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At last, he turned to her to kiss those lips which had made him so happy. “That was a wicked way to appease my…urges, Mrs Stratham,” he mumbled when they parted.
“Looks like you approved it,” a half-smile on her stunning face, her fingers playing with his hair.
“At least you did not have to endure my excessive attentions.” Problem was that he discovered himself unable to keep his hands from her. His hands and everything else.
“Do you hear me complaining?” she asked with a pinch of shyness.
“You are not?” His attention fully directed on her.
“No, Samuel, I’m not.” One hand smoothing his shirt clad shoulder. “I enjoy it as much or more than you.”
He exhibited an impish smile, glad to know his woman accepted his drive. “Good to hear, I’ll make it ten times tonight, shall I?”
“You blackguard!” she jested, breathing a laugh, then went serious. “It’s that…” she hesitated, “it was never like this before.”
“No? Hard to believe,” his thumb played with her lower lip. “You’re so…receptive.”
“You mean wanton?” her teeth nibbled on his thumb.
“No, I mean warm and affectionate.” He adjusted his spectacles and held her gaze.
“Only with you, I suppose. I never…well… never met anyone after my husband passed away.”
Samuel would have punched his own inflated chest were they still living in the wild. He intended to be her second and last man. “You are my first.” She knew it, no doubt. And his last, but he would not tell her that just yet, lest she be scared.
“I’m proud you chose me.” Her hand lined his jaw. And he felt lucky for that, revelling in their tender aftermath. More minutes elapsed before she got down from his lap. “Time to finish our work, Laird McDougal.” She used the term he had taught her, endearing him with her oh so English accent.
Just before dinner, Samuel was folding a letter he had written to Walter telling him about the lecture, when Mrs Marsh came in to handle the mail to Harriet.
“There’s word from the Professor,” she said with a sheet of paper in her hand, reading quickly. Sam raised his head to her, still distracted by his writing. “He says one of his colleagues in Cambridge invited the Hayleys to spend the summer at his house in Bath. He’s due back by the end of July.”
“Mrs Hayley and the children will certainly love it.” He replied, thrilled to have a longer private time with Harriet.
“Yes…” her attention on the paper. “He gives me leave to take time off myself.”
Dinner was announced, and they left the studio for the dining room.
Several hours later, Harriet rested her head on Samuel’s shoulder, after yet another bout of consuming lovemaking. They had developed a pattern where he spent the night in her chambers and returned to his own at dawn to keep a modicum of decency.
Professor’s Hayley’s letter came unexpected to her. Naturally, the university held no courses during summer, but the family rarely travelled as he used the free time to prepare for the next term. The children had fewer hours in the schoolroom and more in open air, but still, a bit of learning took place.
Despite her surprise, she did not lament an extended period for herself. She would catch up on her reading and enjoy the sunny days in the park. Samuel usually spent these months in Scotland with his family. This year, the distance would feel too far and difficult. She remembered a vague longing in the previous vacation. But that one passed fast with her ongoing duties. Alone here, with the family gone and in light of the last few days, she feared she would miss him dreadfully. With the routine back in place next term, they would have too little time for anything else. Not to mention the need for discretion if not a complete ceasing of their recent…activities.
But the luxury of indulging in paramours was not available to her, since she must fend for herself. Her parents passed away a few years ago, and she had no siblings. Distant relatives would not give her support if worse came to worst. Which led her to conclude that this…thing with him would be a summer interlude at best.
Samuel turned, bracing his tall body on his elbow. “Come to Scotland with me,” he invited.
Blue eyes widened on his. Without spectacles, his green eyes shone more intensely. “Are you out of your mind?”
Oh, dear! How many times had she not wondered about his home country? He had always described it as green, wild and crispy when the snow melted. Sometimes she could even inhale the scent of grass, earth and rain in his accounts. And in recent months, the curiosity increased together with her attraction to him. In bed, when he fell back on his brogue, he melted her. She imagined listening to his people talking like him, imagined meeting his clan, seeing those men wearing tartan, looking fierce and masculine. How would he, Samuel, look in it?
“I don’t think so,” his body glued more to hers, making it utterly straining to decide clearly. “I want to show you my country.” He nuzzled her behind her ear sowing goose bumps.
“What will your family—?
“I care nothing for what anyone thinks,” his long legs entangled with hers.
“But I do! I cannot tarnish my reputation.” Her hands held his shoulders in an attempt to keep her own emotions at bay.
