Lady Rosabella's Ruse (20 page)

The desire to be inside her, to fill her, to prove she was his, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It shredded his reason. He hung on by a thread. In that moment he knew no matter what happened, no matter who she was, or what she wanted, he would want her for a very long time.

And after that, she’d have marriage as her reward.

He lifted his head and gazed into her face, at the almond shape of her eyes, the taut skin over finely cast cheek-bones. ‘You really are beautiful.’

He broke from the mesmerising depths of her lovely eyes and kissed each nipple in turn; a light brush of his lips and each peak instantly puckered. He trailed kisses down between their shallow valley, through the filmy fabric, down her breastbone to the dark shadow of her navel, swirling his tongue while her hands wandered across his back as if they weren’t quite sure what to do. But when he kissed lower down, nuzzling into her curls through the fine lawn of the gown, she gasped and tried to push him away.

‘You can’t,’ she said breathless.

‘Can’t I not?’ he said, trying not to smile at her innocent shock.

He worked his way down the bed until he was sitting on his heels between her feet. He lifted her right leg, bending it at the knee, and wrapped his hand around her heel. She tensed and he smiled at her. She smiled back and relaxed.

Hers were not small feet, but slender and elegant, high arched and beautifully formed. ‘The winged Goddess of Victory never had such beautiful feet,’ he said, raising her foot to his mouth, kissing the arch, massaging the ball. She spread her toes like a cat stretching its claws.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘That feels good.’

He leaned forwards and opened the drawer beside the bed. Retrieved the scented oil he kept there for just such occasions. He put a small drop in his hand and rubbed his palms together to warm the oil and release its perfume.

She watched him wide-eyed.

‘I promise you will like it.’

She smiled hesitantly.

First, he worked the pad of his thumb along the arch, in slow firm strokes, and she relaxed into the pillows. The weight of her leg rested in his palm where he cupped her heel. He slid his palm up her smooth rounded calf and raised her leg, the glimpse of shadow between her thighs begging for his attention. He ignored its call and massaged her delicious sole and the plump little heel with both thumbs.

She sighed with pleasure.

Gently he lowered her leg to the sheets, angling it wide, and picked up her other foot. No resistance this time—indeed, she was eager to place her foot in his hands. He poured more scented oil in his palm and massaged it in. He frowned at the red mark on the smallest toe. ‘What happened here?’

‘The shoes. The ones I wear on stage, they pinch.’

He frowned, but said nothing. She would not be wearing those shoes again. He kissed the tiny blemish and she chuckled softly. ‘Kissing it won’t make it go away.’

‘But it can make things feel better,’ he said, flashing her a grin, then returned that foot to the bed, her legs spread wide as he smoothed his hands up her shins, pushing the hem of her nightdress higher to expose her knees.

Lovely long limbs, skin kissed golden by a sun it had never seen, yet somehow remembered. Reverently he kissed the rounded bone and grazed his fingertips along the delicate flesh of the small indent behind. A little gasp rewarded his efforts and encouraged him on. Both hands slid up the inside of her parted thighs, the skin velvety soft beneath his palm, the muscle tender, yet lithe. A feast for the senses. He couldn’t recall another woman whose feet and legs were so utterly beautiful.

He cast her a smile designed to seduce, and she smiled back with all the mystery of a woman whose passion lay just below the surface, waiting for one man to release its power. What he had experienced so far was only a fraction of what burned inside her. He would have the key to the rest.

He explored her thighs, the places that made her legs fall further apart, the spots that tickled and made her flesh jump and brought forth her low throaty chuckle.

Lust rode him hard. The urge to sink into her depths, to drive home to the hilt and make her cry out, had him grinding his teeth as he fought for control.

He eased her nightdress up to her waist and exposed the delights of her feminine flesh nestled within the dark bush of midnight-black curls slick with the evidence of her desire. He parted the folds of tender flesh and found the centre of her pleasure, the secret source of bliss.

