What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,45
and she crossed the floor to look outside.
The moon sat directly above the mountain, illuminating the jagged peaks and the patches of snow. In the peace of the night, she could watch the mountain unobserved. Tall and silent, it guarded the land like a sentinel or a pagan god of old. Perhaps it was from the mountains where the people of this land drew their strength.
Footsteps approached. Someone was outside.
She crossed the floor and pulled the door open.
He stood before her, his large frame filling the doorway. A candle flickered in his hand, illuminating his face, which bore a frown of concern.
“Is there anything wrong?” she asked.
“I came to see if you were all right,” he said. “You seemed out of sorts tonight. Was the meal not to your taste?”
“It was delicious.”
“The company, perhaps?”
She looked away.
“You must forgive Jennifer,” he said. “We grew up together, and she expects me to offer for her.”
“And will you?”
“No.”
“Does she know you intend never to marry?”
He shook his head.
“You should tell her,” she said. “It’s not fair to let a woman believe you feel something that you don’t. It’s dishonest.”
“That’s why I admire you, Miss Hart,” he said. “Jennifer displayed such incivility, yet you champion her cause and admonish me for my lack of honesty.”
Her mind wandered to the article she’d just finished.
“I’m not honest,” she said. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you better than you think, lass,” he said. “From the moment we met, I knew you were different. Other women bend back and forth, weaving themselves around the people they seek to manipulate to gain what they want. Like water, they follow the easy path. But you…” He sighed, his chest rising and falling in a shuddering motion as if he struggled to contain himself. “You’re like the mountain. Straight and true, you never deviate from your path, no matter the temptation.”
Guilt pricked at her conscience, and she spoke harshly to conceal it. “You came to my chamber, risking my reputation, to tell me that?”
“I’m here out of genuine concern for your welfare,” he said.
“I’m well, as you see.”
“Why are you awake?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”
“No,” she said. “I have been admiring the view from my window. The mountain is so beautiful. Will you take me there tomorrow?”
He smiled. “I promised, didn’t I? I agreed to show you pleasure five times to complete your education, and I have only done so once. You have four more.”
She reached up and touched his face, unable to fight the need to feel his skin against hers.
His nostrils flared, and he closed his eyes.
“Miss Hart, you know not what you are doing.”
She tipped her face up. “I’m asking you to honor your promise,” she whispered.
He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against hers, then peppered her face with light kisses. His breath tickled her ear.
“I want ye—badly,” he said, his voice hoarse, “but I would never scandalize ye.”
Her body hummed as his brogue became more prominent. He moved against her, and she felt his maleness, hard and hot against her stomach through her nightrail.
“Would you show me pleasure?” she asked. “Like before?”
“Ma is sleeping on this floor at the other end of the passageway.”
“I have no wish for your mother to join us,” she said.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. His knuckle brushed against her breast, and a small gasp left her lips as her nipple beaded.
“So responsive,” he breathed. “You’re a natural, Miss Hart. Your body was made for seduction.”
“No, Your Grace, it was made for you.” She reached for his arms. “Are you to continue my education, sir?”
“I see I have an eager pupil.” He entered the chamber and closed the door behind him.
“Am I to be your prisoner, Your Grace?”
“I’d like nothing more, lass, than to tie ye to the bed and have my way with you.”
She shivered with anticipation at his deliciously wicked suggestion.
“Ah!” he said. “I see you’re not averse to the notion of being at my mercy. But I merely wish us not to be disturbed.”
“Surely we’d hear anyone coming?”
“Lass,” he said, “ye’ll be too busy screaming my name to notice any passersby.”
He took her hand and led her toward the bed, then he lowered his gaze to her chest where her nipples poked insistently against the fabric of her nightrail.
She sat on the bed, and he pushed her back, his hands gentle yet firm.
“Do ye trust me, lass?”
“Yes.”
She yielded and let her body relax. He gave a low rumble of approval and lifted her