by Erin Rye
Jealous. Yes. There, she said it. She was jealous.
With a scowl, she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.
As for his lordship’s physical proportions, he is exceedingly well-endowed. His member is of exceptional size and the bride need have no fear she will lack pleasure in bed. The man is equipped, and exceedingly so. No doubt, he is exceptionally skilled in the art of love.
She jerked, realizing what she’d written and fanned her cheeks. Her pulse quickened. What devil had possessed her to write those words? Clearly, she couldn’t stop herself where the man was involved. Still, it made her feel like an author of the racy, banned kind, to write down such things.
Feeling excitingly risqué, she lifted her quill to continue.
The man’s large girth and length would feel beyond wondrous as it slides deep inside. Especially if one were to be pinned flat to the wall to take the full length of him. He would knee one’s legs apart and spread them wide to receive the full glory of his shaft as it drives itself to the hilt, only to draw itself out and then in again whilst his sinfully wicked mouth draws deeply on the breast—
“What are you writing so diligently?” Ethan chuckled close behind.
Rosalyn screeched and jumped to her feet, slamming her journal shut.
Ethan towered behind her, a startled expression etched on his handsome face.
She gripped her journal tight, feeling her cheeks down to her neck flame with a burning heat. She cringed. She obviously looked as guilty as she felt.
Ethan’s blue-gray eyes began to twinkle. “Come now, just what were you writing, lass?”
She forced her chin high. “Nothing, my lord. You merely startled me.”
“Could it be a love letter?” he teased.
Relief flooded through her. Ah, let him think it was something as paltry as that.
Unfortunately, he read her reaction far better than she’d imagined. A smile relaxed his lips and his dark lashes lowered. “If it wasn’t a love letter, what was it?”
“It was a love letter. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll be going.”
A wolfish grin replaced his smile.
She scowled and clutched the journal tighter. “It’s a letter, I assure you.”
“To whom?”
“No one you might know, I assure you, though it’s none of your concern.”
“I assure you, that I know scores of men.”
Rosalyn clenched her jaw. “Not this one.”
“How would you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” She wanted nothing more than to escape to the safety of her room, rip the offending pages straight out, and burn them so she might forget exactly what she’d written.
“Oh? Is he someone unattainable?” he asked.
The words hit far too close to home. Again, she could tell by his altered expression that he’d read her thoughts. Was the man a master of mind reading?
“Must you pry? It is no concern of yours any more than it is of mine, to whom you might choose to write.”
Ethan blinked. Then his lip quirked in a sensual smile. “I’m done writing letters, I assure you. I am quite unattached.”
The words made her stomach flutter, but she knew better. “I am sure, not for long.”
His eyes slid over her body in a slow, lazy inspection. “Indeed, I find myself inclined to agree.”
The heat in that gaze made it difficult to breathe.
“I’ve most recently discovered a lass who could catch my interest,” he rumbled in a low voice.
“Oh?” She willed herself to cease speaking, but a new devil possessed her. “A dainty, quiet, and peaceful creature? A lady of high society?”
Ethan chuckled, and his eyes took on a devilish glint. “I would run as fast as my feet could carry me from such a one, lass. Nay, I fancy lasses who prefer to race horses and fly in balloons.”
He held her gaze.
Her heart stood still.
“I fancy a lass with heat in her blood, and one who isn’t afraid to let her passion run free.”.
For one long, blissful moment, she hoped he would kiss her. Then the reality of the situation crashed down. “Then I hope you find her, my lord.” She whirled and hurried from the room.
He called out after her. Indeed, she hadn’t realized she was running like a frightened rabbit until then, but under the circumstances, it was the only thing she could do.
* * *
At long past ten, the house lay in darkness, but still, Rosalyn tossed and turned. Images of Ethan paraded in her mind. The line of his jaw. The mischievous glint in his eyes. The strength of his tanned hands as he’d raced his horses with consummate skill. And, of course, the sensuous lines of his naked body.
Rosalyn rose from her bed and pressed her cheek against the cool window glass. She couldn’t sleep a wink. Seeing him stand there, naked, had awakened feelings and desires with such force she could no longer assuage them.
Perhaps a swim would help.
It was late. The others lay abed. She slipped into her dress and out of her room and stole silently down the stairs and onto the veranda. The cool sea air caressed her face as she hurried down the winding path leading to the sea. The beach pebbles crunched under her feet as she approached the water’s edge. A quick glance assured she stood alone. In a flash, she shimmied out of her dress and slippers. Her shift followed in the pale moonlight.
She tucked her hair back in a simple twist and allowed a wave to reach her feet.
The water was cold, but not unbearable. She clenched her teeth and, by the third step, crouched to slide into the water. The jarring cold quickly faded away and with a wide grin, she began to splash about and ride the waves.
Yes. This is exactly what she needed. She heaved a sigh of relief, as a particularly large wave to caught and push her toward the shore.
Then something large emerged from the water beside her and caught her foot.
She screamed and twisted as a deep baritone chuckled, “Och, lass, I only meant to save you from the rocks.”
It was Ethan.
