“What do you—”
“Did you climax?” he asked. “Did you find pleasure?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It felt good.”
“Then you didn’t come. You’d know if you’d come.”
He moved his hand back to her opening and pressed one finger against it. He could feel her wetness, thicker and slicker than the water, against his finger. He pressed into her, just the tip of his finger, and she jerked her hips toward him.
“I like that.”
He made a sound of acknowledgement, stroked her again, and repeated the gesture. Then his thumb found the tight bud of her clitoris and circled it. He could feel it swell as he attended to it, felt her body opening to him, her hips angling toward his cock.
“Can you make me come?” she asked.
God, he hoped so. The pink had reached the tops of her breasts now, and he wanted it to spread over them, wanted to see her nipples turn dark with arousal.
“Tell me what feels good,” he said. He circled her swelling nub, then flicked his thumb against it.
“That,” she panted. “That feels good.”
“And this?” He dipped his finger back into the heat of her sex, just the tip again, but he pressed his thumb on her clitoris as he did so.
“Oh, yes. Oh, please. More.”
“More of my finger?” he asked, pushing a little deeper.
“Yes, and more...”
His thumb made lazy circles on her clitoris, and he felt her inner muscles tighten against his finger. She was close, so close. Her muscles relaxed, and he pushed deeper. She moaned and thrust her body toward him, taking his finger all the way to the knuckle. She would come soon, and he would enjoy watching it. He would enjoy hearing the sounds she made as he pleasured her.
And then she took his cock in her hand again, and he lost all semblance of the control he’d thought he had. “Emmeline,” he half-groaned.
“I like how you feel in my hand,” she murmured, her eyes almost closed now.
He liked how he felt in her hand too. He would have liked how he felt inside her, but there were limits to his depravity. It seemed pleasuring her in a pool in the middle of a Scottish farm was not the limit, but he would reevaluate his obviously lacking morals later. Right now she was stroking him and he was stroking her, and her breath was coming very fast. His own seemed to be coming equally fast.
They were both racing toward a finish line, and he knew once he reached it, he’d be too lost to bring her along. He steeled himself to hold his own pleasure in check, but then she let out a small cry of wonder. Her hand tightened around him like a slick glove, and the pressure of it was perfect. He came just as he felt her inner muscles contracting around his finger.
He pushed her against the rock, kissing her hard. Her legs wrapped around him, bringing their bodies into slick, satisfying contact. Christ, he could have started all over again with her. The feel of her body against his made him want her again. He could only think of all the evenings they’d spent together, not touching, not even speaking really. There were so many carriage rides, balls, walks in gardens. Why hadn’t he ever kissed her, touched her before?
Because he’d known she thought of him like a brother, if she thought of him at all.
And if she had thought of him, he would have discouraged the interest. He wasn’t worthy of her. Hadn’t his own mother told him he was nothing more than a mistake? And then Stratford himself discovered he was the son of the Marquess of Wight, who everyone assumed was mad. That meant Stratford had two strikes beside his name. He wasn’t good enough for Emmeline. He wasn’t good enough for anyone.
He pulled back, and she tried to follow him. “Don’t stop.”
“I have to stop.”
Something in his voice must have gotten through her pleasure-muddied brain because her gaze sharpened. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No,” he said pushing back from her. “I have. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I had no right.”
She tilted her head. “I think when I begged you to continue, that gave you the right.”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, not debauching you.”
“Maybe I like being debauched.” Her brows rose. “It’s a great deal more fun than being protected.”
“Yes, well you won’t thank me when your reputation is ruined.”
She shrugged, and he realized her breasts were fully visible. He had to get away or he would be drawn back by her body. He couldn’t think when she was naked and so close.
“My reputation is ruined anyway.”
“We can still salvage it, but you’ll have a devil of a time explaining to your husband why you’re not a virgin. And you won’t be if I stay much longer.”
A flash of anger crossed her face. “Since I don’t plan to marry, and even if I did it wouldn’t be the sort of man who would judge me for something he no doubt had done himself, I don’t see how that is a concern. And please do not worry. I know you don’t want to marry me. This isn’t a ploy to trap you.”
How could she stand there arguing, looking so magnificent in her nakedness? Was he supposed to think clearly enough to formulate some sort of response? He couldn’t.
And then he didn’t have to because she plunged back into the water and started to swim to the other side of the pond, where her clothing had been laid out.
Before he could look away, she was climbing out of the pond, her round bottom coming into view. It was even better than he’d imagined, and he was aware that his heart sped up. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m good enough to ogle but not to marry, is that it?” she said, her voice cutting through his desire like ice.
Stratford turned his back. He closed his eyes as well to avoid the temptation of peeking. He didn’t open them until he heard her walk away, and then he still kept them closed for a long time.
She thought he didn’t want to marry her. She thought he considered her not good enough. He would have to tell her the truth—that he was the one not good enough.
Sixteen
INES
She was miserable. It wasn’t just the Scottish weather that made her miserable. It had been raining for three days now, and she was cold and wet and wondered if she would ever be dry.
Even worse, her bottom was so sore that she could barely walk—that was when Duncan let them stop long enough to climb down from the horses. The first day they’d ridden on horseback, she’d enjoyed riding behind Duncan. She’d wrapped her arms about his taut waist and pressed her body against his.
He’d stiffened and had not seemed to relax until they were off the beast. It was as though he didn’t want her touch. She went over and over in her mind what she might have done wrong.
And she kept coming back to that night in the crofter’s cottage. He’d done things she had not known men and women did together. And he’d made her feel...the pleasure was impossible to describe. But then he’d left her, walked away and left her alone.
It was as though he’d felt guilty for what he’d done. And then the past few days, he’d barely spoken to her. She had begun to think perhaps he regretted what he’d done. Either that or he thought less of her. After all, women were not supposed to allow men such liberties with their bodies until after they were married. She was hurt and confused and her thoughts were a tangle.