Guarding a Notorious Lady

by Olivia Parker

  A twinge of worry marred his brow. His nieces seemed to have grown very attached to Rosalind in a very short time. He couldn’t blame them. Rosalind was simply lovable. So, why couldn’t he admit it to her?

  A sudden weariness came over him, no doubt from a lack of sleep, and quite possibly years of suppressing his feelings for one particular woman.

  Nicholas gave his head a shake to clear it, noticing Gracie running across the field, her skirts hitched up nearly to her waist.

  She probably needed to use the privy. But she kept charging straight toward him. As she got closer to him, he realized that tears were streaking down her cheeks and panic was evident in her huge eyes.

  “The lady! Uncle Nicholas, the lady!”

  Kneeling down, he caught her at the shoulders. “What is it? Where is she, Gracie? She was with you, was she not?”

  Gracie’s breaths came in big gulps. “The lady . . . she’s in the water.”

  Chapter 17

  “Oh, I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you,” Rosalind chanted to the skinny limb of the plum tree she clung to.

  Fortunately, because of the recent heavy downpour, the still flowering branches hung low and heavy over the pond, their lush, pink blooms holding rain, which weighed them down.

  Both hands grasping the branch, Rosalind eyed the footbridge that had collapsed when she’d tried to cross it moments ago. She was relieved that it had been she that had fallen into the pond rather than the little ones.

  Twisting in the water in order to eye the shore, she mustered up a smile for Gracie’s friends, who were standing frozen on the grassy bank. “I’m all right,” she shouted.

  They stood motionless, blinking at her.

  Oh, who did she think she was fooling? She couldn’t stop trembling and she figured she had to be as pale as her bed linens. Fortunately, the water was moderately warm, but the good Lord only knew how she was going to get back to the shore. She knew one thing for sure, she was never going to let go of this lovely branch.

  Running footsteps approached, but Rosalind couldn’t tell where they were coming from. In another moment, Nicholas came bursting through the trees, launching himself in the water.

  She’d never seen that look on his face before. He looked terrified and angry at the same time.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind watched as Francesca ushered the children back down the path, Gracie latched to her mother’s skirts.

  Nicholas swam toward her, cutting through the water with a speed Rosalind envied. “What the hell happened?” he shouted.

  The combination of being submerged in water and being terrified made her teeth chatter uncontrollably. “The b-bridge,” she managed, speech becoming a bit difficult. “I d-don’t know how to swim.”

  “Christ,” Nicholas muttered, glancing over at the splintered wood.

  Reaching her, he wrapped a very warm, very solid arm around her back. “Let go,” he ordered, looking at the branch.

  She shook her head.

  “Rosalind,” he said patiently. “Let go of the branch.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ve got you.”

  “And who has you?”

  He let forth a mighty sigh. “I have me.”

  “It won’t work,” she chattered. “Too heavy t-together. We’ll s-sink.”

  He cradled the side of her head in one of his hands. “Look at me, lass. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “You will not be able to do it.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  She shook her head again.

  “All right,” he said with a slow blink. “Is there anything I can give you, a promise of some sort, anything, to entice you to let go? Perhaps some chocolate cake?”

  “Not f-f-funny.”

  “Something else, perhaps?” he prompted when she failed to answer.

  She was quiet for a moment, and then nodded quickly.

  “Yes? Great. What do you want, Rosalind?”

  “A k-kiss.”

  “From me?”

  “Yes, you. Y-You d-dunderhead.”

  “That’s all?” He bent his head toward her.

  She pulled away. “Not n-now.”

  His brow rose.

  “Later,” she explained, “when I c-can enjoy it.”

  He nodded, a wide, secret smile curving his lips.

  “And it better be g-good.”

  “Oh, it will be, Rosalind. It will be.”

  Nearly ten o’clock in the evening, and Rosalind still hadn’t gotten her kiss. However, she did have plenty of visitors . . . of the little moppet variety.

  Upon returning to the manor, Rosalind had been settled inside a guest bedchamber for the night. Dripping wet and shivering uncontrollably, she had quickly shed her sopping wet clothes with the help of Francesca’s maid and had soaked in a gloriously hot bath for nearly an hour.

  After Rosalind had dried, donned a clean gown of light blue muslin borrowed from Francesca, and had her hair dressed in a loose bun atop her head, Gracie and Isabelle had snuck inside her room, plopped themselves upon her bed, and proceeded to ask her about a hundred and seventy-eight quick-fire questions.

  Rosalind didn’t mind, however. In fact, she found she rather liked their company.

  They wanted to know everything about her. Her favorite color, her favorite dessert, what her governess was like, and if she ever rode a horse without a saddle. The stream of questions was seemingly without end.

  And then they asked the inevitable: do you love our uncle Nicholas?

  She was saved from exposing herself by a knock on the door.

  Francesca poked her head in. “Rosalind, may I have a word with you . . .” She clucked her tongue. “Girls. I told you to allow our guest to rest.” She glanced at Rosalind. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Rosalind hurriedly set her at ease. “It’s rather nice, actually.”

  Nicholas’s sister smiled, but she gave her daughters a stern look. “It’s time to go to sleep. Now off with you.”

