by Erin Rye
For a time, she thought of various excuses and scribbled some down in her journal, ranked by suitability and chances of success, then with her head pounding and thoroughly sick of the affair, she settled on her bed with a book for distraction.
She awoke some time later and sat up, surprised she’d fallen asleep.
The room was dark. She’d slept straight through dinner. The clock downstairs began to chime. Eleven o’clock. She scooted off her bed. It was far later than she’d thought, and her stomach rumbled loudly. She stretched. Perhaps there was a bit of her aunt’s caraway cake left in the larder. The frosting was her favorite part. It couldn’t hurt to sneak downstairs and take a peek.
The house stood silent as she stole down the stairs and padded to the empty kitchen. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the tidy sink, table, and the china cabinet nearby. The first door opened onto a stairwell, but when she opened the second, the scent of spices and herbs greeted her nose. Here, there would be something to eat. She squinted inside, but it was too dark to see a thing. She needed a candle. Rosalyn turned, just as a large body loomed up and a hand quickly clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream.
“Hush, lass, there’s no cause for alarm,” Ethan’s deep brogue assured.
The scream died on her lips as his hand dropped away.
“Hungry, are you?” he rumbled.
She took a step back, heart thudding. “I’m fine. I’m leaving.”
He grasped her arm and shepherded her into the larder, pulling the door shut behind them. Utter darkness fell.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t reply, but walked her back, step by step, until he’d pressed her against the larder wall. Heat radiated from his hard chest. Her breath caught in her throat. Merciful heavens. His body felt so good pressed against hers, and with the darkness so complete, she could do nothing but feel.
“You’ve been avoiding me, lass. Why?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“I’m going to kiss you. I’ve thought of nothing else.”
Kiss her? Shocked, she breathed, “Why?”
“Why? By God, woman. Why?” His Scottish burr sounded torn between amusement and shock.
“I don’t want your pity—”
He seized the word. “Pity?”
The next thing she knew, his large hands gripped her shoulders and his mouth covered hers in a hot, savage kiss. The intensity of her own response frightened her. There was no doubt, no worry, not one thought of pity as she met his passion full force. She kissed him back in a kiss as fierce and hungry as his own. His mouth felt marvelous on hers. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his hands on her, his sheer size and strength pressing her back against the wall, and his searching tongue plundering hers.
Abruptly, his mouth left, and he pressed his forehead against hers.
“Did that feel like pity to you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
She drew a long, shuddering breath. Her knees felt like jelly. “No,” she had to admit.
He shifted aside. Something rattled on the shelves to her left.
“Open your mouth, lass,” he said, his voice low and smoky.
Rosalyn shivered as something touched her bottom lip. His thumb. The devil inside her made her lick it. His breath hitched. She smiled, then something soft replaced his thumb and the sweet taste of caraway cake and cream frosting filled her mouth. Before she could bite down, he pulled it back, then teased her by inserting it again, only to thrust it between her lips again, several times.
His meaning sent a shiver of arousal straight to her core. She couldn’t stop her body from arching against him. The movement pushed her breasts into his firm, muscled chest.
He groaned.
The cake vanished.
His hands dropped to her hips and moved lower, cupping her bottom firmly before he pulled her against his hard, ridged erection. He began to rock against her. She knew she shouldn’t allow it, but God help her, she wanted him. The surrounding darkness covered her like a blanket, somehow making it easier to forget everything but her need and the sensations he pulled from her body. She rolled her hips forward, her body beyond her control as she rubbed herself against him.
His mouth sought hers once again and the feverish kissing resumed, the larder filling with their soft moans and the rustle of cloth. She wanted to touch him. She knew it was dangerous. Already, they stood on the edge of taking things too far—perhaps, they already had.
He drew a sudden jagged breath and stepped back. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop.”
Stop? She blinked and shook her head as if to wake herself. “Then don’t,” she breathed, even as shock at her own words swept her.
