Page 81 of Ghost of the Ton

“Iona, for fu—”

“No, Hamish,” Mia interrupted. “You’re right. It was inappropriate of me to mention it when I’m a guest in your home.” She turned to Ma and inclined her head. “Eilidh, forgive me.”

“There’s naught to forgive,” Ma said. “We’ve been having very fine weather, have we not?”

The two women exchanged a smile that only served to heighten the jealousy needling at Hamish, and supper continued with them chatting amiably to each other while Iona watched, mouth turned down, her gaze flicking from one to the other. Occasionally she glanced at Hamish, pulled a face, then resumed her attention on the plate in front of her.

When the meal concluded, Mia leaned back, a smile of contentment on her lips as Mrs. McBride cleared the plates.

“Thank you, Mrs. McBride,” she said.

“Ye’re welcome, lass,” the cook replied. “It’s not often I get a bit of appreciation here.”

“We all appreciate ye, Mrs. McBride,” Hamish said, rising. “Euphramia, would ye like a nip of whisky?”

Mia glanced at the longcase clock in the corner and shook her head. “Forgive me, but I must get back. I have much to prepare before I visit the school tomorrow.”

“But it’s begun to rain,” Ma said. “Why dinnae ye stay a while?”

“I can weather a little rain.”

“Then would ye at least permit me to escort ye back to Riverview?” Hamish said.

She hesitated, then nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you, Eilidh…and Iona…for your company tonight.”

Ma smiled in approval. Iona raised her eyebrows but had the good sense to say nothing. Then Hamish escorted Mia out of the dining room.

The rain had begun to fall more heavily as he accompanied his wife on the path toward the river. He placed his arm about her shoulders, and, rather than the rejection he’d expected, she smiled and they continued in silence—the companionable silence that a husband and wife shared when there was no need to express their contentment with words.

What could be more pleasurable than a man taking a nighttime stroll with his wife? But, rather than enjoying a pleasant walk with the prospect of a night in each other’s arms, he was taking her to her lonely cottage, then would return to his lonelier bed.

As the silhouette of riverside cottage came into view, she let out a small sigh.

“Are ye happy, Mia?”

At first, she said nothing. They approached the door, and he opened his mouth to repeat the question.

“I am content,” she said.

“Only content?”

“Content with the prospect of happiness on the horizon.”

“I would have ye happy, Mia.”

She tilted her face up, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “And I you, Hamish.”

Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

At first, she stiffened, then her body relaxed as he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms, relishing the feel of her softness against him. She gave a low whimper as he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips. Her fingers curled around his arms and he slipped his tongue inside, relishing the unspoken invitation. With hungry, insistent strokes, he swept his tongue across every corner of her mouth, claiming, tasting her. But it was not enough—he wanted to devour her until she was quivering and boneless, begging for release.

His cock stiffened as a little mewl escaped her lips. Such a sweet sound—the surest indication of female need as she readied herself to surrender her body to the male, like the deer presenting herself before the stag, to be mounted…

She let out a low groan and he withdrew.

Devil’s ballocks, had he hurt her?

But no—eyes closed, face flushed, she was ready and eager. He took her hand, interlocked their fingers, and lifted it to his lips.