Rose shook off the insidious thought. It would not do, she was betrothed and she was a mother, although that life seemed a world away. She took off the wrap and slipped between the sheets. The bed was cold. She toyed with the idea of going downstairs in search of a warming pan, but abandoned it. She might see Sir Lawrence and then her noble resolve would crumble. It had been hard enough to walk out of the drawing room.
She shifted restlessly in the bed. Her body was on fire, aching for a man’s touch, but not just any man. With a tiny cry of frustration she turned over.
‘A rake makes the devil of a husband. You should know that by now.’
But her agitated mind would not be appeased. She was not looking for a husband, only a little comfort. An escape from her loneliness. A sweet memory to keep in her heart when she returned to her real world. Rose pummelled her pillow and lay down again, pulling the covers up to her cheek. She pictured Sir Lawrence in the drawing room, her stomach clenching as she imagined him smiling at her, felt again his gentle touch.
One night, then we need never meet again…
Lawrence remained in the drawing room, staring into the fire while the house grew silent around him. Evans would be snoring in his bed behind the kitchen, sleeping off the effects of the flagon of cider Lawrence had spotted on the floor beside his chair. Rose, too, would be asleep by now. The occasional creaking of the boards he put down to the wind, which was howling around the house.
He had risen to throw another log on the fire when he heard the rasp of the door hinges. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the gloom.
‘I thought…about what you said.’ Rose moved across the room. She had left off the enveloping wrap, and the diaphanous folds of the nightgown glistened in the candlelight, outlining every curve of her body—she appeared to float towards him. ‘One night. Then we will go our separate ways.’
Lawrence still could not believe it was not a dream, until he reached out and felt her warm flesh beneath his hands.
‘You are quite sure about this?’
A smile trembled on her lips.
‘Quite sure.’
As he dragged her into his arms Rose tilted her face up, inviting his kiss. His mouth ground over hers, savage, possessive, and her mind reeled, but with excitement, not alarm. She threw her arms around his neck, her lips parting to allow his tongue to search her mouth, flickering and teasing. She leaned into him, revelling in the feel of his hard, aroused body pressing against her. There was too much cloth between them. She unwound her arms from around Lawrence’s neck and began to unbutton his waistcoat. It was shed without a break in their deep, passionate kisses and she moved on to those tight buckskins.
Breathing heavily, Lawrence broke away, but only long enough to divest himself of his clothes. At last he stood before her, naked and golden in the firelight, his body as muscled and perfect as any Greek statue.
‘Rose?’
She raised her eyes to his and slowly gathered up the gossamer folds of the nightgown, lifting them in one smooth movement. As the fine silk whispered over her head she heard another sigh, almost a groan, from Lawrence. Before the nightgown had left her hands and fluttered to the floor he had his arms around her, pulling her to him. He lowered her gently down onto the thick rug where the heat from the fire enveloped them. Her arms were still above her head and he reached out to catch her wrists, imprisoning them with one hand while the other explored her breasts. She writhed beneath his touch, uttering a little moan of pleasure when his circling fingers were replaced by his mouth. He gently teased and nibbled and sucked until she was gasping for breath, but even then he did not stop, but added to her exquisite torment by trailing his free hand down over the soft plain of her stomach, his fingers delving onwards, circling and stroking until her legs parted and her hips tilted invitingly. The long fingers continued to devastating effect; she groaned and twisted, pushed against his hand, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure burst over her. As the ecstatic spasms ceased Lawrence folded her in his arms and held her close.
‘Oh.’ She made her shuddering whisper into his shoulder. ‘I had forgotten. Thank you.’
A soft laugh shook him. She felt it reverberate against her cheek.
‘It was my pleasure.’
She struggled to sit up, smiling at him. She said, her voice warm and husky with passion, ‘And this is mine.’
Gently she pushed him onto his back, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and across his chest. The dark smattering of hair caught at her fingers as she trailed them around the hard nipples. He reached up and removed the clips from her curls, so that when he pulled away the confining ribbon, her hair cascaded down to rest upon his naked body. Rose moved her head, dragging the silky tresses across the taut muscles of his stomach. He arched his back, eyes closed. Rose climbed over him, leaning forwards to kiss the fine line of his throat while the tips of her breasts rubbed against his skin and he groaned louder, his hands reaching for her, easing her into position so that he could thrust into her. It was Rose’s turn to arch as she felt him inside her, sleek and hard. She moved against him, following the dictates of her body while his hands on her hips kept her firmly anchored over him. Excitement was building again, but this time it was centred on his pleasure. She held him deep and warm inside her, her body stroking and caressing until his grip tightened around her waist. He held her fast; she was powerless while he thrust into her hard and fast and she cried out, control swept away as he took her to new heights. One final thrust, a gasp, and they clung together until the last wonderful tremor shuddered through their bodies and they collapsed, sated, to lie in each other’s arms before the dying embers.
Lawrence kissed her and carefully smoothed the damp tendrils of honey-brown hair back from her brow.
‘Well, madam, was it as you expected?’
‘Much, much better.’ She snuggled deeper into his arms, smiling.
