Caraway Cake

 

Rosalyn yawned and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. Then her actions of last night paraded through her mind. She cringed, desperately for it all to be a dream, then buried her face in her pillow as heat burned her face and neck.

She’d stood there like a hussy, naked in the moonlight. Why hadn’t she rushed back into the safety of the water? Why had she simply stared at the full state of his arousal, wishing he’d take her in his arms, lay her on the beach and…

The kiss? Most likely, pity had been involved. Of course, the sight of a naked woman—any woman—would have aroused him. He was a man, after all.

She pounded the mattress with her fist.

She had to leave Brighton. The mere thought of facing Lord Brodie again made her want to shrivel up and die.

* * *

“You shouldn’t deny yourself, love,” Lady Sara said over tea in the parlor. She looked quite lively. Each day by the sea brought more color to her cheeks. “Ethan’s a fine young man. No doubt, he would love company on his afternoon rides.”

Rosalyn nearly choked, and half started up from the table. “Is he back already?” She’d managed to avoid him the entire day. She wasn’t about to look him in the face now.

“Not yet, I believe.” Her aunt lifted a brow. “Where are you going? You’ve spent far too much time in your room lately. You need fresh air. Perhaps, we should try one of those bathing machines on the beach. I’m sure it would do you a world of good.”

Rosalyn drew her lips into a line and put down her napkin. “If you will excuse me.”

“Where are you off to, child?” Her aunt frowned. “Ethan’s promised a whist rematch and I’ve made a caraway cake for the occasion. He should be here soon.”

Playing cards with Lord Brodie would be the last thing she’d do. She forced her lips into a smile. “Have fun, auntie dear.”

She left before her aunt could continue.

Rosalyn was halfway up the stairs when she the front door opened with a creak. She picked up her skirts and ran. Yes, eventually, she’d have to face the man—if she couldn’t find a way to leave first. She escaped to her room and slammed the door. Perhaps she could find a way to return to London.

For a time, she thought of various excuses and scribbled some down in her journal, ranked by suitability and chances of success, then with her head pounding and thoroughly sick of the affair, she settled on her bed with a book for distraction.

She awoke some time later and sat up, surprised she’d fallen asleep.

The room was dark. She’d slept straight through dinner. The clock downstairs began to chime. Eleven o’clock. She scooted off her bed. It was far later than she’d thought, and her stomach rumbled loudly. She stretched. Perhaps there was a bit of her aunt’s caraway cake left in the larder. The frosting was her favorite part. It couldn’t hurt to sneak downstairs and take a peek.

The house stood silent as she stole down the stairs and padded to the empty kitchen. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the tidy sink, table, and the china cabinet nearby. The first door opened onto a stairwell, but when she opened the second, the scent of spices and herbs greeted her nose. Here, there would be something to eat. She squinted inside, but it was too dark to see a thing. She needed a candle. Rosalyn turned, just as a large body loomed up and a hand quickly clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream.

“Hush, lass, there’s no cause for alarm,” Ethan’s deep brogue assured.

The scream died on her lips as his hand dropped away.

“Hungry, are you?” he rumbled.

She took a step back, heart thudding. “I’m fine. I’m leaving.”

He grasped her arm and shepherded her into the larder, pulling the door shut behind them. Utter darkness fell.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, but walked her back, step by step, until he’d pressed her against the larder wall. Heat radiated from his hard chest. Her breath caught in her throat. Merciful heavens. His body felt so good pressed against hers, and with the darkness so complete, she could do nothing but feel.

“You’ve been avoiding me, lass. Why?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“I’m going to kiss you. I’ve thought of nothing else.”

Kiss her? Shocked, she breathed, “Why?”

“Why? By God, woman. Why?” His Scottish burr sounded torn between amusement and shock.

“I don’t want your pity—”

He seized the word. “Pity?”

The next thing she knew, his large hands gripped her shoulders and his mouth covered hers in a hot, savage kiss. The intensity of her own response frightened her. There was no doubt, no worry, not one thought of pity as she met his passion full force. She kissed him back in a kiss as fierce and hungry as his own. His mouth felt marvelous on hers. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his hands on her, his sheer size and strength pressing her back against the wall, and his searching tongue plundering hers.

Abruptly, his mouth left, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“Did that feel like pity to you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She drew a long, shuddering breath. Her knees felt like jelly. “No,” she had to admit.

He shifted aside. Something rattled on the shelves to her left.

“Open your mouth, lass,” he said, his voice low and smoky.

