Chapter 11

Lachlan watched Madeline sleep.

Some time ago, the tray of sustenance he'd rung for had been delivered. It was likely cold by now. But despite his ravenous appetite, he wasn't moved to eat or leave her side, apart from accepting the tray, which had been a necessary obligation. She'd slept through the light commotion, never waking, apparently exhausted by the combination of wedding day, train travel, and lovemaking.

They had taken an early meal prior to arriving at the station in York to depart for Edinburgh. The train they caught had stopped for half an hour in York, having arrived from London. That had all been hours ago, what may as well have been a lifetime for the changes those hours had wrought. And by now, he was starving, his stomach grumbling loudly in demanding protest.

And yet, he remained where he was, listening to the rhythmic sound of her breathing, drinking in the sight of her, lovely and at ease, her chestnut hair spread over the pillow. She was beautiful. And his. His to love, to kiss, to hold. To protect, to make love to, to make a life with.

What an arresting realization. It was settling in now, their change in circumstance, becoming real in the wake of their earlier lovemaking. Everything was different. He was different too. Lachlan didn't yet know what it all meant. Part of him was too fearful to investigate.

Because he could see now, with utter and abject clarity, how easy it would be for him to fall in love again. Specifically, to fall in love with Madeline. His bold and vibrant American spitfire, who was brazen and confident in every action she took. Who seized what she wanted, when she wanted it, without apology. Who was spirited and determined and stubborn and intelligent.

How he hoped she didn't regret her decision to marry him, because it occurred to him that marrying Madeline had easily been the best thing he had ever done. Not because of the fortune that came along with her, but because of the woman herself. He couldn't fathom his life without her in it. And suddenly, he knew, in some small measure, what Decker must have been speaking of when he had extolled the virtues of love and marriage that day at the fountain at Sherborne Manor.

As if roused by the heavy nature of his thoughts, Madeline shifted and stretched, making a sleepy, kittenish sound that sent a pang of something directly to his heart. She was smiling as her eyes fluttered open, and then his heart did something else. It cracked open.

At least, that was how it felt.

She stole his breath.

"Hullo," she told him softly.

"Hullo, mo gràidh."

The endearment came naturally. This, too, was cause for concern. He didn't like how strong his feelings for Madeline were, and yet he was also powerless to stop them. They were a train, speeding down a track, determined to reach their inevitable destination.

"Mo gràidh,"she repeated. "What does it mean?"

My love.

But he couldn't bring himself to say those words in English. Not yet. It was too soon, and he was caught in the maelstrom of his burgeoning emotions.

"It's a Scottish word for wife," he fibbed.

Her brow furrowed. "Is there a Scottish word for husband, then?"

Damn.He ought to have known better than to lie to her. But he hadn't been prepared to make such an admission. Not to her, nor to himself. Because he very much feared that he had fallen in love with her, and although she was now his wife and he needn't worry about her choosing someone else over him in a matrimonial sense, he was more than aware of how new their relationship was. She could grow bored with him. Displeased with him. She could decide that lumbering, red-haired Scotsmen with ramshackle castles had lost their dubious appeal. She could long to return to New York City or even London. She could come to resent and despise him for their sudden marriage.

"Aye," he told her grimly. "It's husband."

"But how odd," she said, her nose crinkling in an adorable way as she considered his stupid lie. "Why would there be such a lovely word for wife and not one for husband?"

"Because husbands dinnae deserve either our wives or a lovely name." He leaned toward her, kissing her to keep her sharp mind from turning the question over and reaching the inevitable conclusion—that he was a dunderheaded clodpoll.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his, her soft curves melting into his frame. His cock sprang to attention, rising proudly and prominently between them.

Madeline tipped her head back, ending the kiss with an impish grin, her eyes dancing. "Did you miss me while I slept?"

Her teasing voice only heightened his unfortunate state.

