He held her wrists still as they both sat there recovering, their breaths heavy and sweetly timed. Eventually, he released her hands, opting to wrap his arms around her waist. She would have happily remained where she was forever but knew he must be in pain with her weight pressed against him. Rising up to her knees, caused him to slip from her body, and she suddenly felt inexplicably bereft. It was not a feeling she could reconcile, so she chose to staunchly ignore it for the moment. Instead, she focused on necessary activities.
“Here, let me get a rag.” She eased from the bed and fetched two of the unused rags from the table to clean them both up. She returned, handing one to him and using the other to wipe between her legs.
Flint unexpectedly swore viciously using a litany of words she was unfamiliar with. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his brow furrowed.
“I should have worn a French Letter to protect you.” He looked almost confused by his lack of care.
She smiled and patted his shoulder, ignoring the swooping feeling in her stomach. “You need not be concerned. I inserted a sponge before coming here tonight. I certainly had no intention of trapping you by becoming pregnant.”
He paled, blinked once, and then shook his head. “Do you always think of everything?”
She smiled, but she could feel the tremulousness of it. “No, not always.”
She had not considered that lying with him would cause her burgeoning feelings to take deeper root. How could she have understood? She’d never felt anything remotely as strong for her dead husband. And certainly, nothing that rivaled the physical intimacy that they had confoundingly shared. Did he feel the connection pulsing between them as though it were a real, carnal thing?
As she stared at Flint, the man seemed as shaken as she felt. For a moment, she feared saying the wrong thing and sending him fleeing. Luckily, he saved her from having to think of something else to say.
“We should dress, and I should see you safely home.” He moved to the edge of the bed with a wince.
She tutted at him. “I should dress and see myself home. A night’s rest in bed would serve you well, even one housed in a brothel.”
He grinned. “Wouldn’t you worry for my virtue? Some other strange woman might wander in here and molest me in my weakened state.”
She let one brow lift as she stood naked before him. “Are you suggesting I took advantage of you, my lord?”
He barked out a laugh that instantly morphed into a groan of pain. To her consternation, his cock twitched and lengthened anew.
Her confusion returned. Was he reacting to the pain or to her nudity? Unsure, she turned around and went in search of their clothes. Upon retrieving them, she dropped his on the bed. “I suggest you wait a few moments so I can assist you.”
He looked down at his newly erect cock. “I believe you could best help me if you remained nude.”
Her face heated as she took in the obvious evidence of his renewed vigor. “I see you were not playing me false. I wasn’t sure the first round was a good idea, I’m certain a second one would be disastrous for your injuries.”
He reached over and snagged her wrist, using it to tug her across his lap and into his arms. “The only thing that would be disastrous for my injuries would be if you made me chase you down. Though I’m game if you wish for the thrill of the hunt.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. If she was intimate with him again, she feared she would be doomed. This man possessed the ability to own her body and soul, but that was not something she could afford—not yet at any rate. But she did not wish to leave him in such a state. Remembering the pleasure of taking him in her mouth, she decided she might be able to survive that.
But before she could offer up the alternative, he captured her lips and staked his claim. Their tongues dueled as he kissed her long and deep. Her fingers tunneled into his slightly too long hair as he pinned her against his thighs. Needing to breathe, she gently pulled back from their kiss. “I’ll not risk hurting you further, but I suppose I might be able to offer you some assistance.”
Desire flared in his deep blue gaze, making her legs wobble once more as she stood up. The weakness was of little import since she immediately sank to her knees before him.
His sharply indrawn breath was all the encouragement she required. Leaning forward, she captured his erection in her hand and aimed it toward her lips. Flicking her tongue across the head had him moaning, and when she sank down over the tip, engulfing him with her mouth, his hands tunneled into her hair. As she worked up and down his length, he groaned and muttered encouragement. She continued to work his cock, taking him as deeply as she could manage and then swallowing to take more. Soon, she had his shaft worked down her throat until his balls smacked against her chin. Quickly, she reversed direction, allowing herself to take a breath.
“Bloody hell, Ros.” The gravelly tone of Flint’s voice told her just how much he was enjoying her ministrations.
So she repeated the action over and over again. Her pussy grew wetter and wetter as she worked his cock. And then he yanked her up, threw her on the bed, and with a yelp of pain thrust into her body. She wanted to stop him. Knew she should tell him no, but her body cried out yes with each plunge of his shaft. As she worked her hips, meeting him stroke for stroke, she relished the pleasure of having him inside her once more. Pleasure coiled tight within her, a spring ready to release.
“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grunted. “So tight and wet for me. Just me.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and drummed her heels against his arse. “Yes. Just you.”
And then the coil sprang free within. Her peak swelled until it swamped her with bliss.
“Don’t stop!” She demanded as she came apart.
Flint followed just behind her, coming on a harsh shout of release. He continued to pump his shaft in and out of her as they both slowly returned to earth. Finally, he slowed and then came to a halt.
Ros looked up at him, saw the lines of pleasure still etching his face, and she felt the first crack in her walls emerge just as she feared. This man could easily claim the power to wound her if she did not protect herself better, especially since she wasn’t sure he returned her feelings.
