Kiss me, please.”

  He lifted his head from her breasts. “I am, Minerva.”

  “On my mouth. I want your kisses.”

  He raised his head again. “Are you a demanding lover, Minerva?”

  “I suppose I am. Tonight, especially.”

  He raised up, kissed her gently on the cheek and then on the chin. Once more on the nose.

  “What about tonight is special?”

  “You. You’re driving me daft.”

  “I haven’t even begun, Minerva,” he whispered.

  Softly, he placed his mouth on hers. Then his tongue was there, touching the tip of hers, dancing along her teeth, exploring and dominating, causing lights to flicker behind her eyelids.

  She congratulated herself on her courage. Somehow, she had known what it would be like to make love with him. Somehow, her body had recognized that he was a master of all things carnal, that he could bring her pleasure with the stroke of a hand, now teasing the hair at the juncture of her thighs.

  “You’re very receptive, Minerva.”

  “It’s you,” she said against his lips.

  “Do you want me?”

  With that, he gently inserted a finger into her, his thumb still stroking, maddening her.

  She nearly bit his lips.

  “Yes.”

  Her arms went around his neck to hold him tight.

  She widened her legs for even easier access. He stroked his fingers against her while crooning soft words in her ear. Words of pr
aise, seduction, teasing words that accompanied his middle finger gently stroking her. She shuddered, her breath uneven. Her heart thundered in her chest, her pulse racing.

  This wasn’t just passion, but something more. Something earthy and elemental, as ancient as the universe.

  She was, at that moment, any woman, every woman. The urge to mate, to be taken, to reach satisfaction was dominant. If she couldn’t have him, she knew she would die.

  She reached one hand between them again, grabbed him like he was a club and pulled him to her. His gentle laughter taunted her.

  “It isn’t a handle, Minerva.”

  “Then give it to me,” she said. “Now.”

  “Minerva Todd, do you always get your way in all things?”

  “Please. Dalton, please.”

  Her hips rose. She was shaking.

  “Please.”

  He bent down and kissed her as he slid inside. Her hips arched, her feet planted flat on the mattress as she surged upward to meet him.

  The pleasure was so acute she nearly fainted.

  He filled her completely, banishing any thoughts of emptiness or longing. She would remember this moment, these seconds, the feel of him, forever.

  His mouth left hers and she moaned as he drew back. But then he surged forward again, their hip bones bumping.

  “Put your legs around mine,” he said.

  She did. She would’ve done anything at that point. Her nails gripped his back and held on, awash in pleasure and need and the sharpness of something she’d never before felt.

  He pushed up against her, each gentle press encouragement for the pleasure to ripen, to deepen, to spread throughout her body until her fingertips tingled.

  She pulled his head down for a kiss. She sobbed his name, had the sudden horrifying thought that Mrs. Thompson or any of the servants might hear.

  Then she didn’t care.

  Her body exploded from the inside out. She became a sparkling star and he was the only solid thing in her world.

  HE WANTED her. He needed Minerva in a way that startled him. She was brazen and shocking, yet so essentially good and whole that to be near her purified him.

  Their bodies met and merged in a perfect union even though their minds occasionally clashed. Spirit? If he were to consider spirit—­an odd thought, since he wasn’t so inclined—­he thought they might have similar spirits. They were each daring, not easily cowed, determined to stand apart from society since they didn’t fit well inside it.

  He drew back.

  She pulled him forward, insistent in passion.

  He smiled and let Minerva seduce him.

  Bliss filled him and he kissed her rather than startle all the neighbors with his shout of joy.

  SHE HELD him in her arms, wondering which of them was trembling the most.

  She could hardly draw a breath, her heart was beating so hard. She’d never known that passion could be violent, so elemental that she wouldn’t have cared if the world saw them mating.

  His arms were around her, pulling her close.

  “I’m here,” she said, feeling the inexplicable need to offer him comfort. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her cheek against his chest.

  “So long,” he said. “So long.”

  “So long for what?”

  “Someone touched me.”

  She almost spoke then, to offer up a dozen instances when ­people had put their hand on his sleeve or taken his arm.

  But that’s not what he meant. He needed to be considered a man. A lover who experienced passion and pleasure. He needed to be held as she was holding him now as if she couldn’t bear to be parted from him as her heart gradually slowed and her breath returned.

  “I’m here,” she said again, reaching up and kissing his cheek. Her heart expanded in that moment, widened to include him. She’d never been precognitive before, or even believed in it, but she knew he’d always have a spot there for as long as he wanted it, and perhaps longer.

  Chapter 27

  “Have I given good ser­vice, sir?”

  Dalton looked toward the doorway. “For God’s sake, man, announce yourself. I know I’ve asked you more than once.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Lordship. But have I given good ser­vice in all other ways?”

