Page 30 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

D rusilla relaxed into the kiss, into his arms, into him .

Into the knowledge that all of this would finally have its culmination, its climax, so to speak, later this evening.

Their kiss was that of long-term, comfortable lovers; mature people who knew what they wanted and how to get it.

Not the frantic scrabbling about of hands and lips and teeth and tongues.

He held her upper arms and deliberately, carefully licked the seam of her mouth before sliding his tongue inside.

She welcomed him in, then swept her own tongue against his, eliciting a groan from deep in the back of his throat.

Then her hands were at his waist—the waist of his kilt—and for a moment she was tempted to yank the fabric up and feel nothing but bare skin, since she knew quite well what Scots generally wore under their traditional garb, which was nothing.

But that would only leave both of them frustrated, since they didn’t have enough time to savor this.

They had to get dressed, and dine, and then present pleasant faces to the guests who were coming to see the latest heiress to grace Society. Not to see the latest scandal, though of course they would view that with as much, if not more, enthusiasm.

Drusilla couldn’t risk that, at least not tonight, for Emily’s debut.

So she kept her hands safely at his waist, merely sliding one palm up his strong back, feeling the muscles flex as he leaned into her, making it feel as though they were practically one person.

“Mm,” she moaned, the ache in her lower parts demanding to be quieted. Not now, we’ve got things to do.

It seemed he knew what was happening, since he chuckled against her and broke the kiss, only to lower his head to her neck, pressing his mouth against her skin, his fingers playing with her upper breast before sliding underneath the gown to toy with her erect nipple.

“No fair,” she whispered, her voice husky.

He didn’t reply, just pinched it, making her moan again.

“You like that,” he said.

“Mm,” she replied.

“I can’t wait until I can take that pretty nipple into my mouth and lick and suck it,” he murmured, his burr a rumble she felt through her entire body. She trembled as he spoke. “I wonder if you can climax just with that?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but—oh,” she said, just as he bit the tender flesh of her breast, making her writhe and her quim pulse.

“No fair,” she repeated.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But you’ve been tormenting me since the first day we met, with your fierce pride and your surprisingly blunt views on life.

Not to mention your gorgeous, lush body.

Do you know how hard it’s been not to leave my room to come to yours?

To ravish you so thoroughly neither one of us can walk or talk? ”

“Oh,” she gasped. “I wish you had.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to do anything else but fuck, then,” he said in a low voice. “At least I wouldn’t have been. You—” And then he hesitated, and she twisted her head to look at him. “You make me think all sorts of indecent thoughts, Drusilla,” he said in a rough tone.

She got the feeling that wasn’t what he was originally going to say, but she couldn’t press him. She respected people’s privacy, and if there was something someone didn’t want to share, she couldn’t badger them about it.

Though this was the first time she actually wanted to know more about one of her lovers.

“Tonight then, my Scottish ram,” she said, reluctantly extracting herself from his arms. “We have to get ready. Emily is probably going to burst in at any moment, and we cannot be seen in this compromising situation.”

“No, we can’t,” he replied. “Otherwise we’d have to do something radical like get married.”

“And we don’t want that now, do we?” she retorted, but the recoil she usually felt at the idea of marriage didn’t happen. Instead, she felt a mix of emotions, like longing, and poignancy, and something like possibility.

Had she—?

No. It couldn’t be.

No, she hadn’t. And if she had, she couldn’t.

It wasn’t possible. She would not allow it.

She was Lady Drusilla, permanently unmarried, unable to yoke herself to any one person forever; that wasn’t changing.

It was how she had set up her entire existence.

Joey would be disgusted if she changed her mind.

The people who depended on her couldn’t be certain her husband—who would have complete domain over what she could or could not do—wouldn’t forbid her from helping them.

No.

“Well,” she said, blinking back tears that were not springing to her eyes, absolutely not, “I will see you in the foyer in forty-five minutes.”

She spun on her heel and walked away, hearing him make some sort of surprised grunting noise, then the door shutting behind him as he left.

Only then did she allow the tears to fall, the tears that were not springing to her eyes. Just as she had not fallen in love with him.

No.

M urdoch’s first indication that things were not as they should be was when the musicians arrived late, which he’d only known because Miss Joey had to escort them into the ballroom as the first guests were arriving.

