And she looked so trustingly at him, he had no idea what else to say. Nice? Instead he thrust faster, harder. Watched her eyes close and her mouth open as she struggled for breath. His fingers found her again and he watched her sensitive body orgasm, her back arched off the bed as she came a third time.
Control completely vanished now, James slid one hand beneath her thigh and brought her closer to him. She clung to him, her hips moving with his as he tried to grasp his control and knew he failed. But Rose’s arms held him tight, and her legs locked around his hips. She held him with every thrust, even when he felt his pleasure tighten, tighten, and snap.
He stilled above her, emptying himself into her willing body.
Slowly the bedroom returned and he opened his eyes, looking down at Rose. She watched him through half-closed eyes, his arms now limply lying at her side, breathing still heavy.
“More than nice,” she admitted with a faint curl of her lips. Her eyes slipped closed, but her smile remained. “I like it very much.”
James breathed out a laugh and slipped out of her, rolling to her side. He reached for her and tugged her gently against him. Rose curled into his hold, and he felt her breath even out.
He didn’t move for a long, long while, but simply held her tight.
* * * *
ROSE HAD BEEN nervous; of course she had. As much as her girlfriends had explained this to her, what happened on her wedding night, it was all still a surprise. Vivian had been very forthcoming with details after her wedding night—said it was painful.
Rose had not found it overly so. And Vivian had not said anything about the pleasure.
Had it been because James was utterly gentle? Slow when he needed to be, quick other times? Or was it because she’d been so caught up in…well, in everything? The way he looked at her, the way he touched her and kissed her.
Now, stretching sore muscles, she rolled her shoulders and looked over at him. He slept soundly, his face turned toward hers. Rose resisted reaching out to touch him. Barely. And wondered why she didn’t.
Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be as torturous as she’d thought on their wedding day. James had been so strange since then. His dreams concerned her still. However, in these last weeks, he’d proven his devotion.
Such devotion was exceedingly rare—Rose had never seen such attentiveness from another man, in another couple. She’d been lost in him these last weeks. He’d courted her, talked with her, laughed with her.
If they hadn’t had such a rushed wedding, Rose wondered if she’d have fallen in love with him. She wondered if even now she fell in love with him.
Rose licked her lips and pulled her hand back. James was easy to fall for—he had a charm she hadn’t seen that day, their wedding day. But every day since she had and wondered why that day had been so different. Why he pushed and insisted on marriage after a bare five-minute conversation.
In most things James was not a strict man; he saw to his business with a strictness that was only necessary. But his humor, she loved his humor. Loved his quick smile and the way he mocked society; the way he made her feel comfortable with the mere thought of the ton.
She found James attractive, of course, but love? He’d taken care to teach her what she didn’t know, treated her as a princess. Talked to her like an equal.
Oh. Oh, dear. Oh, no. She was already in love with him.
Rose frowned and frantically looked for her clothing. Her gown lay in a pool on the floor, and she vaguely remembered throwing her chemise over the side of the bed. Ignoring the gown, she searched for her chemise and slipped it over her head. Being covered did little to alleviate her fears.
Grabbing her dressing robe, she slipped the heavy material over her shoulders and walked to the windows. Rose didn’t examine why she didn’t leave and go to her morning room or sitting room or any other room. She could not. She didn’t want to.
Then there was that vision, which had to have been born from James’s stories. But Rose had seen a soldier, a British soldier in a redcoat. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t recall anyone telling her James’s visions had been of a soldier. She had to have imagined it.
It wasn’t exactly an ordinary thing to live with such a tale.
But James believed it. Even if he never voiced it, James believed at least part of that tale, that dream or memory, was them. Fear of her father came from his dream, Rose had no doubt. Though she did not know that portion of the story, the specifics, what she did know led to James’s fear.
Something had to have happened with James’s dream of Rose’s father. Something terrible enough to turn James into a madman every time she brought up Robert Kendrick.
James stirred in her bed, and she tore her gaze from the darkening horizon to watch him. Drawn to him, she left her position by the window and returned to the bed. Dropping her robe by her gown, she slipped beneath the sheet.
“Do not go,” he muttered.
Rose froze and watched him, but his eyes remained closed even as he pulled her closer to his side. James’s lips grazed the side of her throat, but he did not wake.
“Don’t go,” he said again, and this time she felt him stir.
“This is my bed,” Rose whispered. “Why would I go?”
James’s hand tightened around her hip, and he froze for a long, long minute. He kissed his way along her neck to her mouth. Rose sighed into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she drew him closer. She loved kissing him and had no idea so simple an act could be so addicting.
He pulled back and tucked her head beneath his chin. Rose closed her eyes and reveled in the closeness between them. Her hand splayed over his naked belly and she breathed deeply, contentedly.
