Slave to Fashion

Debra Glass

A taste of the forbidden…

Georgiana Talbot intends to remain a spinster in order to ensure her younger sisters debut and find husbands. But when she encounters a devilish Scot who ignites a searing fire within her, Georgiana realizes just how much she has denied herself regarding the pleasures of the flesh. Determined to learn more, she concocts a daring scheme.

A touch of the taboo…

Seducing the haute ton’s premier modiste into buying linen from his mills is foremost on Blane MacLaren’s mind. Until his need to bend the brash beauty to his will drives him to enter into a scandalous agreement—Georgiana will purchase his linens if he will tutor her in an array of dark delights and forbidden pleasures. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the effect his very willing student will have on him—or how far a harmless lesson in lust can go.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Slave to Fashion

ISBN 9781419934582

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Slave to Fashion Copyright © 2011 Debra Glass

Edited by Kelli Collins

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book publication May 2011

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Slave to Fashion

Debra Glass

Dedication

To Naima Simone, talented author and dear friend. Thank you for plotting and scheming with me. And to my wonderful editor, Kelli Collins. In the immortal words of Peaches and Herb, reunited and it feels so good!

Disclaimer

Fair warning for historical accuracy fanatics: While we’re aware a modiste was unlikely to mingle with the ton in the Georgian era, the author took creative license with this story and, as such, the heroine is very much the high-fashion rock star of her day. After all, a girl’s gotta be allowed some fiction in her fiction. ;-)

Chapter One

London, 1782

“I’d be obliged if ye’d fetch the modiste,” Laird of Lockerbie, Blane MacLaren, said impatiently as he made rather a commotion of pretending to be dissatisfied with his service.

Three men fussed around him like butterflies, pinning and measuring and—

“Ach! Watch where ye put yer hands!” Blane barked as he weaved to dodge the wee miscreant’s groping fingers.

Standing here wearing nothing but a pair of silk stockings and a shirt was ignominious enough but having these three mollies coddling his bollocks bordered on intolerable. Blane gritted his teeth.

Coming here had been a fool’s errand from the very start. But Georgiana Talbot held the reputation as the most celebrated modiste in London. Her experience was vast. Her connections great. Sponsored by the Duchess of Devonshire, Georgiana Talbot enjoyed privileges no other woman of her station was permitted. She was accepted at the most exclusive parties of the Season and courted by the wealthiest and most powerful of nobles. No one in the haute ton escaped her influence. She published La Galerie de Mode and wrote commentary and fashion descriptions for Blackwell’s Repository.

Blane had yet to lay eyes on the crone. Well, at least that’s how he envisioned the spinster who’d dedicated her life to dressing others instead of marrying and bearing heirs. He snorted. Naturally she had to be quite foul in appearance. With all her connections, why else would she not already be wed?

He clawed at the shirt again. “This fabric is eating me up alive. I demand to see Mademoiselle Talbot.”

No sooner had he uttered the words than the door burst open. A woman barged into the room, followed by an entourage of several men and women she obviously employed. Impeccably dressed in a gown of pale primrose and a wide-brimmed hat perched jauntily over her imposing powdered coiffure, the woman strode up to him and eyed his shirt.

She was hardly a crone.

Instead, she was rather…bonny. He swallowed. Exceedingly bonny.

Blane gaped at the audacity of such a comely woman walking in on him while he was in a state of undress. Instinctively he tugged the hem of his shirt down to cover himself.

“That won’t do,” she said to one of the men trying to pin the sleeves on the shirt. “That won’t do at all.” Her lips formed a firm, straight line of displeasure. Her forehead creased as she eyed him.

Finally she shook her head. “With those shoulders,” she gestured a wide span with her hands, “adding gathers will only make him look that much more…coarse.”

Coarse? Criosd! Blane wasn’t certain but he thought the lass had just insulted him. Speechless, he continued to stare as she circled him. It was a slow and predatory circle that had him reaching for the back of his shirttail as she appraised his posterior. He forced himself to remember the real reason he’d come here. He intended to pretend his linen shirt was made of inferior fabric and then introduce her to a superior product.

His superior product.

Never once did she raise her gaze to his. She only peered at the infernal shirt. “Madam,” Blane said, finally finding his tongue.

She waved her hand as if she couldn’t be bothered, and while she continued her embarrassingly thorough examination, her assistants fell out of her way as if she were the king himself instead of a puffed-up seamstress.

Blane straightened. “Madam!”

As if she’d suddenly just realized he was in the room, her gaze shot to his. “Mademoiselle,” she corrected pertly.

Too pertly.

Her rouged lips pursed with the perfect pout. A tiny, black, star-shaped patch decorated the delectable area just above the corner of her mouth. Pink cheeks. Delicately arched eyebrows betrayed the true brown color of her real hair. A crimson plume dangled over the front of her hat, partially obscuring one of her blue eyes.

Nay. She was not the crone he’d envisioned at all.

“Lord Lockerbie, I presume,” she said when he didn’t respond.

“Well…aye.” This was impossible! Here he stood, half naked, and he was expected to introduce himself? “I must insist that I be allowed to dress appropriately and then I would very much like to have a discussion with ye. A proper discussion.”

A high-pitched giggle came from somewhere behind him. Mademoiselle Talbot’s cold glance to the offending woman put a quick stop to the laughter before her gaze slid back to his. A mirthless smile claimed her lips. “Sir, if you haven’t heard, I am quite the professional. I assure you I only have eyes for your clothing—rather than your lack of it.”

It was obvious to him now why this she-cat hadn’t wed. She was a harridan! Again he forced himself to remember his true intention. “About that,” he began. “This shirt is a wee bit—well, not wee at all—a great bit scratchy and—”

“Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head. “Lord Lockerbie, this is the most superb linen produced in your own homeland of Scotland.”

He nearly jumped backward as she reached toward his shirt. Her graceful, warm hand moved over the fine linen. Her own sleeve, replete with a feminine flurry of frilly lace and ribbons, floated ever so delicately around her arm. The sight was so dainty he fancied peeling that fabric away to pepper her little wrist with kisses.

He squeezed his eyes shut to drive out the unwelcome thoughts. “It scratches,” he said again, this time with less resolve.

“I would suppose you are quite accustomed to such scratchy clothing, coming from where you do.” She stepped back and appraised him again. “No. Those gathers won’t do. Even under a waistcoat, they’ll create too much bulk.”

She whirled and crossed the room to where several bolts of embroidered fabric lay unfurled. Her entourage scurried after her, leaving Blane standing alone and feeling even more naked—if that were possible.

“No. No,” she said, casting bolt after bolt of sumptuous fabric aside. Finally she came upon a bolt of charcoal-colored cloth embroidered in an almost black shade of gray. “Ah, this one will do. Make the waistcoat from this. It will be more slimming on his hulking frame.”

Hulking? Blane’s lips parted but the protest died before he could utter it.

“And cut it on the bias. It will give him at least some semblance of looking the part of a gentleman.” She sighed as if he were the worst customer she’d ever dressed.

Blane shifted his feet as she turned to study him yet again. But this time he made up his mind not to cower or hunker down until his shirt covered what she should be too modest to see. He straightened and lifted his chin, but the way her critical gaze lingered where the linen outlined every inch of his manhood was quickly proving dangerous. His cock twitched and she hastily turned her head.

A ray of triumph sliced through his earlier apprehension. He pressed his lips together to stop the smile threatening to curl there.

“Black breeches,” she said as if it were decided—as if the sight of semi-erect cock hadn’t affected her. “Only black.”

“I’ll not go about in all black like a common vicar,” Blane professed.

She all but rolled her eyes. “Very well. One pair of the Turkish blue. And one of the Parisian gray.”

The tailors scurried to do her bidding.

“Come, Clinton,” she called to one of her assistants. “I have an appointment with the Duchess of Summerville.”

The bewigged dandy next to her tore his own attention from Blane’s shirt hem and started toward Talbot.

Blane snorted. “Mademoiselle,” he called, infuriated at the way his voice betrayed his exasperation. “What are ye to do about this insufferable linen?”

She stopped and turned to him. “Sir, I only use linen from Paisley Linens. If you cannot tolerate it, take it up with Lord Griffin. I am certain you are acquainted with him since, after all, he’s your countryman.”

Blane’s eyes narrowed. Aye, he knew the man but he was not about to admit it to her. He ground his teeth as he struggled to remain silent.

She swept up the train of her gown, pivoted on the toes of her exquisite shoes and exited the room as quickly as she’d entered, her doting entourage on the tail of her skirts like a pack of yapping lap dogs.

The three tailors descended on him once again and this time he swatted them away. “Diah!” Heedless of how ridiculous he looked wearing nothing but a pair of stockings, he tore the shirt off over his head and stalked across the room to get back into his comfortable kilt.

He’d never, not once, suffered such an aggravating woman. It was no wonder she’d not found a husband. Doubtless, none would have her!

Blane thought of those relying on him, then took a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

He’d invited any Scot who chose to do so to buy marked plots of his ancestral lands, had planned a town and had opened a thread and cotton mill. But with the competition from Perth and Paisley, his plan would fail if he couldn’t interest a buyer for his product—that is, without the backing of someone like Georgiana Talbot.

After having met her, he wondered if it might not be more lucrative to import tobacco instead. But he’d come too far to turn back. Somehow, he had to convince her.

“Coarse indeed,” he muttered as he dragged his own soft cotton shirt over his head.

* * * * *

Georgiana forced herself to keep walking. Though anger broiled in her veins, she couldn’t let her assistants know.

Blane MacLaren.

Who did he think he was fooling? His ruse had been ridiculously transparent.

He hadn’t even bothered to disguise his name but Georgiana knew Lord Lockerbie, in a desperate attempt to rescue the people on his lands, had recently opened a textile mill, no doubt with the intention of competing with Earl Griffin.

But there was some other animosity that existed between Lockerbie and Griffin. She had seen it flash in Lockerbie’s eyes at the mere mention of the man.

Well, Georgiana had news for Lockerbie. She only purchased her linens from Griffin and would continue to do so—until she’d successfully diverted Griffin’s attentions from herself and directed them toward her younger sister, who hoped to ensnare and marry the wealthy Scot.

Georgiana’s father had died four years earlier, leaving them at the mercy of a cold and distant cousin who’d seen Georgiana’s mother and four sisters shipped off to a house no better than a hovel. With no funds for clothing, carriages or servants, it had been solely up to her to put her skills as a designer to work so that her sisters, at least, could debut and secure husbands.

She’d never expected her little industry to evolve the way it had. But when a visiting debutante from France had appeared at the most exclusive ball of the Season in a dress fashioned by Georgiana, everyone had suddenly clamored for her gowns. Now she designed shoes, reticules, wigs, hats, gowns, men’s clothing and, secretly—even though she had no cause to wear them—provocative unmentionables.

Additionally, her duties at the magazine and column in Blackwell’s Repository kept her exceptionally busy.

She’d afforded a comfortable income for herself and managed to keep her mother and sisters up, which was no small feat in today’s economy. Barring scandal, they would all breathe a sigh of relief when the last of the sisters found a husband.

But Maryann, the youngest, was as yet only fourteen. Georgiana refused to think about that.

Griffin had seriously been courting her. But her sister, Elizabeth, who at eighteen was of marriageable age, had designs on the Scot and waited with bated breath for a proposal. Although Georgiana had spurned his advances and steered Griffin toward her sister at every turn, the man still persisted. Georgiana’s last hefty purchase from Griffin’s textile mill in Paisley had not helped sway him a bit. Neither had her refusals.

Thoughts of Griffin, however, returned Georgiana’s attention to Lockerbie. He certainly wasn’t as refined as Griffin. With his coal-black hair, square jaw and that angular nose, Lockerbie looked more like a smithy than a lord. She inhaled sharply. His deep-set, midnight-blue eyes seemed to miss nothing, and even the memory of the way he’d looked at her caused unease to flare deep in her belly. Nevertheless, a grin played on her lips at the memory of him clawing at the shirt made of Griffin’s linen. As if it itched. Really.

Still darker images intruded. When Lockerbie had straightened, she’d nearly seen his privates. If it weren’t for her heavily powdered cheeks, she was certain he would have seen her blush.

Clinton cleared his throat. “You do realize who he is and what he wants, don’t you?”

Georgiana shot him a glance and a smile that told Clinton all he needed to know. “See if you can find some low-quality linen and fashion Lord Lockerbie’s shirts out of that,” she suggested. “Very low quality.”

Clinton’s blue eyes flashed mischievously. “How diabolically splendid of you.”

* * * * *

Blane wriggled his shoulders to dispel the nagging itch between his shoulder blades. He grimaced. The witch had used the worst linen she could find to make his shirts. He should have worn one of his old ones, but he’d known she would be in attendance at the ball tonight and he stubbornly wanted to prove his point.

He stood to the side, scanning the crowd for her.

Georgiana Talbot’s quick dislike of him had only fueled his desire to…

To what?

He sucked in a sharp breath. The primal urge to dominate her—to force her to submit to him in myriad ways—welled like a tempest and swirled inside him. Images of her, stripped naked, bent over, begging, played out in his thoughts. Blood pulsed in his cock and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other to alleviate the pressure caused by his tight, black breeches.

He snorted at the memory of her words. It will be more slimming on his hulking frame.

Hulking! He’d like to show her exactly how hulking he could be. He sipped a brandy as his gaze threaded the throng of men and women dancing a minuet. Ah! There. A smile flirted on his lips. Clad in a creation of daffodil-colored silk that made every other woman in the room fade into the wall tapestries, she stood flagrantly admiring the ruffles on a woman’s sleeves alongside that ubiquitous assistant of hers.

Her hair… Blane squinted. Was that her real hair? He raised his eyebrows in admiration. Hardly anyone in fashionable London dared attend such an event without at least a hairpiece. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze followed one dark umber lock twisting its way into her décolletage.

Steeling himself, Blane slid his snifter onto the nearest servant’s tray and then he stalked across the ballroom. His breathing quickened. His pulse accelerated. The closer he got, the more the blasted shirt itched.

The assistant tapped her on the arm and when he’d arrested her attention, he nodded his head in Blane’s direction. She lifted her gaze, started to look away but then, realizing who he was, her eyes widened dramatically. Even from here, Blane noticed her throat muscles working as she gulped.

Boldly he held her gaze. Doubtless she thought he might chastise her publicly over the shirts.

She straightened and nodded her head in deference as he came to a halt before her. She delicately cleared her throat. “Lord Lockerbie.”

The tall, thin assistant merely gaped with an almost indecent gleam in his eye as Mademoiselle Talbot made introductions. Blane made a huge show of charming the giggling London ladies while Talbot looked on, her expression a mixture of nervousness and impatience.

The ladies marveled over his Scottish burr and Blane exaggerated it just to make Talbot squirm all the more. He glanced back at the dance floor. “Would any of yer dance cards happen to be open for the gavotte?” he asked, making eye contact with every eager lady—except Talbot.

“Mine is!” one woman whose name Blane had already forgotten chimed as she waved her card frantically in the air.

“Splendid,” Blane said and reached between Talbot and another lady to take the woman’s hand in his.

Acting thoroughly thrilled, she accompanied him onto the dance floor.

Georgiana stared at Lockerbie’s broad back as he escorted Amelia Davenport toward the middle of the ballroom. The coat Georgiana’s tailors had made, dark gray with charcoal embroidery, fit him perfectly. He cut a dashing figure on the dance floor with Amelia in his arms. Had good-fitting clothes changed him so completely? Impossible. And yet, what Georgiana had previously deemed as overly large and coarse mere days ago, she now viewed as carnal. Capable.

Despite her resolve not to marry, she darkly half-wished she’d been the one with whom he’d chosen to dance. She swallowed and chided herself for being ridiculous. She had not even picked up a dance card. She was not here to have fun, she reminded herself. She had attended the ball to promote her fashions—and to make certain those wearing them did so correctly.

Clinton made a face of disgust. “Heavens. Behold Lady Dearborn’s plumage.”

Georgiana gasped at the horrific sight of two gray ostrich plumes hanging helplessly from the wig of their client, Lady Dearborn. “Work your magic with her or she’ll all but ruin us,” Georgiana whispered to Clinton. “I’ll see if I can steer Lord Stafford toward the powder room. It looks as if he has spilled something on his coat.”

Clinton breathed a sigh of revulsion and then strode purposefully toward Lady Dearborn.

Georgiana had no intention of having the stain wiped off Lord Stafford’s coat. She slipped to a better vantage point—behind a potted plant—in order to watch Lockerbie dance with that little wren, Amelia Davenport. The way she preened and snickered made Georgiana’s stomach churn. It did not help matters that the Scot encouraged the behavior.

Evidently, Georgiana thought, she’d figured his type correctly. A brash man who wanted a demure woman. The sort who desired to stand out in the crowd while his wilting wife faded into the background.

Nothing like herself.

And yet, Georgiana felt slighted by his obvious disdain for her. Why do I care? I don’t want him.

She peeped through the foliage. Surprisingly, he seemed a graceful dancer. He executed the steps perfectly. He smiled as if Amelia was the most engaging woman on the dance floor. But, Georgiana noticed triumphantly, every chance he got his gaze roved the ballroom as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

Her heart fluttered as she considered the possibility the object of his interest might just be her. But then, reality struck.

Most assuredly he intended to reprimand her for having those shirts made out of the scratchiest linen she could find. She stifled a giggle when she noticed him shrugging as if he had a bee under his waistcoat.

“Mademoiselle Talbot!” a cheerful voice rang out. “Whatever are you doing hiding behind that plant? Come meet Lady Chesterton. She would just adore your fabulous fashions.”

Swept up in introductions and conversations, Georgiana lost sight of Lockerbie. She forced herself to concentrate on Lady Chesterton’s idle twittering but her mind remained fixed on the Scot.

Something about him seemed primitive. Feral. The thoughts he aroused within her were shocking. And also infuriating. Why did he have to be so damn…interesting?

No matter that he’d tried to trick her into believing he was a regular customer, instead of approaching her as any proper salesman hawking his wares would do. She needed to confess that she would replace the shirts with Griffin’s linen. Hopefully he had a sense of humor under all those dark, brooding Scottish features of his.

By the time she graciously separated herself from the ladies, the dance had long ended and Georgiana saw no sign of Lockerbie. She pursed her lips. Almost certainly he’d steered his little wren onto the veranda to woo her with tales of the highlands.

Waving his arms wildly, Clinton emerged from the crowd and rushed toward Georgiana. He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You will never guess who’s here.”

Georgiana’s nerves were on edge. She didn’t feel like playing games. “Who?”

“Lord Griffin.” Clinton’s voice was but an excited whisper.

Georgiana froze. “Has he seen Elizabeth?”

Arching an eyebrow meaningfully, Clinton looked over his shoulder as he feigned causal spontaneity.

The other Scot bent low over Elizabeth, who sat blushing and smiling.

Georgiana flipped open her fan, more to hide behind it than to create a breeze for herself. “Oh, that’s marvelous! If she can just keep him interested, he’ll forget about me and they’ll be engaged in no time. I’m certain of it.”

Clinton smiled broadly. “One down. Three to go.”

Georgiana’s joy waned, as did her own smile. Her gaze drifted from the flirting couple to the double doors, where she caught sight of Lockerbie’s broad shoulders blocking the doorway onto the veranda. He glared at Griffin and looked ready to pounce. Lockerbie’s expression indicated anger. But why? Surely not simply because they were competitors.

Where was that diminutive Amelia Davenport? Blast her for not keeping the Scot’s attention longer. Lockerbie’s mouth twisted into a determined snarl and he tendered his empty snifter to a passing servant before striding toward Griffin and Elizabeth.

“Oh no! Just when Griffin has finally noticed Elizabeth. Lockerbie will spoil everything!” Georgiana exclaimed.

“Stop him.” Clinton hissed the words.

“How?”

Clinton snorted. “Even I would know how. Use your wiles.” He gestured with his hands at the word wiles.

“The last thing I want to do is encourage Griffin.”

“Not on him, you goose. On Lockerbie.” Clinton admiringly sized up the bigger Scot again.

Georgiana’s forehead furrowed. No, that was the last thing she wanted to do—charm the infernal Lockerbie. She wasn’t even certain she was capable of it. But he couldn’t start a ruckus with Griffin. Not here. Not on this night when Elizabeth’s future hung in the balance.

Affecting an ingratiating smile, she sauntered toward Lockerbie, intercepting him just before he had a chance to approach Griffin.

“I trust you’re enjoying your evening, Lord Lockerbie,” she said, taking his arm.

His knowing gaze darted to Griffin’s back before returning to her. “Immensely.”

“I really would enjoy a turn in the garden,” she said, and flipped open her fan to eye him coquettishly. God in heaven, I feel ridiculous.

He smirked as if he’d seen completely through her ruse. The back of her neck flamed. But there existed at least some sense of decorum in the burly Scot, because he gave her his arm as he wheeled to escort her through the veranda doors.

Blane inhaled the damp night air. Damp air that only made this wretched shirt itch worse. He growled, resisting the urge to rip the garment off and grate his back against the nearest tree trunk like a bear.

He clenched a fist. Damn the woman! He’d worn the shirt to prove he could not be bested and instead of making his point, it had only ended in making him painfully aware of her all night long.

As he tugged at his collar, he watched Griffin through the doors as he led the lady with whom he’d been conversing onto the dance floor. Blane squinted. The lady looked eerily like Georgiana Talbot…

Realization struck. The diabhal’s sister. All she lacked was a matching pair of horns and forked tail. He shirked Georgiana’s touch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, well. So ye seek to bribe Laird Griffin into wedding yer sister.”

According to his sources, Georgiana Talbot had four sisters, none of whom were married. The reason lay in the fact that only the one dancing with Griffin and—Blane grimaced—Georgiana herself were of a marriageable age. One other had debuted, however, Blane considered her far too young for his tastes.

But why was her sister dancing with Griffin when it was rumored the earl wished to court Georgiana?

He squeezed his eyes shut. Griffin was an imbecile. Blane thought Georgiana Talbot was the most insufferable woman he’d ever had the displeasure to encounter. But his people were desperate. And he needed a quick way to get the competing earl out of the picture and get his own product into her hands.

Blane eyed Georgiana again. She blinked slowly and then a seductive little smile claimed her lips. If she wasn’t such an intolerable thing, he might have found himself falling under her enchanting spell. Nay. I canna do such a thing. He shook his head as if to dispel the idea from his mind.

“I hope you’re not too angry with me for the little…lark…I played on you,” she said, batting her thick, dark lashes.

Blane’s pulse accelerated at the wild, shining look in her eyes. Speechless, he merely watched her take two more steps toward him. Something inside him melted at her stab at an apology but something else pricked him to scold her thoroughly. A muscle at the corner of his eye twitched. He wanted to turn her over his knee and spank her bare arse for putting him in these wretched shirts. Imagining doing just that made his already snug breeches feel even tighter.

“I shall have a dozen new shirts sent to you immediately,” she said. A question hung in her eyes.

Blane tapped his toe impatiently. He didn’t feel quite magnanimous enough to forgive her. Yet. “Made of Griffin’s linen,” he stated as if it were a matter of fact.

At that, her eyes widened. She looked away guiltily.

“Let me offer you this proposal,” Blane said evenly. “I send ye my fabric and ye make my dozen shirts out of it.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the line of dancers, no doubt searching for her sister and Griffin who stood in the line together.

Blane took the final step that closed the remaining distance between them. “You donna think yer sister has Laird Griffin ensnared yet?”

The diabhal spun around to face him, her eyes widening with obvious surprise at how close he stood. Blane seized her shoulders to keep her from taking that instinctive step backward. He wanted her to be alarmed and uncomfortable. He wanted her to quake all the way down to her jewel-bedecked pumps.

But he couldn’t explain to himself why.

What was it about her that made him hunger to ravage and rail at her all at the same time?

Staring, she went rigid.

