Guarding a Notorious Lady (17 page)

F
our hours later, Rosalind stood before the window in her bedchamber, staring at the latch as if it was an impossible mathematical challenge.

Arms akimbo, she pursed her lips while soundlessly tapping her toes upon the carpet.

The demure, sophisticated, well-schooled-in-theart-of-comporting-oneself-as-a-lady Rosalind ought to have put on her primmest nightdress and thickest wrapper, lock the latch, and climb into bed with a book of scriptures.

But the other Rosalind, the grown woman who had been in love with a particular man for the past seven years, wanted nothing more than to throw open the window, toss her wrapper to the floor, and flounce over to the chaise lounge and strike a come-hither pose as she awaited his arrivall. . . and his kiss.

And what a kiss it would be.

She reached out with one finger, lifting the latch.

Unlocked.

The pair of windows parted slightly and a soft summer breeze wafted through. The skirts of her cream-colored night rail Bill owed around her ankles.

She shivered and closed her eyes, and there, in the dark, were flashes of memory.

His head tilting to hers. His broad shoulders, blocking out the world. His hair, free and wild. He loomed before her, seductive and breathtakingly handsome. His mouth swooping down to devour hers.

His intense gaze locking with hers as he passed his tongue across her breast.

If it hadn’t been for the cannon fire, what would have happened? What would he have done next? What would she have done? Would she have surrendered herself to whatever fate he’d had in mind? She shivered anew at the possibilities.

But then, hadn’t he admitted to being enticed to guard her with a case of whisky? That wasn’t very flattering, was it?

Lips pressed together tightly, she reached out with one finger.

Locked.

But at the Hazelton ball, he’d been remarkably reserved. He’d watched her from a distance, only scowled on occasion, and had even managed to persuade her sour-faced aunt Eugenia to dance with him to the surprise and delight of the guests. She had never seen her aunt so lighthearted. By God, the woman had actually giggled.

Rosalind sighed, smiling reluctantly.

Unlocked.

Hmmph. But he hadn’t danced with her.

Locked.

Quite honestly though, he wasn’t supposed to be dancing with her, he was supposed to be watching out for her, which was what her brother expected him to do. And, unlike at the Devine ball, he hadn’t danced with anyone save her aunt.

Unlocked.

She stared at the window for a second, thinking her mind was made up when she suddenly remembered how the fair-haired young lady in the pleasure gardens had caught his attention.

Rosalind nodded, once, and with grave conviction.

Locked.

Her mind settled, she snatched her wrapper from the chaise lounge, threw it around her shoulders, and exited her bedchamber. It was time for chocolate and a good book.

She returned to her room minutes later, a cup of chocolate in one hand and, clutched in the other, a gothic novel entitled, quite appropriately,
The
Nocturnal Visit
.

Alice must have been in her room while Rosalind had been below stairs, for the fire had recently been stoked and the flames burned bright and hot.

After shutting her door, Rosalind ambled toward her bed, placed her chocolate on a small table close to her bed, shrugged out of her wrapper, and turned over the counterpane. She was just about to crawl inside when a man cleared his throat. Rosalind froze and her book dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

“Your lock is inferior.”

Rosalind blinked, astonished. Inch by inch, she turned her head to face the direction of his voice.

And there, in the corner, sprawled on her chaise lounge, was Nicholas. He wore no coat, no cravat, just a loose white shirt. His breeches were black, as were his boots, and he remained in his reposed position, ankles crossed, arms folded above his head despite her notice of him.

Indeed, his pose might have been leisurely, but it was contradicted by his scowl. He was looking directly into her eyes.

He looked . . . wonderful, handsome, and so very wicked in her room.

She faced him fully. “What are you doing in here?” He lowered his arms and swung in his legs. Sitting forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, his loose hair falling forward. His scowl only lightened a smidgen before he drawled,

“Well, I tended the fire, draped your gown, that you carelessly left on a chair, over the screen, and put your slippers in the wardrobe.”

“Thank you,” she said lightly. “What gall ant service.

