Her Wicked Highland Spy: The Marriage Maker Goes Undercover Book Two Page 7

  “Yes, dear, I suppose.” Lady Sarah patted her hand.

  They strolled to the veranda to await the butler, and within minutes, the man arrived in a smart barouche with Lady Sarah’s friend, Hettie, seated at his side.

  “I’ve procured the services of Martha Gunn,” the spry, birdlike woman announced excitedly as they settled themselves in the barouche’s back seat. “They say she’s built like an ox.”

  “Who is Marth Gunn?” Lady Sarah asked.

  “The dipper,” Hettie replied.

  “Dipper?” Rosalyn lifted a brow.

  Both Hettie and Lady Sarah smiled at her indulgently. “Not all of us can swim like you, child,” Hettie said. “Some of us need the help of a dipper.”

  As the two women began to chat, Rosalyn turned her head away. Talk of swimming brought her night on the beach to mind, and her cheeks heated with the memory of Ethan’s hard body pressed against hers.

  They clipped along the road, headed for Brighton’s beach. Here and there, they met carriages and curricles along the way. It was a bright, cheerful summer day, but Rosalyn’s heart grew heavier with every passing moment. She’d miss Ethan dreadfully. His sensual, easy smile. The soft burr of his accent. His kindheartedness toward her aunt. She didn’t dare think of his kiss…they all belonged to another woman now. The thought hurt.

  Finally, they arrived in Brighton and drove through the bustle of the town to the beach where the bathing machines were lined in a row next to the docks, each one a sturdy contraption that looked to Rosalyn like a wooden shack built on the back of a cart, each complete with a door and steps. The drivers lounged on top of the shacks, sporting striped bathing costumes, but it was the horses that caught her eye. They were massive creatures with hooves twice the size of a normal horse.

  Already, several of the machines had been deployed. Rosalyn stepped down from the barouche, shaded her eyes, and squinted at the sea. She could make out the forms of women floating on the waves, hanging onto paddleboards, some wearing hats for protection from the sun while others employed women to swim alongside them and hold umbrellas.

  As one of the horses began pulling their assigned machine their way, her aunt held out her arms. “Do give me a kiss, child.”

  Rosalyn pressed her cheek against her aunt’s withered one. “You’re only going swimming, Auntie. It’s not as if we’re parting forever.”

  Her aunt pinched her cheeks, her eyes misting. “My sweet, sweet girl. I love you so.”

  Rosalyn frowned, slightly concerned. “Auntie?” Her aunt rarely shed tears.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look.” Lady Sarah rolled her eyes. “We shall meet soon.”

  “You’re just going for a swim,” Rosalyn replied dryly.

  Her aunt laughed, then looped her arm through Hettie’s as a particularly large woman stepped from around the bathing machine, dressed in a black bathing costume. It had to be Martha. Rosalyn watched her in wonder as she bundled the two elderly women into the machine and they set off.

  “The machines are quite the contraption,” a low, musical voice murmured from her side.

  Rosalyn jerked and glanced over to see a slim young woman by her side, her face hidden by the surfeit of feathers drooping from her hat. Slowly, she lifted her head. It was Lady Elana, looking as faultless as ever in a pale blue muslin gown with an immaculately embroidered neckline and a light, lacy shawl.

  “My lady.” Rosalyn swallowed.

  “How delightful to see you again, Rosalyn,” Lady Elana greeted with a warm smile.

  Rosalyn stared at her numbly then spoke in a rush. “I sent you a letter—”

  “Ah yes, I received it.” Lady Elana patted her reticule. “It is precisely why I have come.”

  Rosalyn averted her eyes. “I’ve made quite the mess of it all. I confess, I am quite ashamed—”

  “Nonsense, Rosalyn,” Lady Elana interrupted. She laid her gloved fingers on Rosalyn’s arm. “It is I and Stirling who have a confession to make.”

  Stirling? Rosalyn frowned.

  Lady Elana’s eyes began to twinkle. “I’m beyond pleased how highly you’ve scored the man and that you believe he is worthy of a bride.”

  The word ‘bride’ stabbed Rosalyn’s heart. Surely, the woman knew such words tortured her now?

