Chapter Nine
It is appalling to realize how easily he can make me behave like a perfect wanton.
—Roslyn to Fanny
“Where have you been, Roslyn dear?” Winifred demanded over the din of the crowded ballroom. “I expected you an hour ago.”
“Some matters at home required my attention,” Roslyn replied, which was only partly true. She had arrived late to the Haviland ball chiefly to avoid one particular arousing nobleman. She hadn’t wanted to face Arden after their fervent embrace in the library last week.
In fact, she hadn’t seen him since, and would have eschewed tonight’s ball altogether except that she’d promised Lord Haviland she would attend.
“You missed the reception line,” Winifred’s raucous voice sounded over the musicians and the throng of guests. “But it is turning out to be a fine party.”
It was indeed a veritable crush—a sure sign of success. Roslyn was pleased for Lord Haviland, although she would have preferred less noise and heat. The blaze from myriad glittering chandeliers overhead, combined with the press of so many splendidly garbed bodies, made the ballroom almost oppressive.
Yet before Roslyn could reply, Winifred took her to task. “I am disappointed in you, my girl. First you arrive late, then you hide yourself on the sidelines. That is not what balls are for. You should be dancing.”
“It is too warm to dance,” Roslyn replied, fanning herself with the gilded fan she wore looped at her wrist.
“Pah,” her friend scoffed. “You can bear a little warmth for one evening. But you need a partner.” Winifred searched the crowd. “I wonder where Arden is. He was kind enough to escort me here, but then he disappeared into one of the card rooms shortly after we arrived.”
Roslyn bit back her exasperation at Winifred’s continued matchmaking efforts. “Thank you, Winifred, but I can manage my own affairs.”
“His friend, that handsome Marquess of Claybourne, is here also, although I haven’t seen him lately. It is too bad Lily couldn’t come tonight. ’Struth, I cannot believe she elected to go to Hampshire just now. The marquess is such an eligible parti.”
Roslyn hesitated to reply. Lily had set out for London last week to stay at Fanny’s boardinghouse, but she hadn’t wanted their meddlesome patron to know her whereabouts. Lily had no desire to be the victim of Winifred’s machinations or to be thrown at Lord Claybourne’s head again.
“You know Lily doesn’t care for balls, Winifred,” Roslyn said carefully. “She would much rather be visiting friends at our old home in Hampshire.”
Which was technically true, even if that was merely the fabrication Lily wanted to use to misdirect Winifred.
Roslyn almost wished she had accompanied her sister to London, for then she wouldn’t be bedeviled by a certain other handsome nobleman. As it was, the duke was befuddling her thoughts and playing total havoc with her peace of mind. She didn’t want to remember their last encounter, how Arden had kissed her and caressed her and led her into a whirlpool of sensation that left her dazed and aching.
She was rudely brought back to the present, however, when she realized Winifred was speaking again. “…you wait here, I will fetch the duke so he can partner you.”
Dismayed at the thought of having to dance with Arden, Roslyn shook her head. “Pray excuse me, Winifred, but I had best find Lord Haviland and make my apologies.”
Hurriedly she moved away, searching the crowd for the earl. She felt fortunate to spy him at one end of the ballroom, but then frowned to realize he was surrounded by a group of adoring young ladies—her competition, Roslyn surmised.
She had made little progress thus far in her campaign to win Haviland, for he’d spent much of his time in London this past week at his grandmother’s behest. In the interval, Roslyn had met twice more with his housekeeper and butler to plan the menus for the evening, but she’d had no opportunity for intimacy with the earl, except when he’d politely brushed a kiss to her fingers upon saying farewell at her second visit. And tonight he was occupied with playing host.
When she drew closer, however, she could see that not all the ladies in his party were young; one was positively ancient. She suspected that was Haviland’s elderly grandmother, for whom he claimed to bear a great fondness. When the venerable dame struck him on his arm with her fan, he threw back his dark head and laughed.
Not wishing to attempt a seduction in front of so many witnesses, Roslyn decided to wait to approach Haviland. When she detoured to the refreshment table to find a glass of punch, she passed by the open French doors and caught a waft of cool evening breeze. Wistfully Roslyn wondered how soon she could slip away from the ball. She had walked across the rear lawns of their adjoining estates rather than summon a carriage, not only to spare the servants the trouble, but so she could retreat easily if need be. She couldn’t politely take her leave for at least another hour, though.
