She glanced out at the absolute downpour. “’Tis a wee bit damp.”
“Would you have me on my knees, woman?” He sounded positively crabbit.
“Och, I would enjoy that, I must tell ye, English. Seems that’s where ye do yer best work.”
“God, Annie.” He gave an exasperated chuckle, bracketed her hips and drew her to stand between his knees. The emotions in those enchanting hazel eyes were as complex as the colors—adoration, frustration, regret, lust. “You’re vexed that I failed to inform you about my family, yet you’ve barred me from telling them about our marriage.”
“For now.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “They’ll expect ye’ve married a lady.”
“You are a lady.”
“Nah. I’m a hoyden, English.” She brushed at her skirt. The light brown wool was very fine. But the woman wearing it? An imposter. “I’ll need many more Lady Lessons before I’m fit to be kin to a duchess.”
Silence. When she dared a glance at his face, the banked fury there surprised her.
Warily, she continued, “Mayhap in a year or so—”
“Absolutely not,” he grated. “Whether now or later, they will love you. If more Lady Lessons will put you at ease, then by all means, resume training. But I will not wait a year. We might have a child by then, for God’s sake.”
Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes and stewed for a moment. John’s family was important to him. Perhaps they could strike a bargain. “Very well. Ye may tell them before our son is born.”
“I’ll give you until the ball at the Glenscannadoo Gathering.”
“Bluidy hell, English. That’s naught but a month from now!”
“We’ll attend together, and you may demonstrate your skills for the laird and his fellow landlords. Thereafter, I’ll invite my family to visit. September is a lovely time here in the glen.”
Anxiety gnawed away at her middle. “Fine. I’ll agree to have them for a wee visit.”
“Splendid.”
“If ye win one of the events at the Highland Games.”
His arrogant smirk was her first hint that perhaps she’d made a bad bet. John Huxley thrived on a challenge. “Done.”
“Y-ye havenae asked which event.”
“Unimportant.” He leaned forward, drawing her close until his mouth hovered near hers. “If it means I may finally show you off to my family, I shall win.” He kissed her and beamed that confident grin she found so irresistible. “Count upon it.”
How was she going to master gliding in only a month? And dancing! She’d have to dance at the ball. And speak like a Lowlander. And learn how to serve a multi-course meal to a table full of countesses, earls, and the like. Oh, God. She’d need so many supplies. A proper teapot. Plates and cups and saucers and linens. She longed for John’s family to love her, as he’d repeatedly insisted they would. But Annie would settle for not disgracing herself or her husband.
She glanced at the settee where she’d discarded her embroidery, a middling result at best. Real ladies embroidered much better. Real ladies had clean napkins and china cups with wee flowers on them.
“English.”
“Hmm?”
“We must go to Inverness.”
“I’m planning a trip next week to speak with the constable—”
“Today. I must visit Mrs. Baird. And purchase a proper teapot.”
He sighed and drew her closer to nuzzle her neck. “Really? Now? When it’s raining and our bed is so close?”
“Aye, now. No time to waste. We’ve a great deal of shoppin’ to do.”
“I thought you hated shopping.”
“Not this sort.” She cupped his face and raised his eyes to meet hers. “Are ye ready for me to spend yer money, husband?”
He sighed. Glanced out at the sheeting rain and arched a brow. “I suppose if you made several hours in a coach worth my while, I shouldn’t be too out of sorts about it.”
“Is that a challenge, ye cheeky Englishman?”
He gave her a grin and squeezed her backside. “Perhaps.”
She leaned forward and whispered against his lips, “I accept.”
TlU
Three hours later, Annie’s elbow wedged in the corner between the coach seat and the tufted wall. Her right heel rested on her husband’s naked backside. Her left heel rested on the floor. And her head lolled halfway off the bench.
“I’m a pure mess, English,” she panted, her body still pulsing with remembered pleasure. She blew a red curl out of her eyes and laughed. “Ah, God. Ye’ve done me in.”
The coach jostled through a rut, causing them both to groan. “I’d apologize for ravishing you, love, but I’m not sorry.”
In fact, they were both a bit of a mess. She’d wrinkled her skirts by kneeling between his knees. Then, she’d wrinkled his trousers when she’d taken his hard length in her mouth, a particular treat she enjoyed when she wanted to drive him mad. But she’d scarcely had time to tease him before he’d dug his fingers into her hair, tumbling it loose from its pins. Then he’d grasped her arms and pulled her up into a kiss. Eager for him, she’d immediately straddled his hips and impaled herself upon his cock while he tore at her drawers and yanked at her bodice to force her nipple free for his mouth. Her bodice had certainly been creased. Perhaps even a wee bit torn.
As she’d ridden him, she’d clawed his cravat, which presently lay on the carriage floor. She frowned now, recalling how his mood had darkened to a near-primitive state. He’d growled through gritted teeth, his eyes maddened. Then he’d picked her up, rising to tumble her back onto the opposite seat, seemingly incensed at having her anywhere but beneath him. He’d wadded her skirts carelessly around her waist—more wrinkles, naturally. Then he’d pressed her legs wide, forcing her bent knees toward her shoulders so he could go deeper and harder. Her peak had come with such force, she’d bitten his fine wool collar to stifle her screams of ecstasy.
Now, she surveyed their surroundings—the black cushioned seats and silver velvet curtains. “This is a very fine carriage,” she murmured.
He lay heavily upon her, hot breaths fanning her neck. “Glad you like it.”
“I think I may have damaged your coat.”
“I have other coats. You may damage them later.”
She sifted her fingers through his hair. Turned her head to kiss his brow. “It seems ye dinnae like me to sit astride ye for very long, English,” she whispered tenderly. “Why is that?”
He stilled. His muscles tensed. He levered up and away from her, expression shuttered. For the next few minutes, he didn’t speak. Rather, he busied himself reassembling his clothing then helping her do the same.
She made an attempt to redress her hair, but her arms were limp as overcooked cabbage.
“Let me help,” he rasped, gently turning her until her back was to him. Then, she felt his fingers against her scalp, lacing through her curls and stroking the length before winding it into a coil and fastening it at the back of her head. Every moment sent waves of silvery shivers washing across her skin.