by Erin Rye
“My lord,” she began. Then her gaze fell on his straining breeches. Her eyes widened. “My lord,” she breathed again. Her cheeks flamed red, but he knew damn well there was a thread of admiration in the mix there, as well.
So, the wee lass knew a large cock when she saw one, did she? He couldn’t stop the wolfish grin that spread his lips. “Are you lost, Lady Rosalyn? May I be of service?”
She swallowed and forced her eyes to his, her color deepening. “Why, yes, my lord. I…I…my aunt. I need to fetch my aunt a…tonic.”
Alarm for Lady Sarah cooled his blood at once. “Shall I send for the physician?”
“No, no.” Rosalyn quickly shook her head. “No, nothing of the sort. Just a restoring tonic. Really, it’s no cause for alarm. I merely wish to surprise her.”
“That is well, then.” He gave a curt nod of relief.
The sky was blue, and the sun warm, all in all, a perfect day for a drive—and he still had that letter to post.
“I’ll harness the horses at once,” he offered. “I’ve an errand in Brighton, myself. Wait at the house, and I’ll bring the phaeton straight away.”
She gave a nervous bob of thanks and dashed away. Again, he couldn’t help but allow his gaze to wander over her buttocks in admiration before whistling for his men. He dispatched one footman to fetch his letter and the other to bring around the horses.
Ten minutes later, he pulled rein at the veranda in a yellow phaeton drawn by a magnificent pair of bays with silver-mounted harnesses and rosettes on their heads.
As he arrived, Rosalyn stepped through the front door, a light shawl draped over her arm and a charming straw bonnet on her head.
In a flash, Ethan jumped from the vehicle and offered her a hand. “Allow me, my lady.”
The heady scent of honeysuckles eddied about her as she stepped close and placed her hand in his. He breathed deeply of her scent as he lifted her up. He didn’t release her fingers at once but brushed the back of her hand in a whisper of a touch.
Her spine straightened, and her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
Destined for spinsterhood? Not bloody likely. He cradled her fingers far longer than propriety allowed before finally letting her hand slide free. He hopped back into his seat.
The horses stamped their feet impatiently and strained their harnesses as he took up the reins, eager to stretch their legs. He chuckled, knowing they wanted to run free.
“Hold on, lads,” he laughed, as he guided them onto the road. “Now’s not the time to run.”
“Why ever not?” Rosalyn breathed at his side.
The excitement in her eyes couldn’t be missed. Sarah had filled him with tales of her devilry the evening before. A grin pulled his lips. “Shall we race then, lass?”
The word ‘lass’ simply slipped out. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Please!” She tossed him a wicked grin and gripped the iron armrest.
He removed his hat and tucked it under the seat. “Hold on.” With a slap of the reins, he let the horses go.
They sprang forward. The phaeton jerked and, in seconds, they were flying down the road. Ethan scarcely noticed the trees and shrubbery that passed in a blur. He saw only Rosalyn and the raw delight on her face as her bonnet flew back and her hair tumbled free. Her delighted laughter as she pushed the wind-swept curls back from her mouth struck him to the core.
Lord Stafford be damned. Indeed, the man had no place here. He’d loved the man and respected his memory, but he’d be a fool to let a lass like Rosalyn slip through his fingers. Animal lust surged through him. She was a lass to be devoured—perhaps for a lifetime, if she proved as hot under his touch as he suspected, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he’d finally met his match.
The road forked, and he turned the horses along the top of the white chalk cliffs, then through the fields with windmills on either side until, all too soon, they approached Brighton. With regret, he slowed the phaeton and stopped on the edge of the town to allow the horses rest. A fine view of the terraced houses spread over the hill and. The tide was high, and the crash of the waves battering the base of the cliffs mixed with the plaintive wail of the gulls overhead.
“That was wonderful,” Rosalyn gasped. Her bonnet hung precariously from its ribbons. “I confess, I felt like a bird on the wind.”
“Then you should ride in a balloon above the treetops.” God, he enjoyed the way her breasts heaved.
