The Dark One (22 page)

“Shall I go to the tea tomorrow?” she tried to change the subject.

He stuck his tongue in her ear. “Yes. You'll be safe there.”

Rosalind nearly jumped from her skin. When he nibbled on her earlobe, she asked, “Did I tell you that Amelia is quite taken with Gabriel? She said she saw him on the street, riding with you.”

His tongue traced a hot path down the side of her neck. “She is wasting her time,” he commented. “Gabriel's only
interested in the running of our estate. I've sent him back there, and hope when he arrives he'll find my younger brother Jackson also in residence.”

Trying not to shiver with delight, she said, “I suppose it's just as well that Gabriel is gone. Amelia's going to marry a young man named Lord Collingsworth anyway.”

Armond's hand slid up her side, coming to rest just below her breast. “I know him. In fact, Collingsworth Manor borders Wulfglen. We played together as boys, although I don't remember him keeping up with us well. He was always rather sickly.”

Trying to control her breathing, Rosalind asked, “You are friends?”

“Were.” His hand slid up and cupped her breast. “Not anymore.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Why not anymore?”

His thumb brushed across her nipple, making her gasp softly. “Because of what happened with my parents. Those who once fully embraced us among society soon turned their backs on us. Society doesn't like scandal, you know.”

Her nipple hardened and she had trouble ignoring the steady brush of his thumb across it through her gown. “Then you have no friends?”

His hand moved up and around to the buttons at the back of her neck. “No.”

Her heart ached for him, and lower, she ached somewhere else for him. “Well, I haven't had many, either,” she admitted. “But now I have Amelia and the dowager if she'll allow me to be her friend. I could be your friend.”

While he unbuttoned the row of buttons at her back, and with only one hand, no less, he stared into her eyes. She thought they softened for a moment. He leaned toward her. “Do friends do this?”

He kissed her. The warm taste of brandy on his lips added to the burn in her belly. The kiss was pleasurable, as cozy as the fire and the homey setting. He slanted his mouth against hers to afford him deeper access, and everything changed. The cozy fire might as well have suddenly erupted into a burning inferno.

He was a master at it: kissing. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and then sucked it into his mouth. He released her lip, teased her with his tongue, and, when she met his challenge, sucked her tongue into his mouth, too. Deep into his mouth. She liked it, and so when he finally released her and his tongue stole into her mouth again, she did the same to him. He made a low sound in his throat.

He'd distracted her so much with the kissing, she hadn't realized he'd managed to get the fastenings down her back open. Not until he pulled the material away from her skin and her sleeves fell off her shoulders. He planted a warm kiss against her shoulder.

“Armond,” she whispered. “The door is open. Hawkins—”

“Hawkins!” Armond suddenly yelled. “The lady and I are not to be disturbed!”

From somewhere in the house she heard Hawkins shout back, “Very well, my lord!”

Armond went back to kissing her shoulder. Suddenly he paused again. “Hawkins, be sure you keep your ears to the doors!”

“Very well, my lord!”

“All the doors but this one!” he added.

“Very well, my lord!”

Rosalind giggled. Armond rose and pulled the parlor doors closed. He smiled at her as he sauntered back toward her like a lazy cat, but then his eyes took on their strange glow when he settled back beside her.

“Where were we?” he asked. “Oh yes, I remember. We were here.”

He leaned over and kissed her exposed shoulder again. The feel of his mouth against her skin made her shiver. The few sips of brandy she'd taken helped to relax her, but the liquor had not gone to her head. Armond went to her head. His intoxicating scent, the warmth that radiated from him, even the soft glow in his eyes.

“You taste good,” he said. “I'd like to taste all of you.”

Armond pulled her gown down farther and kissed a path to her breasts. He suckled her through the fabric of her chemise, the sensation almost more erotic than had he pushed the undergarment down around her waist along with her gown. The wet circles against her chemise left by his mouth made her nipples all the harder.

“I want to see you naked.”

His comment reminded her that she'd seen him naked. And she very much recalled that he was glorious. Would her body please him the way that his had pleased her? As if he knew she was thinking too much, he kissed her again. She had trouble thinking when he kissed her, but she had no trouble feeling.

While his mouth stole her ability to reason, he pulled her chemise down and his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs working torturous magic against her now exposed nipples. She moaned softly and pressed against him. He lifted her, bringing her down on his lap facing him. The position forced her knees on either side of his muscular thighs, which was highly indecent.

She started to tell him so, but he lifted her again, his mouth even with her breasts. He feasted there, ending her protest with the first hard pull of his mouth against her nipple. Her hands twisted in his thick hair and she held him to her. He nipped, teased, and sucked her nipples
until she couldn't catch a normal breath, could only twist her fingers deeper into his hair and hold on.

He sat her down on top of him, now tasting and teasing her lips. She realized he'd gathered her gown in a way that left little between them below the waist. Drawers to trousers, and his trousers were sporting definite proof that he was aroused. Very aroused. He pressed against her, and she was surprised by an immediate response between her legs. A tingling that wasn't unpleasant but only a little frustrating. Like an itch that needed scratching.

When he pressed against her again, she pressed back. His breath hitched and he put a hand on either side of her face, holding her while he kissed her. She couldn't control her lower half, it seemed. The harder she pressed against him, the more friction she felt—a friction that could easily drive her insane.

“What is it that I want?” she whispered breathlessly against his mouth.

“This,” he said, and he released his grip on her face, one hand moving down between them, sliding into the top of her drawers and to the very source of her frustration. The stroke of his fingers in a place where no man had dared travel before jolted her for a moment. She might have protested, certainly tried to twist away, but his fingers were magic.

