Perfectly Proper Page 6
Tristan stopped at the thin copse of bushes before the pond. Morgan’s back was to him. He opened his mouth to call out, but then she stood and turned; his mouth went dry. The wet chemise molded to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Lace edging, more decorative than essential, framed her pert-rose-tipped breasts, the nipples puckered from the cold. His eyes tracked down her body leading to a narrow waist and nicely rounded hips. Even the dark triangle between her legs was visible. Tristan watched, barely daring to breathe as she tilted her head back, and with cupped hands, scooped up the water allowing it to run down her body. Tristan imagined catching some of the rivulets with his tongue before cupping her breasts together so he could put both nipples in his mouth, Morgan wrapping her long slender legs around his waist, and leaning back to float on the water, a mischievous smile on her lips. Barely stifling a groan, his imagination continued the torture by having him support her hips while he guided his hardened shaft into her sleek wetness. Her hips strained upward to bury him deeper; he braced himself to begin the rhythmic dance that would take them both to new heights.
“Who’s there?” Morgan’s heart was pounding so loud in her ears she wasn’t sure if she could hear anything even if someone was out there. Frantically searching the bank, she ducked low in the water to cover herself.
Her sharp question startled Tristan out of his reverie. He couldn’t believe he let himself get that lost in a brief fantasy. And he certainly couldn’t step from behind the bushes. Not with his pants open and his throbbing cock in his hand. He tried for a casual tone, “You should have let me know you were leaving camp. We’ve wasted enough time. We need to get moving. I don’t want to make us easy to find.”
Her initial relief to the sound of Tristan’s voice dissipated as her heart now pounded for a completely different reason. She heard him move away from the pond, and wondered at the strained tone of his voice, but needed some time to collect herself. As she hurried to dress, she didn’t dwell on her feeling of disappointment, and certainly had no intention of exploring its source.
After sharing a silent and quick breakfast of bread and cold cheese, they mounted and continued the journey. Still a little embarrassed at the thought of him possibly seeing her naked, Morgan tried to make conversation to cover the silence. As she was not one of those girls who prattled on about whatever nonsense came into their heads, she made an effort to focus on more intelligent current politics and events.
Tristan was happy to ride in silence, stoking his anger, but soon found himself drawn into discussions about land reform and the changes being made on their various estates. At first he enjoyed it, but then began to question how Morgan would know so much about land-management. It was also obvious she was much too opinionated. Where would a true society miss even hear the information she was providing, much less have her own thoughts about it? She, or her handlers, obviously did her research a little too well. Tristan was frustrated that he allowed himself to be drawn into that obvious of a ploy, again relaxing his guard. He stopped participating and just let her talk.
Morgan sensed Tristan withdraw again and fell silent. He was confusing. One minute he was listening to her ideas for a new irrigation system, and the next he was all but ignoring her. She refused to be anything other than what she was. Obviously, he, like most men, was not comfortable with a female who had a brain. But unfortunately that didn’t mean she wasn’t attracted to him.
Although outwardly he maintained an impassive and indifferent appearance, Tristan knew that was not the case. There was an almost irresistible pull between them, and it took great effort on his part to deny it. He was unsure if her attraction was genuine or part of her mission. Either way it didn’t matter. They weren’t working for the same side, and would never be together. Allowing himself the idea of someone who could appreciate his particular talents and job was pure fantasy.
They traveled most of the rest of the day. Tristan took back roads and circled once to make sure they weren’t being followed, something he should have done the first day. They did not stop for lunch, but only a short break to water the horses at a stream. Slowly Tristan felt himself begin to relax. Unfortunately, that also meant his mind was free to puzzle over the conundrum that was Morgan. Her story just didn’t fit his experiences of young ladies of quality, so that must mean she is pretending. And what other purpose would there be than to disrupt his mission. Tristan felt he was on solid ground. Some agents were paranoid to the point of seeing conspiracies in everything. He was not one of them. So, if she was playing a game—so can I. There was no reason he couldn’t pursue a more intimate relationship. It would be interesting to see how far she was willing to take her cover. He didn’t deny his own physical attraction to her; it could be interesting for them both.
“Look, there’s a cottage.”
Tristan broke from his musings and followed the line of her pointed finger. Just inside the next stand of trees lay what looked to be a possible hunting cottage. There were no signs of anyone being there, and this would certainly be preferable to sleeping in the open again.
Dismounting, Tristan approached cottage. It was one room, sparsely furnished with a bed, table, and two chairs. Dust and cobwebs gave evidence that it had not been used for some time. Tristan was reluctant to light a fire as he did not know if the chimney was safe, and he did not want to alert anyone to their presence. But it seemed secure enough.
“I’ll see to the horses. We’ll stay the night here.
The temperature dropped once the sun set. The chill and damp were becoming uncomfortable, but Morgan refused to complain. She could tell he was still evaluating her, and she did not want him to have any reason to not let her continue.
THIRTEEN
Morgan continued to remind herself of her earlier resolve as she made a project out of clearing the table of the last of their food. She was determined to focus on the task at hand versus the fact she was freezing. They were inside and she could see her breath! The horses were probably more comfortable, maybe I should sleep with them. That thought brought her up short as she had not yet considered the sleeping arrangements. Suddenly, the small bed seemed to fill the room. It took all of her effort to not look at the bed and appear unconcerned.
