A Well Favored Gentleman: Well Pleasured #2

  “Not important?” Alanna trembled as if a cold wind had blown through the open windows. “It was the only important thing.”

  “Uncle Leslie probably promised to marry her, then refused. It’s not as if Uncle has never broken a promise.” Wilda’s voice took on a note of desperation as she dared slander Leslie. “And he lies all the time. He’s a big liar.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ian tried to take Alanna’s hands, tried to establish contact in the manner that had always worked between them. “Tell me what I have done.”

  Jerking back, she scraped her hand through her hair and pins went flying. It should have hurt; she didn’t wince. “You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined everything.”

  “Why are all of you looking like that?” Wilda wailed.

  Ian gazed around. Brice and Edwin were on their feet, and Ian still didn’t understand what was happening.

  “What are we going to do?” Brice asked.

  “What we have to do,” Edwin answered.

  “For God’s sake, Edwin.” Brice couldn’t have looked more disgusted.

  “She’s the lady of Fionnaway. You know the law.” Edwin argued with a seriousness he’d never shown before.

  “It’s not a law.” Tugging at his cravat, Brice said, “It’s more of a…tradition.”

  Alanna interrupted. “It’s part of the pact. The sacred pact.”

  Ian watched the three cousins, not liking anyone’s tone.

  “Alanna, why are you saying that?” Brice demanded. “You’re the one who will lose.”

  “I’m the lady of Fionnaway.” She faced Brice grimly. “It’s my duty to enforce the pact.”

  “It’s an archaic bargain with creatures who don’t exist,” Brice snapped. “Are you insisting we abide by it and throw you from your home?”

  “What?” Ian sprang forward. “What are you babbling about?”

  Finally Leslie made himself heard. “The contract. The one the MacLeods made with the selkies. It requires only one thing of the man who marries the lady of Fionnaway. Do you know what that is, Ian?”

  Of course, Ian knew. How could he not know as he faced Alanna’s despair and Leslie’s high spirits? But his father would tell him anyway.

  “It requires he be of legitimate birth.” Leslie bent his head back and burst into laughter. Full-throated, full-bodied laughter that rang through the chamber and echoed down the corridors.

  Ian would wager everyone within earshot cowered from the sound of that merriment. It was as if the devil himself loosed his glee upon an unsuspecting world.

  “He’s right.” Edwin shuffled from side to side, like a child in need of a chamber pot. “Ian must leave.”

  “Why?” Ian demanded. “Why does it matter so much that the groom is legitimate?”

  “Fionnaway is passed from mother to daughter, and because it is the law in England and Scotland that the lands always go to the eldest son, there was a concern that unscrupulous opportunists might try to steal Fionnaway by any means.” Alanna steadied her wavering voice. “So the man the lady marries must be above reproach so that no one of lesser descent can lay claim to Fionnaway for any reason.”

  “This is your fault, Alanna. You were supposed to ask,” Edwin said.

  “I know, but I never thought to because”—she stared at Leslie—“because it seemed so obvious…” Leslie didn’t meet her eye, and she said, “There’s something curious here. I thought—”

  Edwin interrupted. “Maybe we could get them an annulment.”

  Alanna’s head snapped around, and she looked as aghast as she had when Ian admitted his bastardy. “An annulment?”

  “She just spent the night with him, you fool.” Brice glared at his brother, then turned hopefully to Alanna. “Unless you could swear nothing happened last night.”

  “Try not to be silly, Brice, if you can.” Alanna looked longingly around at the room. Then she looked at Ian with the same kind of longing.

  She wanted Fionnaway above all else. Ian understood that. Damn! Of course he understood. He had just lost this estate, his only place in the world. He’d held his dreams in the palm of his hand. Now, like sand, they slipped away, and he would be in exile once more.

  Yet he supposed…No, he knew his deprivation could in no way compare to hers.

  Now…now he would lose his bride.

  No, that was wrong. Now he would perform the kind of act that always made him want to puke. He was going to give up his bride. “Nothing happened last night.”

  Edwin smirked. “Do you expect us to believe that?”