  Lady Elana leaned forward. “I never told you the bride-to-be because I wanted you to see Ethan for who he was.” She paused and then laughed. “My dear, the chosen bride is none other than yourself.”

  Rosalyn stared at her blankly.

  “Your aunt and Stirling knew from the start.” Lady Elana explained. “We could see you and Ethan were a perfect pair, even matching in stubbornness.” She nodded her chin over Rosalyn’s shoulder. “Isn’t that Ethan’s balloon, my dear?”

  Rosalyn whirled, her heart skipping a beat.

  Behind the line of trees, a short distance down the beach, she could see the red silk canopy of Ethan’s balloon as it filled with air. He was leaving? Without saying goodbye? It was hypocritical to feel slighted at the thought, but she couldn’t deny she did.

  Rosalyn turned toward Lady Elana, but the woman was gone. Rosalyn scanned the area, but with no sign of Lady Elana, she faced the balloon.

  It continued to rise.

  With a sinking heart, she raced to the edge of a small clearing where a crowd of observers gathered around several men who worked with the balloon. She spotted Ethan at once, so tall and handsome in a dark blue coat and gray breeches.

  A strange mixture of guilt and anger washed over her. Yes, she’d been ready to rush off without a proper farewell, but it hurt that he might do the same.

  The balloon’s basket began to lift from the ground as the canopy billowed. The men shouted and adjusted the bags of sand and inspected the tether lines. Rosalyn picked up her skirts and pushed through the crowd, even though she knew there was little chance she would catch him in time. The balloon’s wicker basket lifted off, and a cheer rose from the crowd. They surged forward, obscuring her view.

  Suddenly, strong hands grabbed her waist from behind. She whirled and gasped to find Ethan smiling down at her. She froze, torn between the desire to throw her arms around his neck and the urge to be angry.

  He opened his mouth and shouted, but the roar of the crowd ripped his words away. Then, with a sly twinkle in his eye, he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and strode through the crowd.

  Her heart pounded like a drum as the crowd parted to form a path to the balloon, and as the red silk canopy rose magnificently above her, she found herself hefted into the wicker basket. The next moment, Ethan hopped in at her side. The crowd cheered. Ethan gave a shrill whistle, and the lines fell free and the basket creaked as the balloon launched into the sky. Rosalyn gripped the handrails in wonder as the balloon skated over the heads of the crowd and then up and over the treetops beyond.

  “It’s amazing,” she gasped.

  A gust of wind caught her hair and she held it back with one hand as she craned her head in wonder at the sky above, then back to the quickly receding ground below. She felt like a bird, skimming above the grass, the rush of the wind tangling her hair.

  She noticed Ethan, who ignored the wonder around him to stare only at her.

  All at once, she felt shy. “I thought you were leaving without saying goodbye,” she confessed.

  A smile tugged the corner of his lips. “I’ve given my balloon over to Sadler. I’m done with flying. I have other things on my mind.”

  Their shoulders brushed as he reached over her head and adjusted the lines. It was impossible not to admire the way his muscles shifted under the tight fabric of his shirt.

  “Where are we going?” She leaned over the railing and peered at the windmills spinning far below.

  Her heart skipped a beat as his arms suddenly locked about her waist from behind. He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “To my carriage.”

  “Carriage?” she breathed.

  His hands felt so delici
ously right, so strong and warm sliding over her body as his lips dropped to her neck and skimmed the underside of her jaw. She shivered, closed her eyes and, for the first time, melted against him without a shred of guilt.

  “Aye, then straight on to Gretna Green.” Ethan’s hot breath teased her skin. “My grays are ready. They’re the fastest horses I own.”

  The stubble on his jaw teased her flesh, sending a thrill straight to her core. Then the words “Gretna Green” penetrated the haze in her mind. She turned in his arms. “Gretna Green?”

  He nipped the soft flesh of her neck, then planted the gentlest of kisses on the tip of her ear. “I’m in no mood for a long courtship.”

  It was real. He wanted to marry her. It felt so right. So natural. Just like his hot hands sliding down over her body to squeeze her buttocks, hands that made it hard to think.

