by Dayna Quince
“I’m sure they feel differently. What would they say if you told them what occurred?”
Her face twisted comically. “They would find it amusing, especially Lucy, but they would also be outraged on my behalf.”
“Then there is your answer. You have choices, Rose. You have friends who would be glad to come to your aide, several of them.”
She pressed her lips together again. He wondered if that meant she was thinking. It was a very serious expression.
“Well?” He prompted. “With the support of a duchess, no one dares cut you.”
“They spend most of their time in Scotland. The duke was raised in Scotland.”
“Even better! You could go to Scotland and start a whole new life away from the withering eye of the ton.”
She brightened. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Gabriel grinned. He felt quite proud of himself for giving her that smile. He’d solved her woes.
“I could marry a laird. He’d know nothing of what happened here.”
His grin faded. “I suppose…”
“I can picture it now, rolling hills of green dotted with sheep and bagpipes played from a castle turret.”
“I don’t think it’s accurate to assume every Scotsman has a castle and plays the pipes,” Gabriel muttered.
“I’ve always wondered what they wear under their kilts. Do you know, Connor?” She arched up closer to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are they naked under there?” she whispered.
That was all he could take of that. He pulled her onto his lap. “Enough about kilts and castles.”
She squeaked in surprise. He covered her lips with his and claimed her mouth for his own. Her laird could wait. Gabriel hadn’t had his fill of her yet. He adjusted her until she straddled his lap and her skirts rode up on her thighs. She didn’t protest. In fact, she was eagerly thrusting her tongue into his mouth and grinding on his swelling manhood.
His hands moved under her dress, molding to her bare arse, holding her hard against the unforgiving ridge of his arousal. She moaned, her hands roving all over his chest and shoulders, in his hair one moment, then sliding under his collar the next. He could feel her heat through his trousers and imagined her slick with need, ready for him—as tortured by the need as he was desperate to be joined with her.
He dipped his fingers between her thighs with one hand, groaning as he touched sweet molten honey. He toyed with her pearl, teasing soft whimpers from her throat, and then slid two fingers deep inside her. She cried out, sliding down on his fingers and moving against his palm.
She struggled with the fastening of his breeches, pulling at them until she freed him and took him into her hands. She stroked him slowly at first, then faster in time with the rocking of her hips.
* * *
Rose straddled his thighs, her breath a hot rush in her lungs as his fingers dug deeper. Her head fell back, and she closed her eyes, never stopping the movement of her hand up and down his shaft. She was growing wild and impatient, her body hungry. The empty space between them was painful. She fought the urge inside her, the clamoring need that begged her to move forward, close the distance, and sink low onto his manhood, and to take him in greedily and give herself the ultimate satisfaction. A soft cry escaped her. Her body begged, her body beseeched. It wanted all the glory. It wanted all the pain. His fingers pressed harder, faster, his thumb circling steadily. It was coming, so much sweeter and startling than she could ever achieve on her own, and brilliantly. Her back arched tighter, but his hand on her hip kept her from falling back. She was falling anyway, falling the way a firework shoots up into the sky and then plummets slowly in sprinkles of light.
She moaned and shuddered, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her. Her grip went slack, and he groaned. “Fuck. Please don’t stop, Rose.”
She could barely open her eyes, but she managed to slump forward, taking his fevered flesh in hand again. She did the only thing she could think of. She moved over him and sank down. Letting go as another cry escaped her and her shocked flesh protested. But there was only a little resistance, and it was overwhelmed by her body’s slick heat and his steely hardness.
“Rose!” He half groaned half growled. His eyes snapped open, and he gripped her hips tightly.
She could almost laugh at the surprise on his face, but instead, she moved, adjusting herself, tempting the give of her body. Pleasure lanced through her. The pressure on her mons was exquisite. This was the position she remembered in her soiled past. She was still limp from her first climax, but she wanted more.
“Gabriel, don’t stop,” she begged. She lifted herself just a bit and sank down again, holding onto his shoulders for balance and hiding her face in his neck. She could hear a growl rumbling in his chest, but he began to move, thrusting into her, and using her hips to grind her down.
Rose could hardly breathe now. She couldn’t focus on anything but the rough and hard thrusts of their joining. She was racing toward another climax again, her weak limbs unable to move as it shimmered through her, smaller and lighter than the first, but still powerful. Her hands clawed into his hair, and she sobbed through her release.
He tensed, grunting with effort, his thighs rocking hard beneath her. He wrapped his arms around her, binding her to him and then lifting her up and off. She rose on her knees, feeling the hot spurts of his release on her inner thigh.
She panted heavily and fell to her side, careful as she lifted her leg over him and pulled down her dress. He was breathing heavily as he closed his breeches and stood. He walked slowly away and returned with a rag. She hesitantly met his gaze and took the rag. He was frowning sternly. He didn’t look like a man recently sated. She took the rag and retreated to her room. She wiped herself, curious to see the results of their joining. She was startled to see the pink tinge of blood.
She felt his presence and turned, hiding the rag behind her back. She tried to hide her shaken composure behind a confident smile, but the most she could give him was a flat half smile.
