A moan of pure bliss formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down.
“A gardener spotted the bairn toddlin’ about alone, too near the waters, and returned her to the house. When I arrived home that evenin’ and learned of the mishap, I went straightaway to Kristin’s chambers.”
That couldn’t have been pleasant.
Emeline felt she should say something, but, honestly, had no idea what. Anything she said would seem trite and insufficient. Her heart swelled with emotion that he would share this story with her, the telling of which obviously pained him.
“What happened, Liam?”
“I informed her that I intended to instruct my family and staff that she was nae longer permitted to be alone with our children.” His fingers went still. “She became enraged and seized a letter opener—”
Emiline’s horrified gasp interrupted him. Oh, my God. She’d attacked her husband.
“Och, ye can see the results.” Unlike that first day, no restrained wrath weighted his words.
However, righteous anger sent Emeline’s blood boiling. His wife had been an unhinged banshee. How had he ever come to marry such an evil woman?
That question would have to wait for another time. Not only wasn’t it any of her business, Liam had waded through enough miry, unpleasant memories for one night.
She leisurely lifted her eyelids, and her gaze locked with his. Something more than firelight glittered in their arresting slate-gray depths. When his focus sank to her mouth, she could no more have stopped her tongue from darting out and moistening the lower lip than she could have halted the flash flood of a few days ago.
A torrent of a different sort flowed through her every bit as powerful as those riotous waters.
She wanted Liam to kiss her. Needed him to.
For days, she’d yearned for his firm mouth on hers. Even when he’d vexed her to no end. Even though he’d made it perfectly clear that while he’d rescued her, he offered her nothing more. Owed her nothing more.
And he didn’t. Not a thing.
“Em?” His question rang with an unspoken suggestion.
“Emeline,” she countered, needing the control that requiring him to call her by her given name and not a pet name afforded her.
His gravelly whisper came a mere, exciting inch from her mouth.
“Obstinate lass.” His words rang as an endearment rather than a scold.
“Pig-headed boor,” she countered. Most definitely an endearment.
With a throaty groan, he clasped one big hand behind her head and the other cupped her chin. The first brush of his lips was light. Fleeting. The merest wisp of a butterfly’s wing. A tantalizing tease. A heady promise leaving her wanting more. More. More.
“Liam?”
Good God and all the angels. Was that husky purr her voice? She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him near, telling him with her body what she was too bashful to say with words. Curling her fingers into his magnificent hair, she clung to him.
He crushed her to his hard body, his mouth swooping down upon hers in a scorching assault. She gasped in excitement and surprise. She hadn’t expected the kiss to be so powerful. All-consuming. So blissfully wonderful.
His beard was surprisingly soft, the gentle friction adding to her arousal.
At his gentle prodding, she opened her mouth, eager to get closer. To taste more of him. Their breaths and tongues tangled, a heated, ravenous frenzy. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he drew her upward and scooped her into his arms. In four long strides, he reached her bed, and reverently laid her upon the insufficient mattress.
This was madness. Utter recklessness. Her sensible self screamed for her to put an end to the insanity. But the lonely, ignored, overlooked, and disregarded four and twenty-year-old sensual woman thrilled that such a prime specimen of manhood should find her desirable. Her!
When he stretched out beside her—all hewn sinew, and hard rippling muscles—and cradled her tenderly against him, she whimpered tremulously, “Liam?”
He tore his mouth from hers and trailed hot, wet kisses over her jaw and neck before gently nipping the juncture where her throat met her collarbone.
She started and gasped at the instant jolt of burning desire spearing her. More. She wanted more. More of this. More of him.
She whimpered again, running her hands up and down his spine, relishing his sinewy hardness and the hunger he stirred. Never had she dreamed she could feel this way. As if every pore was alive and molten lava flowed through her veins. Hunger and desire and passion overwhelmed her and, instinctively, she knew only he could relieve this sizzling need.
She wriggled beneath him, arching her hips and curving into his corded muscles, silently pleading for more. More.
A seductive chuckle, melodious and bone-melting, reverberated in his chest. He lowered his head to the expanse of flesh visible above her bodice while raising her skirt and trailing his callused fingertips up her trembling thigh.
“Ye’re a siren, Em. A temptation I canna resist, God help me. Ye’ve completely bewitched me, jo.”
A blend of resignation and self-castigation weighted his tone, making Emeline go perfectly still.
He sounded tortured. As if desiring her was a horrid, unpardonable sin. Something he didn’t want, but his virile, healthy body craved. She could appreciate the truth of that.
A rigid lump pushed insistently into her abdomen. Oh, yes. He wanted her physically. Ached for her every bit as much as she hungered for him, but he loathed himself for the weakness. Loathed the desire he felt for her.
And she would despise herself, as well, if she gave herself to a man who’d end up hating himself for taking her innocence. If it weren’t so heartrendingly pathetic, she’d laugh at the ludicrousness.
Because she deserved better. Because he deserved better. For both of their sakes, she did what must be done.
“Liam. Please stop.” Bracing her hands upon his chest, she turned her face away. “Stop.”
He went utterly still, his mouth pressed to her peaked breast through her gown. “Em…?”
“We canna do this,” she forced out through swollen lips and the throbbing tightness in her throat. “Ye ken I’m right, Liam. Ye’d despise yerself afterward, and I willna let ye do somethin’ ye’d regret. Somethin’ that canna be undone.”
Something she longed for with every pore in her body, though it meant certain ruination.
And even though wisdom decreed she ought to regret offering herself to him, she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not a jot of it. She’d have let him have his way and enjoyed every blissful moment if she wasn’t absolutely positive remorse would consume him later.
“Och, hell.” With a half-groan, half-sigh, he yanked her skirt over her thighs. When he stiffly edged away, she almost cried out at the sense of bereftness. Almost tossed her conscience to the wind, just to have him in her arms once more.
Shoulders hunched, his elbows on his knees, he sat on the edge of the bed and plowed a hand through his hair. “Christ on the cross, forgive me, lass. I dinna ken what came over me. I vowed I wouldna touch ye, and I broke that oath.”
She laid her palm on his back, wincing as he stiffened, and her heart burgeoned with an unbearable ache. “I’m glad my first kiss was with ye, Liam.”
Probably her only kiss. The only time her breasts would be kissed and caressed. Biting tears formed behind her eyelids.