Page 24 of The Protector’s Promise

It was as if she’d doused him with water from the River Esk, frigid even now during the summer. “Husband?”

Was she betrothed, then? To whom?

“The man I will marry,” she said, looking at him as if he’d gone daft.

Court backed away as if burned. “Who?”

She stared at him blankly.

“When?”

Understanding finally dawned, and Marion lifted her chin, a sure sign he was about to receive a tongue-lashing.

“I am betrothed to no one,” she said. “I just meant . . . it is one of the many, many reasons I should not be alone with you in your bedchamber now.”

She is not betrothed.

And what in God’s bones was wrong with him? Would it have made a difference if she were?

Aye. It would have mattered. When he touched Marion . . . even when he simply looked at her . . . one thought ran through his head: mine.

He took a step back toward her and captured her neck from behind. “We have established that this is foolish and wrong. But by God, Marion, I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I want to kiss you again. To tear off that gown of yours and cherish what lies beneath it.”

To make you mine in truth.

When he brought her head toward him this time, the kiss was gentler. While their tongues tousled, Court finally allowed himself to explore the maddening desire that she’d awakened in him.

Dipping his hand beneath the fabric of her neckline, he reached lower until his hand was able to cup the round, beautiful breast below. Taking it firmly in his grasp, Court teased her nipple with his thumb as he continued to show Marion with his mouth how deeply he needed her. When she moaned beneath him, a kitten-like purr that instantly hardened his cock, he released her breast and prepared to replace his hand with his mouth.

Trailing kisses from her mouth downward, he shoved the fabric on her shoulder aside and continued his exploration. He didn’t dare open his eyes. The sight of her breast beneath his mouth might crack his already-thin resolve to leave his Scottish noblewoman a virgin this night. But by the time his mouth finally reached her hardened nipple, Court was not sure how long that resolve would last anyway.

Marion grasped his hair at the back of his head and pulled him closer. He met her demands, nipping and squeezing, showing her exactly how much pleasure she could expect from him that night.

When Court finally backed up and gazed into her wide, clear green eyes, he felt an unmistakable tug on his heart.

“We cannot continue,” he said.

Marion licked her lips. If she did that again, there would be no turning back.

“I’ve never felt like this,” she said, her honesty so endearing that Court couldn’t decide if he wanted to ravish her or protect her for all eternity.

“There’s something between us, Marion. If it were not for the stone, for your position—”

“My position?”

He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair.

“You are an earl’s daughter. And I—”

“You believe that is the biggest problem between us?”

The moment was gone. Thankfully. Marion righted her gown and crossed her arms. His feisty Scottish lass had returned.

“That . . . and the stone.”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “Not the stone. Your stubborn refusal to see what is in front of you. The ‘peace’ you talk of so fondly is about to be ripped to pieces by the very person who claims to cherish it.”

“I have no choice,” he ground out, tired of this argument. Tired of fighting with her. With himself.