The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)

The constant tension loosened, and the next breath she took filled her lungs in a way no breath had, since long before her father’s death. “Let’s start with one and see how we go from there,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

“Sounds like a plan. Lift your arms.”

Without thinking – she was too preoccupied imagining the future that extended before her – she did. Quentin pulled the pretty dress over her head and crossed to lay it over the chair. He took considerably more care with her clothes that he had with his own, she noticed.

As he walked, the kilt swayed about his narrow hips. He was surely naked beneath the plaid. At the thought, her heart leaped with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “You make a fine lady’s maid.”

He returned to her, still with that graceful swinging gait. “I intend to spend a lot of time undressing my wife.”

She flushed, as she suddenly realized that she stood in front of him wearing only her undergarments. Before this, she’d been too busy admiring the fine figure of a man she’d married to notice.

When he paused in front of her, the blatant admiration in his gaze made her cheeks burn hotter. “By heaven, that dreadful coat covered buried treasure.”

He reached forward to unhook her corset and draw it away, leaving her in shift and petticoats. Emily had lent her everything she wore, not just the elaborate wedding gown. Emily, it turned out, had a fondness for naughty, extravagant undergarments. Embroidered birds and branches twined around the pale pink corset, and the shift and petticoats were sheer white silk.

Quentin’s hands worked fast as he untied the tapes on her petticoats, until they slithered to the floor at her feet. Kit might still wear shift and drawers and stockings and slippers, but she felt close to naked. Under his hungry gaze, she shifted self-consciously, even as her breasts ached for the touch of his hands.

Gently he drew her forward and kissed her again. Despite her innocence, she sensed a universe of hunger banked behind the kiss. Her knees turned to jelly, and she slid one hand behind his neck to keep her balance. And to touch him. Touching Quentin turned out to be one of life’s greatest delights.

Kissing her, he began to investigate her shape through the fine material. Running his hands up and down her back, spanning her waist, stroking the bare skin of her arms. Her nervousness receded under the wash of pleasure. When he lowered his hands to squeeze her buttocks, she made a soft sound of surprise against his seeking mouth. Then another gasp as he pulled her against his thighs.

She felt his hardness through his kilt. Hot liquid welled in the pit of her stomach, and she shifted at the unfamiliar craving.

Quentin wrenched up the hem of her shift and released her drawers, so they fell about her ankles with her petticoats. He made a soft growl of satisfaction as this time his hands closed around the naked cheeks of her bottom. A shudder of response rushed through her and made her whimper.

“Come into the bedroom, my lovely wife,” he whispered, trailing his lips along her neck.

Anticipation rushed through her, and goose bumps broke out all over her skin. “Aye,” she said shakily.

He kissed her softly on the lips. Earlier he’d seemed all impatience, but now every touch conveyed care and tenderness. Taking her hand, he led her through the doorway into the candlelit bedroom. A fire roared in the hearth, so even wearing as little as she did, she was warm.

“How very pretty,” she said. More flowers and Christmas greenery decorated the room, and fragrant flower petals were scattered across the sheets and pillows. Bowls of herbs were placed around the room, so the air smelled like paradise. “They’ve gone to such trouble for us.”

“Everyone is overjoyed to welcome you to the family.”

Kit blinked back tears. “I feel like I haven’t had a family for so long. Since Papa died, it’s been like living with a pack of wolves.”

“I’m your family now,” Quentin said softly, as he drew her close for a swift kiss that was all gentleness.

Powerful emotion squeezed her heart. Of all the lovely things he’d said tonight, this was the most moving. “Thank you. You can’t know what that means to me.”

“I can guess.”

Her free hand made a gesture eloquent of her past unhappiness. “I’ve felt so alone since Papa died. Which sounds ungrateful, when Emily and Hamish and Laing have done so much to help me.”

“That isn’t the same as having someone of your own.”

“You understand.”

“I think so.” His voice deepened in a way that had her unruly heart cramping again. “I won’t let you feel lost and alone ever again, Christabel. You have my word as a MacNab on it.”

She swallowed to shift the painful tightness in her throat. Then again. Yet her answer still emerged as a husky rasp. “Then I think it’s time you made me a MacNab in truth, Quentin.”

Chapter 12

Quentin drew Christabel into his arms and kissed her with more of the aching tenderness she aroused in him. But it seemed that his bride had moved beyond the trembling uncertainty that called on his gentleness. Her response was hungry, summoning up the desire he was doing his best to leash.

He wanted to cherish her, show her how much he valued her, but she wound her arms around his neck and tugged at his hair and arched her body against his until he felt the beaded crests of her nipples against his chest. He cupped her breasts through their sheer covering. The silk was slippery under his hands, tightening on the points of her nipples. Her figure was lusher than he’d realized when he’d studied the self-effacing stableboy and guessed that Kit was no male, but a girl in disguise.