Page 74 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
She tipped back her head to let him see her and wrapped her legs around his, tipping her hips where he was joined to her. She was aware, suddenly, of all the places in which their bodies were touching. That thought, alone, excited her. That there was nothing between them. He was inside her and she wanted him there.
The heat was growing, as if it would ignite her in a great flash, licking through her belly and thighs and sparking right at the spot where they were joined; a huge, blinding flame of pleasure covering every part of her but centred right there, in the place that was giving him pleasure too.
She dragged her nails over his shoulders, needing him to do just this. If he stopped, she would scream, but her voice already seemed to be doing that. A wave of uncontrollable joy swept through her and she arched into him again.
Suddenly, he was groaning and looking down with a surprised expression, as if he didn’t quite believe she was there with him.
“Dear God! Ursula!”
He thrustone last time and went still, his face buried in her hair.
His body was humming for her—utterly spent, but fiercely alive too.
What had passed between them had been incredible.
Only one thing was wrong. Deep inside, he’d given her every drop of his release.
He should have been horrified. And, yet, part of him was glad.
How hadn’t he seen it before?
He wasn’t just attracted to Ursula. He was in love. And telling himself anything else was just plain dishonest.
He’d been so busy thinking what he needed to do to make other people happy, he’d forgotten that he deserved happiness himself. And Miss Ursula Abernathy did more than make him happy. She made his heart sing.
She acted fearless—even when he knew she was shaking with fear, and she was thoughtful—even when nobody else seemed to give her a second thought.
He ought to get down on one knee here and now and beg her to marry him. Nothing else mattered, did it, in the end? He could still do his duty without marrying one of his cousins. He’d make it his duty to find them each a better husband than he could have been.
But, if he was going to propose, he needed to do it right—not on this tatty mattress in a shepherd’s bothy, without even a ring to offer her.
He’d get her safely back to the castle and then arrange a meeting with his grandfather. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but nothing worth having ever came easy.
It was time he stood up for what he knew was right for him—and he wouldn’t make his proposal until he’d convinced his family to accept his choice of bride.
If his future truly was here, at Dunrannoch, he wanted Miss Ursula Abernathy to share that future with him. Nothing, and no-one, was going to stand in the way.
Chapter Seventeen
Early-evening, 20th December
Ursula satbefore the fire in her room, brushing out her hair.
She’d known that nothing would be the same afterward. She’d been a virgin and now she wasn’t, but it wasn’t just her body that had changed. In those moments afterwards, stroking Rye’s back, she’d felt an overpowering tenderness.
He’d leaned up on one elbow and looked at her, and what she’d seen had thrilled her.
Because something in him was different, too.
They were both alive and joyous and vibrant, and what they’d shared was like nothing else in the world.
Was it so wrong of her, now, to harbour a secret hope—that what had happened had deeper meaning for them both?
Throughout the day, guests had been arriving for the countess’ Yuletide cèilidh and there seemed no-one in the house unaffected by the excitement.
The banqueting hall was dazzling—every surface flickering with candles and a hundred baubles in gold and silver between, their facets catching the glinting light. The Christmas tree was swathed in ribbons and all manner of sweet confectionaries, and boughs of green swung from the rafters.
There was a magical atmosphere within the castle, but Ursula felt a pang at what this night might bring.