At the moment, she couldn’t even have a comfortable coze with Tess Blanchard, since Tess was pleasantly occupied dancing. A fellow teacher at the academy, Tess had been one of the Loring sisters’ closest friends for the past four years, ever since they moved to the neighborhood to live with their step-uncle. And like the Loring sisters, Tess found herself hard-pressed to avoid Winifred’s meddlesome matchmaking.
A number of people nodded and spoke politely to Roslyn as she advanced through the crowd, and Roslyn responded with similar politeness. She didn’t dislike balls as Lily did—or deliberately flout conventions as Lily relished doing—but she cared little for the shallow trappings of the ton, and the rampant hypocrisy galled her. These very people had gleefully shunned the Loring girls until a few months ago, when their step-uncle died and Marcus had assumed their guardianship along with the title.
The scandals had hurt her sisters even more than herself, Roslyn reflected as she stood drinking punch on the sidelines. Arabella had suffered not only a broken betrothal but a broken heart. And Lily had encased her heart in a wall of ice, determined never to let anyone close enough to wound her. Lily’s reckless, devil-may-care manner, however, hid a sensitive, vulnerable nature, Roslyn knew. So if she could protect her younger sister from Winifred’s amorous schemes, she would do so. Just as she would protect herself from the Duke of Arden—
Speak of the devil.
Her heart fluttered alarmingly when she spied him across the ballroom. He cut a commanding figure, dressed in formal finery—black coat and gold brocade waistcoat, pristine white cravat and white satin breeches—that accentuated his fair good looks.
Determinedly Roslyn ignored the pleasure rising inside her at the mere sight of him. But when he locked gazes with her, capturing and holding her with no more than a look, she couldn’t help remembering the last time they were together. The feel of him lying hard and aroused beneath her. His warm lips that had plied hers to such devastating effect. His skillful hands that had played over her bare skin, searching out her feminine secrets.
A flush heated her cheeks as they stared at each other. He didn’t need to touch her now to make her spellbound, Roslyn thought with a sudden breathlessness. The flicker of awareness in his green eyes set her pulse racing deplorably.
It was with supreme effort that Roslyn tore her gaze away now. She felt a wave of gratitude when she saw Lord Haviland approaching her, and thus was unusually effusive when she apologized for her tardiness.
“Think nothing of it, Miss Loring,” the earl said with a smile. “But I was hoping you would come so I could thank you. Your advice regarding my ball was invaluable.”
“I was glad to help.”
“My grandmother claims to be impressed with my efforts, and she is remarkably difficult to please. I should like to introduce you to her, if you would allow me.”
Roslyn glanced back at the elderly lady. “I would enjoy meeting her,” she said, feeling a warm little glow at the honor.
When Lord Haviland asked her to dance the next set, she accepted readily and let him lead her onto the floor for a quadrille. She knew she should begin a flirtation with him, yet she was too aware that the duke was watching her on the sidelines. No doubt that was why being this near Haviland didn’t affect her pulse rate as she expected, and why she felt no lightning-spark of pleasure at touching him when their hands came together.
Fortunately, Haviland was less tongue-tied than she. When the movements of the dance allowed, he carried on a conversation.
“I must think of some suitable reward for your help, Miss Loring. Will you accompany me on a drive tomorrow morning?”
Roslyn was delighted by the invitation but knew of his plans for a weeklong houseparty. “Are you certain you wish to leave your houseguests? I thought your grandmother and other relatives were staying with you for the week.”
“They are, but I will be glad to escape them for a time. My grandmother is one of my few relations whose good opinion I care about, and she will likely remain abed until noon after the exertions of the evening. Her health is not what it was.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Roslyn replied politely.
Haviland’s mouth curved wryly. “She is not at death’s door yet, as she wants me to believe. I think she exaggerates the severity of her spells just so she can make me dance to her tune. She claims she is waiting for me to choose a bride and settle down before she goes to meet her Maker.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Did his telling her about his grandmother’s desires have any implication for her? “Oh? And do you mean to comply with her wishes?”
