Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7)

by Dayna Quince

  Chapter 16

  Rose woke up shivering. She rolled to her side, her hand smoothing over the sheet and feeling… wet? She sat up groggily. Dawn had not yet breached the sky, but luckily, her fire still burned. Everything was silent. It was deafening. She felt around her sheets, shadowed by the thin velvet hangings. Everywhere she touched was damp. She kicked off the coverlet, standing and drawing on her dressing gown. She lit the oil lamp at her bedside and looked down at the sheets. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but she felt damp, and her nightgown clung to her backside. She disrobed and removed it, fetching a new nightgown to wear. She stroked the bed again, feeling as though she was losing her wits. It was wet, her nightgown had been wet—had she…?

  She picked up the nightgown and sniffed it. There was no scent. She looked up at the canopy above the bed. It sagged dreadfully, but had it been so low before? She held the light higher and ground her teeth in anger. A dark circle stained the middle where it hung the lowest, and as she watched, a fat drop splattered right where she’d lain.

  She stepped back and raised the oil lamp higher to view the ceiling. More water dripped, and a dark stain marred the white wood paneling. Rose growled at the bed. She was cold down to her bones, and her skin felt like chicken flesh freshly plucked of feathers. She looked around the room. There was one wooden chair, but no dry blanket to cover her. She considered possible solutions. She could sleep in front of the fire in her dressing gown, or perhaps make a bed out of her clothing? Neither option sounded the least bit comfortable or warm. She groaned. All she wanted was to return to sleep. Her body ached with exhaustion.

  She peeked out her window, but the night was pitch black. She slumped as she sat on the hard, wooden chair. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d skipped dinner last night, afraid to see Connor after their row.

  Resigned to find another place to sleep, she would have to face the inevitable and make her way to the drawing room. Rose put on her wool cloak and took up her oil lamp. She ignored the shadows that yawned and stretched as she passed down the hall. By the time she reached the drawing room, she was shivering so badly even her breathing tremored. She snuck close to the fire, setting her lamp aside and warming herself. She looked back at Connor, but he was asleep, his face cleared of all strain.

  She envied him and resented him, churlish though it was. She spied a spare blanket, threadbare, but still more than she had, which was none. She reclined on the settee and pulled it over her, curling her legs up to retain as much warmth as possible. She looked across to Connor. He still slept like a babe. She stared at him, oddly soothed by his restful breathing, until her own eyes refused to remain open. She closed her eyes, no longer able to feel him, but as dreams began to stir in her mind, she began to feel him, strong and warm, surrounding her, protecting her.

  When Rose woke, she was hot and flushed. Her dreams had been vivid, and they all centered on one brash rogue who wouldn’t talk to her. In her dream, he’d done more than talking. Rose opened her eyes, focusing on the sofa across from her. It was empty. She sat up and looked out the window. Light blazed through, brighter than she’d seen in weeks. She stumbled toward the window and looked out, her breath catching.

  The sky was a radiant blue with scattered clouds coasting by. It was breathtaking. Rose hurried into the hall and out the door. She stopped on the steps, her heart sinking. The water was still high, the bridge a mere bump in its course. Despite the level of water, the rain had stopped, and that was something to be grateful for. The water would soon recede. She was one step closer to freedom, which meant she really ought to think about what she was going to do.

  She turned, startled to find him behind her, some feet away. His hair was wet, and his shirt was open at the collar. Her pulse kicked into a gallop.

  “The rain has stopped.”

  He looked past her and then met her gaze, but he did not speak. He nodded slightly and then turned away. Rose remained where she was, stricken. His expression had revealed nothing, not anger, not curiosity, nothing. It left her feeling empty and cold. He walked in the direction of the kitchen, but Rose did not follow. She closed the door and leaned against it. His cool regard was a complete antithesis to his behavior before. Gone were his teasing smiles, the wicked glint in his eyes.

