clothing. Strong, warm hands caressed her legs, moving slowly toward the juncture of her thighs, where she felt wet.
“Oh, lass, you need me as much as I need ye.”
“H-how can you tell?” she stammered.
He inhaled deeply. “I can smell it, lass. You’re ready for me.”
She blushed at his wanton language and her body’s reaction to him.
“There’s no shame in it, lass,” he said. “To enjoy your body is the most natural thing in the world. Society should hang its head for demonizing the most beautiful act between a man and a woman.”
“You speak as if you have extensive experience.”
“I do,” he said. “How else would I qualify to be your tutor? Surely you’d rather learn from a master at the art of coupling—a real man—than fumble in the dark with a mere boy? I would have ye learn the pleasures of your body, lass, so that you might show your future husband how to please you.”
Your future husband…
His words tempered her desire. Did he see her as nothing more than an apprentice, to be taught the pleasures of the flesh, then cast aside? Once he’d finished with her, would he move on to the next? Was that what he’d done to Miss MacKenzie, the woman who now clung to him, displaying her desperation so openly?
But he’d made her no promises. Lilah had entered into their agreement willingly. But this man—this beautiful man who loved his homeland, who took pleasure in his privileged life but worked hard for the benefit of others, was in very great danger of making her fall in love with him. Would she be able to safeguard her heart while yielding her body to him?
He dipped his head and placed a soft kiss on her ankle. His touch sent a shiver through her body. Murmuring gentle words of praise, he peppered her skin with small kisses. Then he nudged her thighs apart, and she gave a squeal of embarrassment.
“No, lass,” he whispered. “It gives me great pleasure to look at ye. Would you deny me that pleasure before I give you pleasure in return?”
She lifted her hips, and he growled with approval.
“That’s right, lass,” he said. “Ye’re ready for me.” His tongue flicked over her flesh, and she gave a low cry.
“Delicious,” he whispered. “Perhaps I should place you on the dining table. A rare banquet that would be. Would ye like that, lass, to be spread over my table ready for me to devour whenever I wish?”
His voice had grown hoarse with need.
“Tell me dinner is served,” he rasped. “Say the word and permit me to feast.”
“Your Grace, I…”
“Just say it,” he growled. “Tell me ye’re mine for tonight.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m yours.”
He dipped his tongue again, a soft, velvet weapon caressing, teasing her, circling her flesh until it found what it wanted—the little nub of pleasure. Then he clamped his mouth over her and sucked hard.
Her body exploded, and she cried out, clutching at the bedsheet as the world shattered around her.
“Good, lass, Delilah…”
His words of praise fueled her pleasure as wave after wave engulfed her. As the waves receded, his caresses grew gentle, while he murmured her name.
The bed shifted, and he moved beside her. His maleness pressed against her side, and a musky aroma thickened in the air. He let out a deep sigh.
She opened her eyes and looked up. The moonlight formed a soft halo around his face as he gazed at her, his eyes glowing in the dark. The aftershocks of pleasure gave way to fear.
Fear that her heart was already lost.
He reached out to touch her face, and she turned her head away.
“Didn’t you feel pleasure?”
She forced a smile. “Yes,” she said. “You’re an able teacher. Perhaps the man I marry will continue my education.”
He hesitated, then nodded his head. “You may compare us if you like, though I’d advise you not to voice your comparison. Sometimes the truth can be painful.”
“Yes,” she said, swallowing the bitterness in her voice. “It can.”
The bed shifted, and he sat up. She reached for the hem of her nightrail, and a warm hand enclosed hers.
“Allow me.”
He pulled the garment down, covering her legs.
“I should let you sleep, lass.”
He crossed the floor, stopping at the desk where a pile of papers sat—her finished article. He only need lift the top sheet to see the name of the author.
Jeremiah Smith.
“You’ve been writing poetry?”
“Yes.” Her stomach tightened at the lie.
“That’s good,” he said. “I’m doing all I can to find someone to publish them. May