Her face turned scarlet.
“Stop it,” she said, trembling. “You—you have no right to speak of it like that.”
“Oh, but I do,” he said, his voice deepening. “Ye gave it to me. And when I looked at it, Elizabeth, I felt seen. Not as a duke. Not as a Scot. As a man. As myself.”
She looked overwhelmed, as if the words were unravelling her.
“I—” she started, but couldn’t finish. Her lips parted, struggling.
Then she turned. A retreat.
He couldn’t let her go.
He reached out and caught her wrist firmly. Not harshly, but enough to stop her.
“Let me pass,” she snapped, spinning toward him.
“Not until ye beg,” he answered, low and rough.
“You devil!”
He released her at once, stepping back like he’d been struck. “Aye. I’ll be that. But not to ye. Not unless ye want me to be.”
She didn’t move. Her breath hitched.
“Those lords will never know what stirs in that beautiful mind of yers,” he continued. “They’ll never understand how yer fingers linger over a page when ye’ve something honest. They’ll never make ye feel what ye’re capable of feelin’.”
“Stop,” she whispered again, her voice cracking, her eyes now shimmering in the firelight.
He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek with aching gentleness.
“They’ll never hear yer moans,” he said, his voice like a sin. “They’ll never taste yer name on their lips like I have.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her body leaned into him. Her hands trembled, but they didn’t push him away.
“Ye said stop before. Tell it to me again, and I will,” he whispered, his breath brushing her lips.
She didn’t speak.
He kissed her. Gently, at first, and softly, almost hesitantly.
Then, when she didn’t pull away, deeper. He poured everything into the kiss. His need. His reverence. His hunger.
Her hands gripped his coat, pulling him closer as her body melted into his.
He groaned as her lips parted for him, as her tongue met his tenderly then hotly. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She gasped when his mouth trailed to her jaw, then her throat.
“Alasdair,” she breathed, her voice soaked in wonder and desire.
“Elizabeth,” he rasped back, ravenous.
She clung to him when he lifted her gently, pressing her back against the wall. He kissed down her neck, tugged at the neckline of her gown until it slipped, baring one perfect breast.
“Let me worship ye,” he whispered, as he lowered his mouth to her.
Her moan was the answer he needed.
He licked, tasted, savored. Her nipple tightened under his tongue, and she arched into him. His other hand fondled her other breast, coaxing another helpless sound from her throat.