He didn’t return it. His frown transformed into a scowl. “I freely admit I’m not much of a thinker, and I’m not good at reading people. Help me understand what just happened.”
“What do you mean?” Rose forced herself to hold his gaze. She couldn’t run from this now.
He stalked forward, his anger written all over his face. He looked down at her as if he were waiting for her to confess some horrible crime. “You lied. You said you trusted me.”
She watched him swallow, the knot on his throat moving up and down.
“I never wanted to ruin you, Rose. I was trying to save you. I was trying to show you…” He swallowed again.
Rose steeled her nerves. She had to tell him, if only to sooth his anguish. She’d never told anyone her secret, but if anyone needed to know the truth, it was he. “I have a confession to make.”
“I don’t want a confession. I wanted honesty. I wanted trust. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She felt a sudden loss of warmth and a taste of panic. “Why does it matter?”
“You kept it from me.”
“It isn’t something I like to share.” She turned away and folded her arms. It was her darkest secret, the cold, hard center of her soul. She’d long ago decided she would take her experiences with Peter to the grave. She’d told no one, not even her closest friends of her sins. At times, it hurt, the burden of her shame so great she longed to share it with someone, but she couldn’t. She knew the risk was too great. She’d locked her feelings inside herself.
He scoffed. “We’ve been doing lots of kinds of sharing, Rose. But this… you kept this to yourself for a reason. All I asked was for you to be open with me. But I could always sense that you still hid something of yourself. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. God knows I’m no saint.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“A lie by omission. You didn’t tr
ust me enough to tell me the truth. Why?”
“I… I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter.” Pain swelled inside her, closing her throat, stealing her ability to take enough air into her lungs. Tears stung as they rushed to the fore. She turned away to hid them.
“It all matters. Our pasts shape us.”
“It didn’t seem pertinent.” She attempted a casual shrug. It felt stiff and awkward. She desperately tried to marshal her emotions.
“No?” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked up at him darkly. She didn’t know what he saw, but she was afraid to see herself through his eyes.
“No,” she uttered as she blinked away the pressure in her eyes.
“You led me to believe you were a virgin, then you hop on my cock without warning, and what am I to feel? Grateful?”
She shrugged lamely.
“Betrayed is what I feel.”
Now it was Roses turn to scoff. “Betrayed? How?”
“And ambushed.”
“Ambushed!”
“Yes. There was a reason I said I wouldn’t take your virtue. I wanted to show you something about yourself without permanently altering you.”
She choked back a sob. “Well, now you can be assured you haven’t permanently altered anything. I was already ruined.”
His shoulders slumped. “It isn’t just about your virtue or lack thereof. I don’t care about that. I wanted to show you that you are not ruined. You are not defined by your virtue. It’s yours to give freely.”
“Then what is it? I don’t understand why you are so angry.”
“It’s quite simple. You kept something from me. Purposefully. You lied to me, and I suspect you’ve been lying to yourself all this time. You won’t face your own desires. You secret them away, hiding from them, hiding from me. That’s what angers me, Rose. You’re still hiding from me.”
His words landed like blows, breaking through her carefully fortified walls. It scared her so much she wanted to lash out at him. “I’m hiding? I guess you should know better than anyone. You made running away from your past your life’s ambition.”
He folded his arms. “I’ve done no such thing. I live my life on my terms.”
“Ha!” Rose laughed painfully. “Is that what you tell yourself? You are afraid of responsibility.”
He visibly tensed.
“You seek anything that will distract you and keep you far away from what you should really be doing, which is learning to run Belfrost and helping your great uncle. You have a duty to the title, but you shirk it because… because why?” She asked desperately. “You chose to live alone in the farthest, wildest places instead of being with family who love you. Why?”
“I don’t owe you any answers.”
“No, you don’t owe me anything at all. But you owe your uncle and aunt a great deal.”
“I didn’t keep anything from you. What you see is what you get. I’m not perfect, but I never lied about who I was.”
“You’ve been lying to yourself since your parents died, Connor.”
His face darkened.
“You chose to be alone. I am alone,” Rose responded.
He took her hand. “You wouldn’t be if you didn’t choose to be. If you only opened your heart and let others see who you are.”
Rose shook her head and pulled her hand away. “We can talk ourselves in circles or just admit that—”
“That we’re both wrong?” He chuckled. “You’re right on that score. I’m through talking about it. I now know you won’t tell me the truth. I can’t believe anything you say now, can I? I tried to make this time about you, showing you there was more to you than poor, tragic Rose. There is a woman somewhere under all that miserable black wool. There is a person shining with love and light under the dismal sadness, but you won’t let her out. You won’t claim her existence. You won’t demand your pleasure—your happiness. You’d rather let yourself turn into a dried up spinster.” He turned away.
“I…” What could she say? She’d never before had to defend herself this way.
“Until you can admit I’m right, I’m done talking.” He walked away.
