Chapter Eleven
I now see why you were persuaded to surrender your innocence in a moment of weakness—because passion is so incredible.
—Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn lay wrapped in his arms, not daring to move. She was conscious of how wildly her heart was thudding, how intensely her senses had sharpened.
The fire threw a welcome heat into the small room, yet the flames had little to do with her increasing warmth. Rather it was because Arden lay so close behind her, his hard-muscled body spooning hers, with only a quilt to separate them.
She’d been a little shocked to find him nearly unclothed. Her admiring eyes had riveted on the broad expanse of his bare chest, on the sinewed torso sculpted by firelight. His body was strong and graceful and even more breathtaking than she had imagined—sleek, golden, beautifully male. Seeing him like that had roused a giddy, fluttery sensation in her stomach, which had only compounded tenfold when he lay down with her before the hearth.
For the longest time they didn’t speak. Roslyn stared into the flickering flames, vaguely aware of the hypnotic effect on her taut nerves. The cottage had started to grow cozy, further lulling her. The storm continued to rage outside—rain pounding, wind moaning—but the sounds were muted inside. She could better hear the creaking rafters, the crackling hearth fire, her erratic heartbeats.
Behind her, Arden was nearly still…except for sifting a lock of her hair through his fingers. When he leaned closer to press his lips against her hair, Roslyn didn’t flinch as she ought, but her pulse raced even harder. Then he eased away from her, and she held her breath.
Moving with a languid grace, he turned her toward him, so that she lay on her back, looking up at him as he braced his weight on one elbow. His blanket had slipped down so that his shoulders and chest gleamed in the firelight, and so did his eyes.
She stared back, transfixed, her heart flipping over in her chest.
Reaching up, he touched her face gently, his hand trailing over her cheek and feathering over her hair. “You tempt me unbearably,” he murmured, his gaze locked with hers.
You tempt me unbearably, too, Roslyn thought wildly.
His gaze dropped to rest on her mouth. “I intend to kiss you, sweeting.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He bent his head to her then, his breath warm on her mouth as he began to kiss her. His lips moved slowly on hers, his pace unhurried, lingering. Even at that slightest pressure, heat kindled inside her. And when he leaned even closer, the heat from his body bathed her heightened senses.
Roslyn nearly moaned as a stabbing rush of longing assaulted her. Knowing she had to protest, she freed her hands from the quilt and pushed against his shoulders, fighting the dizzying delight he so effortlessly conjured inside her.
She was inexplicably disappointed, however, when his tantalizing kiss unexpectedly ended.
Arden lifted his head, gazing down at her as he peeled back the edges of the quilt that wrapped her body. When she would have pulled it back around her, he gently caught her wrists and drew them closer, pressing her palms against his chest, inviting her hands to explore the hard, tempting expanse. His flesh was smooth and hot; muscles rippled and played beneath satiny skin. She could feel the powerful thud of his heartbeat against his rib cage as well, which made urgent desire flare though her body.
She knew he desired her, too. Her hip rode against his loins, making her aware of his hardness through his damp breeches. There was no mistaking that he was blatantly aroused.
The knowledge made her heart pound harder, even before he began to caress her in turn. His hands moved slowly over her body, roaming from her bare throat down over the thin fabric of her chemise…her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs, her woman’s mound, then back up again to her breasts, his fingers teasing the tight buds of her nipples. He didn’t demand her surrender, though; he lured with soft touches, with erotic caresses. His expert, coaxing touch reduced her to shivering need.
Her fingers clenching desperately at the quilt, Roslyn shut her eyes, submitting to those clever, amazing hands.
“No, look at me, love,” he urged in a husky whisper.
Helplessly, she obeyed, even though all her instincts screamed danger. She was sinking under his spell again, her reservations obliterated by an intoxicating madness induced by his arousing ministrations. Every nerve came alive with delirious sensation as he deftly touched, explored, discovered. She was no longer shivering with cold but trembling under his hands, melting in a warm tide.
Yet it was his eyes that warmed her the most. The expression in his eyes held great tenderness. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished somehow.
Roslyn drew a shaky breath. This moment seemed like a dream, a fantasy, yet at the same time it felt supremely real. He was her haven from the storm. She felt sheltered in his arms, protected, treasured.
She had never experienced anything like it. Certainly not in the past four years. For so long she and her sisters had had no one to depend on. No man, at any rate. And here Arden was, making her feel infinitely precious.
Her breath faltered entirely when he bent to her again. He took her mouth slowly, thoroughly, his kiss deep and penetrating, as if he was determined to know every secret she had. To steal away every ounce of her willpower. His lips whispered promises of pleasure, of passion beyond her wildest dreams.
Surrendering her last meager defenses, Roslyn reached up and slid her fingers into his silky hair, sighing softly into his mouth upon realizing how completely he’d captured her.