Chapter 5
Two days later, Ros sat nervously across the tea service from Flint. A light sheen of perspiration dampened her brow as she sipped her cooling tea. Her stomach knotted up, making it hard to swallow. Through sheer force of will, she pushed her nerves down with the tea. “Flint, it has been lovely spending so much time with you of late. I truly want to thank you for all you have done for Julia and me.”
Flint smiled. “I was hap- uh, was glad to be of assistance. I am sure you are looking forward to returning to your old habits rather than having to entertain me quite so much.”
“Oh, I can’t say I’m looking forward to a return to normal, so to speak. I’ve quite come to enjoy our time together. I had forgotten that men can be engaging, even pleasant to be around.” Her cheeks heated as her teacup rattled in its saucer. Images from their one night together flashed through her mind’s eye. Setting the pair down lest she drop them, she clasped her hands in her lap.
Flint looked up at her, his dark blue eyes growing darker with something unspoken. “I, too, have enjoyed our time. I am pleased to know that I have perhaps reminded you of some aspect of your life that you had forgotten. Though I am sure we shall have plenty of opportunities to visit in the future since your sister and Wolf are so happily wed.”
Ros licked her lips.
His brow creased, as though he’d grown concerned. “Are you perhaps a bit nervous about our pending split? I’m certain it will not reflect badly on you in the least if you are perhaps…” he cleared his throat. “If you are considering looking for a husband.”
She wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole in that moment. Was she a fool? Did he not feel the same way? “I was thinking that perhaps we didn’t need to end this just yet.”
<
br /> Flint set his own cup and saucer down with a distinct clatter as he stared at her in confusion for a moment.
Ros watched as the purpose of her words sank in, and his confusion morphed into shock. “But Ros, that has always been the plan. This was never intended to be real…to be forever.”
Her chest felt heavy as she watched his reaction. “I am well aware of what this was meant to be; however, I had also not anticipated this attraction between us. This…this pull. Surely, I am not the only one of us that feels it? The only one that felt it the night we were together at The Market?”
So many emotions crossed his face that she couldn’t help but wonder how others saw him as closed off and stoic. She saw worry and fear, caring, and then to her despair, she saw horror quickly followed by resolve.
“I’m not the kind of man that you want, that you deserve. You are a wonderful woman, and you deserve a man who is able to love you and treat you with the gentleness you deserve. I am not that man. I shall never be that man. Do not do this to yourself or to me.” His words were kind but direct, his tone, implacable.
Anger and frustration bubbled to the fore as she realized that he did, in fact, feel the pull between them, but was denying it. “You did not answer my question. You have danced around it, but you have not answered it. And I should warn you, do not dare to tell me what I want for myself. I have been on my own long enough to know my own mind.”
He shook his head and stood. “I’m sorry, Ros. I shall see you as planned for the Halpern’s ball.”
With that, he left her sitting alone amongst the remnants of their tea. Fear spiked through her at the thought of losing him. She couldn’t say she loved him, but she was increasingly aware that she cared for him quite deeply and that not having him in her life was not an acceptable option. If she broke with him, she was certain she would not see him again for a very long time if ever. But could she convince him to give them a chance? Or would he fight her on this?
~
Flint stood in the front parlor of Ros’s home and waited for her to join him. It had been a week since their encounter at The Market and three days since she attempted to alter their planned break. They had spoken of many things, but not one of them had been about their night together. After their second joining, he’d collapsed on the bed, pulled her into his arms, and held on to her the rest of the night as she slept. He’d refused to sleep knowing it was the one and only time he’d have to hold her.
The door of the room opened, and she swept in, a vision in a deep rich purple gown that showed far more of her cleavage than he was comfortable with. Other than the gown she wore to The Market, it was the most daring gown he’d ever seen her wear. She was stunning.
The bloody woman was making their inevitable parting as difficult as possible for him.
Never the gentleman, unless he chose to be, he bowed to her. A streak of pain ripped around his ribs as he straightened, followed by the most pleasurable tingles. He smiled, causing his lip to join in the pleasure-pain symphony. “Good evening, Ros. You look ravishing.”
She smiled, her cheeks tinging pink. “Thank you, Flint. And good evening to you.” She hesitated and then stepped closer. “You look quite handsome, despite the remnants of the abuse you suffered. Are you ready for tonight?”
Something had her green eyes dancing as she placed her palms against his chest and leaned into him. He resisted the urge to groan and instead took her by the shoulders and helped her take a step backward. “Thank you, and yes, I am quite prepared for the evening ahead.”
Her brow creased. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about our looming break?”
He sighed. He hadn’t realized how attached she’d grown to him until earlier in the week when she suggested they abort their planned split. There was no possible way he could marry her. She deserved a good man, a normal man, not one such as himself. Not a man who spent his free time trolling London’s wharves and back alleys for fights. Not a man who needed pain to feel pleasure. He would never do as a husband for any woman, let alone one so sweet as Ros.
