The Spurned Viscountess (19 page)

Lucien trailed his hand across her shoulder. “I would like to see your skin, your breasts. I want to touch you and feel your skin.” His hand moved a little lower, the lazy sweep of his fingers grazing one breast.

Rosalind took a deep breath. “I’ll take my chemise off if you remove your breeches.”

His grin was wide and instant. He levered away from her, his hands moving to unfasten his breeches. His eyes held a silent dare, along with heat and a strange yearning that made Rosalind desperate to please him. Her hand hovering at the hem of her chemise, she steeled herself and whipped the white cotton garment over her head. Clothing rustled and, when she risked a look, she discovered none of her naughty visions had prepared her. Her aunt and Mary had lied.
It
was much bigger than the appendage Mary had described. Not exactly ugly or scary. No…more interesting. Different. She lifted her gaze to meet his quizzical smile. They stared at each other for long seconds before Rosalind reached a trembling hand out to touch a pectoral muscle. “You’re brown all over.”

“I go swimming in the sea.”

Rosalind’s gaze flew to his. “With no clothes?”

“The water feels like silk against your skin.”

“I’d like to do that.” Her tone held wistfulness. “Can I go with you next time?”

“I’d enjoy that,” Lucien murmured, an undercurrent of laughter shading his voice. “Come here.” He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her shoulder. A shudder sped down her body. Then he kissed her. His tongue swirled across her lips and this time she knew to open her mouth a little. The kisses were sweet and addictive, rich and heady, tasting of port and summer sunshine.

While he kissed her, his hands were at her shoulders, but then they moved. She gasped in a breath, her heart thumping like the waves pounding at the base of the cliff below the castle. “What are you doing?” Her aunt had told her marriage bed activities were quick, and her husband would leave her bed after ten minutes at the most. Her brow crinkled. They’d been here for some time and all Hastings had done was kiss her.

“I want to learn your body, so I know it as well as my own.” His fingers skimmed down her arm.

“Oh.”

“Is that all right?”

Rosalind considered his words. The touching and kissing wasn’t so bad. “I think so.”

“I’m glad you approve.” He paused to flash white teeth at her in a wide grin. “You don’t have to lie so quiet and still. You’re allowed to touch me too.”

The idea appealed a lot. She set out to quench her curiosity, to search for the similarities and the differences between them.

Lucien couldn’t help his amusement. It was the way Rosalind threw herself into every situation—with a little trepidation but lots of heart and determination. His mouth quivered.
Let’s see how she handles this.

He rolled, tugging Rosalind on top of him. She squeaked, her mouth rounding, her brows shooting upward. “So you can explore easier,” he said.

Her hands clutched his upper arms, nails biting into his skin. Instead of pain, arrows of sheer need collected at his groin. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Slow. He needed to give Rosalind time, but the urge to roll her over and thrust his cock into her tight warmth was almost overwhelming.

Shy, hesitant hands crept across his chest. He could hear her breathing, the tick of a clock, the occasional splatter of wax from a candle.

He opened his eyes and the concentration on her pale face made his heart race even faster. “Kiss me.”

Slowly she leaned toward him but instead of kissing him on the lips, she kissed his chest, his neck. Shy and hesitant at first, then with more assurance when she realized he wouldn’t protest. Her mouth grazed a flat nipple and his breath escaped with a hiss. She froze.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“You liked it?”

“I did. I do, but I’m not sure how much exploration I can take.”

Her bottom lip stuck out in a cute pout, and he had the sudden urge to sink his teeth into that lip then soothe it with kisses. Hell, he needed to speed up this process before he went mad. He snaked a hand behind her head, tugging her flush with his aroused body from shoulder to groin.

“Oh,” Rosalind said, moving aside and peering at his groin. “Does that hurt?” One small hand crept downward. She wrapped her hand around his rod, the heat in her touch making him want to groan out loud. God, her touch felt good. As if she could read his mind, she slid her hand up and down, exploring him, until he thought he might go cross-eyed attempting to restrain himself.

Lucien tightened his arms around her. “Sweetheart, no it doesn’t hurt. Please.” Needing to distract her, he cupped one breast and explored her luscious curves. The scent of flowers teased at his nostrils. What would she taste like? He held her away from him, replacing his hand with his mouth. Hell, she tasted sweet. He should have known. She moaned softly. His hands tightened at her sensual reaction while his mouth laved her pouting nipple. His plain English mouse had many hidden qualities, which only now he was coming to appreciate.

