A Marriage-Minded Man

 

Ethan swirled his brandy in its glass and watched the firelight flicker through the amber liquid. Again, Rosalyn spent the day avoiding him. Why? She’d been more than willing to ride his shaft in the larder. He’d come so close to taking her there against the wall. He’d only stopped out of respect for Lord Stafford. He’d marry the lass first. Still, she puzzled him. He’d think it some misplaced shame over her past, but he’d assured her he didn’t care. So, why was she hell-bent on denying herself—and him?

There were ways to find the truth. He grinned. Aye, he knew many ways—delightful ones—to make a woman talk. Perhaps he’d slip into her bed once darkness fell and show her a few… His cock lifted at once. He shifted and set his brandy down. He knew better than to imagine such things. His honor compelled him to wait until they were wed, but for that to occur, he needed first to solve whatever bothered the lass.

Obviously, it was time for another swim.

The cold water succeeded in caging his passion, and an hour later, he strode up the path, the warm summer wind against his back. It was late. He’d wondered if Rosalyn had yet gone to bed. He stepped through the hedge and glanced up to her balcony. Her room stood dark. He weighed the decision to climb up and speak with the lass, when a flicker of light in the library window off to the side caught his attention. Curious, he crept up to the window and peered inside.

Rosalyn sat at the polished oak table, the line of her sensuous neck illuminated by the warm glow of the oil lamp. The cut of her dress’ neckline drew his attention to her flawless skin, and the ribbon of her empire-waist gown only made him want to unwrap her like a present. A dark strand of her hair fell across her cheek and she lifted an absentminded hand to brush it away, unaware she’d left behind a smudge of ink.

A soft smile stole over his lips.

Aye, he’d find out what bothered her. Straightway.

“Are you writing your own Sense and Sensibility?” he teased lightly as he stepped through the library door.

Rosalyn gasped and slammed her hands over the pages of her journal with such force, the bottle of ink nearly tipped. “What are you doing here?”

Again, such a strange reaction to the journal. Perhaps he should take a peek.

“What secrets are recounted there, I wonder?” He lifted a brow.

“It’s nothing,” Rosalyn flipped the journal closed. “Merely private thoughts.”

Her curves beckoned. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t read her mood. “Private thoughts? I quite like the sound of that,” he dropped his voice in a suggestive tone.

She didn’t step back as he approached. Her breasts heaved. She looked so adorably sensual with her hair falling about her face and the ink smudge on her cheek. Slowly, he reached out and dusted her jawline with the back of his hand.

She took him by surprise. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she yanked him forward as she lifted on tiptoe and crushed her lips against his.

He grasped her shoulders, and kissed her at once, plunging his tongue into her hot, sweet mouth without mercy. A low growl escaped his throat as his erection flared to life. The sound along with his swelling shaft fired her passion even more. She thrust her breasts into him and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. Nails digging into his arms, she pressed her sex against his erection.

He wanted to tip her back onto the library table, push her dress up to her waist, and bury his cock to the hilt between her sweet, warm thighs. She’d be wet for him. She was clearly so ready. He slid his arm around her waist, then down over her buttocks as their tongues sparred. He pulled her, hard, into his throbbing arousal, and cursed the fabric between them. Soon. Soon his cock would feel her wet heat. He couldn’t wait to see her face as she came. The writhing minx in his arms would be so pleasingly wanton in her release.

Then she went rigid in his arms. “This is a mistake.”

“No,” he growled. “It’s not.”

She drew a shuddering breath. Were those tears in her eyes?

“I can’t do this,” she choked. “My uncle would be so ashamed of me.”

Startled by mention of Lord Stafford, he released her.

“I…I must go,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here.”

He meant to catch her hand, to get his answers once and for all, but as she slipped away, his gaze fell on the journal she’d left behind.

A name caught his eye. The last one he’d ever expected to see: Lady Elana.