‘And there’s more.’ He sat up and reached for his shirt. ‘Put this on.’
‘Why?’ Obediently she allowed him to throw it over her head. She pushed her arms into the voluminous sleeves while he stepped into his buckskins. She watched him throw on his flowered waistcoat, marvelling at the way it accentuated the firm muscles of his stomach and arms. He reached down to pull her to her feet.
‘I am taking you to bed, my love, but you will recall that the passages between here and the bedroom are unheated and I would not have you catch a chill.’
She could not resist reaching out and resting her hand against his naked chest.
‘Will you not feel the cold?’
‘No.’ He swept her up into his arms. ‘I shall have you next to my heart.’
He lowered his head to give her a fierce, savage kiss full of triumph and possession. Her body still glowing from their union, Rose wound her arms about his neck as he carried her to the bedroom.
A cold, rosy dawn illuminated the window. Rose stretched, feeling the warmth of Lawrence’s sleeping form against her back. Her body felt wonderfully full, satisfied, and she could not help smiling into the semi-darkness. Their lovemaking in the bedroom had been even better than that first, astonishing coupling in front of the fire. Lawrence had proved himself an expert lover—she should not have been surprised, given his reputation, but his gentleness and the way he had sought to put her pleasure before his own had been a revelation.
It would make parting all the more difficult.
Rose eased herself away from his sleeping form and out of the bed. The discarded shirt and breeches on the floor brought back memories that sent a delightful shiver down her spine, but it also reminded her that they had left several telltale garments strewn across the drawing room. She reached for Sir Lawrence’s brightly coloured dressing gown. She must go to her own room and dress. Then she could send Evans out to check on the state of the track.
When Lawrence awoke he was immediately aware of a feeling of well-being. The early-morning sun was pouring into the room, battering his eyelids. He
did not want to open his eyes. He wanted to—
He turned over, but his hands found only cold empty sheets. Had he dreamed last night’s events? His body told him not.
Lawrence sat up, blinking. His clothes were still on the floor, but his banyan was gone. Quickly he grabbed his clothes and scrambled into them, buttoning his coat even as he made his way to the guest room. It was empty. With a growing sense of unease he ran down the stairs to the drawing room.
Rose was standing by the window, fully dressed, her travelling cloak folded over a chair, gloves and bonnet resting neatly on the top. She turned as he came in, but the sunlight was behind her and he could not see her face.
‘You are up betimes.’ He crossed the room in a couple of strides and reached for her. She stepped away from him.
‘I have a long ride ahead of me.’
‘You are going, then.’
‘Yes. Evans has already ventured out this morning and says the pack ponies have been on the move. We have only to make our way to the lane…’
She reached for her gloves, but Lawrence stepped in her way, catching her hands.
‘Can we not talk, first? About last night…’ She would not meet his eyes and he squeezed her fingers, saying sharply, ‘It is customary to observe the civilities, you know, even with your lover.’
A faint shake of her head sent her curls dancing.
‘We are not lovers. It was one night.’
‘But a very special night, would you not agree?’ The faint blush on her cheek gave him his answer. ‘When will I see you again?’
‘You will not.’
‘But—’
She lifted one hand and placed her fingers against his mouth.
‘It is better this way. I have to go back to Mersecombe, to my son. There is no place for you in my life.’
Lawrence frowned. Her words were calm, reasoned, but it made no sense to him.
‘I want to be part of your life,’ he said. ‘After last night I want to know you better—’
‘No!’ She stepped away from him. ‘There can only be pain that way.’
‘Because of my past? Believe me, Rose—’
‘Are you going to promise me you will change? It will not happen.’
‘Hell and damnation, woman, how can you—?’ Again that tiny shake of her head accompanied by such a sad smile that he bit back his fury. ‘Tell me, Rose. Tell me why you are so sure.’
Her blue-grey eyes rested upon him for a long moment, then she turned and walked back to the window. Her eyes were fixed on the snowy scene, but her thoughts were very far away.
‘Once a rake, always a rake. I was married to such a man. I met Harry when I was still at school in Barnstaple. He charmed me from the first. Everyone knew his reputation, but he told me it would be different when we were married. I believed him. I was just seventeen when I became his wife, Harry was five and twenty. For a few months I think, believe, he was faithful to me, but then I was with child and he…he began to stay away. Whenever I taxed him with it he would deny it; if I caught him out in his philandering then he would come back to me, repentant, promising he would reform. It was after one such incident that he bought the property at Exford. He said we would make a fresh start, but whenever there was a pretty woman…’ She crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘His death was something of a relief. I could continue to love him, but he could no longer hurt me.’ She turned back to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘So you see why I will not allow that to happen to me again?’
‘But I am not like your husband, Rose. I will prove it to you.’
She shook her head, taking out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. When she spoke again her tone was brisk.
‘You can only prove it by living a respectable and chaste life for…I do not know…years. I can see by your horrified look that the idea does not appeal.’
Lawrence watched in silence as she put on her bonnet and gloves. She was going. If he could not come up with some argument within the next few minutes, she would walk out of his life for ever. He tried to think, but his brain refused to work. Mechanically he picked up her cloak and placed it around her. He noted the way her fingers paused in tying the strings when he allowed his hands to rest for a moment on her shoulders.