The pressure in his groin urged him to make haste, to dispense with patience, and for once Lucien was in full agreement. He kissed her, ravishing her lips, tasting, nipping. Hands explored, shaping her breasts and moving lower. His hand skimmed the hot, sweet place at the juncture of her thighs. She stiffened.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You can tell me to stop at any time and I will.” If he could. He wasn’t so sure of his ability to halt should she ask.

Lucien stroked her thighs. So soft and pale. And bruised, he noted with a frown. One knee bore a graze while numerous scratches marked the pale perfection of her thighs. He slid down and touched his lips to an angry mottled yellow bruise. He trailed his fingers upward. Warm feminine flesh greeted his touch. His fingers moved, circled slowly until the tenseness left her body and her thighs fell apart. The scent of her, sweet-smelling and delicious, made him tremble. He pressed a kiss to her abdomen and slid up to kiss her breasts again. When her hands cradled his head, holding him to her, a surge of pure lust spread through his veins.

“You know it will hurt,” he said, looking down at her slightly flushed face. Her blue eyes darkened, her bottom lip caught between white teeth.

“I don’t mind.”

She sounded sure this was what she wanted. But she was apprehensive. Lucien covered her lips with his even as he parted her legs.
Take it slow and easy. Slow and easy.
He pushed into her, the sensation almost more than he could bear after months of celibacy. Her warm, feminine flesh massaged his cock. He sucked in a deep breath, reinforcing his need to take his time.

“That doesn’t hurt.” Rosalind sounded surprised.

A smothered chuckle escaped Lucien as he reached her maidenhead. “Not finished yet.”

He battled the need to thrust hard. A deep breath and gritting of teeth didn’t help the urgent desire thrumming through his veins. He kissed her and surged inside her until he buried his cock deep. She flinched. Hell. He pulled away enough to see her face even as he cursed his lack of willpower. He kissed her hard, moving in soft, measured strokes.

Gradually she relaxed, and Lucien knew everything would be all right when her small hands stroked his back and flanks, urging him on. Her breathing quickened. He stroked a little faster. Harder.

Just when he thought he could hold on for no longer, Rosalind gasped and tensed. Tiny ripples massaged his shaft. He thrust once. Twice. He groaned, his heart thumping. Another thrust and pleasure flooded his body.

“Rosalind.” He held her tight until his heartbeat finally slowed to normal. Then he looked down and smiled because her small face looked radiant.

“Is it always like this? Making babies?”

Lucien tensed, the smile losing some of its crispness. God, what if they had made a child?

“Lucien?”

His breath eased back out. “No, it’s not always like this.”

“Can we do it again?”

A baby.

Hell. What if something happened to Rosalind?

“Don’t leave the castle without me. I mean it. If I’m not available to escort you, stay at the castle. Inside the castle, and not outside wandering about the gardens.”

Rosalind stared at him. She snapped her teeth together. “What have you done with my husband?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Minutes ago we were making love and now you’re issuing orders, treating me like a servant.”

“This is no joke. I mean it. Don’t leave the castle without me.”

“I promise to take a footman with me.”

“Not good enough.” Lucien yanked her to him, jerking a surprised yelp from her. “Not a footman, Rosalind. A footman is no protection. Me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she wrenched from his touch. “That sounds like an order.”

“It is.”

“But why? Nothing has happened to…” She trailed off as she registered his glare.

“Nothing? You were shot at, pushed over a cliff, then fell down the stairs, and someone watches you whenever you’re in your chamber.”

“You forgot being pushed out of bed.”

“Damn it, don’t be flippant. You could have died.”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

Lucien sat up in the bed and glared at his troublesome English mouse. Didn’t care? “You’re my wife,” he snapped.

“Not a servant,” she countered sweetly.

Lucien didn’t wish to discuss the matter. He didn’t want to explain. Instead he did the only thing he knew would distract his wife. He grabbed her and tucked her against his naked body. His mouth slammed down on hers, gentling when she responded.

Perhaps they would make a baby after all—if that was the only way to keep her safe.

