The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

too. She should feel better to know that this affair had branded him, but she was too heartsick.

"Selina…" He kissed her again, a turbulent expression of desire and regret that had her heart cramping with poignant emotion.

She ripped her lips away from his and gazed into his face. The first time she saw him, she’d noticed his striking beauty. Now she saw so much more. Kindness and humor and intelligence. And care.

She wondered what Brock would look like when he was old. If he persisted in this life of idle debauchery, it would mark him. The cynicism he shed in her company would set a permanent sneer into his features. Whereas if he found purpose and happiness, his beauty would endure.

I could make you happy.

Selina capped that thought before it drove her to despair. Wishing for what she couldn’t have was the sure path to madness.

"Put your cock inside me," she whispered, despite everything a little shocked at such words leaving her lips.

He smiled down at her with the affection that she’d tried so hard not to rely upon. Because while he might be fond of her, she had no delusion that this affair would change his life. Once she was gone, he’d take another woman into his bed, then another. And despite her strictures to herself that jealousy did her no good, right now she was sick with jealousy. She wanted to hunt down those unknown hussies and rip every hair from their no doubt empty heads.

She supposed she’d hear about his new amours. The papers were quick to print any gossip about the disreputable Lord Bruard and his scandalous exploits.

Every time she saw his name, her heart would break all over again.

But that was in the future. A future that seemed as bleak and empty as a desert. At this moment, she had the man she wanted in her arms and he desired only her. She refused to let bitterness infect their last hours.

"Aye, with pleasure, my sweet lassie." His brogue was thicker this morning. Always a sign of strong emotion.

Reveling in the perfect union, she rose to meet him as he slid inside her. She’d spend the rest of her life feeling as though half of her soul was missing.

Brock propped himself up on his elbows and stared down into her face with intent green eyes. He set up a slow, relentless rhythm, penetrating to the hilt, before withdrawing in a smooth glide that made her quake. She reached her peak twice while he kept up that incessant rocking motion. With every thrust, he laid claim to her.

They didn’t speak. Their bodies said everything they needed to.

Only toward the end when Brock’s chest was heaving and his skin was damp with the effort of holding back did a guttural question escape him. "Shall I pull out?"

She firmed her grip on his hips and pulled him closer. "No."

Even then, the deep strokes continued, until Selina shattered into another exhausted climax. She was swollen and aching after all these hours of passion, but this final consummation was sweeter than honey. Sweeter yet was the moment he went still and groaned in release.

When it was over, he stretched out behind her, holding her in a loose embrace, as they’d lain so often in this bed. She blinked back acid tears and placed her hand over his where it caressed one bare breast. "You’ve given me joy, Brock. Such joy. Just as you promised."

She waited for him to respond, but with a broken sigh, he buried his face in her disheveled hair. His hold tightened, and they lay in silence as their last minutes together ticked away.

***

Brock glanced out the carriage window. "We’re not far from the Blue Wagon."

Yesterday’s break in the weather hadn’t lasted. The sky lowered heavy and gray, and sleet flew in the biting wind. The coachman would be as cold as an icicle and must curse his master for making him drive on such a bitter day.

So far, the roads had remained firm, frozen after the snow, but Selina knew the trip back to London would turn into a muddy nightmare. Even now, the coach showed a dangerous tendency to skid, and they were more than an hour behind the time she said she’d reach the Blue Wagon.

Selina sat up from where she leaned against Brock’s shoulder and smoothed her hair. Compared to the journey to the marshes, this trip had been uneventful. There had been no breathtaking sensual encounters. There hadn’t even been much conversation. Selina couldn’t bear to put the profound experiences of the last week into words, and the idea of discussing forthcoming plans made her feel ill. So she’d rested against Brock, trying to draw strength from the warmth of his arm around her.

He shifted across to the opposite seat. "Your carriage will be waiting?"

He’d asked her this already. She supposed there was some satisfaction in knowing he, too, was on edge about their imminent parting. "I hope so. I assume Kitty will be there, too."

"Gerald comes home from school tomorrow morning."

"Yes."

"That will be nice."