Page 10 of The Scottish Duke
“I was feeling lonely,” she said in lieu of the truth. She’d been afraid he’d found her out, that he’d known she was just a maid at Blackhall.
He’d never seen her in that role, but he was looking at her now.
She would never forget this night. Would he remember?
“There were too many people and they all seemed happy.”
“I doubt one of them is as happy as I am at the moment,” he said, rising over her. “Or as happy as I’m going to make you, Marie.”
He smiled at her, a smile to forever remember.
The storm outside was equaled by the one she was experiencing. Lightning danced along her skin at his touch. Her ears were filled with the sound of her own thunderous heartbeat. Her body was raining as if preparing itself for him.
He lowered himself and suddenly he was inside her, the invasion shocking.
She bit her lip to keep from crying aloud.
He was swearing, a succession of oaths she’d never before heard. But he didn’t withdraw. Nor did he release her.
“You’re a virgin? Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
She didn’t think she was capable of speech even if she had an answer for him.
He pulled back, and for a second she thought he was going to leave her. But he surged forward, driving her down into the padding of the couch. Again he pulled back before pressing hard against her, so deep she wondered if he meant to punish her for being a virgin.
He was still swearing as he thrust into her, each forward motion accompanied by a new word. When he raised himself up, his eyes pinned her to the couch as ably as his arms or his invasion.
The initial shock of his penetration was being cushioned by the growing moisture. Her hands wound around his neck. Her hips lifted, the discomfort easing slightly with each of his movements.
He seemed determined to brand her with his touch and make sure she never forgot the night she surrendered her virginity. How could she?
Bracing her feet against the velvet, she pushed upward, her assault as single-minded as his.
She never expected this. Nor had she considered that he would seduce her, if this was seduction. She’d never be able to enter the conservatory without envisioning this scene, her nearly naked and him with his kilt up around his waist, buttocks pumping.
They should both be shamed instead of entering wholeheartedly into this act. Not love, surely, but earthy sex, enjoyed for the sheer carnal nature of it.
Her body forgot that it was virginal. The soreness, the strangeness of his invasion, faded beneath more pressing needs. Her breasts ached for his lips, her core for something. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting. His fingers were strumming against her, creating unbelievable sensations. He held himself over her until she lifted her hips, her hands digging into his arms.
Every sensation was centered on his fingers and then his lips as he remained motionless and demanding.
“Damn you,” he said, bending to suck on a nipple. He thrust into her as if he had no choice, as if his body were a prisoner to the act.
Lightning revealed the tableau, erotic and wanton. The Duke of Kinross furious and erect. His maid moaning as pleasure sliced her in two.
He thrust into her once more, cursing as he came.
What had happened to them? Was this how lovemaking normally happened, in a furor of passion? Did you normally lose your mind? Did nothing matter but the taste of a lover’s lips or having him as close as physically possible? If Mary hadn’t interrupted them, they would probably have continued in the midst of the storm. He would’ve taken her there, against a wall, and she wouldn’t have raised her voice in protest.
The duke stood and walked to the windows, putting his hands against the glass and lowering his head between his arms.
Och, she was going to have to clean that in the morning.
He was still fully dressed. She, on the other hand, didn’t see how she could possibly put herself back together again, enough to escape to her room. She’d lost her mask somewhere, and where was the floury wig?
She sat up, pushing her skirt over her bare legs. She still had her shoes on, which was a good thing, since she only owned the one pair. There hadn’t been any slippers in the trunk, nothing that would have matched the once lovely gold dress. Perhaps it was best that no one asked her to dance. She would’ve clomped all over the ballroom floor.
“You picked the wrong fool,” he said, turning to glance at her.