"Of course I missed ye," he growled affectionately, dropping a kiss on the bridge of her elegant nose. "But ye earned that slumber after the day ye've had."

"What about you?" She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, the fondness on her countenance as unmistakable as it was heady. "Did you not sleep?"

"I dozed for a bit," he said, and then his stupid stomach promptly grumbled.

Madeline's brows rose. "It sounds as if you've worked up an appetite."

"Aye, I have." A twofold appetite. But one would have to wait. He didn't wish to fall upon poor Madeline like a slavering beast.

It wasn't her fault that he had been chaste as a monk for years and that now that he'd had his first taste of lovemaking with her, more was all he could think about. His prick was a damned demanding fellow, but he could exercise some patience.

"How long have I been asleep?" she fretted. "I don't suppose we can procure a meal now."

"I rang for a tray whilst ye were asleep," he said. "Are ye hungry?"

"I could be." She smiled shyly.

And by the rood, that smile went straight to his cock. He tried to think of kittens to make the bastard wilt.

"I'll make up a plate for ye," he offered, thinking the distraction would be excellent and also that he wanted to dote on her.

To take care of her. To spoil her. To cherish her too.

Aye, he was a fool for this woman already. The rest of his life didn't bode particularly well if he was desperately in love on the first day of their marriage. How would he be able to remain impervious?

He slid from the bed before she could answer and strode across the room, bare arsed. He'd never possessed much shame, and he knew Madeline enjoyed his body. He often caught her admiring his form, and it pleased him greatly.

"You needn't serve me," she protested languidly from the bed. "I'm fully capable of tending to myself."

"Aye, but as I told ye before, ye have me now, lass," he reminded her, pouring two glasses of wine, one for each of them, before examining the contents of the covered tray.

Fresh bread and cheese, along with tongue and cold roast beef. Best of all, there were shortbreads. A divine feast as far as he was concerned, but then he was so hungry, he would have happily eaten his own hat at this point. Lachlan made haste in filling plates for each of them, making two trips to deliver her wine and overflowing plate, before returning with his own and settling back in the bed.

"I can say with all honesty that I've never been served in bed by a naked man before," Madeline said teasingly when he was settled at her side once more. "If this is what being married entails, I shouldn't have waited."

"But if ye hadnae waited, ye wouldnae have married me," he pointed out, raising his wine in her direction. "And I, for one, am heartily glad I'm the lucky one ye married."

She raised her glass as well, giving him a tender look that melted the last remaining bit of ice within him. "I'm glad too."

"Ye are?" He cast a glance in her direction, shortbread halfway to his mouth. "Truly?"

"Do you doubt it? If so, I must be remiss in my duties as wife. I'll have to make amends."

Good Christ above, if she were any more thorough in her duties as his wife, she'd kill him.

He bit into his shortbread, enjoying the flavor of it, considering his words with care as he chewed and swallowed. "Ye've proven an excellent wife thus far. No need tae make amends."

"I've only been a wife for the span of mere hours," she said, a playful grin flirting with the corners of her lips. "How can I have already passed muster?"

The admission was torn from him. "Because ye make me happy, lass."

He knew he shouldn't have said it. But he couldn't seem to help himself where she was concerned.

"Thank you," she said softly, looking at him in a way he couldn't recall another woman ever doing before her. "You make me happy too, Lachlan."

He stuffed another shortbread into his mouth to keep from saying anything else, and they carried on with their repast in companionable silence.

"I'll miss it here,"Madeline declared as she took another lingering look out the window of their hotel, which was across from the Scott Monument and down the street from the beautiful Princes Street Gardens and the castle atop its perch on Castle Rock. She and Lachlan had toured both during their sojourn in Edinburgh.

They had remained for longer than originally planned, Lachlan needing to take care of matters concerning the estate and entail, the details of which had required more time than he had supposed. But they had also turned their stay in the city into a honeymoon of sorts.

