Chapter Eighteen
Two days later, Rosie descended the steps of the Revelstoke townhouse in a distinctly grumpy mood. She could have blamed it on the indignity of the physician’s examination she’d endured that morning. At least he’d confirmed the consummation of her marriage. Mr. Mayhew, Daltry’s executor, had returned to Town and set up a meeting tomorrow to finalize Daltry’s affairs; she couldn’t wait to put the grim business behind her.
Yet her surliness wasn’t due to her marriage. She placed the blame for her mood squarely on the broad shoulders of Andrew Corbett. She couldn’t get him out of her thoughts, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he’d done that on purpose.
You’re mine. I’m the only man who can give you what you need.
He’d planted that notion, and it flourished in the jungle of her mind. Images of him proliferated, filling her every waking hour—and even when she wasn’t awake. Her cheeks warmed. Who knew that dreams could be so depraved? He’d awakened some dormant need in her, and now she couldn’t contain it.
Even now, her body simmered with awareness. With each step, her breasts pressed against her bodice, achy and full, the tips pulsing as she recalled how he’d suckled her. His mouth had felt so good there and lower… Goodness, had she really allowed him to do that? To kiss her… pussy? Just thinking the word liquefied her insides.
Botheration, she thought sourly. Now not only do I need to guard against uncharitable thoughts, I have to watch out for lewd ones too.
Thanks to Andrew, she couldn’t get words like cock and fuck out of her head. They were wicked, coarse… and rather titillating.
Heavens above, she was a trollop.
She couldn’t stop herself from imagining what it would be like to be in Andrew’s bed. To hear his deep voice murmuring deliciously naughty things. To feel him doing those things. To have his cock inside her, filling her, making her forget everything but how right it felt to be with him…
Don’t be a nitwit. Are you really going to throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for—to have an affair?
Frustrated at her own stupidity, she stomped through the foyer toward the drawing room. The door was open, and she stopped short at the sight of Polly… and Revelstoke. The earl had his wife pressed up against a wall, their profiles revealed to anyone who might walk in, but they were too absorbed in each other to notice.
Revelstoke had one hand braced on the wall by Polly’s head. Polly’s eyes were closed, her lips parted as he nuzzled the side of her neck. Tingles danced over Rosie’s skin as she recalled Andrew kissing her there, along that sensitive slope, then sucking her earlobe the way Revelstoke was doing to his countess now. A sensual sigh escaped Polly—and that was when Rosie noticed that the other’s stockinged legs were visible between the earl’s booted stance. Polly’s skirts were bunched at her waist, the fabric spilling over the sleeve of the earl’s jacket, his blue gaze burning with possession as he watched his wife’s face…
Unbearable longing flooded Rosie. What would it be like to have Andrew look at her that way? To allow herself to be possessed by him… to surrender to the desire blazing between them?
In that same instant, she realized she was standing there like a Peeping Tom, intruding upon a highly intimate moment. Mortified, she whipped around, rounding the doorway—and collided with the butler.
They rebounded off one another, she landing on her bottom, he reeling backward with a grunt, a tray flying from his hands. Tea and pastries rained through the air, and silverware clanged to the floor in a finale worthy of an orchestra.
Seconds later, Polly appeared, the earl behind her.
“What in heavens?” she exclaimed. “Are the two of you all right?”
“My apologies!” His face red and flustered, Harvey, the butler, rushed to help Rosie up—only to realize that the hand he’d extended was covered in clotted cream.
“I’ve got it, Harvey.” Revelstoke hauled Rosie to her feet.
“I don’t know how I could be so careless,” Harvey began.
“It was my fault entirely,” Rosie mumbled. “I was going too fast…”
She trailed off, catching the chagrinned look Polly cast at Revelstoke. For most of her life, Polly had possessed a unique gift for sensing other’s emotions. Polly had always considered the extraordinary ability a plague and had been glad to be rid of it, yet her natural perspicacity remained. She’d obviously guessed the cause of Rosie’s clumsy flight.
Not wanting to embarrass the other or herself further, Rosie muttered, “I’ll, um, get changed.”
A few minutes after she arrived in her room, a knock sounded. She went to the door.
Polly stood there, chewing on her lip. “I thought you could use some help.”
“Thank you, dear.” To hide her mortification, Rosie ushered the other in. Opening the wardrobe, she said lightly, “What shall I wear—the black… or the black?”
A smile tucked in Polly’s cheeks. “The black?”
“Excellent choice.”
She took down the ebony taffeta and hung it on the dressing screen next to the chevalier glass.
Polly came over to help, keeping her eyes studiously on the buttons she was undoing. “I’m sorry about what you saw.” Embarrassment quivered in her voice. “Sinjin and I—”
“Are newlyweds,” Rosie said in a rush. “Truly, there’s no need to apologize. You’ve both been so gracious whilst I’ve intruded on your privacy.”