  The girls scooted off the bed.

  “Good-bye, lady,” Gracie called out.

  Isabelle smiled and waved, nearly walking into the doorframe.

  Rosalind giggled.

  Francesca cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for the music box and the doll you brought for Gracie. It was very kind of you.”

  Rosalind shook her head. “I loved shopping for their presents. Truthfully, I’ve never had the opportunity to purchase a child a toy. And I must say to see the look of delight upon their faces makes me want to positively spoil them.”

  Francesca laughed. “You might not feel that way after you’ve been here for several days. They can be quite the troublemakers.” Sobering, she bit her bottom lip, clearly hesitating.

  It was obvious she wanted to say something but hesitated. “What is it?” Rosalind urged.

  Francesca gave her head a tiny shake and glided in the room. “I hope I’m not being too bold, but I wanted to ask you . . .” She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Be patient with him. I know he’s rather vexing, but I fear he’s hardened his heart.”

  Rosalind sat up straight in her armchair.

  “You see, I think he fears loss. He’d never admit it, but the truth is our parents dearly loved each other. They were openly affectionate, and I daresay,” she paused to chuckle, “sometimes Nicholas and I felt invisible to them, as they were both so wrapped up in each other.”

  “You were very fortunate to remember your parents with such fine memories.”

  She nodded, a sadness welling in her eyes. “Yes, but when our mother passed, our father sunk into the depths of despair. He hardly slept and barely ate. He missed her terribly and was never the same person again. Never.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rosalind said with genuine sorrow.

  “Nicholas. I almost think he’s afraid to love, as silly as it seems. He’s afraid of loss.” She sighed, giving her head a shake. “Anyway, I thought you might l
ike to know.”

  “Thank you,” Rosalind remarked. “I had my suspicions.”

  “Yes, he always said you were very perceptive. I believe that’s why, back in Yorkshire, he pretended to ignore you.”

  “He did ignore me,” Rosalind added dryly.

  Francesca sighed with a smile. “I have my own suspicions about that, as well.” She patted at a fold in her skirt. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  Can you send your brother up? “No. I think I shall retire early, actually.”

  Francesca smiled. “Very well. Good evening, then.”

  “Good evening.”

  Francesca quietly left.

  Rosalind sighed, her mind mulling over the information Francesca had imparted. Then she stood, thinking to close the door and retire for the night, when someone knocked on the doorframe.

  She turned to find Nicholas standing in the hall, two steps from entering.

  “Well, I didn’t think I’d see you again today.”

  He smiled, all lopsided and heartbreakingly handsome. His feet were braced apart, his arms neatly behind his back, which did a delightful job of showing his broad chest to the best advantage.

  “I’m going to get my kiss now?”

  He shook his head slowly, his eyebrow rising in a most beguiling fashion.

  “Then what have you come here for?”

  “I came with a message,” he said quietly.

  “And that is?”

  “Keep your door unlocked tonight.”

  He had to drag her out of her room.

  No, that wasn’t quite the thing, Rosalind demurred.

  When Nicholas came to her bedroom and she realized his intent, she balked—in fact, she held onto one of the posts of the bed with a death grip.

  But her puny hold was no match for him. In the end, he pried her hands loose, slung her over his shoulder in a most savage manner, snatched up his basket—filled with only the good Lord knew what—and stomped down the hall, down the stairs, out the servant’s entrance, across the lawn, and through the woods, where he then deposited her on the grassy knoll before the pond she had dropped in several hours ago.

  It was then that he pulled her to him and dragged her into the pond.

  Wearing nothing but a night rail, waste deep in the warm water in the middle of the pond, she glared at Nicholas in such a fashion that, if she’d been able to cause physical pain with her eyes, he’d be dead.

  It had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour to get her in the water. She’d put up a good fight, but he would have none of it.

  The stubborn man insisted she learn how to swim. Right now. Because apparently he could not go on living unless he knew that she could save herself.

  But it was done. For tonight, that is.

  It was grueling, but he was finally satisfied that she at least knew how to tread water and float on her back.

  “May I go back to my room now?” she bit out. “I’m wet and I’m tired, and I don’t think I like you right now.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, powerfully handsome. His long, dark hair was wet and smoothed back, and his bare chest glistened with droplets of water. Light from a dozen beeswax candles set in lamps on a flat patch of grass bathed the sinewy ropes of muscle in a golden-brown glow. Water lapped at his waist, teasing her to imagine that he was not wearing anything at all.

  Rosalind, despite her initial irritation, found herself in awe of his male beauty. His eyes sparkled this evening, and she shivered as his laughing gaze settled on her.

  And then something rather slimy brushed against her thigh.

  “Oh!”

  Standing three feet in front of her, Nicholas froze. “What is it?”

  “I-I don’t know. Something . . .” She felt it again.

  With a great leap, she tossed herself in Nicholas’s direction, water splashing all around them. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Get-me-out-get-me-out!”

  “For the love of Christ, calm down, woman. It’s probably just a fish.”

  She relaxed slightly, belatedly realizing that her wet gown rendered her dreadfully exposed.