  Ian paid them no heed. He could only stare at Alanna, her hair wild about her shoulders, and wonder at himself. He’d just told the truth about the night before and cast his virility in doubt with every man who would ever hear about it. He had discarded Fionnaway in the best tradition of noble asses everywhere. And what filled him with anguish? The woman. Alanna.

  She was only a woman, just like so many others. Damn it, she didn’t even have what he wanted anymore. Surely, with his experience, he could give her up without a qualm.

  Yet her gaze locked with his, and a slow, sensual smile started on her lips.

  And Ian had qualms. Many, many qualms.

  Until Leslie laughed: great, ringing laughter that raised goose bumps on Ian’s skin. “I knew you’d been under her skirt before the wedding. You take after me a little, at least.”

  Alanna’s smile disappeared. She faced the tribunal around the table and said resolutely, “I took the vows of my own free will. In the eyes of the law, whether or not we have consummated the marriage means nothing beside the saying of the vows. I always keep my word—always!—and Ian is my husband. There’s no solution except that I must leave.”

  “You’re awful.” Wilda pushed her chair back so hard it clattered to the floor. “You’re all awful. You”—she pointed at Brice—“you’re as bad as the rest of them. Ian and Alanna are married. They’re in love. They’re the two nicest people in the world, and you’re making them seem sleazy and uncouth. Well, you’re nothing but a bunch of…old…meanies!”

  With a loud sob, she ran from the room, leaving Brice clutching his chair as if, without its support, he would fall to the ground. Edwin stepped away from the scene as if he wanted to distance himself.

  Alanna sighed, her color fading. She staggered as if she were exhausted, and said to Ian, “Come. We have to leave Fionnaway now.”

  Chapter 26

  Ian stood outside the witch’s hut, gazing toward Fionnaway Manor with such an ache of hatred he could scarcely breathe. His loathing grew, roiling in the air, thick, black, awesome. Soon it would burst forth with such a massing of fury the whole world would know that Ian MacLeod hated. Hated his father, and hated those two weaselly cousins.

  They had stripped him of everything. Pride. Lands. His dream.

  He glanced into the darkness of the hut. His dream. Alanna.

  Just as he’d willed, she’d dreamed of him, and he’d enjoyed it. He’d loved visiting her mind, tormenting her with visions of hot nights and sweet, slow passions. He had adored seeing her the next day, worn-out with frustration and blushing at her fanciful wantonness.

  Now the memory of his dreams tormented him. He’d dreamed for years of a place of his own, a place he could belong where no one judged him a freak or a bastard.

  And beneath that dream had been a deeper dream. One he thought so impossible he’d never even tried to bring it to fruition. The dream of a woman who was loyal to him. Who wanted what he wanted. Who welcomed his loving. Who bore his children gladly.

  Lately the woman in those dreams had had Alanna’s face.

  Alanna. His bastardy had crushed her, stripped her of her rights, ground her into the dirt when he longed to lift her to the stars.

  Everything, everything he touched, he destroyed. And like one of the old gods, he would wreak his vengeance now.

  He didn’t even have to concentrate this time. The lack of his ring made no difference. His selkie bi
rthright fed on his enmity, and together they drew the storm. The breeze gusted his hair. Great clouds raced toward Fionnaway and tumbled in the atmosphere above the castle. They rose, higher and higher, turning first grayish-green, then black, blocking out the yellow sunlight, shutting out the hope. Ian had to strain to see even across the clearing.

  But the darkness wasn’t enough. He demanded the terror of anticipation.

  So the wind stopped. Sound died. The trees stilled, the birds cowered, the animals hunched down. Like a great cap, the clouds smothered each squeak of comfort, each groan of fear. The vapors above moved silently, capsizing on themselves, then re-forming with greater strength. Ian could see them in his mind, in his heart, and he waited. Waited until he knew the fishermen had returned to shore. Waited until the farmers had raced across the fields to home.

  Waited until Leslie had noticed what his son could do and had learned to quail.

  Then, lifting his arms, Ian unchained the storm.

