by Eva Devon
Yes. He did listen to her. He didn’t always do as she wished, but he listened. Just as she realized this fact, something hit her.
“You’re saying goodbye to me,” she said flatly. “That’s what this truly is. A farewell.”
“I’m apologizing and yes. I think I must.”
She shook her head, protesting the horridness of what he was saying. She had to make one last attempt. “Why can’t we be friends?”
“You know why.”
“Because of how I feel when you walk into a room and look at me with that stare.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. Whatever powerful thing was between them was unacceptable to the Duke of Aston.
“Exactly yes,” he confirmed. “Because what you describe? That is how I feel, too, when I see you.”
“It’s like being consumed.”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we give in?” she asked passionately.
“These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.”
“Romeo and Juliet?” she replied. “You surprise me.”
“I shouldn’t.” He gave a sad smile. “You know all too well that I’m well-versed in the great passions and frankly, Ros. . . I think we’d be the undoing of each other. So great is what we feel when in each other’s presence. You make me lose control.”
“That is such a bad thing?”
“It’s an unforgivable thing.”
“But you’re known for your wildness,” she pointed out. “Your bombastic nature.”
“That’s what society sees, yes. But what do you see?”
She looked at him long and hard, hating the truth of what she saw. “I think you are the most false and controlled person I have ever met.”
Aston bowed deeply with a twirl of his strong hand. “Then you are wiser than the whole world, my lady. For you have seen the truth. I am naught but one walking, preening lie. I shall not allow you to be touched by my deceits.”
“It is too late,” she said softly.
Regret shadowed his striking face. “Then the sooner I extricate myself, the better.”
She bit her lip before replying that it seemed he could not. That he had tried once before to send her away from him, but here he was, in her room, protesting again that they could not be together. She wanted to insist that they were, in fact, magnets. No matter how far they were pulled from each other, when given opportunity, they would rush back together.
Instead, she nodded. What else could she do? Beg? No. She would never beg. She knew she had value and she would not stoop to begging. “I will understand but there is one thing that I wish before you bid me adieu.”
“Not adieu Ros, farewell. And be careful. Conditions and ultimatums always have hidden effects.”
Undeterred, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I wish you to kiss me. One last time. I want to remember. When I can never quite feel the fire of our kiss in any other kiss that I have in the future, I wish to be able to draw ours close. Can you do that for me? If you can, then I accept your apology and your departure from my life.”
Chapter 14
A kiss?
Derek’s entire body burned with desire to throw her on the bed and make love to her. Wild, passionate love. A kiss would never be enough. Not for them.
A kiss would be striking a slow match, igniting a slow burn meant to light another, larger fire. A fire which would burn out of control. Yet, how could he say no?
He didn’t want to say no. Which, of course, was why he should.
But should had always been a word that had been thrown in his face.
His father had loved to use that word. All the things Derek should have done. All the things that should have been. The son that should have been born but never was.
For all that Derek appreciated doing the right thing, he hated the word should.
So, without further aplomb or protest, he crossed the room and slid his hand around her lithe waist.
The silken fabric and corset beneath his hand felt as nothing. The curve of her body beneath his palm was perfection. He hungered to touch all of her, every secret part.
She gazed up at him. Daring him. Daring him to take her mouth. Daring him to take her body.
God’s blood, how had she gained such an upper hand in their dance? It was still foreign to not be the one in absolute control. Because, though he was circling her waist and now pulling her up against his chest, allowing naught but the tips of her toes to touch the ornate carpet, he did not feel as though he were the one leading.
When she placed her graceful hand on his chest then drew it to his face, cupping his jaw, he couldn’t stop the shudder of absolute pleasure that traveled through him.
Just that gentle touch was nearly his undoing.
She caressed his cheek then locked gazes with him. Her hand slid into his too-long hair and she tugged ever so slightly. “Kiss me,” she ordered gently.
Ros was such a mix of tenderness and confidence that he could scare draw breath. He’d known little tenderness in this life.
“Ros—”
“Shhhh,” she hushed. “Cease your worrying and just kiss me.”
He suppressed a woeful laugh. “How do you know?”
“That you’re worrying?” She cupped the back of his neck and said with utter seriousness, “Why, I can read your mind, Your Grace.”
“You’re the only one who can then.”
“Kiss me,” she urged again, undeterred. “I promise you shall survive.”
That was it.
How the hell did she know? Rosamund was too perceptive for either of their damned goods.
Somehow she knew that he had a deep fear that kissing her would destroy the grandiose man he’d created. But she was right. She had to be. He was being a fool. He’d kissed her before. And while, yes, he knew that their kisses transcended the usual, he wouldn’t lose himself.
He wouldn’t let himself.