The smile he flashed her was very appealing. “It is an ongoing battle, but I expect she will win in the end.”
Lord Haviland spoke fondly about his grandmother then, and afterward, Roslyn found it far easier to enter into a lighthearted banter with him, just as she had practiced. And soon she discovered that Haviland was rather skilled at the art of flirtation himself.
When she asked teasingly if his grandmother must approve his choice of brides, he replied with an emphatic no. “Even though I would like to please her, that is one decision I intend to make for myself. But she will be impressed that I am dancing with the most beautiful lady in the room.”
Roslyn laughed up at him with pleasure—until she once again saw Arden watching her, his green eyes heavy-lidded and intent. He was leaning one shoulder against a column in a relaxed pose, yet she had the impression he wasn’t relaxed in the least. Instead, he looked almost…disapproving.
With a slight toss of her head, Roslyn ordered herself to stop dwelling on the vexing duke and returned to her flirtation with Lord Haviland.
His eyes narrowing, Drew watched as Roslyn gracefully moved through the steps of the dance. He felt a lurch in the vicinity of his chest when she laughed up at Haviland.
The two of them made a stunningly attractive couple—the earl’s rugged dark looks contrasting starkly with Roslyn’s elegant fairness.
She looked regal and enchanting tonight, her pale gold hair coiffed to allow curling tendrils to frame her face. The simple elegance of her gown added to her appeal also, the indigo blue lustring setting off her eyes to perfection and complementing her radiant, glowing skin.
That heated glow made Drew recall the last time he’d been with her…her face gently flushed, swollen lips slightly parted, blue eyes dazed as her supple figure sprawled over him. Her loins pressing against his swollen cock had made him ache with desire.
He was hot and hard now, just remembering.
He’d wanted to take her right there in the library. His forbearance had resulted in even greater sexual frustration this past interminable week.
Yet avoiding Roslyn hadn’t helped, for she’d begun to invade his dreams. Drew found himself weaving wild, erotic fantasies involving Roslyn wrapped around him in the heat of passion. He couldn’t shut them out, much to his annoyance.
He had just clamped his jaw tight when he heard a familiar voice over his left shoulder.
“So the lovely Miss Roslyn has attracted your interest after all,” Heath said, clearly amused.
Unable to deny the truth of that observation, Drew made no reply.
“I wondered,” Heath went on, “why you would trouble yourself to attend a dull country affair—and I didn’t think it was merely because you pledged to defend Lady Freemantle against lurking highwaymen.”
Hiding his displeasure, Drew replied blandly, “We both promised Marcus that we would keep an eye on his former wards.”
“Not this close an eye.”
He managed a nonchalant shrug. He hadn’t told his friend about his tutelage of Roslyn, and he wouldn’t do so now. “Haven’t you better things to do than irritate me?”
Heath held up his hands. “Don’t take my head off, old son. I just find it humorous to see the greatest cynic in England in an ill temper over a woman.”
Drew narrowed his gaze. “Why the devil did you come tonight if you find it so deadly flat? Don’t you know that Lady Freemantle is lying in wait to snare you in her web?”
The question didn’t appear to faze Heath. “I’m not overly alarmed, since the match her ladyship has chosen for me has fled the district.”
“The youngest Loring sister, Lilian?”
“Just so. Reportedly the fair Lily has gone to Hampshire.”
Drew roused himself from his own dark mood to gibe, “What, did you drive her away?”
Heath’s own smile was rueful. “There is that possibility. She is set on eluding me, in any event.”
“How astounding,” Drew said truthfully. Heath had always been the heartbreaker of the three of them. Adoring women flocked to Heath in droves, enticed by his natural charm. “I’ve never known a woman to run from you.”
Heath’s grin turned self-deprecating. “It is astounding, isn’t it?” He gave Drew a penetrating look. “Is the lovely Miss Roslyn running from you? Marcus suggested she might make you a good match, and you seem to be inching toward that opinion yourself.”
Drew’s scowl returned. His instinctive response was to accuse Heath of having maggots in his head, but he wasn’t so certain it would be true. “You can’t possibly think I have matrimony in mind.”