Tristan had been thinking of little else other than the bed. After his experience at the stream, and now that they were relatively safe, his mind provided a constant parade of images. Morgan in the stream, Morgan with her breasts bared to invite his touch, Morgan naked and sprawled on the bed. Dinner had been excruciating. He didn’t think he’d been this hard since he was a lad. He couldn’t leave; he didn’t trust her. Muttering an oath, Tristan stood and rummaged through his saddlebags, noting Morgan’s feigned disinterest. “Here, drink some of this. We can’t risk a fire, and you look like your teeth are about to start chattering. This will warm you.”
Morgan had seen her brother and cousin pour enough spirits to realize he was not offering Ratafia or Sherry. She never drank anything stronger, and hesitated. Until he raised his brow questioningly, or is he daring me? Taking the bottle he offered, she tried not to jump at the jolt of awareness that went through her as their fingers brushed. In her haste to take some and return it, his proximity was a little unnerving, she took a quick swallow—too big of a swallow. Morgan’s eyes widened, and then began to water as the raw scotch whiskey transitioned from pleasant warmth to a breath stealing, burning, inferno. She was glaring at him, but the coughing fit that came next completely ruined the effect.
Tristan rescued the bottle of scotch and pounded on her back until she was breathing without choking. Her gratefulness at being able to breathe again was short-lived as she realized his efforts brought them in even closer proximity. Morgan felt his gaze and the response of her body. Time seemed to slow as the sexual tension and awareness crackled between them. The sudden clap of thunder and flash of lightning startled them both. It was the briefest interruption, but enough to break the immediate spell. Morgan felt a loss as he moved away.
Morgan nodded, too drained to even speak. Not that it mattered, he didn’t wait for her to acknowledge his decision. She did not seem to have the same effect on him that he did on her. She looked around the cottage, hugging her arms to herself. After the initial shock, the scotch was sending a sort of glow through her body. She was tired and cold. She sat back down at the table, frowning at the bottle of amber liquid now at its center. One must need to get used to it. She’d never seen her brother or his friends react like she did. Uncorking the bottle, Morgan took another, much smaller sip. That went down a little better, and she really did feel warmer. Wrinkling her nose in response to the taste, she continued to sip the scotch.
Morgan was not sure how much time had passed, but her lids felt very heavy. She also noticed the bottle of scotch was missing a notable amount. She snorted, “Hrmph! He shouldn’t have left it if he didn’t want me to drink it!” For some reason that made her giggle. She felt warm and fuzzy, but her eyelids were getting heavy. Maybe she would lay her head down on the table, just until Tristan came back. She certainly would not be getting in the bed. Maybe he planned to sleep outside. Morgan decided scotch wasn’t all that bad.
Tristan entered the cottage and stopped at the sight of Morgan’s limp form. Her head was resting on one curved arm while the other was flung across the table. His felt his heart jump with concern, but he quickly realized she was only asleep. Just as well. He needed to rethink his plan, and he wanted to do so without her distraction.
Tristan brushed back a tendril of hair that fell across her cheek and wondered what dreams could be causing her to frown. Her lips parted and she let out a breathy sigh. Tristan felt himself captivated again by those lips. Luscious, full and pink, he imagined what she would taste like. He felt his groin tighten in response and groaned. He just spent the better part of an hour freezing outside in order to tamp down this desire. This isn’t going to work. He would put her to bed and then take himself back to the stables. He was a Highlander; it wouldn’t be the first time he experienced sleeping in the cold, but she couldn’t sleep at the table all night.
He eyed the bed with some trepidation. Her earlier response, as well as his reaction, had just caught him off-guard; there was no reason for him to not carry her to the bed. Before he could think too much, Tristan bent and gathered her carefully in his arms. Her hair was loose, and it spilled over his arm like fine satin as he lifted her. He tried to ignore the feel of her legs and uncorseted torso as he carried her across the room. Her breeches were molded to her body, and Tristan briefly wondered if this could be a new form of torture devised by the other side. As he placed her on the bed and began to pull away, Morgan’s eyes fluttered open, trapping him with her gaze. Tristan froze. He could not stop himself, even if he wanted to, when her eyes traveled to his mouth in an old, unspoken invitation.
Morgan was dreaming. She was floating, and felt safe, warm, and secure. It was a nice dream, until a sudden coolness on her back disturbed it. As her eyes opened, an image of Tristan appeared above her head. She should have been concerned, but all she could think about was their interrupted kiss at the tavern. Her eyes unconsciously traveled to his mouth, and she knew with certainty that he was going to kiss her again.
As their lips met, Morgan felt her body suffuse with fire and come alive. This has nothing to do with the scotch! She opened her mouth to him in surrender and he took full advantage to plunder her mouth with his tongue. She was swept away and felt her nipples tighten in response to as she lifted her arms to pull his body closer to hers. She ached with the need of wanting him close and unconsciously molded her body to his as he complied. She felt her hardened nipples brush against his chest through the thin fabric of her shirt, each contact sending sparks down her torso to the area between her legs.