So, with a barely audible growl, he wove his hand into her coiffed hair, tilted her head back and took her mouth in the softest kiss, the most soul maddening kiss, he could.
Their breaths mingled and he captured her sigh of joy as their tongues tangled.
He barely had mind enough to think of how Ros didn’t hold back. There was no shyness to her as if she knew she had to seize this kiss and hold on with every fiber of her being lest it disappear all too quickly.
Since it would, indeed, disappear, he gave himself up to her in turn.
Just this once. Just this once he could forget everything but her and how she made him feel so entirely alive as if he could finally shed all the pain of the past and soar free.
Her hands moved to his back, pulling him tighter as if she longed for them to be one.
He kissed her again and again. Open-mouthed, hot kisses, leaving them both breathless.
With each wild kiss, he felt his inhibitions slipping away. She was his opium. My God, she could make him lose his head and heart and soul if he stayed.
He backed her towards her bed, reason abandoning him as Rosamund turned his blood into liquid fire.
When her calves touched the counterpane, she collapsed against the mattress and he let her fall onto the soft goose down.
He fell with her, pressing her body into the plush surface.
What else could he do?
Their kiss was in command. They’d both surrendered entirely to this moment and his brain had abandoned him.
The sound of his heart hammered in his ears as primal need sent him kissing and lightly biting her neck.
She arched her back, pressing her breasts upward, instinctively asking for more.
Without thought, his body acquiesced to her silent demand. God, it was all he could do not to mark her. To bite just hard enough that the whole world would know she’d been taken. That she belonged to someone.
He cupped her beautiful breasts, savoring the feel
of their roundness in his hands.
Her hard nipples begged for his mouth and he slipped her gown down. He took a rosy nipple into his mouth and she gasped.
That sound drove him over the edge and as he worshipped her breasts, he took the hem of her skirts in his hand and slid the fabric upward.
His fingers skimmed the edge of her stocking and he gave thanks for the scarceness in women’s clothing. There was no clothing but her chemise to shield her hot, welcoming core from his fingertips.
But first, he stroked his hand over her hips, trailing his fingertips over the soft skin of her thighs.
She tossed her head back and forth then glanced at him.
Their eyes met and he knew that if he’d considered turning back that was now impossible.
There was no turning back. Not from this. Not from this moment. Whether or not he wished to admit it, this had been forgone between them since they had set eyes upon each other in Scotland.
He had to know.
He had to know what Rosamund tasted like.
Because he was fairly certain that she would taste like paradise.
He held her gaze as he kissed his way downward, over her gown then to her bared hips.
She held very still as he leaned back and nudged her thighs apart.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. “You requested my kiss.”
“So I did,” she replied, dazed. “But I had no idea—”
“Then let me enlighten you.”
Instead of lowering her head back to the bed clothing, she kept watching him.
A wolfish smile pulled at his lips. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to satisfy her. Hell, he wanted to take her somewhere she had never been so she’d never forget him. And he loved that she wanted to watch.
He loved the sight of her breasts rising and falling rapidly and her wild, curious gaze as he lowered his mouth to her silken folds.
The sheer ecstasy of having her under his mouth was the most glorious thing he’d ever known and he flicked his tongue over her tight bud.
A moan of undeniable need slipped past her lips and he had enough forethought to whisper, “Bite your hand.”
She blinked then did as he told her to do. They didn’t need anyone in the hall to interrupt them.
She bit the back of her hand as he circled his tongue and lips mercilessly over her soft, wet heat.
It drove him mad, her readiness for his cock. She wanted him. It was the purest proof of a woman’s desire for a man. This hot, sweet slickness that was welcoming his attentions.
Sucking gently, teasing unrelentingly, he felt her tensing beneath him and then she bucked against him.
He grabbed her hips, holding her against his mouth and he stroked her with his tongue until the last wave of pleasure had passed through her.
All the while, he watched her face. The passion and amazement that passed over her beautiful visage held him enthralled.
If there was anyone in this world who could command him, it was Rosamund. For, she truly was his siren, calling him to crash on the rocks. To destroy everything he’d worked for to be hers.
And as her body relaxed into the pleasure he’d given her, his own heart beat wildly as his body demanded he make her his.
God, his cock was hard. Throbbing. It pressed up, begging to enter her hot sheath and stroke her again and again and again until they’d both reached the pinnacle of ecstasy. But he couldn’t.
As she was lost in her pleasure, he found the room slowly coming back into focus.
His primal need begged him to go forward. . . But he couldn’t. He had to go back. For if he did as his body, his soul, commanded, he would never be able retreat.
Taking Rosamund’s virginity would be a step too far. Would it not?
Once again, as if she could read his mind, she took his face in her hands. “I want it to be you. Let it be you.”
The sincerity of her request nearly undid him.