“Don’t you? Then why have you been watching Roslyn as if you want to carry her back to your lair?”
Had he been that obvious? Drew thought with chagrin.
“Have no fear,” Heath said as if reading his mind. “No one else would suspect. I just know you too well.”
“You are not helping my temper any,” Drew said through clenched teeth.
Heath laughed. “No doubt. But you’d best take care if you don’t want to find yourself hanging in the parson’s noose. You can’t do to her what you’re thinking without the benefit of marriage. Marcus would rip you apart, not to mention that your own honor wouldn’t allow it.”
When Drew all but growled, Heath gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I think I will take myself back to London before you call me out. There’s little amusement to be found here, anyway. In truth, I wouldn’t mind encountering your highwayman. At least it would liven up my life for a time.”
There was little amusement here for him, too, Drew thought as Heath walked away. Seeing Roslyn dance with Haviland was the primary cause, but his dissatisfaction went deeper than that.
The thought of her trying to seduce Haviland, of making love to him, filled Drew with an inexplicable anger. The bald truth was, he didn’t want her to become carnally intimate with any other man but him.
He wanted to be the one to introduce her to the secrets of sensuality, to awaken her to passion and pleasure and every other delight to be found between a man and woman.
Which confounded him to no end.
This was the first time in his life he had ever been envious of another man over the fair sex. He was frankly astounded to realize how possessive he felt toward Roslyn.
Worse, he saw no resolution to his cursed predicament. He damned well had no desire for marriage, yet he couldn’t deny the primitive, purely masculine urge to “carry Roslyn back to his lair,” as Heath had put it. Or at the very least, to hold her in his own arms again.
But then, Drew realized, firmly tamping down his lust, it was perfectly proper for a gentleman to hold a young lady at a ball if he danced with her.
Roslyn did not look happy to see him, Drew noted when he came up to her at the conclusion of the quadrille and interrupted her lively conversation with Haviland to claim her for the next set.
“You don’t mind if I steal her away for a dance, do you, my good man?” Drew asked, making the point moot by taking Roslyn’s elbow possessively.
The earl gave him a piercing look, but then bowed with good grace. “As you wish, Arden. I don’t want to monopolize Miss Loring’s time, despite the pleasure it gives me. And I have other guests I must see to.”
Drew knew Roslyn couldn’t very well argue with him, either, as he led her onto the floor for a waltz.
“What if I mind?” she said then, her tone exasperated.
He returned an innocent look. “Do you have some objection to dancing with me?”
“Of course I do. Winifred has been matchmaking again. She sought you out to beg you to partner me, didn’t she?”
“Well, yes,” he answered truthfully, “but I chose to ask you.”
“You might have done me the courtesy of giving me a choice.”
“You could have refused.”
“Not without causing a scene.”
“Which you are in danger of doing right now,” Drew pointed out, “since the music has begun and we are simply standing here.” When she gave a guilty start, he took her hand and drew her close. “Smile sweetly, darling, and look as if you are enjoying yourself.”
Roslyn complied, even though the light in her eyes suggested she was ready to do battle with him. Drew smiled to himself. The enjoyment had returned to the evening, unquestionably. In fact, he was enjoying himself for the first time since their awkward parting nearly a week ago.
She fitted into his arms quite well as they settled into the rhythm of the waltz, her steps light and graceful. He wondered if Roslyn would follow his rhythm as well when they made love.
If they made love. Which would never happen without the benefit of marriage, as Heath had rightly pointed out.
“So why don’t you wish to dance with me?” Drew asked, determined to confront her misgivings and get them out in the open.
“Our lessons are over,” Roslyn replied primly, as if she had rehearsed her answer. “There is no point in us even seeing each other again. Certainly we are not required to dance together.”
“It will only help your consequence if you are considered the object of my attentions. You do want to impress Haviland’s relations, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, but you interrupted a highly promising conversation with him.”
“That was precisely my intention.”
Her eyes flashed. “Are you purposefully trying to spoil my chances with Lord Haviland?”
“What if I am?”
“You wouldn’t…” she began, then eyed him suspiciously. “Would you?”
“That would be ungentlemanly of me,” Drew equivocated. “But it won’t hurt for him to think he has competition.”
Her expression was full of irony. “You are not his competition. You have made it abundantly clear you aren’t interested in love and matrimony.”
“But he doesn’t have to know that. Take my word for it, a man can become extremely possessive if he thinks someone is poaching on his turf.”
Drawing a deep breath, Roslyn made an apparent attempt at composure. “Thank you, your grace, for your concern on my behalf, but I will proceed with my campaign on my own from now on.”
“What gratitude,” Drew drawled, amused.
“I have already expressed my gratitude several times.”
“I told you, I don’t want your gratitude.”
“Then what do you want?”
You, was Drew’s unbidden thought. I want you. I want your lovely mouth glued to mine. I want your luscious body writhing beneath mine. I want to hear you gasping with pleasure as I fill you….
Aloud, he merely said, “I want to know why you have been avoiding me so assiduously tonight.”
A telltale blush rose to her cheeks. “I think you must know why.”
“You’re embarrassed by what happened between us in your library last week.”
“You are mistaken. I am appalled by what happened in our library last week.”
“So we kissed. There was no harm done.”
“So you say,” Roslyn muttered cryptically.
Drew peered down at her. “Did I hurt you somehow?”
Roslyn grimaced, then shook her head as if chastising herself. “No, of course not. I just should never have let it go so far.” Her gaze narrowed up at him. “Yet you bear the greater share of the blame, for you are the expert. You should have stopped me.”
“Can I help it if you find me irresistible?”
Her eyes widened as she struggled between vexation and amusement. “Your conceit is astounding, your grace,” she finally said. “It was the novelty of the situation that caught me off guard. But now that I know what to expect, I intend to forget the incident entirely, I assure you.”
“I can’t forget it,” Drew murmured truthfully. “And I don’t believe you can either. You felt something when we kissed, just as I did.”
She refused to acknowledge his assertion. Instead she summoned a serene smile. “You haven’t asked me how my seduction of Haviland went this past week.”
Drew felt his amusement fade. “Very well, darling, how did it go?”
“Splendidly. I think I have finally gotten the hang of flirtation. Haviland seems to be enjoying it, at any rate. I expect we will proceed to kissing at our next encounter, hopefully tomorrow morning. He asked me to drive out with him then. It is what I have been striving for, and I have you to thank for teaching me.”
The lightly taunting words, the challenge in her smile, had a predictable effect on Drew’s male pride, and he found himself clenching his teeth again, while his hands tightened reflexively at her waist and around her fingers.
He was vaguely aware that their steps had slowed as the waltz came to an end, yet it wasn’t until she spoke that he realized he was still holding her.
“Your grace,” she hissed through her teeth. “People are beginning to stare.
Drew released her reluctantly and stepped back. Roslyn offered him a swift curtsy before turning away, a stiff smile pasted on her face that suggested she was struggling for the pretense of civility in front of their audience and trying to hide her eagerness to get away from him.
Drew’s brooding gaze followed her as she moved away through the crowd. He could still feel the lithe warmth of her body, could still feel his own arousal at her nearness. Could feel his temper heating anew.
Roslyn not only had ignored his provocative remarks, but had thrown her own back in his face, leaving him with the natural craving to pick up the gauntlet.
Drew swore a low oath under his breath. The turmoil inside him was only growing stronger.
What in blazes was he going to do about Roslyn Loring? She roused a heat in him, a hunger he’d never felt for any other woman. A hunger that was still un-sated.
The need to possess her gripped him like talons, along with the even greater need to mark her as his, to claim her before Haviland did.
Yet there was only one way he could have her, Drew reminded himself grimly. By making her his bride.
Was he prepared to take such a drastic step?
And if so, what would Roslyn herself have to say about it?
Her limbs still a little weak from her clash with the infuriating duke, Roslyn made the decision to leave the ball at once. She had accomplished what she intended. She’d danced with Lord Haviland and received an invitation to go driving with him tomorrow. There was nothing more to be gained by remaining.
And there was very good reason to escape—not the least of which was to regain command of her scattered wits. Every time she encountered Arden, he roused more turmoil in her.
How could she have allowed him to rile her into nearly making a scene with half the ton as witnesses, including Lord Haviland and his haughty relations? She had intended to ignore Arden’s very existence tonight. Instead she had let him provoke her into an unladylike altercation right there on the ballroom floor.
While it was true the duke could improve her consequence by showing her a measure of polite attention, any more intimate interest would only be detrimental. She couldn’t afford to give rise to gossip, not with the scandals attached to her family name. And if anyone discovered what had already passed between her and the duke, it might very well destroy any chance for her to win Haviland’s heart, not to mention a respectable proposal of marriage.
When Roslyn had retrieved her silk shawl and reticule from the Haviland butler, she made her way through the house to the rear terrace, where she was taken aback to find Arden waiting for her.
Coming to an abrupt halt, she stared at him in frustration. “What the devil are you doing here, your grace?”
He was leaning against the stone balustrade but pushed away when he saw her. “I thought you might decide to leave early.”
“So?”
“So I intend to accompany you home. With a highwayman at large, you should have the protection of an escort.”
His offering her protection was like a tiger offering to guard a lamb, Roslyn thought crossly. “Thank you, but I do not need your escort. I am just walking next door, and there are no highwaymen in the gardens.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t intend to let you go alone.”
There was a subtle challenge in his eyes that dared her to refuse him.
She gave in with a sigh. Arden fell in beside her as she descended the steps and set out across the estate grounds, easily matching his long stride to her shorter, more hurried one.
There was ample moonlight to see by, and the July evening held a welcome coolness after the warmth of the ballroom. In the distance, she could hear the rustle of water as the River Thames meandered its lazy path to London at the rear of the estate grounds.
Her unwanted escort remained silent as they traversed the gravel paths. Roslyn made for the side gate that offered entrance to the Danvers gardens. When Arden opened it for her and allowed her through, she wished he would leave her there. But he followed her inside and shut it behind him.
There were few lights on in the house, Roslyn saw, since most of the servants had already retired to bed.
When she reached a side door to the manor, she paused to say over her shoulder, “Thank you for your escort, your grace, but now you may return to the ball with a clear conscience.”
His voice, low and intent, came to her. “Roslyn…stay a moment.”
She turned reluctantly at his request. “Why?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. He simply stared down at her, as if debating with himself.
Roslyn gazed up at him distractedly, wondering how she had managed to end up in a moonlit garden with Arden. She deplored the thrilling, edgy quiver of nerves that being alone with him in the dark engendered in her. She found her gaze dropping to his mouth, that firm sensuous mouth that could kiss so marvelously….
“I don’t want you driving out with Haviland tomorrow,” he finally said.
“Whyever not?”
“Because I don’t want you trying to seduce him when I intend to court you myself.”
Her gaze abruptly lifted to his, wide and disbelieving. “I beg your pardon? You intend to court me?”
“That is what I said.” There was a note of dry amusement in his voice, as if not even he could believe his declaration.
“Court me?” Roslyn repeated. “As in prelude to marriage? That makes no sense. You don’t want to marry anyone, you’ve said so in no uncertain terms.”
“So I did. But I have since changed my mind.”
“If you are making game of me—”
His mouth curled. “I would never jest about a subject so serious as matrimony. I must wed eventually, and you will do far better than anyone else.”
Shocked speechless, Roslyn stared at him, a dozen emotions warring inside her. The chief was disbelief, but that soon gave way to anger.
Arden must have seen her temper flare, for he grimaced. “I phrased my proposal rather boorishly. Let me try again. I would be honored for the privilege of making you my duchess, Miss Loring.”
She shook her head wildly. “You wouldn’t be honored in the least. And neither would I.”
“Don’t dismiss the idea out of hand—”
“Of course I will dismiss it! I told you I would never marry without love, and you don’t even believe in it.”
“I want the chance to change your mind. Love is vastly overrated, and in time, I can make you see it.”
The nerve of him, Roslyn thought furiously. Did he honestly believe she would give up her dreams just because a nobleman of his consequence deigned to propose to her?
“I have heard quite enough, your grace.”