She drew in a sharp hiss of breath as he caressed that tender nub. The small sound played havoc with his iron control, sucking the air from his chest and firing his belly as if he was the forge and she the air fanning his flames.

‘And your last name?’ he asked softly.

Chapter Twelve

O
n the brink of flying apart, at the edge of shattering, he was asking her something. For a moment, Rosa couldn’t make sense of his words.

He leaned forwards and licked and then sucked the place where his fingers were moments ago. She almost died from the spiralling pleasure. She wanted to die, to soar free of her body. But somehow he kept her tethered to him, enslaved to his tongue and the rough edge of his beard against her thighs.

A soft warm breath drifted across her heated flesh, bringing no relief, but a promise. ‘Tell me your family name, Rosabella.’

‘Pelham,’ she gasped, willing to do anything to be sure he wouldn’t stop now. Not when the end was so near.

He circled his tongue and she wanted to scream as he nudged her so close to the edge, then stopped.

‘The truth, Rosabella.’

‘Cavendish of Pelham,’ she surrendered. ‘I swear.’

He stilled, raised his head. Something hot flared in his eyes. Fury. ‘Earl Pelham is your father.’ He said it flatly as if the answer was moot and she had admitted to some dreadful crime.

She moaned and grabbed at his shoulders, trying to draw him against her fevered body. ‘He is my grandfather.’

His lips drew back in a grimace. ‘God help me. That I did not expect.’

The bitterness in his voice chilled her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It means the matter is closed, child or not. The shackles are fastened.’

Before she could question him further, he had renewed his efforts with his tongue and her mind emptied of all but the need for fulfilment. He sucked at the hot swollen bud between her thighs.

She fell apart. Wave after wave of delicious pleasure washed through her.

Her reward for the truth.

Yet why did she have the sense it was also a punishment? Perhaps it was the hard set to his jaw as he drew her nightdress over her head and looked down at her nakedness. Or the way he roughly settled in the cradle of her hips and brought his hard flesh into her body, filling her deliciously. He drove deeper, and the ache he’d assuaged a few moments before, began again. If anything it was more intense. Slowly he withdrew, and she moaned at the thought he would leave her, fastening her legs around his hips, twining her arms around his neck to hold him close. He made a sound in his throat like a groan of defeat and thrust into her, deeper, harder, over and over. It was like riding the back of the wind in a storm, caught up in a vortex and circling higher and higher. All she could do was hang on tight and let whatever drove him carry her along.

He knew her name, had stripped her bare of her secrets, and now she was completely in his power.

She surrendered to his strength.

Lost herself in the pleasure he visited upon her.

Triumph filled his eyes along with regret.

A nerve jangled. She wasn’t a leaf to be picked up by a gale and tossed hither and yon where it willed. Passive was not in her nature. Nor was surrender.

He must suffer the consequences of the fire he had lit. Arms wound around his neck, she pulled herself up against a broad chest damp with sweat. The heat of him against her breasts spurred her on. She swirled her tongue in his ear, and his grunt of pleasure tugged at her core, even as she tilted her hips to meet his next driving thrust. Waves of pleasure once more caught her up. She nipped at his earlobe and, recalling the pleasure of his mouth on her skin, licked the salty skin, his corded neck and the soft part of his throat. She no longer received his driving force deep within her centre; she set the pace with the lift of her hips.

The rough sound of his breath against her shoulder increased in tempo. He sounded in pain. She ran one hand down his back, found the rise of his buttocks and the hard bone of his hip. As he withdrew to pound into her again, she slipped her hand between their bodies and found the base of his shaft and cupped the softness beneath, caressing there as he had played with her breasts.

‘Holy hell,’ he said in her ear. ‘You’ll make me…’ He caught her hand and pulled it free, returning to stroke and press her sensitive flesh at their joining.

Her body flew apart in pleasure. Her mind darkened, leaving only intense flashes of white heat in her veins.