Blane held her gaze though he couldn’t help but slide his fingertips over the silky fabric of her sleeves. A shudder passed through her that compelled him to step even closer.

A whimper tore from her throat. “Sir…you’ll crush my gown.”

“I want to crush more than yer damnable gown,” he muttered whisper-soft.

A ragged breath left her lungs, fanning his face. He inhaled the sweet, champagne-tinged scent, wondering if her lips tasted as intoxicating. Her throat muscles constricted as she swallowed. “Lord Lockerbie…I-I—”

Realizing his tight grasp on her arms, he released her. She stumbled two steps backward and in an awkward motion, flipped open her fan and flapped it nervously. “Sir, I admit we are hoping for a proposal from Griffin and continuing to do business exclusively with his mills hardly hurts our chances, but I will—”

So that was her game. “You’re chattering.” Blane did not want to hear about any proposals from Griffin.

The words died on her lips. Her gaze darted back and forth and he noticed the telltale blush creeping up from her décolletage. Gone was all her earlier bravado. She suddenly seemed vulnerable and soft.

Irresistible.

“Why, then, are ye not inside dancing with the laird yerself?”

Her lips parted with indignation. “We are not having this conversation.”

“As a potential suitor, I have a right to know.”

“A potential—” For a heart-stopping moment she stared, and then let out a half laugh. “My dear Lord Lockerbie, surely you don’t think that I—that you—” She laughed again.

A tendril of rage snaked through him that she, a veritable spinster, would not view him as a suitor. All the cutting remarks she’d made about his size echoed in his head and, in spite of all the cautionary bells going off in his brain, he wanted her to know him.

Without warning, he dragged her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own.

She pushed at his shoulders, proving no match for his viselike grip. He ignored her struggles, and when he drew her bottom lip between his teeth, a little moan emanated from somewhere deep inside her and she softened in his arms. Triumph flared. A woman like this should be soft and pliable. Kissable.

Not stiff and prickly. And caustic.

He slid one hand up to cradle the back of her head at her nape and she tilted her chin, availing herself to him. Yes. He had her now. Anything—absolutely anything—suddenly seemed possible. Hot, lightning-intense desire stormed through his veins. Her trembling only fueled his ardor and he dipped his tongue into her mouth. He expected her to fight him again.

Instead, she did quite the opposite.

She opened her lips wider, admitting him, inviting him to deepen their kiss. His other hand slid up the front of her gown, just past her rib cage and over the curve of her breast. He circled the pad of his thumb over the thin fabric concealing her taut nipple, thrilling at how the tormented little nub hardened in response to his touch.

He could scarcely believe his own boldness, especially in a public place. But something untamed had taken hold of his senses. He wanted to drag her down into the hedge maze and explore the treasures beneath her skirts.

What was he thinking? Was he considering seducing her just to get a share of her business? Ignoring the niggling voice that whispered he just might want more than her business, he dragged his mouth away and stared hard into her eyes. “I have a proposal for ye, Georgiana Talbot. Marry me.”

Chapter Two

Georgiana gaped. Marry me? Riotous emotions rolled through her like booming thunder. No one. No one had ever proposed to her. Not even Griffin, despite all his annoying attention. She’d never lingered long enough to allow a man to do so but still, shock stunned her. She couldn’t discern how she felt. Flattered. Angered.

Intrigued.

Above all else, her knees trembled from the mind-altering kiss Lockerbie had bestowed on her. She touched her fingers to her lips, still sensing the pressure, the spicy taste of his mouth. For those brief seconds, she’d known searing need that had effectively obliterated any other sensation or emotion she’d previously felt. Infused with passion and possession, it was a kiss unlike anything Georgiana had ever experienced.

With surprising suddenness, it left her with the overwhelming need for more.

So much more.

How easy would it be to allow herself to be swept away by a dashing stranger? Cared for. Held. Loved.

Yet the logical part of her swore she would never be at the mercy of anyone else. Not as her mother had been. Not as she and her sisters found themselves now.

“L-Lord Lockerbie, you scarcely know me,” she said, still breathless.

The expectant look faded from his eyes and the hard, mocking glitter returned. “Ye’d marry Griffin for position quick enough.”

Realization flooded her with sickening force. He only sought to keep her out of Griffin’s snare. She curled her fingers into a fist to keep from slapping him. What did a man know of a woman’s plight? “It seems as if you are the one vying for position,” she snapped back. “I neither need nor want a husband.”

His gaze raked down her body and back up again with a greedy, hungry deliberation that made her want to know that kiss once more, despite his lewd demeanor.

“True,” he said. “Ye may not need a husband. But ye certainly act as if ye desire one.”

And with that, he side-stepped her and started for the door. He reached for the handle and swung open the door but stopped before stepping across the threshold. “I’ll have my linen sent to yer tailors for my shirts.”

Georgiana nodded her head once. “I’ll make your shirts, Lord Lockerbie. Out of your cloth. But I implore you—do not do anything to endanger my business prospects with Lord Griffin.”

He did not reply. Instead, he turned and disappeared into the crowd inside the ballroom.

Clinton emerged almost immediately. “What a heated exchange!”

Georgiana’s lips parted. Even given her friendship with Clinton, she was mortified that anyone had seen. “You saw that?”

His eyebrow arched with conspiratorial flair. Georgiana slapped at his sleeve with her fan. “Stop that! The man is uncouth. Coarse.” Her insides quivered. Captivating.

“What did he…” Clinton cleared his throat. “Want?”

“He wanted me to make shirts for him out of his linen,” she replied, staring at the last spot where she’d seen Lockerbie shouldering through the throng. “And he asked me to marry him.”

Clinton gasped and then sputtered into laughter.

Georgiana clenched her teeth. She didn’t find it humorous at all. A man—a very masculine man—had somewhat clumsily, and after kissing her, asked for her hand in marriage. And while the whole situation seemed preposterous at best, she instinctively knew that one toe-curling kiss had irrevocably altered her life.

* * * * *

What the bloody hell had he done? Criosd! What had he said? His body heated with mortified shame, causing his shirt to irritate him anew. He’d asked that…that diabhal to marry him!

At least he’d managed to make it sound like somewhat of a competition for her business. He’d never behaved so recklessly. Well, once. But the neighboring earl’s wife had been a very enticing woman. He raised his eyebrows at the memory. Very enticing indeed.

His thoughts blackened. There was another time he’d proposed to a woman. But he didn’t want to think about that now.

When he’d discovered the real reason Georgiana Talbot traded only with Griffin, he’d understood. Laws preventing the fairer sex from inheriting property put them in a difficult position. Doubtless she had other designs than buying Griffin’s linen in mind. Still, it hardly made things easier for Blane. The fate of the people on his lands made his situation equally dire.

Hardly dire enough to propose marriage to a creature—albeit a bonny creature—such as Mademoiselle Talbot.

“Leaving so soon, Lord Lockerbie?” a man Blane couldn’t recall being introduced to inquired as he started through the front door.

“I must. Business to attend,” Blane replied with a gracious smile.

“Ah, how very droll. But I do hope to see you again at Claymoore’s affair.”

“I wouldna miss it.” Blane bowed. “Now if ye’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

* * * * *

Lockerbie’s man delivered the cloth the very next day.

Georgiana stood at her window and watched the grizzled old servant duck against the rain as he scurried back to the coach that bore the Lockerbie crest.

Disappointment flitted through her breast. A dark part of her had hoped Lockerbie would bring the fabric himself. But after all, there was no need for another fitting. And she did owe him the shirts.

What was it about the man that drove her sanity to the very edge? The memory of his big frame in clothes cut to perfection, his dark hair swept back into a ribbon-bound queue, intruded on her mind. She blinked to chase away the image. He was hardly the sort of man she found attractive.

She stared at the spot where the Lockerbie coach had been, vaguely aware of the fading clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone street below. To be honest, she wasn’t certain what type of man she found attractive. Pursing her lips, she walked away from the window.

“Best get the seamstress started on those shirts,” she muttered aloud. Her fingertips glided over the polished balustrade as she descended the stairs.

For an unmarried woman, she’d certainly seen her share of men in all forms of dishabille. She’d been exposed to every body type, from twiggy and tall to squat and unbelievably rotund. But she’d never—with the exception of Lockerbie—seen past them as anything but figures for her fashions.

She hadn’t given herself the luxury of entertaining such notions as what it meant to be gathered in a crushing embrace and kissed until her toes curled. As the eldest of the Talbot sisters, her duty lay in securing happy and advantageous marriages for her siblings. But for the first time in her life, Georgiana considered what it would be like to be taken in a man’s arms—in Lockerbie’s arms—again. To be kissed and ravished. Touched.

She gulped.

Cherished.

Even though her stays had been laced as tightly as possible, her stomach constricted at the erotic images that played in her thoughts. Lockerbie’s fingers lightly brushing up her silk stockings, higher still to a bare thigh, and then—

Georgiana shook her head in an attempt to drive away the unwelcome fantasy. The man was abhorrent! What could she possibly be thinking?

“Mademoiselle Talbot,” Clinton greeted as she stepped into the sewing room.

The seamstresses and tailors all stood and curtsied or bowed respectively.

Georgiana waved them back to their duties.

Clinton flashed a mischievous smile. “Lockerbie’s linen has just now arrived,” he informed her, raising a knowing eyebrow. “Is your visit to the sewing room any coincidence?”

Clinton missed nothing. She’d hired him for that very reason. That and his eye for fashion.

The son of a nobleman, he’d been shunned by his father for refusing to marry. Poor Clinton had even been confined in Bedlam for his proclivity for the company of men. After his release, unable to return home, he’d tried to appeal to his lover, who had refused to see him. Clinton had then applied to work as a tailor in Georgiana’s shop and she had recognized his talent and accepted him from the very beginning. But right now, his insight had her cheeks on fire.

“Completely coincidence,” she snapped. “Where is it?” Her tone belied the former and her smile revealed her shared curious excitement at the arrival of Lockerbie’s linen.

Clinton’s grinned broadened. “I have to admit, I am surprised by the quality,” he whispered, as if it were a matter of life and death.

“Really? It is quality?” Georgiana asked, following Clinton to where a bolt of snowy linen lay already unfurled on the cutting table.

Clinton merely crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the fabric. Trembling, Georgiana brushed her fingers across the finely woven cloth. She swallowed as she lifted it with both hands and examined the thread count in the light.

Just as she’d feared. The linen was finer than Griffin’s. It was, in fact, the finest she’d ever seen.

How could she keep linen of this quality out of the hands of her clients? She’d be ruined if word got out she refused to sell the best in lieu of waiting on a marriage proposal for her sister.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to sort out the disorderly thoughts bounding about in her brain. Why wouldn’t Griffin just accept Elizabeth’s attention and propose? His obstinate feet-dragging made Georgiana want to scream.

If he and Elizabeth were happily married already, that would solve everything. Then she could buy Lockerbie’s linen, and maybe also—

Opening her eyes, she refused to allow herself to remember—or even dare entertain—that hasty, clumsy proposal. Fury at herself welled. Why on earth was she even considering that proposal? Clearly he hadn’t meant a word of it. She blew out the breath she’d been holding and searched Clinton’s gaze. “What now?”

Clinton raked his fingers through his short brown curls. “Suppose Griffin assumed your hand had been spoken for?”

Georgiana’s lips parted in cold realization. She resisted the urge to hug Clinton. “You’re a genius.”

She might just take Earl Lockerbie up on his scandalous offer after all.

* * * * *

Blane pressed the seal onto the crimson wax and held it until the wax set. Concentrating on running his business in Scotland while trying to cast the air of a debonair, devil-may-care bachelor in the whirl of London society bordered on impossible.

He carefully worked the stamp free from the wax and returned it to its holder. Only a day had passed since Duncan had delivered the linen to the diabhal’s doorstep but Blane found himself already anxious to receive the shirts.

For the liberties he’d taken with that kiss alone, Georgiana Talbot ought to make him wait a fortnight for the shirts. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

A soft knock came on his study door. “Aye. Come in,” Blane called.

One of the footmen appeared. “Mademoiselle Georgiana Talbot to see you, my lord.”

Everything inside Blane stopped. His heart. His breath. His ability to blink.

The footman cleared his throat. “Should I tell her you are otherwise engaged, sir?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He stood and straightened his clothing. “Ask her to wait in the parlor.”

As soon as the footman disappeared, Blane smoothed back his hair and ran his tongue over his front teeth. Perspiration broke out along his spine. His innards quivered. Why was he so distressed by her presence here? For some reason, knowing she waited for him downstairs quickened his pulse.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He simply hadn’t been expecting her. That was all. That made the most sense.

Either that or she’d reconsidered her offer to make him more shirts and had arrived to tell him his linen was no good and to fling the fabric back in his face. Whatever her reason, he steeled himself to accept it. If he failed, it was because he had bungled the situation with his impetuously libidinous nature. He had no one but himself to blame.

He winced at the memory of those itchy shirts. As soon as he’d shucked the blasted garment, he’d spun in circles attempting to claw his own back for some relief. Perhaps the diabhal should accept some of the blame after all. He would just love to make her itch.

Before he exited the study, he breathed into his palm and sniffed his breath. Nothing a little brandy wouldn’t cure. Besides, he could do with a drink. He poured a dash into a snifter and knocked it down in one gulp.

Straightening, he tried to forget that he’d kissed and then blurted out a marriage proposal to the woman awaiting him. He skipped down the stairs as if he had not a care in the world and worked his mouth into some semblance of a pleasant smile before he strode into the parlor. His breathing hitched at the sight of her. Layers of lavender silk streamed over her curves like a waterfall. Loose curls escaped her wide-brimmed hat to frame her heart-shaped face. It had been Blane’s experience that most English women dressed to conceal their flaws. Georgiana’s frocks only enhanced her assets.

Hoping he appeared confident, he bowed respectfully. “Mademoiselle Talbot,” he greeted.

She dropped into a low curtsy and Blane’s gaze fell on her abundant cleavage. He dampened his lips, gauging how long he had to look his fill before she lifted her eyes to his once more.

Not long enough.

She rose and gestured daintily toward a package on the table with her gloved hand. “I took it upon myself to deliver your shirts. I hope they are to your liking, Lord Lockerbie.”

He stared for a moment before he crossed the room and tugged the blue ribbon binding the brightly wrapped package. He quivered with the anticipation of a child at Christmas.

The paper fell away, revealing the most exquisite linen shirts he’d ever seen. Atop them lay several folded handkerchiefs with a white-on-white embroidered L. He lifted one and fingered the fine fabric. Someone had gone to great lengths to embroider each of these in the course of only one night.

He glanced back at Georgiana, who rubbed her right hand through her glove. Had she… He raised his eyebrows. The idea of her embroidering his initial onto handkerchiefs made from his own linen sent an emotion winding through him that he was unable to identify. “Did you—” he began but she quickly cut him off.

“There was little time. It is the Season, you know, and we are exceedingly busy.”

But one night? She had gone beyond the boundaries of protocol to please him.

Touched as he was, it occurred to him that there had to be a reason, an ulterior motive. Knowing Georgiana Talbot, the reason could not be one that would benefit him. He took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly before he reluctantly returned the handkerchief to the parcel. “Ye’ve gone out of your way to make good on yer little prank. What else, pray tell, has ye preening in yer pretty silks?”

Her gaze darted around the room as she presumably thought up a retort. He’d only seen her at a loss for words once—when his mouth was locked with hers.

For a scant second their gazes connected and then she quickly looked away. “Lord Lockerbie, I’ve come here to inform you that I’ve reconsidered.”

“Reconsidered?” He didn’t understand.

“I accept your proposal.”

Blane coughed and sputtered.

After having time to think about what he’d done, he realized marrying this woman would be a foolhardy venture. Even if it did mean his linens would grace the backs and tables of every member of the ton.

She lifted that pert chin of hers and leveled her gaze. All business. Even now. A wild urge rose in him to pluck the pins from her perfectly coiffed hair, strip her bare and take her right here on the parlor floor.

He blinked to drive the torrid fantasy away. “Ye what?”

Her little pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Everything about the innocent gesture brought back not so innocent memories. Kissing her. Crushing her in his arms. Blane cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Talbot, I thought we decided that—”

“Not for real, of course. What do you think I am? An imbecile?” Her tone was tart.

Blane shook his head, still uncertain if he’d understood her correctly. “We canna marry. I blurted that proposal as a scheme to coerce ye to buy my linen instead of Griffin’s.”

“That’s precisely it,” she told him. “Your linen is the best. It’s of far better quality than Griffin’s.”

Pride swelled in Blane’s chest.

“But there’s the problem of my sister.”

“What does yer sister have to do with anything?”

“My sister is very much in love with Lord Griffin,” Georgiana continued.

“For the life of me, I canna see how I fit into this,” Blane said. “Are ye asking me to offer for yer sister?”

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes—much as his governess had often done when he was a child. “No.” She took a step toward him and he struggled against the instinct to take a step back to maintain the distance between them.

“Really, Lord Lockerbie, your failure to grasp subtle nuance is astounding.”

His brows knitted together. She’d just insulted him! “Now wait just a minute—”

She cut him off. “If I must explain it in painstaking detail, I will. We announce our engagement.”

“Whoa—”

She held up a finger to silence him. “Hear me out.”

Blane crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t like where this was going. Not at all.

“We announce our engagement at the affair being held by Lord and Lady Compton this weekend. If I am betrothed, Lord Griffin’s tenuous relationship with Elizabeth can become more than friendship and you can supply some of my linen.”

Blane’s world tilted slightly off-kilter. This was happening all too quickly. He put his fingertips on a nearby table to steady his balance. “Mademoiselle, as much as I am honored that ye desire my linen, I’d be a fool to enter into such a…a…plot as this.”

As it was, he wanted to kick himself for ever putting the idiot notion in her head in the first place.

Georgiana’s lips parted in surprise. “Plot? Heavens, Lord Lockerbie. It’s a brilliant plan. Don’t you see? As soon as Griffin offers for my sister, I will end our engagement and you can go merrily back to wherever it is you come from.”

“Loch Dungeon.”

“Sounds dismal.”

“Hardly,” he said tersely.

She waved her hand at him in dismissal. “However you need it to be. I’m sure it’s a lovely, rugged, pastoral sort of place but it has very little to do with the matter at hand.”

“There is no matter at hand.”

With feline speed, she shot to the parcel and snatched a fistful of the handkerchiefs. “Do you want me to make you the premier supplier of linen in London or not, Lord Lockerbie?”

He opened his mouth to speak but no words sprang from his lips. Instead, he gave her a hesitant nod.

“Very well,” she said and smoothed the handkerchiefs back out on top of the shirts. “We’ll announce our engagement this weekend.”

With that, she started toward the door.

Move. Say something. This is impossible! She’s impossible.

“Wait!” Blane finally made his mouth work.

She turned and stared—as if daring him to deny her.

Diah! She was infuriating and stubborn and…and incredibly alluring right now. A bevy of emotions warred for prominence. He wanted to shake some semblance of sense into her, to throw her over his knee and spank her arse. Worse, to gather her in his arms and claim her rouged lips until she whimpered for more.

He did none of those.

“How can I be assured ye willna decide to go through with the marriage?” he asked. “I mean, as a man, I canna break the engagement. ’Twould ruin your chances for ever making a match in the future and—”

Pealing laughter rang from the diabhal’s red lips. Taunting, uncontainable laughter.

Blane’s face heated with a mixture of anger and mortification. Would marriage to him be that ludicrous? That unimaginable? He tugged at his neckcloth.

A sideways grin claimed her lips when her guffaws finally stopped. “Rest assured, Lord Lockerbie, I have no intention of going through with a marriage to you or anyone else. Why would I have to?”

And then, in a whirl and rustle of lavender silk, she was gone.

Disbelieving, Blane stared at the spot where she’d been, the lingering sweet scent of her perfume the only evidence she’d ever stood there at all.

Still uncertain as to what he had just agreed, he glanced back at the package of shirts and handkerchiefs. On one level, he wanted to rejoice. She agreed that his linen was the best. She wanted to buy it. Her backing would mean everything to the people who depended on him.

How could he not go through with this plan, as she’d called it?

He snorted. “Plot. Plain and simple.”

Georgiana Talbot was the diabhal and he’d do well not to let himself forget it for one second.

* * * * *

Georgiana slumped against the squabs as her carriage rolled away. “Do you think it’s the right thing to do?” she asked Clinton, who had accompanied her and had waited in the coach.

He flashed a smug smirk. “We’ll know soon enough.”

It wasn’t quite the encouragement for which she’d hoped. She hadn’t slept a bit the night before. Just as well. There’d been far too much to think about and far too much to do. She slipped off her glove and examined her sore fingertips. Even with a thimble, such painstaking embroidery was hardly an easy task. She blinked, trying to soothe her dry eyes. Embroidering by candlelight had been nearly as foolish a thing to do as accepting that loathsome oaf’s proposal.

“But given the circumstances, what other choice do I have?” she mused aloud.

Clinton crossed his arms over his chest. “Hopefully you’ll be able to make a good enough show of it that Griffin doesn’t get suspicious.”

Elizabeth’s happiness meant everything to Georgiana, but without the income she garnered from her position as modiste, there’d be little hope of securing advantageous marriages for any of her younger siblings. Her connections and fashions had enabled her to afford Elizabeth’s debut. “I just don’t know if I should risk this. What if Lockerbie bungles it? Worse, what if he backs out?”

“He won’t.”

Her chest tightened as she recalled the look in his eyes when he’d seen his shirts. No. Clinton was right. He wouldn’t back out.

Something else—something ugly and bleak—twisted inside her at the memory of the confession he’d made. “The blackguard told me that his only reason for asking to marry me stemmed from the fact he wanted me to purchase his linen.” She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled sharply.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Agreeing to marry him—pretending to agree to marry him—so we can buy his linen and chase Griffin into Elizabeth’s arms?” Clinton never missed the point. Never.

She opened her eyes and traced one of the twilight-colored folds on her skirt. “Is the idea of marrying me really so odious that he would back out and declare himself a cad rather than lead me to believe he’d merely spoken in the heat of passion?”

Clinton waved his hand as if he could shoo the entire situation away. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Not as long as we get his cloth.”

It shouldn’t matter.

What mattered was her reputation as a modiste and Elizabeth’s future with Lord Griffin.

Chapter Three

Georgiana’s heart fluttered like a wild bird against her rib cage as her carriage rolled to a stop outside Lord and Lady Compton’s townhouse.

“There’s Lord Griffin,” Elizabeth exclaimed, beaming at the sight of the earl. “Doesn’t he look dashing?”

“Very,” Georgiana said dismally as she exchanged a clandestine look with Clinton.

As soon as a footman flung open the door, Griffin started toward them.

“And there’s your husband-to-be,” Clinton teased smugly as he nodded in Lockerbie’s direction.

Georgiana blew out a breath of relief. She’d been half-terrified Lockerbie wouldn’t attend. But now that she’d laid eyes on him, a new fear consumed her.

Tall, bold and devilishly dark, Lockerbie stood out among the other gentlemen alighting from carriages to move through the entrance to the receiving line.

Dressed in a pair of charcoal breeches, white stockings and wearing a sky blue coat and vest over one of the shirts she’d made for him, he was, in a word, stunning. Wearing his hair swept back neatly into a ribbon that matched his breeches, he looked every bit the refined gentleman.

Only Georgiana knew the unrefined, rough Scot who lurked beneath a gentleman’s clothes. Still, how could she have ever deemed him coarse? She swallowed. A new description of him formed in her mind. Captivating.

Her limbs warmed at the sight of him and her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss. She clenched her fists. These out of control emotions annoyed her to utter madness.

Clinton’s gaze raked Lockerbie from head to toe. He made a sound of approval. “We did well. Look at the cut of that coat. Perfection!”

“That’s why we’re much sought after and other modistes fall by the wayside,” Georgiana said, accepting the hand of Lord Compton’s footman. “Thank you.”

