Page 15 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“My lord?” Demelza queried.

The mattress dipped as she joined him. She pulled at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. She’d let her gown fall to her waist, but the sight of her naked breasts did little to excite him. Her lips puckered in a pout, as she ran her hands over his chest.

“What’s this?” She withdrew Olivia’s letter from his inner waistcoat pocket.

He grunted. “A lie.”

“A lie?” She arched a finely plucked brow.

Unbidden, she opened the parchment and read aloud.

Honorable Sir,

It is my duty to inform you of a matter you must immediately set to rights. My cousin, Deborah Hay, has informed me of a delicate matter that you must address with the utmost urgency, and in order to assure there are no misunderstandings, I must come, at once and with unnatural candor, to the point.

Deborah is expecting your child. You must discharge your duty and…

“Argh,” Nicholas growled, and swatted the letter from her hand.

“Is it true?” Demelza ran her fingers over his body.

“Nae,” he grunted. “Not a word of it.”

“Oh?” Demelza tilted her head to the side. “You have been so distracted of late. Quite unlike yourself.”

So, she’d noticed. He shrugged and yawned again. “I am tired.”

“Men do not come here to sleep, my lord.” She slid her fingers into his trousers.

He lay still, again experiencing a decided lack of interest to the painted woman’s attempts to arouse him. Clearly, his body had decided to mutiny at the prospect of Demelza’s charms for even a night. He’d obviously outgrown his fascination with her.

In the morning, he’d have to find a hotel. Perhaps, they would finished building that new one by the river…his horse would appreciate the stables there, far more than the brothel’s cramped accommodations. No doubt, they would employ better stable hands, as well. He’d ridden his finest red roan from Culzean Castle. Such a horse needed daily exercise, a proper stretching of the legs.

Dimly, he noted that Demelza had increased her vigor, trying her best to spark his interest. He yawned, yet again. He could always return to the King’s Arms, a quaint establishment that housed the Hunter’s Club, his favorite card room in Glasgow—not that he’d been particularly interested in cards, of late, either.

He winced at Demelza’s ministrations. By George, she would bloody soon rub him raw if he didn’t put them both out their misery. Closing his eyes, he summoned again the image of the mysterious, auburn-haired lass. His cock lifted at once.

Demelza moaned in relief. Caught in his fantasy, he thrust his cock gently between her lips until he’d hardened enough. Without bothering to undress further, he took her quickly, his mind still on quite another shapely form. To his surprise, he spilled his seed in less than a dozen strokes. As usual, Demelza faked her pleasure, one perfectly timed to coincide with his. Only gold or silver baubles or a five-pound note could elicit a true response.

He rose. She slithered over the counterpane and grasped his manhood, then sucked the tip as he withdrew a fifty-pound note from his inner waistcoat pocket. A gleam of true pleasure lit her eyes as he pulled himself free.

“My lord.” She grabbed the note as if he might change his mind.

He tucked his manhood away and buttoned his trousers. Then, he picked up the letter from the floor.

“You are not staying?” Demelza asked.

“Nae.” He strode to the door.

“You’re not coming back.” It was a statement, not a question.

He dropped his hand on the knob.

“I will miss you, my lord.”

She wouldn’t miss him. She’d miss his money. He didn’t mind, of course. It was their agreed upon arrangement and she’d relieved him well enough, for a time. Now, he wanted something much more. He wanted the hunt, the challenge of coaxing a lass into his bed—a lass who might stay there for a lifetime…and not just any lass. He knew the one he wanted.

First, he needed to set Deborah’s scheming cousin to rights.