Page 24 of Wed to the Highlander (Impromptu Brides #2)

The moment the door closed behind them, Duncan felt Maggie sag against his arm.

She’d smiled through supper at Sommerville House, but Duncan knew the signs of fatigue—a distant look, a subtle slump, and the way her hand drifted to her belly as if to remind herself, and everyone else, she carried something precious.

“Upstairs,” he said quietly, steering her toward the staircase before she could protest. He didn’t keep a butler in town as most of the ton did, so he signaled a footman. “Tell Jeannie she won’t be needed tonight.”

“Very well, your lordship.”

“Why won’t I need her?” Maggie asked.

“After the clamor of your brother’s home, I’d prefer quiet—and the thought of tending to you myself appeals.”

“Do you have experience as a lady’s maid?” she asked, teasing to hide her blush.

“I think I can manage your laces.”

In their room, it wasn’t laces he faced but buttons—at least thirty of them trailing down her back. His fingers skimmed the warm line of her spine through her chemise as he undid them one by one, revealing her with the reverence of a gift slowly unwrapped.

He watched as she swept her hair forward and tipped her head to the side, the curve of her neck impossibly graceful, impossibly tempting.

Duncan surreptitiously adjusted the tightness in his trousers before he eased the gown down, the silk pooling at her feet.

Her shift followed. He was prepared for the difficult part, having her gloriously naked in front of him, and quickly dropped her night rail over her head.

It wasn’t much better than nothing. The fabric clinging to the new fullness of her breasts—the fullness that stirred him every time he caught sight of it.

When he stepped back, beyond the reach of temptation, he caught a hint of a frown before she sat at her dressing table and removed the pins from her hair. As she brushed it, the lamplight caught the caramel strands in the dark brown. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

When she glanced at him in the mirror, her eyes lingered. “You’re pensive tonight. What’s on your mind?”

He didn’t say, “making love to my wife,” though that was the truth of it. Instead, he crossed to the valet stand and loosened his cravat, turning the focus to the letter from Lachlan. “I heard from my brother today.”

“Again? He writes you at least weekly.”

“He keeps me informed, and I appreciate it.”

Her brush stilled. “Was there bad news?”

He didn’t want to worry her with all of it.

The truth was that the letters didn’t bear good news.

They asked for his counsel and reported more difficulties.

Heavy storms had collapsed a bridge, cutting off two glens.

A fever had swept through the tenant farms on the northern ridge.

And the Cameron negotiations had collapsed entirely without his presence.

But he told her of the only bright spot. “Fiona is expecting. It will be their fourth.”

Her mouth curved as she set down the brush. “That’s wonderful news. It seems to be going around.”

“Aye, it does.” He smiled faintly and came to her, running his hand down the silken length of her hair.

Looking up, she gripped his hand. “That isn’t all the letter contained. I saw the thickness of the envelope.”

He brushed the softness of her cheek with his knuckles, trying to keep his tone even. “Lachlan is handling things.”

“When do we return?”

“In due time.”

Her eyes searched his, but he offered nothing more. She didn’t need the burden of knowing the whole of High Glen was teetering without him.

Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips across hers, lingering long enough to change the subject.

“Ready for bed?”

She laid her hand lightly on his forearm, her fingers warm through the linen of his shirt. “I know it’s early,” she said softly. “Will you stay with me?”

His chest tightened at the quiet plea. They’d shared a bed every night, yet it had been too long since they’d truly been together—since the bone-deep fatigue and retching had left her pale and trembling.

Even now, though the color had returned to her cheeks and her appetite was better, she was still lighter in his arms than she should be.

He traced the line of her jaw with one finger. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’m more than sure. I’ve missed being a wife to you, Duncan.”

“You never stopped, mo ghrá . But I’ll happily stay.” He tugged at his cravat until it came free. “God knows I’ve missed you, too.”

Her lips curved faintly as she slipped into bed, scooting toward the middle, making space for him as he undressed. When he joined her, she curled toward him, her nightgown brushing against his bare arm.

“This should go?” he murmured, whisking it over her head without waiting for an answer.

He kissed her—feather-light at first, careful not to overwhelm.

The fragrance of roses teased his senses as his hand roamed over her waist, the gentle swell of her belly, the fullness of her breasts.

She regained some of what she’d lost and was softer now, rounder in ways that stirred something primal in him.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured against her skin. “I’ve longed for you.”

“Then have me. Just…not too fiercely. Remember who’s in the middle.”

His laugh was quiet, rumbling in his chest. “How could I forget?”

She kissed him—slow, enticing—her hands gliding over his chest and shoulders. He answered in kind, letting the warmth of her mouth banish every lingering worry.

She sighed, pressing closer until her curves molded against him.

“Soft in all the right places,” he murmured.

Her answering smile was shy but pleased. “You like me round.”

“Like doesn’t do what I feel justice. I crave you, mo chridhe .”

He shifted them, her back to his chest, her hips fitting neatly to his. One arm cradled her head while his free hand roamed over her breasts, which were fuller now, the nipples larger and more sensitive to his touch, then lower, teasing until her thighs parted for him.

Her breath caught, her fingers curling into his forearm as he found the bud that made her quiver. He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, whispering endearments and praising her beauty as he coaxed her toward the heights of pleasure without urgency.

When she writhed against his hand, her arm raised and looped around his neck, her soft backside grinding against his hardness, he sank into her from behind, slow and careful.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered breathlessly. “Missed this. You feel so good inside me.”

“You feel perfect ,” he rasped, closing his eyes against the rush of heat and emotion. “I’ll never stop wanting you. Or loving you. Through it all—your fire, your fury, your softness, your strength. I’ll love you until I’m eighty and cock up my toes.”

“Make it ninety,” she murmured. “You’re older than me.”

He chuckled, so grateful her humor had returned.

He cupped her chin, turning her head to claim her lips, their mouths melding as their bodies moved in rhythm, less about urgency, more about rediscovery after too long apart.

When she came, it was with a soft cry, her hand clutching his at her middle.

He followed soon after, groaning her name into her hair as he spilled deep inside her.

Afterward, he stayed curled around her, one hand cupping her breast, the other spread protectively over the life growing between them.

He would keep them safe here. Even if it meant not telling her just how badly High Glen needed him. Not yet.