  He’d tried so hard to convince her to let go of her grief, her melancholic resolve, but now he acted as though he didn’t care. Rose didn’t want to care either, but she did. She cared a great deal. She swallowed, tasting bile in her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut against a rush of tears. They came forth, conquering her lashes, falling in tragic cascades. A sob wrenched her chest, and her knees turned to butter.

  She slid down the door until her bottom met the cold stone floor. She tucked her knees against her chest and hugged them to her, burying her face into her knees and sobbing like a child. Harsh, throat-rendering sobs shook her. It hurt, and yet a profound relief followed. She didn’t stop it now. She didn’t resist the grief that wracked her body. It swallowed her, like a great wave, and against her eyelids, visions were born. Flashes of her mother, smiling wistfully, kissing her brow, and stroking her hair, and then images of her father, a pensive and somber man. He was reading to her, his voice a calm resonance in her memories. She could feel herself smiling as the grief lifted.

  Then an image of Peter appeared, quiet and sweet. Fevered touches, gasping breaths. It was bittersweet, but looking at him through her mind’s eye, she could no longer feel regret. She was glad to have felt passion at the hands of tender Peter, even if it hadn’t been love and hadn’t resulted in marriage. She knew that now, deep in her bones, and as she took a deep breath, she released the last of her shame.

  She would not be ashamed of herself, of the heart that beat inside her. It wanted, and without that, she would not have known Connor. He’d shown her who she was, but more than that, he accepted her when she couldn’t accept herself. She was shaking, but she felt lighter, liberated even. She was ready, ready to go forward and find her own adventure, wherever it may lead.

  But first, she wanted to apologize to Connor. He deserved that and more. She also needed to thank him. She wiped at her cheeks and nose with the sleeve of her gown and pushed herself up off the floor.

  He may not want to speak to her still, but that was fine. She would speak her peace and be done with it. She hoped that once she’d done that, he’d find it in his heart to forgive her. She must have truly hurt him. That was the only reason she could understand his response to her secret. Did he care for her? He must. It was the only explanation. The thought alone filled her with elation.

  Could he? No. She wouldn’t fool herself. She would not confuse his feelings with her own, not when she hadn’t yet fully examined her own. What did she feel? Before entering the kitchen, she needed to get a handle on her own emotions. She returned to her room and changed into a fresh dress and her walking boots. Stepping outside, she walked around the side of the house, taking in the scenery. This was her first occasion to look around the outside of the lodge. The ground was soft beneath her feet, the layers of leaves squishing under her boots. She rubbed her gloved hands together as she inspected her surroundings.

  The crisp air was invigorating. She found a stone bench around the back and after dusting off damp leaves, she sat. Her thoughts quickly returned to Connor. Her chest ached with longing at the mere thought of him. She gathered her scattered thoughts and tried to organize her feelings. She was terrified to examine them too closely, but then she would be hiding again. She didn’t want to hide anymore. She didn’t want fear to guide her.

  She looked down at her gloved hands and took a deep breath. She confronted her feelings, examining them ruthlessly. Fear loomed, a fear she needed to face, or she’d quit before she began. From the moment she saw Conner, something in her had changed. A new awareness had formed. She’d known at the time that her heart was at risk. She’d fought hard to deny it, but now she wanted the truth. That awareness had only grown with time, buffeting aga
inst her walls until it penetrated all of her.

  Did she love him?

  She closed her eyes, a tender emotion shimmering through her. Was this love? She feared she didn’t know, and then she rejected that fear. “No more fear,” she whispered. She didn’t know if she loved him. She was infatuated, there was no doubt about that, but this emotion felt deeper, stronger, and infinitely more lasting. That she was sure of. When she left here, no matter where her life took her, she would never forget him. He would haunt her dreams, even her heart, until her last breath and thereafter. What did that mean?

  She took a deep breath. She didn’t have a ready answer. She opened her eyes. There was one thing she was sure of. Their time here was coming to an end, and she wanted to be with him again. She wanted to share with him all of herself, hold nothing back, and look into his eyes as she did so. She wanted him to know it, without a doubt.

