Page 32 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
She parted her lips, and with a low groan he slipped his tongue inside, sweeping across her mouth, as if to claim his territory. The mark on her hand where he’d nipped her throbbed in recognition, and the wicked knot of pleasure in her center pulsed in response.
How could so much pleasure be had from a kiss? What might it be like if he touched her where her body ached?
Then he deepened the kiss, drawing her tongue inside his mouth, as if he were devouring a feast. His tongue curled around hers in a slow, seductive dance of mastery, and she responded,mirroring his movements with her tongue as he guided her in the dance.
The ache in her body swelled until she could no longer conquer the need to ease it, and she arched her back and parted her thighs, seeking pleasure—an unfathomable pleasure that her instincts told her only he could give…
Then he broke the kiss and withdrew.
Coldness swept across her body, and she clutched at her shawl, drawing it around herself as she hunched her shoulders. Then he pulled her against his chest and rested his chin on the back of her head, while he caressed her hair.
“Sweet lass,” he said. “I fear if I continue, I’ll not be able to control myself.”
He kissed the top of her head, then released her and hooked her arm through his. She glanced ahead to see her stepbrothers standing side by side, staring at her. Nathaniel grinned, but Cornelius was frowning, his eyes dark with disapproval—an almost perfect likeness to Papa Harcourt. Then Nathaniel whispered something in his brother’s ear and they continued toward the building.
Clara’s parents were waiting for them in the parlor with Mrs. Tuffington.
“I was about to send Mr. Grainger to find you,” Papa Harcourt said.
“We were showing Mr. McTavish the garden,” Nathaniel replied. “He wants to see the wall, but we don’t have time to visit it today.”
“That’s a pity,” Mama Betty said. “The wall’s an impressive sight, though I daresay it’s nothing compared to the mountains of your homeland.”
“I said he could come and see it tomorrow,” Clara said.
Papa Harcourt glanced first at Murdo, then Clara, his eyes glowing with suspicion.
“That’s a little forward of ye, Miss Martingale,” Mrs. Tuffington said, “to issue such an invitation.”
“We have no prior engagements, Aunt,” Murdo said.
Mama Betty stepped forward. “The invitation is from myself,” she said. “Forgive me, I forgot to mention it, Mrs. Tuffington. Isn’t that right, husband?”
Clara’s stepfather glanced at her mother, who had set her mouth into a determined line.
At length, he nodded. “That’s right, Mrs. Tuffington,” he said. “Besides, I’ve granted your nephew permission to court my daughter, and he can hardly do that without an invitation to return. That is, if she wishes him to continue courting her?” He focused his gaze on her. “Do you, child?”
Was he testing her? In issuing an invitation without asking Papa Harcourt, she’d committed yet another faux pas for which he’d rightly be disappointed. If she said yes, would he point out the fault in appearing too eager? But she couldn’t bring herself to say no when her mind and body screamed at her to say yes. In fact, Murdo could askanythingof her and she’d say yes.
Then her stepfather’s lips curved into a smile and he winked. The stern duke who always observed propriety, who always judged her behavior, actuallywinked!
“Yes, Papa,” she said, and a thrill coursed through her veins as Murdo squeezed her hand.
“Excellent!” Mama Betty said. “That’s settled. We’ll expect you tomorrow, Mr. McTavish. Mrs. Tuffington, you’re welcome to come. Bring your husband and son, if the business can spare them.”
“Ye’re most kind,” Mrs. Tuffington said. “Now, nephew, we must be going if we’re to return to Berwick before supper.”
The carriage was already waiting for them by the time they stepped outside. Papa Harcourt bowed over Mrs. Tuffington’s hand, then helped her into the carriage. Murdo climbed in afterher, the carriage once again tilting under his weight, then, with a crack of the driver’s whip, the carriage lurched forward and set off.
Papa Harcourt exchanged a glance with Mama Betty and nodded.
“Come along, boys,” he said. “You’ve neglected your studies for too long.”
“But it’s the long vacation, Papa,” Nathaniel grumbled.
“Precisely, son. Almost three months where, without my encouragement, you’d be idling away rather than studying. You don’t want to lag behind your friends when you return to Oxford next term.”
“That won’t happen,” Nathaniel said. “The dean said I was exceptionally bright.”