Breathing hard, Garth pulled away, groaning as if it pained him to leave her, his body convulsing and heavy on her body, his forehead pressed against her shoulder. He rolled off to one side and a moment later she felt him rubbing her at her stomach with the sheet. She glanced down. ‘What is it?’

He shook his head wearily. ‘It is nothing. A bit of a mess.’ He looked…stunned.

He rolled on to his back and pulled her against his shoulder. ‘Rest. And don’t think for a moment about running off.’

The man really did like to issue orders. ‘Am I your prisoner, then?’

He gave a soft rueful laugh. ‘If you are, then I am also yours.’

An odd thing to say. She was too tired to question him further, but as her breathing slowed and her skin cooled, she shivered.

He reached down and pulled up the quilt, covering them both.

‘Do you want me to ask Pelham for the miniature?’

Oh, dear, now he finally believed her. Guilt racked her. She shook her head. ‘It isn’t there. It was a fool’s errand.’

By never saying the words out loud to another person, she’d somehow clung to the hope that Grandfather was wrong. That Father hadn’t thought his daughters unimportant.

The hot burn of tears welled up and, furious, she brushed them away. She would not believe it. Could not. Something had prevented him from keeping his promise. Something beyond his control.

It was just too cruel otherwise.

‘Why so many damned lies?’ Garth murmured on a long release of breath.

She frowned. ‘I wasn’t lying.’ Not all the time.

‘You lied about who you were. What you were.’

‘If you had let me alone, everything would have been fine.’

A scornful growl issued from his throat. ‘Would it? Or was it all part of a very clever plot?’

‘If it was a plot, it did not involve you.’

‘Really. Did you not pretend to be a widow? Did you not lure me to a deserted house and get yourself ruined? The consequences are obvious.’

‘Lure you?’ She almost choked on her anger. ‘You followed me. Next I suppose you will be blaming me for the rainstorm and the kisses. You are the seducer. And besides, it isn’t possible to ruin an opera singer.’

‘But you are not an opera singer. You are the granddaughter of Earl Pelham, the owner of the house you supposedly broke into.’

‘We are estranged. He refused me permission to search.’

He let go a huff of breath. ‘You can be sure he won’t be estranged when he learns I have you in my bed. He’ll insist that we wed.’

Why did he sound so smug? It wasn’t as if he wanted this marriage.

‘Believe me, Grandfather won’t care one iota what happens to me.’

‘The
ton
will care. It was bad enough I seduced an innocent, but an innocent noblewoman… I’m sorry, there is no other choice. Not to mention you might be carrying my child.’ He said the last with an edge of bitterness.

A child. The idea of her own children had always been something she had treasured. He made it sound like a terrible burden. Something to be grimly shouldered. She shivered more violently.

He pulled the quilt higher up her shoulders. ‘Shall I ring for a fire?’

Her shivers had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. It was in her heart she felt cold, in her bones. ‘You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to wed you—why not wait until we are certain there is a child? If there is not, we can go our separate ways.’

An odd expression passed across his face—not anger, it was too hard and cold for that. His lip twisted a fraction, but she had the feeling his scorn was not aimed at her, but rather at himself, as if she’d touched a sensitive spot. ‘You were willing to be my mistress. Why not my wife? You will not find me ungenerous. You will have whatever you want. Jewels. Money. Whatever your heart desires, within reason.’

Within reason. What fell within the realm of ‘within reason’? ‘I have debts. Responsibilities. More than you know.’

‘I see,’ he said in a chilly voice.

‘You don’t see. My sister was ill. I borrowed from a moneylender to pay the doctor and their school fees. I needed a singing role to pay him back.’

‘As your husband, your debts become my debts. Your responsibilities become mine.’

‘It would be a marriage of convenience.’

‘Yes.’ He seemed not to see anything wrong with it.

