Page 27 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

Did he want to? She didn’t ask in case he said yes. She was determined that he would grow to enjoy having a wife.

He nudged his cock against her with a wicked grin. “Ready?”

She was ready. She surprised herself by how ready she was. She opened her legs and he pushed in, deeper, filling her again, but when she winced, he stopped immediately.

“Are you tender, Grace?” he asked softly. “I can stop if ye are.”

“A little, but it is of no matter.”

“Of course it matters,” he said sharply. “No matter what the gossips say, I am no’ a barbarian.”

He withdrew despite her protests and then slid his body down hers, sucking and licking until he reached her intimate parts. His mouth closed on her as if he would eat her whole, and she cried out in surprise and pleasure. Then he clasped her hips and lifted her higher, so that he had complete access, and went to work. Grace tried to breathe, but what she was experiencing was beyond anything she had imagined.

“Did Buckingham do this to you?” he asked in a muffled voice. “You seem a wee bit tense, love.”

She tried to find words. “Not with his . . . his mouth.”

She felt him grin. “Good,” he said, and she wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he pleased he was the first? Was it an arrogant male thing? But he had already gone back to work and soon she was squirming and gasping and begging.

When she was limp with the aftermath of pleasure, he pressed his rigid cock between her thighs, held it there, and proceeded to bring himself off. Grace listened to him groan and felt as if she would never move again. She was a sticky mess and her body was so languid she might melt.

“Sleep,” Rory said softly, when he saw that her eyes were still open. “We will talk tomorrow.”

What would they talk about, Grace wondered? But she was too tired to think further than that, and then she was asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

As usual, Rory was up early and riding his horse. He had been out early every morning for the past week, since he and Grace had become husband and wife in the flesh as well as in name. He knew he would have preferred to stay in bed with his wife, and that knowledge drove him out of the house even earlier than usual. It was foolish, but this incessant desire for her worried him. Yes, in the past there had been other women he had lusted over, and yet this felt different.

Was it because she was his wife and her body was his to enjoy? He would not have to climb out of a window and flee in fear of being caught—as he had done with the innkeeper’s sister. Yes, he and Grace were married, and no one could point the finger at him and accuse him of being a scoundrel and a rake.

But there were other worries circling around in his head. For instance, now that he was married to Grace in all ways, did that mean he could not return to his easygoing life? It didn’t, of course not. He had free will to do as he wished, and a great many husbands did. They had mistresses and lovers and so did their wives.

But somehow, to return to the past no longer seemed quite right. Had he turned into Callum? He shuddered at the thought. And then he imagined Grace finding another lover and going to his bed and abandoning Rory. He certainly did not like that.

It seemed as if he was selfish enough to want it all his own way.

Impatiently, he rode on, grumbling to himself and ignoring the curious glances of those he passed, until he heard a call and, looking around, saw it was Lord Kilsyth.

He had not seen the other man since their dinner that night, and now he felt a surge of relief and pleasure at the sight of him. At least here was someone who knew his story and who he could talk to freely.

Kilsyth was smiling as if he was happy to see Rory too. “MacKenzie! I wondered if I would run into you today. Fine weather for riding, is it not?” His eyes were curious as he took in Rory’s windswept look. “You were dashing along.”

“I was frightening the other riders,” Rory admitted wryly.

Kilsyth shot him a sideways look as they trotted along together at a more sedate pace. “Is all well? You looked as if you were trying to outrun the devil.”

Was he? Rory hesitated, but he wanted to talk, and Kilsyth was a safe pair of ears. “I was trying to outrun my own thoughts. My marriage to Grace . . . It bothers me.”

“Oh?” Kilsyth looked puzzled. “Did you hope for more when you agreed to it?” Then, “My apologies, I suppose I am thinking of myself. If it was me then I would want more than to be shackled to a stranger who meant nothing to me. That is not the sort of marriage I could stomach, but then I am not you.”

Rory knew how much the other man had loved his wife, and how much he now grieved for her. “When Ormsby summoned me, I had every intention o’ telling him to go jump off the Tower of London. But when I met Grace . . . I could no’ leave her there in such circumstances. I just could no’ do it.”

“That is because you are a good man,” Kilsyth said.

Rory gave a wry chuckle. “My family might beg to differ.”

Kilsyth seemed ready to dispute his words but then ignored them instead. “What is it that worries you, MacKenzie?”