  “If you’d quit sneaking up on me, I could say yes.”

  “Then may I ask a question, sir?”

  “Isn’t that a question, Howington?”

  “Very droll, sir,” his secretary said.

  He wasn’t trying to be amusing.

  “What is it?”

  The quicker Howington spit out what was on his mind, the quicker he could be left alone. He wanted to think about Minerva, surprising Minerva, enchanting Minerva, astounding Minerva, even though she disliked the label.

  Since it was the Friday to Monday, he didn’t expect her at his house. But he should have made arrangements regardless. He missed her.

  Somewhere, a warning bell clanged in his mind.

  “May I ask why Miss Todd assists you in matters that would normally be my province?”

  Because I lust after Minerva Todd, and I’ve never experienced a similar feeling for you.

  What would Howington say to the truth?

  He decided not to test the man.

  “There are plenty of other duties for you, Howington. Don’t feel as if Miss Todd is trying to usurp your place.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but what else am I to think? Everything I’ve seen her do are duties I could execute as well, if not better.”

  He doubted that, since Minerva challenged his mind, amused him, and interested him more than any other woman he’d ever met.

  “Perhaps you would be happier somewhere else, Howington.”

  “Sir,” his secretary said, sounding shocked. “On no account, Your Lordship.”

  The man grated on his nerves, irritated him when they did work together, and was a colossal pain in the arse. In addition, there was that feeling he had, the one that hadn’t gone away. Something was wrong about Howington and he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “I think you need an employer with two good eyes. That way, you wouldn’t have to keep announcing yourself.”

  “Your Lordship, you can’t be serious.”

  He disliked being told, in so many words, that he was an idiot, especially in his own home.

  “I find that I’m completely serious, Howington. Not only that, but it’s a situation I should have acted on months ago.”

  “But everything I’ve done for you—­”

  The man’s voice halted when Dalton held up a hand.

  “For which you’ve been amply compensated, Howington. I’d venture to guess that you might even be the highest paid secretary in all of London.”

  Howington cleared his throat. “Are you implying that I’ve stolen from you?”

  He hadn’t been, but it might be a good idea to have Benny assign one of his staff to look over his accounts. Or did Minerva have a head for numbers? He trusted her.

  The warning bell clanged again.

  “I came to tell you a telegraph came for you,” Howington said.

  He heard the man step toward the desk. A moment later a piece of paper drifted down to rest on his hand.

  “Perhaps Miss Todd can read it for you.”

  With that, Howington announced his departure, the first time he’d ever done so. It was a relief to Dalton, knowing this time it was permanent, that he wouldn’t see Howington again.

  Mrs. Thompson was kind and gracious enough to read the telegraph to him.

  He only had a vague recollection of Glynis, his female cousin from Scotland. He knew she’d married at their London house, with his mother making the arrangements. She’d truly liked the woman, often saying that if she had a daughter,
she’d like her to be just like Glynis.

  Perhaps he needed to hold a reunion of sorts for the entire clan. Or maybe he should wait until after the war was over and invite his American cousins as well. After all, they sprang from the same family.

  Glynis’s words surprised him enough that he asked Mrs. Thompson to reread the telegraph.

  “And that’s all she said?”

  “Yes, Your Lordship. ‘Have located Neville. Letter to follow.’ ”

  “She might’ve told me where he was.”

  “I’m sure it will only be a few days until we receive the letter, Your Lordship. It might come in tomorrow’s post.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mrs. Thompson.”

  “It’s sorry I am that Stanley left your employ,” she said. “I always liked the young man. But he disappointed me greatly in his actions.”

  He had to take a minute before he matched Stanley with Howington. Odd, that he never thought of the man by any other than his surname.

  Stanley didn’t fit him, and when he said as much to Mrs. Thompson, she laughed, a tinkling laugh that made her sound twenty years younger.

  “I used to say that about my dear Fred,” she said. “The name never fit him, either. He needed something more adventurous.”

  “Has it been very long since you lost him?”

  She reached over and patted his hand.

  “Bless you for asking, Your Lordship, but it has been quite long. I’ve been a widow longer than I was married, but that doesn’t stop the memories. Nor does it stop the wondering. I wonder what he would have been like if he lived. I wonder what it would have been like if we’d had children.”

  “All I can say, Mrs. Thompson, is that I’m grateful for your presence in my home and all the help you’ve given me since I returned from America.”

  He didn’t add that he was a little ashamed to admit he could barely remember her in the days before he’d left London. Days in which he was more occupied with his own pleasure than the presence of the ­people who lived in his home and whose sole purpose had been his comfort.

  Hardly an improvement, to go from being a rake to a recluse.

  Did Minerva think the same? And when had her opinion begun to matter?

  “I’M SORRY, Miss Minerva, but I can’t go. Not with my mam being sick and all.”