Page 25

Rollo’s gaze clung to the sight of Felicity on the path ahead of him. They walked among the precisely manicured hedges and stone statuary of his family’s formal gardens, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

More specifically, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the sight of her hips, swaying back and forth beneath all the godforsaken layers of fabric that hid her curves from him.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He needed to be paying mind to Jamie, trying to figure out what, exactly, the knave was about.

Or tending to his father, trying to connect with the man. Will had dozens of questions for him. To discover that he’d been in there, cognizant, all this time? It gave him a chill.

And then there was Ormonde. Will hoped the man was safe. His flame red hair didn’t offer much of a disguise if Jamie’s spies were about, and it’d be straight back to the Tower for him. Hopefully his message to Ormonde had been clear: Will wanted naught more to do with the Sealed Knot men.

No, there were many things Rollo needed to consider, and to do, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from this woman. And so, here he was, strolling. The only thing commanding his attention, trying to imagine the curve of what would surely be a pale, sweet backside.

Thinking on it now, he realized he’d only given mind to how beautiful Felicity was. Lovely, with unguarded ways, always with her innocent chatter. She was like a light shining straight into the dark chambers of his heart.

But now he’d seen another, different facet. She was so much more than merely pretty. Watching her communicate with his father, Rollo realized just how special, just how extraordinary a woman she truly was.

Did all who met Felicity feel her light blaze straight into their hearts? He marveled at the thought.

She’d stopped on the path, and Will let himself walk right up along her back. He didn’t touch her. Such indiscretion would be too reckless so close to his family’s home.

But still, Rollo allowed himself to hover, just against her. Near enough to feel the heat of her through her gown. He pressed closer. Felt the give of fabric against his hardened groin.

She was sweet torture, this woman.

“Are you even listening, Will?”

No indeed . He took a deep breath in and exhaled through his teeth. “Apologies. You were saying?”

“These gardens . . .” She canted her head, studying a particularly extravagant topiary hedge. “This is nuts. Who takes care of all this stuff anyway?”

“My mother has people,” he replied, distractedly examining the hedge before him. “I’ve never given it thought. How peculiar,” he muttered suddenly. “Her tastes in topiary do seem to run to the . . . Byzantine.”

She giggled, bumping her hips back to nudge him. The brief jostling pressure had dark thoughts furrowing his brow. She was frisky as a kitten, and here he was, about to explode right on the spot.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to gather himself. But all that did was bring her scent more clearly to him. She’d washed her hair with something smelling of roses.

“I mean, you already live in the most spectacular garden in the world.” She waved her hand, gesturing toward the hills lining the horizon. “It’s just weird to me, this whole formal garden concept.”

“It . . . I . . .” What to say? What was she talking about?

He needed to gather himself. His arm stretched stiffly toward the ground, gripping the cane at his side.

His eyes went to her hair, the source of this scent that was suddenly driving him mad.

“I see you finally sorted out the issue of your hair.”

“Huh?” She tilted her head to look up at him, and he thought the sight of those bright eyes trained only on him would surely be his undoing. “What on earth are you talking about, Will?”

He cleared his throat. “Your hair. You kept saying it was driving you mad. You seem to have sorted it out,” he added, his voice finally steady.

“Oh.” She seemed to visibly deflate. “No, it’s still making me batty.”

She lifted her hands to feel the mass of it at the nape of her neck. “I thought having it always in my eyes drove me crazy enough. But then some girl helped me this morning, and”—she ran her fingers along the tight looping bun—“ow!”

She shot him a dramatic pout. “She put pins in my hair. She kept sticking me, over and over. I swear she was using straight pins. I wouldn’t be surprised if I were bleeding under here.

All I want,” she muttered on, “is a barrette, or a rubber band, or a scrunchie, or a head band, or a butterfly clip, or—”

“Hush,” Will whispered with a small smile on his face.

“This is my home,” he said, letting his cane drop to the ground.

“And when you are in my care”—he slowly ran his fingers along the sweep of her bun, carefully removing each pin, one by one, dropping them with exaggerated disdain to the grass—“you may wear your hair however you like.”

As he pulled the last pin free, her hair spilled down her back. Felicity shuddered in pleasure.

“Ohmygosh. That feels so . . .”

The feel of her hair loose. The feel of Will at her back. The feel of his fingers on her.

The sensations overwhelmed her. The man drove her crazy. Didn’t he see? Didn’t he see how good they were together? He was so caring, and gentle, and thoughtful, and he had no idea how great he was.

He was utterly silent, lacing his fingers in her hair, pulling them gently through. He rubbed her head. Massaged the nape of her neck. Traced his thumbs lightly around the curve of her ears. Brought his hands back up to scrape his fingertips lightly along her scalp.

“Oh that feels so good.” Felicity didn’t understand why it was that every woman in Perthshire, or wherever it was he’d said they were, wasn’t all over Lord William Rollo like white on rice. “Will, you have no idea, do you?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got no idea,” she whispered, turning to face him. She pressed the front of her body against his. Feeling his arousal, her eyes widened.