  She would give him exactly what he wanted. She would demand he give himself in return, claim her pleasure, her joy. She’d beg if she had to. She didn’t think he’d deny her, as long as she made it clear that she was accepting her desires, and finally accepting herself.

  It was time. Every second counted now, and she wanted to spend each of them in his arms. She stood and dusted off her rear, marching back toward the front of the house. She didn’t have a plan, but she was determined to strike while the iron is hot.

  She entered the front hall. She looked in the drawing room and found it empty. She turned toward the kitchen and pushed past the door. Her heart skipped with jubilation as she saw him. His back was to her, and he was focused on the plate of food before him.

  The door swung closed behind her, silently. She hesitated, her courage faltering. Did he know she was there? Was he choosing to ignore her? She wasn’t going to let him. He’d asked for this, pushed her to it. He wanted this as much as she needed it. She inhaled, the words spilling forth like a waterfall.

  “I met Peter Quinn when I was seventeen. He danced with me twice at a country ball, and from there, my infatuation grew. He was on break from university. He had a promising future as a clergyman. He is the second son of a wealthy baron.” Rose smiled faintly at the memory of Peter, amazed that she could. In those days, it felt like her own future was tied up in a pretty bow. Marriage, children, her own home. Those dreams all began with a smile from Peter Quinn. She wouldn’t have cared never to have a season. All she cared about was Peter. His kind eyes, his soft lips, the way he’d so gallantly asked her permission before kissing her. He’d been irresistible. Rose had been blinded by naïve certainty.

  “I’m not a virgin,” she said. “I thought I was in love and that… that we’d marry.”

  He was silent still. He hadn’t acknowledged her at all, but he set his fork down. He rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. “He lied to you.”

  She was surprised by the sudden swell of gratitude. He wasn’t going to torture her with silence. It seemed silly, but he’d kept his word. He’d listen, as long as she was willing to share. “I lied, too. I protested my love and him… he and I…” It was all so melodramatic and embarrassing. Remembering it now, she wanted to laugh at her foolishness. She’d risked everything for Peter.

  “You believed you were in love. You cannot be blamed for following your heart.”

  “It led me astray.” She moved to the side of the table. She wanted to see his face as she told her tale.

  “We all make mistakes in our youth. I’d like to thank Peter, and I’d like to knock him out for lying to you, using you. But if not for him, we wouldn’t be here now, and you’d be miserable and married to that fool with ten children.”

  “Ten?” she felt a bubble of laughter rising.

  “Maybe eight. Who knows?” He shrugged. He finally met her eyes as he looked up at her and picked up his fork. There was a light there again, a glow of warmth.

  Rose finally laughed. It eased the anxious ache inside her. “I won’t ever consider you a mistake,” she confessed. She set her hand on the table, close to his. She looked down at it. She wanted to reach out, but she was afraid. She looked at him and found him staring at their hands, as well.

  He looked up, his gaze warmed, the green darker than before. His heated gaze was the only thing holding her together now. She inched her hand closer, touching his fingers. He claimed her hand and stood.

  “What do you want, Rose?” His voice was deep and hungry.

  She wanted him. The words rose in her chest and held there, trapped by years of self-doubt. She couldn’t make them come. She’d used all her words talking about Peter. She needed to do something, anything, or he’d lose faith in her, and Rose could not survive seeing that light in his eyes fade again.

  She pushed the plate to the floor. Remarkably it didn’t break. She slid onto the table. She watched astonishment transform his feature, as she pulled up her skirts to free her legs and part them so he could step in between. She took him by his shirt collar and looked into his eyes.

  She took a breath, forcing herself to be bold. “I want you to make love to me.”

  His face took on a feral gleam as he pulled her hips to the edge of the table and claimed her mouth. He clawed at her skirts, yanking them higher until she was exposed to him, and she thought he would take her immediately.

  But he didn’t. To her surprise and delight, he sat in the chair and pulled her to his mouth. She collapsed back on the table, at once at his mercy as his tongue did wicked things to her body. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but she secretly loved this. Every swipe of his tongue or gentle suck on her most sensitive part took her further. She felt vulnerable and alive. Pleasure sang through her veins, contorting her body into a writhing, sensual, animal.