If ever I require a new maid, you’ll be my first choice.” He

grinned,

all

lopsided

and

a

touch

condescending. He stood and the room suddenly shrunk. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes—like he knew some dark, wicked secret.

She lifted her chin a notch and crossed her arms over her breasts in a defensive manner.

“Why are you here?”

“To issue a warning.”

“What sort of
warning
?” Her eyes narrowed on the word.

“Well, I’ve behaved,” he intoned. “I watched you tonight while keeping my distance. I didn’t even interfere while you danced with yet another renowned rake.”

“How very commendable. Did you come here for my praise?”

“No,” he murmured, smiling ruefully. “I came here because I needed to . . . disabuse you of my level of patience. I have none. Or, at least, what I had is gone.

I will not play games any longer and chase you across London, nor will I sit idly by while you pick out a bonnet for half a day just to spite me.” He flicked his long, loose hair over his shoulder with an impatient jerk of his chin.

Rosalind remained silent. He looked as if he wanted to tell her something . . . something that was painful.

“I want . . . I need to make something very clear,” he announced, giving her a direct stare. “You are never to go anywhere without me by your side. What happened at Vauxhal —”

“I was perfectly fine, Nicholas.”

“And what did he want?” He advanced slowly, his

“And what did he want?” He advanced slowly, his steps measured. “He wanted you to elope with him.” She wasn’t expecting a line of questions—she hadn’t expected to find a sigh-worthy, hostile Scot in her bedchamber, either, for that matter.

He sighed heavily. “Do you realize what could have happened?”

“It turned out fine,” she stressed.

“You have no idea. He could have caught you. What then?”

“He
wouldn’t
have caught me,” she said simply. “I am rather quick.”

He huffed with disbelief. “Right then.” His eyes raked her from top to bottom and back again. “Show me.”

Her brow furrowed. “Show you?”

“Show . . . me.”

She held up a hand, her middle and index finger walking in the air. “You want me to run? Now?” He nodded, impatiently. “Yes. Now. Let’s put you to the test, lass.” He made a shooing motion. “Go.”

“Well . . .” She eyed him like she would a completely mad person. “All right. I . . . guess.” And then she turned to sprint across the room lengthwise.

She made it to the wall fairly quickly. Her hands touching the wall paper, she pushed off slightly and turned.

Nicholas was right there, blocking her escape. Her back thumped lightly against the wall. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Large hands splayed on either side of her head. He had effectively trapped her with his body without even touching her.

“You’re fast?” he asked, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief.

She nodded, her thoughts too muddled to form words because the truth was he was slightly intimidating—in the melt-your-stockings-off sort of way.

“Well, I’m faster,” he intoned. “And if Stokes
really
wanted to catch you, he would have.”

After a brief hesitation, she realized he’d left her space enough to get away. Swiftly, she ducked under his arm. “Ha!”

She took three measly steps before Nicholas’s muscled arm anchored around her waist, abruptly halting her. She gave a grunt as her breath was momentarily trapped in her chest. But he wasn’t done.

He jerked her roughly against him. She wiggled to free herself, but before she could think, she was flat on her back on the carpet with Nicholas atop her. Her chin hardened and she swatted at his arms, careful not to rake him with her nails, for she knew he posed no threat; he was only trying to prove a point.

Pinning her to the floor with some of his weight, he grabbed her wrists. He held them tightly and high above her head with ease in one of his hands. The other drifted down to gently remove a lock of her hair that had slashed across her face, obstructing her view.

“Sadly, you are not nimble enough,” he murmured, shaking his head in a maddeningly derisive manner.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, but I’m hardly fighting you.”

He raised a brow.

A challenge?

She bucked beneath him. He hadn’t expected it, she knew, because the force of her movement sent him rolling onto his back, taking her with him, for her wrists were still imprisoned by his hand.

Now, straddling his waist, she froze, not entirely sure what she should do next. She twisted her hands, trying to free her wrist.

“Is that where your plan ends?” He chuckled darkly, his free hand molding to her side.

