Scandal And The Duchess (10 page)

Rose finished her ablutions and drank a cup of tea, but Steven did not reappear. After half a second cup and a wonderful scone, Rose filled the cup that waited for Steven and carried it up the stairs to the room at the top of the house.

She’d feared to find Steven on the bed, thinking haunting thoughts of his friend and his death, but he stood at the tiny dormer window, looking out. Rain streaked the window, filming it with an almost constant stream of water. Steven rested his arm on the high sill, his face turned out to the gloom.

“I brought you your tea,” Rose said brightly. “Truth to tell, I was getting a bit worried about you.”

“Were you?” Steven made no move to take the tea, and Rose set it on the washstand, the only other piece of furniture in the room. “No need. I’ll weather my storm. Already have, mostly.”

Rose made for the door. “Have a drink of the tea—it’s quite good. And come down soon. Mrs. Miles has gone about her errands, and Miles is looking after the horses, so there’s no need to make conversation if you don’t want to.”

Steven turned his head and looked at her, his expression telling her he hadn’t taken in a word she’d just said. “Don’t go, Rosie.”

His voice pulled at her, stirring fires in her heart. “There’s more tea downstairs,” she said quickly. “And scones. Light as a feather, with plenty of jam—”

“Rose.” Steven cross the cramped room and laid his large hand on her arm. “Stay.”

His hand was heavy, strong, but it was the look in his gray eyes that decided the matter. “Yes,” Rose whispered, and closed the door.

Steven went very still as Rose shut the door and turned back to him. No modest protests, no fluttering. Rose understood what Steven wanted, and she wanted it too.

She came to him, resting her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes.

Their first kiss was unhurried. Steven cupped Rose’s face in his hands, parting her lips to kiss her slowly, deeply. He tasted the tea she’d drunk, with its bite of lemon and a little bit of raw brown sugar, a taste he remembered from his childhood.

Rosie, lass,
a voice inside him whispered.
I’ve needed you all my life and never knew it.

Rose locked her fingers around the lapels of Steven’s coat. His heart beat faster as he felt her shaking, knowing she was holding herself back from delving into his clothes.

I’ll let you do whatever you wish, my Scottish Rose.

Steven peeled her fingers away and slid off the coat. He tossed it over the foot of the bed and didn’t stop moving until he’d relieved himself of collar and cravat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

Rose moved her focus to his throat, touching his bronzed skin as though fascinated by it. Steven smiled at her, his body warming, finding an answering spark in her green eyes.

He pulled off his shirt and rid himself of the short-sleeved undershirt beneath it. Cold air touched his skin, this room again warmed only by the chimney that rose through it.

Rose’s lashes swept down as she looked him over, taking in his tanned chest and its brush of golden hair, his flat nipples that were also sun-bronzed. She’d seen him bare when he’d lain in this bed that first morning, but she’d blushed and pretended to look elsewhere.

Not so now. Rose gave him the compliment of a half-smile as she ran her gaze over him, as though pleased with what she saw.

The look made his blood burn. More so when she leaned forward and kissed his shoulder. The touch of tongue on his bare skin made him want to groan.

“You’re a wicked lass,” he said, closing his hands around her elbows. “Do you know what that does to me?”

“What?” Rose slanted him the same eager smile she’d worn when she’d agreed to his deception of their engagement. She’d proved that she loved games, like Steven did, but Rose would win every hand she played.

“It makes me want to be a very bad man,” Steven said. He ran his hand up the back of her neck, sinking into her curls. “I’m already a bad man, but I’m holding back for your sake.”

“Don’t,” Rose said, losing her smile. “Don’t hold back for me. I need . . .”

Steven read the rest in her eyes.
I need to be held, to be loved, to feel wanted.
Or perhaps those sentiments were Steven’s.

“I need it too,” he whispered. Maybe he said that—he wasn’t certain what was inside his head and what wasn’t right now.

He only knew he was stiff with need, and he had a beautiful woman caressing him with both hands.

Steven gathered her close, the press of her body against his hardness, even through his kilt, making him ache. He kissed her as she smoothed her hands over his bare back, and then the kiss turned fierce.

Rose wanted him. That little knowledge made Steven fling away caution and kick self-control out the window. Rose was a beautiful woman, one as lonely as he was. They were alone in this aerie, and she was hungry. If she wanted to feed on Steven, so be it. After all, they were betrothed.

Steven finished the kiss by biting down on her lower lip, which made her gasp, then he unbuttoned the front of her bodice and pushed it open.

