The Scot is Hers by Eliza Knight

15

Giselle stared at her mother over the breakfast room table, considering how much her patience had thinned, and how the peace she’d found within the walls of Slains had all but disappeared.

Once more, her hair was done up with a thousand pins, the natural curls ironed out and then put back in with a hot iron the way her mother liked it. Hours had passed while the maid tugged and prodded. The only good thing about her parents’ arrival was that she was once more outfitted in her own clothes. Today’s day gown was a soft taupe with little embroidered flowers in the same shade.

After the garden party the day before, Alec had not returned. Off he’d gone with his friends—Jaime said something about a hunt—but Giselle was pretty certain they’d gone to practice target shooting. Which meant he was planning to still go through with the duel.

In a little less than twenty-four hours, her fate would be decided for her. She nibbled on the toast on her plate—the only thing she’d put there, unable to stand much more, not even butter or jam. The constant urge to wretch was never far away, and the idea of eating anything more than a few crumbs was out of the question. Even the tea seemed to leave her unsettled.

And her mother...oh, the woman wouldn’t leave her side. It had been an effort the night before to have her mother sleep in a different room, when she’d wanted to stay and share the bed to keep an eye on her. In essence, Giselle felt as if she were suffocating at present.

She and Alec had shared so much in those few short minutes they’d been alone in the abbey. Both of them opening up their hearts, and then he’d disappeared. It seemed like every time they had a few moments to talk, to share and get to know one another—and to kiss—they were interrupted. If she didn’t see him soon, she was going to start running through the castle and grounds shouting his name.

As if the heavens heard her fervent prayer, Alec sauntered into the breakfast room, his cheeks flushed from early morning exercise. Dressed in a kilt and shirt, he was casual and dashing all at once.

His eyes met hers, sparkling with mischief. “Good morning.”

A murmuring of good mornings went up from the other guests who’d already sat at the table, but Giselle found it hard to make her mouth work. He looked so incredibly handsome. Her body sparked to life. It took quite a lot of willpower not to swipe away her toast and crawl over the table to the other side, where he stood watching her.

If only the room would melt away, leaving just the two of them. Her chest swelled with unacknowledged emotion. Lately, it felt as if every interaction between them was left unfinished. She wanted more of everything. More time. More words. More touch. More kisses.

“A game of croquet has been set up for anyone who wishes to play after breakfast,” Lady Errol said from the head of the table. “It looks as if it will be a splendid day for it.”

Giselle tried to ignore the flash of disappointment at the announcement. Organized games meant she’d not have a chance to sneak off with Alec. Besides, the last time she’d played croquet, she’d gotten a wee bit too enthusiastic and knocked her ball through a window.

Alec gathered toast, eggs and bacon and took the empty seat beside her, his knee touching hers and sending a jolt of awareness through her. As he reached for his napkin, his fingers brushed the side of her hand while she reached for her tea.

Across the table, her mother watched their every move. A shame she hadn’t been so vigilant when Joshua was near. Not that it would have mattered, as her mother didn’t seem overly concerned with the truth of that man’s manners.

“I trust ye slept well,” Alec said as he buttered his toast and then slathered on a thick layer of raspberry jam.

“Aye, my lord.” She wanted to tell him the truth, that she’d barely slept at all, that every few minutes, she had to convince herself not to rise and traipse through the house to find him.

When her mother was distracted by a conversation with one of the other guests, he whispered, “Do ye like to play croquet?”

“No’ especially. There was an unfortunate incident the last time I tried to play.” She told him about the window, and he laughed.

“Well, I’ve no’ broken any windows, but I am still no’ fond of the game because of the sheer lack of entertainment. I find it boring.”

“How should we attempt to make the game more fun for ourselves? I fear any more enthusiasm and I might take down the castle.”

“We shall have to find a way to distract ourselves—and the others. I think ye might have a sore ankle and need a rescue,” he suggested.