They began to tune their instruments, with Miss Joey glaring at them as Murdoch, Drusilla, and Emily waited at the entrance to greet the guests.

Then, when the music actually began, Murdoch’s first instinct was to cover his ears, which was not the usual reaction. Unless the discordant sounds emerging from the quartet in the corner were some new Society fashion he didn’t know about?

“What in heaven’s name is that god-awful racket?” Drusilla said, in between guests.

Apparently not a fashion, then.

Only Emily seemed unperturbed, still smiling as she watched the guests stream in.

She looked lovely, as Murdoch had told her as many times as he could without seeming odd.

She wore a pale bone-colored gown, trimmed with lace in a slightly darker shade.

A simple string of pearls that had belonged to her mother was around her throat, while her hair was ornately dressed in a series of cascading curls.

Her eyes shone brightly, and her smile was equally remarkable.

Murdoch had already seen several Society mothers yanking their sons aside and whispering frantic instructions in their ears—likely something like, Make certain you ask her to dance, and try to be as charming as you can.

She is both beautiful and has a fortune, so do not miss your chance.

At least he’d been assured by Drusilla that her head wouldn’t be turned by the first attentive gentleman who came her way.

He was returning his attention to Miss Joey, wondering what she would do to solve the current problem, when he heard Drusilla mention him.

“A pleasure to see you, Mrs. Smithwick. The earl and I are so pleased you could join us in celebration of Miss Emily’s debut. Of course she has been to Society events, such as yours, but she hasn’t been to anything truly grand yet.”

Well. That wasn’t subtle. Both in implying he and Drusilla were hosting the party together, and that Mrs. Smithwick’s own gatherings had not been “truly grand.”

“I am certain you have seen more than your fair share of truly grand events, my lady,” Mrs. Smithwick replied. “Since you have been in London since your own debut. Was it ten years ago? Mine was earlier than that, but of course I spent some years in the country with my husband.”

If Drusilla had been at all melancholy about never having been married, Mrs. Smithwick’s riposte might have hit home. But as it was, Drusilla merely smiled in reply.

“Champagne, Mrs. Smithwick?” She jerked her chin toward one of the passing footmen, a man Murdoch recognized as being from the stables. He approached, bearing his tray gingerly. Drusilla plucked a glass from it and handed it to the other woman, whose face bore a saccharine smile.

“Thank you, my lady.” She took a sip, and then her smile turned genuine. “Interesting. I have never tasted this type of champagne before. You will have to tell me where to get it.”

Drusilla frowned, then took a glass for herself, taking a sip. Her expression fell, along with Murdoch’s stomach. She gestured quickly to Miss Joey, who practically ran over, wearing one of her unusual outfits of trousers and a jacket.

“The champagne is flat,” she said in a low tone. “Go below and find out if it’s all of them, or if it’s just this batch. Do we have enough of the other wine?”

Miss Joey shook her head slowly.

Drusilla bit her lip as Mrs. Smithwick watched avidly.

“Mrs. Smithwick,” Murdoch said suddenly, “would you care to dance?”

The music still sounded terrible, but at least dancing would keep the woman from gaining firsthand knowledge of what might be happening belowstairs.

“Yes, thank you, my lord,” she replied, casting a smug glance toward Drusilla.

She and Murdoch walked to the dance floor, Murdoch hoping perhaps she didn’t have a keen appreciation of music, or that maybe the musicians would suddenly collect themselves and start playing reasonably.

“This party seems to be going remarkably well,” she said in an arch voice as the music struck up again.

So neither option was going to happen.

But at least she wasn’t in Drusilla’s immediate vicinity and couldn’t directly needle her about anything.

Oh, and the dance was a waltz. Wonderful. So she would have plenty of time to make pointed comments.

He couldn’t wait until he was back home, where his most strenuous interaction would be with his steward, who often disagreed with Murdoch on which day was the best to start the shearing. He wouldn’t have to try to parse what people actually meant when they said something.

Though no. He could wait. Because if he was back there, that meant he wouldn’t be here, which meant he wouldn’t be with her. Which meant that this would all be over, and in the past, and he would be alone again.