She carefully made her way down the steps to the pavement.

“Ladies,” Griffin greeted with a bow. Light spilling through the windows gleamed off his heavily pomaded blond hair.

Elizabeth beamed as she curtsied. “Lord Griffin.”

Georgiana curtsied as Clinton bowed with a characteristic flourish of his hand.

“How wonderful to see you, Mademoiselle Talbot.” Griffin’s gaze was only for Georgiana.

She cringed. “I trust you will make certain my sister’s dance card is full tonight, Lord Griffin?”

His expression darkened but, gentleman that he was, the look only remained for an instant. “But of course.”

With that, he offered Elizabeth his arm. “But only if you will save a dance for me,” he said to Georgiana.

“Certainly,” she said, finally exhaling when he wheeled and escorted Elizabeth toward the house.

As Georgiana started toward Lockerbie, Clinton fell in beside her. “All of London will be abuzz with the news tomorrow,” he said.

Butterflies flitted in her stomach. “That’s exactly what needs to happen.”

Clinton giggled. “Well, then, I’m off. Good luck.”

Instead of meeting her halfway, Lockerbie stood. Staring.

Nervous anticipation riddled Georgiana. She struggled to return his stare and yet she didn’t dare look away—or give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her at all. His features remained devoid of emotion. Surely he realized this was all merely a business opportunity.

So why was she the one quaking like a debutante at a coming out?

When she finally stood before him, he nodded his head curtly. She dipped into a curtsy and he quickly reached out to take her hand so that she might rise. He stepped closer. Dangerously closer. Georgiana’s pulse accelerated.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this?” he asked, his voice low, his warm breath teasing her ear.

Are you? “Yes. Yes,” she whispered hotly as if trying to convince herself.

She hesitated. Lockerbie didn’t have to do this at all. But common sense reared. He could take his linen elsewhere but was there another modiste whose influence reached as far as her own? No. She had him exactly where she wanted him. “Lord Lockerbie,” she began. “I do appreciate your willingness to… Well. I cannot thank you enough.”

He snorted. “Let’s get this over with.” He offered her his arm and started toward the door with her in tow.

“I will make certain your cloth is fashioned into all—” she began but he interrupted.

“Darling Georgiana, put all thoughts of business out of yer head tonight. We are announcing our engagement.” A broad smile claimed his sensuous lips.

The idea that his demeanor could change from terse to warm and affable in the breadth of a hair chilled Georgiana to the bone.

When they stepped into the room, it was obvious Clinton had known just what to do. A word in the right lady’s ear had spread the hint of exciting news throughout the ballroom even before Georgiana and Lockerbie were announced.

“Blane MacLaren, Earl Lockerbie, and Miss Georgiana Talbot.”

Georgiana could not fight the flaming blush that infused her cheeks when all eyes in the room riveted to her. Instinctively her hand tightened on Lockerbie’s arm. He remained as cool as ever while Georgiana resisted the overwhelming urge to dart back to the safety of her carriage.

The rumor had even reached Elizabeth and Griffin, for her sister stood, mouth agape. Lockerbie chuckled and Georgiana did not have to glance at him to know he took wicked delight in the look of shock blackening Griffin’s features.

“It appears as is someone has set the ton on its ear, leannan,” Lockerbie said and patted Georgiana’s hand.

A thrill tickled through her, and not just because of the Scottish term of endearment. Oh, this was just the reaction she’d wanted. So why did she have misgivings this might prove a grand mistake?

As they moved through the receiving line, Lady Compton seized Georgiana’s hands in hers. “I’ve asked that you be seated together in the dining room.”

Smiling faces swam in and out of focus. Knowing looks and nods greeted them from everyone Georgiana had ever dressed.

Lockerbie drew her close. “Ye’d best put a smile on yer face. Ye look petrified. Ye are supposed to be overjoyed. I certainly donna want anyone thinking ’twas I who coerced ye into this.”

Gritting her teeth to keep from screaming, Georgiana smiled.

Lockerbie blurted a laugh. “That’s yer smile?”

She forced herself to relax and instead concentrated on the outcome of this intolerable situation. Temporary. It’s only temporary.

Elizabeth should be the one receiving these looks and nods of approval. She should be the one with ideas of an impending wedding in her head. All of this attention galled Georgiana. She, the one who’d vowed she’d never be at the mercy of a man! A shudder raced up her spine at the thought of all this being real. Never.

But she could pretend. She could do it for Elizabeth’s sake. And for the sake of her business reputation.

When a servant began escorting guests to the various tables for dinner, Georgiana found herself shocked again when she and Lockerbie were seated at Lord and Lady Compton’s table. Guilt pricked her that she’d used people she deemed not only clients but friends into unwittingly helping to perpetuate this farce. Even after everyone took their seats and the first course was brought out, Georgiana was unable to relax or engage in any conversation.

Lockerbie, on the other hand, reveled in the attention of Lord and Lady Compton, who both seemed interested in getting to know their guest.

“And where is it again that you are from?” Compton inquired.

“My ancestral castle sits on the banks of Loch Dungeon.”

“Dungeon?” Lady Compton echoed excitedly with raised eyebrows. “I’ve always found Scotland so mysterious and…rugged.”

Lockerbie all but winked. “Aye, ’tis both, my lady.”

Georgiana resisted the urge to smack his arm with her fan. He practically flirted with the aging Lady Compton, who did absolutely nothing to discourage him.

“Are you an avid hunter?” Compton asked.

“I canna find the time to hunt any longer,” Lockerbie stated. “For the past two years, I’ve spent most of my time overseeing my mill.”

Georgiana wanted to sink into the floor. Why on earth would he admit to working like a commoner? Here of all places? If it were not for the fact that her fashions were in such high demand, she wouldn’t have been courted by the ton at all but rather left out and pitied.

“I find that tremendously refreshing,” Lady Compton said. “It’s rare these days to find a man who is adept at anything but gaming and imbibing.”

“Times have changed,” Lockerbie added, low.

Georgiana listened as he continued to talk ardently about his mill. Obviously the subject was of as much interest to him as fashions were to her. But why would a man—a lord—be consumed with thread counts and weaving and grades of linen when he could be a roving dandy living off the income of his lands? Why did he care enough to pretend to be her fiancé?

“Tell us, Lockerbie, you won’t be taking Georgiana away from us, will you? I don’t think I could dress myself at all without her guidance,” Lady Compton said and sipped her wine.

Georgiana’s gaze swiveled to Lockerbie’s and he gave her the most adoring smile. If she hadn’t known everything about the disarming way his mouth curved and how matching dimples appeared in his cheeks, she would have melted at the sight of that smile. As it was, though, she flashed a smile of her own and answered before he could. “Of course he won’t,” Georgiana said. “Lord Lockerbie is a man who appreciates a woman with a passion.”

He fingered her earbob, sending a strange tendril of warmth weaving its way through her body. “We’ll have to see about that, leannan.”

Lady Compton giggled and squirmed in her seat. “Oh, I adore the Scottish tongue. No wonder you won over our Georgiana. I always told Arthur it would take a man’s man to tame her.”

“Margaret!” Compton scolded but everyone else at the table laughed.

“Well, it’s true,” she defended. “In fact, I think you both should come back for a picnic by the lake tomorrow. And Georgiana, do bring your sister and Lord Griffin.”

“I would love to but—” Georgiana began but Lockerbie seized her hand under the table and squeezed. Hard.

“We’d be honored,” Lockerbie told them. “Wouldn’t we, leannan?”

Smiling, Georgiana gave him a swift kick in the shin. “Of course we would, sweetheart.”

* * * * *

Even with every second ticking toward the time when her engagement to Lockerbie would be announced, Georgiana had never in her life been more relieved for a dinner to end.

Her stays suddenly seemed too tight. Her heart felt as if it would drum its way out of her chest. Perspiration beaded and rolled down her spine. “Excuse me,” she whispered to Lockerbie and then she darted out the nearest doors and into the rose garden.

She breathed in big gulps of the cool night air. What had she done? Why hadn’t she just been firmer with Griffin and been honest about Elizabeth’s intentions? Surely, as a man and a gentleman, he would understand.

“Is it true?”

Georgiana whirled. She gulped. “Lord Griffin. Good evening.”

“Is it true, Georgiana?” His cheeks glowed red with anger. His eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you marrying Lockerbie?”

Her lips parted. This wasn’t how she’d planned it at all. “Well…I…uh…yes.” She lifted her chin.

Griffin stared. “Are you insane?”

She hadn’t expected this. Blindsided, she grappled for something to say, some explanation.

Griffin didn’t give her time for one. “You realize he’s starting a linen mill to compete with mine.”

“My reasons for marrying are none of your concern.”

Griffin smirked. “Doubtless, he’s only marrying you to have you hawk his wares all over London.”

That hurt. “Lord Griffin—” She took an instinctive step backward and blundered against the rose trellis.

Bloody hell.

“Ah, there ye are!” another voice exclaimed.

Griffin turned to face Lockerbie. “What sort of nefarious farce are you pulling?”

“Farce?” The man could have acted on a stage. He looked utterly surprised.

“I know what you’re about, Lockerbie,” Griffin continued.

“Do you?” A muscle in Lockerbie’s jaw tightened but other than that, he appeared completely calm. Innocent.

Griffin tugged at his neckcloth. “It’s no different than the last time you got engaged, is it now?”

At that, Lockerbie’s face colored but his expression remained unchanged. Griffin blustered past him, brushing hard against his shoulder before he stormed back into the house.

“Are ye all right?” Lockerbie asked, ignoring Griffin and moving to aid Georgiana.

Taking her hand, he helped her out of the roses. A thorn pricked the index fingertip of her other hand and she let out a little cry. Blood beaded on the pad of her finger. At once, Lockerbie took her hand in his and brought her finger to his lips.

Stunned, Georgiana watched as he slipped it into the warmth of his mouth. A sudden wave of heat raced up her spine and settled in her neck and cheeks. Shocked at her own response, she pulled back and he reluctantly released her hand.

“I-I fear I provoked the wrong reaction from Griffin,” she whispered. “This was a mistake. I never should have suggested—”

“There you are, you two lovebirds!” Lady Compton chimed from the doorway. “Come inside. Arthur’s ready to make the announcement.”

Georgiana searched Lockerbie’s gaze. Blast, why was he so unreadable?

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Come, leannan. We canna keep Lord Compton waiting.”

She didn’t move as she tried to process everything that had just happened. Her breath left her lungs in a quick rush.

“We’ll deal with Griffin later,” Lockerbie whispered. “Right now, I need ye to be my blushing bride.”

Georgiana nodded. And when Lockerbie gave her arm a tug, she followed numbly. Her mind ran rampant. She hadn’t expected such a black reaction from Griffin. What if he refused to consider Elizabeth at all because of this? Her heart was set on him.

Georgiana struggled to draw in a deep breath. Why on earth had she laced her stays so tightly? Without warning, her plan had turned dark and angry. And dangerous.

But it was too late to turn back. The plot had been set in motion and now wasn’t the time to renege. Plan. It’s a plan, she reminded herself.

Inside, champagne flowed. Lord Compton tapped his glass with a spoon to garner his guests’ attentions.

Lockerbie’s big hand settled in the middle of Georgiana’s back and she forced a smile as Compton made the announcement.

“It is with great pleasure that I announce the engagement of our own Georgiana Talbot to Blane MacLaren, Earl Lockerbie,” Compton boomed proudly.

A chorus of gasps, applause and congratulations filled the ballroom. All this praise should have been for Elizabeth and Griffin. Georgiana scanned the crowd, looking for them.

Griffin stood next to Elizabeth, whispering something in her ear. Georgiana doubted it was anything good. Obviously he knew something about Lockerbie’s past.

It wouldn’t be the first time…

What had he meant by that? Had Lockerbie sought to make an advantageous marriage before? Well, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she were really marrying him. And yet, Georgiana couldn’t help but dwell on the mystery. Who was this man who stood beside her, pretending to profess his love?

* * * * *

Two hours of accepting well wishes and making introductions passed before Elizabeth had a chance to drag Georgiana aside.

Georgiana steeled herself as her younger sister closed the door to Lord Compton’s study. “What do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth asked, her voice but a sharp hiss.

Georgiana debated telling Elizabeth the truth but couldn’t be certain the secret wouldn’t be divulged to Griffin.

If he found out all this was—as he suspected—a sham, he would take his business and any offer of marriage to Elizabeth elsewhere. Not that his business mattered. But Elizabeth…

“Isn’t it romantic?” Georgiana chimed instead.

“Romantic? You’ve broken Darrin’s heart.”

Georgiana held her sister’s stare. “Now he is free to offer for you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes rounded. All the fight faded out of her. “You…you accepted an offer from a virtual stranger for…for me?”

Georgiana sighed, exasperated by everything about this entire evening. “I-I love…Blane.”

Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes. “You can’t even utter his name. Oh Georgie—”

“Don’t concern yourself with me. Make a play for Griffin. He is the one you want, isn’t he?”

“Well, yes. But—”

”No more talk of this,” Georgiana said firmly. “Not one more word.”

A look of sudden determination replaced Elizabeth’s tears. “Darrin says Lockerbie is only marrying you to get you to sell his linen. He says Lockerbie is a cad and is surprised he’s received in polite society,” Elizabeth explained. “Really, Georgie. Do you know him at all?”

Georgiana inhaled sharply. Fierce determination consumed her and she clenched her fists. “Then you’d best make Lord Griffin believe that if he marries you straightaway, you’ll do everything in your power to prevent my marriage to Lockerbie.”

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “It is not I whom he loves.”

Georgiana squeezed her sister’s shoulders. “Make him love you. Lillibet, you are charming and beautiful. He will fall in love with you if you but encourage him in the slightest.”

“I couldn’t possibly…manipulate…him into…into—”

“You’d better. Run off to Gretna Green if you must. I’m telling you, sister, the quicker you ensnare him, the better it will be for the both of us.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed but hope lurked in her blue eyes. “Your behavior is so peculiar. What is—”

The door opened and Lockerbie sauntered into the room. “There ye are!” he said and Georgiana resisted the compulsion to recoil as he closed in on her. Not because she found him repugnant but because of his sheer size. He dwarfed her in every way and his unpredictable nature set her on edge whenever he was near.

“And this lovely creature must be your sister,” he said, drinking her in with his gaze before he graced her with a low and courteous bow.

Despite all her previous arguments, Elizabeth giggled. She actually giggled.

Georgiana rolled her eyes. Was she the only female in the entire place who saw through his Scottish charm?

“I regret that I must drag your sister away but we have been requested to dance a gavotte,” he said while reaching for Georgiana’s hand.

His fingers laced with hers and despite everything, an odd calm washed over her.

“Excuse us,” Lockerbie said as he coerced Georgiana toward the ballroom floor where other couples had already begun forming a line.

“A dance? Right now?” Georgiana asked under her breath.

“Griffin is meddling. We need to make a better show of this if we intend to pull it off,” he drawled softly.

Georgiana cut her gaze toward a glaring Griffin but Lockerbie’s index finger under her chin drew her eyes straight back to his.

“Donna look at him. Ye should only have eyes for me.”

She nodded.

“Let me see ye smile.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth even though she felt like screaming instead of pretending to be merry.

“That’s it,” he encouraged her. “Ye look less like a hedgehog with a smile on yer face.”

“A hedgehog?” she asked, aghast.

“Hush,” he told her as they readied themselves to dance. “Tonight, instead of taking your own carriage home, ye’ll ride with me.”

“I can’t do that. My reputation would be—”

“Exactly,” he said. “Ye’ll ride with me. Griffin—and everyone else at this godforsaken party—will be watching. At least pretend ye canna live without me.”

He was right and she hated him for it.

She had to admit, they did cut a dashing figure on the dance floor. As before, Lockerbie performed the intricate steps with grace. All the other ladies ogled him but not once did his gaze waver from Georgiana’s. A bewildering sense of pride welled in her breast but she quickly quashed it when she remembered all this had been contrived over the buying and selling of linen—and chasing Lord Griffin into Elizabeth’s arms.

Even given that, Georgiana delighted in the attention, in the warming sensation of Lockerbie’s eyes on her while everyone else looked on with admiration. She’d never experienced this before and the idea that it was not only temporary but not even real carved a hollow place into her heart that made her ache.

* * * * *

The fete ended in the early hours of the morning. Wraps, hats and canes were distributed to their owners by weary-looking footmen. Carriages drawn by bleary-eyed horses and yawning drivers rolled around. Those guests who had imbibed too much laughed too loud and behaved a bit too boisterously for the tired few who wished for the quiet comfort of a soft, warm bed.

Lockerbie had been right about his competition’s reaction to their stunning announcement.

Griffin hung back to watch while Elizabeth and Clinton stumbled into Georgiana’s coach and headed for home.

Georgiana waited until Lockerbie’s carriage drew up in front of the house. Lockerbie made a great show of wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, despite the fact that the weather remained quite tepid.

Georgiana bade the Comptons farewell and then stepped into the carriage. Lockerbie’s chaise appeared older than her own, but of the highest quality. The upholstery on the squabs showed wear in spots but it only added to the charm of someone whose family had possessed moderate wealth for generations.

Her own landaulet was shiny and new but she doubted it would hold up as long as this one had. Lockerbie’s scent lingered in the interior. His sweet pomade. The earthy smell of leather and the fragrance of Highland heather. She breathed it in.

The springs squeaked as he climbed in and then sat across from her.

Georgiana’s mouth went dry at the vision of his comfortable posture. The fingers of one hand sprawled on his thick thigh. The other hand lay on the seat. Once again, she realized she’d dressed him to perfection. The blue hues of his coat complemented his dark looks. Tonight, she would have even deemed him handsome—not that she’d ever found broad, big men handsome. But this one…

It was the clothes. That was it. Her gaze met his and she reconsidered. No. It was his midnight blue eyes. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel as if she were the only female in the world.

She leaned forward and peered out the window, attracted by the high-pitched whinny of a horse. “There’s some commotion with the team pulling the phaeton ahead of us.”

“Damn,” Lockerbie muttered and at the same moment, Georgiana realized Griffin remained outside, still staring.

Lockerbie moved to sit beside Georgiana and before she could draw her next breath, his hand slipped behind her neck and his mouth devoured hers.

At once, need unfurled through her body. This wasn’t real. This was pretend. She stemmed the ingrained urge to resist, and damn it all to hell, she seized the opportunity to kiss and be kissed as she never had before.

The knowledge Griffin watched emboldened her and she threaded her fingers deep into the coarse hair at Lockerbie’s neck and held him to her.

The kiss consumed her like fire and ice. Something sparked and she realized she’d wanted this from him all along. Domination. Possession. Hunger.

The spicy taste of him inundated her, threatened her…changed her. His tongue darted into her mouth again and again, the act fusing something between her lips, her nipples and lower still.

Disappointment flared when the carriage started to lurch forward but Georgiana did not relinquish her hold on his thick mane. Neither did he make any move to end the kiss that had taken on a life all its own. No amount of common sense dared intrude on this stolen moment.

Their mouths melded. The tongues stroked and their lips sucked.

His hand skimmed down the front of her bodice and she was nearly so overwhelmed by the heat of his palm brushing over her lightly clothed nipple, she moaned into his mouth. Her body arched toward him, aching for more, for something, for a culmination she couldn’t yet comprehend.

A soft growl rumbled up from his throat as his hand dipped even lower, raking down her thigh to blaze a path to the hem of her gown. Fingers burrowed underneath the silk and crinoline and then trailed up one trembling, stocking-clad calf.

Fiery need exploded between Georgiana’s legs and she knew—she knew—his fingers would not stop until they reached the secret spot that desperately desired his touch. Traitorous, growing wetness gathered, igniting something inside her. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not tonight.

But it was.

It was too much and it was happening too soon but there was nothing she would do to stop him.

His big hand set fire to the soft flesh of her thigh, moving higher and higher until—

Georgiana let out a muffled cry, and at the same time, Lockerbie’s lips stilled on hers. He drew back just far enough to look into her eyes as his fingers teased the swollen flesh no man before him had ever touched.

Only the dim light from the driver’s twin lanterns outside illuminated Lockerbie’s angular face. Rugged and beautiful, he gazed at her as his fingertips stroked her nether lips.

She swallowed, barely able to breathe from the need burning her alive. “I-I’m a maiden.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a harsh breath. “Then tell me to stop.”

Refusal hung on her lips but she could not force herself to say the words. “Damn you.”

He shifted impossibly closer so that his fingers pressed more firmly against the hard little pearl. Her senses spun with pleasure and she opened her legs to admit him further.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips.

Georgiana sagged against the squabs, arching, rocking, giving herself over to his tormenting touch. “I hate you.”

“But ye don’t hate this, do ye, leannan?” he murmured as his fingers circled her clitoris.

She whimpered. Her eyes threatened to close and a little moan of protest spilled from her lips as his hand moved away. She nearly reached for him, but already he was kneeling on the floor of the coach and pushing her gown up over her knees. Higher.

Instinctively she knew what he intended to do. Her cunny pulsed in demand. She spread and scooted closer to the edge of the bench. Cool air wafted over her heated flesh.

“Hate me, do ye?” he uttered huskily as his mouth descended.

“Oh God!” she cried and gripped his head as his warm tongue found her ripe bud.

This illicit kiss was heaven and hell.

Stop.

She sighed.

Stop this…

“Please.” She breathed the word.

She arched closer, her inner muscles spasming at the sensation of his teeth grazing her sensitized skin. A needy, strangled cry tore from her throat. What was this insidious pleasure claiming her, rendering her senseless?

“Georgiana,” he rumbled, the vibration of his voice resonating through her lower extremities.

Big hands cradled her bottom, lifting her, opening her. His lips and tongue sought every crevice, every fold, every needy, sensitive spot. The bumping of the carriage on the cobblestones only enhanced her pleasure and she clung to the bench.

Something wicked and wonderful lurked just there, just out of her reach. His lips latched onto her clitoris, sending her senses careening wildly out of control. A pulse of sensation grew inside her, burst and flared through her body, sending ecstasy crashing over her.

Biting back a scream, she melted, dissolved in his hands, giving herself over to the incredible pleasure as his tongue continued to lave. Finally, he pressed one last kiss to her throbbing flesh before slipping his hands from beneath her bottom and drawing her gown back down over her legs.

When Georgiana opened her eyes, she expected to find Lockerbie smiling and gazing at her with emotion in his eyes. Instead, he sat on the bench across from her, his stare trained on the row of dim houses outside the windows.

Heat infused her face. She’d stupidly fooled herself into believing this moment might have meant more. She’d allowed him to do unspeakable things to her. She cleared her throat and straightened, half-expecting an apology from him that never came.

Oh God, she thought, tidying her hair and her dress.

In that one act, he’d claimed some piece of her she could never take back. And Georgiana wasn’t so certain she wanted to stop him from doing it again.

Chapter Four

Once they arrived at her doorstep, Lockerbie cleared his throat. “I’ll call on ye on the morrow to take ye to the Comptons’ picnic.”

Georgiana looked everywhere except his eyes. “Don’t you think we should send our regrets?”

“And be rude to our potential customers? I daresay not.”

“But you heard Lady Compton. She invited Elizabeth and Griffin too,” Georgiana argued.

“What better opportunity to prove to Griffin that you and I are very much in love?”

She struck his iron-solid shoulder with her fist. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled. “Everything didna go as planned but I think we can manage to salvage it.” He glanced up at the dark façade of her house before a growl tore from his throat.

Georgiana gasped as he reeled her into his arms and kissed her again. This time, when he released her, he left her wanting more. Panting. Shaking.

But before she could say anything, he twisted and strode back toward his carriage. Georgiana watched him, her gaze fixed on his broad back as she tried to sort out the riotous emotions that bedeviled her every time he was near.

His sure gait changed and he stretched one leg out as he tugged on his breeches. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she gasped as she realized he was adjusting his fall.

The idea that what they’d done together had such an effect on him struck her. A hot blush infused her cheeks and she hurried into her house.