‘So there is nothing I can say.’
‘Nothing.’
‘What if…’ his hands tightened and he turned her to face him ‘…what if there is a child? I would have a right to know.’
She paled, her eyes dilating, and he braced himself to hold her, should she faint.
‘You would, of course,’ she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘But there will be no child.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
She gently pushed his hands away.
‘I can be absolutely sure. That is all you need to know.’
With that she turned and swept out of the room.
Evans was waiting with the horses at the door. He stepped forwards to help Rose to mount, but a word from Lawrence forestalled him. She did not object as Lawrence threw her up into the saddle. He checked the girth, made sure her foot was secure in the stirrup, anything to delay her departure.
‘Goodbye.’ She leaned down to him, holding out her hand. ‘It was very good of you to take us in. I am very grateful. For everything.’
They might have been parting after an innocuous morning call, save for the haunted look in her eyes, from which all the blue had disappeared. He took her gloved fingers, felt them tremble in his grasp.
‘If ever you need me—’
She nodded.
‘That is kind, thank you, but I have everything I need at Mersecombe.’
‘At least say I may call on you—’
‘No.’ Her fingers gripped his hand and she bent her serious gaze upon him. ‘Promise me, promise me you will not come looking for me.’ Her grip tightened. ‘Please, Lawrence.’
Her eyes demanded an answer. He nodded.
‘I give you my word.’
‘Thank you.’ She released his hand and straightened in the saddle.
It was a dismissal. There was nothing for it but to step back.
‘Very well. I wish you Godspeed, madam.’
‘And I wish you every happiness.’
A final smile, a final look from those slate-grey eyes, then she turned away, to ride out of his life for ever.
Lawrence knew that if the pack ponies were moving it would not be long before his servants returned to Knightscote. The scullery boy arrived first, followed by the stable lads. The short winter day was drawing to a close when his butler and housekeeper finally trooped into the house. By supper time the lodge had returned to normal, lights burning in the passages and servants on hand to attend to their master’s slightest whim.
‘Lord bless us, but why are you sitting in the dark, Sir Lawrence?’ Mrs Brendon bustled in, carrying her master’s supper on a tray. ‘I do hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable while we’s been away, sir; I see you finished up all the ham, and someone’s been using my kitchen, too…’
‘Yes—how was your journey?’ he asked the question to deflect her attention.
‘Well, it could have been worse. Brendon and me got a ride on the carrier’s cart as far as the crossroads, and the track was pretty well trodden from there on.’ She put her tray down and began to go round the room, lighting candles from a taper. ‘Now, sir, that’s a game pie I brought back with me from Exford, so I hope it will do until I can get cooking again in the morning!’
‘Excellent, thank you.’
‘But there’s hoof marks leading right up to the door, sir. Have you had visitors?’
‘Yes. A traveller on the way to Mersecombe arrived here Christmas Eve. The weather was too bad to go further.’
‘Ah, that explains the pots and pans that’s been moved in my kitchen.’ She nodded sagely. ‘I was fair certain it weren’t you that had taken to cooking!’
‘No. Tell me, Mrs Brendon. You come from Exford
way, do you not? Do you recall a gentleman who used to live there, name of Westerhill?’
‘Harry Westerhill? Aye, I do. Gennleman, you say? Nothin’ but a lecher I’d call ’n. The good Lord carried ’im off a few years back, and a good thing, too. No woman was safe!’
Lawrence pulled a chair to the table and sat down to his supper.
‘He had a wife, I believe?’ He hoped he sounded uninterested.
‘Ah, that he did. Poor little thing. Led her a merry dance he did, what with his women and his gambling. And they say he used to beat her, when he was in his cups.’
Lawrence’s hand tightened around his knife. ‘Indeed?’
‘Oh, he could charm the birds from the trees, could Harry Westerhill, but when he had had a few to drink…’ She shook her head, tutting. ‘Well, good riddance, that’s what I’d say. The poor lady’s better off without ’n. Better off without any man, if you ask me. Beggin yer pardon, sir!’
‘No, you are right, Mrs Brendon.’ Lawrence gazed down at the plate, his appetite quite gone. ‘She is better off without any man.’
Chapter Four
‘Very well, children, that is all for today. Put your slates on the shelf, please, before you leave.’
A scraping of benches and sudden explosion of chatter announced the end of the school day. Rose began to tidy her desk while the room gradually emptied around her.
‘Mama, Mama, Jem wants me to go to the farm with him, to see his pointer’s new litter!’
Sam was tugging at her skirts, looking up at her with such a look of hope and trust in his eyes that her heart turned over. She put a hand on his unruly fair hair.
‘I am not sure you should. Mrs Wooler will have chores for Jem to do…’
‘Nothing very much tonight, Mrs Westerhill, and Sam can help me with those.’ Jem twisted his cap between his hands and said haltingly, ‘Me mam says she likes it when Sam comes to see us—she likes to hear us laughing…’
Rose imagined Mrs Wooler, only a few months widowed, and she nodded.
Snowbound With the Notorious Rake Page 6