Rosalind limped into the breakfast room eager to see Lucien. Her face fell when she found the room empty save a maid. She’d thought Lucien would remain by her side, but instead he’d left like a thief in the night. Disappointment stabbed her, spreading niggling doubt. What if Lucien regretted last night?

The maid bobbed a quick curtsey. “Would you like a pot of chocolate, Lady Hastings?”

“Thank you, Janet.”

The maid bustled from the room, and Rosalind helped herself to eggs before taking a seat at the table. Footsteps in the corridor made her head jerk up, but the new arrival was Charles. Mansfield arrived shortly afterward.

Rosalind grinned at the two bleary-eyed men. “Just returning or leaving?”

“A night out,” Charles mumbled, holding his head.

Mansfield grunted.

Rosalind arched a brow, her nose wrinkling at the scent of cheap perfume and stale tobacco originating from their clothes. “Coffee?”

“Thank you. You’re looking very fetching today,” Charles said. “How are you getting on with Hastings?”

Heat converged in her cheeks. Rosalind concentrated on pouring coffee without spilling it. Janet returned with a pot of chocolate. Rosalind poured a cup for herself. She blew on the hot liquid before taking a cautious sip.

“Ah,” Charles said. “Will you be announcing the imminent arrival of an heir soon?”

Mansfield sipped his coffee, affecting a bored look. “I’m sure they’ll tell us when they’re ready. You don’t need to prod for information, Charles.”

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“Yes,” Rosalind said. On purpose, no doubt.

Mansfield yawned, holding up a languid hand to cover his gaping mouth. “A group of us are going on a pastoral outing today. Would you like to join us?”

Rosalind glanced out the window. A shaft of sunlight pierced the grimy glass, dust motes dancing about the floor. The lure of the warm sunshine and crisp air was like a siren song tempting her to play. She hesitated, thinking of Lucien’s request for her not to leave the castle without him.

“You don’t have to come,” Mansfield said, fighting another yawn.

“No, it’s not that. I’d love to go outdoors on such a beautiful day. When are we to leave?” Surely he couldn’t object to his friends escorting her on an excursion.

“In an hour. Can you be ready by then?” Charles asked.

“Yes.” She’d inform Lady Augusta of her destination, so Lucien wouldn’t worry. She’d be safe in a group, especially with both Mansfield and Charles present. “Yes, I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

***

An hour later the chaise clattered from the courtyard. Charles drove while Mansfield rode his bay alongside.

Charles cast her a quick smirk and snapped a whip to direct the pair to the dark avenue. “Hastings looks more relaxed these days. It’s good to see him smile again. How is his memory?”

“Is Hastings’s memory returning? That’s good news.” Mansfield clicked his tongue to urge on his horse.

His loss of memory haunted him. Rosalind had witnessed his troubled expression when he thought he was unwatched. “Just small flashes now and then. Nothing important. I think he finds the flashes more confusing than enlightening.”

Mansfield glanced at Rosalind. “He would tell you.”

She blushed at his meaning tone. Charles tapped the rumps of both horses with the whip to quicken the pace. A soft breeze tugged her hat as the chaise raced along the cliff-top road. The sea appeared calmer than normal, the roar of the waves more muted than usual. In the distance, a ship in full sail scampered toward the horizon.

Rosalind smiled at Charles. “I didn’t ask where everyone is meeting.”

“Lady Sophia and her mother, Lady Radford, are organizing the outing. It’s taking place at the edge of the beech forest on their land. You’ll enjoy the scenery. There’s a brook with good fishing.”

Fool
. In such a hurry to leave the castle, she’d neglected to ask the important where. Now she’d have to listen to Lady Sophia’s digs all afternoon along with her veiled innuendos about witchcraft.

A pity she couldn’t prove the other woman’s perfidy. She could, however, make life uncomfortable for Lady Sophia. “Lady Sophia thinks I’m a witch.”

Mansfield choked on a laugh. “We’d heard.”

Charles cocked his head, surveying her with clear interest. “Are you?”

“Of course not,” Rosalind scoffed.

“You have a cat.” Mansfield urged his horse onward to keep within conversation range. “A black cat.”

“The two of you are as bad as Lady Sophia,” Rosalind said. “The idea is nonsense. I don’t wish to discuss it further.”