Blane dove into his coach, snatching the door closed before the footman could do so. Criosd, what a fool’s errand! He peeped at the upstairs window again, where four faces continued to peer out. Apparently, the diabhal hadn’t told anyone in her family about her little scheme. That made it imperative they be duped as well. Well, so be it.

He sighed and stretched out his legs. God blind him but his cock was stiff. He’d never intended to go that far with the lass, but Diah, she drove him to it. When she’d tangled her fingers into his hair and returned his kiss with the brazenness of a tavern wench, he’d been unable to stop himself. And once that line had been crossed, neither of them had possessed the will to end it.

His insides sank when he recalled just how close he’d come to ruining her. Something told him she would have allowed it. Just an inch. He’d ached to work the head of his cock into her virgin cunny just one damn inch. Slow. Just enough to render her…

Render her what?

Had?

Ruined?

Claimed?

From now on, he needed to make certain they never had the occasion to be alone together. That way, when she broke off the engagement, he’d be free to return to his carefree life of cavorting and attending his business without the encumbrance of a wife.

He wet his lips, tasting her. Sweet. Feminine. A woman like that could enslave him, given half a chance. His cock protested against the form-fitting breeches again and he cursed.

From tonight forward, any form of intimacy between them had to be prevented. And tomorrow, when Griffin would hopefully be convinced of their sincerity, he would make an offer for Georgiana’s sister and this could all be put to bed.

* * * * *

Georgiana walked beside Lockerbie toward the lake. Elizabeth and Griffin sauntered ahead of them. Birds chirped merrily. The emerald lawn had been freshly cut and the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass lingered in the air. Daisies and other flowers grew in elaborately casual flowerbeds, making Georgiana wonder how large the Comptons’ staff must be. Here and there, the slouching branches of giant oaks offered a shady respite from the sun.

Despite the carefree ease of such a picturesque location, thick tension had crackled in the air since their arrival.

“What makes ye think he’ll offer for her at all?” Lockerbie asked under his breath.

“Hush,” Georgiana scolded. “They’ll hear you.”

Lockerbie blew out a harsh breath. “I’m beginning to think ye should just cut yer ties with Griffin altogether and look for a new husband for yer sister.”

“While that might benefit you, she would always hold it against me. She loves him,” Georgiana said, gesturing with her parasol.

“If she truly loved him, she’d be walking a mite closer,” Lockerbie said. “As we are.”

Georgiana didn’t need to be reminded of the Scot’s close proximity. Her ivory skirt rustled as it brushed against the fabric of his sky-blue breeches. “Elizabeth is shy. That’s all. And besides, what do you know about love?”

Instantly she regretted asking him such a thing, for she had no doubt he would answer.

He chuckled soft and low before he bent to whisper in her ear. His tone turned dead serious. “I know what is no’ love.”

Lady Compton waved from a gazebo next to the lake. “Welcome!” she called.

A few other couples had also been invited. A target had been set up and amateur archers practiced their skills. Others played croquet. It should have been a merry visit but all Georgiana could think about was the dress she needed to design for Lady Ashcroft, the velvet she needed to order for winter fashions—and the man who walked beside her.

She’d relived that brash moment in the carriage a thousand times since last night. He could have stopped kissing her as soon as the coach began to move. He should have stopped.

But he hadn’t.

He’d continued until he’d sent her soaring amongst the stars.

She hadn’t mustered the courage to speak of it to him. Now on the surface, it was as if it had never happened.

“Join us! Join us!” Lady Compton cried happily as they neared the gazebo. Footmen filed down from the manor house, carrying baskets, blankets and bottles of wine and champagne.

Tables and chairs had been brought down from the house and decorated with colorful wild flowers.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Lady Compton asked, a daisy peeping from her décolletage as if she were a country maid. “I imagine it can be rather dreary and gray on the shores of Loch Dungeon, can’t it, Lord Lockerbie.”

“Aye, ’tis a lovely day at that, and aye, Scottish castles can be a bit…atmospheric.”

Lady Compton giggled like a debutante. “I bet you have a castle ghost, as well.”

“One or two,” Lockerbie admitted. “I’ve nay seen them, mind you, but I’ve heard my share of inexplicable groans and rattling chains.”

Lady Compton shuddered with delight as she marveled at Lockerbie’s tale. “You must invite Arthur and me to visit after you and Georgiana are married.”

“Of course,” Lockerbie said with a wink.

“Oh, but where are my manners,” Lady Compton fussed. “You must be dying to spend a few moments with your lovely bride-to-be. Why don’t you take one of the rowboats for a turn about the lake?”

“I’d like that very much,” Georgiana said, seizing the opportunity to disappear from all the watchful eyes.

Without argument, Lockerbie offered his arm and escorted her to the short pier where several small rowboats awaited. He took her hand and held it firmly as she stepped carefully into the teetering boat. She quickly sat, clutching the sides and fearing being lurched into the water, but then, as if he were well-accustomed to climbing into boats, Blane dropped in and took his seat at the stern.

“Careful what ye say,” he whispered as he shrugged off his coat. “Water carries sound. Especially voices.”

Georgiana opened her parasol, positioned it to keep the sun off her face and then reclined on the thick pillows ticked with rose and white stripes that had been positioned into the bow.

Blane gathered the oars and began to row. Sunlight glinted off his black hair. His shirt tugged and pulled as his powerful arm and shoulder muscles worked. When he turned to gauge his distance, Georgina dared to allow her gaze to wander lower, where his tight breeches strained against his solid thighs—to where his fall bulged.

She swallowed thickly. How would it feel to have that part of him pleasuring her? She’d imagined being taken by a man but that had been before her father’s death, in a time when she thought of nothing except marrying and birthing heirs.

Several of her childhood friends had married and before they’d stopped confiding in her—while they’d still felt some sort of commonality with her—they’d mentioned what went on in the marriage bed. They’d treated sex as if it was a dirty secret and had hushed when they remembered Georgiana remained unmarried. At the time, she’d told herself not to worry, that sexual desires were banal. Profane.

After what she’d allowed Lockerbie to do to her last night, however…

Lockerbie’s gaze found hers and lingered. A half-smile claimed his lips as if he could read her thoughts, further adding to her mortification. Sudden heat blazed in her face and neck and she whipped open her fan to cool herself.

Every turn of the oars caused his body to rock in such a way that it mimicked sexual thrusts. Intoxicating need flooded her lower extremities. She embraced it even as she struggled against it. The inner muscles of her vagina tensed and she grew increasingly damp and ready for more of his erotic attention. What are you doing to me? She fanned faster.

“Thinking about last night?” he drawled.

Her eyes shot to his. “Of course not!” she snapped.

His smile broadened. “Really, leannan? Because I’ve no’ been able to think about much else except how sweet ye tasted.”

Flustered, she groped for a retort that never came.

“Ah, that blush on yer cheeks will fool Griffin well enough,” he teased. “But it doesna fool me.”

What wicked pleasure did he take in torturing her so? “You’re impossible,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stopped rowing and leaned forward slightly. “The next time, ’twill be my turn for pleasure.”

She straightened, inadvertently rocking the boat. “There won’t be a next time, Lord Lockerbie.”

“Ye donna think ye should refer to me as Blane?”

Her heart thrummed against her chest. Blane. Even thinking his name caused her body to react in strange, titillating ways. She’d never experienced the sensation of her head, heart and body at such war before. The truth was, she wanted to call him Blane. She ached for him to row this boat behind the little millhouse down the lake, whisk her to a private spot and plunder beneath her skirts once more.

He laughed. “I think there will be a next time. Sooner than ye think.”

A thrill rippled through her at the thought of pleasuring him. She inhaled, trying in vain to chase away the wicked desire plaguing her. How could she even be considering something so indecent?

She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue as a stark reality washed over her. She never intended to marry. She would never know kisses and caresses the likes of which she’d experienced last night. What if—

No!

What if she made another deal with Lockerbie? Just for now. Just while they pretended to be engaged.

Her blood thickened and heated at the idea, pooling in places that made her throb with raw need.

If…if…there was another opportunity, she would let him know how far she was willing to go. His only requirement—discretion.

She inhaled and then blew the breath out slowly, feeling the tension abating, but only slightly. “You said you knew what love was not,” she said, breaking the taut silence that had ensued between them.

He put down the oars. “Aye.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“Once,” he replied as he eyed a pair of white swans floating past before he turned back to her. “And ye?”

Georgiana laughed. “I have not the time for such frivolities.”

“Yer not cold.”

“Pardon me?”

“Yer not cold, so therefore, I must assume ye’ve not married because of yer circumstances,” he explained.

“I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean,” she said quickly.

“Ah, but ye do. Ye’ve no’ married because of yer sisters. It’s no’ a secret that yer father’s estate was left to one o’ yer cousins.”

She tensed. How could this man have her impassioned one moment and ready to claw his eyes out the next? “I could have easily married had I—”

“But ye didna,” he interrupted. “Ye sought out a profession and are even now working to deny yerself and secure yer bashful sister a husband.”

“I—”

Once again, he cut off her protest. “Donna think I hold it against ye. No’ at all.”

She relaxed against the pillows and stared, waiting for an explanation.

“I rather admire a lass who doesna have to depend on a man,” he said. Honesty shone in his eyes.

Something in Georgiana twisted—something she didn’t want. “I thought you were the type of man who desired a meek woman.” Instantly she regretted her rash statement. She hadn’t meant to admit that.

He laughed. “That’s the kind of women men need, no’ necessarily what they want if they possess the bollocks to be honest.”

She laughed but in truth, she too had been fooled by what society deemed appropriate. She glanced at Griffin, who still stood conversing with Lady Compton and Elizabeth at the gazebo. He held a title. He wore expensive clothing. She should know. She’d made them for him. He said all the right things to all the right people. Any woman would have been pleased to be courted by him. And while Elizabeth seemed quite smitten, Georgiana had never found him the least bit alluring.

Her attraction to Blane, on the other hand, continued to be a complete enigma to her. She wasn’t supposed to like a burly man who looked more at home in the outdoors than in a drawing room. She shouldn’t find his muscled arms and solid legs sinfully sexy. If she’d been considering taking a husband—and God knows she wasn’t—she should choose him because of his holdings and his reputation. Not for what lurked underneath the fall of his breeches.

“Before my father died, I’d dreamed of my wedding day, of having children and hosting picnics like Lady Compton’s,” she mused aloud. “But those fantasies are no more. I have my mother and sisters to look after.”

“Do ye feel cheated by the fates?”

Georgiana had always thought she had. Until now. “No. Not really. Of course, I miss my father terribly, but if I’d never been in the position his untimely death put me in, I would probably have been married off to the first man who offered for me.”

“I know ye well enough to know ’twould no’ have made ye happy.”

The sun glinted off a gold button on his waistcoat as he reached for the oars again. He thrust one of the paddles at one of the swans that had decided to approach. “Ach! Be gone, beastie!”

The swan’s snowy wings hunched and it stretched its long neck toward them to let out a menacing hiss. Blane slapped the oar in the water and splashed the bird.

Georgiana sat straight up and flapped her parasol in the swan’s direction. “Shoo! Shoo, swan!”

The bird gave them a threatening honk before wheeling and floating gracefully away.

“Those things are evil incarnate,” Blane muttered.

“But they’re beautiful.”

“Donna turn yer back on one,” he warned as he began rowing toward the shore. “They’ll nip ye on the arse quicker than ye can take a breath.”

Georgiana laughed but her mirth sobered when they arrived at the pier. “Griffin seems tense,” she said under her breath.

“Aye, he does at that. Follow my lead.”

Touching her lightly at the elbow, Blane started toward the archery targets where Elizabeth and Griffin stood practicing.

“Men can tend to be a bit more talkative when engaged in sport. Now would be the perfect opportunity to spur the rascal into action,” Blane said.

Georgiana wondered. Because Griffin’s face became mottled with rage when he noticed them approaching.

“Why so tense, ye miscreant?” Blane muttered for Georgiana’s ears only. She burst into laughter. Good. They needed to see her laughing and happy.

“Mind if we join ye?” Blane asked. He didn’t wait for an answer but instead took a proffered bow and an arrow from a nearby servant.

“Of course not,” Griffin said rather tersely. His shoulders drew back and a quiver coursed through him. “Georgiana, would you care to go first?”

When the servant offered her bows for the right and left, she took a right-handed one and clumsily made an attempt to aim the arrow. Blane chuckled and stepped in behind her. “I see ye are more suited to a sewing room than to sport.”

She glanced back at him. A coquettish grin curved her lips and she made certain Blane did not miss the look of diabolical mischief that lurked in her eyes. She was ready to play the game to the hilt. Feigning being unskilled at anything was not in Georgiana’s nature but she’d watched enough ladies flirt to know it was imperative to make a man feel…well, manly. “Could you show me how?”

He nodded and, reaching around her, held her hand steady on the bow as he wrapped his other fingers around hers to show her how to nock the arrow and draw back the bowstring. The scented pomade in his hair filled her senses. Her body heated where it countered his. She struggled with the need to rock her hips back into the unyielding flesh pressing into her backside.

“Aye, leannan, keep the arrow steady on the rest,” he said with his mouth against her ear. Tension rippled in her muscles and it had nothing to do with shooting at a target.

“Donna pinch the arrow,” he said as he coaxed her fingers back from the nock a bit. “Keep the back of yer hand as relaxed as ye can. Now curl the thumb in just so,” he instructed, brushing his own thumb over hers.

“Is this correct?” she asked almost breathlessly, still stroking his thumb with hers.

“Perfect,” he cooed. “Now push the bow away from ye. That’s right.”

She pushed the bow out with more strength and skill than any novice would have possessed but the closeness of his body did something to her that rendered her unable to think clearly.

“Now raise the bow,” he told her, guiding her arms up and into position. “Draw back the bowstring.”

Knowing Griffin watched, Georgiana tilted her cheek just slightly as his fingers brushed her jawline.

“Sight yer target. Now release all at once.”

She loosed the arrow as if she’d done it a hundred times. Her form was perfect. Her stance was faultless. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the target dead center.

“Well done!” Blane cried.

Georgiana whirled excitedly, her face flushed. “I never could have done it without your help.”

Elizabeth stood, sullen, her bottom lip protruding.

As each of them took their turn, Georgiana noticed that Blane missed just enough to ingratiate himself with Griffin.

Finally, Elizabeth fired an arrow that nearly hit the bull’s eye.

“Superb!” Griffin hailed, taking up her cause just as Georgiana and Blane had plotted.

Elizabeth preened, clearly proud of herself.

“She’s a bonny lass,” Blane said. Georgiana knew his statement was intended for Griffin only but she couldn’t help cocking an ear to hear their conversation as she pretended to be enthused with Elizabeth’s progress.

Griffin nodded. “She is at that.”

“Do ye intend to offer for her?” Blane pried.

When Griffin hesitated, Blane continued, “Were I ye, I’d elope. In fact, Georgiana and I were thinking of making the trip to the border and marrying before the smithy ourselves.”

Griffin’s eyes widened. “To Gretna Green?”

“Aye. ’Tis no sense in waiting and in my case, ye never know who might protest,” Blane ribbed. “But ’tis a silly, romantic notion anyway. A man such as yerself would ne’er do anything so reckless.”

Griffin seemed taken aback. “Reckless? Are you hinting that I’m lacking in spontaneity? I’ve behaved in the most gentlemanly fashion where both of the Talbot ladies are concerned.” One of his eyebrows arched. “It’s not as if I sought marriage because of a woman’s connections or money.”

A muscle in Blane’s jaw clenched. “I know exactly to what ye allude, Griffin, and if ye have an accusation to make against me, speak plainly.”

Griffin stared.

Blane jerked at his neckcloth to loosen it. “Well, do ye or no’?”

“If you will excuse me,” Griffin said before he took one step back, bowed ceremoniously and then made his way to where Lady Compton conversed with several others.

Elizabeth’s gaze darted from Blane to Griffin and back again before she took off after him.

Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him?”

Blane shrugged. “I told him he should take the lass to Gretna Green and marry her.”

“Oh dear,” Georgiana said. “And that irritated him?”

“Nay. No’ that.”

She peered at him hard. “What else was said between you?”

“It doesna matter.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Walk with me.”

Georgiana raced to keep up with his brisk pace. “What did he say to you?”

Instead of offering a reply, Blane kept his head down and continued to walk.

“Lord Lockerbie,” she began. “Blane…”

He stopped and turned to face her. “It doesna concern ye. Donna ask me again.”

She searched the depths of his dark blue eyes. Giving up railed against her very nature. “What could he possibly know that would infuriate you so?”

“Bloody damn hell, lass. The instant I begin to wonder why ye ne’er found ye a husband, ye go and remind me of what a shrew ye are.”

Georgiana gasped.

Blane began walking once more and Georgiana debated returning to the picnic. It would never do to let anyone think something was amiss between them. She gritted her teeth, groaned and chased after him. “Call me names if you must but I would certainly hate to have put myself through all this…this mess…if Lord Griffin knows some horrid secret about you.”

He raised his hands to the heavens. “Diah!”

Georgiana half ran to keep up with him. “Would you slow down?” she asked breathlessly.

He sighed but slowed his pace.

“I told you the reason I never married,” she defended, even though common sense told her this spat had nothing to do with her situation. “The reason I would never marry.”

“Ach, well, at least ye possess some sense of compassion for the menfolk of the world.”

“Yes, continue to insult me,” she chided. “Perhaps you find that far easier than looking inward to examine your own shortcomings.”

“I knew ’twould have been better to go to France to sell my linen.”

“You could, you know,” she said softly. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

They’d walked up the path as far as the gristmill she’d seen from the lake. Blane stopped and studied the slow churn of the waterwheel. “I didna mean to insult ye,” he mumbled without making eye contact.

“And I suppose I shouldn’t have pried,” Georgiana added reluctantly. His words still stung. But after all, she’d been foolish to forget—even for an instant—that their engagement was nothing but a farce.

Blane pushed open the door to the mill. “Hallo, the mill!” His voice echoed off the stone walls.

No response came from within.

“I’ve never been inside a mill,” Georgiana said, her anger suddenly transformed into inquisitiveness.

“Have ye no’?” Blane asked as he stepped into the dark millhouse.

Georgiana’s pulse skittered as she followed him inside. Her anticipation had little to do with exploring the millworks but much more to do with finding herself alone with him.

“I have a mill on Loch Dungeon. Smaller than this one, but it services the people who live on my lands.”

Whenever he mentioned his home, a wistful remembrance permeated his gaze. She found the look endearing.

A bird launched from a rafter overhead and flew out the opening where the waterwheel gears connected to a smaller wheel inside. The steady creak and churn of the big wheel combined with the soothing fall of water calmed Georgiana.

“Why are there two wheels?” she asked.

“This smaller one is the pit wheel. Because of its size, it turns faster and therefore grinds more grain.”

“Interesting.”

“Man’s ingenuity to harness the powers of nature ne’er fails to astound me,” Blane mused as he inspected the thick shaft that connected the big wheel to the pit wheel.

He looked at home in this place. While his grace on the dance floor and his ability to charm the most prudish of ladies astonished Georgiana, the way he moved about this mill warmed her heart.

Debating her earlier desire to satisfy her sexual curiosity with him, she bit her bottom lip. Her palms grew damp and she brushed them on her skirts. Her insides quivered. Warm, liquid need pooled in her loins. “Blane?”

He turned to her.

“Will you…kiss me again?”

Chapter Five

“Have ye lost yer mind?” Blane blurted.

Georgiana looked at the earthen floor, at the stone wall—anywhere except his eyes. How could she have dared to be so bold?

“Criosd, lass,” he muttered and then stalked across the room, hauling her into his arms. One hand captured her cheek as if to hold her in place. “From the beginning, I knew this was a mistake,” he murmured, his voice husky and full of dark need that mirrored her own. And then his head lowered.

Georgiana’s heart reeled. His tight embrace lifted her heels off the floor and pressed her body against his. One hand slid up her spine until his fingers flirted with the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips sought hers with bruising force. She surrendered to need, to desire. To him.

Everything about him rendered her powerless. Vulnerable.

The scent and taste of him exploded through her body. She soared, recklessly allowing her desires to sweep her away. She felt as if she’d been thrown off some precipice with no handhold to cling to. Worse, she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except the overpowering physical sensations ravaging her now.

She clung to his shoulders in a desperate caress and opened for him. Blane was right. She had lost her mind because she’d known what was at stake when she’d accepted his foolish and insincere proposal.

But hadn’t she secretly hoped it would lead to…this?

A hungry moan filled her ears and she realized it was her own voice. His hand moved down her back, daring to venture even lower. Her breath hitched when he cupped her bottom and lifted her loins against his. The hard, unmistakable ridge of his cock pressed into her and he rocked her hips in such a way that the most sensitive part of her rode him.

“I told ye this time ’twould be my turn,” he declared, his voice but a hungry growl.

She mewled.

“But donna worry,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his lips as he spoke. “I’d no’ leave ye wanting.”

A fierce thrill rippled through her veins at the thought of him bringing her to that sweet bliss once again. “Show me what to do,” she uttered. “Show me how to touch you, to please you.”

He threaded his fingers in hers and then deliberately dragged her hand to where his arousal strained against his breeches. She gasped. She’d seen men in various states of undress but she’d never touched one of them here. And she’d never guessed how long and hard this part of them could become.

Something indecent flashed in his eyes that spurred her to give him a gentle squeeze.

“Aye, leannan, donna stop.”

She swallowed and, trembling, explored him through the silky fabric.

“Unbutton my fall,” he told her.

Her heart literally skipped a beat but she expertly worked one button, two buttons and then the next free. Curiosity to look her fill warred with the modest compulsion to avert her gaze. His cock jerked and nudged the back of her fingers. When she started to draw back her hand, he seized it and, all at once, she held every long, steely inch of him in her grip.

What would he do now? Would he throw her down on the dirt floor and ravage her as if she were a common doxy?

Her breathing quickened. Would she find the wherewithal to refuse him if he did? She doubted it.

His hand guided hers up and down. “Ye must know I ache to be inside ye,” he drawled.

Her lashes fluttered shut and she struggled with her own needs—sinful, salacious needs no well-bred lady should be having. Her ears rang with the blood rushing through her body. The sound of his encouraging moans sent a delicious shiver quickening down her spine. Juices gathered thick and hot in her channel and she wondered what he would do if she asked him to rub that cock head through her nether lips. Would he give it to her? Could he restrain himself?

More importantly, could she?

Emboldened by his reaction, she opened her eyes and watched as her hand glided up and then back down to the base where a flurry of springy black curls nested against his heated flesh. Liquid glistened at the top and she raked her palm over it, dampening it so that her hand moved more easily.

“Is this…is this…good?” she asked.

“Good enough,” he rasped.

Her gaze flew to his. “Am I not doing it correctly?”

“No, no, ye handle it very well.” A muscle in his eye twitched as she squeezed just a fraction tighter. “But there’s no’ anything that would feel as good as plunging my prick into yer sweet, wee cunny.”

She should be shocked by his ribald speech but instead, she thrived on it, welcomed it. No one had ever made her feel so alive, so rash. With Blane, she wanted to try everything a woman could do with a man.

“I want you to take me,” she confessed. “Right here. Right now.”

His eyes widened and his hand stilled on hers. “Georgiana…”

“I want to know. I want to feel,” she prattled on. “I want to experience physical pleasure with a man—with you.”

His dark brows lowered and he gave her a hard, discerning glare. “Do ye mean to trick me into a marriage I donna want?”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Georgiana,” he warned.

“No, not at all,” she said, snatching her hand away from him. “If I’m never going to marry, I want to know what it is I’ve missed.”

For several breathtaking seconds he stared and then, like a hawk, he descended on her as if she were his prey. The air left her lungs in a burst as he backed her against the wall, dragged up her skirts, wedged his body between her thighs and slid his cock through her folds.

