Page 58 of Some Like It Wild
For the first time, Pamela felt the dawn chill creep past the warm, cozy circle of his arms and into her heart. “As long as the duke believes you’re his son, that will never happen. You’ll still have everything I promised you—riches, respect—”
“And all the willing women I care to woo?” he finished lightly.
She inclined her head, stiffening in his arms. “That was part of our bargain. And I intend to honor it.”
He brushed the silky curtain of her hair aside, leaving her with no way to hide her taut jaw and the heat she could feel rising to her cheeks. “And what if I only care to woo one woman?”
“Then that’s what you should do.” Pamela swallowed, his words cutting her heart to the quick. Somehow the idea of Connor courting a wife was much more painful than imagining him with a procession of mistresses. “Once I’m gone, the duke will expect you to find a more suitable bride. From the way the women were eyeing you tonight, I’m sure you’ll find no lack of prospects.”
“And just who would you deem a suitable bride for a no-count highwayman masquerading as the son of a duke? Because I’m thinking an actress’s daughter born on the wrong side of the blankets who can lie to a man’s face without batting one of her pretty eyelashes might be just what he deserves.”
Pamela jerked her head up, gazing at him in disbelief.
“When he lapses into brooding, as Scots are wont to do, she could give him a sound lashing with her saucy tongue. And when he loses his temper and begins to roar and stomp about like a wounded bear, she could lose her temper and roar right back at him.” He stroked his thumb down her cheek, his crooked smile achingly tender. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I can’t think of any more suitable bride for such a man than a hot-tempered, conniving little baggage with more courage than common sense and a touch of larceny in her soul.”
His smile faded, leaving her mesmerized by the smoky depths of his eyes. “Stay with me, Pamela. Share this gilded cage with me. Be my marchioness. Be my duchess someday.” Although she would have thought it impossible, the husky timbre of his voice deepened even further. “Be my wife.”
Pamela drew in a shuddering breath as Connor’s face swam before her eyes, veiled by a mist of tears. She knew in that moment how her mother must have felt when the audience surged to their feet and burst into thunderous applause.
“I don’t suppose you’ve left me any choice,” she said, hiding the swell of emotion behind a prim sniff. “After all, you have compromised me. Ruined me for any other man.”
“Numerous times,” he agreed, not looking the least bit sorry.
“I could hardly go to another man’s bed after I let a dirty, thieving Highlander put his hands all over me.”
“And in you…” he whispered, curling the fingers of one hand around her nape and drawing her mouth to his for a long, lingering kiss while his other hand slipped beneath the coat to have its way with her. By the time he broke away from the kiss, they were both breathless. “Are you sure you won’t mind squandering your precious reward on a dowry?”
Pamela slipped one thigh over his, straddling both his lap and his arousal, which was once again straining against the beleaguered seams of his breeches. “Oh, I intend to make you earn every penny. You’re not the only one willing to pay for their pleasures.”
As her eager hands reached between them, freeing his arousal so it could nudge against the dampness of her curls, Connor groaned. “I was right, wasn’t I, lass? Sleeping with the enemy definitely has its benefits.”
Pamela rose up to her knees, then slowly sank down, her breath catching on a shuddering whimper as he impaled her inch by glorious inch until she was filled to the brim with his sleek, thick heat.
She cupped his face in her hands, holding herself utterly still so she could exult in the sweet, wild pulse that began to beat where their bodies were joined before whispering, “Why don’t we find out?”
Although the sun was peeking over the edge of the horizon and the stables and kitchens were beginning to stir, Pamela managed to slip up the back stairs without being seen. She had only one near miss near the second-story landing, when the muffled thud of footsteps coming down the stairs gave her just enough time to dive into a narrow broom closet.
She emerged with cobwebs in her hair only to recognize the generous backside of the buxom cook who had caught Brodie’s fancy descending the stairs. Pamela would have almost sworn the woman was humming a bawdy Scottish ditty beneath her breath.
She climbed the rest of the stairs with a smile flirting with her lips. Once she was safe in her suite, she eased the door shut and collapsed with her back against it, breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief.
Which curdled in her throat when she saw Sophie curled up on the settee in her dressing gown with her legs tucked beneath her. Her sister had a rather peculiar glint in her eye. Pamela usually only saw that look when Sophie had spotted a chocolate confection or a particularly lovely length of ribbon she intended to have, no matter the cost.
Knowing that her sister rarely rose before ten without being cajoled or threatened, Pamela felt her heart sink. “What are you doing up so early?”
Sophie cocked a knowing eyebrow at her. “What are you doing up so late?”
Pamela opened her mouth to invent some story about a drunken coachman or a broken axle on a carriage wheel but closed it just as quickly, knowing it was hopeless to lie to her sister. She and Sophie might bicker like maiden aunts most of the time, but no one knew her better. Even before their mother had died, there had been so many times when it was just the two of them.
Pamela slowly crossed the floor and sank down in the wingback chair by the window, dropping her ruined slippers to the carpet beside the chair. Connor had insisted on carrying her across the grass to protect her from the fresh dew.
She could remember all of the times she’d sat up all night while Sophie slept, waiting for their mother to creep in at dawn—slippers in hand, lips swollen from a stranger’s kisses, eyes still so glazed from the pleasures of the night it was as if she could barely see the little girl who had been waiting so patiently for her to come home.
“I suppose there’s no help for it then,” she said softly. “You must think I’m exactly like Mama.”
“I most certainly do.”
Pamela bowed her head, Sophie’s words stinging even more than she had anticipated.