‘I wanted a love match.’ Spoken in relation to this man it sounded ridiculous. She stared at him defiantly and, heaven help her, secretly hoping.

‘There you go again.’ He shook his head with a grimace of distaste. ‘All women spout about is love, when all they need is a man who will provide the necessities of life.’

‘By necessities I assume you mean food and heat and a roof. What about a man who will be faithful and true? A man who will share joys and sorrows? A helpmeet?’

He shifted as if the very idea made him uncomfortable. ‘Without food and heat and a roof, a person cannot survive. Especially not a child.’

‘A child cannot survive without love.’

At that he laughed outright. It had an ugly ring to it. ‘I don’t know who filled your head with such tales, but children survive all the time without love. Use your head. Look around you. Men only care about satisfying their lust and getting an heir. If they could do the last without getting married, they would.’

‘It broke my father’s heart when my mother died. He loved her and he loved his children.’

‘Then why make no provision for you?’

Silent, she stared at him.

‘He should have,’ he said. ‘But not out of love. Out of duty and honour. Love is merely a figment of overwrought female imagination.’

‘You are awful,’ she whispered, but the cold feeling spreading into her stomach was the fear he was right. Fear that the love she remembered, clung to, held on to like a child clinging to its mother, was all her own creation.

A myth.

‘I simply tell the truth,’ he said.

She would not let him destroy her beliefs. ‘You are wrong.’

Another twist of his lips. ‘All right, then, name your price for this marriage. Anything in my power to give.’

What she wanted most in the world was to know her sisters would have a future. Have the chance to choose a man for love, not out of desperation. For Sam to see a doctor without fear of the debtors’ prison looming over their shoulders. Could she give up their futures while she searched for the perfect man? A man who would love her back, when she had so much love inside her to give.

It wouldn’t be fair to them, when she could solve everything right now.

And for her there would be physical passion with this man. Nights like tonight. She’d been attracted to him from the first, and if what she’d thought was love was merely infatuation, if she never let it become more than that, wouldn’t it be more than bearable? Wouldn’t it be more than many women of her class experienced?

He must have seen the weakening of her resolve, her acceptance, because he stroked her shoulder, a sort of solace because he knew she’d give in.

He looked just too smug about her succumbing to his superior male logic. A hot buzz built up in her veins. Anger. The same anger that had driven her to the moneylender, so she would not have to listen to the doctor lecture her about the money she owed.

An anger tainted with the desire to salvage what little pride she had left.

‘You spoke of giving me whatever I wanted in exchange for this marriage. These are my terms, then. Pay my debts. They are considerable. Pay for a come-out for each of my sisters and provide them with a reasonable marriage settlement and I will agree to be your wife. But if there is to be no faithfulness on your side, then there is no need for any of this.’ She gestured vaguely at the bed.

As he stared at her, the gleam in his eyes an acknowledgement that he’d won, a slow seductive smile curved his beautiful mouth. Her insides clenched, unable to resist his allure.

‘I will agree to all but the last,’ he murmured. ‘As my wife, I expect you in my bed.’ The smile broadened, became wicked. ‘I promise I won’t force myself upon you, but I defy you to resist me.’

Her unruly stomach tumbled over. Resisting him seemed to have been out of the question from the moment she saw him on Lady Keswick’s terrace. But she would not submit without a fight. ‘Nothing you can do could induce me into your bed.’

‘Are you so sure?’ He bent his head and brushed her lips with his. Softly. Sweetly. Her heart tumbled with longing.

Longing for more than physical attraction.

It was not to be. And for the sake of her sisters, she must endure.

She turned her face away. ‘Very well. If that is part of the price, I will agree. But I want our agreement in writing.’

He laughed. ‘Good for you. It seems you have learned something after all.’

Instead of learning about love, she had learned the art of striking a bargain, if she dared trust him to keep his word. Her father hadn’t kept his word and she’d trusted him. A bitter taste filled her mouth. ‘Then once the contract is signed the matter is settled.’