  Her aunt’s face swam across her mind. How could she simply run off and leave the woman behind? “My aunt—”

  “Sends her blessings and God’s speed, lass. I’ve spoken to her already. She’s thrilled to join us at my estate at summer’s end.”

  Her aunt had been saying a temporary goodbye. Had he thought of everything? But…there was still the matter of Lady Elana. Rosalyn bit her lip. She had to tell him. He had to know.

  “Lady Elana,” she began and cleared her throat.

  “What of her?” He pulled her close against his chest.

  She heard the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her ear. “She tasked me to observe you on behalf of a bride,” she confessed in a rush.

  Ethan’s deep chuckle vibrated under her ear. “Indeed, a bride should know if her intended is exceedingly endowed, well-equipped, and of exceptional size.”

  She recognized her own words at once and a fine sense of horror flooded her. “You read my journal?” She covered her flaming cheeks with her hands.

  “I never meant to.” His eyes gleamed. “But as long as we’re confessing, a few wee things did leap from the pages.” He dropped his head and nibbled her earlobe. “There’s no shame in desire. I’ve taken you dozens of times and in dozens of ways in my mind.”

  His words chased her embarrassment away and sent a delightful shiver straight to her sex. So, he’d fantasized, as well? She lowered her lashes. “Tell me. It’s only fair.”

  “That’s a dangerous conversation to have.” He lifted a brow.

  Rosalyn glanced at the red silk canopy billowing over her head. “Here?” she mused. “In the balloon? As we sail the skies?”

  He answered by dropping a hand on her breast and began to knead it, slow and hard, just like she liked. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wicker basket’s wall. She’d needed him to touch her for so very long.

  As his long fingers scissored her nipple, she drew a ragged breath. “Suck me,” she heard herself whimper. “Please.”

  “With pleasure, lass,” he breathed into her ear.

  Ethan covered her mouth with his as his fingers slid up past her neckline, leaving a tingling trail of sensation. He caught the shoulder of her gown and pulled it down just the right amount to allow him to lift her naked breast up through the opening with smooth expertise.

  His mouth left hers. She knew where he was headed. She let her head fall back, smiling at the sensation of his hair tickling her neck. Slowly, his fingertips swirled over the flesh that encircled her nipples and teased them to peak in response. Then he pinched her breast, angled the tip into his hot mouth, and latched on. When he began to suck, long, hard pulls, shivers of sensation reached clear to her toes.

  “Yes,” she gasped, unable to stop from writhing like a cat in heat. She threaded her fingers into his hair and pushed his mouth down harder against her breast. “Yes, please.”

  He took more of her into his mouth and continued to suckle with such strength that her channel quivered in response. Wet warmth flooded between her thighs. It felt like a dream, flying through the air, the sun warm on her naked breast and his hot mouth pulling hard on her soft flesh. Weak-kneed, she gripped the railing, and held fast, hearing only her harsh breathing and his hot mouth suckling.

  With each pinch, each tug, and each soft, warm pull, a heat began to build, reminding her how empty she felt, until finally, the combination proved too much. “Take me.” She opened her legs in a silent plea to be filled. She needed him inside her. Now. With a wicked smile, she reached for his crotch.

  He drew a sharp breath as her fingers brushed the hard bulge of his erection. For several long seconds, she thought he meant to stop her, but then, he broke off sucking her breasts and unfastened his breeches. His cock sprang free, lengthening even more as he guided her hand to encircle his shaft. He was so large, his flesh so warm. She felt every pulsing vein in her hand. She knew what to do. She began to stroke him, sliding her hand up and down its length.

  He closed his eyes and thrust. “By God, you drive me wild, woman.”

  She felt her skirts lifting. At last. She whimpered in anticipation and rolled her hips forward until her thighs lay bare.

  “Open your legs for me, sweeting.” He continued to slide his cock in her fingers.

  She opened her legs.

  “Wider. I want to see you,” his voice took on a hoarse edge as he lifted her knee and spread her wide. He touched her, slid his finger between her folds as his thumb circled her hidden bud. “God, you’re beautiful, and so wet for me.”

  He spread his fingers, opening her folds to expose her pink heat. He drove two of his fingers deep inside.