  Wrath smashed down on Fionnaway like a vengeful hand. Lightning struck in searing, white bolts and broad, shimmering sheets. Thunder crackled, rumbled, a hellish cacophony. Wind blasted brown leaves off the ground and swirled them aloft in hypnotic whirlwinds. And the rains came.

  Ian stepped into the hut and with all his strength, shoved the door shut. He no longer wished to reject his selkie heritage, for it was not that which had brought him to this pass. It was Leslie and his mother and the freedom they’d abused.

  With his back against the rough planks, he watched as Alanna moved toward him, a lit candle in her hand. The flame gilded her with gold. The lightning flashes kissed her with silver. Each curvaceous shadow hinted of unsolved secrets. And her hair burned with a life of its own.

  “Ian, did you do that?”

  To him her words sounded censorious, but he scarcely cared that he and his monstrous powers had repulsed her at last. Raising his voice against the pounding of the rain, he said, “I did.”

  “Good.”

  His heart jumped at the enigmatic smile that played around her lips.

  Carefully she put the candle on the sill and stepped close to him. Running her palms from his waist to his chest, she said again, “Good.”

  Blood pounded in his veins as he stared down at her. What did she mean, good?

  Lightning flashed with the rhythm of his heart, and in each flash her face drew closer to his. Her fingers wrapped in his hair. She tugged him down and stood on tiptoe—and kissed him.

  Openmouthed. She sucked on his lower lip and groaned as if the taste of him excited her. She touched his teeth with her tongue, a faint hum of pleasure vibrating through her, and her breath warmed him from the inside out.

  Jerking back, he grabbed her head and held it. “Alanna, do you know what you’re doing?”

  Her eyes opened slowly, and she licked her lower lip before she replied. “Becoming part of the storm.”

  He wanted her. He always wanted her. And now, here, she seemed to crave him. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he searched her face as he tried to understand her. Alanna, the woman he would never understand. The woman he would gladly spend his life trying to decipher. “You had better be very sure.”

  She brought her body forward until it pressed against his, her hips undulating. “Ian. Now.”

  His control split as surely as lightning breached the sky. Picking her up, he reached the table in one long step. He lowered her and with his hands on her legs, he pushed her skirt up and stepped between.

  She watched him with warm, shining eyes, acting as if she thought him a lord in and by himself.

  “On the way here,” she said, “I wished I were really a witch so I could wreak vengeance on your father.”

  Her voice grew breathless as he massaged his thumbs in little circles on the cord that led to her center.

  “Wreak vengeance on all of them.”

  With utmost care he caressed her on the very surface of her skin, in the place where the color changed to rose and she was damp and warm.

  She stiffened. “Ah, Ian, that feels…” She tried to catch his hand. “Don’t. I can’t talk. I’m trying to tell you…”

  “I’m listening.” She yearned for him, and she would have him. But she wasn’t ready enough for an almost-virgin. “Tell me about vengeance.”

  Lifting herself on her elbows, she looked down at the place where he touched, then up at him. Reaching out, she touched his trousers, in the place where his erection strained against the buttons. “Vengeance”—she molded him—“can go both ways.”

  He wanted to rip the cloth away, plunge inside of her until he’d found forgetfulness. But he wouldn’t let her off so easily. In one matter, at least, Ian MacLeod would triumph this day.

  As he slid his hands toward the buttons of his trousers, her lips parted. He could see the slight gleam of her teeth as he slipped each fastener free, see her struggle to catch an uneven breath.

  Outside the storm grew in intensity; the wind roared, the thunder rumbled, each bolt struck with clever intent. Inside he tormented his woman. He would take her to the edge—and beyond.

  Pushing the trousers open, he bared himself to her, and she lay back and stretched out her arms to him. “Hurry.”

  Hurry? No, he would not. His desire was obvious, his resolution well hidden. “So beautiful.” He captured one of her knees in each hand. “Do you remember”—with his foot he scooted the bench around—“when I said”—he sat down and brought her right to the edge of the table—“I would like to kiss you everywhere?”

  Alanna’s eyes widened. For an innocent, she understood him very well. “Ian.” She struggled to sit up. “Ian.”

