He gave a deprecating shrug. ‘A seamstress I know. She owes me a favour or two.’
The reason was clear. Whoever this dressmaker was, she would have provided gowns for his women. The pang was painful and raw. Jealousy. How could she be jealous? There was no love between them. At least not on his side. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. As time went on, the more it seemed it was her convenience, for he had nothing to gain from this wedding.
To hide her thoughts she opened the next package and the next, and the one after that. There were morning gowns, and a ball gown, and handkerchiefs and scarves. Even a couple of bonnets and a riding habit.
‘Do you ride?’ he asked when she pulled the royal-blue velvet out of the tissue paper. It was the most gorgeous habit she had ever seen.
‘Yes, I do.’
He looked pleased. ‘We can ride out together in the mornings, if you like. I’ll purchase a mount for you.’
Expense after expense mounted up. Guilt rolled through her. He hadn’t wanted to be married and now he was being forced to spend a fortune.
She looked at the piles of gowns and the lovely fabric lying across her arms. ‘It’s too much.’
A flicker of pain darkened his eyes. Gone so fast, she could not be sure she had seen it at all. Indeed, now she looked at him, his smile mocked her. ‘Only by entering the ton yourself can you introduce your sisters to society. Consider this part of our bargain.’
A bargain. That was all this marriage was to him. ‘Thank you, my lord. You are generous.’
His mouth tightened, probably at her lack of enthusiasm. But how could she be happy when she came like a beggar to this marriage of theirs? A marriage forced on him because she’d been foolish enough to fall for his charms.
In a bargain both people gained something. What did he have to gain except in his bed? That he could get anywhere.
It must be the child he cared about. A child would bring them together. Happiness curled around her heart.
A hot lump rose in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and smiled at him. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll call for a footman to have them taken upstairs.’ Oh, dash it all, did her voice have to sound quite so damp? He would think her a watering pot.
‘There is one more thing,’ he said with a smile. ‘The chest and the writing desk will arrive tomorrow as promised.’
‘So soon?’ Her smile widened. ‘How wonderful.’
‘You are very welcome.’ He looked pleased. ‘There is one last thing I must do today. I need the information about this moneylender for my man of business. I will have him take care of the matter right away.’ He went to the writing desk and set forth paper, pens and ink. ‘Write down his direction, along with that of your sisters.’
She hurried to comply, grateful he was acting so speedily. She quickly wrote down the required information and handed it to him. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. ‘This means everything to me.’
He captured her hand. ‘I will be back in time for dinner.’
He kissed her hand and the traitorous warmth rushed up from her belly. The desire for his touch.
She saw the answering warmth in the depth of his dark gaze.
At least they had this in common. It might not be perfect, but it was something they shared.
She would have to be very careful not to let him see her emotions went deeper. She had the sense he preferred to keep everything light and easy. And if she didn’t do the same, he would become bored and find other interests; he had as good as said so.
The thought made her feel simply dreadful.
When Garth returned home for dinner, Rosa did not object when he suggested they have dinner in his chamber. No, their chamber.
Hand in hand they left the drawing room, where they had partaken of sherry together, and climbed the stairs. He opened the door and stood back for her to enter.
A small oblong table set for two sat in front of a sofa. Apparently they were to eat side by side. Candles flickered, silver glittered and crystal sparkled. The room looked positively…romantic. There was even a lovely yellow rose gracing a vase in the middle of the table.
Her anxiety of earlier in the day reduced to a faint unease only to be expected in these early days, she supposed. And although she wasn’t yet married and she’d already experienced the delights of the marriage bed, she did feel a little like a new bride. Being a wife would be very different to being a mistress. A mistress could walk away.
From what Penelope had said, Rosa guessed that Garth disposed of his mistresses long before they were ready to leave. And he’d made it quite plain he did not intend to change his ways. Then why was he going to all this trouble to woo her?
At the back of her mind, something, some nagging little thing she could not quite grasp, kept making its presence known. A little whisper of disquiet. A feeling there was something she had yet to learn.
Why, when he’d been nothing but brutally honest about his lack of emotion?
He helped her to sit, rang the bell and sat beside her. The butler and two footmen carried in a series of trays, which they proceeded to set before them. The butler filled their wineglasses from a decanter, which he left on the table at Garth’s elbow. It was all done with such smoothness, Rosa had the distinct impression this was not the first time they had served dinner this way.
Not something she should be thinking about.
‘Will there be anything else, my lord?’
‘No, thank you. We will not need you again this evening.’
The man bowed and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.
Garth lifted his glass. ‘To my future bride.’
She picked up hers. ‘To my husband-to-be.’
Before she could drink, he held his glass to her lips. And when she had taken a sip, he drank from the same spot on the glass, his dark gaze all the while fixed on her face. Seductive. Tempting.
Not to be outdone, when he had finished drinking from his glass, she held her goblet to his lips. His eyes danced in appreciation as first he took a sip and then she drank.
‘Bravo,’ he murmured in her ear.
A shiver ran down her spine at the wicked sensation.
‘Ready to eat?’ he asked.
‘I’m famished.’
He lifted the covers from the plates the servants had set in front of each of them. Oddly, his plate held only cuts of meat and hers only an assortment of vegetables.
He grinned when she gave him a puzzled sideways glance. ‘I call this déjeuner au médiéval. Watch what I mean.’ He carefully cut a portion of chicken breast, then held it up to her mouth.
‘Oh,’ she said. And he popped it in.
He cut another piece for himself.
She cut up a carrot braised in butter and fed it to him. He dragged it off the fork with strong white teeth. Somehow it seemed sumptuously decadent, to be fed and to feed. There was also laughter when they tried the peas and ended up scattering them all over the floor. He dived for a rescue.
‘I’ll request no peas next time,’ he said, getting up from his knees after chasing one of the recalcitrant vegetables under the table.
‘Asparagus works best,’ she agreed, holding one of the delicate shoots out to him by a thumb and forefinger.
He bit all the way down it, reaching her fingers, then pretended to take a bite of her thumb.
She laughed.
He popped a mouthful of roast beef in her open mouth.
‘Mmm,’ she protested. When she finally managed to swallow both her laugh and the meat, she shook her head at him. ‘Not so fast. Do you want me to choke?’
A look of mock consternation crossed his face. He placed a hand over his heart. ‘Not before our wedding night.’ His face turned serious. ‘I never want any harm to come to you.’
Her heart gave an odd little bump. It was as if it had stopped for a moment, then started again, but out of rhythm. Her insides felt suddenly loose. Welcoming. Heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘I’m glad to know it,’ s
he said with mock severity, hiding her wanton reaction.
He held his glass to her lips once more and she drank deeply this time. He finished the wine, knocking it back with practised ease. He looked down at their plates. Very little remained. ‘Are you ready for dessert?’
‘I thought that was me.’ Good Lord, was this really her, this bold flirtatious woman? And was that a flush of pride she felt at his sudden boyish laugh and the flare of heat in his gaze?
She liked him so much more when he lost his cynical expression. Affection filled an empty space behind her ribs. She leaned forwards and landed a clumsy kiss on his cheek.
In an instant, he caught her close, turning his head to capture her mouth. His kiss tasted of red wine. His arm around her shoulder felt strong and manly; the touch of his knuckles on her cheek was tender. Something inside her seemed to settle, the way a cat sprawls out in front of a fire. She felt comfortable. Warm. Welcome.
Slowly he let her go, an expression of awe on his face. Or was it simply pleasure? It fled so fast she could not be sure, especially not when he turned away, removed the remains of their feast to the tray side table and lifted the last two covers. Beneath one was a mound of strawberries. The other hid a dish of cream and a bowl of sifted sugar.
‘Now how does this work?’ she asked.
His eyes were laughing with genuine amusement. ‘We could try sipping the cream and then eating a strawberry before we swallowed.’
‘A disaster worse than the peas in the offing.’
He grinned. ‘You’ve tried it before.’
Scandalised, she laughed. ‘Certainly not. Why don’t I dip a strawberry in the cream and sugar for you, and you do the same for me?’
‘They look so good, why don’t we do it at the same time.’
She smiled and nodded. ‘Why not?’
It was harder than it sounded. Trying to bite a strawberry while aiming for the other person’s mouth at the same time. The fruits were particularly large and when she bit into the second one he gave her, the juice ran down her chin.
He licked it away.
His tongue felt delicious on her skin, a sensual sensation low in her core. Her eyelids drooped.
‘You taste good,’ he murmured, low and enticing.
Pleasure hummed through her veins. A pulse beat low in her abdomen. Excitement stole her breath as desire took hold. But she wanted to give him pleasure, not just receive. Her hand drifted over the strawberries, her eyes selecting the ripest of the fruit in the bowl. She swirled it slowly in the cream.
From a sidelong glance, she watched his gaze follow the movement, his lips already parting, his teeth gleaming white, ready to bite. She scooped up a mountain of cream on the berry and dabbed it on his chin.
His dark eyes twinkled.
And she cleaned it off with several licks of her tongue. The faint graze of his stubble on her tongue had the feel of a cat’s lick. She purred.
His eyes creased. ‘Oh, my sweet Rosabella,’ he breathed. ‘There are many more uses for strawberries and cream.’ An eyebrow shot up. ‘If you dare.’
This was what he was getting from their marriage. This physical enjoyment. And she enjoyed it just as much and saw no reason to be ungenerous. Indeed, after all he had done for her, he deserved far more. ‘I dare,’ she whispered, flashing him a saucy glance. ‘If you do.’
He laughed. Loud and free. A sound full of joy. ‘Oh, little nun, do you know how you tempt me? Come.’ He took her hand. ‘This game needs no barriers between us.’
He pulled her to her feet and twirled her around and made short work of the fastenings on her gown. While he nuzzled her neck, he pushed the gown down her arms and over her hips. It slid to the floor, and she stepped out of it, turning to face him.
‘I’m not finished.’
She smiled. ‘Your turn.’ She undid the buttons on his coat and pushed the tight-fitting garment off his shoulders. She tugged and pulled at the soft wool, dragging it down his muscled arms. Panting, she pulled it off and cast it aside. ‘My word, that jacket is tight.’
No response. She glanced up at him and found his gaze fixed on her breasts rising and falling from her exertions. He raised his eyes to her face and she almost drowned in the heat of his desire.
Her insides turned liquid. She flung her arms around his neck, kissed those wonderful sensual smiling lips and leaned in to him. His hands came to her hips, large, warm, gentle. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her hard against his length. His arousal pressed against her belly.
Lovely. Pleasurable. Wildly entrancing. A tilt of her pelvis brought him closer to where she needed him. Urgency flowed through her blood.
Sweeping his mouth with her eager tongue, she tasted strawberries and cream. A hand stroked circles on her back and came around to cup her breast lightly. Too lightly for the powerful waves of longing sweeping through her.
A groan rumbled in his throat. He broke away, his breathing harsh. ‘Turn around, sweet. Let us be done with these clothes.’
He stripped her of her stays and chemise and carried her to the bed. Feverishly he untied her garters and ripped off her stockings, all tangled up with her shoes. His hot gaze raked her body as he tore at his cravat, flinging it aside. The shirt quickly followed. He toed off his shoes and peeled off his pantaloons.
She gazed at him. Her almost-husband. So glorious in his nakedness, so lean and finely drawn. His arousal jutted straight up, engorged and dark and magnificent.
An instrument of pleasure.
‘Do you like what you see?’
A slow perusal up the flat stomach ridged with muscle, over the wide sleek-as-a-Thoroughbred chest, up a strong column of throat to his face. He was watching her with desire, and something else—pride. Not the pride of arrogance, but a defiant pride, as if he thought she might reject him. Puzzled, she stared at him and saw a vulnerability she had not expected.