Charles’s mouth quivered as he fiddled with the silver lace at his left cuff. “There’s a lot we’re not allowed to discuss with you.”

“We’ve arrived,” Rosalind announced.

“So we have.” Mansfield halted his horse and dismounted. After tethering his bay, he held his arm out to Rosalind and she placed her hand on it. The warmth from his skin seared her fingertips, usually a sure sign of a vision whether she wished it or not. She instinctively blocked, relieved when only a sense of urgency leaked through, along with one particularly lascivious memory of the previous evening. Hiding her blush by pretending to study the scenery, she made a mental note to ask Lucien if men and women really did that together. Perhaps they could try it soon.

“Is that Lady Sophia and Lady Radford arriving now?” she asked, wanting to direct the men’s attention elsewhere while she grappled with her embarrassment. If she wished to remain calm, she’d need to keep Mansfield at a distance, otherwise his bawdy thoughts would keep her in a state of turmoil.

“It is indeed.” Once he’d secured the horses, Charles took possession of her other arm. “Shall we?”

Rosalind smiled but her muscles tensed.
Concentrate.
Inside her mind, ivy started to grow on her brick wall, the wiry green strands creating a second shield to bolster her block. She did
not
need to learn the lewd memories of both men.

They strolled toward the advancing calash. Several other conveyances followed in a procession. Passengers and servants disgorged from the vehicles.

Lady Sophia approached with mincing steps, her nose wrinkled in a frown. “Lady Hastings, I didn’t realize you were attending our small social gathering.” Her smile was bright as it touched the two men but faded when landing on Rosalind. “It’s very selfish of you to monopolize the company of two eligible men.”

“Lady Sophia.” Rosalind inclined her head sharply before turning a beseeching look on Charles to divert the chit’s attention.
Scheming hussy.
When she could prove the charges, she’d call Lady Sophia on her treachery.

Charles closed one eye in a wink and offered his arm. “Lady Sophia, allow me to escort you.”

“Nicely done,” Mansfield said for her hearing only.

“Thank you.” Rosalind drew a quick breath and focused on blocking Mansfield. She couldn’t believe she’d left her gloves sitting on the dresser in her chamber. Mary wouldn’t have let her attend a social gathering without her gloves. The memory of Mary’s scolding succeeded in shoring up her mental wall even as tears misted her eyes. “How far do we need to walk?” she asked, conscious of the need to appear normal, especially with rumors of witchcraft flying around the village. The last thing she needed was more attention.

Mansfield stopped and turned to study her face. “You’re very pale. How is your ankle?” He frowned in concern. “Should I carry you? You look like my sister when—I say! You’re not increasing, are you?”

Indignation burst from her. “Neither you nor Charles have any right to ask such a personal thing. When Lucien and I have happy news to impart, we’ll be sure to tell you.”

His face froze momentarily before he smiled. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My only excuse is that Charles, Hastings, and I are more brothers than friends. Hastings is the first to wed, and it changes things between us.”

His thoughts jumped in agitation, and she caught a flash of jealousy before she calmed herself enough to block again.

“Do you think you’ll marry soon?” She hid her surge of amusement. They were still like young boys at heart. Charles had told her Lucien and Mansfield were very competitive. Obviously, Mansfield still bore the cutthroat streak and allowed envy to creep into his thoughts. A very human reaction, and one she’d experienced with her cousin.

His mouth twisted. “My mother wants me to wed.”

“But?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It usually is.” Rosalind smiled, totally in charity with his reply. When Miranda had refused to entertain marriage with Lucien, the obligation had fallen to her. Family politics were always complex and fraught with danger.

The path narrowed and Mansfield ushered Rosalind in front of him. The need to block dissolved when she released his arm. A relief. Blocking for long periods of time always caused her head to ache.

Up ahead, the path widened into a clearing. Surrounded by trees, the grassy area reminded Rosalind of an island in the middle of the sea.

“Lady Hastings,” Lady Radford called. “Would you help Sophia set out the tables and chairs while I direct the servants with the food? I want them to take particular care with the cherry tarts so they don’t spoil. Perhaps if you finish before me you can direct them to set out the meats and pies. Have them spread a cloth to cover the food until we’re ready to eat. Mansfield, there are more people to come. Perhaps you could wait and guide them to the clearing?”