Tristan knew he was on the edge of losing control. He only thought to taste her, but her responsiveness completely disarmed him. He slanted his mouth against hers for better access as his right hand traveled down her waist to grasp her buttocks and mold her to him. This was going too far, but her gasps and whimpers of passion continued to drive him. He left her mouth to try and regain a measure of control and began kissing her jaw and neck. Seemingly by its own volition, his right hand traveled from her buttocks, up her side, and cupped her left breast. He tweaked the harden point between his thumb and forefinger as the rest of his hand molded and massaged her breast. Her hips ground against his erection as he lowered his mouth to suckle over the fabric. She was offering herself to him and he wanted to take her. How could someone so unsuited to the role of proper lady think to pass herself off as the sister of an Earl? I might be from Scotland, but even I know society has little tolerance for those who don’t abide by the rules.
Morgan wasn’t naïve, she had been kissed before, and knew what happened between a man and a woman, but nothing prepared her for the feelings and sensations now coursing through her body.
Morgan pushed Tristan’s shirt open and ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Hearing his sharp intake of breath as her hands drifted across his abdomen emboldened her to explore more. Morgan felt the cool air on her legs as he began to divest her of her trousers. She lifted her hips without thinking to help him. She felt as if she couldn’t get close enough. Fire continued to build in her abdomen, and she ached and throbbed with desire. His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere. Her legs parted naturally as he ran his hand up her now naked thigh, and only gave a slight start as his fingers invaded her wet folds. The sensation was exquisite, and Morgan gasped with pleasure.
Tristan knew he was being pushed to the brink of his control. No woman ever set his blood on fire like this; he could hardly think straight. The connection between them was almost primitive as his body demanded he claim her, and his mind could not form any argument to not acquiesce. Parting her legs, he sat back on his heels and spread her legs wide with his knees. He wanted to see her as he entered. Morgan started to protest the loss of his mouth, but the erotic charge of seeing him holding his engorged member to enter her caused it to be only a breathless sigh. She was sent to another sensual level and her hips rose seemingly of their own volition until she felt the head of his shaft press against her.
At the touch of her warm, wet, core, Tristan guided himself in and thrust forward, pulling her hips toward him with his large hands. He felt himself break through a barrier, and saw the shock registered on her face. But she was so tight and wet he didn’t know if he could stop. He couldn’t believe she was a virgin! His mind carried on a brief, but intense, internal battle with his body. Finally, with a muttered oath, he summoned all of his will power and started to withdraw, but stopped when Morgan clasped her legs around his hips.
“No, don’t stop.” Her lips remained slightly parted after her breathless request, but he was still determined to end this. However, when she wriggled her hips in an attempt to keep him within her, his already straining body needed no further encouragement, and he thrust back in. Morgan moaned at the sensation, and knew she needed to let him guide her. The tension continued to build within and she felt spiraling sensations of desire. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing.
Tristan held on, barely, but once he felt her spasms, his own release soon followed. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through them both until they lay spent and panting. After the previous day’s events, the only energy he had left was to roll on his back and pull her against him. He was surprised she was a virgin. Her responses were so innocent, he told himself he was just letting her just play out her ruse. Tristan knew he should process this in relation to his suspicions, but neither outcome was good. Either he just bedded his best friend’s sister, pr
obably not living long enough to see a wedding once Jack found out; or whatever group that was behind the attacks were recruiting extremely loyal people and she was simply doing her job. He certainly wasn’t going to explore why the former outcome was preferable to the latter.
FOURTEEN
Morgan woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and an empty bed. She was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment. The feeling between her legs was sore, but not unpleasant. After washing and dressing, she made her way outside to find Tristan saddling the horses.
Tristan’s movements were out of habit. His mind certainly was not on the task at hand. When he awoke this morning it was all he could do to not take her again. He couldn’t stay in bed with her and manage that, so he left. He was angry with himself. He was more than attracted to her, but it didn’t matter. Affairs of the heart did not work in his line of business. He needed to refocus. He knew the moment she stepped out of the cottage, but did not turn to acknowledge her.
Morgan was confused at the stiff set of his shoulders and neutral expression. It was as if nothing happened between them. Fine! If he is going to pretend to feel nothing, I can do the same. Lifting her chin a fraction she approached him.
“I’ve put the cottage back to rights. We can leave whenever you are ready.”
Tristan felt incredulous. This is how she is going to talk to me? There was no mistaking the haughty, dismissive tone. It was one he often heard used most often with servants in ton households. She’s not really a lady, he had to remind himself. They both had jobs to do. Tristan would not let his guard down again.
Morgan rode alongside Tristan in silence. Even though she pretended indifferent sophistication; that was not what she was feeling inside if she were completely honest. She knew she could fall in love with him. Here was someone who might accept her as she was. Shafts of sunlight peaked through the trees and played on the gold in his hair. Neither spoke about the previous night, but she didn’t believe he did not feel something toward her. Morgan couldn’t keep up this cool façade; it wasn’t who she really was. Someone had to be honest about this. “What part of Scotland are you from?”