Giselle grinned, trying to subdue her excitement under the overly watchful gaze of her mother. She lowered her voice. “I think ye are quite right. Perhaps ten minutes into the game?”

“Or less.” He chuckled, the sound drawing her mother’s dragon gaze toward him.

“What is so funny?” she inquired. “Do tell the rest of the table.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is nothing we want to hear,” the dowager countess said, and Giselle had never liked the woman more, as no one would go against the hostess at her own table.

Giselle sipped her tea to hide her pleased smile when her mother did not push the issue.

The day was glorious, with the sun shining down on them and a gentle breeze blowing to take away the heat. The game of croquet was exuberant, and given the ladies were rushing toward their balls and whacking them with a lot of force, it was easy for Giselle to fake a tumble—without breaking a window.

Alec rushed toward her as her mother gasped. But Giselle only stifled a laugh as he grinned down at her and whispered, “Well played.”

“I think I need a lie-down,” Giselle called, forcing her face to look rather serious so her mother wouldn’t see through her lies.

Lady Bothwell narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to retort, but couldn’t get in a word as Alec spoke.

“I’ll carry ye, my lady,” Alec volunteered.

“Nay,” Giselle’s mother protested, but there again was Lady Errol at her mother’s side, drawing her away by some means Giselle couldn’t hear.

Alec lifted her into his arms, and she resisted the urge to cuddle close.

“Play on,” he called to the rest of the guests. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Giselle wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and smiled. “We did it.”

“No’ yet, but we’re getting there. Is anyone watching?”

Giselle peeked over his shoulder to look back at the coquet players. “A few, but mostly they are paying attention to themselves.”

“And your mother?”

“She keeps sneaking glances, but the dowager countess is doing a marvelous job of distracting her. I can no’ help but wonder what has persuaded her to aid our cause?”

“I think it is that your mother wants to pull us apart. Lady Errol has taken offense to the idea that Lady Bothwell thinks Sir Joshua Keith is a better match when we all know that is shite.”

Giselle giggled at his vulgar language.

“Apologies for that,” he muttered.

“No need. It is shite.”

Alec met her gaze with an unwavering stare, and for a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he pulled his gaze away ahead. Inside the house, he continued to carry her toward the library.

“Ye can put me down, ye know. I’m no’ really hurt. No’ anymore.”

“I know, but I like the way ye feel in my arms.” Inside the library, he shut the door and twisted the lock. “In case anyone tries to interrupt us.”

A little thrill ran through Giselle at the idea that he too wanted to be alone. Alec settled her on a soft sofa and sat down beside her. Now that they were isolated, she wasn’t quite certain what to do about it. She wanted to kiss him, to ask him if he’d changed his mind about the duel, but she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to know his answer. Not now, when if the answer was what she thought it might be, it would spoil this moment of respite they had together.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing ye since yesterday,” he said, his arm crossing the back of the sofa and his fingers dancing over her shoulder.

“Me too. Ye’d better do it soon before they take the croquet mallets to the door.”

Alec chuckled. “That would certainly put a damper on the mood, to have all the guests marching on their library with their proverbial pitchforks.”

Giselle grinned. “Aye.”

Alec leaned over her, brushing his lips on hers. She sighed at the touch as every inch of her skin came to life, wanting more of his kiss, more of his touch.

“Do ye play chess?” he asked abruptly.

“Aye.”

“I have an idea.”

“Oh?” She sat back, folding her hands in her lap, eagerly awaiting.

He took both her hands in his and tugged her to her feet, drawing her toward the chess table set up by the banked hearth.

“How do ye feel about naughty games?” He raised a brow in a challenge to her senses.

“Naughty games?” Oh, my. Giselle felt a blush coming on strong.

Alec grinned. “Aye.”

“To be fair, my lord, I’ve never played one.” But he’d intrigued her now.

