Page 79 of To Wed an Heiress
Did she know what she was saying? It seemed as if she did, because she leaned forward and put her hands on either side of his face, then rose up and placed her mouth on his.
Thunder exploded above them, but he was barely aware of it. He was too attuned to the storm inside of him, one that overpowered his conscience and made him wrap his arms around her.
He pulled her tight to him, lost in the kiss. The future, the circumstances, nothing mattered but Mercy.
Perhaps, if she called a halt now, he would still be able to stop himself. Not too many minutes in the future, however. From the moment he’d kissed her in the kitchen, he’d wanted her. No, he’d wanted her for weeks.
“Mercy.” Just that, her name and nothing more. A last-minute plea for her to refuse him, to pull away, to counsel him on restraint.
“If you won’t marry me, then will you take me to your bed?”
So much for restraint.
She was leaving Scotland, leaving him. He’d never see her again. He’d never again get a chance to hold her in his arms or kiss her. She’d be only a memory, another ghost of Duddingston, another regret.
He stood, but instead of heading for the door, he bent and pulled her into his arms. The bedspread fell to the floor. Mercy stood there, naked, her body tinted by firelight. She didn’t gasp or shield herself with her hands. Instead, she stood there proud and unashamed.
His years in Edinburgh had not been monastic ones. Yet he couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman as perfectly formed. But he studied her not as a physician, only as a man. She stood silently as his gaze swept her body, down over long and beautifully shaped legs, upward to a narrow waist and full breasts with erect nipples.
He wanted to touch her so desperately he ached with it, but first he followed her example. Under her gaze he unfastened his shirt and pulled it off. Then his shoes, his trousers, and the rest of his clothing. If she could reveal herself without self-consciousness, he had no choice but to do the same.
“Your arm,” she said, placing her fingers gently beneath the wound.
“It is of no consequence.” It certainly wouldn’t hamper him tonight.
When they were both naked, he placed his hands on her waist, drawing her forward. She was trembling. He wrapped his arms around her, uncertain whether she was still cold or if she was frightened.
He pressed his cheek against her hair, counseling himself on restraint. A difficult task with Mercy in his arms.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “This is more than a kiss, Mercy. I can’t say that I’ll be able to stop if we continue further.”
“I don’t want to stop, Lennox. This is a gift.”
He pulled back and looked into her face. “A gift?”
She nodded, her eyes luminous. “There will never be another time like this, don’t you see? We’re alone. The rest of the world can’t interfere. No one can disturb us. No one will know.”
“You will. I will.”
“I know what the rest of my life will be like, Lennox. There will be no more stolen moments. That’s what I meant about it being a gift.”
“Are you certain this is what you want?”
She nodded.
Before he could say anything else, she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Would you kiss me again?” she asked. “I always get lost in your kisses.”
“So do I.”
Her lips curved as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. For long moments they stood there, entwined in front of the fire, two people who should have known better but in thrall to emotions more powerful than concepts like honor and propriety.
He wanted her more than he wanted to unlock the secrets of flight. He wanted her enough to ignore the whisperings of his conscience.
When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he was lost. The feel of her abdomen against his erection, the press of her nipples against his chest, the sigh she made when his tongue dueled with hers—all those things were greater than any wise thoughts that might have stopped him.
He led her to the bed, holding her hand as she took the steps and sat on the mattress. A second later he joined her.