Her corset cover had little bows on it, white satin ones that beckoned his fingers. Stephen undid one, and Rose laughed at him. Then he saw why—the bows were decorative and didn’t open anything.

The hooks in the back did. Steven unfastened them and slid bodice and corset cover off. He kissed Rose again as he unlaced her stays and pulled them away.

Beneath she wore combinations, the top part made of thin lawn and lined with an edge of lace at the neck. In Steven’s hurry, he tore buttons, but soon Rose was bare to him.

He stood back to admire her. Now free of the dark cloth that swathed her upper body, Rose was truly the angel he’d thought her the first night. Her skin was replete with color—a pink flush across her throat and chest, the red of her lips, the glorious gold of her hair, and the dark red-brown of her nipples.

Steven cupped her waist, moving his hands up under her breasts. The swell of them filled his palms, just as he’d known they would, and he held them while he brushed his thumbs over her areolas. Her nipples tightened still more as Steven caressed them.

“You are beautiful, Rosie,” he said, almost reverently. “Like your name.”

“My mother loved roses.” The words were so soft they faded against the thrum of rain on the roof.

“I love them too,” Steven said, drawing her close.

Her back was warm, smooth, her breasts fine against his bare chest. Rose lifted into the next kiss, her movements fluid. She was good at kissing—her lips fitted smoothly to his, their tongues meeting, no awkwardness.

As though realizing she was enjoying it too much, Rose pulled back. “Steven, what did you mean . . .”

“Shh.” Steven quieted her with another kiss. He didn’t know what she was asking and he didn’t care. Some things could be destroyed with too any words.

He loosened her skirt and the petticoat beneath it, stripping off her mourning. Steven liked to think he was peeling back a cocoon, setting Rose free from the confinement of her grief.

Rose’s black skirts dropped away, and Steven unhooked her bustle. Rose said nothing about him knowing how the fastenings worked, but she’d understood him from the beginning. She’d had no illusions about Steven.

With her confining clothes joining his on the bed, Rose was beautiful in nothing but the lower part of her combinations and her stockings. Stimulating as well. Steven’s body urged him to take her now, or he’d make a fool of himself.

She looked best against the whitewashed wall. There, all her color came to life, the bloom in her cheeks, the gold of her falling hair. Steven unbuttoned and pushed down her combinations, helping her from them. Setting her free.

Rose naked was a glorious sight, and Steven was on fire. Her soft hands went to his shoulders, she having no doubt about what they were going to do. She wasn’t a trembling virgin—she was a woman who knew she liked the touch of a man, and wanted it now.

Steven undid his kilt’s clasp and pin and unwound the plaid from his waist. The kilt landed on top of their clothes on the bed, as did the rest of his underwear.

Rose’s gaze went to his cock, hard and tight for her, and her flush deepened. But she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid of this part of a man.

Steven couldn’t stay from her long. He pushed her to the wall near the window, close enough to the chimney for its warmth. Warmer here than on the bed, well he knew.

His body told him to hurry, but Steven wanted to savor her. He might never have another chance.

Rose drew a sharp breath as Steven leaned and licked between her breasts. Her hands went to his hair, caressing, drawing warmth. He kissed her skin once more then took one of her full breasts in his mouth, curling his tongue around her nipple.

Another quick breath from Rose, this one lifting her further into his mouth. Steven suckled and nibbled her, memorizing her dusky taste, one he’d recall in lonely evenings to come.

There was more of her body to enjoy. Steven licked between her breasts again, then kissed his way down to her abdomen. He sank to his knees as he went, touching a kiss to her firm belly. The tight lines of it told him Rose had never borne a child, which accounted for some of the sadness in her eyes. Her marriage should have given her that gift.

Steven teased her navel with his tongue, and Rose laughed. She didn’t ask what he was doing, didn’t try to push him away. She only ran a hand over his head and took another breath as he kissed the swirl of hair between her thighs.

Golden and beautiful. Rose made a faint noise in her throat as Steven leaned forward, nudged her thighs apart a little, and closed his mouth over her opening.

With my body, I thee worship.
Steven had always liked the titillating words of the marriage ceremony.
I worship you, Rose. I treasure you.

He slid his tongue into her, tasting her delights, wondering that he’d waited so long. He’d wanted to fall upon her the very night he’d . . . well, fallen upon her. Or that morning, when he’d lain in this very room, unclothed, and she’d leaned over him to gather up his breakfast tray . . .

As Steven rested his fingertips on her thighs and drank her in, he let himself imagine how that would have gone. The tray on the floor, the dishes smashing. Rose on his bed, clothes coming away. The covers pushed aside, she straddling him. Her head back, her breasts moving softly in the rhythm of what they did.