She turned away, shaking, and made to enter the house, but Arden forestalled her by grasping her arm. When he spun her to face him, the air seemed to crackle all around them. Roslyn was suddenly very aware of the thrum of excitement pounding deep in her stomach.
She swallowed hard. “You have obviously taken leave of your senses.”
“Perhaps I have,” he muttered in a rough under voice.
“Well, I still have all of my faculties. Even if you have convinced yourself for some mad reason that you want me as your duchess, why the devil would I ever want to marry you?”
“Because of this….”
His mouth came down hard to take possession of hers. Roslyn tried to get away, but his hand held her head still while his mouth slowly forced hers open, his tongue stabbing deep in a sensual assault that was dominating, possessive. The unexpectedness of it stole her breath and sent a surge of heat shuddering through her entire body.
Roslyn whimpered. She couldn’t resist the strong arms that crushed her to him. He ravished her mouth, ripped her senses from her.
Her hands crept up to wrap around his neck. The moment she surrendered, his kiss changed…softened, deepened, flooding her with longing.
Feeling her willpower slipping away, Roslyn made one last frantic effort to break the spell he was weaving around her. She pushed against his shoulder and tore her mouth away.
“Your grace! Drew…we have to stop this!”
“Not yet,” he rasped. “I mean to show you one last lesson.”
“What lesson?” Her voice was shaky and as hoarse as his.
“Pleasure,” he murmured. “The kind of bliss you can find with a considerate lover.”
Her stomach clenched with chagrin. “We cannot be lovers—I could never allow it. It would be utterly disgraceful.”
“I know. But I’ll stop short of claiming your innocence. Hush now,” he urged when she would have protested.
He resumed his slow-burning kiss, which had the same effect as before: Her body melted back against his forearm while her mouth opened willingly under his. Roslyn moaned softly. His sensuality was deep and intoxicating and roused a now familiar ache low in the pit of her belly.
She could feel the heat and hunger in him, as well. His arousal was blatant against her abdomen. She shivered with raw desire.
Then one of his hands glided downward and slipped between their bodies. Roslyn stiffened, but his lips made her forget her dismay. A moment later his hand moved between her legs, seeking and caressing.
She tensed, throbbing deep inside, and then gasped when he cupped her woman’s mound through the fabric of her gown and chemise. But he went on massaging lightly, stroking, his expert, coaxing touch setting her nerves on fire. When she instinctively pressed closer, rocking her sex against his hand, his kisses shifted from her mouth and trailed along her jaw to her ear.
His breath was a little ragged when he asked, “Can you claim you don’t want me touching you?”
She couldn’t claim any such thing. She wanted to be touched, wanted him to touch her.
When she didn’t reply, he drew back to watch her. His eyes riveted on her face, his gaze smoldered, as his fingers worked their magic. She fought the maddening desire but her body was on fire for him.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No….”
Her spine arching, she strained against him, helpless to control the quivers that suddenly rocked her body. Quivers that only kept building in ferocity and power. His eyes held her captive with their intensity while explosive pleasure spasmed deep within her. Roslyn bit back her gasping cries, even though she was so weak she swayed against him.
Yet he wasn’t finished, it seemed. Not at all. Before she could even recover her breath, he knelt before her. To her shock, he lifted her gown to bare her naked limbs to his gaze.
She clutched his hair as he stroked up the insides of her thighs, his long fingers gentle against her sensitive skin. When he pushed her gown to her waist, she felt exposed, damp with desire. He leaned forward then, and his mouth touched her, the moist heat of it a burning contrast to the coolness elsewhere. Roslyn nearly cried out, yet she clamped her teeth shut, knowing she had to keep quiet for fear of waking the household.
For a time, her soft pants were the only sound in the hushed garden as his relentless mouth plied her sweetly, inciting her to a fever pitch of passion. He slowly lapped at her tender folds, teasing the bud of her sex with erotic strokes until she thought she might faint from the pleasure of it. And just when she could bear no more, he penetrated her deeply with his tongue.
It was too much. The sensation streaking through her was so excruciatingly blissful, her entire body shook.