“Ohh,” she said with a wicked smile. “Maybe you have some idea then.”

Felicity reached around to graze her hands lightly down his back, along his ass, stroked back up. He wore only his shirt and plaid, and the rough wool clung to her palms. The fabric slid over his body, and she felt each curve of muscle and flesh.

“I don’t think you have anything on under here.”

“This . . . this is unseemly.” Breath shuddered from his body. “We must—”

“Is that your sporran, Lord Rollo, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Och, Christ, woman . . .”

“Come on.” She nipped her teeth at his shirt. “Can’t we duck into a . . . whatchamacallit . . . a hedgerow or something?”

“I . . .” Will brought his hands tentatively to her shoulders. “But the others . . .”

She glanced around quickly. “There aren’t any others. Come on.” She began to step back, away from the house, to the fringe of trees in the distance. “Take me into the woods, Will. Your stupid brother took me into the woods,” she added, a dare in her voice.

“I fear my own base impulses far more than I fear my brother,” he muttered darkly.

She’d love to get a load of Will’s base impulses. “Then please, by all means. Trees. Now.”

She reached around his shoulders and slowly stroked down, all the way to the backs of his thighs. “Let me just get your cane.” Ever so gradually, she began to squat to the ground, drawing her hands lightly down his legs.

He was erect, his kilt tented out before him, his flesh extended long and solid, just for her. It gave her a ripple of pleasure.

She let her cheek graze his cock as she lowered herself to kneel. Will groaned at her touch, and the ripple in her belly swelled into hot, wet need.

She continued to move down, slowly.

He flinched as she reached the gnarled curve of his right leg, but she flinched back, a brief, hard grip that stilled him.

Her knee reached the ground. She took his cane from the grass. Pulled back up to standing, skimming even closer to his body as she rose.

The hard length of his erection settled between her breasts. She rubbed herself along it as she stood.

Their eyes met. He was coiled, grim, every aspect of him tight and dark with desire.

“Come,” he told her, his voice a low rasp. He pulled her around the corner of a boxed- off hedge into a tight cul-de sac of shrubbery. The green walls reached overhead, punctuated by statue after statue of mythic figures, their blank marble eyes staring sightlessly ahead.

She pulled from him, turning to tug at his kilt. “You’ve got to get this off.” Her fingers fumbled with his brown leather belt. “You can’t just show me this”—she paused to stroke his thick bulge—“and expect me to ignore it.”

“The plaid stays on,” he gritted, spinning her back around to face one of the statues. It was some wide-shouldered god dess, her hand raised in a gesture of triumph, or judgment.

“Then shouldn’t we . . .”

He wrapped his arm tight around her belly, grinding himself into the back of her skirts.

She shivered, slumped into him.

“Shouldn’t we . . . ?” he mimicked her, his voice pitched wickedly low. His accent, husky and warm in her ear, shot every nerve in her body to attention. Nestling his face in her hair, his mouth found her earlobe and he gave her a light nip.

“Oh.” She shuddered in a breath. “Nevermind.”

He wound his hand in a swath of her hair and exposed her neck. The air was cool on her skin, and her nipples pulled tight.

“I’ll not be taking you in the woods like some savage.” His body still cradling hers from behind, he trailed slow kisses up her neck. “But there’ll be none the wiser if we are two merely admiring the statuary.”

“You are full of surprises,” she said breathlessly.

He raked his hand through her hair. Cupping the back of her head, he tilted her face to him and took her in a hard kiss.

God she wanted him. Craved his hands on her, all over. Just when she thought she couldn’t wait a moment longer, Will eased his other hand down the belly of her gown, pulling her closer. She moaned into his mouth.

She felt him hard and urgent at her back. His hand grazed even lower, cupping firmly between her legs.

A gasp tore her mouth from his. “Yes, Will.”

Holding her more tightly, he began to knead his fingers steadily, rubbing her through the layers of fabric.

“Someday”—his voice was hoarse and hot in her ear—“someday I will see you torn from this gown.”

The mere suggestion of Will, standing behind her naked instead of covered in all these clothes, made her muscles quiver. She sagged even more against the hard length of his body. “Yes. Please.”

Will held her securely to him. “Hush, woman. And listen.”

His hand worked faster, and the chafe of linen over her bare flesh had her body shrieking for release.

And for once, Felicity was rendered speechless.

“I will have my hands on your bare body.” His palm ground against her in a steady rhythm.

Muscles deep in her core began to clench.

“I will touch you,” he threatened through gritted teeth. “And I will take you.”

Her knees buckled. Rollo’s strong arm held fast, his hand cradling her even tighter. Need and pleasure thrummed through her, suffused her.

“And I will have you.” He stroked more firmly, through all that fabric, and her pelvis rocked against his palm, urging him on.

“Yes Will,” she breathed. Her whole body trembled. She felt flushed, hot, weak. “Please.”

“Every inch of you will be mine.”

And Felicity felt his growl of release resonate through her, as he pulled her close, pumping hard into her back, riding her climax with his own.