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delved
beneath her loosened stays, found her nipple, flicked it.
    It jumped into a point. Lydia stood perfectly still before
him, trying not to quiver, wondering what she felt, what she should feel.
    “Nice,” he said, and flicked the other, harder. “Verra
responsive, ye are.”
    She sensed her face flushing, heat that spread down to her
chest. He tore away the laces and the stays dropped to the ground. He cupped
her breasts over her shift before pinching the tips. She moaned and he pushed
her back, back toward the bed, untying the tapes of her skirt.
    Overskirt, underskirt, petticoat, panniers, another
petticoat…all slipped off her body and were left in jumbled disarray.
    She was losing her breath, but managed to say, “You’re
very…good at this.”
    “At what, my sweet wife?”
    “Taking off a woman’s clothes.”
    “Long practice.” He chuckled. “And it will be even easier
when we’re home. Ye won’t be needin’ your fancy gowns.”
    “Not one?”
    “Well…one, p’raps.”
    She was naked but for her stockings, and those bid fair to
be lost, for her garters had loosened when her skirts fell. Her shoes were
likewise hidden in the mass of fabric on the floor. Kieran was still clothed,
eyes glittering like onyx stars. The air seemed charged with a mysterious
energy, prickling her bare skin. He caressed her belly and eased her back onto
the bed. Standing between her spread legs, he skittered light fingertips around
her breasts and down her sides before fondling the tender folds between her
legs.
    She tried to cover herself from his lusty gaze, but he
stopped her, seizing her hands in a firm grasp.
    “I’m just lookin’ at ye, lassie.”
    “It’s…it’s indecent.” Not even William had studied her in
the intent, wicked, sinful way Kieran did now. Her first husband had come to
her in the dark of night, forced himself on her and left.
    She struggled for a moment, and he said, “ Kylyrra , do
I have to tie ye up?”
    She stared at him, struck mute.
    “Aye, I think so. It might be easier for ye.” Still holding
her wrists, he used his body to sprawl her flat on the bed. He untied his black
cravat with his free hand and used it to secure her wrists to one of the
bedposts.
    Binding her hadn’t taken him more than a moment.
    With her snugly fastened, he smiled down at her. She was
still speechless, shaking with outrage and more than a little fear. William had
hurt her in bed without tying her up. What would Kieran do?
    She remembered his reputation and scooted back, as far away
as she could go, drawing her legs beneath her. He wasn’t even a civilized
English gentleman but a wild Highlander, descendant of the Viking warriors
who’d struck England’s coasts again and again, burning villages, butchering the
men and raping the women.
    But their descendant didn’t seem to be following his
ancestors’ lead. The summer night was finally falling, and as gloom descended,
Kieran went from lamp to lamp, candle to candle, lighting each until the room
glowed. The space was redolent of beeswax, her rose scent and his midnight
aura.
    Then he toed off his shoes and removed his jacket and
waistcoat. Without his cravat, his collar hung open, and Lydia thought that she
could see a hint of his broad chest beneath the half-open shirt.
    Soon he would be naked, and then he’d… “What—what are you
going to do?”
    He stopped undressing to turn and look at her, smiling. “I’m
going to love ye better than anyone ever has.” He pulled off his shirt and
tossed it onto a nearby chair.
    She’d rarely seen William naked, and she remembered he’d
been thin and wiry, with small tufts of pale brown hair. Kieran was completely
different—tall and broad, with pale skin smooth over ridges of solid bone and
muscle. Black, masculine hair curled over a chest that seemed fashioned of
polished white marble.
    She’d ignored her fear in favor of examining her husband and
now anticipation tingled along her skin, lifting the