Page 51

“I’ve never . . .”

Conrad closed his eyes. Even though he knew they could not do this, not yet, he said, “Take off your shift, Cait.”

He felt her moving, and then . . . stillness.

Opening his eyes, he cursed himself for a fool.

Cait Kennaugh sat above him, nude, as beautiful as a goddess. The need to touch her was as undeniable as his attraction to her.

And so he did.

His hands were everywhere at once. Rolling with her, Conrad landed on top. Encouraged by the sounds she made deep in her throat, he kissed her collarbone as his hands reached up to cover her breasts. He explored her body, both frantic and thorough.

Her hands, once tentative, did the same.

But when she reached behind him, softly touching his buttocks, Conrad made another vow. He’d not dishonor her, but by God, when the time came, he’d ensure Cait Kennaugh understood what they’d missed by not doing this sooner.

As much as he wanted to play with those beautiful breasts, he now had one goal in mind. And she didn’t stop him until Conrad lifted one of her legs and positioned himself beneath her.

“What . . .”

He looked up then, the single candle thankfully still burning so she could see him. Conrad knew she trusted him, but a reminder was needed at this moment. He could have gone more gently, eased into this.

But he would not.

“Trust me, my sweet dove.”

Her eyes widened.

He’d committed each of her letters to memory, and so he remembered it was in her fourth missive she’d told him of her affinity for the dovecote she managed at Bradon Moor. He’d first used the nickname in his fifth letter. It seemed fitting, Cait’s love of the small yet powerful bird.

She understood. And did not flinch at the first touch of his tongue.

When her back arched a moment later, her hips pushing into him, Conrad smiled against her, glad for the pleasure he would give her, even as he denied his own release. It was pleasure enough to hear her moans, and when she called out his name, he refused to relent.

He could hear her hands grasping for something and imagined himself buried deep inside her, Cait’s hands reaching for him. As they would be. Someday.

For now, he’d content himself with the cries that would surely wake the entire manor. The thought of gliding into that wetness, claiming Cait as his . . .

They could marry this moment. Say the words that would be as binding as any ceremony.

He will kill you. And you’d deserve it.

Instead, Conrad shifted his head to watch as Cait’s expression changed from pleasure to pure wonder. The look she gave him then was worth the painful throbbing he endured at this moment.

Smiling, Conrad pushed his way up the bed and laid his head on the pillow next to hers. He closed his eyes. Calmed his breathing. Pretended to be on the battlefield, staring down mounted knights with lances at the ready. Any man who said he was fully prepared for such a sight lied.

Mock battle, the melee, was nothing akin to real men aiming to kill you.

“Conrad?”

Painful memories, but they had worked.

“I will need you to put on your shift, if you would stay here with me.”

Cait did not hide her amusement. “Will you not dress as well?”

“I sleep nude. As you will when we are married.”