When finally he drew back, she gazed up at him with passion-hazed eyes.
His voice was low and rasping when he said quietly, “I want to make love to you, Roslyn.”
She couldn’t deny that was what she wanted too. And even if she tried, she knew he wouldn’t believe her. His gaze was on her face, too perceptive, too knowing; the tantalizing offer of his body was hard against hers.
She gave up any thought of resisting. She desired him, there was nothing more to understand. He wanted to make love to her, and this time she would welcome it.
Yet he had other things in mind for the moment, it seemed.
He had unfastened his breeches and freed his rampant erection. Letting her gaze drop, Roslyn sucked in a sharp breath at the flagrant virility of his arousal. The thick flesh jutted out, so large, so blatantly rigid, that she could scarcely breathe.
When he brought her hand to his loins, murmuring, “Touch me,” she realized that he wanted her to take the lead. Willing to obey, she touched him hesitantly, grazing the swollen head of his member, trailing a finger downward delicately to the heavy sacs below.
“Are you shocked by my anatomy?” he asked.
“Not…shocked exactly. Fanny told me something about what to expect.”
“Would you like to know more?”
“Yes.”
“Then feel free to explore.”
Her heart racing, she curled her fingers around the heated shaft, squeezing gently. It was burning-hot against her palm, hard as steel. She realized how arousing just that slight pressure must be for him because his eyes darkened, yet he wanted more.
“Harder. You won’t hurt me.”
Tightening her hold, she slowly slid her fingers down his great length and up again. He made a sound deep in his throat, like a harsh groan, which inexplicably pleased Roslyn. He throbbed beneath her touch, stirring a similar throb deep in her most secret, feminine places.
Intoxicated by the sensation, she repeated her slow stroking, wanting to pleasure him as he had pleasured her. At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to join with him, how her body could absorb his enormous male flesh. She wanted him inside her, filling the hollow ache that had blossomed between her thighs, yet the image of him trying to fit inside her was a little alarming.
When suddenly she drew back her hand, Arden leaned over her, gazing deep into her eyes. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
Roslyn couldn’t answer. She wanted him with a longing that was new and frightening to her, yet she wasn’t afraid. “I…I don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t fear me. We have been moving toward this moment since the night we met.”
It felt that way to her also. Everything had been leading to this moment.
But he obviously wanted to reassure her, for he resumed caressing her, his tantalizing strokes drifting over her body.
The exquisite, inciting touch of his hands made her shiver and want more. Her skin heated, stoking the fire that was rising inside her.
Her breath was coming in shallow bursts by the time his fingers circled the curve of her shoulder and drew down the bodice of her chemise.
He took her naked breasts in his warm palms, measuring the weight and fullness, then bent his head to suckle her. His tongue swirled over her nipple, tightening it into a knot of aching need, inflaming her nerves all over again.
Gasping, Roslyn arched against the delicious sensation, while a fevered longing filled her. His hot mouth attended her nipples as he pulled the hem of her chemise up to her waist, baring her to the warmth of the fire.
Excitement shimmered through her as Arden raised his head to survey her, his gaze burning. There was hot desire in his eyes, a passion she could feel.
Holding her gaze, he splayed his fingers low on her belly, then skated the flat of his palm downward. As if he knew exactly where she craved his touch, his hand slipped down to tangle in the moist thatch that adorned her mound.
A whimper escaped her as he parted the soaked curls between her thighs with his fingers. With exquisite tenderness he stroked her pulsing flesh, intimately caressing each soft fold until she felt faint with desire. And when he found the secret point that quivered with aching need, her blood turned to liquid fire.
Then he slid two fingers into her drenched cleft, and Roslyn moaned out loud.
Her breath was coming in broken gasps of pleasure when he finally eased over her, holding her captive beneath the sensual weight of his body.
But there Drew hesitated, his hard arousal nestled in the warm folds of her sex.
He drew in a deep, ragged breath as he stared down at Roslyn, searching her exquisite, flushed face. She lay beneath him, silken thighs spread, her bare skin glowing like a pearl in the soft light, her blue eyes hazed with desire. He recognized all the signs of a sexually aroused woman. She was more than ready for him, her body pliant and vibrant in his arms, lush for the taking.
And yet no carnal union had ever seemed this crucial. He’d never before made love to the woman he intended to wed. If he had any doubts whatsoever, this was the point to draw back…before he claimed her for his wife.
But he wasn’t going to change his mind, Drew knew with certainty. Gently he smoothed back pale tendrils of hair from her beautiful face. It bewildered him, the tenderness he felt for Roslyn. His chest was tight with a deep ache, a fierce, elementary need to fill her up with himself. Any regrets he had now would be for causing her pain, for not being able to satisfy her as she deserved. He wanted her pleasure, more than he remembered wanting to pleasure any woman.