Chapter Seven
The Ache of Desire
It was a lie. Ethan knew very well that the nearest rocks were at least a league away, but Rosalyn didn’t.
“How dare you frighten me so,” she sputtered, and brushed wet hair back from her face.
Ethan grinned. She looked like a wee angry hedgehog. “Come, now, Rosalyn. I only meant to save you from harm. The water isn’t as tame as it looks.” Another lie. Children swam here.
She bobbed in the waves, the moonlight glistening off her pale, wet skin. “How long have you been here?”
The entire time. He’d watched her slip out of her gown and, to his great delight, her shift. He’d eyed her naked breasts with open lust, then feasted his gaze on the triangular patch of hair covering her sex. Even in the cold water, his erection had swelled.
“Shall we swim closer to shore?” he asked.
Concern flashed across her face and she paddled a few strokes away. “You first.”
He spied a large swell rising behind her. It was the perfect opportunity, and he took it. What man wouldn’t? He dove under the water and emerged, just as the wave pushed her forward.
Their bodies collided. He dropped one hand about her waist as the other slid up, over her breast, and for a blissful moment, he cupped the sizeable mound in his palm. The cold water had hardened her nipples to erect peaks. By God, they were the perfect size, the kind he preferred to nip and roll with his tongue, something substantial to hold onto and suck. He couldn’t stop his fingers from sliding open and allowing the hard peak to slip between them to give it a slow tug.
She gasped.
Was it the force of the waves behind her, or her body’s reaction that made her arch into his hand?
The next moment, she twisted like a fish and dove under the waves to emerge a few feet away. Admiration spiked through him. She was an excellent swimmer. Aye, she was both adventurous
and athletic, just what he desired in a woman. And her body? It was made for sin. He suspected her passion matched his, as well. He grinned. He would enjoy the slow dance of seduction of discovery.
But now? Suddenly, the ocean itself felt too small. He had to leave before he lost control, plucked her out of the water, and licked every inch of her skin before making slow love to her on the beach.
He stood up to leave. Water rolled down his back.
“Merciful heavens, you’re naked,” she gasped from behind.
Ethan raised a wicked brow. “Come now, lass, it’s not the first time you’ve seen me this way.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He chuckled and walked out of the water. He’d seen the outline of her hips behind the draperies. As a spy in the King’s Service, he’d been trained to note anything out of place. He’d seen his cologne misplaced the moment he’d arrived. There were only two places to hide in his room. He’d have to have been blind to miss those curves.
Let her look at him all she wished, including the state of his arousal. Perhaps he’d wake the passion he knew simmered beneath the surface. He stalked out of the sea, his erection jutting powerfully between his legs.
“I wouldn’t stay much longer, lass, the waves are getting stronger,” he lied again as he continued toward his clothing. “You wouldn’t want to be pulled out to sea, aye?”
He shot her a glance where she stewed in the water a short distance away.
“Turn around.” She sank down to her chin.
“I’ll not look at you. I have troubles of my own.” He yanked up his breeches. They were damn near impossible to pull over his erection.
Behind him, he could hear the sloshing of water as Rosalyn stepped out onto the beach.
“Stay there,” she ordered.
He hadn’t planned to look. It was simply a natural reaction to look up at the sound of her voice.
His heart nearly stopped. She emerged from the water, her breasts swaying in rhythm with her hips, and her thighs parted to reveal the dark patch of curls nestled between them. By God, he needed to take her. She was so deliciously ripe.
“Turn your head, sirrah!” she gasped in a half-pant.
But for all her shock, he was keenly aware she didn’t cover herself. She stood, arms loose at her sides, her breasts glistening in the moonlight, the nipples erect in invitation. Nor did she attempt to close her legs, but remained still, offering him a full view of her sex.
Such a stance was more than telling.
If he’d had any doubt of her passion, it was gone now. His cock clenched. Was she inviting him to make love? Nae. It was likely too quick. He’d be better served to move slowly. With a shuddering breath, he forced his gaze away. A moment more and he just might spill his seed in his breeches.
“It was an innocent error,” he said in his defense.
Rosalyn gave a strangled snort and he waited until the faint rustling of cloth ceased before turning again. She might as well have been naked. The way her gown fell over her hips only made him want to lift it up and kiss what he knew lay beneath. He let his gaze drift over her appreciatively as she twisted her wet hair into a simple knot at her nape.
“If you will excuse me, I’ll be leaving now,” she said, her tone distant once again.
Again, he’d apparently erred, but this time, he wasn’t about to let her leave. He stepped into her path. “Do you—for one foolish second—think I rejected you?” he rasped.
Rosalyn tensed.
“I’m no fool, lass,” he continued gruffly. “You want me as much as I want you.”
Her lips were beyond tempting, so kissable and pouty.
“I…can’t,” she whispered.
“Can’t?” He caught her in his arms and pulled her close. “Or won’t?”
“Shouldn’t,” she replied, her spine ramrod stiff.
He ran the back of his hand slowly over her cheek and queried softly, “Who’s to say, but us?”
“Propriety—” she began, even as she molded herself against him.
She fit so right, like the missing piece of a puzzle.
“Propriety be damned.”