Her body screamed yes! She gaped, eyes wide with shock. His fingers sought her opening and when he found it, he pushed the head of his arousal toward it. Georgiana steeled herself for the pain, the completion—the perfection.

But just before he penetrated her, he stopped. “I canna take ye here. Diah, what’s the matter with me?”

Trembling with desire, she rocked closer. “Please, Blane.”

“No,” he said, adamant.

“Don’t you want to?” She lifted her leg and pushed closer.

“More than anything,” he told her, sliding enticingly back and forth through the hungry crease. A growl tore from his throat and he withdrew from her.

Georgiana had never ached from the loss of something so much in her life. Her distress was short-lived.

Anchoring her shoulder with one hand, he plunged the other between her legs and began a slow, deliberate assault on the needy flesh there. She melted into his expert touch, wondering how he knew just where to apply pressure, to stroke, to stay. She jolted when the pad of his fingers circled her dew-soaked clitoris. Don’t stop.

“Ah, there’s yer pearl,” he murmured as his lips descended on the sensitive curve of her neck. “Spread yer legs for me, leannan.”

One satin-covered pump ground against the grit-strewn floor as she slightly widened her stance. The stone wall cooled her back but where her body countered Blane’s, she burned.

“Oh my.” Her fingernails dug into his biceps as everything inside her tightened. How could he evoke this response in her so easily?

“Will ye finish me? Will ye do anything I ask of ye?” His question crept over her. Through her.

She didn’t even have to consider her reply. “Yes.” Her body sang with need, growing ever closer. It was a slow unfolding and building that rendered her off-balance. Mindless.

“Blane…”

His lips nipped at her neck. Sucking. Kissing. His fingers tormented her clitoris. Her knees shook from anticipation and she held to him to keep from sliding down the wall. Licentious images flashed in her mind’s eye. Blane pinning her to the wall, lifting her, impaling her on his cock.

Claiming her.

She wanted more. This was not enough. Tears of frustration streamed from the corners of her closed eyes. “Harder,” she heard herself say.

His pressure increased. Her knees fell open until she was supported mostly by the wall at her back and her hold on his arms. Her mouth opened and she found herself unable to draw a breath as ecstasy flared and emanated from the spot where he touched her.

She shook, feeling herself come undone. The pleasure burned in its intensity. Nothing should feel this good. So sinfully, sinfully good. But it did and Georgiana knew she’d do or say anything to know this again. There was nothing she would deny him and the realization both terrified and exhilarated her.

Even after the last spasm tailed off, he continued to stroke her, his pressure gentle and caressing now. His mouth found hers and he kissed her thoroughly. And when he finally removed his hand, she luxuriated in the warm wetness coating her inner thighs.

He ended their kiss and gazed hard into her eyes. “Ye know I want more from ye.”

Still dazed, she nodded.

“Is that what ye also desire, Georgiana? More? Do ye wish to be lovers?”

Now that he’d taken the edge off her need, she debated but only for a second. “Yes—until…”

“Until Griffin marries yer sister,” he stated more than asked. Still searching her eyes, he drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Ye go with me back to Loch Dungeon.”

“Loch Dungeon? But I can’t leave—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Ye go with me to Loch Dungeon long enough to see my mill. And while we’re there, ye’ll do anything I ask of ye.”

“Very well.”

One eyebrow shot up. “Anything.”

At this moment, anything could literally mean anything but Georgiana didn’t care. “Very well,” she stated again.

He chuckled. “I donna think ye have any idea of all the things a man and woman can do together. Of the places a man can be inside a woman. Of the things a woman will submit to just to find pleasure.”

Her heart skittered wildly.

Placing his hands on either side of her head, he moved unbelievably closer, until the head of his cock nudged between her legs and slid through the slick folds of her still-throbbing sex. “I’ll undress ye and keep ye naked. I’ll fuck ye ’til yer raw between the legs, leannan. And when ye can stand it in yer cunny no longer, I’ll turn ye over and bugger yer pretty, wee arse.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“If ye grouse, I’ll put ye over my knee.” His hips rocked with menacing promise that caused Georgiana’s desire to surge anew.

“Ye’ll be my slave and ye’ll do my bidding for one month or until Griffin makes an offer for yer sister. Agreed?”

She nodded but he stopped her once again.

“Before ye consent, let me give ye a taste of what will be required of ye. And only afterward can ye make the choice.” He stood back but only mere inches. “Get on yer knees.”

Her gaze dropped to where his arousal glistened with her own nectar. She’d heard of such things as taking one of those into one’s mouth. He’d certainly done that for her only last night. Realization struck that she should have been repulsed—at the very least shocked by his scandalous request. But she wasn’t.

She sank, letting her skirts fall to cushion her knees as she kneeled in front of him.

Blane tried to hide the surprise he knew shone on his face. He’d expected her to drop her skirts and run. She hadn’t.

Her eyes flirted with his and before she could renege, he closed the distance between them and completely bared his cock. He ached so badly he knew he’d explode as soon as she touched him, much less—

“Diah! That’s…ach, that’s good.” Warm, moist lips rained tentative kisses up and down his shaft. He squeezed it at the base, stretching the skin taut as she began to lave him.

The fingers of his other hand trembled violently as he reached to caress her cheek. “In yer mouth.” He gasped the words, unable to form a coherent request. “Oh—”

Slipping the head of his cock into a woman’s cunny was one of, if not the most pleasurable things he’d ever experienced in life but there was something sinfully exquisite about the hot wetness of a woman’s mouth. The sucking. The licking. Ach, the biting.

“Careful,” he cautioned.

A low, rumbling giggle came from her throat that sent an effervescent vibration through his cock and straight to his bollocks. His insides clenched and he braced himself against the wall with one hand.

She took him in, curling her fingers around to encompass his entire length. He rocked gently, slowly, giving her time to accommodate him. With her eyes closed and her mouth full of his cock, she looked more like an angel than the diabhal he knew her to be.

The knowledge she would accept his offer inundated him. Clenching his teeth, he grasped for control. Even though he’d laid down the rules—and whether she knew it or not—Georgiana Talbot would be the one in control. Of her pleasure. Of his. Of everything.

He knew enough about her now. Her taste. Her sighs. The feel of her body writhing restlessly against him. Aye, he knew her. Well enough to know she’d intoxicated him.

While he’d fooled himself into thinking he could dominate her, he knew he was a man with needs too.

Right now, he needed release. Pure, sexual, physical, erotic release.

Her tongue slithered down the underside of the cock and then back up to tease around the head. His knees went weak. “Aye, suck me. Squeeze me and suck me.”

She complied. Oh, how she complied.

His chin dropped to his chest and he tried in vain to keep his eyes open, to watch her engulf his swollen flesh between her rosy lips. He couldn’t. His eyes squeezed shut and all his concentration shot straight to the eruption building in his groin.

He considered—very briefly—that she might be revolted if he ejaculated in her mouth but a darker side of him wanted her to know the myriad misdeeds he planned for her. And with a husky moan that echoed off the stone walls, he exploded, pulsing seed into her mouth as the sensations overpowered him. Devastated him.

But she would never know that.

Far too much danger lurked in allowing a woman to realize the command she possessed merely by enthusiastically giving and taking pleasure.

Looking both smug and wickedly mischievous, she released him and wet her lips with her tongue. At once, Blane withdrew one of his new handkerchiefs and dabbed at the corner of her mouth where one pearlescent drop of cream evidenced what she’d just done. But when her eyes found his, a shard of vulnerability flared in him.

He twisted away and did up his fall.

She delicately cleared her throat. “I accept your offer,” she told him as if she were negotiating a business contract. “Most willingly.”

* * * * *

No one had pried too much about where they’d gone when they finally rejoined the picnic, although Griffin had glared hatefully. Georgiana had asked Blane a dozen times if she looked as if she’d been engaged in anything untoward. And although he’d reassured her that she did not, she felt everyone at the picnic could tell what she’d just done.

Oddly, she harbored no shame about it. On the contrary, she looked forward to traveling to Loch Dungeon and she darkly hoped he would make good on his threat to strip her bare and leave no place on her body untouched.

While Lady Comptom conversed with each of her guests, Georgiana contemplated how she could possibly manage to be away from her duties at the shop and the magazine for a month. Clinton could handle the shop. She had complete faith in his abilities.

She could prepare an article for the magazine easily enough by covering the dresses of the debutantes who’d recently come out.

“Wherever is Lord Lockerbie?” Lady Compton asked as she approached the picnic blanket on which Georgiana sat.

He’d gone to take a piss in the woods, of that Georgiana was certain, but she couldn’t express that unseemly fact to Lady Compton.

Georgiana didn’t have to.

“Mary Queen of Scots!” a voice roared from the wood’s edge.

Blane’s voice.

“Ach! Back, beastie! Ouch!” came another blast of vitriol followed by the sound of a ruckus in the brush and the unmistakable honking of a very angry swan.

Every head turned in the direction of the commotion just in time to witness Blane high-stepping through the bushes. In hot pursuit came the ill-tempered swan he’d taunted on the lake.

Wings outstretched and neck lowered, the hissing swan lunged, nipping Blane on the backs of his legs and buttocks. But when Blane glanced behind, he ran headlong into a low branch and dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Victorious, the swan raised its enormous wings, flapped and honked, then hissed long and low one more time before sauntering triumphantly back into the brush.

“Oh dear!” Lady Compton exclaimed.

Georgiana bolted to her feet and raced across the grounds to Blane. His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he stared, dazed. Already an ugly purple bruise knotted on his forehead.

“Are you all right?” she asked, kneeling and brushing his hair back.

“Ach!” He winced and tried to sit.

“Oh my,” Georgiana whispered. “Your fall is undone.”

Despite being recently rendered unconscious, he deftly worked the buttons back together as Georgiana reached in his pocket to retrieve the handkerchief yet again. She touched it gently to his forehead and, upon the realization that nothing more was amiss, she burst into laughter.

“What do ye find so damned funny?” he inquired tersely.

“What did you do to make such an enemy of that majestic bird?”

“Majestic? He’s the very devil!” He glanced back as if the creature might still be stalking him. And then, he too had to smile. “I must have accidentally pissed in its nest.”

Georgiana stood and then reached out a hand to help Blane. He came gingerly to his feet and they both went about brushing the leaves and twigs off his clothes.

He cautiously touched his wound and grimaced. “That beastie best no’ come back or we’ll be eating swan for supper.”

Georgiana laughed again. “My wager is on the swan’s behalf.”

* * * * *

Blane tilted his aching head back and stared at the threadbare ceiling of his coach. Earlier events played through his thoughts. Georgiana swathed in a puddle of lemon and white striped silk in the rowboat. Georgiana backed against the wall in the gristmill, her skirts rucked up around her hips so that she looked like a licentious milkmaid.

He closed his eyes.

Georgiana on her knees with a mouthful of cock. His cock.

Blane’s stomach twisted in fond remembrance. He stretched out one leg to accommodate his burgeoning arousal. Even after committing the most intimate of acts, she still desired to become his lover. He’d be a fool not to agree. And yet, he had the sinking sensation that he was a fool for agreeing.

Lovers were to be plucked from bored married women or widows or willing servant girls. Not highborn women. Not willful, stubborn, intelligent women like Georgiana. Any gentleman would have refused her, would have protected her virtue. Not Blane.

He rubbed his face with both hands. “Selfish arse,” he called himself aloud. And now he’d made some insane agreement to take her back to Scotland. To his home!

The image that rose in his mind, of Georgiana trussed up in her silks and ribbons, wandering through his castle at Loch Dungeon, caused mixed emotions to spiral out of control. He couldn’t define his feelings beyond the initial lust of sinking his cock into her sweet depths.

He’d desired women before. He’d bedded women before. But he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Georgiana Talbot, and the thought both excited and terrified him.

She hadn’t batted an eyelash when he’d threatened her with the most taboo delights and even though she remained unschooled in the ways of sexual intimacy, Blane did not doubt she was a woman who knew what she wanted and didn’t mind asking for it.

Once the pesky matter of her virginity was out of the way, he strongly suspected she would come alive with him as no other woman ever had.

He brushed his hand over his arousal. He’d known women who had enjoyed being bound, blindfolded, bitten, pinched, flogged and fucked senseless, and while he’d never needed to inflict such tempestuous tortures on a woman, he’d always been ready to comply with whatever his lovers had desired.

This time it was different. This time he needed to dominate, to command—to possess.

He sighed and stared at the dusk-draped countryside rolling past. “Then what?” he asked. “Then what?”

Chapter Six

Dismal.

Her initial assessment had been correct.

Georgiana fell back against the squabs in the Lockerbie coach Blane had sent for her. She stared out the window at the never-ending expanse of boggy moorland. For miles, she’d seen nothing but desolate lochs and boulders. The terribly rutted roads traveled through rather than over the moors and Georgiana feared if the coach ran off the road, they’d disappear in the bog, never to be found again.

Most of the journey had been fraught with heavy showers, rendering Georgiana too unnerved to catch a nap and the interior of the coach too dark to read. The foreboding weather echoed her own trepidation about leaving London during the height of the season to play out some lewd deal with a man she hardly knew.

Throughout most of the trip, she’d been accompanied by an ancient relative of Blane’s who spoke only the same Scottish brogue Blane used when flustered. Her chaperone had been a ruse, of course, and the little lady had been ceremoniously deposited at the last village through which they’d rolled.

Blane had traveled ahead in order to prepare for her.

Prepare what, exactly?

Georgiana twisted her hands together in dark anticipation.

Thunder boomed louder than the rumbling of the wheels on the marshy road and Gaelic shouts of the driver urging the horses onward drifted above the din of wild weather.

Her stomach knotted. By her calculations, they should be arriving soon. But she had no idea what to expect. Would his home be filled with family eager to meet her or would she find herself alone with him in a vast, cold castle?

Would he make good on the lurid promises he’d made that day in the gristmill? She’d dreamed of it. She’d dreamed of being naked, of being touched and talked to in the most scandalous fashion.

Was she a fallen woman to be running headlong into sin? Or was she simply a woman with a woman’s needs? She breathed in the earthy scent of the mossy moors and the interior of the coach that smelled like Blane and well-worn leather. Like rain.

She’d entered a different world when she’d crossed the border into Scotland. A wild, untamed world full of deep, dark promise that had a hold on her as spellbinding as a Siren’s call. She couldn’t shake off its grip. She didn’t want to. And whatever sin she faced with Blane, above all, she greatly anticipated touring his textile mills.

The coach made a turn and Georgiana leaned to peer out the window. Tall stone pillars loomed in the misting rain. They were turning into the entrance of the Lockerbie lands. A pervading gray pall hanging over the moors prevented her from seeing his home or even the loch he’d told her snaked through the valley below.

Her pulse accelerated as the coach began to climb. Lightning struck and she jolted. The hairs on her arms and on the back of her neck stood on end with the energy. In the Scottish hills, she felt so much closer to the elements than in London.

The horses finally slowed to a halt and Georgiana peered out the window. A lightning-quick footman suddenly blocked her view—not that she would have been able to see much. The rain had started coming down in droves.

Other footmen rushed forward, bearing broad sheaves of oilcloth meant to protect her from the weather. The door opened. Capable hands swept her out and everyone made a mad dash up a set of stone steps and then through a door.

Georgiana didn’t draw a breath until she found herself dripping and standing in front of the laird himself. Blane MacLaren. Despite the chill and the damp, heat flourished from her insides out. She hadn’t forgotten how big…and skillful he looked.

And how Scottish.

His black hair hung loose, the curling ends just touching his shoulders. Gone were all the fine clothes she’d fashioned for him with the exception of the shirt. In their place, he wore a kilt made from a tartan of midnight blue and black. The buckles on his low-heeled shoes gleamed in the light of the torches illuminating the great foyer. Blue garters held up stockings that outlined every muscled curve of his thick calves. Her gaze lingered on his bare knees.

“I trust yer journey was pleasant enough,” he said, his voice rough.

“Yes,” she replied, taking in the burnished buttons adorning his black waistcoat. A shard of guilt stabbed her for dressing him like an English dandy. He seemed so comfortable in these clothes. It was as if the clothes echoed his personality instead of him taking on the persona of a Scottish lord merely because he wore a kilt.

Although he was dressed impeccably—for a Scot—something roughhewn and untamed lurked beneath his gentlemanly exterior.

His erotic threat replayed in her head. I’ll undress ye and keep ye naked. I’ll fuck ye ’til yer raw between the legs, leannan. And when ye can stand it in yer cunny no longer, I’ll turn ye over and bugger yer pretty, wee arse.

She blinked, forcing herself to remain present.

He appraised her. “Are ye tired?”

“No. I rested well at the inn last night,” she lied. She hadn’t slept a wink but had lain awake, sore and aching with need. Take me now, Blane.

A slight smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. “Well then, would ye care to join me for a glass of wine?”

Some of the tension melted out of her. “That would be delightful.”

He directed the footmen as to where to put her trunk, ordered a nearby maid to draw her bath and then offered his arm.

Touching him, even through the soft linen of his shirt, ignited flames in her belly. And when he covered her hand with his, the heat from his possessive caress permeated her kid gloves.

She wanted to feel his skin on hers, his body on hers from head to toe. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus on polite conversation. “Do you have family here?”

“No one is here. With the exception of a skeleton staff, we are alone.” His black velvet voice washed over her like a warm breeze.

She quivered.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as he moved away from her to fill two glasses with red wine.

“No. Thank you.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I assume ye wouldna have come here if ye didna intend to go through with our bargain.”

“That’s correct,” she managed to utter despite her nerves.

He handed her one of the glasses. “So, ye are certain ye want this?”

She nodded and took a large gulp of wine, hoping for a bit of liquid fortitude.

“Would ye be willing to sign a document declaring that yer only intention is to be my lover?” he asked pointedly.

Something inside her turned over. Hard. But why? “Or course I would be willing to sign it,” she blurted quickly. “In fact, I intended to suggest it. When Elizabeth and Griffin are married, I want there to be nothing tying us together except our business deal regarding the linen.”

He chuckled. “Do ye really think ye can be done with me?”

She forced a laugh. “I hope you have the skills to back up your keen tongue.”

“Aye, ye’d know all about my keen tongue,” he drawled.

Her channel clenched. God, he was driving her mad. She turned up the glass and swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Why don’t we get started right now? There’s no use in delaying the inevitable.”

“I agree,” he said. “After ye sign the document.”

* * * * *

As soon as she’d finished her bath and the servant left the room, a door between her room and Blane’s opened.

Georgiana’s breath caught at the sight of him. Clad in nothing but a royal blue, silk banyan detailed with silver embroidery, he was, in a word, magnificent. Silently, he motioned for her to join him in his room.

Heart hammering, she lifted the frilly hem of her own robe and walked toward him. She’d gone too far to turn back now. Even if she could, she knew she wouldn’t. She wanted this in a desperate way that shook her to the core.

As she neared him, her blood thickened. Her pulse seemed to thud with each heartbeat. Every inch of her body tingled with anticipation. And when he reached out and caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers, an involuntary moan escaped her lips.

His gaze drifted down her body, awakening her nipples, her skin, her thighs and the needy flesh between them.

“Although ’tis not the most pleasurable of acts, a woman should remember losing her virginity fondly,” he whispered. His fingers brushed down her bare throat and over one diamond-hard nipple. “I willna hurt ye beyond taking yer maidenhead.”

All she could do was nod.

His finger caught her under the chin and he tilted it until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “But tomorrow, if ye still want to go through with this, ye become mine to do with as I please.”

Once more, his hand skimmed down her body until his fingers flirted with hers. “I’ve never known the cat to get yer tongue before,” he said, taking her hand.

“It’s true. I’m apprehensive.” Her feet felt heavy. She moved with him toward the big tester-canopied bed that dominated the center of the room, barely casting a glance at the sumptuous oversized furnishings, the thick Turkish rugs and time-worn tapestries adorning the stone walls.

In moments, she would lose her virginity in this room. Despite their contract protecting them both from the bonds of unwanted matrimony, this act would bind her to this man for the rest of her life.

When they reached the bed, he slipped off his robe and let if fall to the floor. Georgiana gasped as she drank in the glorious sight of him. She’d seen him half-clothed the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him. But never like this. Then, his hair hadn’t been loose. Passion hadn’t emanated from his dark eyes. And he certainly hadn’t possessed that gargantuan, stiff cock.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of it. How would it ever fit inside her? The other things they’d done together had given her tremendous pleasure. But how could she possibly take that…thing?

Everything about him dwarfed her. His legs looked to be the size of tree trunks. Muscles bulged in his thighs and arms. They rippled on his chest and stomach.

She sucked in a breath when he reached out and tugged the ribbon holding the front of her robe together. He pulled it slowly, sensuously, and then he fingered the tie open and pushed the robe off her shoulders. A chill swept over her as the fabric slithered to the floor.

His eyes darkened even more as he appraised her nude body.

“Ye are a bonny woman, Georgiana.” The way he continued to look at her confirmed his statement. “Get on the bed.”

Trembling, she climbed onto the bed and stretched out on her back. How would it happen? Would he continue to be tender? Or would he get revenge on her for all the hateful things she’d said to him?

“If ever ye want or need me to stop, ye need only utter the word ‘Griffin’. I think that should do the trick,” Blane said with a half-grin that made Georgiana giggle.

“I don’t think you’ll be hearing that word from me tonight,” she said. Confidence flared and unfurled like a warm breeze through her limbs. Intuitively she knew she could trust this man with her body. To be honest, she wouldn’t have come here otherwise.

Blane joined her on the bed, sitting to caress her thigh.

“Will you show me how to please you?” Georgiana asked.

“Tonight, ’tis is all for ye alone.” His blatantly sexual tone made her believe it. Accept it.

“I’ll no’ get a child on ye if I can help it.”

Dear Lord. Another thing to consider! “Please. No more words,” she said. “I trust you.”

His gaze found hers and held. For several seconds, he looked as if he might say something else but then he moved over and covered her mouth with his own. Her arms wound around his shoulders. Her legs flew open to accommodate him. When his tongue swept into her mouth, she opened for him, returning his kiss with a passion all her own.

She dug her hands into the thick, coarse hair at his nape and arched, struggling to get closer. Crazy need consumed her, obliterating any fear of pain.

One of his hands cradled her head. The other traveled roughly down her body, stopping to torment one breast, to squeeze the soft flesh on the back of her thigh and then between them. She jerked when his fingers explored her folds and yet his touch readied her, stoking the already out of control wildfire of need blazing inside her.

He dragged his lips from hers. “Tell me ye want me inside ye.”

“I do.” This was no time to talk. She wanted to feel. She wanted to concentrate on that one finger winding its way slowly through every moist crevice she possessed. More. There had to be more. Culmination. Fruition.

“Say the words,” he commanded.

“I want you inside me, Blane.” It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

The muscles in his neck worked as he swallowed. His fingers left her only to guide the head of his cock to her entrance. “Donna tense. I promise ye, ’twill only hurt for a second.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Ready.

“Open yer eyes.”

“No.”

“Open them,” he said, giving the bed a shake. “I want ye to see my face when I claim ye. I want ye to remember this moment and me.”

Reluctantly she opened her eyes and the moment she did, he clenched his teeth and pierced her maidenhead.

A startled cry tore from her throat at the quick, stinging pain that was already subsiding. Still, involuntary tears welled in her eyes and trickled downward into her hair. A violent shudder shook through Blane. His lips parted and he hissed a hot breath.

He bent over her and kissed the trail of her tears. “I canna be still, leannan. Tell me I can move. Tell me I can fill ye.”

She whimpered. She’d never felt so complete. So connected. Adjusting to the sensation rendered her incapable of coherent thought.

“Please, Georgiana,” he begged, his voice tortured.

“Yes,” she said, her voice but a harsh breath.

He pushed himself up far enough to watch her again and he began to gently move in and out. The sensation of that thick column of flesh sliding through her sheath, farther and farther, left her quaking and on the verge of something spectacular. It filled her. It stretched her until she found herself rocking upward to meet his body.