She turned to him, the thrill of excitement still alive in her eyes. “Oh, that must be splendid. How high can one go? Can one reach the clouds?”
He didn’t answer at first. He simply stared, thinking her the bonniest lass alive, but then realized she still awaited an answer. “The clouds? Aye. I’ve sailed into them before.”
“What did they feel like?”
“Wet,” he chuckled.
Rosalyn laughed, then nodded at the horses in admiration. “The horses were wonderful, too. If I may mention it, you handle them remarkably well.”
Many a time as a spy, his life had depended on doing so.
“Do you belong to a driving club?”
A driving club? Did the king’s service count? He chuckled again, but only said, “I fear I’m not often enough in London for such things.”
She smiled, the action only serving to draw his attention to her plump, pouty lips. Och, she radiated such sultry sensuality. Did she know her effect on men? From the look in her eye, she did. The desire to kiss her overwhelmed him. He leaned forward. She held still, then lowered her lashes. Her breasts rose and fell, straining delightfully in their snug nest, as her parted lips invited him. Before he could move, she straightened and turned away.
He lifted a brow. Again, something had agitated the lass. But what?
When she continued to stare out over the hill, he reached for his hat and clapped it on his head. “Then shall we go?”
“Yes, my lord,” she murmured, sounding all at once distant.
He expelled a silent breath of frustration and encouraged the horses forward with a cluck.
Puzzled as to her cool response, he drove between the tall, narrow, red-brick townhouses that lined the streets and onto the market square. The apothecary shop stood on the corner, a small establishment with small-paned, lattice windows, dimity curtains, and an iron sign that hung above the weatherworn door.
Still, Rosalyn maintained a polite distance as he handed her out, and inside the shop. Gone was the laughing lass from before. He lounged against the apothecary’s counter. The pungent smell of rosemary, ginger, and cedar blasted his nostrils. Ethan observed her from under hooded eyes as she went about her purchase. Her mixed signals puzzled him, but with his years of experience as a spy in His Majesty’s service, he had no doubt he would find the cause.
Chapter Six
The Subjects of Hygiene, Tidiness, and Curiosities
The trip back from Brighton seemed to take an eternity. Rosalyn couldn’t wait to escape. The entire day had been a disaster from the very start, beginning with being caught spying on him, to backing straight into his privates, to—heaven help her—staring at his large erection—then on to holding his hand like a hoyden whilst racing the horses. Lastly, she’d practically begged him to kiss her as they sat in the phaeton on the outskirts of town.
Observe, you dolt. Why couldn’t she remember that a minute in his company? Even worse, why couldn’t she stop her body from reacting to his every move, from the way he held the reins, to the way he lounged in the seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and again—heaven help her—to the memory of his so pleasingly large shaft, straining his breeches.
Her entire body flushed as a telltale moisture gathered between her thighs. Her cheeks flamed, and she studiously focused her gaze on the sea, grateful the man couldn’t read her thoughts.
At last, the torture ended, and they turned down the drive and pulled up to the house.
“It was a pleasure, my lady,” Ethan’s deep Scottis
h rogue rumbled as he handed her down.
She mumbled her thanks—or at least, she hoped she did. She had little recollection of just how she’d gotten to her room. She only knew that, finally, she stood in the safety of her room. Rosalyn winced. How foolish the man must think her.
“Does it matter?” she asked herself aloud, the tenth time the thought nagged at her.
No. It didn’t. She had a task to do.
Blowing her hair from her face, she grabbed her journal and sat down at her desk to write and pondered what to say.
Outside the window, the waves ceaselessly pounded the shore, providing the perfect atmosphere to lose herself in thought. Again, she let her mind rove over the man for a time, from his blue-gray specked eyes to his muscled thighs, and then on to his daily kindnesses toward her aunt. He’d been a gentleman from beginning to end…and he hadn’t taken advantage of her shamelessness when she’d wanted him to kiss her in the phaeton.
She blinked and glanced back to the blank page. He’d earned the highest of scores…but she’d be damned before she wrote that down for another woman’s benefit.