“Rosamund—”
“Don’t worry,” she assured gently. “Don’t think, Derek. For once, let yourself do what you truly wish. Not what you think others expect.”
How did she know? How did she know that almost everything he had ever done had been out of a response to his father and not his genuine self?
And the one time he shouldn’t make love to a woman was the first time he’d wanted to more than anything in the whole world.
Let it be you.
Those words hit him harder than any blow could have done.
For what they implied was if not you, it will be someone else and he couldn’t bear the idea of it being someone else.
He shoved all doubts and all fears away and he gazed deeply into Rosamund’s eyes.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than this,” he confessed.
“Nor have it. Don’t deny us this.”
He knew she wasn’t asking for marriage. She didn’t want that. She’d made that clear. All she wanted was just this one moment which he thanked God for, because while he could give her the latter, he couldn’t give her the former.
It was perfect.
Unlike so many, she didn’t want what he couldn’t give and so why should he not allow this one perfect union between them?
As she had said, one day in the future when his soul was cold and he was empty from never allowing himself to be himself with any woman, he would take this moment out and remember that, for a glorious instant, he had not denied what he truly longed for.
A ferocious desire overtook him as he gave way to his wish and her request.
Her eyes flared as she saw it.
He climbed up the bed and took her mouth again as he pushed her thighs further apart.
Then, he undid the fastenings of his trousers.
Wild, free need conquered him then.
As he thrust his tongue into her mouth, he tasted her depths and her passion.
And he’d been so right. Rosamund tasted like paradise.
He freed his cock from his trousers and slid it up and down her slick core.
She rocked under him, her hips arching to draw him in.
Bracing himself on one arm, he nudged the head of his cock against her tight opening.
And as he thrust home, he knew one thing without any doubt.
Rosamund was paradise. His paradise. And he had to savor the only moments in it that he would ever know.
Chapter 15
Her first thought was that what was occurring was entirely impossible. Just moments before, she’d been at the heights of pleasure, ready to fling herself into that ultimate abyss.
Now?
She panted slightly as she tensed.
Now, she’d plunged back to reality as her body strained to accommodate him.
She licked her lips and held on to him tightly, willing it to be over which was not at all what she’d been anticipating.
Furrowing her brow, she struggled to remember that she trusted this man. Trusted him in a way she had never trusted anyone.
He paused. “You are in pain?”
“Y-yes. N-no. Och, bloody hell this is a bit difficult.”
She thanked God he didn’t laugh or patronize her.
“I-I’ve never done this before,” he said suddenly. Seriously.
“Are you trying to tell me you are a virgin, mon? Because I find that highly unlikely.”
He shook his head, his face straining as he held still. “I’ve never made love to a virgin, Ros.”
“Oh.” It was a surprising revelation and one she liked.
He drew in a deep breath. “As I understand, this could be unpleasant for a moment.”
“Just a moment?” she asked.
He nodded. “I think so.”
“Then let us surpass that moment,” she said, her accent particularly thick to her own ears.
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve never been more certain, mon. Now do it, will ye n
ot?”
A look of resignation crossed his face and then he thrust forward.
Pain shook her for one quick instant and then it was, indeed, over.
In answer to her suffering, he stroked his hand between their legs and found that place at the apex of her thighs which had brought her so much pleasure before.
He stroked it gently with his fingers as he began to thrust back and forth inside her.
The discomfort vanished and, once again, she found herself traversing up those wild heights of barely comprehensible pleasure.
And just as she was certain she could go no further, her world exploded into stars and pleasure so intense she cried out.
He swallowed the noise with a deep kiss and then he was holding on to her so tightly, it verged on a delicious pain. Then his hips bucked against hers.
They clung to each other like survivors of a storm, neither wishing to let go. Neither wishing for this to ever end.
But slowly, she came back to the world, down from that perfect place he had shown her and she drew in a slow breath.
His fierce hold gentled and he rolled to the side, tucking her against his still mostly clothed body.
It had all happened too quickly.
Now, it was over.
She wound her fingers into his shirt. “I don’t want you to go,” she admitted.
“I don’t want to go,” he replied.
“But you shall.”
“But I shall.”
She nodded.
They didn’t need to say it again.
It didn’t matter that suddenly the idea of letting him go felt as if she were cutting out her own heart.
“Ros. . . I—”
The knock at the door cut through the last veil of their intimacy.
Derek tensed at the sound but then he seemed to gather himself and he kissed her once, gently, passionately. . . Saying goodbye.
Wordlessly, he got up to the sound of the continued knocking.
The dowager duchess’ voice called, “Rosamund? Are you there, dear girl?”
Derek righted his clothes then silently crossed back to the window. Without a backward glance, he headed through the frame as easily as one passed through a perfectly appointed front door and out into the morning air.