His grin widened, and he stepped toward a sideboard. “Then ye’re in for an awakening.” He lifted the topper on a glass decanter of dark amber liquid and poured a dram into two crystal cups.

An awakening. From the moment he’d lifted her off the muddy slope on the moors, she’d been doing nothing but awakening. “What are the rules?”

“For every pawn that I take of yours, ye get to direct me in some...act. And the same for if I take a pawn of yours.” He handed her a cup of whisky.

“What sort of act?” Her heart thudded against her ribs as the smell of the spirits rose to greet her. She didn’t drink whisky—had sipped some once years before, but her mother found the drink to be very unladylike. Ladies were to stick to champagne, sherry, tea, lemonade. No spirits or ale—that was for men who wanted to have hair on their chests.

“Say a kiss on the hand...or the lips.”

“Oh.” All the air left her in a whoosh. A kiss. She licked her lips as she thought of his mouth on her own. This was a very naughty game, indeed. And she was entirely fascinated. “What if we are caught?” She glanced toward the door as if she suspected to find her mother barging through at any moment.

“Well, lass, there is a secret door on the second floor of this verra library. In case ye did no’ see it behind the hearth.”

The one door she’d wondered where it led. “I’ve seen it before.”

He wiggled his brows. “Ye’ll make your escape through there, and I’ll answer the door to say I’d no’ seen ye.”

“Will your mother suspect?”

“Aye, but even if she decided to divulge the information, what are they going to do, force us to wed? We’re already planning on it.”

“That is true.” And she really wanted to play.

“Game on, then. Cheers.” Alec clinked his glass to hers and brought it to his lips.

She followed, sipping slowly on the whisky, which burned the moment it hit her tongue. She sucked in a breath, feeling her lungs expand, and even the inhalation of the scent of the spirits made them feel a little as if they were burning too. Somehow, she forced herself not to cough but to swallow it as he had.

Alec settled in the seat across from where she was to sit. “Ladies move first.”

Giselle sat down, her belly warm and her skin feeling a little flushed. With her whisky cup settled beside the board, she stared down at her pieces. She couldn’t make up her mind, so she moved one of her pawns. Alec followed suit, moving one of his into the direct line of attack, forcing her to take it. He picked up his whisky and clicked her glass.

“Ye’ve made your first winning move,” he said.

Giselle sipped her whisky, too, the sensation of heat growing inside her.

“Now, my lady, what is your request?”

That was a loaded question. There was a lot she wanted from him. But perhaps she ought to take this slow. Giselle wriggled her gloved fingers over the chessboard.

“Remove my gloves, my lord.” If her mother were to see this, she would not think this was dawdling at all but a grave sin, which made Giselle all the more excited for it.

Alec grinned. “That is verra naughty, my lady. What will your mother think if she saw ye in my company without your gloves?”

Giselle laughed. “I daresay she’d lock me in my room.”

Alec danced his fingers up the length of her arm, past her elbow to where her glove began. He slipped his fingers beneath the edge, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. She bit her lip as he unhurriedly peeled away the layer of silk to reveal her naked flesh. The move was so sensual, so forbidden, that he could have been taking off her gown for all it mattered. Was it the whisky or the intensity of his green regard?

When he’d removed one, he moved to her other arm, repeating the undertaking, and by the end, her cheeks were aflame, and she hoped he didn’t notice her sudden need to breathe harder. All he was doing was taking off her gloves, for goodness’ sake. But she knew it was so much more than that. The way the pads of his fingers slid scandalously over the sensitive flesh of her inner elbow, down to her fingers and between them. Everything tickled and sent hot frissons of need coursing through her.

“All finished.” Her gloves were draped over his outstretched hand, and she snatched them back, trying to smile when she felt like sighing. “My turn.”

He moved another pawn forward, and she did the same without even considering another piece on the board—because of what happened next. He took her pawn and grinned at her as though he were a cat that had caught a mouse. Again, he lifted his whisky, and she mimicked him, taking a long, slow sip as she watched him over the rim of his glass.