  She was going to try and talk him out of it. Talk him out of tasting her, fresh and clean and his. “Watch if you want to,” he said. “That just makes it hotter.”

  She fell back with a groan, then started up again. “Ian…”

  “Watch.”

  She did watch. She watched as he started at her ankle and kissed the inside of one leg all the way up. She whimpered when he stopped short, and he grinned at her. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her legs trembled. “I don’t want you to do this,” she said.

  “Really?” He rested the well-kissed leg on his shoulder, then began the long journey up the other leg. “I would have said you want it badly.” He looked at her, copper-colored hair above, copper-colored hair below. “As badly as I want it. Anticipation is hell, isn’t it?”

  With his fingers he opened her to him. Even there she was beautiful, feminine, inviting.

  She tangled her hands in his hair and tried to lift his head away. “This isn’t proper.”

  He grinned. “Who have you been discussing it with?” Then his smile faded. “Let me, love. It will give me great pleasure.”

  Her fingers loosened. One smoothed over his ear, and she whispered, “Well. Just to make you happy.”

  He chuckled. Chuckled with delight at her wit and a barely restrained sexual aggression. “I’m going to be very happy before I’m done with you.”

  Lightning struck and thunder crackled as he delicately touched her with his tongue. Her muscles tensed; he didn’t know if she struggled with aversion or exaltation. Lifting his head, he looked—and saw the picture of a woman in ecstasy. Head thrown back, hands clenched on the edges of the table, breasts full and nipples thrusting through her bodice.

  This was what he’d trained for in the boudoirs of India and Tahiti and London. To drive Alanna MacLeod to orgasm. He licked at her, sucked at her, tasted her pleasure. He slid his tongue inside her, feasting on her whimpers, relishing her instinctive undulation.

  She fought this climax. She exclaimed against it, raked the table with her fingers, gave in to it at last and shuddered in a desperate tide of ecstasy. He thrust his finger inside her and felt the frantic spasms.

  God, she was tight, sweet, hot, and just for him.

  “Ian,” she called hoarsely. “Please, Ian.”

  “Yes.” Rising, he kicked
the bench over and pushed his trousers down. In one thrust, he penetrated her. She screamed, and her muscles clamped down, holding him as if she’d never let him go. And he thought he could stay like this forever.

  Instead, the frenzy took them. Like the lightning outside, he struck, and struck again, each movement of his hips driving him deeper, each motion making a brighter light. Like the thunder, she echoed his desire, lifting her hips to take him, concentrating all her being on satisfaction.

  His. Hers.

  This time he was inside her when she came. Her legs wrapped around him, she held him to her, and she thrashed on the table in a glorious rapture. He held off, held off, held off until she slowed, then he placed his hands on the table on either side of her. Leaning over her, he held her still as he plunged so deeply she had no choice but to take his seed into her womb.

  And she did it with a glad cry.

  He drooped over her, his chest heaving with the exertion, his arms trembling with strain. He wanted to kiss her, exclaim over the awe he felt in their mating, caress her while she recovered.

  But did he dare? He wondered if he had hurt her, given her too much, expected experience where he knew she had none. She was new, and hardly understood what she had incited. He, who should have known better, had sizzled so much he had exploded in a flash of light.

  He tensed as she spoke.

  “Ian?” Her soft voice dipped and wavered. “I hope you don’t mind…but I love you.”

  Chapter 27

  Alanna hadn’t meant to confess it. She had known it would be better if Ian had the chance to settle into Fionnaway’s routine before she told him. But now she didn’t know if he would ever have that chance, and somehow she had wanted to make the loss up to him—and the phrase had just popped out.

  I love you. Hanging between them like a noose.

  To her, everything had been clarified in their coming together—but not to Ian. He hadn’t tried to talk her out of loving him. In fact, he hadn’t said a word. He had just taken her to the bed. He’d stripped her bare, removing each piece of clothing and revealing each new place with something that looked like reverence. He’d taken off her necklace, then strung kisses around her neck, one kiss for each stone. Then he’d made slow, tender love to her, creating such a whirlwind of passion she’d voiced nothing more than broken sounds of joy.