She let her hands move down over his arms and back. Lower still. His muscles tensed and rippled, revealing what she suspected—he restrained himself to keep from hurting or frightening her. Dangerous affection for him engulfed her and she strained to sort the differences between lust and infatuation and pure physical pleasure.

Even his breathing evidenced the self-control he exercised. Rough. Ragged. Flagrantly sexual. And his eyes…

Still holding his heated gaze, she watched him, wishing he would kiss her, hoping he would release this too intimate hold on her. But he was right. With her eyes closed, she would have slipped into fantasy. Her focus would have disappeared to the place where their bodies connected and she would have thought of nothing else but her own physical response.

This way, he drew her out. He exposed her. And while she didn’t know a great deal about sexual matters, she knew this was different, that this was not the quiet, quick row under the sheets most women complained of when they thought Georgiana wasn’t paying attention.

He thumbed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “How does it feel to ye?”

She nodded.

“Tell me. In words.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Different. Big.”

At that, a diabolical little grin toyed with his lips. “Keep going. I’ve read yer column. I know ye know more words than that.”

Smiling, she inhaled. “It feels…good.”

He pushed completely into her and ground his hips. “Just…good?”

Mind-numbing surges of pleasure swirled around her pulsing clitoris. Her breathing hitched. “I can’t think,” she uttered breathlessly.

“Can ye no’?” A low laugh rumbled up out of his chest. “Wrap yer legs around mine.”

She hooked her calves around the backs of his knees, opening herself for an even more intense assault. His head lowered and his lips nipped at her earlobe. “Tell me that’s just good.”

“You’re the devil.”

The vibrations from his whisper-soft chuckle tickled her ear. He kissed his way along her neck until she rose beneath him. Oh yes, that’s the spot.

“And that?” he inquired huskily. “Still just good?”

“No.” Her voice rose an octave. “I can’t think, Blane. I can’t put it into words.”

His thumb and forefinger found her nipple and he tugged, eliciting a moan from her.

“I can feel yer cunny growing wetter and wetter.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, needing to close. “Please…” she begged.

“Please what?”

“I don’t know,” she cried.

He kissed her so tenderly that it caused fresh tears to well in her eyes. How could such a giant of a man be so gentle? And yet something lurked just beneath his warm exterior that told her after tonight, she would see another side of him.

That side excited her more than she cared to admit to herself.

“Hush, leannan,” he cooed. “Reach between us. Touch yerself.”

Any other time, she would have balked at performing so indecent an act in the presence of someone else. Not now.

She plunged her hand between their bodies and found her aching pearl. Lightning bolts of pleasure radiated from that one spot. Her back arched. Her eyes closed and this time, he didn’t stop her. Instead, he continued his slow, purposeful thrusts, creating a rhythm that worked in perfect tandem with her circling fingers.

She writhed beneath him in poised ecstasy. Just there. Almost there. It was too much. His cock in the tight grip of her virgin cunny. Her fingers kneading the swollen hillock that unlocked the secret to her pleasure. His heavy body gliding restlessly over hers. Skin on skin. His harsh breathing. Hers.

And then it happened. So hard and fast that Georgiana thought she was dying. She let out a stifled moan.

“That’s it, mo ghraidh,” he encouraged. “Aye. Diah, aye.”

He let loose with a longer string of Gaelic that only enhanced Georgiana’s desire. She arched into deeper penetration, savoring the intense spasms racking her body and the slow, slick slide of his cock through the tender tissue within her. Her inner muscles gripped and squeezed.

And when she summoned the wherewithal to open her eyes, she stared, stunned, as his own face contorted into one of a man possessed with pure passion. His forehead furrowed. A muscle in his jaw tightened. A moaning cry fell from his lips and he suddenly withdrew from her and gave himself ease with his hand. Hot seed puddled on her stomach and she thought she heard him mutter her name before he collapsed on the bed beside her.

His eyes opened and he gazed at her with such intent it made her want—no, need—to look away. “Did I hurt ye?” he asked. His calloused hand slid up her side, calming the tremors rushing through her.

She shook her head.

“Let me hold ye.” But even as he spoke, he gathered her into an embrace and then threw a fur blanket over her naked flesh.

Georgiana tried to think, to consider the gravity of what she’d just done, but she couldn’t. Myriad physical sensations flowed in her veins and limbs and all she could do was feel.

For the first time in her life, all her responsibilities, her work, her hopes and fears for her sisters, faded away until there was only this moment and this man and the sense of safety she felt in his arms.

* * * * *

Without words, Blane awakened Georgiana and took her twice more during the night, each time waiting until she’d attained satisfaction before finding his own release. He’d known he’d find bliss in her body but he hadn’t expected this. Nothing sated him. Each time he claimed her, he wanted her more and more.

When he’d been inside her, she’d looked at him with a vulnerability and need that surprised him. Her hard, cool exterior was nothing more than a well-played ruse. He threaded his fingers into the soft hair at her temple while she slept with her head on his shoulder.

Everything about this was dangerous. He’d known it at the beginning but he had not been able to refuse her. He doubted he’d ever be able to refuse her.

Anything.

His only hope lay in the fact that she might change her mind about going through with the rest of her month as his love slave. But the way she readily spread for him that last time told him to give up on those hopes. If he ever thought she was the diabhal before, he’d certainly awakened one now.

Chapter Seven

“Might I have a word with ye, milord?” a demure young woman asked Blane.

The girl was pretty, fresh-faced in a country sort of way with a smattering of freckles and with auburn tendrils escaping her kerchief. Georgiana tried to tamp down the ugly sense of possessiveness roiling up in her. After what had passed between Lockerbie and her the night before, she couldn’t help but wonder how many other women he’d brought to such heights of passion.

Georgiana didn’t like her reaction. Not one bit.

Blane had turned instantly sympathetic. “Aye, of course ye might,” he replied and then turned to Georgiana. “If ye will excuse me?”

“Certainly,” Georgiana said.

He stepped out of earshot with the woman who was obviously employed in his mill.

Georgiana turned her attention to the other female mill workers as they went about making Lockerbie’s fine linen. She’d visited several mills in her career as a modiste but none of them ran as smoothly as this one. And none of the others employed workers as devoted to their benefactor.

From the moment they’d entered the barns where men broke, scutched and ran the flax over hackling until it looked as silky as a horse’s tail, it was clear the visit had been an impromptu one. Inside the small factory, women worked diligently at spinning wheels and weaving looms. Even given the surprise, the workers had beamed at the sight of Lockerbie. The ones who’d heard of Georgiana fawned over her and entreated her to buy Lockerbie’s linens.

But there was something different about the woman with whom Blane spoke now. A neediness. Her hand rested over her belly and Georgiana could tell the girl was in the early stages of pregnancy.

Blane gave the woman’s arm a reassuring, familiar squeeze and then he handed her one of his own handkerchiefs to wipe away her tears. Something ugly twisted inside Georgiana.

Dear Lord in heaven. I’m jealous of a country maid! The realization perturbed Georgiana. But wasn’t her reaction only normal given the circumstances?

Blane had made good on his promise to leave her raw.

Deliciously raw. He’d taken her again and again in the night and then once more when they’d awakened. Georgiana’s blood ignited at the memory.

Blane turned and started toward her and her heart literally skipped a beat. This was silly. Her reaction to him was insane. Initially, she’d found his broad shoulders and that chiseled jaw boorish. Coarse. That’d been her exact word.

Now, however, she thought him dangerously handsome. Her gaze lingered on his lips—the very lips that had ensured she was indeed wet enough to take him that third time. And then, drifting down to where the tips of his fingers emerged from his lace cuffs…

One of those long, talented fingers had explored her, sparking sensations in her unlike anything she’d ever before felt.

The hem of his kilt flirted with his bare knees as he strode purposefully toward her. Now that she knew what lurked beneath the splendidly woven fabric, she could scarcely think of anything else.

A wave of heat rushed up her spine and settled in her cheeks. Anyone who paid close attention would know he’d had her. Their looks were too knowing. Too intimate. Gaze darting, she whipped open her fan and used it as a shield. Just as she suspected. Everyone was watching or sneaking glimpses out of the corners of their eyes.

Lockerbie laughed. “Ye think everyone knows,” he said so low that only she could hear over the din of the looms.

“It was a mistake coming here.” She practically hissed the words at him.

His face darkened. “To the mill?”

“No. Here. To Scotland.” She was shaking and didn’t really know why. She whipped her fan shut and clenched her fists.

A slow, wicked smile played on his lips. “Aye. Just as I suspected.”

Why did he have to be so damn infuriating? “What do you mean?”

“I mean that nothing ye do surprises me.”

Georgiana considered herself a lot of things. Predictable was not one of them. Anger blazed.

His gaze slid down her body and back up again, setting fire to all the places he’d touched and kissed the night before. She resisted the impulse to put more physical distance between them.

“I don’t think I failed to satisfy ye,” he continued.

Torrid heat flamed in her cheeks. She drew in a sharp breath. Her gaze swept the room again and locked momentarily with a woman bearing a gap-toothed but flagrant grin. “This is not the place to discuss…that.”

He started walking.

Panic welled and Georgiana started after him. “Where are you going?”

“To the coach.”

She rushed to keep up with his quick pace and was breathless by the time they reached the waiting coach.

He waved the footman away and instead, helped Georgiana inside himself before climbing in after her. As soon as the door closed behind them, the coach lurched forward.

Blane stared—or rather, leered.

Georgiana struggled to stay angry, to force away the indecent desires snaking through her loins.

“Now do ye really wish to go back to London?” he asked, spreading his legs and rubbing his hand over his hardening arousal. “Or do ye want to get started on the deal—I might remind ye—that ye arranged?”

Her eyes riveted to his crotch as he began to hitch up his kilt. Here? Now? Georgiana’s mouth went dry.

He freed his cock and stroked it up and down. Slowly. Temptingly. “Because if ye wish to stay, leannan, then ye can get on yer knees and take me in yer mouth.”

She debated telling him just what he could do with that cock of his. But oh, it looked so wonderfully delicious that she was on her knees between his legs before she could stop herself.

His smug laugh riled her but she engulfed him anyway. He hadn’t offered to let her do this last night. No. Last night had been all about pleasing her. Perhaps he didn’t know her desire to please him rivaled her need for personal fulfillment.

She licked him hungrily, working the glove off her right hand so she could feel his velvety-skinned length in her palm. He groaned, inciting her to take more of him. She sucked and stroked him with her tongue, intent on finishing him before the end of the short journey back to his manor.

Blane’s clean, spicy taste filled her mouth. She loved the taste of him, the feel of him stretching her mouth. His fingers worked into the hair at her nape and he anchored her head, holding her still while he thrust into her with deep, measured strokes. The sudden sense of powerlessness and not having control thrilled Georgiana in a way that frightened her. His movements were forceful enough to dominate her without hurting. Something intoxicating took over, transforming her into a wanton stranger she did not know.

“Ye torment me,” he said, his voice raspy. Sexual. “Diah…”

His legs tensed. His fingers tightened their grip. Georgiana knew he teetered on the brink. She squeezed him at the base and sucked at the head. Instantly he cried out as his seed spilled into her mouth.

Knowing the ecstasy he felt at her touch caused her clitoris to throb with desperate need. Her multitude of skirts prevented her from touching herself but surely, surely he would appease her before the journey ended.

As soon as he released her, she slid back against the squabs and raised her skirts. “Please, Blane…”

But just as the air cooled her bare thighs and her lust-dampened cunny, the coach heaved to a halt. She barely got her skirt back over her knees before a footman swung open the door.

When the footman offered his hand, she realized she’d lost her glove. Blane casually picked it up off the floor of the coach and handed it to her. Cheeks burning, she slipped it back on and then alighted from the coach.

Blane laughed as he climbed down beside her.

“Cook’s been asking for ye, my lord,” the footman said.

“Good,” Blane replied. “I’m famished.”

Famished? You bastard. Georgiana wanted to kick him. Hard. How could they possibly sit down to eat when she was dying to be sated?

He took her elbow as they stepped through the threshold. “I hate you,” she whispered hotly as she walked past him and into the dining room.

Blane’s raucous laugh echoed in the hall behind her.

* * * * *

“Finally,” Georgiana muttered aloud as she slipped on her dressing gown.

“Miss?” the servant asked, gathering the damp drying cloth she’d used to blot the bath water from Georgiana’s skin.

“I’m sorry. I was merely musing aloud,” Georgiana said. Her nerves were as taut as a cat’s. Since they’d returned from the mill, Blane had used every excuse available to him to keep from spending time alone with her. He’d done it purposefully. Teasing her.

She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. He’d left her aching with desire but had not given her one moment alone so she could find pleasure on her own. Mirth had danced in his eyes as if he’d known what torture his denial meted out to her.

No sooner had the servant quit the room than the door between Georgiana’s chamber and Blane’s opened.

“Leave yer dressing gown behind. Ye won’t be needing it.”

Delicious tingles swept up and down Georgiana’s skin as she gladly let her robe slither down her arms and fall in a silken puddle to the floor.

Clad in the same banyan he’d worn the night before, Blane stood against the doorframe as, naked, Georgiana sailed past him into his room. Her heart pounded. Her stomach grew taut with anticipation.

“Look at ye,” he drawled. “Like an eager milkmaid, ready for the taking.”

“I don’t care what you say, just—” But her voice stopped short when she saw the array of objects that had been carefully arranged on his bed.

She gaped at the largest—a wooden replica of a phallus every bit as large as Blane’s. The woodworker had even fashioned part of a scrotum, which appeared to serve as a handle. “If you think you’re putting that thing inside me instead of—”

“Not I, lass.” Blane crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye can use it on yerself.”

Georgiana’s lips parted in shock. “I-I won’t have to do such a thing. Not with you here to service me.”

He broke into a laugh. “Service? Is that what I am to ye? A stud horse?”

“I hadn’t intended for it to come out like that but—”

“But what? Aye, service me now, stud horse? Is that the way of it?”

“Blane…” He was wrong. It was he who tormented her. Not the other way around. Her hard nipples ached to be touched and kissed and pinched.

“Do it for me now,” he instructed.

“Do what?” But she knew very well what.

“Fuck yerself with yer new toy.” No smile appeared. No teasing light shone in his eyes. He was serious.

Feeling the blood drain from her cheeks, she pointed at the wooden phallus. “You want me to put that…thing…inside me?”

“That thing is called a dildo and the price for one that well made is quite dear.”

“I don’t care what it’s called or what it cost you. I’m not putting an inanimate object in my…my…” Her voice trailed off.

“In yer what, Georgiana?” he asked. “Say the word.”

She swallowed. What was this crazy desire rising in her that made her want to utter unladylike words and perform unspeakable acts in front of this man? Worse, a dark realization lurked that she wanted him to make her do it.

“C-cunny,” she whispered.

“Cunny,” he echoed. “Ye say ye donna intend to marry. Well if that’s true—and from everything I’ve seen, I believe it is—then ye need to know how to pleasure yerself. There’s far too much fire in ye to go…wanting.”

He came closer, advancing on her like a beast to its quarry. “I know ye burned to be fucked today. I saw it in yer eyes. Ye were like a caged beast. Hungry. Restless.”

She trembled.

He peered into her eyes. “Get on the bed.”

Wordlessly, she climbed onto the bed.

At that, he smiled. “There’s a jar of salve for ye—not that ye will need it.” Yes. He was right. Her quim had been damp all day.

Still, she opened the lid of the greasy substance and took up the phallus. She gave it a dubious look and then cut her gaze at Blane. “I’d much prefer you to do this.”

“Any more argument from ye and I’ll spank yer arse.”

“I’ve never been spanked. Not even when I was a child,” she retorted haughtily.

“Then ye might enjoy a good thrashing.” His attention diverted to the bed where a leather strap lay.

Georgiana gaped. “You wouldn’t!”

“I most certainly would.” He grinned. “Now slather up yer plaything. I want to watch ye fuck yerself with it.”

Shaking, she coated the head of the dildo with the substance. The artisan had been very thorough in the carving, even creating a lifelike head and a bulging vein running down the underside.

“Lie back,” he told her.

Her gaze darted from the dildo to his and then back again. “You do it. You use it on me.”

His eyes widened and then he lunged at her and snatched her wrist. “That’s it!” The dildo tumbled to the bed as he hauled her off, twisted her around and bent her over the side. One hand strategically placed between her shoulder blades pinned her down and he wielded the strap with the other.

Georgiana struggled, kicking and thrashing with her legs and arms but to no avail. “Let me up! Let me go! Blane!”

“Ye unappreciative—” The rest of his string of insults devolved into unintelligible Gaelic but when the first blow fell, both of them went utterly silent.

Blazing heat radiated through Georgiana’s backside. At first she stood, stunned. Outraged. But as the warmth spread through her cheeks, down her thighs and between her legs, a new emotion surged. She let out a helpless whimper.

“Again?” he asked, his voice rough.

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. What on earth was she thinking?

Another sound swat popped the soft flesh of her bottom. Everything inside her seemed as if it were drawing outward, as if she forcibly was being made to feel. Sweet Lord. She gulped and then spread her legs, bracing them. “Again,” she squeaked.

She’d always imagined spankings to be humiliating ordeals. Punishments. This proved to be anything but degrading. Although the initial smack smarted, the waves of warmth left in the wake aroused her beyond anything she’d known thus far.

The strap found its mark again. Drunk with desire, Georgiana blinked. She nearly swooned with expectancy. Her clitoris pulsated. Every muscle in her back, as in her buttocks, tightened. A hiss escaped her clenched teeth. “Don’t stop,” she muttered.

“Are ye certain?”

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded.

“Griffin,” Blane said tersely. “Remember the word.”

One blow after another fell. The left cheek. The right. Both. The backs of her thighs. And occasionally, the tip of the strap lapped at the eager flesh between, causing Georgiana to lift up on her tiptoes in hopes of more attention there. He waited in between each blow for her body to absorb the pain. Shivers of sweet agony spread like wildfire through her bottom and when they subsided, a gratifying ebb tide of bliss took their place until the next pain-promising blow.

“Your arse is rose-red,” Blane said breathlessly.

She inhaled deeply, enjoying the fiery heat, reveling in the intoxicating intensity. Her channel pulsed and clenched, awaiting invasion.

“Will ye use the dildo now?” His velvety voice brought her out of her stupor.

She looked over her shoulder, pinning him with a stare. “I think I’ve earned the privilege to have you fuck me with it. Don’t you?”

He seized the dildo and plunged it up her quim with unthinking force.

“Oh!” Georgiana cried as she adjusted to the delightful sensation of being claimed in this position. “Oh yes…”

With one palm still planted on her spine, he worked the dildo in and out with inhuman speed. Short, quick thrusts that hit her in spots that rendered her knees weak and left her on the crest of a powerful orgasm. She clutched at the bedclothes and scrabbled on the rug for a toehold. Sensuous moans echoed in the room and she realized they came from her. His rhythm changed and she spread impossibly farther as he slid the wooden cock all the way inside and then all the way out of her tender flesh.

“Do ye have any idea how beautiful ye are with yer arse ruby-red and yer cunny lips blooming for this cock?”

She bit the coverlet and groaned. Almost there. Oh, God in heaven, don’t stop what you’re doing, Blane.

The hand that had been pinning her down, slid around her hip and dipped until his fingertips discovered her clitoris. She bucked as lightning spiraled around the hungry bud. He thrust the cock all the way in and pushed hard, grinding it against her flesh. His fingers captured her and stroked with perfect pressure and Georgiana dissolved.

Her head and shoulders lifted as every muscle in her body tightened to the breaking point. Ecstasy wound through her from her scalp down to her toes, emanating from where her channel pulsed around the hard, thick dildo.

But before her pleasure subsided, Blane removed the toy, positioned himself behind her and drove his own arousal inside. Renewed tremors shook her to the core, prolonging her bliss, stretching it out into a long, winding ribbon of pure rapture that both anchored her in this place and time and sent her reeling into some unknown abyss.

“Georgiana…” She heard him muttering her name as if from far away. And then he withdrew and hot liquid pooled on her back.

He sagged over her, wrapping his arms around her, breathing heavily into her hair. A big hand cupped her breast and squeezed possessively. Lips brushed her ear. “Be still and I’ll clean ye off.” Moments later, a cool, damp cloth washed his essence away from the dip of her back.

He raked the toys off the bed and then she sighed as he lifted her onto the mattress and drew the covers over her naked body. Never in her life had she experienced such physical wonder. He moved in beside her and enveloped her in an embrace that stole her breath. She’d never relied on another. Not like this. She’d never allowed herself to relax, to simply be. Since her father’s death, she’d shouldered all the responsibility for her family.

Her throat constricted and surprise struck at how very close she was to tears. For the first time, she’d allowed herself to forget everyone else’s problems. For the first time, she’d sought pleasure in the company of another. Blane’s strong arms promised a refuge she’d never thought would or could be hers. She’d never known how badly she wanted it. Needed it.

Until now.

Losing herself in pure physical desire freed her in a way she’d never dreamed possible. Intuitively, she knew that no other man save Blane could draw her out of the constraints of responsibility and duty. But that didn’t matter. Not now. Not today. As soon as Griffin offered for Elizabeth, all this would be over and Georgiana could return to her writing and designing. And to seeing her other sisters duly wedded.

She drew in a deep breath. Despite it all, a sharp pang struck deep in her gut. How could life ever be normal again after this? How could she go back to her lonely existence after knowing Blane MacLaren?

* * * * *

Blane lay in his bed with Georgiana’s warm body curled up against him. Although his body was sated, sleep did not come. He inhaled and blew the breath out slowly.

His intention had been to prove something to her. But what? That he could break her? Tame her?

She shifted against him and the soft, silken curve of her bottom caused his prick to stir. Having her entailed an entirely new set of emotions for which he hadn’t prepared himself. He hadn’t expected to care what happened to her after she left here. He’d assumed, like others with whom he’d dallied, that they would remain friends, even lovers if the occasion ever arose but the thought of Georgiana packing her bags and leaving Scotland inspired a panicky feeling in his innards that disturbed him.

He growled out loud and turned onto his side, facing her back. There was only one way to drive these wayward thoughts out of his head. His hand skimmed the curve of her hip and then slid down the cleft of her ass until his fingers found the soft flesh between her thighs.

A little moan escaped her lips and she pushed back toward his probing fingers. Blane worked through the still-moist folds until he found her opening. One finger wriggled inside her. She sighed and moved to give him easier access.

Her willingness intoxicated him. Already he’d grown terrifically hard. Her passage dampened even more. Thoughts of taking her again played in his head. “Ride me,” he said, his voice raspy with need.

Silently, she turned over and straddled him, reaching between her legs to guide him into her. The combination of the sight of her naked body and the hot feel of her sheath sliding down over his erection sent a shudder through him.

Eyes closed, she braced her hands on his chest and began to ride his cock. She ground her pelvis on him, moving, rocking, testing. Amazed, he watched her. His fingers ached to touch her. His palms itched to feel the weight of her breasts and the slender curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips and the soft skin of her thighs.

The fire in the hearth illuminated her in rosy and shadowed hues. Her long hair rippled over her shoulders in a riot of waves, so that every time she rocked forward, one dusky nipple emerged from the locks. Blane gave in to temptation and moved his hands over her satiny skin. Her muscles tightened and released. Her willing body turned plush at his touch. She opened her eyes, just enough for him to see the clouded shimmer of ecstasy. His stomach tensed. His bollocks clenched.

“Diah, ye are beautiful,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair as he cupped her shoulders and drew her down. He realized he was shaking with uncontrolled passion.

Her hair curtained around him as she bent to capture his mouth. No longer was she the one who waited to be kissed. Now she took the initiative. The control.

And Blane loved it.

He could become accustomed to this, and the realization struck him hard in the chest.

