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He thrust deep, her hips rising off the bed to take him. She writhed against the steady increase of rhythm, her eyes black with urgency.
Climax took only moments, both of them already caught in a slippery tangle of arousals before their bodies ever joined.
A shuddering riptide of feelings broke over him as she clung, her head thrown back, eyes closed, the sculpted beauty of her face awash with moonlight. He crushed her to him, unwilling to release her, unwilling to uncork the bottle and free the storm. Because once he did, she’d be gone. And instead of a Highland storm he’d hold a frozen burn. Hard. Protected. The rush of heat and life frozen away beneath a shell of ice.
At that point, he might lay in bed with her, their bodies still damp from a joining that rocked him to his core with its wanton passion. But the real Morgan would be walled away from him. He’d yet to find the key.
And if Lord Delvish’s prophecy was right, his time might be fast running out.
Chapter 22
Cam folded the completed note to Rastus. Dripped the blob of wax across the edge, pressing his seal into it. Amos would take it to Arthur’s. Pass it along the chain to Rastus. And the trap would be set. The next move would be Doran’s.
But it wasn’t Amos who answered his summons.
“Look who I found skulking around outside.”
Brodie stood in the doorway, dwarfing the figure he held by the upper arm, crushing the wine-red velvet pelisse she wore.
She threw a dagger glance up at her captor. “I was not skulking. And I have as much right to be here as you. More so, he’s my brother.”
Brodie looked completely unfazed. In fact, he seemed almost amused. “The wee mousey can speak.”
Color infused her face, her gaze growing hard as diamonds. “How dare you?”
Cam cut her off before she worked herself into a rage. “Euna, what are you doing here? Aunt Sylvie’s probably worried sick.”
She straightened. Gave a conspiratorial grin. “That’s where you’re wrong. It was Aunt Sylvie who sent me.”
That knocked him back on his pins. Aunt Sylvie must be desperate if she allowed Euna with naught but a footman for a chaperone. She protected her niece as if she were made of spun glass, no matter that Euna was tough as nails and clever as a fox. Fortune hunters, rakes, dilettantes—they were all held at bay by Uncle Josh’s haughty condescension and unpredictable temper as well as Aunt Sylvie’s enveloping protectiveness.
No wonder Euna looked positively triumphant at being out from under their thumb, even for a moment.
She shook off Brodie’s restraining hand. Rushed forward. “Cam, Aunt Sylvie’s worried about you. She says this woman you’ve brought home with you is trouble. She doesn’t understand why you’d marry in such a helter-skelter way. She worries—”
“Sit,” Cam commanded, his voice like a gunshot. Euna dropping into a chair like a sack of potatoes. “Brodie? What’s your excuse?”
He blinked. “For being here? A desire to see your bride again. She may be trouble, but wrapped up in that body, who cares?”
Euna huffed her disgust. Crossed her arms, chin up.
“Morgan’s with Amos,” Cam explained. “As I would be if certain people”—he glowered at Euna—“didn’t make it their business to poke their noses into my business.”
She flushed, but held firm. “You can roar at me all you like, but I’m not frightened by you.”
“No?” He stepped toward her. “More fool you, then.”
She persisted in the face of his growing wrath. “I know Charlotte—”
“Is dead.” He cut her off, his tone accepting no argument. “And Morgan’s my wife now, so if Uncle Josh and Aunt Sylvie want to strip me out of the family tree, fine.”
A spark of anger lit Euna’s eyes. She rose, her hands clutched in her skirts, but her head high. “Don’t be dramatic. You know they wouldn’t do that. They want you to come to the Abercrombies’. They’re having a party the day after tomorrow. Here.” She handed him a gold-edged invitation.
“You must be joking. I wouldn’t let Morgan within ten leagues of so-called society. They’d fall on her like a pack of rabid dogs.”
“You make them sound like monsters.”
“I have heard rumors Lady Wesleyan eats her young,” Brodie quipped, eliciting freezing stares from twin sets of icy blue eyes. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s just rumor, mind ye.” He cleared his throat. “I think I hear Susan calling. If you’ll…ah…excuse me?”