  When he added his fingers to the torture, it was almost too much to bear. They only reminded her it was only he who could fill her so completely. His tongue danced over her flesh, and his fingers wound her tighter until she couldn’t take any more.

  And then he was there, hot and rigid, filling her, pushing her beyond the bounds of her sanity into a realm in which only the two of them existed and only for the pleasure of their bodies. She was greedy and selfish. She wanted, and she took, just as he took from her. There were equals here, not in experience, but in need.

  The table shook beneath her, and he made wild feral growls as he thrust hard and fast. Then he opened his eyes, and the green glowed like emeralds. There was a fire inside him, roaring as he took her. She couldn’t look away.

  He gathered her against his chest at once, sweet and careful as he drove into her body. Rose broke apart around him, crying out in her savage release, and threading her fingers over his back to hold onto him. He followed her to completion, pulling away at the last moment as he had before. She struggled to breathe, her body abruptly spent of all energy. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, absorbing the scent of him, the sensation of him heavy and spent on top of her.

  Their lovemaking had been rough and vigorous, but now, all she felt was tenderness and closeness. That was the wonder of Gabriel. He was wild and tame, brash and sweet. Just when she thought she understood him, he took her breath away and left her wanting to know more.

  She was losing her heart to him. She just knew it.

  Chapter 17

  The carriage!” Rose leapt to her feet and ran to the window. There was no carriage to greet her. “Where is the carriage?”

  Gabriel stretched in languid grace, in no hurry to leave their cozy love nest. “So it didn’t come. We knew that this morning.”

  Rose frowned. It seemed like a whole day had passed, but it was only late afternoon? Had they slept through the carriage’s arrival? That would not bode well for their circumstances. She inwardly cringed. This was the most enjoyable day of her entire existence so far. She didn’t want to ruin it by thinking of the future.

  “Shouldn’t it have come?” She turned back to Gabriel. His bronze chest glowed warmly in the afternoon light. She was pulled back to their makeshi
ft bed by invisible tethers of desire. She crawled under the blanket and curled against him. He nuzzled her neck, kissing and licking his way to her ear.

  Heaven. His mouth was pure heaven. She purred in contentment. Her mind juggled thoughts of worry about the absent carriage and thoughts of his hands wandering over her hips. She sighed.

  “It should have come.” She pushed at his chest until he leaned back to look at her.

  “It didn’t. We’ve plenty of supplies until the morning.” He resumed kissing her neck.

  “But…” Something felt… wrong. She didn’t like it. “Gabriel...”

  “Hush, my sweet.” He leaned over her and kissed the line between her brows. Resting on one elbow, he lifted her shift to the waist and settled himself in between her open thighs. Rose stopped resisting and let herself sink into a haze of need and desire. Her worry could wait a little longer, perhaps even until tomorrow. The hot bulbous head teased her folds, and she grew instantly ready, her body longing for him. He slid inside her in one slow thrust, and Rose moaned. Her knees hitched up to his hips. He made love to her slowly and sweetly. His deep, grinding thrusts brought her to a quick, breathless release. She wilted in his arms, but he continued, finding his own place in heaven, but still able to pull away from her at the last possible moment and spill his seed on her lower stomach.

  Rose buried her face in his neck. An odd sensation took over her, something akin to wistful disappointment. She was dismayed, so she hid her face, afraid he might see and ask her about it. She took a steadying breath and pulled herself together again.

  He moved to the side of her and used his discarded shirt to wipe her stomach. Rose hid a smile. She couldn’t explain it, but he just did things that made her feel cared for. The odd aching feeling came again, overshadowing all. It was on the tip of her tongue to declare it as yearning. What could she possibly be yearning for? She was utterly content in his arms, consuming pleasure like the glutinous Romans had. What more could she want? Well, certainly more of him and more moments like this. She could lie like this forever if only time stopped.