Georgiana ended their kiss and sat erect once more, moving over him with the catlike grace of an Eastern dancing girl. Mesmerizing. Tantalizing. He inhaled. The need to find satisfaction welled in his cock.

He gripped her hips and pumped her up and down. Faster and faster. Her groin slapped his. The sounds of wet suction, of her punctuated breathing filled the room. Pressing her teeth into her bottom lip, she scrabbled for a handhold in the sheets. Her body grew rigid and taut and he knew without a doubt she hovered on the verge of potent release.

She let out a sharp moan and at the same time, her sheath convulsed around him.

“Aye!” he cried, holding back until her muscles relaxed. And then he lifted her off his cock, pulled her down on top of him and found his own release.

Sated, he lay underneath her, luxuriating in the warm, soft kisses she rained across his chest and shoulders. Everything inside him urged him to return her kisses, to hold her in his arms and coddle her. The sensation rose up so strongly, it sparked panic. He’d do well to get a hold of this situation, to regain control…

To put this dangerous obsession right back where she belonged.

Chapter Eight

Days and nights tumbled together until Georgiana felt she’d lost all track of time. She spent nearly every waking hour with Blane. Visiting the mill. Learning how to weave the linen. Getting to know the Scots who worked for and depended on Blane for their livelihood.

In the dark, when they lay sated and exhausted, naked in each other’s arms, she divulged her innermost fears of losing control of her life, of not being able to care for her mother and sisters. She worried about those who worked for her. Clinton and the devoted others.

Blane listened without judgment or censure. He stroked her hair and cooed calming words in her ear until she fell into the deepest, most restful sleep she had ever experienced.

As the days passed, he left no part of her body untouched and for the first time in her life, she truly felt a woman in every sense of the word.

Panic did not well in her until she mentally tallied the days she’d spent at Loch Dungeon—and realized her thirty days had nearly come to an end.

* * * * *

“Get on yer knees.”

Georgiana moaned in protest against the rough voice rousing her from her sleep. She shifted under the covers.

“Get on yer knees, slave.” It was a command.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with sleep. At once, the covers were ripped off. Cool air rushed rudely over her skin. “Blane!”

A hard palm smacked her bottom.

Georgiana jolted at the sharp sting. Her head shot up from the pillow and she glared through her mussed hair at Blane. “What on earth are you doing?”

Something mischievous glimmered in his eyes. “The time for coddling ye is over. I made ye a promise to keep ye well fucked. Get on yer knees before I’m forced to bend ye over mine.”

A tendril of warm desire unfurled in her belly. “No visiting mills or discussing the thread count of linen?”

One side of his mouth curled up. “Nay. No’ today.”

He lay on his side, most excellently naked. His cockstand jutted from its nest of dark curls, promising pleasure to come. Georgiana reached for him but he caught her wrist in his hand. “I’ll step out so ye can avail yerself of the chamber pot,” he said, easing off the bed. “Clean up well, leannan, because I intend to initiate ye into the most debauched delights today.”

With that, he patted her bottom. Stunned, Georgiana gaped at his muscled back and buttocks as he strode confidently out of the room. She bit her bottom lip. Surely he didn’t intend to…

Oh, but he did. And she knew it. Her breasts tingled. Her nipples puckered. Her clitoris pulsed. She debated arguing. Packing her bags. Leaving. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a wild bird. She couldn’t submit to this. She simply couldn’t. But hadn’t she agreed to become his willing plaything? To do anything he commanded of her?

She swallowed thickly, remembering the thorough spanking he’d dealt out to her. A dark, wicked part of her wanted that sweet torture meted out once more. Wetness dampened the folds of her sex. Her body warred with her brain and she had the sinking feeling her body would win.

Trembling, she climbed off the bed and took advantage of the privacy to relieve herself in the chamber pot. She slid it back under the bed and went to the washstand. After pouring water from the pitcher into the basin, she washed her face and then wet a bathing cloth and cleaned between her legs. Her hand shook as she reached behind to make certain that part of her was clean as well.

When the door cracked open, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Are ye on yer knees?”

She threw the cloth over the edge of the basin. “Blane, let’s discuss this.”

She heard her words but already her body hummed with anticipation to experience untried things.

“Ye can bend over right where ye stand or ye can get on the bed. It makes no ne’er mind to me.” He closed the door behind him.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice sounded tremulous. Squeaky.

“I’m going to make ye beg me to bugger ye.”

Her stomach turned a somersault. “That’s not going to happen.”

But as he advanced, her resolve wavered. Laughing, she darted onto the bed. He pursued her, leapt onto the bed and enfolded her in his arms.

“You’re impossible!” she cried and then smiled up at him. Dear Lord, he was handsome with his hair loose and his chin shadowed with stubble.

A big hand skimmed down her body and worked its way between her legs. “And ye are impossibly wet.” His laughter had faded and his voice had taken on a black velvet roughness that sent a delicious shiver through Georgiana’s limbs.

“Spread yer legs.”

Her thighs flew open on command. She reached for his cock but he held her so that she couldn’t attain the prize. His fingers circled her swollen clitoris and then dipped into her dewy opening. She moaned. “Take me, Blane,” she pleaded.

The chuckle he gave her was dark. Sinister. “Ye’d like my cock up yer cunny, wouldn’t ye?”

“Yes.”

His dampened fingers prodded lower, slipping easily through her cleft until finding her nether hole. She tensed.

“Ah,” he scolded. “Relax. I intend to prepare ye to take me there. As I pledged, ye’ll be begging me before the day is through.”

She held her breath as those fingers made threatening and predatory circles around her entrance. This wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt…good. But still, she could not imagine begging him to insert his cock in that place.

“Now get on yer knees.”

For a steep moment, she searched his eyes and then he released her so she could twist over onto her knees. Her heart pounded in her throat as a wave of hot lust rushed over her. She hugged her pillow underneath her chest. Every nerve in her body tingled and the rim around her anus burned in anticipation. Her nether lips swelled and dampened with need. If only he would touch her cunny. She’d instantly explode. She needed it. She ached for release.

His fingertips trailed up and down her thighs, leaving her simmering wherever he touched. He kneaded the muscles in her buttocks and then he reached between her legs. Instinctively she arched toward him, pushing her throbbing sex into his hand. He palmed her as one finger slid deep up her cunny.

Georgiana moaned. “There. Please, Blane. Don’t stop.”

But no sooner had she uttered the words than his hand left. She’d never ached for the loss of something so much in her life. And just as she started to protest, she felt something warm and gooey being slathered around her anus. “Blane—” she began but he silenced her.

“Be still.”

Expert fingers rubbed the lubricant around and around. Georgiana shut her eyes tightly as shame of having this part of her touched receded and in its place, curiosity welled. She buried her face in the pillow. It did feel good. And he was right. She did want him to invade her there. When one finger wriggled into the tight recess, she gasped.

“Easy, leannan,” he cooed.

But her fear was justified. She could accommodate this finger. Could she take his cock there?

“I could bring you release like this,” he said, pleasing her with slow, deliberate, searching thrusts. “With just my finger.”

The thought of it thrilled her. His finger explored, reached, pushed in all the way and then retreated. He slid it in again. And again. Georgiana felt herself stretching to accommodate him and then she realized she had dipped her back and had even spread to welcome him. She moaned in relief as he pushed hard up inside her, rocking his fist against her bottom.

“There, there,” he chided softly. “See how good it feels?”

His finger slipped out and she whimpered for more, only to be shocked when she felt something cool and hard nudge against her hole. A firm hand braced her back as he pushed something egg-shaped into her bottom. His fingers drove the device deeper and deeper. Her nether sheath burned and throbbed, protesting the foreign object as it slid firmly into place. Georgiana let out a yelp even as her ass accepted it. No. Welcomed it. “What is that?”

“A torturous little thing,” he said with a laugh.

Torturous was hardly an apt description. Georgiana pushed up on her hands and glanced back to see a leather tail jutting from her bottom. She shook and squeezed her thighs together as if she could dislodge it. She could not. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and between her shoulder blades. The thing felt…sinful.

And it aroused her beyond comprehension.

She mewled helplessly and bucked her hips, trying in vain to assuage her lust.

“How pretty ye look,” he teased. “Just like a pretty pussycat with a long black tail.”

“Get it out of me!” she ordered breathlessly. “It hurts.” But the truth was, it felt wonderfully sensuous, invading her, stretching her mercilessly—making her yearn for more.

With one quick motion, he swept her into his arms and set her on her feet on the floor.

Georgiana gasped at the torrid sensations her movements caused. Instinct compelled her to slink back under the covers, to hide, but he held her firm.

“Nay, slave,” he told her as he stretched out on his side. “As promised, ye are mine to do with as I wish.”

The tail swished between her thighs, reminding her of the evil presence of the device lodged in her bottom. Her ass cheeks burned. Her clitoris flamed. Fuck me, Blane. Please put me out of my misery.

“You are the devil,” she said, seething.

“The devil indeed.” He grinned and propped his head on his hand.

Georgiana’s gaze traveled the length of his body, lingering on where his cock protruded, hard and flushed with blood. Ready. “Let me ride you,” she said.

“No’ yet.”

She felt as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. Her ass throbbed around the egg. She resisted the urge to dance about, to march up and down.

“Turn around, puss, and let me see yer bottom.”

Anything. Just fuck me now. She turned her back to him, the motion causing the device to shift wickedly in her bum. The tendrils of the tail tickled the backs of her thighs.

“Now bend over.”

She bent, knowing he could see the black tail protruding from her most private recess. Her heart pounded from the exhilaration of exhibiting herself such.

“Yer cunny’s dripping wet, leannan.” His voice was filled with need. A tendril of triumph snaked through her. It wouldn’t be long before he lost all control and fucked her.

He slid out of bed. “Fetch me my robe.”

Georgiana blinked. She couldn’t possibly walk all the way across the room to retrieve his robe. Not with this thing inside her.

“Get it or I’ll paddle ye.”

A smack to her bottom set her in motion. Every step was fraught with the ultimate torture. The device shifted with deliberate eroticism, reminding her it was there, reminding her that she belonged to Blane, and obliterating everything but the here and now and her body and this moment with this man.

Going up on tiptoe, she lifted the robe off the corner of the wardrobe and started back toward Blane. The look of admiration in his eyes was nearly her undoing. Her stomach knotted. “Why do you need this?” she asked as he stood for her to dress him. “Get back in bed. Let me ride you.”

He tweaked one of her nipples, sending spirals of desire shooting straight to her distended clitoris. “Not before we break our fast.”

Georgiana’s eyes grew wide. “Did I misunderstand you? I cannot possibly eat with this…like this…Blane!” Her hands found her hips.

He pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. “I told ye that ye’d be begging me.”

He smacked her bottom as he strode past her. “Come, pussycat.”

“Blane…the servants—”

“All have the day off with the exception of Cook, who has been ordered to stay in the kitchen.”

Panic erased her passion. “No!”

“No?” Eyebrow arched in warning, he looked back over his shoulder at her. He pointed to the table beside the bed.

Georgiana’s gaze followed and fixed on the leather strap he’d used before to spank her. Her thighs quivered. Her backside warmed with expectation. But now would not be the time to provoke a much-desired spanking. Doubtless he intended to torture her further with this egg in her bottom. He wouldn’t be ready to allow her release yet. The prudent thing to do would be to follow him downstairs.

“I-I’ll go with you,” she blurted.

“So ye can be reasonable,” he taunted. “A pity. Now get the strap and come with me.”

“But—”

“Ye never know what needs might arise.”

Georgiana stalked across the room, the tail whipping the backs of her legs as she moved, and she snatched up the strap. She whirled on him, struggling to stay focused in spite of the lurid sensations tempting her to beg him to spank her and bugger her right now. “I have a mind to use it on you!” she snapped.

He held out his hand and she smacked it against his palm as she stormed past him and out of the room. His long strides quickly had him by her side. Playful pops to her bottom with the strap kept her moving through the drafty castle at a quick pace.

She’d never been naked outside a bedchamber before and she found it far more exhilarating than she’d ever dreamed imaginable. “I am so thoroughly aroused, I haven’t a clue how I’ll make it through a meal,” she confessed as if they’d been lovers for years instead of days.

He let out a little laugh that grabbed hold of her heart and squeezed. What was it about this man that rendered her incapable of doing anything except what he willed? She’d gone utterly mad. Mad! And there was little she wanted to do to prevent it.

Naked, she realized the rooms seemed overwhelmingly cavernous. Every creak of wood on the grate caused her heart to skip a beat. What if someone saw her like this, with this horrendous tail poking out of her behind? The added threat only served to enhance her wicked pleasure.

Her bare feet enjoyed the feel of the plush rugs as she walked with Blane into the dining hall. Her nipples swelled and puckered and she resisted the desire to roll each one between her thumbs and forefingers. She also refrained from provoking him into using that strap on her ass. There’d be time enough for that later.

He drew her chair out and she stared at it dubiously. “I cannot possibly sit.”

“Ye can. And will.”

Gingerly she eased into the chair, surprised that she could sit with the device lodged so tightly in her bottom. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping to alleviate the pounding in her clitoris but to no avail. The movement only served to worsen her need. Her fingers itched to touch and explore—to satisfy.

But Georgiana didn’t have to ask to know he would deny her that pleasure.

Blane took his chair at the head of the table and uncovered his dish of coddled eggs and bacon. Without ceremony, he began to eat. Georgiana only picked at hers. Although her stomach grumbled, she could not eat. All she could think about was attaining satisfaction—no matter what the cost.

She sipped a glass of juice. “Is your prick still hard?”

Blane sputtered and then cleared his throat. “Very hard.”

“Why don’t you bend me over this table and show me how hard?” She baited him and she knew it. She wanted him to take her, to ravage her and leave her raw.

His intense gaze found hers and held so long her stomach clenched. He put his napkin aside and stood, cock thrusting from the opening of his banyan.

Georgiana could no longer swallow. She gained her feet, pushed her chair back, swept her plate and eating utensils aside and bent over the cool wood of the dining room table.

“I’ll not remove the plug,” he grumbled as he moved in behind her.

“I don’t care,” she said, gasping the words. “Just fuck me, Blane.”

“Ye are naughty to be sure. I was hardly finished with my meal. This will earn ye a whipping.”

Bracing on her elbows, she spread her legs. “Then whip me. But you’d better fuck me before I go mad.”

She heard his rough intake of breath. “Yer beautiful with this tail,” he muttered, giving the tail a gentle tug.

Georgiana bit her bottom lip as her ass pulsed around the egg. Blane lifted the tail high and guided the head of his cock into her drenched cunny. Immediately, spasms washed through her. The combined sensations of his phallus filling her channel and the egg immersed in her bottom elicited hoarse cries from her throat.

He was saying something about Cook but at this point, Georgiana didn’t give a damn who heard. “Yes!” she cried. “Oh God, Blane…”

Her own fingers found her tender nipples and she pinched and tugged, glorying in the pleasure-pain radiating through her body. She felt whole. Complete. Dominated. Simultaneously, for the first time in her life, she felt totally in control.

Her legs shook and were it not for the table she would have wilted to the floor.

Blane thrust into her harder and harder. His fingers gripped her bottom so hard she knew she’d be bruised but she didn’t care. She wanted to be bruised. She wanted him to leave his mark on her, to claim her as his own. To keep her here. His slave. His lover.

His wife.

“No!” she wailed, not realizing she’d exclaimed the word aloud.

Blane stilled. “Did I hurt ye?”

“No,” she responded, forcing herself out of her brain and back into her body. “No. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“This plug in yer ass makes yer cunny powerfully tight,” he said, his voice tense.

Her head swam. Bliss rushed over her again and again, she heard her own long, low moans echo in the dining hall. The need to remove the plug rose hard but Blane refused to heed her impassioned pleas. Her knees buckled and she sagged, limp on the table, glorying in the hard upsurge of pleasure sweeping over her. He continued his sexual onslaught, pounding into her, bringing her to ecstasy once last time before he withdrew and she felt his hot seed pool on the small of her back.

* * * * *

If he’d thought to tame her, he’d thought wrong. Blane ran his hand over his face. She strolled in front of him, that little black tail twitching provocatively as she walked toward his bedchamber. Damn. He’d imagined she’d be begging him to remove the egg, pleading with him to spare her a spanking or, at the very least, imploring him to give up the notion of burying his cock in her luscious bottom.

But no.

She glanced back over her shoulder, a vision with her waterfall of dark hair cascading down to her waist, a siren with the strands of black leather licking the back of one thigh and then the other. A smirk claimed her lips as she twisted the door handle and disappeared into his room.

Although he’d emptied his seed onto her back less than an hour ago, his cock hardened anew. He followed her into the bedchamber and stopped in his tracks at the sight he beheld.

She’d climbed atop the bed and was already on her knees, her bottom high in the air, the tail jutting high from her ass. “You promised me a spanking,” she said with an alluring shake of her bottom.

“Blazes, lass!” Blane exclaimed. “Are ye insatiable?”

Her sensual giggle was muffled by the pillow.

He’d seen women respond to being lightly spanked now and again but none of them had ever asked for it, and certainly none had ever presented themselves thus.

Strap in hand, he shrugged off his robe before crawling onto the bed behind her. Eyes closed, she appeared serene. Her mouth was set in the mellowest of smiles. She thoroughly enjoyed this.

He planted his palm at the base of her spine and she shifted, spreading her knees slightly. Her blushing folds glistened with dampness. The flesh of her backside gleamed the palest ivory, marred only by three little purplish finger imprints. Guilt surged in Blane that he’d squeezed her too hard.

She reached underneath herself to cup her own breasts. “Please, Blane.”

When he teased the strap down one thigh, she mewled. She wanted this. She really wanted it. Blood powered through the veins in his cock, driving him with need to yank that device out of her tight little hole and bury himself there. But not yet. “No’ yet,” he muttered out loud.

His hand trembled as he drew back the strap and let it fall softly on her bottom.

She flung her hair over her shoulder as she twisted back to look him in the eye. “Don’t tease me, Blane. Make it sting. I want you to stripe my backside red.”

The bold determination and desire in her eyes shocked him to the core.

“And then I want you to fuck me in the ass,” she declared.

Blane’s lips stretched into a smile. This was not the reaction he’d expected but Diah, it was not one he could deny. He swung the strap, snapping his wrist so the end popped her flesh with a resounding echo. Her eyes widened for an instant and then clouded with dark passion.

“Again,” she whispered hotly.

He laid the strap on the other cheek. Smack!

The muscles in her throat worked as she gulped. Her forehead furrowed. “Again. Don’t stop until I tell you I’ve had enough.”

With that, she buried her face in the pillow and pushed her bottom high. Blane applied the strap over and over, watching her skin color to bright pink and then a dark crimson. When she reached between her legs to tend her own clitoris with wild, circular motions, he thought the sight alone would unman him. Her moans left him without doubt that she’d brought herself to fruition more than once. Her thighs quaked. Her cunny glistened. She pumped her hips as if she were riding his cock.

Finally—finally—she lifted her head and, in a raspy voice, told him she’d had enough.

He discarded the strap and then gently removed the plug from her hole. Remaining in position, she pushed the jar of gooey salve back toward him. “Hurry,” she managed.

Hastily, he removed the lid and coated his cock with the goo before pressing the head tight against her rim to push inside the confines of her ass. She emitted a low moan as, inch by inch, he drove slowly and completely into her. Her body quaked. “Am I hurting ye?”

She only shook her head in the negative.

Gripping her hips, he slid out and back into her. Tight. Hot. Slick. He’d buggered women before but this was different. He’d sought to dominate women before but again, this time was different. He only desired to bring her pleasure via whatever means necessary. At that moment he would have done anything—said anything—to fulfill her every wish.

“How is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Good.” She rocked her hips, meeting his slow, gentle thrusts, pushing back to grind against him.

He felt intoxicated. Heady need built. His bollocks tightened. Blood pulsed through his cock. “I ache to find release within ye, leannan.”

A ripple passed through her muscles. She reached between her legs again and Blane felt her fingertips brushing against his sac as she rubbed herself. It was too much. Everything inside him grew taut. He ground his teeth to keep from crying out, to keep from spewing his seed before she found bliss. And then suddenly, she tightened around him to the point he couldn’t move. His own pleasure uncoiled and struck, drawing him out and into her. He clung to her and roared, his consciousness swimming, his eyesight fading to black and then returning with blinding clarity.

Her spine bowed and she pushed back hard, her arm working as she milked every last vestige of ecstasy from her body.

Blane sagged over her, still embedded to the hilt in her ass. Still pulsing. Her body shook in his arms. He breathed in the scent of her hair. Of her.

Her body felt fragile and soft beneath him and when he laid his head between her shoulder blades, the sound of her heart pounded to beat in time with his own. A sudden terror swamped him at the realization of just how tenuous life really was. In an instant, she could be swept away from him and the stark knowledge of how her absence would affect him rendered him hollow inside. His need to dominate her, to bend her to his will, evaporated and was replaced with something infinitely more tender—and far more terrifying.

How could he ever let her leave? His heart twisted.

Finally their bodies parted and she turned over and into his embrace. He thumbed back a strand of her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “’Tis no’ yet noon,” he said, his voice cracking.

She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want to move.”

“Then stay here,” he whispered. The meaning behind his words carried further than he cared to admit—even to himself.

He brushed his lips across hers. “Stay. Let me hold ye.”

She blinked sleepily as she raked her fingertips up and down his arm.

Blane’s throat suddenly constricted. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Ye once said ye’d never marry. Did ye speak the truth, leannan?”

Her eyes grew flinty. A little choking sound left her parted lips. “Blane…I—”

He wanted to kick himself. He should never have said anything. What a bloody fool he was! He’d even required her to sign a document to the contrary.

Georgiana averted her gaze. Blane’s stomach roiled. He felt sick. He scrambled off the bed and dragged on his robe.

“Blane—”

“I had no business asking ye that,” he snapped. “I know yer circumstances as ye know mine.”

“Blane—”

“I’ll go see about having Cook draw ye a bath. He won’t like it none but seeing as he’s the only staff about…” And with that, he left the room.

Staring at the closed door, Georgiana drew the covers up over her breasts. Her body still hummed with sensation but her heart ached so badly it felt like a hard stone lodged in her chest. An acceptance had almost sprung from her lips. For a scant moment, her heart had soared but had only come crashing back down around her when he’d come to his senses. How easy it would be to lose herself in this place! To this man. To scale back the rush and whirl of her profession and devote herself to producing fine linen at Blane’s side.

She closed her eyes but only briefly. What a wonderful life that would be! But it was not to be. She’d signed his document. He’d made it clear at the beginning that he did not want to be entrapped.

But his momentary lapse, the sudden glimmer of hope in his eyes…

She swatted away the first tear before she even realized she was crying. “Damn,” she hissed and struck the bed beside her. “Damn it all to hell!” She should never have come here. She should never have tasted this forbidden fruit.

Because living without it was going to be the very end of her.

* * * * *

Despite the fact that he remained clad in only his silk banyan, Blane had not returned to the bedroom. Cook had grumbled but did as he was ordered and filled the hip bath with steaming water for Georgiana.

Blane sat sprawled in his favorite chair, staring into the fire. His face burned with shame when he recalled the words he’d said to her. What had he been thinking?

He rubbed his face in his palms and drained his glass of whisky. His eyes sought the decanter. Empty. He wanted more. He wanted to forget. At the same time, he did not wish to leave his chair or ring for Cook to refill the decanter. Rage broiled in his veins. Rage and frustration and something else he didn’t dare define.

Stomping footsteps resounded in the entry hall. “I donna know what the laird’s about! He’s released the entire staff for the day. Yes, yes, I’ll see that he gets it.” Cook’s embittered voice filtered through the open doorway.

Blane flinched when the door slammed and then, as he expected, Cook stalked into the room. “Ye’ve a letter for Miss Talbot.”

Cook dropped the letter on the table beside Blane’s chair none too gently before wiping his hands on his apron and heading back toward the kitchen, grousing about the lack of staff.

Blane stared at the vellum for several seconds before he pushed himself up, snatched the letter off the table and made his way up the stairs. Dread filled the pit of his stomach. Facing Georgiana again was the last thing he wanted to do—mostly because he didn’t know how he would react when he laid eyes on her. Besides, whatever information lay in this letter would doubtless not benefit his desire to keep her in Loch Dungeon for the rest of their lives.

He rapped on the door to her chamber with his knuckles.

“Yes,” Georgiana’s voice called from the other side.

Pulse racing, Blane turned the handle and pushed the door open. He did not miss the look of guilt in her little smile. It seemed forced. He swallowed. “A letter came for ye.”

Her eyes rounded. “A letter?”

“Aye,” he said and strode into the room. Suddenly, curiosity swamped him. What news could be so important as to be sent from London all the way to Loch Dungeon?

She took the letter and he thrust both hands into the pockets of his robe to prevent her from seeing how they trembled.

“Blane, I—” she began but he quickly cut her off.

“Someone went to a great deal of trouble to send ye that. I think ye’d best read it.”

She drew in an audible breath and slid her thumbnail under the wax seal.

Blane tried to tamp down the black, bleak feelings creeping over him but when her gaze found his, he knew the contents of the letter.

A strange light flashed in her blue eyes. “Lady Compton wants to host a party in our honor.” Her voice was tremulous. Was it disappointment? Blane couldn’t tell.

His heart wrenched. Now what? Although the anticipation threatened to be his undoing, he didn’t dare ask her what she intended to do. A part of him knew. All in all, they’d both reached their goal. Her thirty days here had come to an end. “Well then,” he said coolly. “Griffin didna offer for yer sister. The month is up. I suppose that brings our wee arrangement to an end.”

She looked away. “I suppose it does.”

“I’ll send for the staff to return to help ye pack.” He turned and started for the door.

And then he walked out.

Georgiana squeezed her eyes shut. For one horrifying moment, fear racked her entire being. Fear of living without Blane. Fear of never again knowing the sweet, stolen moments she’d known naked in his arms. Fear of things going back to the way they were before she’d ever laid eyes on Blane MacLaren.

She inhaled a faltering breath. Her throat constricted. Tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes and trickled unchecked down her cheeks. She fought the emotion clawing at her heart. Her responsibility to her sisters had carried her through long, lonely nights of a solitary existence. Nothing had mattered but securing their futures. And now she found it humbling to realize just how much she needed that same security. But more than that—she needed the love of a man who looked at her as if she’d hung the very stars in the sky.

It was the thought that she possessed such a weakness that consumed her with guilt—and the need to get away from Blane and Loch Dungeon as quickly as possible.

Chapter Nine

Georgiana had left Blane with an awkward wave and a strained bidding of adieu. The hollowed out cavern in her chest where her heart had been had ached since she’d left the shores of Loch Dungeon. She had expected to miss her newfound sexual freedom. She hadn’t expected to be devastated by her separation from Blane.

She stared, unseeing, at the fabric unfurled on the table before her.

Blane had refused to come to her the night before she’d departed. Despite her entreaties, they hadn’t even enjoyed one last time together. Instead, she’d immediately packed her trunk and had set out at the first light of dawn.

Her insides clenched with sickening force at the awful memory.

When she had arrived back in London, no one in her family had faulted her for breaking off the engagement. Least of all Griffin, who’d learned he now had serious competition for her business. Georgiana heaved a sigh. As if the engagement had ever been real to begin with. None of it had. She tried to tell herself that over and over.

So why didn’t she feel it?

“I prefer the beaded satin,” Clinton said, dragging her out of her reverie. “The pale blue.”

“As do I,” Georgiana said gloomily.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Clinton asked under his breath.

Georgiana’s gaze found her friend’s and held. “Terribly. More than I ever thought I would.”

“If he offered for you, then why did you hesitate? The Lord knows I would not.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“I wish it were that simple,” she said, reaching for the blue satin. This would make a gorgeous dress for Elizabeth. The color would set off her blonde hair beautifully. It was too bad Griffin had made no offer of marriage.

“Really, Georgiana.” Clinton’s usually flippant tone turned serious. “I’ve known you for several years. You, of all people, could marry and still find husbands for your sisters. I think you’re really afraid of relinquishing control.”

Anger flared but she bit her tongue to keep from telling Clinton he had no idea about the responsibility to her family she held in tight rein. Instead she stared, trembling, as realization seeped like thick honey through her veins.

She’d watched her father die and had known grief, but she hadn’t known half the devastation her mother had felt at losing the man she loved. Georgiana had carefully built a protective cocoon around herself but she didn’t have the courage to transform into a butterfly.

And besides, Blane had made no offer for her. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest.

“I misspoke,” Clinton said quickly. “Forgive me.”

She shook her head. “There’s no need to forgive you. Every word of what you said is true. It is all about giving up control of my own destiny.” She wouldn’t admit the real cause of her heartache. Not even to Clinton.

* * * * *

Instead of sending a courier, Blane brought the first order of linen all the way from Scotland himself. After Georgiana had departed, he’d been unable to sleep. He’d let himself go and had only realized what a ruffian he appeared when he passed by a looking glass. An unkempt beard had sprouted. His eyes had grown dark and hard. He scowled. He’d looked more like a wild highland warrior than an earl.

At that moment, he decided he would not live that way. He could not. No matter what Georgiana had declared.

He’d cleaned himself up, petitioned his mill workers to weave night and day until they’d manufactured enough linen for his first order and then he’d come to London intent on fucking Georgiana into submission. And he’d do so until she consented to marrying him. As soon as she said yes, he planned to spirit her off to Gretna Green and marry her in front of the first vicar he could find.

His pulse began to race as his carriage rolled up in front of her shop. He adjusted his neckcloth and then peeped inside the little box where he’d secreted a couple of her favorite erotic toys and a small pot of cream.

He breathed in and let the air out of his lungs slowly. This time, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d prove to her that she could continue to run her business and secure marriages for her sisters while, at the same time, taking her place as his wife.

His nerves bunched but he mustered his resolve and hopped out. Determined, he gathered a bundle of the linen he’d brought. The footman got the rest and the two of them burst into the shop.

Blane deposited his parcel on the nearest table. “Georgiana Talbot!” he roared.

Clinton gasped and his hand flew to his chest. “My lord,” he greeted.

“Where is she?” Blane bellowed.

Clinton’s gaze traveled to the rear of the shop.

There, clad in a rose-colored day gown overlaid with a long white apron, Georgiana stepped out of a room in the back. Her eyes and lips rounded in surprise.

Blane’s insides tangled at the sight of her but he managed to cling to the last shard of his mettle as he jerked the document they’d both signed out of his coat pocket and ripped it to shreds. He let the confetti fall to the floor and waded through the reams of fabric and slew of tailors and seamstresses to where she stood. “Georgiana Talbot, I’ve come here to make ye my wife.”

Her face paled. Her eyes remained riveted to his.

Diah, why couldn’t he read her? She might have iron control over her emotional reactions but he knew how to make her lose herself physically. In one quick motion, he swept her into his arms, pivoted on his heel and started toward the door with his bundle.

“Blane!” she protested. “Put me down this instant!”

His jaw ground down as, despite her vehement objections, he carted her through the shocked crowd and straight out the shop door. A customer gaped. Clinton and several of Georgiana’s other employees followed but rather than swarming Blane and helping their employer, they stood and applauded.

The bewildered footman scrambled to open the carriage door. Blane unceremoniously tossed his charge into the coach and climbed in behind her before she could escape. He had her in his grip before she could move.

“Unhand me!” she cried.

Instead, he tossed her over his knee, flipped up her sumptuous skirts and forced her legs apart by wrapping one of his own around one of hers. She squealed and struggled but a firm swat on her bare ass caused her to still—but only for an instant.

“Why are you doing this?” she railed.

“I told ye,” he ground out as, one handed, he flicked the lid off the box, removed the lid of the pot of lanolin and liberally coated his fingers.

She bucked and cried out when he daubed the substance on her rosette. Her breathing quickened. But her body reacted in direct opposition to her words. She spread a fraction of an inch farther and rocked her hips at his touch. Triumph swelled in Blane’s chest.

“Did ye miss this?” he asked huskily as he plugged her bottom with the little egg she’d loved so well back in Loch Dungeon.

A low moan escaped her lips. His fingers dipped to find her cunny already growing damp. She squirmed but no longer struggled to get away from him.

“Did ye miss the feeling of completion, leannan? Of having yer arse and yer cunny filled and stretched at the same time?”

Her breaths came in quick pants.

“Tell me!” He swatted her ass.

She heaved a sensual sigh that caused his cock to harden and strain against his tight breeches. Just for that, he smacked her bottom again, watching in fascination as her pale flesh blushed in the shape of his hand. “Yer arse is turning red, Georgiana.”

She whimpered helplessly.

“Did ye miss the feel of my cock rutting inside ye?” The tone of his voice dropped, low and rasping. He tried to stretch out one leg to alleviate the tightness in his breeches. Diah, he ached to fuck her right now.

He worked his hand beneath her and plunged it inside the bodice of her gown. She groaned when he found her nipple and squeezed. “Will ye marry me?”

“I can’t.”

Smack!

“Blane, that hurt!”

“Will ye marry me, Georgiana?” He gave the little tail protruding from her bottom a tug.

She bucked her hips. “Please…I need your fingers inside me!”

He tickled her ripe bud, satisfied when he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Consent to marrying me.”

“I can’t. You know why, Blane. Please…more.”

“Yer cunny’s wet.” His finger lightly skimmed through her dewy folds. A shudder tore through her.

He rubbed her offended bottom. “All ye have to do is say yes and I’ll do anything ye want.”

She groaned in frustration.

He tugged on the tail again. “Oh look! It appears we’ve arrived at the house I rented.”

He brushed her skirts back down over her striped bottom and sat her up on the bench.

“I’m not going in there with you,” she declared even as she smoothed her mussed hair.

He chuckled at the sight of her passion-enlarged pupils and swollen lips. “I think ye will.”

The footman opened the door. Georgiana’s narrowed gaze left Blane’s only long enough to take the footman’s hand and disembark from the carriage. Blane followed.

“Someone will see me,” she said under her breath.

“What does it matter? Ye’ll be my wife within the week.” He took her arm and ushered her into the house and up the stairs, despite the curious looks from the staff.

Georgiana stumbled into the bedroom. For her, this was a dream come true. But a part of her still warred with her giddy happiness. She spun as Blane entered, flying at him with her fists. He caught them, thwarting her feeble attempts at pummeling him. She seethed as he pinned her wrists behind her back and dragged her against his chest.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

But he gave her no time to respond to his request. The tip of his tongue teased across her lips, tasting her, promising more. His body shook with controlled restraint. His lips seemed so tender and so at odds with the vise grip he had on her wrists.

Georgiana agonized to give in to his every request. She lifted toward him, opening. And suddenly his mouth came down on hers, hot and hard. His tongue pushed into her, exploring, demanding her response.

She opened for him, returning his kiss with a passion that rivaled his own. She had lost and she knew it. Primal hunger consumed her and before she realized it, he’d released her wrists and had the back of her gown undone.

She wrenched the apron off as he raked her dress off her shoulders and then carried her to the bed. Georgiana hesitated when she saw the restraints already in place. Two. One for each hand.

Her heart hammered. Her blood flowed hot and thick through her veins. And yet, a sense of calm stole over her as she climbed onto the bed and kneeled. She squeezed her thighs together against the fullness of the egg embedded inside her. It felt so good. So familiar. Willingly she offered each wrist to Blane, who fastened the leather bonds tight.

She felt intoxicated as she bent, resting her head on the mattress and raising her bottom high in the air. Control belonged to him now. In this position there was little she could do but accept the pain and pleasure. Being bound created a delirium of ecstasy in her. Fear and anticipation at what he would do to her thrummed in her veins, setting every nerve ending from her scalp to the tips of her toes on fire. She struggled, pulling against the bonds around her wrists, thrilling in the constriction of the leather, internally grateful for the warm, tingly pain her lover was about to mete out to her. Already she knew the answer she would give him. But not before he worked for it.

Her breathing slowed as he moved behind her and rubbed her bottom. “Do ye want this?”

“Yes. Please, Blane. Please, turn my bottom red.” She could hardly believe the wanton sound of her own voice. Her heartbeat slowed to forceful, hard beats. She closed her eyes, feeling everything inside her grow as still as a meadow after a spring rain.

The first blow fell. The familiar sting. The sudden warmth. Thank you, Blane.

Her cunny clenched over and over. Her ass throbbed around the intruding plug. Bliss washed over her like thick, sweet honey as blow after blow of the strap fell on her raised buttocks. Wetness oozed from her channel. The deeper she surrendered, the more pleasure she took from her spanking. Her clit swelled and she rocked her hips in an unspoken plea for him to touch her there. Just once.

“Blane,” she whispered, so softly she feared he hadn’t heard.

He stopped.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, blinking as she tried to focus. He was so wonderfully handsome with his hair and neckcloth askew, with his fall undone and his ramrod-hard cock jutting toward her. “Untie me. I want to touch you,” she purred.

“No’ until ye consent to marry me.”

Her gaze cleared. “Yes, Blane. Yes. I’ll marry you.”

His forehead furrowed. He looked…stricken. His lips pursed together tightly and he nodded before he quickly dislodged the device from her bottom and then untied her hands.

Georgiana rolled into his arms as he came down on top of her. “Take off your clothes.”

But he ignored her request and reached between them to guide his cock inside her. Clinging to his shoulders, she cried out at the joy of him filling her. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to heaven.

His mouth found hers. Although she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t bring herself to stop kissing him. For the first time in her life, awareness claimed her that she was truly in love.

His deep, growling moans poured into her mouth. He plunged into her over and over. Harder. Faster. She held to him. Crying. Kissing him. Opening her legs to his possessive onslaught. He was hers. Her lover. Her destiny.

Her master.

His kisses erased her responsibilities, her fear. His body promised a future where she could both grow and find a safe haven. But above all, Blane had become her life.

The missing piece of her soul.

* * * * *

“That man, Lockerbie, has absconded with Georgiana,” Elizabeth breathlessly told Griffin. She hadn’t known where else to turn.

“I tried to tell her he was a bad sort,” Griffin groused. He shook his head, obviously not surprised.

“All Clinton would tell me is that he took her to…to…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name. “Gretna Green!” The last part came out as if she’d uttered the most scandalous word in history.

Griffin’s mouth fell agape. “No! Why didn’t he try to stop them?”

“This is terrible, Darrin,” Elizabeth said, daring to touch his sleeve.

His gaze fell to her hand and then lifted to her eyes once more. “We must set off for the Scottish border at once. I should have been honest with you both. He had done this sort of thing before.”

“Before?”

Griffin rubbed his face. “I fear this is all my fault.”

* * * * *

Blane caught Georgiana in his arms and lifted her out of the carriage. He’d never been happier in his life. In fact, he felt giddy as he laced his fingers with hers and they raced toward the blacksmith’s workshop. They’d learned the smithy was also the local vicar who was not opposed to performing hasty marriages.

In mere moments, Georgiana would be his wife. The thought was staggering and terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. He had never dreamed he wouldn’t be complete without the presence of a woman. One woman. His woman. Prior to today, he’d made every decision regarding his estate, his name and his holdings based on business. He’d viewed bedding women as a convenience. No longer.

Claiming Georgiana had changed him. The realization hadn’t stolen over him until she’d left Loch Dungeon that cold, dreary day. He needed her. He wanted her.

Criosd, he loved her.

There’d been little other than a small stone cross that marked the border between England and Scotland. The landscape had not changed to signify any difference between the two countries but Blane couldn’t help but think the rolling hills dotted with peacefully bleating sheep were prettier in Scotland.

“Have ye the time to wed us?” he called to the smithy who stood behind an anvil, rhythmically pounding on a piece of metal with his hammer.

Without looking up, the burly smithy announced, “Two pounds.”

Blane merrily produced the money. The smithy set down his hammer and tongs, slipped off his soot-blackened gloves and methodically took the money, which he summarily poked into a pocket of his leather apron. He eyed them indifferently as if seeing couples in the throes of love was an everyday occurrence for him.

“Boy!” the smithy called to a dirty-faced child sitting on a stump inside the shop. “Fetch me my prayer book.”

Without hesitation, the boy raced off toward the back.

The smithy spat in the dust. “Have ye a proper witness?”

“Nay,” Blane said.

“Angus, bring the missus!” the smithy called, wiping his hands on his apron.

While they waited for the boy to return with the prayer book and a witness, Blane turned to Georgiana. He took both her hands in his and gazed deeply into her eyes. Her face was alight. Her eyes shone. Her smile beamed.

A tendril of guilt snaked through him at marrying her in this dirty shed. The earthy scent of horses and leather underlay the stronger tang of forged and soldered iron. Impatient as he was to marry her as quickly as possible, he hesitated. “If ye wish, I’ll marry ye proper in a London cathedral.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need nor want that. I only want you.”

He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And I, ye.”

It all seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

A second carriage ground to a hoof-pounding halt in front of the blacksmith’s shop. Blane glared at the Griffin crest emblazoned on the side. What the—

Griffin bounded wild-eyed from the coach, and behind him, Elizabeth, who tried to clamber down before the footman could reach her. “Stop this at once!” he cried.

Anger roiled in Blane’s gut. “Be off with ye, Griffin. This is between Georgiana and me.”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Griffin raced toward them.

“Elizabeth! What are you doing here?” Georgiana demanded.

An old lady with an ear trumpet, who had doubtless served as a chaperone, screeched from inside the coach, demanding to know what was afoot.

The smithy nonchalantly went back to work hammering out a horseshoe.

Griffin interceded and blocked the line of vision between Elizabeth and Georgiana. He seized her shoulders. “I must speak with you at once, Georgiana.”

Fury raged in Blane. “Enough!” He reached for Griffin, intent on thrusting him away from his bride and then beating him to a bloody pulp.

“Wait!” Georgiana cried, silencing them both as she tried to squeeze between them.

Blane released the miscreant and backed away. “He has nothing to say,” he said, seething. A fire blazed up his spine and settled in his neck.

“Hear me out,” Griffin implored. “I feel it my duty to protect you.”

Georgiana’s gaze darted from Griffin’s to Blane’s and back again.

Blane fists stung from clenching them so hard. “Yer duty? Ye’ve no business here, Griffin. She chose me. Not ye. Be off!”

Griffin turned Georgiana so that her back was to Blane. “At least hear what your sister and I have traveled three days to tell you.”

She sighed. “Very well. But be aware there is nothing you can tell me that will change—”

“If it is money and position you desire, I stand before you with an offer of my own,” Griffin blurted. “This man attempted to marry the Earl of Forthwick’s daughter for her dowry. Because his lands were failing and he needed the money. She discovered the ruse and broke the engagement.”

Blane didn’t even have the decency to flinch.

A bird chirped in a tree above. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. But in their vicinity, there was not a sound save the singing ting of metal on metal as the impartial smithy hammered away.

Georgiana stared, trying to absorb everything. Griffin had made a proposal of marriage to her. Elizabeth’s face looked so stricken. And Blane…

Blane folded his arms over his chest. “Aye. What he says is true.”

Confusion erupted and rolled over her like a sickening wave. Georgiana wanted to bury her face in her hands. She wanted to rip the nauseating sensations out of her body. She shook. Blane wouldn’t betray her. He wouldn’t.

But by his own declaration, he’d clumsily proposed to her to get her to buy his linen. She lifted her head and searched his eyes. A tear welled and spilled down her cheek. Blane reached for her. “Leannan—”

“Stop! Let me think,” she wailed.

Blane snorted. “Leannan, when ye sought and schemed to dupe this fop into offering for yer sister, ye knew I’d always been honest with ye. It cuts me to the core to think ye’d believe him over me. Me. The man who has shared more than yer bed. Criosd, yer dreams.”

“Dupe me?” Griffin railed.

Georgiana blinked. Part of her wanted to throw herself into Blane’s arms and shower him with kisses. Another part wanted to pummel him for divulging their matchmaking plot.

She turned to Griffin and Elizabeth. “I owe you both an apology.”

Elizabeth stared wide-eyed. Griffin glowered.

A tremulous smile played on Georgiana’s lips. “Darrin, I should have been honest with you. I could never have accepted your attentions.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ye dolt!” Blane cried. “Look at Elizabeth. She’s mad with love for ye! Are ye blind?”

Stunned, Griffin turned to Elizabeth, who nodded vigorously and flashed a teary smile.

“Is it true?” he asked, his features softening.

A blush pinkened Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“Why did you not make it known?” he asked, at the same time shaking his head. “Ah, but you did, didn’t you?”

“I tried.” She could barely look at him.

Griffin blew out a deep breath. “I suppose I look quite the ass. Chasing after a woman who did not want my attention and all the while overlooking the very one who did,” he said tenderly.

“Aye,” Blane threw in snidely.

Griffin scratched his head. “Oh my.” He shot an apologetic glance at Blane and Georgiana and then turned once more to Elizabeth. “Might I have a private word with you?”

He offered her his hand and led her several paces away.

Georgiana stared after them but awareness flooded her when Blane moved close behind her and bent to whisper in her ear. “Aye, ’tis true that I offered for the earl’s daughter…but I couldna go through with it. I told her what I’d planned and asked her to break the engagement so she could make a proper match. I built my mills from the ground up and I’ve struggled to keep them running. Until now. Until ye agreed to buy my linen. And that ye agreed to before I offered for ye.”

Georgiana brushed her cheek against his stubbled chin. She’d seen this man go out of his way to make things right for Elizabeth—even when he didn’t give a whit about Griffin. Georgiana had watched him make certain his people had everything they needed. If the way his employees had treated him was any indication of the sort of man he was, then he was the sort she wanted as a business partner. He was the sort she wanted as her husband.

“I’ll not walk away from ye,” he told her. “I let ye out of my sight once and I won’t do it again. I love ye, Georgiana Talbot, but…if ye tell me ye donna wish to be my bride, I’ll let ye go in peace.”

Her heart turned over. Hard. “I know, Blane. I know.” She turned into his arms and brushed her fingers over his shirt—one of the shirts she’d made for him out of his fabric. “I love you too. And I’d be proud to become your bride.”

“Then it’s settled,” Blane said happily.

“What are your thoughts on a double wedding?” Griffin called as he and Elizabeth started back toward them, arm in arm. If…” He stepped forward and offered his hand to Blane. “If you’ll accept my apology.”

Blane stared at the hand for a moment and then, without warning, drew back a fist and punched Griffin square in the nose. “Apology accepted.”

Griffin reeled. Elizabeth squealed. Georgiana gasped.

The smithy slipped off his apron and donned the dirtied white ecclesiastical stole the boy had brought him. “Two, ye say? That’ll be four pounds total, then.”

About the Author

Growing up in the south, where the air is thick with stories steeped in legend and truth, Debra came by her love of romance novels honestly. Well…sort of. At an early age, she pilfered from her grandmother’s extensive library and has been a fan of the genre since.

A full-time freelance writer, Debra especially enjoys combining history, mystery and a touch of taboo to weave stories with unforgettable, haunted heroes.

She lives in Alabama with her sexy real life hero, a couple of smart-aleck ghosts and a diabolical black cat.

Debra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at Comments@EllorasCave.com.

Also by Debra Glass

Bad Kitty

Badcock

Bought and Paid For

Death by Chocolate

Ellora’s Cavemen: Flavors of Ecstasy I anthology

Having Patience

Lucid

Phantom Lovers 1: Gatekeeper

Phantom Lovers 2: Shadowkeeper

Phantom Lovers 3: Watchkeeper

Rebel Rose

Restraint

Spirit Lifter

Twice the Novice

Print books by Debra Glass

Behaving Badly anthology

Gatekeeper

Shadowkeeper

Watchkeeper

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com