“Ah, now I get to make a request.”

Giselle’s heart skittered somewhere up her throat as she waited on bated breath for what he’d say next.

“I should like to request a shoulder massage.”

She cocked her head to the side. “A shoulder massage?” She’d never given anyone a massage or received one either. How exactly did one go about that? Was she just supposed to rub his shoulders?

“Aye.” He shot her a wicked grin. “With your bare hands.”

“Ye will no’ feel the difference with your clothes on,” she pointed out, realizing too late what she’d just said.

“Are ye saying that I should remove my clothes?” He winked at her, and her face felt afire from having insinuated that—but also because now she was thinking about him removing his jacket, unraveling his cravat, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing inch after inch of male skin.

Giselle swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Well, lass, I would have expected ye to say nay, but if ye wish.” He reached for his cravat, linking a finger in the space between his neck and the fabric.

“Nay,” she said, thrusting her hands out and laughing. “No’ yet…”

“Ah, leaving it open for possibility then.”

“I meant for...” Och! She picked up her cup and took another small sip. But the whisky only seemed to heighten her sensations, making her skin tingle.

Alec reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His breath fanned over her skin, and heat seared her where his lips seized ownership of her hand. A shiver skated from her knuckles, over her arms, and to the rest of her body. Her nipples grew hard, and the way he stared up at her through heavily lidded eyes was enough to make her gulp.

Suddenly, she didn’t want to play the game anymore. She wanted to sit in his lap, loop her arms around his neck, and press her lips firmly to his. Her breasts to his chest. Legs to his legs.

“What are ye thinking about?” he asked, his voice bearing a huskier, more sensual tone.

Had he been able to read her thoughts? “Ye.”

“What about me?”

“Kissing ye.”

“Do ye want to kiss me?” Alec leaned back in his chair, casually watching her with intoxicating eyes that made things inside her stir, things she’d not felt before.

Giselle nodded, moving around the back of his chair, sliding her bare fingers over the soft wool of his frockcoat and kneading the muscles beneath. Alec’s head fell back, barely touching her breasts, and she sucked in a heady breath. He looked up at her, green eyes flashing desire, and it felt as if her mind went blank.

He reached up, fingers gently nudging behind her neck for her to come forward. Following his direction, she bent low and kissed him. The hair of his head tickled her neck in this position, but she relished it. He flicked his tongue out to tease her lips, slipping between and toying with her tongue. The potent flavor of the whisky mixed with something spicier and exotic on his tongue. Cinnamon. All of those frissons of need, of desire, pulsed in a storm through her.

Forget propriety. With her mouth still on his, Giselle stepped to the side until she stood between his spread-out legs. Alec’s hands skimmed down her spine to her derriere the way he had before, massaging and pulling her closer until her belly flattened to his chest, her breasts hovering beneath his chin.

She was never going to get used to kissing him, the way it made her skin sing with pleasure, and her insides heat as though being held to a delicious flame. The desire for more made her squirm in his embrace.

“Are ye all right?” he asked. “Is this too much?”

“Nay. I am perfect...I—” But how could she put to voice her desires? “I want—” She swallowed, uncertain what to even ask of him.

“Tell me. Or show me.”

Giselle lifted one of his hands from her behind and placed it on her breast, giving a little shudder of desire when she did. The heavy weight of his palm made her nipple tighten more than it already was. A delicious torment that only seemed to increase rather than ease.

Unexpectedly, he bowed forward, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin of her décolletage, and then lower until his mouth touched the fabric of her taupe day dress, the heat singeing right through to her skin. Giselle’s knees buckled at the sensation, and she let out a little whimper.

“I want to kiss ye here,” he said, “without the barrier.”