Both Mansfield and Charles strode off with alacrity. Rosalind dithered, not wanting to go anywhere near Lady Sophia, not when her temper strained so close to the surface, but there would be no gainsaying Lady Radford. Steel cloaked the woman’s softly voiced words. When Lady Radford’s brows drew together, Rosalind nodded acquiescence and strolled over to Lady Sophia.

“I don’t need your help,” Lady Sophia whispered in a fierce tone when Rosalind joined her. She stuck her nose into the air and turned her back in a pointed snub. “Gerald, set the tables there and there. Place the chairs and blankets beneath the tree on the bank of the stream. Are you still here?” she demanded rudely.

Irritation flashed through Rosalind. She’d never done anything to incur Lady Sophia’s wrath. Nothing. Yet, the woman had treated her like an imposter from the moment of their first meeting.

“Well?” Lady Sophia snapped.

Rosalind wasn’t sure if she intended the remark for her or the servants. The servants weren’t sure either and cast uneasy glances at Lady Sophia before her glare had them rushing to carry out her instructions.

Rosalind took the opportunity to step closer. She grabbed Lady Sophia’s forearm and grasped it tightly. Lady Sophia’s thoughts came through loud and clear, bombarding her with their viciousness. The woman wanted Lucien and she intended to get him, by fair means or foul, even if his scarred face disgusted her.

Colorless sparrow
.
She is nothing
.

Right! That was it. She didn’t need to listen to her insulting thoughts.

“Lucien is mine,” Rosalind said in a low undertone, letting go of Lady Sophia’s arm to break the connection. Anger throbbed between them. “Lucien is my husband and will remain mine no matter what accidents you arrange for me.”

“You’re a witch,” Lady Sophia said.

“I notice you’re not denying anything.” Rosalind scanned the clearing to see if any of the servants or newly arrived guests were watching them. To her relief, the servants were engaged in setting out the tables and food while most of the men studied the stream, searching for trout. The women clustered around Lady Radford, their chatter and laughter ringing through the clearing. She turned her attention back to Lady Sophia. “I know you paid a maid to frighten me away.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The surge of color to Sophia’s cheeks told her the truth. “She’s admitted ruining my clothes and causing me to fall down the stairs.”

Lady Sophia narrowed her eyes, a smile of triumph curving her lips. “You can’t prove it.”

“Ah, but I can. Beth has confessed. She said you paid her to frighten me. She’s willing to swear to it. Did you tell her about the secret passage?” The maid hadn’t confessed, of course. Not yet, but that wouldn’t stop Rosalind from wringing the truth from Lady Sophia. “And I believe the men you paid to shoot at Mary and I while we were out walking will also confess. Did you pay a footman or a stable lad to shove me over the cliff, to place wasps under the pony’s harness? Admit it. I know you paid the maid. She told me.” Rosalind grabbed Lady Sophia’s hand, hoping to gain more information to prove her perfidy. Lady Sophia wrenched away before she could read a thing.

“What tunnels? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, Hastings won’t believe you. As soon as he’s free of your clutches, he’ll marry me.”

Yet Lady Sophia couldn’t even look at Lucien’s face. This was all because she desired a title. “That’s not what he said last night in our chamber.” Rosalind couldn’t help the trace of smugness. She relived the sensual caress of his callused hand when he touched her bare shoulder, her breasts, and savored the truth. Lucien loved her—his wife. She knew it even if he wasn’t aware of the fact.

“He won’t have anything to do with you when he learns you’re a witch.”

Rosalind snorted. “If I was a witch, I’d make a wart grow on the tip of your nose. He’s heard the rumors and thinks they’re nonsense.”

“But everyone says you’re a witch.” Lady Sophia sounded bewildered and unsure.

“Because that’s what you’ve told them. You’re jealous. You see yourself as the lady of St. Clare.” The sour expression on Lady Sophia’s face told her she was right, and she pushed her advantage. “You will never, ever be in that position.”

“You don’t even share a bed with Hastings,” Lady Sophia said smugly.

“Are you sure about that?” Rosalind allowed a smirk of triumph to form on her lips.

Lady Sophia’s gaze snapped to Rosalind’s. Indecisiveness played across her features. “You’re lying.”

“Our private relationship is none of your business. But I’ll tell you this. Lucien and I are husband and wife—in
every
way.”