  “Yes,” she cried, pleasuring herself on his hand.

  She gripped his cock, stroking him faster. He grunted with approval and met her rhythm, slamming his length as he watched her from under hooded eyes. She bucked wantonly against his fingers, too excited to care about anything but her own pleasure.

  Their breath came faster, thrusting in unison.

  She gasped and began to shake, the onset of a climax threatening. “More,” she gasped. “Give me more.”

  He drove his finger harder into her channel and tipped her over the edge. She quivered uncontrollably as a spasm of pleasure rocked her core and ripped the air from her lungs. The climax rippled through her. She collapsed against the balloon’s wicker wall. He caught her with one arm, holding himself still in her channel as she clenched her release. She could do nothing but dig her fingers into his shoulders and moan his name again and again. As the last ripple of her release faded she opened her eyes and looked up into his.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He brushed her lips in a sweet kiss.

  She lay in his arms, one breast exposed and her gown bunched about her waist, his fingers still buried inside her. She smiled. With him, she had no control, but then, she didn’t need restraint.

  His cock lay heavy against her thigh, swollen and in need of relief. She began to rock, sliding her fingers over his shaft once again, pressing him between her palm and the naked flesh of her thigh.

  He withdrew his large fingers from her channel and he dropped his hand onto the railing. He closed his eyes and drove his cock against her in long, powerful thrusts. She watched him in wonder. Soon, that force would be pounding inside her. Soon, the massive, thick-ridged shaft pulsing in her hand would dive into her channel instead.

  His frenzied thrusts seized and with a grunt, he threw his head back and released his seed, spilling it over her fingers and her soft thighs. Never had she witnessed a more erotic act. Never had she thought to see so powerful a man lose control in her hands. She remained motionless, as he shuddered and emptied himself. His muscles milked every last drop until he softened in her hands and slipped free.

  Ethan nuzzled her neck fondled her still-exposed breast. “Then, I’ll take this as a ‘yes,’ you will marry me, lass?”

  Rosalyn laughed and threw her arms around his neck and inhaled his scent. This is where she wanted to be. She wanted to be held by him. She wanted to stay that way forever, cradled in his arms with his lips on hers, passionate and tender, maki
ng love until they were spent.

  “Let’s land this balloon and ride for Gretna Green,” she whispered. “At once.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Indulging the Senses

  The ring of a hammer striking an anvil was the first sound Rosalyn heard as Ethan handed her down from the carriage at Gretna Green. Excitement raced through her. At last, they’d arrived. At last, he’d be hers.

  “This way, my love.” Ethan tilted his head at a white-washed blacksmith’s shop.

  She looked him up and down. He’d changed into his kilt, a dramatic red plaid. Never had she seen him more handsome.

  His gorgeous blue-gray eyes narrowed. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “Far from it,” she whispered. To settle the matter, she caught the lapels of his coat and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I can’t marry you quickly enough.”

  He said nothing, but his eyes roamed her body. She’d worn her best dress, an ivory muslin with pale blue satin trim about the hem and the neckline. Perhaps she shouldn’t have. From his expression, she knew so very soon, he’d be ripping it off.

  He gave her fingers a squeeze and, hand-in-hand, they headed toward the Blacksmith shop.

  The wedding was a short affair. The Blacksmith Priest was an ancient man with thin wispy hair but a voice that boomed like thunder. He married them at once, with the young blacksmith who had been hammering the horseshoe, as witness.

  Rosalyn closed her eyes and smiled as Ethan repeated his vows, the lilt of his brogue and the deep timbre of his voice playing her body like a violin.

  Then, at last, the deed was done.

  “I’m of a mind to rest the remainder of the day, my sweet wife,” Ethan said as they left the smithy and headed for the inn across the lane.

  “Rest?” She lifted a wicked brow.

  He chuckled, caught her hand, and brought her fingers to his mouth.

  She followed him across the lane, feeling caught in a most pleasant dream. Oh, some small part of her was keenly aware of the summer afternoon and the way the breeze rifled her hair. The larger part, however, only saw what mattered the most: his broad shoulders, his strong thighs, and the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen.