Guarding a Notorious Lady

by Olivia Parker

  He huffed with disbelief. “Right then.” His eyes raked her from top to bottom and back again. “Show me.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Show you?”

  “Show . . . me.”

  She held up a hand, her middle and index finger walking in the air. “You want me to run? Now?”

  He nodded, impatiently. “Yes. Now. Let’s put you to the test, lass.” He made a shooing motion. “Go.”

  “Well . . .” She eyed him like she would a completely mad person. “All right. I . . . guess.” And then she turned to sprint across the room lengthwise. She made it to the wall fairly quickly. Her hands touching the wallpaper, she pushed off slightly and turned.

  Nicholas was right there, blocking her escape. Her back thumped lightly against the wall. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Large hands splayed on either side of her head. He had effectively trapped her with his body without even touching her.

  “You’re fast?” he asked, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief.

  She nodded, her thoughts too muddled to form words because the truth was he was slightly intimidating—in the melt-your-stockings-off sort of way.

  “Well, I’m faster,” he intoned. “And if Stokes really wanted to catch you, he would have.”

  After a brief hesitation, she realized he’d left her space enough to get away. Swiftly, she ducked under his arm. “Ha!”

  She took three measly steps before Nicholas’s muscled arm anchored around her waist, abruptly halting her. She gave a grunt as her breath was momentarily trapped in her chest. But he wasn’t done.

  He jerked her roughly against him. She wiggled to free herself, but before she could think, she was flat on her back on the carpet with Nicholas atop her. Her chin hardened and she swatted at his arms, careful not to rake him with her nails, for she knew he posed no threat; he was only trying to prove a point.

  Pinning her to the floor with some of his weight, he grabbed her wrists. He held them tightly and high above her head with ease in one of his hands. The other drifted down to gently remove a lock of her hair that had slashed across her face, obstructing her view.

  “Sadly, you are not nimble enough,” he murmured, shaking his head in a maddeningly derisive manner.

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, but I’m hardly fighting you.”

  He raised a brow.

  A challenge?

  She bucked beneath him. He hadn’t expected it, she knew, because the force of her movement sent him rolling onto his back, taking her with him, for her wrists were still imprisoned by his hand.

  Now, straddling his waist, she froze, not entirely sure what she should do next. She twisted her hands, trying to free her wrist.

  “Is that where your plan ends?” He chuckled darkly, his free hand molding to her side.

  Before she could utter a retort, he bucked his own hips, keeping his free hand behind her to cushion her spine as he flipped her over to her back.

  “You might as well admit it, ’tis easy to overpower you.”

  “Oh, but I haven’t yet begun. I’ve two brothers. I know how to punch and kick.” Her gaze flicked downward. “And where to kick.”

  “Do your worst,” he invited darkly.

  She kicked out wildly, thrashing her legs . . . and quite suddenly found Nicholas wedged heavily between her thighs. Her nightgown had rucked up to her hips, leaving the sensitive skin of her legs to rub against the warm fabric of his breeches and the granite of his thighs. Scorching heat blossomed at the center of her being.

  She was utterly bare underneath her nightdress.

  His face above her, Nicholas’s jaw hardened, a tick pulsing in his cheek.

  “Did I get you?” she asked, breathless from exertion and from the surge of sensation. Had she kicked him? He looked as if he was in pain. “I did not mean—”

  “Do not talk,” he said through his teeth. “Do not move.” He closed his eyes.

  She waited quietly, her entire body flushing with heat.

  “What a mess.” His nostrils flared. “I’m going to get off you now. I’ll keep my eyes shut. Cover yourself as quickly as possible.”

  She nodded.

  “If you understand, you may say something. I cannot see through my lids.”

  “Hmm-hmm,” was all she said.

  Slowly, his face relaxed and his breathing slowed.

  He opened his eyes, his heated gaze settling on hers. Their mouths were so close, she imagined they shared the same breath.

  He released her wrists, leaned up on his forearms, then stared down at her in this utterly submissive position. A myriad of expressions crossed his features. Gently, reverently, he brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, his thumb then tracing the whorls of her ear, spurring a delightful shiver.

  And then, with a look of wonderment, he shook his head. “You’re so . . . lovely. I-I hadn’t meant . . . I wanted to show you how easily . . .” He swallowed. “I was wrong.” He shifted to extract himself from her.

  And then Rosalind did something she’d never thought she had it in her to do.

  With an instinct she had not known she possessed, she wrapped her legs around his thighs, anchoring him there, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down atop her for a kiss.

  He hesitated for mere seconds, then sunk his mouth down to meld with hers. Desire exploded. This kiss was not gentle or slow. It was carnal, primal. This was a man and woman on fire, seeking a quenching they could receive only from the other. His hair around her, he thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth with thorough, blazing sweeps.

  Knowing what to expect, Rosalind matched the rhythm of his ardor and dueled right along with him. She whimpered beneath his mouth and he answered it with a deep groan of his own.

  The kiss was wild and out of control. Her hands rubbed at his strong back, down his sides and at his waist, where he seemed to be moving in a restrained, undulating fashion. She suddenly wanted to feel that rhythm against her. She needed to.

  She angled her hips and pressed upward. Hard met soft. Her mouth broke away from his on a moan.

  Swirls of sensation thrummed at her core. Grinding his hips into her, he bit and suckled the side of her neck and her mouth opened with silent, breathless pleasure. With tongue and teeth, he worked up to her ear, licking and sucking on the lobe. She cried out and he caught it with his mouth, the thrusts of his hips now matching the sweeps of his tongue.

  She pulled his shirttails free from his breeches, her hands finally making contact with skin. And he felt glorious. Warm and muscular. She ran her hands over his stomach and it jerked beneath her touch.

  Reaching between them, Nicholas’s hand slid possessively from her neck, down her flimsy bodice, across her stomach, and around her hip. Squeezing and rubbing her leg, his thumb pressed into her inner thigh, coaxing her to open wider for him. Yielding, he surprised her by sliding his hand upwards to replace the press of his arousal.

  She gasped at the feel of his fingers, at first tickling as he sought to separate her folds and then delightfully intrusive as he slid his fingers slowly downward, back and forth, back and forth. She gulped and fluttered her eyes open, seeking his gaze. He was watching her, his eyes like gray shards.

  The sweeps grew steadily deeper until one of his fingers dipped inside her slick sheath.

  “You like that,” he whispered, knowingly, possessively. Over and over, he repeated his movements.

  She couldn’t answer, she couldn’t think. She shuddered and he kissed her, deeply, coaxingly. And then his thumb flicked a particularly sensitive spot and she choked back a sob.

  Looking down, she gave a low whimper at the sight of his large tan hand, cupping her between her pale thighs, his fingers disappearing and reappearing, his thumb flicking within her dark curls. Her head dropped back and she panted.

  His mouth slid downward to the swell of her breasts. He bit gently, then soothed the spot with his tongue. Using teeth and that deft tongue of his, he pulled down the square bo
dice until one breast bobbed free.

  “Nicholas,” she gasped.

  His warm breath feathered the ruched tip a second before he fastened his mouth over it, alternating sucking hard and flicking his tongue until she thought she’d go mad.

  If Nicholas showed her indifference before, he certainly wasn’t now. Rosalind arched her back, reveling in the waves of sensation, marveling in his ardent attention, pushing all doubts to the far corners of her mind.

  He feasted upon her breast while his fingers relentlessly moved. Her hips seemed to move of their own accord, a frantic pace.

  Rosalind moaned low and deep. Pleasure built inside her, budding a strange frustration that was equal parts maddening and wonderful. All of a sudden it burst through her, sending shocks of bliss that startled her with their intensity. Her shoulders lifted from the floor.

  Nicholas muffled her startled cry of pleasure with a kiss. She clamped her thighs tightly shut, trapping his hand there, but he never stopped moving. Not until she breathed again, her shoulders lowering to the ground.

  Breathless, she peeked open her eyes and found his gaze hot upon her. He brought up the finger he had sunk into her and gave it a savoring lick.

  “Nicholas,” she breathed, another wave of pleasure rippling through her. “What was that? Did you . . . did you feel it, too?”

  “To the depths of my soul.”

  They looked at each other intently for another full minute before he turned away.

  He pulled her nightdress down to cover her damp thighs. He was out of breath and too stunned by the beauty of her climax to feel guilty. But it would come, no doubt.

  Allowing himself to stare down at her for only one more moment, he rolled away, giving her his back, his erection aching from thwarted desire.

  Behind him, he heard her descent back to earth. Her breathing was returning to normal, but she was very still.

  Nicholas took several deep breaths. He felt a tugging at his sleeve.

  Leaning on one arm, he looked over his shoulder. She was gazing at him with wonder in her eyes.

  She was relaxed and sleepy now, and her sable hair swirled around her like a goddess, her normally pale skin now a dusty pink, and her mouth slightly swollen from his kisses.

  She lifted a listless hand and gently ran her fingers down his jawline. He kissed her fingertips and she smiled.

  Shame wormed through his thoughts. He closed his eyes against the sight of her.

  Dear God, he had ravished his best friend’s sister on the carpet in her room. He was a beast. A monster. He deserved pistols at dawn.

  “Nicholas,” she said softly.

  He shook his head, unable to look at her. Standing, he held out his hands and helped her to stand. He held her to him for a brief moment, cradling her head to his chest.

  Placing a kiss in her hair, he whispered, “This changes nothing. And everything.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” she said, her tone husky and confused.

  “I shouldn’t have touched you,” he said, surprised his brogue had thickened.

  “I wanted you to,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head. “Here I was warning you away from the advances of men. I wanted to show you how easily a man can overtake a woman. And then I overtook you.” He dropped his arms, releasing her, and took a step away.

  “No. No, Nicholas,” she said hurriedly. “I grabbed you. I pulled you down.”

  “Aye, but I didn’t have to follow you.” He walked away from her and headed toward the window.

  “You’re upset,” she announced.

  “Aye. I am. But not with you. I’m sorry, lass.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she exclaimed, irritation laced in her voice.

  “Well, you should,” he replied. At the window, he swung a leg over the sill. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “But it did,” she said, sounding almost shrill. “It did and now you want to pretend that it was nothing?”

  He shook his head. The breeze at his back increased, blowing ominously into the room, making the flames in the hearth bend and brighten. His loose shirt, untucked by Rosalind’s own hands, billowed in the storm-charged air.

  “I can’t pretend anymore,” he said softly, his tone grim. “The truth is I want you. I think I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”

  “And now you’re done,” she stated with a shrug of irritation.

  He flicked his hair out of his eyes, chuckling low and self-deprecatingly. “If only I were that easily appeased.”

  “Why couldn’t we—”

  “I owe much to your brother,” he said forcefully. “I cannot dishonor my promise.”

  Her smile held no warmth. “It’s a little too late for that, no?”

  He gave her a solemn nod. “Aye. But it stops here. We will go no further. ”

  Her eyes seemed to brighten, and he hoped it was with anger, not tears. Nicholas was stricken again by the way she tugged at his heart.

  But instincts told him that he must treat her coldly now. If he didn’t, if he was tender, like he wanted to be, she might foolishly invite him in her bed, and then he would surely make love to her. She must think of him as the lowliest of scoundrels. After all, he felt like one.

  “Rosalind, you must realize I was asked to protect you.”

  “Indeed.” She stared at the fire in the grate, a growing resentment smoldering in her gaze. “And who will protect me from you, Nicholas?”

  He swung his other leg over the sill and reached for the limb of the sprawling oak next to the house. “You will be safe from me.” He gave her a nod, then ducked away into the turbulent night just like the thief he feared he was.

  If he would have hesitated a moment longer, he would have heard Rosalind whisper, “Indeed, Nicholas. But you certainly won’t be safe from me.”

