Until at last, the wave crashed.
Pleasure, pure and devastating, tore through her body in a long, rippling climax that left her weak and gasping. She moaned his name again, barely aware of it.
He rose, his chest heaving, his face flushed, his eyes stormy.
Without a word, he reached for her skirts and pulled them down with a detached, practiced touch. It felt like ice after fire.
“Next time you even think to defy me,” he said, his voice low and steady, “remember whose name you were whimpering, Elspeth.”
Then, he turned away.
He walked toward the dressing room and shut the door behind him, leaving her sprawled across his bed, her limbs limp and her heart hammering.
Does he expect me to leave now?
Elspeth sat up slowly, her body humming with aftershocks. The night breeze kissed her skin. Her face burned with humiliation and heat. The way she had moaned, begged…
How utterly, shamelessly she had wanted him.
It was mortifying. And yet, beneath the shame, something dangerous burned. A need. A hunger. A spark that would not die.
He doesnae ken that I dinnae lie with me late husband, the sick drunk that he was. He doesnae ken the power he holds over me And how I hate and crave it in equal measure.
But she knew one thing: she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her like this.
She rose, silent and swift, gathering her scattered dignity like a cloak. She slipped out of his chambers, her bare feet padding against the cold stone, and returned to her own.
Once there, she shut the door and leaned against it.
Aye, that was the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. But the feelin’ of bein’ so out of control, that’s the very opposite of everythin’ I’ve ever been.
She undressed, slowly, carefully, and slid into her bed, seeking the comfort of linen and solitude. But her skin still tingled from his touch. Her breathing quickened at the thought of his mouth on her.
And as her eyes fluttered closed, only one word echoed in her mind.
Hugo.
Chapter Nine
“What are you reading?” Hugo asked as he strode into the library nonchalantly, his arms crossed behind his back, his shoulders high.
His broad chest looked so comely, accentuated by the way he was walking.
I cannae stand how this man’s appearance distracts me so. I would wear a blindfold, but that would probably only entice him to tease me more.
Elspeth set down her book, a faint smile on her lips, as he walked toward her at a small desk. She glanced at a nearby clock, noting that it was early afternoon.
They had missed each other at breakfast, Mrs. Whipple informing her that he’d risen early to attend to some urgent business in his study. It was a piece of news she received with aquiet sense of relief. That relief promptly flew out the window at the sight of him.
“It’s a book on English flora, Yer Grace. Me maither loved plants, herbs, and flowers. I was curious what grows best in this area, as there can be subtle differences between our climates. I have always enjoyed botany and science, the earth’s healin’ properties. It is so powerful.”
“Ah, a fledgling botanist? Not just a Highland enchantress?” Hugo teased, walking over to a bookshelf at the far end of the room as Elspeth watched him retrieve an atlas.
“Many rumors have followed me at Inverhall, and now here. Why rely on liquor to ply one’s nerves when a good cup of steeped herbs works just as well, and without clouding one’s judgement? Me interests are rooted in science and good sense.”
“Rooted indeed,” he replied, flipping through the pages of his book.
Was that a joke?
