Jamie must realize Evie had never lain with a man. Of course, he knew it—her naivety had screamed itself at him at every turn.
Evie gave him another nod, telling him she was ready. Jamie caressed her, touch quiet, then he slowly, slowly eased himself farther inside.
One tight, searing moment gripped Evie’s body, and then it was gone, replaced with the fullness of Jamie.
Again, he waited, letting her grow used to him, his hands on her strong, caring. Then, when Evie relaxed, he began to thrust.
His hard length inside her was maddeningly glorious. Evie squeezed down on him without understanding what she did. Jamie’s gasping moan told her he felt it, and she squeezed again, her eyes widening as he thrust all the way inside.
He rocked into her, his face taut, eyes open to let her drown in the beautiful blue of them. Evie wanted him on top of her, to feel his weight, but this position let him penetrate her fully, allowed him to pinch just above where his cock went in.
The sight of him there, buried in her, coupled with his fingers on her, wrenched a wail from her throat. The dark joy that had crashed into her by the river came at her again, this time twice as hard.
Evie cried out again, both in excitement and in sorrow that this would end soon. Then the fleeting sorrow vanished, and she knew nothing but fire, and the rightness of this man inside her.
Jamie’s thrusts sped, Evie rocking beneath him, clutching handfuls of the bedcovers as a deluge of white-hot sensation crashed over her.
Jamie suddenly pulled out, his touch vanishing too. Evie blinked in bewilderment, choking back a sob at his absence.
Before she could blurt questions, Jamie lifted her, shifting her to lie fully on the bed, her head on his pillows. Then he climbed over her, as she’d longed for him to do.
Jamie loosened her shirtwaist, opening it to reveal her short corset. He competently unlaced the strings that held it closed in the back, slipping the tiny sleeves from her shoulders, sliding the corset off and then the small shirt that lay under it.
Evie still wore her skirts, shoes, and stockings, while he was bare, but Jamie didn’t pause to relieve her of the rest of her clothes. He leaned to kiss her breast, teeth catching on one nipple, before he slid back inside her.
Evie arched to meet him, her body now warm and loose. Jamie pressed into her leisurely, smiling at her, close enough for slow kisses. Evie touched his face, loving the sandpaper feel of his whiskers, the thick warmth of his hair.
A sinful light entered Jamie’s eyes. He lifted Evie under her hips and sat back on his heels, she straddling him while he went straight up into her.
The potent fire returned, bursting over Evie before she could draw breath. The wildness made her scream, and then words poured forth, Evie crying Jamie’s name, shouting that she loved him, begging him for more and more.
Jamie steadied her while he loved her, his body slick with sweat, her breasts tight against his chest. Evie clung to him, her hair coming down to pool around them, her voice hoarse with her cries.
Just when Evie thought she could take no more—she shook her head and moaned—Jamie gave a shout that ended in a long groan.
He shoved her from him, Evie landing against the mattress, her voice catching on a cry.
Jamie sprang from the bed and reached for his discarded underdrawers. He wrapped them around his hardness before he let out another growling groan and sank against the side of the bed, shuddering. Then he dropped his head forward and went still.
“Jamie?” Evie asked into the silence, her voice a croak. “Are you well?”
Jamie’s back worked as he rubbed himself dry, but when he turned to her, his smile was broad, joy lighting his eyes. “I’m very, very well, thank you.”
Evie’s entire body tingled under his heated gaze. “What happened?”
Jamie’s grin didn’t waver. “Which part? I think many things happened in the last half hour or so.”
“The last thing. When you suddenly stopped.”
Jamie tossed his drawers to a bare patch of carpet. “That was so I wouldn’t drop a babe in you, love. Ye don’t need that.”
Evie’s belly squeezed, the joy of their lovemaking lingering. She did want a child, very much so, one who looked like Jamie, one she would care for and raise in the loving way she had been.
But he was right that having a babe without a husband would spell her doom, and the child’s too.
It also meant Jamie didn’t intend to rush them out to a chapel and marry her today.
Evie cursed herself anew for blurting the foolish proposal that day by the river. He was right—she had suggested it in her frustration with her failed betrothal with Hayden, her worry that she’d have to face her empty life alone.
Jamie had been offended rather than charmed, and Evie did not blame him. He’d argued that he wanted to be loved for himself, not used as a crutch. Evie wanted the same.
But she loved him. She had no doubt of that now. Perhaps they could begin again, using this day of bliss as a start.
Jamie climbed onto the bed beside her. Evie thrust away her doubts, determined to enjoy what she had in this moment.
Jamie, with tenderness, rid Evie of the rest of her garments. Then he curled against her, pulling a quilt over them both. He kissed her in slow afterglow, contentment settling over them, while the golden light of the Highlands bathed the room in softness.
Jamie made love to her again after they’d rested, and then a third time. He pulled out at the last minute each time, crashing back down beside her, breathing hard.
After the third loving, Evie fell into a profound sleep, waking when Jamie gently shook her. The sun was setting, the light fading, and Evie knew they had to depart.
They dressed each other, Jamie fetching clean things from his wardrobe, the process prolonged by their kissing and touching. But at long last, Jamie led Evie from his bedchamber and back down the stairs.
It was difficult for Evie to say goodbye to the house, to the dogs, to Murray. She’d only met them this day, but they’d already nestled into her heart.
The Kilmorgan coach awaited them at the road, which they walked to, the coachman having fished with a crony who lived nearby while he waited. He proudly held up two gleaming fish he’d take back to the Kilmorgan kitchens.
Evie and Jamie did not speak during the ten-mile, slightly fishy smelling ride back to Kilmorgan. Evie rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder, and he held her close.
Once at Kilmorgan, Evie stopped outside the front door of the well-lit and welcoming mansion.
“Do you still plan to leave?” she asked Jamie.
He regarded her somberly. “I must. I will tell you about it when the business is done.”
Evie’s throat tightened, but she nodded. “Then I will go home. You are right. It is time.”
“You have a telegram, Evie.” Marjorie danced in with it. “The telegraph boy from the village is so handsome, is he not? He moved here with his mum while we were in New York.”
Marjorie spun in place, holding the telegram to her chest. Evie, in the conservatory on the south end of the house, where warm sunshine poured through the greenery, watched her in exasperation.
She did not like the way her heart fluttered, hoping against hope that the telegram was from Jamie. Three weeks had passed since their beautiful lovemaking in his bedroom in Scotland, and she’d not heard one word from him.