He touched her in a place where all her sensation seemed centered, and that, combined with the flow and ebb of him pressing his hardened member against her soft woman's place, was heaven and hell combined. She rode his hand, rode his lap, and the pressure inside of her built and built. He continued to kiss her, although it was no easy task to keep their lips joined when neither of them could catch a normal breath.

“Let go, Rosalind,” he whispered, his voice so low and velvet-soft that it sent her over the edge into madness.

The pressure that had been building broke free. A feeling like she had never experienced washed over her, and still below, she bucked and convulsed against him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her teeth into his neck, and the bottom dropped out of life as she had known it. She couldn't stop the soft moans and unintelligible words that tumbled from her lips. She couldn't stop shaking.

She clung to him as if he were the only solid thing holding her sanity intact. He smoothed her hair and his hand slid out of her drawers, up her stomach, and caressed her breast.

“What just happened?” she managed to whisper.

“You shattered,” he answered. “Came damn close to making me do the same thing, which would have been embarrassing, considering I haven't gone off without being inside a woman since I was still in short pants.”

How had they gone from talking and sipping brandy to her sprawled on his lap, bare to the waist and still convulsing between her legs? And what would happen now, since he was still hard and throbbing beneath her? Would he consummate their marriage with or without her permission? Part of her felt as if, no matter how wonderful what had just happened to her was, something was missing.

Love, she tried to tell herself. That was what was missing.

He pulled her gown and chemise back into place, lifted her, and managed to rise with her in his arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked warily.

“I'm taking you to bed,” he answered.

Her heart thudded inside of her chest as Armond carried her up the stairs. He would surely take her now, whether she wanted to fully consummate their marriage or not. She had pushed him too far, allowed him too many liberties, to cry foul, even if she did in fact feel like crying. Armond had already made her realize that the taking and giving between a man and a woman could be a wondrous thing. But how much more wonderful could it be when the man and woman loved each other? She might never know.

Both of their doors were open. Hawkins had obviously been in to light night fires and turn down beds. Armond carried her to her own bed, rather than his. He laid her gently down, then bent to kiss her. She only half-responded to him, wondering when he would strip off his clothes and pounce upon her.

“Good night, Wife,” he said, moving toward his room.

Rosalind balanced herself on her elbows. “Good night? You're leaving me?”

He turned, lifting a brow. “You want me to stay?”

“Well, no,” she stuttered. “I mean, yes, well, I don't know.”

His mouth curved into a sensuous smile. “When you do know, I'll be in the next room.”

He closed the door behind him. She stared at it for a good long while. Then she began to seethe inside. She was half-tempted to storm into his room and demand he make love to her—consummate their marriage—never mind that she wasn't mentally ready to take that step with him. She was almost out of bed before she realized he'd gotten to her. He'd said he wouldn't play fairly, and he hadn't. Rather than become the aggressor with her, he'd backed off, probably suspecting she'd have this very reaction to a rejection by him.

“Smart,” she said to the closed door. “But not smart enough.”

Rosalind climbed back into bed, feeling rather smug that she hadn't fallen for his trick. She lay there for a moment before she realized she was dressed and would have to get up and change into her nightclothes. She could do that, she mentally encouraged herself. She could do that and not even be tempted to open the door separating their rooms. After a few more moments of assuring herself, she climbed from the bed. She marched straight to his door and opened it.

Armond turned from his washbasin. He'd removed his shirt, and droplets of water ran down his chest. He took a short towel from around his neck and wiped his face.

“Did you want something?”

Her eyes traveled over his tawny-colored skin. She swallowed loudly. “I forgot to tell you good night. Good night . . . Husband.”

She shut the door, then leaned against it, calling herself five kinds of a fool. He hadn't looked as if he might be lying in wait for her. As if he'd anticipated her visit upon the heels of rejecting her. Maybe he really did possess the control he claimed. As she stood there, she felt the knob of the door that pressed into her back turn
slowly. She held her breath. Then it stopped. She thought she heard him swear softly on the other side.

Armond was not in a good mood. He'd slept very little last night, and the pounding in his head today only aggravated his foul mood. Rosalind was driving him insane. He wanted her as he'd never wanted anyone or anything before. Her soft moans of pleasure when he'd given her release battered his control and made him wonder what had ever possessed him to give her a choice regarding their sleeping arrangements.

He'd been so desperate to have her last night, he'd almost shattered the small trust she had in him. Temptation had almost gotten the better of him, his promise to her be damned. If he couldn't open his feelings to her, couldn't love her as she deserved to be loved, he had decided a physical relationship between them would be enough. But even that was denied him. Denied him by his own cursed words to her.

Armond entered the office of a property broker. It was the fifth such establishment he'd visited today. He'd earlier come from his lawyer and made arrangements for Rosalind to be taken care of financially should anything happen to him. A thin man with spectacles perched on the end of his nose and a rather large ring of keys dangling from his belt greeted him.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”

He recognized the man's voice. He was the same man who had been showing the young couple the house Armond had been trapped in yesterday.

“I'm interested in purchasing several properties,” Armond said. “What do you have available?”

Behind his spectacles, the man's eyes suddenly shone with greed. “Do sit down, sir.” He indicated a chair across from a scratched desk that should have been used
for firewood long ago. Armond took a seat. The man hurried behind the desk, pulled open a drawer, and removed a large ledger.

“I have several properties for sale, as you can see.” He indicated the list. “We simply have to narrow down what you're interested in. Neighborhood, cost of the property, that sort of thing.”

Armond had a good idea where he'd been last night. His escape from the house hadn't left him time to be exact, but he'd been forced to walk the neighborhood until he'd come to a section of the city where he could hire a hack to take him home. He had no idea what had happened to his horse but assumed he was now a possession of the hired men who'd attacked Armond.