The Spitfire Read Free

formally celebrated your betrothal to this earl of yours. ‘Twill be no shame to him if you cry off now. You know I love you. At least as much as I can love any woman,” he amended.
    “Are ye asking me to be yer wife, then, Jasper?” Eufemia Hamilton somehow managed to keep the eagerness out of her voice, although it trembled just slightly.
    Sir Jasper Keane took the girl into his arms. His mouth traveled over her face as he left a trail of hot kisses upon her cool skin. A hand slid into Eufemia’s bodice to fondle a plump breast, tweaking at the nipple until it was rigid and puckered with her unspoken desire for him. For a minute Eufemia Hamilton sagged against her lover, enjoying the moment, but she stiffened sharply when he said softly, his tongue licking at the shell of her ear as he spoke, “You know my position, my pretty pet. I shall have an English heiress to wife, and I shall have a Scots border bitch for my mistress.”
    “Nae this border bitch,” she told him furiously. “Ye know my position in this matter, Jasper. I shall be yer wife, or I shall be the wife of the Earl of Dunmor, and quit of ye! Can some milk and water English virgin love ye like this?” she demanded, pulling his head down and kissing him passionately.
    He returned her kisses with equal fervor, and then raising his head, he looked down into her eyes and told her, “I’m taking you back to England with me tonight, Eufemia, and if your puppy of a brother attempts to stop me, I shall kill him. You were never meant to be any man’s wife, my pet, for there is too much fire and wickedness in you. You will be my mistress, my leman, for all of England to see, for I shall be proud to flaunt your beauty before the world itself. Why would you want to be my wife? My wife must be a brood mare. I will not love her. Her sole function will be to birth healthy children for me. No one will care about her, Eufemia, but you they will gaze after with envy, some even daring to imagine what it would be like to ride between your milky thighs. Nay, my pet, what I offer you is far better than to be a mere wife.” Eufemia’s dark eyes smoldered dangerously at his words.
    “ And for how long will I be yer leman, my lord? Will our union last forever?”
    He grinned back at her. “You are a practical woman, Eufemia,” he said. “You will be my mistress as long as it pleases me you be.”
    “ And afterward, Jasper?”
    “If you still retain your beauty,” he said bluntly, “I expect you can find another protector.”
    She pulled from his embrace, and raising clenched fists, began to beat him about the head and chest, all the while shrieking her outrage. “Yer a bastard, Jasper Keane! An English bastard! Am I some peasant wench that ye would dare to offer me such a life? I am a woman of a reputable family, a member of the lower nobility! I am meant to be wedded, not just bedded! I will nae go wi’ ye! Ye canna make me!” She slapped him as hard as she could.
    Laughing, he caught her hand and placed a burning kiss upon the palm. “I do not doubt your family’s repute, my pet, nor even your nobility, but you are a whore nonetheless, Eufemia. Some women are born to it, and you are one of them.”
    They continued to argue back and forth, and suspecting that they would be at it for a while longer, Robert Hamilton hurried back to his bedchamber. Undoing the bolt, he slipped into the upper hall and, moving swiftly, checked all the rooms to be certain that they were empty of their inhabitants. He was relieved to find that he, Eufemia, and Sir Jasper were undoubtedly the only ones left in the house. The servants and his younger siblings were safely away. Returning to his hiding place in the wall, he discovered that his sister’s anger had not abated even in the slightest.
    “For God’s sake, Eufemia,” he heard Sir Jasper say, “you are the only woman for whom I’ve ever felt such passion! Is that not enough for you?”
    “Passion?” Eufemia Hamilton