‘I approve very much.’ She licked her lips and his gaze followed the movement.
It seemed to break the spell, for he returned to their table and brought the strawberries and cream to the bed. ‘I hope you won’t mind if we dispense with the sugar?’ His eyes gleamed wickedness, brimming with mischief. ‘I am guessing it will be worse than sand for getting in places it is not supposed to be.’
‘I will take your advice,’ she said, ‘for I am sure you have lots of experience.’
He darted a glance from under lowered lashes, then smiled. ‘Not at all. Just an assumption.’
So he was going to pretend he had not played this game before. It was rather sweet that he would consider her feelings in such a way. It made her feel special.
He lay down beside her, placing the bowls on her side of the bed. Leaning over her, he picked up a strawberry and dipped it in the cream. ‘Let me see,’ he said, running his gaze down her body. ‘Which part of you do I most want to eat?’
Her inner muscles clenched. She gasped at the wickedly pleasurable pulse. Her breathing quickened. Her heartbeat went wild.
‘Here, I think.’ He dabbed the cream on her breasts, right on the peaks, and in her navel. He bit into the strawberry, taking half of it into his mouth, then leaned over to kiss her.
Along with the kiss, she received the ripe fruit in her mouth. ‘Don’t swallow it yet,’ he said.
He swiftly dipped his head and licked her breast, returning with cream on his tongue, which he added to the strawberry already in her mouth.
Wicked. Ridiculous. But very, very sensual. He encouraged her with a nod and she chewed and swallowed as he watched with his devilish smile. He winked. ‘What is left is mine.’
He swooped down and suckled her other breast, sending sweet aches all the way to her core. ‘Delicious,’ he mumbled against her skin as he trailed kisses all the way to her navel, where he swirled his tongue. She sighed with pleasure.
He laughed. Not mocking. Just pure enjoyment.
She loved this side of him. This delightfully boyish, playful rogue. She smiled at him with tendernes
s, hope blossoming in her heart. Perhaps, in time, there would be more than convenience in their marriage.
She sat up and pushed at his shoulder until he rolled spread-eagled on his back, then she knelt beside him and selected a strawberry, loading it with cream. ‘Now what shall I do with this?’
He opened his mouth, his eyes full of laughter.
‘Too easy, sirrah.’
There really only was one new place to put the cream. Excitement mixed with trepidation sent trembles running through her body. A drop of cream rolled off the strawberry on to the flat plane of his stomach. It would all run off if she didn’t act soon. Taking a swift breath, she dabbed carefully at the head of his shaft.
A groan and his hips came up off the bed, making her recoil. Strawberries scattered across the bed. Somehow the cream didn’t spill. He started laughing. Making the bed shake. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You caught me unawares. I really didn’t expect you to be so bold.’
She frowned. ‘Is it wrong?’ she asked, looking at her handiwork. If anything his thing, his rod, looked stiffer than ever, where it emerged from the dark nest of hair.
‘No. Nothing between a man and a woman is wrong, if both enjoy it. Don’t for pity’s sake stop now.’
‘You must be patient,’ she said, seeing his hands grip the sheets, anticipating… Oh, he really liked this idea. She dipped the strawberry again and smeared cream down his rigid shaft, smiling at the hiss of his breath, which set an answering tightness inside her that was altogether too delicious for words. She swirled the berry on the sacs at the base of his shaft, eyeing them with interest, wondering at their soft texture compared to his erection.
A glance at his face showed his eyes closed, his face a mask of calmness, but the tic in his jaw told the truth. She popped the strawberry in her mouth.
He opened one eye. ‘Are you done?’
She gave him a saucy smile. ‘Not quite. I just want to see how it tastes.’ She leaned over him and, after a moment’s hesitation, licked at the cream. ‘Delicious.’
He muttered something under his breath. The hands flexed into fists and relaxed.
Lady Rosabella's Ruse Page 20