Rosalyn shivered as something touched her bottom lip. His thumb. The devil inside her made her lick it. His breath hitched. She smiled, then something soft replaced his thumb and the sweet taste of caraway cake and cream frosting filled her mouth. Before she could bite down, he pulled it back, then teased her by inserting it again, only to thrust it between her lips again, several times.

His meaning sent a shiver of arousal straight to her core. She couldn’t stop her body from arching against him. The movement pushed her breasts into his firm, muscled chest.

He groaned.

The cake vanished.

His hands dropped to her hips and moved lower, cupping her bottom firmly before he pulled her against his hard, ridged erection. He began to rock against her. She knew she shouldn’t allow it, but God help her, she wanted him. The surrounding darkness covered her like a blanket, somehow making it easier to forget everything but her need and the sensations he pulled from her body. She rolled her hips forward, her body beyond her control as she rubbed herself against him.

His mouth sought hers once again and the feverish kissing resumed, the larder filling with their soft moans and the rustle of cloth. She wanted to touch him. She knew it was dangerous. Already, they stood on the edge of taking things too far—perhaps, they already had.

He drew a sudden jagged breath and stepped back. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop.”

Stop? She blinked and shook her head as if to wake herself. “Then don’t,” she breathed, even as shock at her own words swept her.

His chuckle sounded hoarse. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I am…no virgin.” The words slipped from her mouth, but she wanted him to know. The darkness somehow made it easier to confess. “I…thought to marry him. I was a fool…” She’d let herself be swept away with the captain. And this time? She winced. She was clearly repeating her past mistakes. Nae, this time, she was practically throwing herself at the man…yet for the life of her, she couldn’t stop.

Ethan stepped closer and his mouth nuzzled the skin under her ear. “It matters naught to me, sweeting. With my size and girth, you may yet feel like a virgin again.” She felt him smile against her neck.

The preposterousness of his statement made her laugh.

He nibbled her ear. “Just know that with you, I’ll not be inclined to give up what I claim, Rosalyn. When I take you, you will be mine for a lifetime.”

The words threatened to melt every bone in her body. When I take you?

“You’re very much the firebrand I knew you would be,” he groaned into her hair, then nipped the lobe of her ear and stepped back. “But I won’t take you here. Not like this.” He burned her lips in a searing kiss, fast and hot, then added in a final whisper, “We’re not finished, you and I, lass. Not by a long shot.”

To her utter shock, he strode to the door and left the larder.

Rosalyn stayed there a few minutes more, breasts heaving. Not finished by a long shot? She’d been more than ready to bed him—indeed, she needed him inside her. He’d been more than ready himself, and he was clearly the kind of man who bedded women as he pleased, just as she’d let him know she was the kind of woman to receive him, the kind who had already bedded a man….

She flinched. Tomorrow, it would be even harder to face him.

* * *

“Mice,” the housekeeper said in a tone of displeasure as Rosalyn slipped into the breakfast parlor early the next morning.

“It’s a shame,” Lady Sarah clucked.

“Shame?” Rosalyn took her seat. Ethan had just left for his morning ride, but with the clouds on the horizon, he might not ride long. She’d have to eat quickly.

The housekeeper scowled. “Mice. In the larder. Ate Lady Sara’s caraway cake, they did. Mauled it. Left quite the mess.”

Rosalyn nearly choked on her muffin.

“Perhaps it was a rat,” her aunt proposed.

“Perhaps,” the housekeeper agreed.

“More likely, two,” Ethan’s deep baritone suggested from the door.

Rosalyn did choke then, the crumbs flying up her nose. At least it stopped the conversation. As the housekeeper obligingly pounded her back, Rosalyn hid her face in her napkin and wanted to melt through the floor.

Finally, when she caught her breath, she glanced up to see Ethan lounging against the door with a wicked grin on his face and looking devastatingly handsome in his crisp white shirt and dark gray breeches.

As he entered the room, Rosalyn jumped to her feet.

“I’ve forgotten…I…If you’ll excuse me, Auntie.” She cleared her throat, flustered, and slipped past him, heading for the door.

He caught her hand as she passed by him. Startled, she looked up into his eyes.

“Hurry back, will you?” He squeezed her fingers, grazing his thumb along her inner wrist as a smile curved his chiseled lips.

She stood there like a fool before she tugged her hand free. What must her auntie and the housekeeper think?

She escaped out the door and up to her room. Sanity returned in a rush. Despite what her heart wanted, the man wasn’t hers. There was no future here but heartache. She was here for one purpose only: to observe.

Oh, she’d made a royal mess of things. She was failing on all accounts. There was truly only one course of action left now.

She would write Lady Elana, confess her failure, then…she had to leave.