her, and then he took the first step toward his mother and toward the possibility of healing. And when he put his arms around his mother and said, “I love you,” Lilias knew, without a doubt, that she had found her perfect love, her perfect hero.
Epilogue
“Come here, my duchess,” Nash said two weeks later, his seductive voice shooting thrills through Lilias that she was positive would never lessen.
She walked toward Nash, who was sitting bare chested on the edge of their bed in nothing but a kilt, and as she drew near, he gave her a smile that promised another night of bliss in his arms.
“Is it true,” she said, placing her hands on his thighs and nudging them apart while holding his gaze, “that Scots do not wear anything under their kilts?”
He smirked up at her, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her as he stood, swinging her gently around to playfully toss her on their bed. She squealed with delight, and then laughter bubbled forth, followed by a rush of excitement as her husband came to kneel over her, caging her in with his powerful arms planted by each of hers and his strong thighs touching each of her hips. “I don’t know whether it’s true or not,” he said in a husky voice, kissing the skin of her chest that her gown revealed, “but I do know that this half Scot wears nothing under his kilt.”
“Oh, how deliciously scandalous.” She slid her hands between his thighs to their juncture. She smiled slowly as she felt the truth of his words. “I must say I’m glad,” she whispered wickedly. “It will make trysts in the gardens so much easier. If only I didn’t have to wear so many layers…”
“Ah, ye of little faith,” he said, placing dizzying kisses up one side of her neck and then down the other. “Let me show you how easy it is to deal with your layers.” His mouth descended to hers, sucking, pulling, nipping. By the time he was done with his kiss and he pulled back, she realized, bemused, that he’d shoved up her gown and had rid her of any underlayers that would hinder his loving her thoroughly.
“I think I’m too proper a lady for this wicked behavior,” she teased.
He chuckled as his hands slid under her buttocks to hoist her up to meet him and he slid slowly and deliciously into her. “Thank God you are not, nor have you ever been. I like that most about you.”
It was hard to concentrate enough to form a coherent reply because the way he moved in and out of her was building a fire that was burning her all over. With every stroke of his body, he was hitting the spot she had discovered with him, the one that made her splinter in his arms. But somehow she found the thread of her reply as her hands splayed over her husband’s own perfectly formed buttocks. “That’s what you like most about me?” she panted.
Another chuckle came from Nash, this time darkly rich. “In this moment,” he said, his voice ragged as his pace increased, making the blood in her veins rush faster and roar in her ears, along with the loud beat of her heart, “I most like that you are so warm, so inviting, so very wanton with me. I like—” he managed to lower himself, capture her right nipple in his mouth, and suck it in a way that made her arch on a moan toward him “—this breast,” he finished with a release of her now-puckered nipple.
“But that is so unfair to the left breast,” he said, sounding every bit like the devil she loved. “It—” he swirled his tongue around her left nipple “—is just as lovely and gives me just as much delight.”
“Prove it,” she choked out, both her breasts now heavy and tight.
And he did. He used his mouth to torment her nipple with sweet strokes, even as his body moved in and out of hers, pushing her toward that peak she’d discovered in his arms, the glorious one where all thought fled and all that remained was pure bliss. And just when she thought she would splinter, he released her breast and caught her by the underside of her thighs. He spread her legs farther apart and then set one of them over his back and brought his hand to the juncture of her thighs.
“Here,” he said, separating her to find the spot