She slammed the journal shut, untouched.
Tomorrow, she’d take up her report again. Perhaps. As for tonight? She’d beg off dinner and spend the evening in her preferred manner, curled up in bed with a book and a cup of tea. She plopped herself down on her bed and began to read, but to her surprise, the words on the page failed to draw her attention.
After she’d reread the page a half-dozen times, she gave up altogether and closed her eyes instead to let her thoughts dwell on Lord Brodie’s wide shoulders and muscular torso.
* * *
Ethan’s lips left a burning trail over her flesh as slowly, ever so slowly, he dropped his hot, sensual mouth over her nipple and began to suck…
Rosalyn sat up with a strangled gasp.
A dream. Disappointment coursed through her, along with surprise that it was the only emotion she felt. Where was her shame? She lay in bed, panting, her thighs drenched with desire.
This wouldn’t do.
She forced herself out of bed. Dawn painted the sky in pink and purple hues as she slipped out onto the balcony and let the crisp air cool her skin.
It was time for discipline. She was out of excuses. She had a task to complete.
Reluctantly, she returned to her desk and picked up her quill.
Temperament. Lord Brodie handles bad news exceedingly well, as proven by his issues with the varnish of his balloon. Under stress, he maintains his charm and composure, earning him the highest of marks. Overall score, so far: 10.
Hygiene. Impeccable. Lord Brodie is exceedingly well dressed and wears his clothing to perfection. The citrus scent of his cologne is manly and pleasing. Overall score: 10.
Kindness and Concern toward the elderly. Lord Brodie earns the highest of marks on this score. His attentiveness to Lady Sarah is unmatched.
Tidiness.
Here, she paused. She knew nothing of his tidiness. She’d have to slip into his room for a quick peek once he’d vacated the premises for his balloon. Ah, his balloon.
The man has interests and clearly values education and discovery. Indeed, he demonstrates patience in the pursuit of knowledge. Again, earning him the highest of scores.
She paused and read what she’d written. Then rolled her eyes. Never had she ranked a man so highly. Her report sounded more like a gushing letter to a friend than an impartial analysis of what made up a man. She winced and set the journal aside. nIt was time to focus on her observation, and the first order of business was to explore the man’s sense of tidiness.
She needed to see his bedroom.
Rosalyn rose and thoughtfully tapped her chin. The house was large, but she suspected his room to be on the bottom floor. She’d have to find out which one and pop inside before the maid cleaned and tidied it.
A movement outside caught her attention and she peered down to see Ethan on the path toward the beach, apparently headed for a swim.
A jolt of desire summoned her dream and she drew a breath. Slowly, she dragged her gaze over the man’s narrow hips and firm buttocks. Would he swim naked? Her sex twitched at the thought. The realization that he’d left his room pierced the haze of lust-filled thoughts.
“Discipline,” she murmured aloud.
Now was her chance.
She grabbed the first dress she could find, slipped it over her head, then dashed out the door and down the stairs.
The thought of sneaking into his room made her heart pound with excitement, more than it should have. She arrived at the bottom of the stairs and paused to listen. The tick of the large grandfather clock in the parlor sounded as loud as a drum, but not a soul moved. Satisfied she was alone, Rosalyn tiptoed down the hallway. She found Ethan’s room on the fourth try, recognizing it at once by his boots at the foot of a large, four-poster bed. As she slipped inside, the scent of his cologne confirmed she’d found the right place.
Quickly, she shut the door and glanced around. The large room had pine wood floors, a finely crafted carpet in the center, and a four-poster bed, its linens rumpled from use and each embroidered with the Brodie coat of arms. Tall windows draped in cream and gold brocade provided a view of the sea. Near the fireplace stood an elegantly inlaid writing desk and across from the bed, a walnut-stained armoire and dresser with a hairbrush and various other toiletries.
Rosalyn smiled. The man did not disappoint. On the subject of tidiness, he earned the highest score. Another ten. Even his rumpled bed linens seemed tidy, the way they folded back across the bed.