Before she could utter a retort, he bucked his own hips, keeping his free hand behind her to cushion her spine as he flipped her over to her back.

“You might as well admit it, ’tis easy to overpower you.”

“Oh, but I haven’t yet begun. I’ve two brothers. I know how to punch and kick.” Her gaze flicked downward. “And where to kick.”

“Do your worst,” he invited darkly.

She kicked out wildly, thrashing her legs . . . and quite suddenly found Nicholas wedged heavily between her thighs. Her nightgown had rucked up to her hips, leaving the sensitive skin of her legs to rub against the warm fabric of his breeches and the granite of his thighs. Scorching heat blossomed at the center of her being.

She was utterly bare underneath her nightdress.

His face above her, Nicholas’s jaw hardened, a tick pulsing in his cheek.

“Did I get you?” she asked, breathless from exertion and from the surge of sensation. Had she kicked him? He looked as if he was in pain. “I did not mean—”

“Do not talk,” he said through his teeth. “Do not move.” He closed his eyes.

She waited quietly, her entire body flushing with heat.

“What a mess.” His nostrils flared. “I’m going to get off you now. I’ll keep my eyes shut. Cover yourself as quickly as possible.”

She nodded.

“If you understand, you may say something. I cannot see through my lids.”

“Hmm-hmm,” was all she said.

Slowly, his face relaxed and his breathing slowed.

He opened his eyes, his heated gaze settling on hers. Their mouths were so close, she imagined they shared the same breath.

He released her wrists, leaned up on his forearms, then stared down at her in this utterly submissive position. A myriad of expressions crossed his features. Gently, reverently, he brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, his thumb then tracing the whorls of her ear, spurring a delightful shiver.

And then, with a look of wonderment, he shook his head. “You’re so . . . lovely. I-I hadn’t meant . . . I wanted to show you how easily . . .” He swallowed. “I was wrong.” He shifted to extract himself from her.

And then Rosalind did something she’d never thought she had it in her to do.

With an instinct she had not known she possessed, she wrapped her legs around his thighs, anchoring him there, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down atop her for a kiss.

He hesitated for mere seconds, then sunk his mouth down to meld with hers. Desire exploded. This kiss was not gentle or slow. It was carnal, primal. This was a man and woman on fire, seeking a quenching they could receive only from the other. His hair around her, he thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth with thorough, blazing sweeps.

Knowing what to expect, Rosalind matched the rhythm of his ardor and dueled right along with him.

She whimpered beneath his mouth and he answered it with a deep groan of his own.

The kiss was wild and out of control. Her hands rubbed at his strong back, down his sides and at his waist, where he seemed to be moving in a restrained, undulating fashion. She suddenly wanted to feel that rhythm against her. She needed to.

She angled her hips and pressed upward. Hard met soft. Her mouth broke away from his on a moan.

Swirls of sensation thrummed at her core. Grinding his hips into her, he bit and suckled the side of her neck and her mouth opened with silent, breathless pleasure. With tongue and teeth, he worked up to her ear, licking and sucking on the lobe. She cried out and he caught it with his mouth, the thrusts of his hips now matching the sweeps of his tongue.

She pulled his shirttails free from his breeches, her hands finally making contact with skin. And he felt glorious. Warm and muscular. She ran her hands over his stomach and it jerked beneath her touch.

Reaching between them, Nicholas’s hand slid possessively from her neck, down her flimsy bodice, across her stomach, and around her hip. Squeezing and rubbing her leg, his thumb pressed into her inner thigh, coaxing her to open wider for him. Yielding, he surprised her by sliding his hand upwards to replace the press of his arousal.

She gasped at the feel of his fingers, at first tickling as he sought to separate her folds and then delightfully intrusive as he slid his fingers slowly downward, back and forth, back and forth. She gulped and fluttered her eyes open, seeking his gaze. He was watching her, his eyes like gray shards.

The sweeps grew steadily deeper until one of his fingers dipped inside her slick sheath.

“You

like

that,”

he

whispered,

knowingly,

possessively. Over and over, he repeated his movements.