“Fine,” she said to his back. “Don’t talk. Don’t listen to what I have to say, but I will say it anyway. I chose to give my virtue away, and I chose to be with you now. I let you see more of me than anybody. But I don’t have to give you everything. You haven’t given me everything, either. We’re both protecting ourselves, so don’t deny that.” She stopped to breathe. Her chest ached as she watched him fade into the shadows of the hall.
* * *
Connor fell against the wall in the hall, still hearing her voice tear at him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. His insides felt like a mixture of gunpowder and whiskey. He fought the urge to go back in and continue the argument, but he felt so volatile he knew it would be a mistake. He pushed away from the wall and continued down the stairs. He planted himself in the chair by the hearth and glared at the fire. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. He couldn’t stop the seething whirl of anger that filled his head. She’d laughed at the notion that he could feel betrayed by her deception, but that was exactly how he felt. Did she care so little for him or did Gabriel care too much?
He tried to organize his thoughts in his head by reviewing exactly what had happened.
When she cried out in his arms, his body had pulsed with satisfaction. Pulling away from her had been painful. At that moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to hold her to him, thrust deep inside, and stay there. But he couldn’t because, at that moment, when she’d sunk down on him, enclosing him in her sweet heat, he’d experienced two very powerful emotions. They’d warred with each other, giving him enough clarity to pull her off before he made a grave mistake. He’d been on the brink of heaven or hell. They could have been bound together by the blood of a child. A responsibility he could never ignore. That had terrified him for a moment, and strangely, elated him. Then, after they’d both finished, he’d offered her a rag. His mind was still reeling at that point. She’d calmly walked away, and Gabriel was left standing there, confused and alone, struck dumb as the wool was pulled from his eyes. He hadn’t taken her virginity. He didn’t have any experience with virgins, but he was certain it involved a lot more than what had just happened.
She’s been with another man, and that was fine. Gabriel had enjoyed the company of many women. So why did it bother him so much? He claimed it was because she’d withheld it from him, but the more he thought about it, the more he loathed this other man. He didn’t understand this anger. He wasn’t jealous—he couldn’t be. There was no logical reason to be jealous of a lover in her past, so why was he so riled by this? All he’d wanted was the truth, and the truth was, all he’d wanted was her. Maybe he really meant what he said to her upstairs. Her virtue didn’t matter, but her honesty did. All she had to do was tell him, and he would understand, but instead, she’d hidden it, and taunted him with her own angry words.
She must think him a coward. He wasn’t afraid of responsibility. He hadn’t found a fear yet he couldn’t stare down and eventually conquer. What did she know of responsibility? She’s been cared for all her life. Yes, she’d lost her parents but not at the same time as he had. She’d had her father, and then Lady Belfrost was there to scoop her up. Was she grateful? No. She was sad.
Gabriel stood and poured himself a liberal glass of whiskey. He took a gulp and grimaced as the liquid burned down his throat. Who was he kidding? He could not fault her for not being happy with her lot in life. He’d been the same. That’s what he was so desperate to show her. She didn’t have to accept defeat. She could have so much more than this. She could marry if she wanted to, virginity or no. Only the weakest of men cared for such a thing.
Any man with half a brain would be thrilled to find himself married to her. She was not ruined. She was not a soured glass of milk only fit to be tossed in the pig trough. She was lovely, and she deserved not to feel shame for whatever she’
d done in a fit of fevered passion, but to be cherished by a man worthy of loving her.
Who such a man could be, he didn’t know, and Gabriel had a feeling he wouldn’t like him on sight. But what he did know was that here and now, she’d hidden from him. She’d found him unworthy of her trust. It was a bitter sting, and it centered right in his chest.
He pressed his head back against the chair, recalling the fantasy he’d created in his mind where their lives had crossed very differently. Their parents alive, their fates co-mingling on a crowded ballroom floor instead of a musty lodge—that was a life they could have shared. A home, a family, and surrounded by loved ones.
The split second before he pulled out of her, he’d tempted that fate. Only their life would be nothing like that. He may be an heir, but he had little to his name until his uncle passed, and that wasn’t a day Gabriel looked forward to.
The whole thing made him feel sick. He wanted her, he didn’t know any other way to put it, but until she decided what she was about, he’d keep to himself. There was no use attempting to show her something she didn’t want to see. She could own her passion, claim it, or go on living in a shell of sadness.
Or maybe she wouldn’t? He’d already helped her see that her situation wasn’t hopeless. She could leave here. She could go to Scotland and find a new life. A life that didn’t include him. And he’d… he’d go find another adventure. Maybe somewhere tropical where the women didn’t cover their breasts. He’d forget about Rose and her Scottish laird.
He cursed himself. No, he wouldn’t. He’d never be able to forget about her. He’d remember the feel of her body clasped around his until the day he died. He’d remember her scent, whatever the hell it was, even when old age stole most of his senses.
He got up and refilled his drink. It was the same bottle Rose had drank from last night. The whiskey smelled sweet like her but burned going down, turning his insides to embers. He reclaimed his chair, taking the bottle with him, determined to drown every urge—specifically any urge that pertained to Rose, at least for the evening. When the coach returned tomorrow, he’d ask for more whiskey.