Oh good lord in heaven above.

Elizabeth had never felt anything so divine. She had not even known the human body could know such bliss.

And Hamish was doing this with his tongue alone!

He gently nudged at the bundle of nerves hidden in her folds and glory exploded. It danced on her skin and barreled through her veins in a heated rush. She devolved into a mindless lump, capable only of moaning and groaning and clutching at his hair as he feasted.

She never wanted it to end.

Never.

And then, the sensations changed. They went from waves of delight and pleasure to something more needy, greedy, and raw.

It was a sublime agony and her yesses turned to pleas.

Tension coiled within her and tightened. She thrashed and cried out and struggled for . . . she knew not what.

But her body knew.

Her body knew what it wanted.

When he added his fingers to the symphony he was playing on her, plucking at her aching nipples while rubbing her in places she’d never knew could be so tender, she nearly lost consciousness.

She was very glad she did not because soon she reached a glorious crest. Her body shook. Her heart palpitated. Her breath locked as rapture took her.

At least, she thought it was rapture.

Until he continued.

He eased a finger inside her and after a small pinch of pain, he took up a dizzying rhythm. She climbed even higher. The tension rose again. Lifting her, closing in on her, consuming her.

Wherever he touched her, heaven rained down . . . and he seemed to touch her everywhere.

After an eternity of bliss, he slowed, then stopped, then peeped up at her from his spot on the floor.

She frowned. “Is that it?”

Outrage and humor warred on his expression. “No’ quite.”

“Oh, thank God. I don’t want this to be over.”

“I assure you,” he said, coming to his feet. “There is more.”

And God, was there.

His blanket had fallen away and he stood before her utterly naked.

The sight stole her wits.

He was glorious. Beautiful. Perfect.

And rampant.

She’d never quite appreciated that word before now.

His cock stood high, hard and insistent against his belly.

She couldn’t help herself. She reached forward and took him in her fist. “Ah,” they both said in tandem.

“It’s so hard.”

He laughed, though it was a pained offering. “Aye.”

“And so soft. Like velvet.”

“Elizabeth, darling, you’re killing me.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Am I doing this wrong?”

“No’ at all. Please. Unhand me and lie back so we may continue.”

“Lie back? Don’t you want me to do to you what you did to me?”

His nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want me to kiss you here?” She squeezed him.

He blanched. His cock lurched. “Darling, that is no’ a good idea.”

“Is it wrong?”

“Hell no, it’s no’ bluidy wrong.” He took a moment to collect himself. “But in my condition, at the moment, it’s no’ a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He settled down beside her and began stroking her belly beneath her skirts. “Darling, these are in the way,” he complained.

She nodded and sat up, turning her back to him. When he didn’t move, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “You have to unbutton me.”

He did so with alacrity, but in the amount of time it took for him to undo the long row, her shyness billowed up and she clutched at her bodice.

“Darling,” he said, giving her dress a gentle tug.

“I’ve never been naked with a man before.”

“I promise, I willna laugh.”

She whirled around and smacked him gently, but it was enough for her bodice to slip and before she could move, he’d captured her breast in the warm cavern of his mouth.

A shudder took her as delight spiraled. “Oh God.”

And, that easily, her inhibition faded.

She could not have cared less if she was lying on the grass in Hyde Park surrounded by the matrons of the ton. Nothing mattered but the feel of his mouth on her, his touch, his breath.

Before she realized what had happened, he’d stripped her utterly bare. He stroked her between her legs, and that surprising sensation rose again. It did not take long for her to reach those delicious heights, as though it was easier now that she knew the way.

And then, when she was panting and pleading, begging for release, he came over her, separated her thighs, and set himself at her entrance.

It annoyed her that he paused then and waited until he caught her attention. “Are you ready, my darling?” he whispered.

In response, she wrapped her legs around his hips and tried to pull him in. “I want all of you,” she said. “Only you.”

“Ah, Elizabeth,” he sighed. And then he entered her.

* * *

There were no words. No thoughts or hopes or prayers that compared.

Joining with Elizabeth, his beloved Elizabeth, was the most magnificent moment of his life.

That she sighed as he drove home, that she cried his name and scored his back with her nails, only made it that much more sublime.

He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to take this slow, but his body had other ideas.

Fortunately, so did his woman.

As he eased out, clenching his teeth and praying for strength, she closed on him.

His vision blurred as pleasure pounded through his veins.

“Again,” she commanded on a breath.

Ah, yes. Again, indeed.

He repeated the move, again and again, slowly, cautiously, until she growled at him. “More. Harder.”

She shifted to give him more room to work and he bit back a grin. Like a duck to water, his Elizabeth. She was a natural.

She moved with him as his pace increased. She caressed him with just the right amount of pressure, encouraged him exactly when he needed it.

She was perfect.

Perfect.

But before long, such logical thought was replaced with something wild. Something instinctual and feral.

His body took over, leaving him to bliss.

Faster and faster he moved, filling her with ever-more-frantic thrusts.

“Yes,” she cried with one. And then another. And then she was chanting in tandem with his manic moves.

They rode the waves together, up and up, reaching desperately for the peak. Tension coiled in his balls. His body hardened. His cock burned.

But still, he held back. He wanted her to come first, even if it killed him, and it just might. She was close, but not close enough.

When panic flared in his gut, he reached down between them and stroked her slick nub.

Her eyes flew open. Her lips parted. Her features tightened.