She and Lachlan had been luxuriating in their time alone together, alternating between making love and touring the city, Madeline eagerly taking in the rich history and sights. Edinburgh was so much older than New York City, and she and Lachlan had enjoyed visiting confectioneries and filling themselves with shortbreads and Scottish cakes, paying a visit to the Royal Institution with its Antiquarian Museum, the National Gallery and its collection of paintings and statues. It had been a whirlwind.

And now, it was nearly at an end.

There was yet another leg of their journey remaining—the final one to Kenross Castle, south and east of the city. They'd be leaving in two days and traveling by carriage to visit the sprawling, if dilapidated, estate and ascertain how much work would need to be completed at Castle Kenross to restore it to its former glory. And with that impending expedition loomed a question she had yet to ask but that had been eating away at her like a gnawing little kitchen mouse just the same.

"We can always return for another visit," Lachlan said as he approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply, as if he couldn't get enough of her scent.

"Perhaps when we return to England for Lucy's wedding," Madeline said wistfully, watching the horses and carriages and crush of people moving about their days below.

"Aye, whenever ye wish." He kissed a deceptively sensitive place just behind her ear, a spot that never failed to make her knees go weak.

Madeline settled her arms over his, hugging him to her more tightly, the heat and strength of him at her back a welcome temptation she could never seem to resist. How good she felt in his arms. Safe. Protected. Adored.

Not loved, but she harbored some hope that, in time, the affection Lachlan felt for her would evolve into something more pronounced. Something like what she was feeling for him. Because it was as plain as the nose on her face that she had somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love with her husband.

She watched the progression of a stately carriage below, gathering the courage to formulate the question she needed to ask. "You told me that you left Scotland and the life you knew behind, that you found your position with Mr. Decker. But you never did say if you'd returned to Scotland for a visit. Surely you must have come back in all the time you were gone. You must have missed your home."

What she truly wanted to know was if he had been so devastated by what had unfolded with the woman he'd loved that he hadn't had the heart to return.

There was silence for a moment, and she feared he wouldn't answer her. He nuzzled her temple instead, the arms wrapped around her waist tightening incrementally. Until at last, he spoke.

"I didnae return."

Simple words, and yet they held so much meaning.

"Why?" she asked as the carriage she'd been particularly watching turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

"Because I didnae wish tae," he said gruffly.

"Do you not have family here?" she asked, turning to cast him a sidelong glance. "Friends you must have missed?"

"The only family I cared for was my mother, and without her, there was no' a reason tae return. Until obligation and duty changed that. As I said, I dinnae expect tae inherit the title. I'm a distant cousin of a distant cousin."

That answered part of her question, but something remained unspoken between them. There was the woman whose name he hadn't even deigned to tell her. The woman who had so captivated him. Jealousy rose unwanted within her, curdling the delicious shortbread she'd taken earlier with her tea.

She sighed, hesitant to bring up the past again. Their idyll had been everything she could have hoped for—she was enjoying his company, his lovemaking, his sense of adventure. She was far happier than she had dreamed she would be in a marriage of convenience with a stranger she'd known for the span of less than two months.

"There's something ye're no' saying," he observed knowingly, his bright eyes made more vibrant by the sun pouring through the window, the gilded rays catching the golds in his hair and bringing them to life. He hadn't shaved that morning, for they'd been lazy and stayed abed far longer than they should have, alternately making love and napping. The light caught in the faint stubble that kissed his jaw.

She knew how that stubble felt, coarse and wonderful, on her inner thighs. On her breasts and neck. She knew so much about him—the intimate, the physical. She knew how to make him moan. How to take off his clothing. He'd even shown her how to shave him, a tender task she'd taken delight in performing for him the morning before. She knew that he adored lettuce and tangy vinaigrettes. That shortbreads were his secret weakness. And that he tended to slam every door he closed on his own, as if he were oblivious to his strength. She knew the sound of his breathing when he slept. Knew the scent of him in the secret place where she loved to burrow her face, between his neck and shoulder.