“Not in the least. I’ve told you this was never intended to be a true engagement.” He cringed inside as something in the vicinity of where his heart was purported to be twisted.
Her brow smoothed, and a look of calm certainty appeared. “Very well then, we should be on our way.”
The worry and doubt that had been hounding him all week eased at her seeming acceptance of their fate. Perhaps the evening would go smoother than he’d thought?
Two hours later, Flint stood with his longtime friends and their wives in the Halpern’s ballroom. Lords Stonemere, Brougham, and Wolfington were once half of the Lustful Lords. Over the last couple of years, things had changed dramatically as one by one they’d married, thus, giving up their hedonistic lifestyles. All that remained of their once merry group were himself and Lord Lincolnshire. Of course, they had added Lord Dunmere to their ranks, so at least there were three of them to pal around.
“Are you ready for your big moment?” Wolf grinned.
Flint’s stomach knotted as he considered what was to come. He hated being the center of attention. “As I’ll ever be. At least, Ros finally agreed to go through with it.” He looked around for Ros and failed to see her. She’d been swept onto the dance floor by one eager young swain after another. Normally she hid her dance card, preventing anyone from claiming a dance. But tonight, she had eagerly provided it each time she’d been asked.
Wolf’s smile slipped as he darted a glance at his wife as she chatted with Ladies Stonemere and Brougham. “What in the world do you mean? Was Ros refusing to break with you?”
Flint continued to search the crowd for her, a kernel of worry not allowing him to rest easy until he spotted her once more. “She suggested we not break up multiple times this past week. I reminded her how unsuitable I am each time, but she persisted with the silly notion until this very night.”
His friend groaned beside him. “And she said she would go through with the public break with you? Tonight?”
“Yes. I reminded her our betrothal was never intended to be a real commitment, and she said, ‘Very well then,’ and suggested we leave.” Flint turned his gaze on Wolf. “Why?”
“If she did not agree directly to the break, then you may find yourself still engaged to her at the end of this soiree. Ros is a stickler about lying. If she didn’t give you a definitive answer, she may have other intentions.”
The pained look on Wolf’s face had Flint’s doubt resurfacing with a vengeance. If she didn’t initiate the break-up, he could be in trouble. She might be stubborn enough to refuse to throw him over, no matter how abominably he treated her.
The song ended, and the musicians took a short break, which led to Ros being returned to his side. Her dance partner bowed and departed quickly, leaving the two of them in semi-privacy as everyone around them was already engaged in conversation. Taking the opportunity, he leaned close. “Are you ready for our little vignette?”
She darted a quick glance his way and then whispered a reply. “I should think you would be wiser than to discuss such business so openly.”
“And I would have been, had I not been given some reason to doubt the sincerity of your earlier agreement.” He wanted to growl in frustration but repressed the urge by attempting to smile. The motion felt so awkward that he was sure he must have appeared ready to attack and not as though he were enjoying himself.
She looked up at him and blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course, you do,” Flint insisted. “You gave me a sufficiently vague response to my assertion that this evening needed to unfold as planned.”
Just then, the musicians returned to their seats and indicated they were about to resume playing. Frustration slapped at Flint as he spotted the mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Did I?” The innocence she exuded was directly at odds with his sudden certainty that she had no intention of following through with their br
eak.
A throat cleared, interrupting their little tête-à-tête.
His grandmother stood there peering at the pair of them. “Flintshire, despite your refusal to abide by any of the proprieties, I hope that once you’ve wed this gel, you will produce the long-absent heir.” Her throaty tones had long ago morphed into something that sounded more like rusty cogs grinding together.
Flint sighed. “Mrs. Smith, you remember my grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Shropshire?”
“Of course, my lady, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Ros curtsied and dipped her head.
The old shrew merely lifted her brows and snorted, “I’m sure.” Then she turned back to Flint. “A grandchild, my boy. Before I die, if you please.”
And then she trudged off without even a by your leave. Flint found himself wanting to growl but was interrupted as yet one more unwelcome interruption occurred.
“Lord Flintshire, Mrs. Smith.” Lord Cunningham bowed to each of them. “I believe I have the next dance.”
Ros made a great show of looking at her card, and then she bestowed a brilliant smile on the charlatan that had come to collect her. “Indeed, you do, my lord.”
Flint resisted the urge to growl at the man. He detested Lord Cunningham, whom he had long ago discovered to be a cruel man behind closed doors. He’d been banned from The Market by Madame Du Pompadour for mistreatment of her girls, and rumor had it that he was a harsh man to work for. His servants always looked fearful of any possible misstep. With his frustration level already high from their too brief conversation, it was all he could do to keep himself in check as he watched Ros prance away—When did she start walking in such a fashion?— on Cunningham’s arm. His hands fisted at his side as he clenched his thighs to keep his feet firmly planted where they were. While he could cause a scene, it would not ensure Ros’s cooperation. Which meant he’d simply appear to be an utter buffoon at best and a complete cad at worst. With an agitated sigh, he settled in to see just how his supposedly guileless fiancée would proceed.
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness Page 4