And she closed on him like a fist.

It took them in a maelstrom of splendor. It took them both.

It was a brand of ecstasy he’d never felt, the physical pleasure tangled with emotional bliss. He loved this woman. He would be her man until the day they died, no matter what the world had to say.

Elizabeth St. Claire was his.

And he was never letting her go.

* * *

When it was all over, he pulled her close and held her, skin to skin, and stroked her gently, and it was magnificent. Not as magnificent as making love had been, but damn close.

Elizabeth tipped up her chin and stared at him, her heart full of gratitude and amazement. “That was lovely,” she said.

His chest shook with his laugh and he tightened his arms around her. “It was.”

“Can we do it again?”

His laughter increased and he rolled her over so he was half on her, and kissed her. “Nae doubt . . . But give me a moment.”

She put out a lip. “I thought you were a Scotsman.”

“Aye. But no’ a Titan.”

“You seem godlike to me.”

“I appreciate that blasphemy, but I assure you, wee lass, I am only a man.”

She set her palm against the scruff on his chin. “I love when you call me wee.”

“Well, you are, my lass.”

“I’m plump.”

“No’ hardly. You’re perfect.”

She sighed and stroked him with her thumb. “I love it when you call me perfect.”

“You are.”

“Not hardly. But I do try.”

He kissed her again for a long moment, but when he lifted his head it was with a sigh. “We need to talk, you know.”

“I know.”

“For one thing, I live in Scotland.”

“I’m aware,” she said in a horrible attempt at a brogue.

“You’ll have to work on that,” he said with a snicker.

“Aye, me braw mon.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re no’ pirates.”

“Was that a pirate accent?”

“It was.”

“My apologies. I’ve never met a pirate, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Seriously, Elizabeth. Could you live in Scotland? Would you like to live there?” he asked with a hint of trepidation.

“I would.”

His head dropped on her shoulder and he sighed. “Thank God.”

“Perhaps we should head there now.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Elope. To Gretna Green.”

He jerked up and stared down at her. “I canna leave until my mission is done, lass. I have to see your sisters wed.”

She made a face. “I don’t want to stay here. I hate the season. I hate London.” And she didn’t want to have to face Twiggenberry and tell him her answer was no.

But of course she must.

“I made an oath to the duke, lass. I owe it to him to see this done . . . especially if I break his faith and marry you.”

She frowned. “Surely you’re not breaking his faith? Did he tell you specifically not to court one of us?”

“Well . . . of course no’.”

“There you go then. If he is as munificent a lord as you’ve said, he won’t mind.”

His expression was dubious. “Regardless, I must see the season through.”

She sighed and buried her face against his chest. “I know. We will just have to work harder to get them all engaged quickly.”

He grinned. “We shall. And then, off to Scotland.”

“Aye.” She reached up and kissed him. “Victoria seems interested in Peter Ross.”

“Catherine’s brother?”

“Mmm-hmm. And Mary has her eye on Jamison.”

His brow wrinkled. “Lord Jamison? I don’t remember him.”

She grinned. “Jamison. The footman.”

Hamish gaped at her. “The footman? That willna do.”

“Why not?”

“Are you daft? He’s a footman.”

Elizabeth shook her head and tsked. “Double standards do not become you.”

“Well, hell,” he said, snuggling closer. “You have me there. But I’m no’ the one telling Bower.”

“Will you tell Bower about us?”

He stroked her cheek. “I have to. He willna like it.”

“It doesn’t signify what he likes. You and I like it, and that is all that matters. No one else’s opinion matters in the least.”

His expression blanked and then was replaced with a look of horror unlike anything she’d ever seen.

She sat up and stared at him. “What?” What was it? What horrendous thought had occurred to him? Pray God he had not suddenly remembered a forgotten wife.

Hamish flopped back and flung his arm over his eyes. “Your aunt. She is going to flay me alive.”

Oh dear. “I’d completely forgotten about her.”

He peeped at Elizabeth from beneath his arm. “Have you met her?”

“Perhaps I can soften her up. Let me talk to her tomorrow.”

“I shall hide in my rooms until you do.”

He was joking.

Probably.

Elizabeth patted Hamish on the chest. “She’s a sensible woman. She will see that this is for the best. I could never have married Twiggenberry anyway. He smells.”

“Does he?” Hamish chuckled, then sobered. “But then they all do, don’t they? Why is it, do you think, that the men of London like to wear perfume?”

“I have no clue. I like the way you smell better,” and she proceeded to sniff him here and there until he grabbed her and held her down and kissed her soundly.

Which, of course, followed course. And soon, they were in a tangle of limbs once again.

It was easily as glorious as the first time.

And the next was as well.

Though to be honest, each encounter had a different feeling. As they made love through the night, it became gentler, less frantic, a delirious exploration that went on for hours.

The sun was creeping over the sill when he shook her awake. “Elizabeth,” he hissed. “You need to get up, lass.”

“Mmm,” she groaned. She did not want to get up.

“Darling, the servants are starting to stir.”

In a heartbeat, she shot up. “Oh dear.”

Madly she searched for her clothes which were, oddly enough, on the floor across the room. He helped her dress and then he smoothed her hair and kissed her again. “Doona forget to tell me when it’s safe to emerge.”

She laughed. “I shall, my darling. No worries.”

And then she skulked back to her chambers with an enormous, and smug, smile on her face.