But there remained so much of him that was an enigma.

And there was a part of him that he kept deliberately separate, locked away with a key only he possessed.

"What's troubling ye, lass?" he pressed when she failed to answer him, caught up in her thoughts.

Madeline had to turn away from the stirring sight of his handsome face and sky-blue eyes. She returned her gaze to the city street bustling with life instead, choosing her next words with care.

"The woman you loved," she began at last. "Is she the reason you stayed away?"

"Lass," he protested softly, kissing the shell of her ear. "Ye dinnae need tae fret about the past."

His words did nothing to mollify her concern.

"You didn't answer me," she pointed out, fearing that he'd said everything by saying nothing at all.

"Aye, then. If ye must hear it, she's the reason I didnae return initially. But look at me, mo gràidh."

There it was again. The word for wife that rolled so fluently off his tongue. She still found it strange that there was no equivalent for husband.

Madeline complied, turning to face him so that her back was against the cool windowpane, no longer looking out at the world, but instead looking in, to the sight of her husband dressed informally in nothing but a shirt, trousers, and bare feet. His feet were enormous, like the rest of him, but they were handsome feet. She'd never seen a man so well-formed on such a grand scale.

"I've lived a full life these last few years," he said softly, a tenderness overtaking his features that she'd come to recognize. "Or at least, I thought I had. Until I met ye. Now, I'm persuaded I was wrong and that I was missing something verra, verra important."

She wanted to believe him. Her foolish heart leapt.

"Oh? And what were you missing that was so important?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

He caught her in a loose embrace, pulling her into his chest. "Ye, of course. Ye're what I've been missing all along, and now that I've found ye, I'll no' be letting ye go. So please, dinnae worry over what happened in the past. I'm looking tae the future now. Tae the life we'll build."

It was difficult to sweep away the jealousy that lingered whenever she thought about the mysterious lover from his past. The woman who had owned his heart. Harder still not to feel envious. But he was right. There was no need to worry about a woman he hadn't seen in years. Whoever she was, she was nothing but a memory. Madeline wouldn't allow her to eclipse the growing feelings she had for her husband or to taint the brightness of the future awaiting them.

No, she would chase the ghosts of the past. Kiss by kiss, touch by touch. She would make him forget. And suddenly, she knew the way to do it.

She cupped his nape and rose on her toes, aligning her lips to his. The kiss was slow and ardent, rife with unspoken meaning, burning with potent lust. She had never wanted him more, and whether it was to solidify her claim on him or to continue chipping away at the armor he wore about his heart, she couldn't say. All she knew was that she had to have him inside her. She had to have him naked, atop her, entwined with her.

She gave him her tongue, showing him without words what she sought. And with a half groan, half growl, he accepted her offering, his tongue mating with hers until they were both breathless and her breasts were heavy and full, her nipples tightened to painful points, her sex aching.

Madeline was first to break the kiss, brushing her lower lip over his just one more time before she spoke, unable to get enough. "Please, Lachlan. I need you."

He cursed in Gaelic, words she didn't understand. "What ye do tae me, lass."

She wanted to do more.

Everything.

Wanted to drive the memories of the woman he'd lost from his mind forever so that only Madeline remained.

She slid her hand boldly over the front of his trousers, where his cock had already risen to rigid prominence. "I feel what I do to you. And I like it very much."

She gave him a slow stroke, her hand firm and knowing. Touching him made her long to feel all that hardness inside her, filling her, taking her.

"The bed," he growled. "Now."

They staggered toward the piece of furniture in question together, pulling off each other's garments as they went. Her bodice landed on a chair. Her drawers sailed across a table. His waistcoat nearly landed in the fire grate. Thankfully, the fire was out.