She wanted that too and nodded, watching wide-eyed with wonder as his fingers skimmed the neckline of her dress and gave a little tug until her turgid nipple popped free. Pink and hard and an inch from his mouth. Alec grazed his tongue over the peak, and she gasped as liquid heat melted her insides.

My, but that was delicious. And then he did it again, and again. Wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking gently.

“Oh,” she moaned, knees truly buckling this time, but he caught her, holding her up by her arse.

She had that same mad urge to wrap her leg up around him, to feel the hardness of his body between her thighs as she had in the abbey. The whisky made her worries about her mother run away. The door was locked. No one was coming in.

And if they tried, she’d simply escape the way he’d told her to.

Knowing all of that made it a lot easier to lift her leg until her shin rested on his thigh, to slide it to the side as he elevated her the remainder of the way, until both of her legs straddled his in the chair, and the hardness of something else pressed wickedly to the pulsing heat between her thighs.

Alec’s mouth came back to hers then, in a kiss that rivaled all the others for passion. A kiss that felt very much as though he were claiming her for his own. And Giselle was ready to let him.

* * *

This was madness.

And yet, Alec had no desire to stop it. He loved the way Giselle was so eager for his caress. Eager to explore the sensations kissing and caressing brought. The harsh, uneven rhythm of her breathing when he skimmed his lips over her nipple. The way the tiny, pink bud had puckered excitedly against his tongue.

Giselle touched the side of his face. Her fingertips were gently exploring the scars that marred him, and Alec stiffened. Waiting for her revulsion. Expecting her to leap off of his lap in horror. But she didn’t. Instead...she kept going, her kiss deepening as she slanted her head to the side.

The mere graze of her hand on his scar should have sent warnings shivering through him. But it only made his heart beat faster, and that dizzying feeling he’d had when his friends mentioned “love” returned a thousandfold. This woman, this mad and silly woman, was giving herself over to him freely.

That was a realization he had to cherish, cradling it like a fragile treasure. No one had ever made him feel this way, want this way, be this way.

Alec returned her kiss with reckless abandon. To hell with anyone outside the doorway. This was a moment he wasn’t going to miss. A chance to show her how much he cared—though only to a certain physical point, as he’d not leave her with a child. For in the morning, he would ride off, and as confident as he was his bullet would find its way into Joshua Keith, he was also certain that Keith’s bullet was going to find a home in him. He could only pray that the man aimed for a non-vital part of his body.

But knowing what a lech the man was, he didn’t have any doubt Keith intended to be lethal.

Alec wrapped his arms tighter around Giselle, not wanting to let her go. Wanting to give her pleasure. Wishing that this moment would last forever. And then she started to move, a subtle shift of her hips that was likely unintentional, but the gasp that left her made his own heart skitter to a thundering halt. The warmth of her sex had slid over his cock, and though fabric separated them from touching skin to skin, it was enough to make him lose his breath. She did it again, gasping against his mouth.

“Was that...what was that?” she asked, pulling away. Her blue eyes were dewy and hazy with desire, and he wanted to press his lips to the lids. To breathe in the sweet floral scent of her hair.

“Which part, love?” he asked, hands roving over her supple hips.

“There is something in your...something beneath your kilt.”

It took everything Alec had not to laugh at her accusation. “Aye. Every man has one.”

“Is it a weapon?”

Oh, dear God, was she that innocent? “In a manner of speaking,” he drawled, hoping she’d catch his meaning, or at least that the realization would dawn on her any moment. Wouldn’t it?

“Tell me what it is. Show me. Why would ye put it there?” She frowned. “That’s such an odd place. I’ve seen a lot of weapons, but this one felt...hmm, I do no’ know.”

Apparently not. “Lass, ’tis—”

Alec groaned when she unexpectedly reached for him, taking the length of his cock in her grasp. Mo chreach…

“I’d let go if I were ye.” The words were nearly choked from him as she gave a little tug, then slid her hand down to the base of him and tugged again.

“’Tis stuck.”