She crossed to the dresser and noted the orderly placement of each item. Curious, she picked up his bottle of cologne, sniffed the stopper, and breathed deep of the citrus scent.
Outside the door, someone cleared his throat.
Footsteps approached.
Rosalyn slammed the cologne down and searched for a place to hide. There were only two: under the bed or behind the floor-length drapes. She would never make it under the bed in time. She bolted for the curtains.
She’d barely managed to slip behind the drapes before the door opened, then closed. Strong, booted feet strode to the center of the room and paused.
It had to be Ethan. The step was so decisive. She bit her lip and cowered, half convinced he could hear the pounding of her heart.
Almost a full minute passed before the boots moved away.
She couldn’t resist a peek.
As she thought, it was Ethan. He stood before the armoire, untying his neck cloth first. Next, he shrugged off his coat. The rest of his clothing followed with remarkable speed until, in mere seconds, he stood, entirely naked.
It was impossible to tear her eyes away from that lean, powerful body and the play of muscles shifting beneath such tanned and gorgeous skin. Her gaze locked onto his shoulders first, so wide and straight, then to his strong, lean buttocks. He stood with his feet planted wide apart. From her angle, she knew she could easily catch a glimpse of his bollocks and cock, dangling between his legs should she let her eyes slide even further.
She hesitated only a moment, then gave into temptation. She bit her lower lip. His bollocks were huge and from what she could see of his cock as he moved, he was particularly well-endowed and wide of girth. She held her breath, willing him to turn and provide her with a perfect line of sight.
Almost as if he’d read her mind, he turned fully and allowed her a stunning view of his thick, proud cock standing out from a nest of curls at its base. Arousal flooded her. Oh, it was wrong. She knew it, but she couldn’t help but stare and even wonder how that hardness would feel stretching her channel. He was so long and thick and with veins running up and down his length.
The magnetic pull of his naked skin became almost too hard to resist. She curled her fingers into a fist. If only she could step out from behind the drapes, push him down on the bed, and sink onto that large length until it filled her. Primal need rose with a strength that threatened to sweep her aw
ay.
Ethan moved again, this time to select a fresh change of clothes.
Breathless, Rosalyn watched him dress, admiring the way his muscled thighs flexed. She lowered her lashes in appreciation as he struggled to subdue his large cock into his breeches. He crossed to the dresser, adjusted his cuffs, and then strode to the door and left as quickly as he’d come.
As the door behind him closed with a decided click, she exhaled a long breath, feeling almost weak-kneed. Her thighs were slick, and she ached to be filled. Heavens. The dream had left her in a bad enough state. Now, her need had only grown.
She remained hidden until she spied him through the window, striding toward the outbuilding housing his balloon. She fled to her room and, once inside, closed the door and leaned against it, breathless.
Images of his manhood filled her mind. She didn’t even attempt to push them away. Instead, she threw herself on her bed and focused on them. He was so pleasingly large. What would that cock feel like, pounding inside her? She clenched her legs, keenly aware of just how wet she’d become. She moaned. She’d suppressed her desires for so very, very long—too long. She slipped out of her dress, then shift, lay back amongst the pillows, and spread her legs wide. With closed eyes, she summoned thoughts of Ethan and slid her fingers between her wet folds.
* * *
The evening, Rosalyn sat in the library, staring at her journal and feeling beyond conflicted. She’d never imagined an erotic, wild fancy—well, several, if truth be told—concerning the subject of her observation before. It was a complete breach of ethics. She bit her lip and squirmed in the tufted leather chair.
As for her observation? She was doing a rotten job of it all. She’d avoided Ethan the entire day. How could she look him in the face after imagining where that face should be?
“Discipline,” she snapped, and forced her fingers to pick up the quill.
For a moment, she felt tempted to mark him as lacking so Lady Elana would look elsewhere for her bride-to-be. Sanity quickly chased that thought away. Her uncle had impressed honor and ethics upon her from the start. She would never betray him in such a way, no matter how jealous she might be.