They kissed frantically as their fingers traveled over buttons and cloth, the sound of rending fabric filling the air when it took too long to remove her chemise and Lachlan tore off one sleeve in his urgency. At last, he was as naked as she, and they were on the bed, Lachlan atop her, his powerful body pinning hers to the bed, his cock springing huge and demanding against her sex.

She rubbed herself against him, seeking the friction of his erection over her clitoris, and he lowered his head to suck the tip of one breast into his hot, wet mouth. She moaned, feeling how ready she was for him, how desperate. His hand slipped between her legs, petting her lightly in a bold tease of what she craved.

"More," she begged shamelessly. "Please, Lachlan. Give me more."

He released her nipple and swirled his tongue lazily around the distended peak. "How much more?"

He traced her seam, painting her folds with her own wetness while keeping his touch maddeningly light.

"Not enough," she said, her hips moving, seeking.

He cupped her mound, rubbing with excruciating gentleness, somehow avoiding the place where she wanted him most. "How's this, lass?"

He blew a stream of hot air over her other nipple, then sucked long and hard, the hand between her legs working her slowly into a frenzy.

"More," she repeated, nearly out of her mind with need.

Until it occurred to her that two could play at this game of wicked teasing. She knew what he liked. Madeline twisted, grasping his ruddy cock in her hand and caressing him from base to tip.

"Minx," he said without heat, at last parting her folds and giving the bud of her sex a light stroke with his fingertip.

She continued her caress, gripping him harder, stroking him faster. A drop of moisture beaded on the head of his cock, and she used her thumb to swirl it over him. He groaned, thrusting into her touch, and increased his pressure on her aching pearl.

"Come for me, lass," he murmured, kissing the curve of her breast, his wicked fingers finally giving her everything she wanted, moving fast and sure over her slick pearl.

She was helpless to stop the climax that roared through her. Crying out with her pleasure, she surrendered to the waves of bliss as everything within her tightened to the point of decadent pleasure and her cunny contracted with a series of spasms that stole her breath. Empty. She was so empty. That part of her needed to be filled.

She guided his cock to her entrance, knowing how wet she was for him. More than ready.

"Ah, mo gràidh." He laved her nipple with his tongue one more time before moving back to her lips, taking them in a fierce, claiming kiss. "Ye're soaked for me. So hot and wet and perfect."

Madeline hitched her leg over his hips, opening herself to him in silent invitation. And he took what she offered, thrusting into her in one long stroke that had them gasping in unison. He was buried deep inside her, and the pleasure was so exquisite, she thought for a wild moment that she might die of it. And that it wouldn't matter. She would shatter to pieces in his arms, and she wouldn't regret it for a moment.

But then he moved, withdrawing almost completely, only to sink deep again. So deep. Finding the rhythm they both needed. And she forgot to think. Forgot to worry about anything but Lachlan, his big body laboring over hers, his cock thrusting in and out as she reached her crescendo again. It was close. So close.

He shifted and withdrew suddenly, guiding her legs along his chest, until her feet were over his shoulders. Slowly, he folded her body, entering her again from this new position.

And she was lost.

He plunged into her, the sensation even better than before, as if he were reaching a new place inside her. Deeper. More intense. A helpless sound of desire tore from her as she clung to him, caressing his chest, his shoulders, his muscled arms, while he worked his cock in and out of her ever-sensitive sheath. His eyes, blue and intense and searing, held hers captive as he took possession of her body.

She couldn't hold on to her control. Something inside her snapped. Broke open. She came in a torrent, tightening on his cock and calling out his name as he increased his pace and thrust into her again and again, his strokes growing shorter as he sought his own release.

Until, with a hoarse cry, he emptied himself inside her, filling her with the hot flood of his seed as she pulsed around him.

He withdrew from her and lowered her legs, then took her into his arms, holding her tightly as their hearts pounded in frantic unison and their ragged breathing slowly returned to normal. Wrapped in his warmth and strength, Madeline had no doubt.

The past was firmly where it belonged.