He was going to die, right then and there, from pleasure and mirth all at once.

“Why? What is it? It’s hard but soft at the same time.” Then her mouth formed a little O, and she let go of him suddenly, red flames coloring her cheeks.

“I see ye may have guessed that ye had your hands all over my cock.” He couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh.

“Oh my...I did no’ know. I’m sorry.” She leapt off of his lap then, her hands going to the flaming red of her face.

“Ye need no’ apologize, love. Ye can touch me anytime ye want.” He grabbed her, pulling her back between his legs, laughing as he kissed her.

A loud thwack had them both jumping as one of the croquet balls came through the glass window of the library.

* * *

“Where doye think ye’re going?”

Giselle whipped around in the corridor outside her bedroom to find her mother standing in the shadows. Why was she lurking there?

“I wanted some fresh air.” She tried for nonchalance but wasn’t sure her mother was going to buy it. She’d been back in her chamber for hours now, having fled the shards of glass in the library for fear the guests would come running to find out what they’d broken.

Lady Bothwell straightened, staring Giselle down. “I’ll go with ye.”

Giselle let out a suffering sigh. “Was there something ye needed, Mama?”

“Nay, simply stretching my legs as well.” Giselle could smell a lie from her mother a mile away. She had most definitely been lurking. But why? Perhaps she’d even been standing guard, knowing that Giselle had not come in to rest earlier that afternoon.

“Past my chamber? Seems as though ye were checking up on me.”

“Do ye need checking up on?”

“I do no’.”

Having her mother with her now was putting a damper on her plans, foolish as they might have been. She’d rashly decided to leave Slains for Boddam in an attempt to beg Sir Joshua not to engage in the duel tomorrow morning. Perhaps it was luck or fate that her mother had chosen to skulk outside of her bedroom like a pickpocket.

“Ye were no’ sneaking out to find Lord Errol, were ye?”

Now Giselle was certain that her mother knew about the library or that she suspected. “Nay, Mother.” And that was the truth.

“Hmm.” Lady Bothwell was also easily able to detect lies, but the pinch of her brows showed she’d not detected one now and was confused about it.

Giselle was getting better at hiding her feelings—good.

She couldn’t very well tell her mother that she planned to return to Boddam Castle, though only briefly, to convince Joshua to change his mind. First of all, her mother would never allow it. And the other reasons why were plenty—all of which should make Giselle change her mind about the madcap plan.

But Giselle was frantic with panic. Tomorrow morning was going to change everything. It could mean the end of Alec’s life.

How could she not want to put a stop to that?

Her mother halted her at the top of the stairs. “Are ye certain there is no’ anything ye wish to discuss with me?” She searched Giselle’s face as if a housekeeper searching the maid’s drawers for missing silverware. If it was there, Lady Bothwell was certain to find it.

Giselle pulled out her most winning smile and again told her mother the truth. “Nay. Nothing at all.” Because she had absolutely nothing that she wished to discuss with her mother at all.

At the base of the stairs, they ran into Jaime, who eyed them both without expression. Though Jaime had forgiven Giselle for thinking she’d abandoned her, Jaime had yet to forgive Lady Bothwell for intervening and causing their rift. Besides, as her dearest friend in the world, Jaime knew what a strain Lady Bothwell put on Giselle, and they had an unspoken pact that she would intervene whenever she could.

Jaime was, as always, elegant and graceful, so she smiled at both of them.

“Your Grace,” Giselle’s mother said with a curtsy. “We’re headed to the garden for a stroll.”

“How lovely, Lady Bothwell,” Jaime said with an incline of her head. “I was coming to find ye, Lady Giselle. I’d hoped ye might like an evening walk. Just my luck that I can now accompany both of ye.”

A second person who would have stopped her from going to Boddam Castle and an uncertain fate. Giselle should take all of these interruptions as a sign, but she couldn’t help the dread that trickled like ice over her spine.