That made her stiffen once again.
He should have known. She’d likely heard such sweet words before. Was that what bothered her? He cursed himself for a fool.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. He ran his hands low over her hips and buried his face in her hair. “Just a kiss.” It was a lie. He wanted much, much more, but a kiss would be a start.
As his hands glided, her curves melted into him once again. “No doubt, you think me wanton,” she whispered so softly he barely heard the words.
So that’s what ailed her. He wanted to laugh. “Never.” He slid his palms up her spine, slowly. “There’s nothing bonnier than a lass who knows the pleasure of her body. I would look at you all night, lass.” His shaft throbbed in agreement. “A kiss. That’s all I ask.” She would taste so sweet.
Slowly, she lifted her face to his, and even in the dim moonlight, he saw the inner fire burning there. There was no denying she wanted him. He groaned and cupped the back of her head with his hand, tangling his fingers in her hair as he lowered his lips to hers.
She met him half way.
Their lips touched, tenderly at first. Hers were so incredibly soft, and she tasted far sweeter than he’d imagined. He brushed his mouth over hers, slowly, savoring the velvet of her skin before returning again to suck her lip into his mouth. She opened to him at once, and as his tongue boldly swept inside, she moaned.
The sound made his fist tighten in her hair as even more blood rushed to his shaft, hardening it further. As one kiss melted into another, he began to move. She rolled her hips forward, meeting his soft thrusts. Och, she tasted so sweet. She felt so right, cradled in his arms—familiar, almost as if she’d always been there or always would be. In her, he’d found what he’d sought for so long.
She broke off the kiss and slipped out of his arms.
“Nae.” He reached for her as she fled.
She paused by the hedge and looked back like a frightened deer. The passion still burned, he saw it by the way her breasts heaved. Then she turned and ran for the house.
Ethan exhaled a long breath. Damn it all. He couldn’t care less she wasn’t a virgin. No virgin reacted the way she did. He didn’t care—he liked how she moved, along with the fact she could match the full force of his passion. By God, he needed her. He ached.
He shrugged into his shirt, straightened his collar, and headed for the house.
This night, they’d unleashed something neither could deny. The intense passion lurking in Rosalyn’s kiss promised she would be in his arms again—and soon.
He entered his library and kicked the fire to life. He wouldn’t sleep for quite some time, not with the tightness of his bollocks.
If only he was in London. He’d pay the opera singer a visit. He needed a woman. Badly. He grabbed the brandy from the mantle, unstopped the bottle and drank a mouthful, then settled back in his chair.
A particularly memorable encounter with the opera singer sprang to mind, the night she’d knelt in a private box at the opera and, under the cover of darkness, had taken his length into her moist, hot mouth. He unbuttoned his breeches and freed his cock from its prison. His shaft stood up, painfully hard, as he began reliving the experience. He jerked his fist in a rhythm, but it wasn’t the opera singer who knelt there in his mind’s eye, but a lass with honey-colored eyes and pouty lips. As the rush of seed left his body, he closed his eyes and, in that moment, he knew.
He couldn’t let Rosalyn slip through his fingers. She was far too perfect a match. He would simply have to marry her.
Lord Stafford would surely have agreed.
Chapter Eight
Caraway Cake
Rosalyn yawned and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. Then her actions of last night paraded through her mind. She cringed, desperately for it all to be a dream, then buried her
face in her pillow as heat burned her face and neck.
She’d stood there like a hussy, naked in the moonlight. Why hadn’t she rushed back into the safety of the water? Why had she simply stared at the full state of his arousal, wishing he’d take her in his arms, lay her on the beach and…
The kiss? Most likely, pity had been involved. Of course, the sight of a naked woman—any woman—would have aroused him. He was a man, after all.
She pounded the mattress with her fist.
She had to leave Brighton. The mere thought of facing Lord Brodie again made her want to shrivel up and die.
* * *
“You shouldn’t deny yourself, love,” Lady Sara said over tea in the parlor. She looked quite lively. Each day by the sea brought more color to her cheeks. “Ethan’s a fine young man. No doubt, he would love company on his afternoon rides.”
Rosalyn nearly choked, and half started up from the table. “Is he back already?” She’d managed to avoid him the entire day. She wasn’t about to look him in the face now.
“Not yet, I believe.” Her aunt lifted a brow. “Where are you going? You’ve spent far too much time in your room lately. You need fresh air. Perhaps, we should try one of those bathing machines on the beach. I’m sure it would do you a world of good.”
Rosalyn drew her lips into a line and put down her napkin. “If you will excuse me.”
“Where are you off to, child?” Her aunt frowned. “Ethan’s promised a whist rematch and I’ve made a caraway cake for the occasion. He should be here soon.”
Playing cards with Lord Brodie would be the last thing she’d do. She forced her lips into a smile. “Have fun, auntie dear.”
She left before her aunt could continue.
Rosalyn was halfway up the stairs when she the front door opened with a creak. She picked up her skirts and ran. Yes, eventually, she’d have to face the man—if she couldn’t find a way to leave first. She escaped to her room and slammed the door. Perhaps she could find a way to return to London.