“Nonsense. Our home is your home. But what you must think of us—”
“I think you deserve every happiness, dearest. And the truth is… I’ve been thinking that I need a place of my own.”
The idea had been percolating for the last week. As cordial as Polly and the earl had been, there was no denying the awkwardness of living with newlyweds; Rosie felt like a fifth wheel. She also didn’t want to return to her parents’ house. Not just because of the rift with her mother—which she was gathering the courage to address—but because she was beginning to see the truth: that was no longer her home.
She wasn’t the innocent girl she’d once been. She was a widow, and as brief as her marriage had been, it had changed everything. She was now the Countess of Daltry, and she had to use that hard-earned status to carve out a future for herself.
“You can stay here as long as you want,” Polly insisted.
“I know that, dear. I also know that I cannot live in limbo forever.” Rosie bit her lip. “I’ve bungled things up so badly—with the elopement and my reckless behavior before that. I can’t change the past, but I can take responsibility for my future. I’m an independent woman now; it’s time I started to act like one.”
“But moving into your own place?” Polly’s eyes were wide. “Won’t you be lonely?”
“Solitude might do me good. Once the mourning period is over, I’ll have social activities to keep me busy—especially if I can convince Daltry’s aunts to sponsor me.” At the reading of the will tomorrow, she would start her campaign to win the approval of Mrs. James and Lady Charlotte.
Polly’s brow furrowed. “But where would you live? And how would you afford it?”
So there were a few details Rosie hadn’t ironed out yet.
“I haven’t the faintest how much a lease would cost,” she admitted. “Do you know?”
Polly shook her head. “I could ask Sinjin. I’m sure he would know.”
“I wouldn’t need anything extravagant: a small cottage would do. I have my allowance from Mama and Papa. If they forbid my plans, then I… I’ll simply sell my jewelry and gowns,” Rosie said determinedly. “If I must, I’ll find a way to finance my future.”
“I doubt such drastic measures will be necessary.” Her sister’s voice was dry. “And speaking of your future, I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
Polly helped Rosie out of her stained dress and into a robe. “What about Mr. Corbett?”
Since returning from Gretna, Rosie had told Polly about all her interactions with Andrew—with the exception of her last visit. As much as she loved Polly, some things were just too difficult to share. Asking a gentleman to rid one of one’s virginity topped the list.
“What about him?” she said cautiously.
Polly tugged her over to the bed, where they sat side by side. “Given what has transpired between the two of you, I wondered if he would be a part of your future plans.”
Longing beat its wings… which were clipped by hurt as she recalled his refusal to marry her. She understood now why he’d rebuffed her—and why, even during his more recent possessive (and rather thrilling) rhetoric, he had not once mentioned marriage. But just because she understood his reasoning didn’t mean that she was eager to expose herself to more pain.
He was right: marriage wasn’t possible between them. He couldn’t give her respectability, and, if she were perfectly honest, she wasn’t so certain what she had to offer him. With his looks and wealth, he would have no shortage of females willing to share his bed or his life. What was so special about her: an inexperienced semi-virgin who’d brought him naught but trouble?
Why pursue something that can’t have a happy ending? Why open myself to torment?
“He can’t be part of my future,” she said dully.
“Why not?”
“He’s a brothel owner so I can’t marry him. And he’s too good for me, anyway.”
Polly blinked. “I think you’ll have to explain.”
Leaving out the fact that she’d asked Andrew to deflower her, Rosie confessed her visit to him—and her discovery of what he’d done on her behalf.
“Oh my goodness,” Polly breathed when she was done. “If you don’t marry him, I will!”
“Better not let your husband hear you say that.” Rosie was only half-joking; the earl was more than a little possessive when it came to his bride.
“Why, Mr. Corbett is your knight-errant,” Polly said, her eyes dreamy. “He’s protected you all this time without your knowledge. And buying The Prattler? I cannot think of a more gallant and romantic gesture.”
Her defenses crumbling, Rosie reinforced them by slapping on the plaster of common sense. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t get involved with him. Not now, when I finally have what I want.”
Polly’s brows rose. “Do you?”
“I have a title. Once I garner Mrs. James and Lady Daltry’s support, I’ll have a position in the ton too. No one can snub or reject me again,” she said fiercely.
“I know acceptance is important to you, but I’ve always thought you deserved more.”
“Love, you mean?” She shook her head. “That’s for other people—”
“I believed the same thing once. When I wanted to settle for a loveless marriage, you told me I deserved better. Now I’m returning the favor.” Polly took Rosie’s hands, her expression earnest. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is as important as love.”
“I didn’t say I was in love with Andrew Corbett,” she said quickly.