His chuckle sounded hoarse. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“I am…no virgin.” The words slipped from her mouth, but she wanted him to know. The darkness somehow made it easier to confess. “I…thought to marry him. I was a fool…” She’d let herself be swept away with the captain. And this time? She winced. She was clearly repeating her past mistakes. Nae, this time, she was practically throwing herself at the man…yet for the life of her, she couldn’t stop.
Ethan stepped closer and his mouth nuzzled the skin under her ear. “It matters naught to me, sweeting. With my size and girth, you may yet feel like a virgin again.” She felt him smile against her neck.
The preposterousness of his statement made her laugh.
He nibbled her ear. “Just know that with you, I’ll not be inclined to give up what I claim, Rosalyn. When I take you, you will be mine for a lifetime.”
The words threatened to melt every bone in her body. When I take you?
“You’re very much the firebrand I knew you would be,” he groaned into her hair, then nipped the lobe of her ear and stepped back. “But I won’t take you here. Not like this.” He burned her lips in a searing kiss, fast and hot, then added in a final whisper, “We’re not finished, you and I, lass. Not by a long shot.”
To her utter shock, he strode to the door and left the larder.
Rosalyn stayed there a few minutes more, breasts heaving. Not finished by a long shot? She’d been more than ready to bed him—indeed, she needed him inside her. He’d been more than ready himself, and he was clearly the kind of man who bedded women as he pleased, just as she’d let him know she was the kind of woman to receive him, the kind who had already bedded a man….
She flinched. Tomorrow, it would be even harder to face him.
* * *
“Mice,” the housekeeper said in a tone of displeasure as Rosalyn slipped into the breakfast parlor early the next morning.
“It’s a shame,” Lady Sarah clucked.
“Shame?” Rosalyn took her seat. Ethan had just left for his morning ride, but with the clouds on the horizon, he might not ride long. She’d have to eat quickly.
The housekeeper scowled. “Mice. In the larder. Ate Lady Sara’s caraway cake, they did. Mauled it. Left quite the mess.”
Rosalyn nearly choked on her muffin.
“Perhaps it was a rat,” her aunt proposed.
“Perhaps,” the housekeeper agreed.
“More likely, two,” Ethan’s deep baritone suggested from the door.
Rosalyn did choke then, the crumbs flying up her nose. At least it stopped the conversation. As the housekeeper obligingly pounded her back, Rosalyn hid her face in her napkin and wanted to melt through the floor.
Finally, when she caught her breath, she glanced up to see Ethan lounging against the door with a wicked grin on his face and looking devastatingly handsome in his crisp white shirt and dark gray breeches.
As he entered the room, Rosalyn jumped to her feet.
“I’ve forgotten…I…If you’ll excuse me, Auntie.” She cleared her throat, flustered, and slipped past him, heading for the door.
He caught her hand as she passed by him. Startled, she looked up into his eyes.
“Hurry back, will you?”
He squeezed her fingers, grazing his thumb along her inner wrist as a smile curved his chiseled lips.
She stood there like a fool before she tugged her hand free. What must her auntie and the housekeeper think?
She escaped out the door and up to her room. Sanity returned in a rush. Despite what her heart wanted, the man wasn’t hers. There was no future here but heartache. She was here for one purpose only: to observe.
Oh, she’d made a royal mess of things. She was failing on all accounts. There was truly only one course of action left now.
She would write Lady Elana, confess her failure, then…she had to leave.
Chapter Nine
A Marriage-Minded Man
Ethan swirled his brandy in its glass and watched the firelight flicker through the amber liquid. Again, Rosalyn spent the day avoiding him. Why? She’d been more than willing to ride his shaft in the larder. He’d come so close to taking her there against the wall. He’d only stopped out of respect for Lord Stafford. He’d marry the lass first. Still, she puzzled him. He’d think it some misplaced shame over her past, but he’d assured her he didn’t care. So, why was she hell-bent on denying herself—and him?
