Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

The odd sound, one of surprised discovery, had Richard looking into her face. "Mmm what?"

She refocused on him. "Mmm, I'd envisaged your brother and cousins as "gentlemen about town," more interested in assessing ladies' contours than the contours of land"

"Ah, well…" Richard popped the button located between her breasts. "I wouldn't say Cynsters ever totally lose their interest in ladies' contours." He popped the next button and couldn't imagine that being otherwise. "Land, however, is our other obsession-an equally abiding one."

Her gaze abstracted, Catriona considered that. She opened her lips on a question-Richard distracted her by opening her gown. Lifting the sides wide, baring her to his gaze, but leaving it draped on her shoulders. Her hands resting for balance on his arms she glanced down-a wild sensation of nakedness swept her, stronger, more titillating than if she'd been completely bare. Her skin flushed and prickled, all over. Even over her back and bottom, the backs of her thighs, all still cloaked in the soft lawn of her gown.

But she was naked to him, totally wantonly naked, bathed in the light of the two candles he'd left burning, one on each bedside table. His gaze feasted; she felt it sweep over her-down from her throat, over the full swells of her breasts, growing heavier by the day. Her nipples crinkled tight; his lips curved, too knowingly, then he continued his leisurely perusal, scanning her stomach, taut and quivering, to the bright curls between her widespread thighs-which quivered even mote as the heat of his gaze touched her.

Closing his hands about her waist, Richard held her there, delectably displayed before him, while he pondered his next move. He was in no hurry to make it; he knew, very well, what her present position-sitting astride him, displayed, exposed to him-was doing to his sweet witch. She was melting, heating-just behind her flaming curls, she was open and vulnerable, her knees held wide.

He was hardly immune himself. He could feel the silky pressure of her naked inner thighs pressing on either side of his hips, could feel the warm, heating weight of her across his lower stomach. Half an inch behind the taut globes of her bottom, he was achingly rigid.

Then he remembered. Turning, he looked at the beside table; reaching out, he snagged the knob of the drawer, tugged the drawer open, then dipped his fingers inside. "Worboys found this in the pocket of one of my coats."

He drew out his mother's necklace, the finely wrought gold chain interspersed with round, rose pink stones. The amethyst pendant slid from the drawer last, swinging heavily on the chain. Richard held the necklace in both hands, gently shaking the pendant free-and for one wild minute, considered using it to love her. Considered placing it-the heavy, slightly bulbous crystal with its edges smoothed, the numerous round tumbled stones, each one carrying a certain weight-inside her, sliding it into her warm sheath, stone by stone, each pushing the wider, heavier crystal deeper, each pressing against her soft inner surfaces, drawing the necklace out, pushing it in, until she cried out, until she convulsed.

It was an attractive vision; with a mental sigh, he set it aside-for later. After he'd thought through all the possibilities, developed the idea to its fullest, made plans to extract every last ounce of sensuality from it. Then he'd break the news to her. But there was no need to rush, to miss anything. He had all his life to tease her.

With his Cynster smile curving his lips, he looked up and met Catriona's wide gaze. "For you." Raising his arms, he slipped the necklace over her head, then gently lifted her hair free. "A belated bridal gift."

He'd teased her about giving her diamonds-he was rich enough to give her them and more, but… in his heart, he knew diamonds would mean nothing to her not at the moment. But she'd been fascinated by the one sight she'd had of his mother's necklace-she would, he felt, appreciate it far more than other jewelry.

He was perfectly right. Wide-eyed, lips parted, Catriona stared down at the necklace as it settled against the soft skin of her chest, the heavy pendant sliding into the valley between her breasts as if it belonged there.

Perhaps it did.

There were times when even she was stunned to silence by The Lady's ways.

She knew her eyes were shining, knew her face glowed as she carefully took the pendant between her fingers and raised it to scan the tiny engravings.

"Do you know what this is?" Her words were hushed, tinged with awe.

She felt Richard's gaze on her face, sensed he was intrigued by her reaction. Eventually, drawing the last lock of her hair free, he answered: "It's my mother's necklace-now yours."

Catriona sucked in a huge breath-truer words he could not have spoken; it was as if The Lady had used him to voice her decision. "It's a disciple's necklace-the engravings say that. They're the same as those on my crystal, committing the wearer to allegiance to The Lady and her teachings. But this necklace is from a very senior disciple-more senior than me, or any of the past ladies of the vale." She had to stop, to fight for calm; her heart felt like it might burst with sheer joy. She moistened her lips. "This necklace is much older than mine."

"I knew it was different but similar." Reaching to the other table, Richard drew her necklace, which she left there every night, to him, then held it up between them. "I thought it was the same but with the stones inverted."

Catriona looked at him, then drew in a deep breath and nodded; he was involved in this, he was her consort. She could tell him the facts. "On the surface, of course, it is. But there's a deeper meaning." She caught the pendant of her own necklace. "This is rose quartz, which signifies love, and these"-she pointed to the round purple stones embedded in the chain-"are amethyst, which signifies intelligence. So in this arrangement, the stones mean intelligence driving love, the rose quartz being the focus. However"-pausing, she licked her lips and looked back at the necklace now lying against her skin-"this is the way it was supposed to be-used to be-before the supplies of amethyst crystals large enough and fine enough to make the focus crystals ran out."

"So," frowning slightly, Richard followed her thoughts, "this necklace"-he placed his fingers on the necklace lying on her flesh and was surprised at how warm it felt-"signifies intelligence driven by love?"

Catriona nodded. "That was the original meaning. That's The Lady's message, the one every disciple must understand and learn to live by. Love is the principal force-the driving force-behind all, all intelligent acts should be governed by, directed by, love."

After a moment's pause, Richard shifted, and laid Catriona's own necklace aside, then settled back beneath her, studying her rapt expression. Quite obviously, he could not possibly have given her a more meaningful gift. But… "How did my mother come to have such a necklace?"

Catriona lifted her head and met his gaze. "She must have been a disciple, too." When Richard raised his brows, she nodded. "That's possible. She came from the Lowlands, where there were once many followers of The Lady. It's possible that she was descended from one of the oldest lines of disciples-that's what the necklace suggests-but that she wasn't trained, or, even if trained, had been forced to marry Seamus."

Richard lay back on the pillows and stared at his witchy wife, stared deep into her green eyes. And wondered…

Her eyes widened slightly. "The ways of The Lady are often complex, far-sighted-too intricate for us to understand." Slowly, her gaze locked mesmerizingly on his, she leaned forward. "Stop thinking about it."

The soft command, enforced by an underlying compulsion, fell from her lips, the next instant they touched his in an achingly sweet kiss. Richard inwardly shuddered and decided, for once, to obey.

Decided to follow her lead as she wove her witchy wiles and drew them both deeper into desire, deeper into the heat spiralling upward between them.

Followed her as she shifted, lifted, and drew him deep into the shocking heat of her body, into the furnace of her need. He rose with her as she rode him, sweetly urgent, without guile, in undisguised abandon. Brushing aside her gown, he clamped his hands about her hips, then leaned forward and drew one turgid nipple into his mouth. He laved it-a muted cry was his reward.