Perhaps too quickly because Polly gave her an acute look. “But you do have feelings for him?”
Heat rose into her cheeks. “I may be attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter,” she said a tad desperately, “because he has no intention of marrying me. In fact, I practically offered for him once, and he turned me down flat.”
At least he’s been consistent, she thought forlornly. He’s never pretended that marriage is possible between us. He probably wants a less troublesome wife and a woman who’s good for more than just looking pretty.
“Only because he thought he was doing the honorable thing,” Polly argued. “If you told him that you don’t care about what Society thinks—”
“But I do.” Her hands balled; there was no solution to her conundrum. “I cannot compromise everything that I’ve worked for just to indulge some whim of passion. I won’t prove the ton right by carrying on like the veriest trollop.”
“Falling in love doesn’t make you a trollop.” Polly gently touched her arm. “When I was confused about Sinjin, when I didn’t know what I ought to do, the truest guide was my heart. I hope you will listen to yours. And whatever you decide, know that I’ll be here for you.”
Rosie placed her hand atop her sister’s, said gratefully, “What would I do without you?”
“You’ll never have to find out, dearest.”
~~~
Later that evening, Polly’s maid was brushing her hair out after her bath when Sinjin entered through the door that connected their bedchambers. At the sight of her husband, Polly felt a tingle from head to toe. She still couldn’t believe that this beautiful, loving man was all hers.
Dismissing her maid, he came to her, his big hands settling on her shoulders. His eyes, a rich sensual blue, met hers in the looking glass. “Ready for bed, kitten?” he murmured.
“I’m not tired,” she said truthfully. Too much was brewing in her head.
“Capital.” He picked her up, startling a giggle from her, and carried her to the bed. Making short work of her robe and his, he lay her down, crawling over her like a sleek, playful panther. “Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted this afternoon?”
Desire warred with worry as she stared up at her gorgeous husband.
“What’s the matter?” Concern lined his features. “Are you feeling unwell? Is it the babe—”
“It’s not the babe,” she said quickly.
“Do you wish to talk about it?”
It still amazed her how he could read her so easily. And she loved him for being understanding, especially when it was clear that he had other plans. His massive erection pressed into her belly, but his gaze patiently searched hers.
“I’m worried about Rosie,” she blurted.
Heaving a sigh, he rolled onto his side. “Tell me what happened.”
Gratefully, she did, concluding, “I think Rosie’s in love with Mr. Corbett, even though she won’t admit it. I’ve never heard her talk about any gentleman with such emotion. Such longing.”
“I thought your sister set her sights on gentlemen rather regularly,” Sinjin said, his tone dry.
“Not in this way. Not with her heart involved,” Polly said. “She may seem flighty, but when it comes down to it, she has a loyal and loving heart. I wish she would trust her own instincts.”
“And her instincts are correct in leading her to Corbett?”
“After the way he’s protected her? Of course.” Polly slid a look at her husband. “There’s also what you’ve told me about him.”
Before their marriage, Sinjin had been accused of beating a prostitute named Nicoletta at Mr. Corbett’s club. Mr. Corbett had been relentless in his pursuit of justice for his employee, making life difficult for Sinjin. When the truth had come to light, clearing Sinjin of the blame, the pimp had wasted no time in making amends, providing information that had led to the eventual capture of the true villain.
“Despite our initial differences, I respect Corbett,” Sinjin said slowly. “He acted in what he believed to be the best interests of his employee. That’s more than one can say for most pimps, I’d wager. And he apologized when he was wrong—which is more than one can say for most men. But, given his background, are you certain he is a suitable husband for your sister?”
“When it comes to marriage, you know that I don’t hold strongly to conventions—”
“That’s for certain.” Sinjin ran his knuckles along her jaw. “You married me, after all.”
“You’re a rich earl. Not to mention an honorable and ridiculously attractive man,” she said, casting her gaze heavenward. “I don’t think I did too badly.”
“But that’s not all that I am. And you accept all of me.”
Seeing his shadows emerge, she framed his hard, beautiful face in her palms. “Just as you accept me. I love you as you are, darling. You’ve made me so happy.”
“Not half as happy as you’ve made me.”
He kissed her hungrily, and she kissed him back with all the love in her heart. Passion blazed, and before it raged out of control, she broke away to gasp, “Do you think I did the right thing, advising Rosie to follow her heart?”
“That strategy worked well for us. Let’s hope it’ll do the same for her,” Sinjin murmured. “Either way, we’ll be there for her, kitten.”
“Yes, I—” Her words melted into a moan. “I can’t think when you do that, Sinjin!”
“Thinking is overrated. Isn’t this much better… or this?”
It was… and he was right. No matter what, she’d be there for Rosie. She let go of her worries and, with a sigh of bliss, surrendered to her husband’s loving.