He moved his lips up to the hollow of her neck. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“What will you do if I say nothing?” Her voice sounded husky and quite unlike her own.

“I’ll keep going until I think you’re warm enough.” She remained silent, and he gave a soft laugh of understanding.

He paused with his lips just brushing hers, and she thought back to the kiss she’d given him in the cellar. A kiss of hate. Was he thinking of it too? Would he pull back and laugh at the blatant longing in her eyes, the way her body arched now like a bow toward him? But no. He moved with infinite slowness, opening her lips with his and claiming her mouth with his tongue. He explored her, tasted her, owned her, and she was utterly powerless to do anything other than cling to him. He broke the kiss, holding her face between his hands and studying her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, embarrassment punctuating her words. She tried to hang her head, but he wouldn’t let her. Every part of her ached. Her lips tingled, her hardened nipples throbbed, and deep inside her, starting at a point between her legs and spreading upward and outward was a burning, thrumming, maddening sensation that made her want to cry out and, at the same time, dig her nails into his flesh and hurt him in return.

“You don’t have to do anything. Leave it to me. There isn’t much room in here, so lean back against me.” Obediently—in that instant she would have gone to the end of the earth if he’d asked her to—she shifted her position so that she sat in the crook of his arm with her back against his chest and her head on his shoulder. Fraser slid his hand down to her breast and lightly caressed her nipple while he kissed the very specific spot where her neck met her shoulder. How did he know, Martha wondered, through a haze of pleasure, exactly what she wanted him to do?

“Oh.” His grip on her nipple had become harder, almost painful, and his teeth grazed the tender flesh of her neck.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, but…I liked it,” she said, turning her face further into his shirt in embarrassment.

Laughter shook his whole body. “Then I might have to do it some more.” He did, and Martha soon forgot her embarrassment as she gasped and then moaned in pleasure.

Very gently, Fraser raised her left leg up onto the bench so that her knee was bent. He draped her right leg across his own strong thigh. His hand was warm on her hip as he lifted her nightgown up around her waist. She shivered, but it was no longer the cold that affected her senses.

“Don’t be scared.” Fraser’s breath touched her cheek. “I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered, turning her head so that she could brush his jaw with her lips. “I don’t think I have ever wanted anything so much in my life. That’s what scares me.”

His fingers were feather-light on the mound of her sex, barely touching her at all. Just brushing her flesh over and over until, with a natural rhythm all their own, her hips began to lift and circle. Then he held her outer lips apart and slid a finger into the wetness between them. He stroked her clitoris with his thumb, rubbing the tiny nub ever so gently. When she started to groan quietly, he applied more pressure and began to speed his movements up, slipping the tip of one finger just inside her at the same time. Martha gasped in shock as, almost against her will, her body bucked and ground into his hand in response. Her eyes were wide as she tilted her head back to seek reassurance from him. Was this how it was meant to be? Was she supposed to feel this wildness, this madness, coursing through her veins?

Fraser smiled down at her. “That’s it, let it happen.” He added a second finger and moved them both in and out of her. Martha’s whole world exploded. Throwing her head back and gasping his name, she gripped him tight, her muscles clenching of their own accord around his now-still fingers.

Fraser held her close and kissed her until the tremors were over. “So are you warm yet, Englishwoman?” he asked, amusement and tenderness in his voice.

“I think so, but I don’t know what I feel any more.”

“Good. That’s exactly how I intended it should be.” He shifted position so that she could nestle into his side and pulled the blanket over them both. “Now go to sleep.”

Chapter Nine

Fraser wasn’t sure if Martha did sleep. She certainly gave all the appearance of slumber, lying motionless and quiet next to him in the cramped space of the hard bench. The mingled scents of the faint lavender perfume in her hair and her arousal were twin torments. His own body was alive with a longing so fierce it scared him. While he held her warm and quivering in his arms, his fingers probing the secrets of her body and his lips tasting the salty sweetness of her flesh, it was difficult to remember his vow to do her no harm. Because, really, what harm could there be in doing that which was natural? With a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her?

“Fraser?” Martha’s chin was sharp where she rested it on his chest, and because of the way the candlelight fell, he felt, rather than saw, her eyes searching his face.

“Yes?” His voice was brusque.

“I’m warm but I can’t sleep.” Tentatively, she moved one hand up to the opening at the neck of his shirt. Her fingertips lightly stroked the curling hair on his chest. “I might not know much about these things, but I do know something should have happened for you too.” He sensed she was blushing fiercely under the concealing veil of darkness.

“That would not be right.”

Her hand moved down his body, hovering over the waistband of his breeches. “Didn’t we go just beyond ‘right’?” Her voice was low and husky. Temptingly so.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him. He should stop this now by making sure no part of her was touching any part of him. He should move right away from her to a safe distance. But such an action was an impossibility in the confined space. Instead, he turned on his side to face her, acknowledging the inevitability of the moment. It was there in the feel of her small, firm breasts against his chest, the smooth curve of her buttocks as he slid a hand under them to lift her, moulding her exactly to him. It was there in the tremor that ran through her as she answered by fitting her body to his. To hell with being honourable.

With a soft, welcoming sigh, Martha’s lips parted to accept the demands of his mouth. Then, to his delight, she met the thrust of his tongue with delicate strokes and brushes of her own. He groaned and framed her face with his hands, angling her head to gain the best possible access to the sweet softness of her mouth. Martha wound her arms around his neck in response, answering him measure for measure. He realised he was grinding his erection against her belly like an overeager youth and, embarrassed, tried to arch his pelvis away from her.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, pressing against him. She was so delicate that the difference in their sizes should have alarmed him. He had the power to crush her beneath him if he lost control of this situation. Yet, despite her fragility, Martha was in charge. She was setting the pace now, and she wasn’t prepared to let him take this slowly or gently. With her lips and her tongue and her ragged, panting breath, she was letting him know exactly what was going to happen. Damned if she wasn’t reading his mind.

Instinctively, she nestled her body against his, moving her hips so that she could feel the length of his erection pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach. Martha’s hands moved to his waist, pulling his shirt from his breeches. Her palms were warm as they caressed the taut planes of his stomach muscles, sending darts of pleasure shooting through to his nerve endings. Cautiously, she eased one hand inside the waistband of his breeches. Warm fingers brushed the tip of his cock, then drew back to fumble with the buttons on his breeches.