Her second climax was even more powerful than the first and almost brought her to her knees. As brilliant, bursting lights rocketed inside her, he rose to press his palm over her mouth, stifling her cry of pleasure so that it came out as a keening moan. And when she collapsed against him, Arden’s strong arms caught and held her tenderly as his lips brushed soft kisses at her temple.
She clung to him, her heart pounding, her ragged breaths loud in the hushed night.
“Can your earl make you feel such pleasure?” he finally murmured in her ear. “Does he set your body on fire as I do?”
Roslyn hadn’t enough energy to shake her head. The earl had never given her such pleasure; with him she’d never experienced anything like what she’d just done with Arden. Her body felt as if it had suddenly burst into flames, while her heart and mind were in similar turmoil. Wonder and amazement at the incredible sensations Arden had made her feel vied with dismay and disbelief that she had let him go so far—and that she had enjoyed it so much.
Dismay won out. Her racing heartbeat slowing, Roslyn groped behind her for the door.
When he started to kiss her again, she averted her head. “Don’t…. Please, just leave me alone.”
Hearing the panicked plea in her voice, Drew stood stock-still for a long moment before his arms reluctantly fell away from her. Freed from his embrace, Roslyn turned and stumbled inside the house, shutting the door in his face.
Drew made no move to stop her as she fled. Instead, he stood there wanting to curse. His arms felt empty, his body hot.
He was aching with more than just sexual frustration, though. The tension knotting his insides had even more to do with his conflicted emotions. He had never felt so torn in his life. His first and only proposal of marriage had been an abject failure—and it was his own damned fault.
He’d decided to stake his claim to Roslyn, whatever it took. Even if it meant having to wed her. But it had been sheer idiocy to blurt out his intentions like that. Not only had he insulted her, but he’d put her on her guard against him.
Her adamant refusal had spurred a fierce need to vanquish her objections. To prove she was attracted to him as well as let her feel real pleasure for the first time. And admittedly, he’d given in to jealousy. He wanted to be the only one who drove her wild, who unleashed that wild, wanton side of her.
She was just as sensual and passionate as he’d expected. Pleasuring her had left him with heat pummeling through his blood—and only strengthened his primal desire to conquer, to seize, to hold.
Drew swore a low oath. His behavior was beginning to border on obsessive. He’d started to act just like Marcus. Call it what you will—infatuation, obsession, madness—but he was infected with the same malady.
Perhaps he had gone a little mad, Drew acknowledged. Yet his impulsive proposal was not wholly irrational. After all, Roslyn would make him an excellent duchess. She had the grace and training for the position in addition to the birth and breeding. And he could certainly admire her personal qualities. She was forthright and honest, independent, generous. Her intelligence and sense of humor matched his own.
Yet her most appealing quality was her warm nature. His greatest fear was that he would be shackled for life to some icy noblewoman like his mother, but Roslyn was the antithesis of his bloodless, passionless mother.
And if he must marry someday to carry on his title, he could do far worse. Roslyn was no simpering, vapid miss who would bore him to tears. She would prove a challenge for him, in bed and out.
Now, however, he faced a more immediate challenge—persuading Roslyn to accept his proposal. After tonight she probably wished him in Hades.
The biggest obstacle to a union between them was her vow never to make a marriage of convenience. She feared the bitter antagonism that had characterized her parents’ marriage.
They wouldn’t have antagonism in their marriage, Drew was fairly certain. They would have friendship and passion, which was more than most genteel marriages had. As for love…
Drew dragged a hand roughly through his hair. Roslyn’s notions about love in marriage were idealist claptrap, but he knew they were heartfelt.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he should attempt to make her fall in love with him, but he rejected the idea almost as soon as it occurred. He didn’t want to get tangled up with emotional complications. He certainly didn’t want to trick her into believing he could give her what she wanted. When he couldn’t reciprocate, it would be highly painful for her.
No, honesty was his best course. Yet he would not only have to convince her of the benefits of marrying him, he would have to overcome her refusal to marry without love.
Turning abruptly, Drew made his way through the dark gardens to return to the ball. He could persuade her to his way of thinking, he felt confident, but he would have to give careful thought to his campaign.
He had never purposely set out to win a woman, but he didn’t doubt he could win Roslyn if he truly set his mind to it.