  Nicholas seemed to notice at the same time. He looked down and his eyes fastened to her breasts, their hard tips straining against the fabric.

  A thrumming seemed to grow between them. A sensual pull.

  It occurred to her then they were stepping over an invisible line. A new territory. She should have been insisting they return to the house. She should have been worried that someone might come and discover them.

  But the only thing she could focus on was the sensation of his bare chest pressed against her breasts.

  “You’ve forgotten my kiss, Nicholas.”

  He shook his head while staring at her mouth like he’d love to devour her.

  “You know,” he said quietly, his deep baritone rumbling through her, “it could have been a snake.”

  Her eyes fastened to his mouth; she gasped and pressed herself fully against him.

  Nicholas chuckled, sliding his hands to cup and squeeze her backside.

  Rosalind couldn’t stop a groan from escaping her lips. It felt so wonderful. He was so strong, so capable. She felt as light as a pebble as he started for the shore, sloshing through the water.

  Halfway there, their mouths melded together at the very same time. Seeking and wet, hot and erotic.

  Reaching the shore, Nicholas laid her down on a soft blanket he had spread out between the candles. He kept on kissing her, making her dizzy with immeasurable sensation—one strong hand lifting her night rail, the other sliding under her bottom to lift her up in order to get her garment completely off.

  Kneeling between her legs, he gazed down at her with such reverence, such longing, that she nearly covered herself up, but she didn’t. She wanted him to see her, all of her, explore her, claim her, possess her, because she was his whether he wanted her or not. She had been the day her eyes had met his, and she would always be, no matter what the future held for them.

  “Sweet Christ, you’re so lovely, Rosalind.” His hot hands sculpted up her calves, over her knees, and up her thighs. Reaching her hips, he gripped them, then trailed his fingers over her waist and lower.

  “Let me look at you,” he whispered.

  She panted as his fingers traced the outer folds of her sex, separating them, stroking them. She could feel how damp she was, and it embarrassed her.

  Judging by the look on Nicholas’s face, he liked it.

  “You want me, lass. Do you feel that?” He dipped one finger inside and she could feel herself grip him from within.

  She moaned. A thousand shivers raced across her skin, her knees brushing against the roughness of his breeches.

  “Cold?”

  She shook her head. Truthfully, she didn’t feel cold at all. What she did feel was incredibly sensitive to each and every square inch on her body.

  He raised a brow. “Not at all?”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  “Then let me cover you.”

  His heat engulfing her, Nicholas slipped further between her knees, sinking his strong body onto hers. Clamping a hand on her waist, he pulled her tight against his hardness. Smoothing the backs of the fingers of his free hand down her cheek, his glittering gaze bore intensely into hers before he brushed his lips over hers.

  “Is this what you want, Rosalind?” he asked, his breath moist against her lips.

  She nodded. A shaky breath escaped her as he licked and nipped playfully at her lower lip. Her mouth opened slightly as she dared to mimic him. And then he fastened his mouth to hers, his tongue circling hers, thrusting and coaxing.

  Wrapping her arms around his torso, she clung to him, yielding to the heat, wanting to match his hunger.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair, shifting pins in the damp strands. His other hand snaked around her waist to clamp onto her backside, holding her tightly to his erection.

 
She made a sound, half moan, half whimper, and he growled, kissing her with such utter possession, such gentle domination, that she thought she might burst from pleasure.

  And then he was kissing her neck, biting softly, lapping at the drops of water on her collarbone, between her breasts. Her hands fisted in his damp hair, holding him to her, begging him to continue this erotic torture.

  Cupping her breast, he slowly descended to the impossibly tight tip, flicking his tongue until she nearly screamed.

  “Nicholas, please,” she breathed.

  And then, to her surprise, he slid his hot, exploring mouth ever downward across her stomach until his breath whispered through the soft, dark curls at the center of her being.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked down her body just as he looked up at her, his sultry lips parted.

  “What are you—?” she panted, reaching for his tousled locks to urge him upward. “Is this . . . pr . . . pr . . . proper?”

  With half a grin, he dipped his head between her thighs and gave her a quick flick of his tongue. “I think it is.”

  She gasped, no longer able to hold a thought. He kissed her there like he had kissed her mouth. Her entire body succumbed to him, to his slow, thorough lips and the maddening swirls and dips of his tongue.

  Her thighs quivering, her fingers tangled in his hair, Rosalind suddenly cried out as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her.

  And all the while Nicholas never ceased his movements, causing streak after streak of fire to ripple through her.

  “I’ve never tasted anything so sweet,” he murmured, finally kissing his way back up to her mouth.

  Rosalind felt truly wild. She wanted something, something more.

  He tugged at her nipples and she arched her back like a bow, unknowingly settling him deeper into the cradle of her thighs.

  “Rosalind,” Nicholas panted. “I can’t wait anymore.”

  “Don’t wait,” she breathed, running her hands down his arms and back.

  He angled his hips to position himself. Grabbing her hip, he entered her, swallowing her gasp with his kiss. He gave her time to adjust, then pressed his forehead to hers. Their gazes met and held. Blue fire and verdant gray.