Raising himself up enough to kiss her again, he guided the engorged crest of his arousal just inside her pulsing cleft. Her eyes fell shut as he slowly, carefully penetrated her.
She tensed at his invasion, her inhalation sharp and faltering, the resistance of her tight sheath proclaiming her virgin innocence.
Pressing soft kisses over her face, Drew rested there for a long moment, letting her grow accustomed to his male possession. Then he eased deeper inside her, slowly, slowly, slowly pressing in farther.
Eventually her taut body relaxed, softened, and he found himself welcomed by her slickness. Her feminine muscles tightened around him, enclosing him in tantalizing heat.
With infinite care, Drew sank more fully inside her, then withdrew and slowly thrust again…long, lingering strokes that stoked the fire building within them both. To his delight, Roslyn began to move beneath him, lifting her hips to match his rhythm. Every time he drove into her, he shook with the pleasure he felt, with the blinding need to claim her.
When the fiery waves of pleasure started to engulf her, he felt them too. Her cry was a sob as the riveting swells flowed in wave after sensational wave. His body shook at the shattering release, with the powerful convulsions of desire that rocked him.
When the turbulence stilled, he collapsed against her, burying his mouth in her hair. His ragged breaths filled with her scent, Drew tried to make sense of what had just happened. They had consummated their union in a stunning explosion that had cemented his claim to her. Roslyn was his now; she had given herself to him.
Fierce satisfaction filled him. She would have to wed him now. The knowledge swelled the emotion that gripped him.
He lifted his head, his burning look surveying her pale, tousled hair, her kiss-swollen mouth, her high firm breasts. Her hair was drying in delicate wisps around her face, which was gilded by firelight, but it was the dreamy wonder in her eyes that made his breath catch anew.
“Are you all right?” Drew rasped hoarsely.
“Yes,” she murmured, sounding dazed. “I have never felt anything so…”
“So what?”
“Amazing.”
Nor had he, Drew thought to himself. This astonishing pleasure was unique in his admittedly extensive experience; the fiery sparks of their passion extraordinary. Nothing in his memory had ever felt this sharp, this intense.
He had never felt euphoria like this, either, along with a whirlpool of other emotions he couldn’t even identify. There was tenderness and hunger and possessiveness—
Drew gave up trying to sort them all out. Whatever he felt for Roslyn, he only knew he wasn’t letting her go.
Withdrawing from the soft haven between her legs, he eased his weight off her and rolled onto his side, gathering her close, so that her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder, his chin resting on the top of her head.
She lay there in his arms, fitting perfectly.
Drew shut his eyes, his fingers playing in idle circles over the heated silk of her skin as he pondered the remarkable effect she had on him. Surely his softer feelings for her would fade in the cold light of day. Yet he knew his hunger wouldn’t easily be sated. His loins were already hardening again, his arousal swelling.
But he couldn’t make love to her so soon. Even though he’d unleashed her passion, taking her virginity could not have been entirely pleasant for her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
She gave a soft sigh. “No. Not as much as I expected. Fanny said it might hurt the first time.”
He would make it much better for her the next time, Drew vowed. It was a matter of pride with him, pleasing his lovers, but in this case, it was imperative. He intended to keep Roslyn so contented, she would never want to leave his bed.
He didn’t like it, therefore, when she gave another sigh that was full of resignation. Drew pulled back to gaze at her. Seeing her grave look, he realized how badly he wanted to soothe away the crease between her eyebrows. “I don’t want you to regret this, Roslyn.”
Unable to answer, she buried her face in his shoulder again, her body still quivering with lingering bliss, her mind awash with chaotic emotions. She’d been awed by the sheer wonder of his lovemaking. What shocked her, though, was how eagerly she’d surrendered. She’d been gripped by a desire so overwhelming she could have wept for it.
Her throat was tight now. Arden had awakened her to stunning passion, the kind she had never let herself dream of. It was no wonder women fought to share his bed. He was just as magnificent as she’d been warned.
It wasn’t his carnal expertise that was so devastating, however; it was his tenderness.
Shutting her eyes, Roslyn savored the feeling of being held in the warm shelter of his arms. The rain had slowed to a patter, while the wind had died down to a low moan, yet she didn’t want to leave. Nor did she want to face the enormity of what she had done.
She had given him her innocence.
She ought to have profound regrets, since she had spoiled all her long-held plans for good. She would not be marrying Lord Haviland now. Gentlemen expected to wed virginal brides, and she was no longer virginal.
Strangely, however, she wasn’t as devastated as she should be. Perhaps because she had already determined that she didn’t want to wed Haviland.
But where she stood with the duke was still very much at issue. She suspected that he intended to renew his marriage proposal. She’d seen the satisfaction that blazed in his face when he was taking her—
A sharp rap on the cottage door made Roslyn give an abrupt start, while Arden tensed. When the pounding knock sounded again, he quickly disengaged himself from their embrace and flicked the quilt over her near nakedness before rolling to his feet.
“Go into the bedchamber,” he directed as he buttoned the front placket of his breeches. “I’ll send whoever it is away.”
But he was too late. As he draped the blanket around his shoulders and turned toward the door, it swung wide open.
The portly gentleman who bustled in froze upon seeing the cottage occupied, his gaze shifting from Arden to Roslyn, who had just stood up.
Recognizing Squire Goodey, one of the largest owners of farmland in the district, Roslyn wanted to sink through the floor. She had managed to pull up the bodice of her chemise to cover her bare breasts and had wrapped the quilt tightly around herself, but her hair was a bedraggled mess and her bare feet were clearly showing, not to mention that most of her clothing hung drying on wall pegs alongside the duke’s.
The squire’s eyes widened in shock when he recognized her in turn. “Miss Loring! Whatever—”
Arden stepped in front of her to shield her from view, yet Roslyn could see the squire’s already florid complexion grow a deeper shade of scarlet upon his comprehending that he’d interrupted a lovers’ tryst.
“Your g-grace…. Do f-forgive me,” he stammered.
“Mr. Goodey, is it not?” the duke said smoothly. “I believe we met at the Haviland ball last evening.”
“Aye, sir…your grace. I didn’t meant to…The Missus and I came across a curricle in the road and then saw smoke coming from the chimney, so I came to investigate. She is waiting in the carriage—”
But apparently that wasn’t the case, for a plump matron appeared in the doorway, shaking off drops of rain from her cloak. “Ralph, whatever is keeping you—Oh, my word!”
Roslyn wanted to die and to curse at the same time. What a dreadful misfortune, to be discovered by Mrs. Goodey of all people. The squire’s wife was the biggest gossip between London and Richmond. She fancied herself a leader of local society and had always looked down her rather large nose at the Loring sisters, not only for the past scandals in their family but for having to earn their daily bread by teaching at an academy for daughters of the lower classes.
Guilty of putting on airs far above her own station, the Goodey woman couldn’t even recognize her hypocrisy. She’d been the first to fawn over the new Earl of Danvers, and professed to be glad to welcome his wards back into the fold of the Beau Monde.
Now she seemed gleefully appalled to see Roslyn looking as wantonly disheveled as she did. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline at the titillating ignominy of finding the most reserved and refined of the Loring sisters causing a new scandal. “Miss Loring…I cannot believe my eyes.”
Roslyn felt her stomach clench into knots as reality returned with a vengeance. The dreamlike moment she had shared with Arden had shattered in a thousand fragments.
Knowing her ruin was inevitable, she decided it was time to stop hiding behind the duke, and so stepped forward, her head held high. “How fortunate that you have come to our rescue, Mrs. Goodey. We were stranded here by the storm when his grace’s curricle suffered a broken wheel.”
“I can see that,” the squire’s wife said, her tone gloating.
Arden fixed her with a quelling glance. “You will do me the courtesy of keeping this unfortunate incident to yourself, Mrs. Goodey. Miss Loring has consented to be my wife, and I don’t wish my duchess’s reputation to suffer. You understand, of course.”
His startling pronouncement had the desired effect: The matron’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
Even realizing his purpose—to shut up the nosy woman by giving her a more juicy tidbit to chew on—Roslyn froze in dismay and only just managed to keep her own jaw from dropping.
She certainly was in no position to deny the betrothal, however, so she merely forced a smile to her lips. “I admit I was quite surprised by his grace’s offer myself,” Roslyn murmured. “You are the first to hear of our betrothal, Mrs. Goodey. But perhaps you will be kind enough to keep the news secret until I have had the opportunity to inform my family and close friends.”
The squire answered for her. “Of course, Miss Loring. My wife won’t mention a word of any of this, will you, dear? We wouldn’t want your little mishap to be misconstrued.”
His wife looked a little indignant and mulish, but the squire ignored her. “Pray, how may we be of service, your grace?”
Arden offered him a bland smile. “Now that the storm has passed, I would like to take Miss Loring home, so a loan of a vehicle would be welcome. And I must arrange proper care for my horses—they’re stabled in the shed—and have a wainwright fetched to repair the wheel.”
“Leave everything to me, your grace.” The squire bowed deeply. “I will take the Missus home and send our carriage back to you, to use at your leisure. And my servants will see to your curricle wheel and horses.”
“Thank you, Goodey,” the duke replied. “I will be greatly indebted.”
“Think nothing of it, your grace.” He took his wife’s plump elbow. “Come, dear, we must give this betrothed couple some privacy,” the squire insisted, before ushering the sputtering lady out of the cottage and firmly shutting the door behind him.