Page 12 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

M y goodness , Drusilla thought as he put his mouth on hers, why didn’t we do this before?

Because it felt as though she was burning up from the inside, every part of her feverish with desire. For this large, less hairy, still absolutely awkward Scot who didn’t seem to know just how gorgeous and charming he was.

For a moment, he just let his mouth rest on hers, and she sighed, running her fingers through his hair—hair that would get cut, he just didn’t realize it was inevitable, as so many of Drusilla’s ideas were.

And then he groaned, and opened his mouth, sliding his tongue inside, gripping her arms as though to hold her still for his onslaught. Silly man. As though she was going to object.

There was nothing to object to. She tangled her tongue with his, feeling the warm, prickly, fiery feeling reverberate through all of her.

And they were just kissing! Imagine if—no.

She could not imagine that, or she’d be tearing at his clothing in this carriage, definitely causing a scandal when they came to a stop.

Lady D____, no stranger to scandal, has outdone herself. She was recently discovered revealing the excellent musculature and strength of a visitor from our northern neighbor, the Earl of C____, who seemed to quite enjoy her ministrations, if our observations are correct.

No. Not that.

She was surprised to discover he was quite an excellent kisser, as determined and enthusiastic about it as he was about his sheep. Though, thanks to Cutty, not nearly as woolly.

Her fingers slid away from his head of their own accord, running over his shoulders, feeling the hard strength, then onto his arms. Then she pressed her palm flat against his chest, nearly moaning as she felt the muscular planes. What must he look like naked?

The thought threatened again to completely upend her.

He, meanwhile, had his fingers splayed out at her waist now, his grip tight and urgent. She felt an achiness throughout her body, and shifted so his hand moved up a little closer to her breast.

“Yes, please,” she murmured, unable to keep herself from speaking, “touch me there.” They were still kissing, so her words were muffled, but she knew, from his reaction, that he heard what she’d said.

His palm closed over her breast, and she gasped into his mouth, tilting her head back as she felt the sensations coursing through her.

He took the opportunity to put his mouth on her neck, kissing her gently before biting down on her skin.

It felt delicious, sending a spark to her quim, making her wish they were in her comfortable bed, not this jolting carriage.

“You like that,” he observed, sounding smug.

His voice was a rasp, and his accent made what he’d said sound even more appealing than if a regular English gentleman had said it.

She also had to admit she appreciated his confidence; she wouldn’t have thought this man was adept in bed skills, but clearly he was.

She was in so much trouble.

“I do,” she said, squirming in her seat. The carriage was still rollicking along, but they had to be close to home, which meant she needed to stop this madness before it went too far.

Even though she never wanted it to stop.

“Mm,” he said, squeezing her breast. It relieved her ache somewhat, but also increased it, since she did, in general, like to get manhandled during sex.

The combination of his size and what she suspected was his inclination made her nearly frantic with desire, meaning she really, really needed to stop before everything went too far.

In the end, it was he who stopped, sliding his palm back down to her waist, giving her mouth one last lick, then drawing back to stare at her, his breathing ragged and quick.

“My God,” he said. His eyes were molten, and she could have sworn she saw precisely what he wanted to do there, reflected in the dark depths.

I want to fuck you so hard you see stars.

Or perhaps that was just what she wanted.

“We cannot do this,” he said, even as his fingers tightened at her waist again, betraying his words.

“Oh, but we can,” Drusilla replied. Her voice was husky and rough. “We absolutely can, my lord, and what’s more, I think we should continue this tonight. With no obligation at all,” she added.

His expression hardened, and she felt an irritable urge to kiss him again, only the carriage was slowing, so it would be inopportune.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he growled, and slid over the seat so that none of his body was touching any of hers.

She felt the lack immediately. She wanted to crawl inside his shirt, explore the hard planes of his body, lick and kiss every single inch of him.

But she also knew that if this was a one-time occurrence, she would have to respect that. She would not press her wants if he truly did not also desire it. That would just be rude.

Drusilla never had trouble luring anyone into her bed, so she supposed that if that terrible outcome occurred, she’d be able to find another partner with ease.

But she didn’t want another partner. She wanted this gruff, less hairy Scottish ram to pleasure her so thoroughly she couldn’t see straight. She wanted to make him explode, make him frantic with want, watch him get all sweaty and needy as she devoured him in all the ways she knew of.

The door swung open, and Drusilla jumped. She had been so immersed in thinking of the Ram’s possibilities that she’d forgotten they’d arrived home, even though it had been barely a minute.

The coachman—Harry, a former soldier who’d lost a leg—gave her an odd look, and she managed to take a deep breath, trying to return her expression to normal.

Not easy when your vision felt as though it was obscured by lust.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, accepting his hand as she stepped out. She didn’t wait for the earl to disembark, instead rushing up the front steps and tearing through the open door, ignoring Joey’s look of surprise.

She needed to settle herself or everything would be for naught.

If the earl decided she was too scandalous to oversee his niece’s debut, she would lose the opportunity to get the building she wanted so desperately.

She couldn’t let her baser impulses derail her purpose, regardless of how much she wanted to—

Stop that, Drusilla , she reminded herself. She stood in front of her receiving room, taking a deep breath as she entered. She closed the door firmly behind her and leaned against it, her mind immediately returning to the carriage interlude.

How was she going to survive without tasting his mouth ever again?

The short answer was: She wouldn’t.

The longer answer was: She would have to.

W hat the hell just happened? Murdoch thought.

He felt dazed, as though he’d been stunned with a blunt object. And he had, in a manner of speaking; Lady Drusilla was both stunning and blunt.