There were ways to find the truth. He grinned. Aye, he knew many ways—delightful ones—to make a woman talk. Perhaps he’d slip into her bed once darkness fell and show her a few… His cock lifted at once. He shifted and set his brandy down. He knew better than to imagine such things. His honor compelled him to wait until they were wed, but for that to occur, he needed first to solve whatever bothered the lass.
Obviously, it was time for another swim.
The cold water succeeded in caging his passion, and an hour later, he strode up the path, the warm summer wind against his back. It was late. He’d wondered if Rosalyn had yet gone to bed. He stepped through the hedge and glanced up to her balcony. Her room stood dark. He weighed the decision to climb up and speak with the lass, when a flicker of light in the library window off to the side caught his attention. Curious, he crept up to the window and peered inside.
Rosalyn sat at the polished oak table, the line of her sensuous neck illuminated by the warm glow of the oil lamp. The cut of her dress’ neckline drew his attention to her flawless skin, and the ribbon of her empire-waist gown only made him want to unwrap her like a present. A dark strand of her hair fell across her cheek and she lifted an absentminded hand to brush it away, unaware she’d left behind a smudge of ink.
A soft smile stole over his lips.
Aye, he’d find out what bothered her. Straightway.
“Are you writing your own Sense and Sensibility?” he teased lightly as he stepped through the library door.
Rosalyn gasped and slammed her hands over the pages of her journal with such force, the bottle of ink nearly tipped. “What are you doing here?”
Again, such a strange reaction to the journal. Perhaps he should take a peek.
“What secrets are recounted there, I wonder?” He lifted a brow.
“It’s nothing,” Rosalyn flipped the journal closed. “Merely private thoughts.”
Her curves beckoned. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t read her mood. “Private thoughts? I quite like the sound of that,” he dropped his voice in a suggestive tone.
She didn’t step back as he approached. Her breasts heaved. She looked so adorably sensual with her hair falling about her face and the ink smudge on her cheek. Slowly, he reached out and dusted her jawline with the back of his hand.
She took him by surprise. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she yanked him forward as she lifted on tiptoe and crushed her lips against his.
He grasped her shoulders, and kissed her at once, plunging his tongue into her hot, sweet mouth without mercy. A low growl escaped his throat as his erection flared to life. The sound along with his swelling shaft fired her passion even more. She thrust her breasts into him and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. Nails digging into his arms, she pressed her sex against his erection.
He wanted to tip her back onto the library table, push her dress up to her waist, and bury his cock to the hilt between her sweet, warm thighs. She’d be wet for him. She was clearly so ready. He slid his arm around her waist, then down over her buttocks as their tongues sparred. He pulled her, hard, into his throbbing arousal, and cursed the fabric between them. Soon. Soon his cock would feel her wet heat. He couldn’t wait to see her face as she came. The writhing minx in his arms would be so pleasingly wanton in her release.
Then she went rigid in his arms. “This is a mistake.”
“No,” he growled. “It’s not.”
She drew a shuddering breath. Were those tears in her eyes?
“I can’t do this,” she choked. “My uncle would be so ashamed of me.”
Startled by mention of Lord Stafford, he released her.
“I…I must go,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He meant to catch her hand, to get his answers once and for all, but as she slipped away, his gaze fell on the journal she’d left behind.
A name caught his eye. The last one he’d ever expected to see: Lady Elana.
Chapter Ten
Caught
Lady Elana nodded her thanks to the footman and swept up the grand staircase with a smile. The glass chandeliers glittered around her like a thousand stars. An evening at the opera. She’d been looking forward to it, not only for the arias but for the information she’d gather there, as well.
Halfway up, an unexpected, yet familiar, hand gripped her elbow.
Only one man touched her that particular way, the thumb exerting a hairbreadth’s more pressure than the rest of his fingers.
“Good evening, Ethan,” she greeted calmly without turning. She smiled, knowing already just how he would respond. We must talk.
As if on cue, he replied, “We must talk.”