Steven closed hands on her, his tongue doing what he’d wanted to that first morning. Rose made sounds of feminine pleasure, her fingers gripping his hair, but he didn’t mind the pain. Steven flicked his tongue over the tight part of her, smiling as she started, her body meeting the wall with a quiet slap.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Steven gave her one final lick, then he rose up the length of her, in contact with her all the way, his skin already slick with sweat in spite of the cold.

Rose started to laugh as Steven lifted her, giving him a look of surprise from her languid eyes that he wasn’t carrying her to the bed. But Steven was in too much of a hurry for something so tame.

Her laughter changed to a gasp when Steven parted her legs and slid straight up into her.

***

Rose clutched at Steven as he pressed her open, filling her, finding spaces inside her she didn’t know existed. He was hard and hot, and she was wet from what he’d done with his mouth and hands. No man had ever touched her as Steven had today—she hadn’t even realized men and women did such things.

But his mouth on her had wiped away all rational thought, erasing propriety and the need for self-control. Rose had fallen against the wall, her legs parting for him, the fires he’d started when he’d drunk her incinerating her from the inside out.

Just when she thought she’d roll away on a wave of incoherence, Steven had risen, the look in his gray eyes intense, and had lifted her into his strong arms.

Her body welcomed him.

“Rosie,” he said, a smile spreading over his face. “Ye feel as beautiful as you are.”

His accent had deepened, anything civilized stripped away from him. This was raw and basic, nothing to do with civilization.

The world thought Rose a scandalous woman, and now here she was in the heart of scandal.
And what a wonderful place it is, to be sure
.

Rose laid her head back against the wall, amazed that she had this man around her,
in
her.

She’d never made love like this before. She’d thought they’d be on the bed, Steven on her, his weight warming her. Not this primal coupling, with him holding her, thrusting up into her. He was high inside her, making her ache and feel wonderful at the same time.

All Rose could say was his name. It came out of her mouth again and again, as the rain beat on the window and rushed across the sill. If someone could look in from the outside, Rose imagined they’d see a blur of bodies against the white of the wall and the red brick of the chimney. The rain would run the colors like together like a beautiful painting that had been tipped while still wet.

The plaster was hard and cool at her back, the warmth from the chimney touching her side. Steven’s body in contrast was hot, living flesh, but every bit as hard as the wall behind her. She could see his that his tan ended out where his waistband would be, then started up again on his lower legs. That meant he ran about in his kilt and nothing else, or only the lower portion of his military uniform, perhaps with legs rolled up.

The thought of Steven wandering about in the sunshine, half-dressed, his golden hair burnished, flooded her with pure desire. Rose felt herself opening even more, embracing him, her body knowing what to do.

Steven responded. His eyes were heavy, a gleam of gray from between his lids. A beautiful man, his face softened, the lines of care smoothed from it. His shoulders worked as he loved her, sweat gleaming on his skin.

Rose touched his face, and Steven kissed her. The kiss was hot, opening her without the sweet touches of lips leading up to it. The flirtation was finished, and this was real.

Steven abruptly pulled away from her mouth. “No,” he groaned, his brows drawing down.

His thrusts increased. Steven’s fingers bit into her flesh, and at the same time, the wave that had dissipated slightly when he’d ceased drinking her, crashed over Rose again.

She heard her voice ringing, crying his name, and his answering words, low and fierce. “Rosie, you’re beautiful, lass. Och,
damn it
.”

He held her firmly against the wall, thrusting hard, his face set, while Rose moved with him, body rocking with her pleasure. Sweat beaded on Steven’s skin, and trickled from hers, the cold in the room no longer having meaning.

Steven continued to thrust, but gentler now, slowing, his face easing from frustration to warm relaxation.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” he said breathlessly. “Didn’t stand a chance against the completeness of you.”

Rose didn’t have the speech to ask what he meant. She understood somehow.

Steven kissed her, his mouth warm with what they’d done. He turned around with her as he did so, and lowered her onto the bed, sliding out of her.

Rose lay alone, suddenly cold without him. Instead of joining her at once, Steven paused a moment and gazed down at her. He took her in with a slow glance, the brush of it tingling, as though he touched her.

Steven then trailed his fingers down her body, tracing her nipples, sliding his touch over her soft belly to the join of her legs.

Rose jerked when he touched her there, too sensitive. Steven smiled as though she’d done something pleasing, and slid himself onto the bed next to her. He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, and moved his hand again to the join of her thighs.