By the saints, this was complicated. And the longer she walked this cliff edge, the higher the risk to her heart as it softened toward them both. Her mind already warned her to defy the king and send Sir Lachlan and Marjorie away, but she was on thin ice with James. He had sent a very curt letter expressing his displeasure at the slaying of Lord Kerr and his men; even with the arrows and the threats, the last thing he wanted was a rise in tension between Lowland and Highland. Besides, even the thought of Sir Lachlan and Marjorie gone—knowing that future husbands and wives might never understand their true natures and needs, leaving them lonely and unfulfilled—made her decidedly irritable. Hot tempered in a way only a red-haired Highland lass could be.
“Janet? Are you angry with me?”
At Marjorie’s small-voiced question, the dismay on her face, Janet silently berated herself for causing the younger woman anxiety. Where was her command? Her famed skill and experience in lusty matters? She’d admonished her ward last night for not talking before acting, and here she was making the same mistake.
“Not at all, my dear,” she replied swiftly, cupping her cheek and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before trailing her fingers down to the tops of Marjorie’s breasts. “Forgive my lapse. I lost my head a little, which is not at all the thing when giving a lesson. Shall we continue?”
Marjorie shuddered, arching her back a little. “Please. Touch me.”
Deftly, Janet tugged down the bodice of her ward’s shift to reveal one creamy, rose pink–tipped breast. Her mouth watered to suck the swollen nipple, to scrape it with her teeth, to bite it. But again she tormented herself with restraint, merely circling the tight bud with her fingertip before sliding one finger on either side and gently squeezing.
Gasping, Marjorie cupped her breast and offered it up higher. “More. Harder. Please, please do it harder.”
Devil take it, she couldn’t hold back a moment longer. Not with her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, and her cunt soaking wet. Leaning forward, she kissed Marjorie fiercely, plunging her tongue into the younger woman’s mouth while she tormented her tender nipple with alternate rough thumbing and firm pinches, reveling in her ward’s broken cries of pleasure.
Just when Janet was about to taste that sweet pink nipple, a flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head.
Sir Lachlan!
Standing in the doorway of the solar. Watching them. His usually stoic face revealing confusion, arousal, and dismay all at the same time.
By the saints, she had done everything wrong so far. Including not informing him of Marjorie’s lessons, that they had naught to do with their bedsport.
Moving her mouth to Marjorie’s ear, she murmured, “My dear, it seems you did not close the door as well as you might, and we have an audience. One naughty protector. We should stop.”
But the younger woman gripped her arm, her eyes heavy lidded with desire and yet an underlying desperation as well.
“No.”
Janet hesitated, then nodded. The only way to unravel this tangle she had created was the method she had used on countless occasions: pure brazenness. Idly tweaking Marjorie’s nipple, she turned her head and met their protector’s gaze. “Sir Lachlan. Come in and latch the door behind you.”
Now he looked a little startled, but he obeyed her command. “Yes, my lady.”
“Come here and explain yourself. I do hope you have an excellent reason for interrupting this lesson.”
Sir Lachlan visibly swallowed as he moved toward the chaise, his black gaze attempting to remain on her but darting once, twice to the luscious display of Marjorie’s bared breast with its taut, rosy nipple.
Well, well.
It seemed her pet wasn’t nearly as indifferent to her ward as he appeared to be. This most interesting development would need to be thoroughly investigated.
At once.
…
He had invaded the ladies’ sanctuary, so it was his own fault he’d seen what he should not: the truly erotic sight of Lady Janet and Lady Marjorie kissing on the chaise, of Lady Marjorie holding her own bared breast for her guardian to fondle.
Of course he’d seen women touch each other before. Back in the court of bachelor King James, such antics barely raised an eyebrow when wine flowed like a river. In many a tavern, too, women looking to earn extra coin would perform alluring dances together. But none of those women had ever looked like this. So passionate. So greedy for one another. These two did not play to amuse an audience or feign lust to loosen purse strings. They wanted this touching, no matter what Lady Janet had said about it being a lesson. And God help him, even though being replaced so soon hurt like an arrow piercing his flesh, he couldn’t help but stare at the two of them, at Lady Marjorie’s breast, which was a large creamy mound of perfection tipped with a swollen nipple dark pink from Lady Janet’s attentions. Couldn’t help the hardening of his wretched cock.
“Ladies,” he said hoarsely, helplessly, when really he should have turned on his boot heel and gone, for he could not bear to witness the woman he loved falling in love with another.
Lady Janet raised an imperious brow. “You did not answer me properly. I asked you to explain your reason for interrupting this lesson, my Beast.”
Now he was even more confused. Her words were brisk, as though she was irritated, and yet there was warmth in her gaze. And she’d called him “my Beast.”
“Uh,” he said, fumbling for the right words and failing utterly. “Forgive me. I did not know…a lesson?”
Lady Janet rose from the chaise and walked to him, then rested her hand on his chest in a gesture that both soothed and staked a claim, and his shoulders relaxed a little.
“At the king’s pleasure, Marjorie will be wed to a stranger,”