Kiss me, my Scottish ram.

“My lord?”

The—well, he didn’t know what position she held, just that she dressed like a man and seemed to excel in knowing looks—Joey person was at his elbow, giving him another one of her looks, and he nearly said everything tumbling through his head:

Your mistress and I just kissed in her carriage, and I have never experienced anything so explosive before, and I want to know just how many hearts has she broken already? Because I can’t imagine someone being with her and not wanting to be with her for the rest of their lives.

But that would be inappropriate, as well as reveal that he was already starting to think about her that way, when he knew he should absolutely not be thinking of her that way, not just because she was his niece’s guide, but also because they lived completely different lives.

Instead, he merely tried to smooth his expression, turning to the Joey person and making a regular request like a regular gentleman would who had not just passionately kissed a woman in her carriage.

“Could you ask the maid to bring up some tea?” he said, trying to keep his tone measured.

“Looks to me like you might need something stronger,” she said, her knowing expression now accompanied by a knowing tone of voice.

Drat. Apparently he had not been measured enough.

“Yes, that would also be pleasant,” he replied.

Pleasant was a good, inoffensive word. Pleasant implied he would be fine no matter the outcome.

Pleasant was not what had just happened in that carriage.

No, the words there would be profoundly sensual , enticing , and tantalizing .

He wished he was the type of person who would take her up on her offer of later tonight—but he couldn’t in good conscience. Emily was counting on him not to foul this opportunity up, and there were many scenarios he could imagine that would do just that.

“My lord?” Joey said again, sounding even more amused.

Murdoch realized he’d been standing frozen in the foyer for at least five minutes while he thought about everything, and all the consequences, and not behaving like a very normal person who had not kissed anyone in the past half hour would.

“Uh, yes,” he said hastily. “I’ll be up in my room. Thank you.”

And then he bowed before realizing it was completely odd to bow to a person who was a servant, even if the servant in question seemed to be more than a servant.

He made his way to his room as quickly as he could, but he didn’t miss the short burst of laughter that followed him up the stairs.

“There you are!”

Emily stood in the hallway outside her room as though she’d just stepped out.

“And your face!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to look at him. He had a moment of panic—did kisses leave marks?—before remembering the shave.

“Yes, Lady Drusilla”— the woman whose mouth I was just exploring with my tongue —“insisted.”

By now, Emily had put her fingers up to his cheek, her astonished expression making him feel uncomfortable and awkward. Though that was how he usually felt when he was anywhere away from his estate and his sheep.

“You do not look like yourself!”

“Who do I look like?” Murdoch asked, more amused than awkward now.

She looked befuddled. “Just—just that I am going to have to grow accustomed to all of this. And you have new clothing coming as well?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said. “We went to a clothier this morning. Apparently what I have is fine for my rustic life, but not for London Society. Not when I am your guardian.”

“Excellent!” she said, clapping her hands. “You might find yourself fending off your own proposals.”

He blushed, remembering what Lady Drusilla had said in the carriage: We absolutely can, my lord, and what’s more, I think we should continue this tonight.

Not that that kind of proposal was what Emily was referring to.

At least he hoped not; he didn’t know what kinds of things she’d been exposed to, growing up in such close proximity to London.

Though that was condescending and judgmental, wasn’t it? Just because it was not his lifestyle, he didn’t believe it was invalid.

“That is not the point of all this,” he said sternly, trying to keep his role as respectable guardian in place rather than being a rakish libertine.

As though anyone would actually ever mistake him for a rakish libertine.

“We do wish to present ourselves as suitable for our surroundings, and that is why Lady Drusilla suggested”—even though it was a command—“that I shave, at least while we are here.”

“My lord?”

Murdoch turned at the sound of the voice; it was one of the maids bearing a tray with a bottle of whisky and a glass. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his entire life.

“Yes, thank you. Put it in my room?”

The maid nodded, exiting his room in just a few moments as he and Emily stood in the hallway.

“Why did you want to see me, anyway?” he said, recalling she’d sounded as though she’d been waiting awhile for his return.

She beamed at him. “I’ve heard from my grandmother. She sent word of my arrival to her friend’s daughter, the Honorable Anne Smithwick, and Mrs. Smithwick has sent an invitation to us for this evening!”

It was remarkable how one small person could exhibit so much enthusiasm. Murdoch already felt fatigued by her energy. And he was supposed to manage another few months of this? Thank goodness he had Lady Drusilla on hand. He would never survive this without her.

Wait—what had Emily said? “This evening?” he echoed, feeling his stomach bottom out.

“Yes!” she replied, sounding even more excited.

“But—” he began, wishing the thought of standing in a crowded ballroom and meeting other people didn’t strike such terror in his heart. “Do you have something suitable to wear?”

She nodded, removing his only possible way to avoid the event. “Indeed. Lady Dru asked her modiste to send something over just to be certain we were prepared, and it is so lovely! I cannot wait for you to see it.”

“Yes, that sounds splendid,” Murdoch replied in a wan voice.

“There you are.”

Both Murdoch and Emily turned to see Lady Drusilla climbing up the stairs, her expression serene, as though passionately kissing someone in a carriage was a regular occurrence. Perhaps it was; perhaps it wasn’t as distinct and rare a happening for her as it was for him.

In which case, perhaps he should not be as rattled by the event as he had been.

He should strive to view it with the same casual attitude.

And if it didn’t mean anything, perhaps that also meant he could think about doing it again.

Because if it didn’t matter once, it wouldn’t matter if it happened again.

An interesting thought.

Too interesting, actually, judging by the inopportune reaction he was having.