She merely inclined her head and ascended the stairs and another before entering her private box to take her seat on a gilded, brocade chair. He leaned against the door and causally crossed his arms, waiting until she’d finished adjusting her skirts and looked up.
He looked handsome, impeccably dressed in his finest, but the tense line of his jaw revealed his mood. Doubtless, his upset had something to do with Rosalyn. Had he discovered her meddling? She needed a hint as to which direction his thoughts ran.
“Well?” She tugged the fingers of her gloves.
He patted his coat pocket and withdrew a letter. “This is yours.” He extended it toward her. “She posted it yesterday. I merely helped the mail coach along.”
A letter from Rosalyn. Keeping a calm mask over her face, she broke the wax seal and read the carefully written text.
Dear Lady Elana,
I have most miserably failed in the mission of evaluating Lord Ethan Brodie. Against my better judgment, I am ashamed to confess, I have succumbed to temptation and my findings can only be considered biased…
Elana smiled. She didn’t need to read the rest. The scheme had clearly succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. So, Rosalyn had succumbed to temptation, had she? Elana skewered Ethan with a probing look. Just how far had he ‘tempted’ her?
At least, now, she knew in what direction his thoughts lay.
She folded the letter and tucked it into her reticule. “The young lady provides a service to brides, an evaluation of their potential husband’s qualities.”
Ethan tilted his head to one side. “Go on.”
“We merely sought to give the magic of attraction a chance, Ethan. More for her, than you. What better way than to force the young lady into evaluating you as a catch?”
“Stirling, was it?” he asked shrewdly.
He was a master at hiding his emotions. She had no clue what he was thinking behind those blue-gray eyes.
Elana sighed. It was time for the truth. The whole truth. She dropped all pretenses and looked him straight in the eye. “I elicited his help. Put it down to the fact I love you dearly, Ethan, and merely wish to see you h
appy. I only wished to help you see you weren’t truly living, and I dared hope I could find you a wife.”
Ethan drew a deep breath.
She waited.
“Aye, I deserved a swift kick in the arse.” He chuckled. “I stand in your debt.”
Elana laughed with more relief than she cared to admit. “May I ask what you intend?”
“Intend?” He uncrossed his arms and towered over her. “I intend to take you straight to Brighton, Elana, and set this matter straight with Rosalyn. I then--I very well intend--to elope to Gretna Green. I’m not in the mood for a long courtship.”
Elana rose from her chair and pulled on her gloves. My God, Stirling was a wizard. How had he known? “Then, shall we?” was all she said.
Chapter Eleven
A Journey of Splendor
Rosalyn stood on the veranda in the early morning sun. Clouds threatened the horizon. A brisk wind blew in from the sea. Soon, Lady Elana would receive the letter…and Ethan? He’d vanished unexpectedly on a matter of business. She supposed she should be grateful. His absence would spare her a painful goodbye.
Her trunk stood ready in her room, her belongings neatly packed—all except the journal. She’d tossed it into the fireplace that very morning, in the vain hope its demise would help her forget. It wasn’t likely. She couldn’t forget Ethan so easily—if ever. The summer hadn’t turned out at all like she’d expected. She’d merely thought to observe the man. In her wildest dreams, she’d never expected to fall in love.
“Are you ready?” her aunt called from the bottom of the stairs.
Rosalyn hurried to meet her.
“I do wish you’d change your mind,” Lady Sarah said as she arrived.
Rosalyn kissed her aunt’s cheeks. “I can’t really stay, Auntie dear.”
“Still, you should at least stay until Ethan returns,” her aunt insisted yet again.
The rush was entirely the point, but Rosalyn could scarcely tell her that. Instead, she pulled her straw bonnet over her curls and looped her arm through her aunt’s. “Auntie dear, you act as if I’m going so very far away. I’m merely returning home to London and you’ll join me within a month. So, enough of this. Let’s enjoy our last day together here at the sea.”