  Chapter 13

  Rosalind rather thought that two days spent moping around the town house was sufficient time to execute a proper sulking.

  Not to mention the fact that staying indoors was, in an indirect way, making the current situation rather easy for Nicholas.

  Did he think they could go back to the way things were after what had happened? Would he regain his aloof façade, expecting her to forget coming blissfully apart under his sensual command? Did he think she would simply continue matchmaking and flitting from ball to ball, all the while casting narrow-eyed glares in his direction? Did he think she was so easily appeased?

  Stepping into the foyer, Rosalind headed for the oval mirror near the door to check her appearance. She felt an unbidden need to see him again—she adjusted the bit of lace spilling from her bodice—and for him to see her.

  After she finished sulking this afternoon, she decided a small outing was in order and informed Alice of her plans. Her maid responded enthusiastically, and Rosalind ordered a small luncheon to be packed and the carriage brought around.

  Satisfied that all was working out as planned, Rosalind swirled into the study to talk to Tristan before she left.

  “All right, I admit it,” Rosalind proclaimed as she entered.

  Seated across from Briggs, a game of chess positioned on a small rosewood table between them, Tristan studied the board, rubbing his jaw in thought. “Admit what?”

  “That I am not perfect.”

  He gave a small puff of air, indicating he thought her very arrogant. “I was not aware that you thought you were.”

  “In my matchmaking capabilities,” she remarked impatiently. “I’ve found that I have certain limitations.”

  He sighed, his fingers poised over his black bishop. “What happened?” he murmured, sounding resigned. He flicked a quick glance at her, his eyes returning to the chess game for only a second before swinging back to her in shock. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”

  “What?” she asked, looking down at her pale pink frock. The bodice was scandalously low, but she and Alice had stuffed a bit of lace into her corset in order to conceal the swells of
her bosom. “Is it not suitable for the park?”

  “Suitable?” he squeaked out, looking angry. “That color is parallel to the shade of your skin, Rosalind. For a second I thought you were naked.”

  She smiled, a breath of relief whooshing through her. “So you think he’ll notice?”

  “If he doesn’t notice you, it’s because he’s dead. Dare I ask just who in particular you are trying to attract?”

  Her eyes swung to Briggs, widened meaningfully, then swung back to Tristan.

  “I assume you’d like our butler to give us a bit of privacy?” His lips quirked with a smile. “Or is Briggs the poor fellow you’ve set your cap for?”

  The old man chuckled softly and stood.

  “Will you excuse us, Briggs?” Rosalind asked. “I hate to interrupt your game.”

  “Pay no mind, my lady. Master Tristan here is thrashing me soundly, and I should like a respite.” Bowing stiffly, he backed out the door, closing it as he left.

  Tristan eyed the door with a wry smile. “Blast that old man.”

  “Tristan!”

  “Do you not recognize veiled sarcasm when you hear it, Rosie? He wants you to think he’s yielding to my superior chess mastery . . .”

  “Chess mastery?”

  “ . . . when the truth is, I’ve never met his match playing chess. He’s cunning and ruthless. I highly suspect that on the rare occasion that I do manage to win a match, it’s because he let me.” He shook his head slowly, glaring at the chess board.

  “If you cannot best him, why do I often find the two of you engaged in this game?”

  Tristan just glared at her.

  Rosalind’s brow quirked as the distinctive sound of Briggs’s mocking cackle resounded from the other side of the door.

  “See? He’s not to be trusted.” Tristan stood and stretched. “So, who is it that caught your interest? I will not lie and say that I’m not intrigued.”

  “Well,” she started, swallowing nervously. “I’m not prepared to disclose that information. However, I would like to ask for a bit of . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Gabriel isn’t here and I should like to ask him. Although I don’t know if I would have enough courage to, and it really wouldn’t be prudent. No.” She shook her head. “He might not take me seriously. Perhaps Madelyn. Yes, I would ask Madelyn if I could. I could never ask Lucy. Lucy wouldn’t leave me be after she found out.”