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice rumbling beneath her ear.
Rose smiled and looked up, catching his eye. “I’m very well.”
His low chuckle sent another tingle through her and she shifted closer, her leg rubbing against his bare one.
“Now we are truly married,” he added, his lips finding hers again.
But after only a moment, Rose pulled back. She watched him with a seriousness she hadn’t expected after they made love. She took a deep breath and debated her words.
“I was not sure,” she started, stopped, and nodded. “I wasn’t sure a marriage that began as ours did could ever be happy, could ever be loving. I’d heard of women whose marriages were arranged, of course. But that…they were always women I didn’t know. In my world,” she said then stopped again.
Rose swallowed and pulled back a little more. She wanted to see him as she spoke, wanted to watch his reaction. And wanted him to know she meant every word she said.
“In my world, people choose each other first. Never did I expect this,” she admitted. “But today,” she continued with a smile, “in your arms, I can’t regret it.”
His hand tangled in her hair, and he pulled her to him. He didn’t kiss her, but simply held her close, his nose brushing against hers and his breath caressing her cheek.
“It was my boyish charm?” he asked, and she heard the grin in his voice. “Or perhaps my unusually handsome features? No,” he said, his mouth pressing little kisses along her jaw. “It was the way my voice caressed you even from a distance.”
Rose chuckled, a breathless sound that nonetheless couldn’t hide the happiness she felt. She guided him to her mouth then and kissed him, a slow, languid kiss that made her skin tingle and her toes curl. She wanted more, but pulled back.
Looking at him she said seriously, “It was all of that and more.”
Chapter Thirteen
ROSE SNEAKED OUT of her bedroom. It wasn’t because she didn’t want James to know she left, but if she woke him, she’d never leave their bed.
In the week since they first made love, they hadn’t left the house and had made love in a variety of rooms she never would’ve thought to utilize in such a manner. She’d yet to learn his body the way he knew hers. Rose wanted to spend hours kissing and cares
sing him, exploring him to her heart’s content.
Even now, as she carefully closed the bedroom door, clad only in her chemise and dressing gown and barefoot, Rose’s fingers itched to feel his skin.
However, at the moment what she really wanted was food. She was starving. They’d shared a light supper last night, but it lay largely forgotten when she’d teased James by licking a dab of sweet cream off his chest.
In the weeks since their marriage, Rose admitted she still didn’t know what to make of everything, the strangeness of James marrying her a day after meeting her. But her feelings for him deepened so quickly, they surprised her. She wondered what it’d have been like if he courted her before their marriage as he had once they married—the long talks and the dancing lessons, their conversations about books and history.
And Scotland.
A rush of warmth and affection flowed through her. She did love him. It turned out James was kind as well as charming, easy to speak with and made her laugh. Never had she felt like this, not with any of her other suitors, even the most attentive, but James made her yearn for more.
She wanted that more. And she wanted it with James.
What a change from her fear on their wedding day. No, the James from that day was not the same man she had since grew to know. That James was hard and focused, unwilling to listen to anyone. While he was no less focused now, there was a…not softness, but affection. An affection in the way he treated her.
Rose didn’t sense any lies there—she’d seen that before, with some of the men on her street. How they used false charm to wheedle their way into a woman’s life. No, James exhibited all the charm she expected, but there was no falseness behind it.
The way he looked at her, the gentleness with which he touched her, the passion in his kiss. None of that was a lie.
Now, in her dressing gown and slippers, she raced down the stairs before the sun fully rose, not caring how she looked. Well, no, that wasn’t true. She knew how she looked. She simply didn’t care what the servants thought, and no one dared visit this early in the day.
Strange how she’d gone from rising early to help her father with his business, socializing with a few friends and attending several parties, and now…now her life was so very different. Different friends, different expectations.
She had correspondence to see to every single morning and servants to supervise, the household to run. Responsibilities she never thought she’d have and enjoyed. More, she loved talking with James about his business.
Being respected. He respected her and her opinions and listened to her in ways she’d never been before. And he trusted her.
Even now, that thought made her smile. Walking into the kitchens as she would in her father’s house, Rose faltered when the entire staff stopped and stared. Clearing her throat and cursing herself, she grinned to cover her awkwardness.
“May I please have a breakfast tray sent to my morning room?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, Rose turned and left.
She laughed all the way back to her morning room. She may be a terrible mistress of the house, but she was happy.
Settling behind her desk, she started to go through the days’ worth of letters and invitations. She needed to remember to ask Octavia about those people she didn’t know. The sad fact was Rose knew none of them and relied on Octavia’s opinion.
“Quite a number of letters have arrived in the last three days,” Mrs. Shelley said as she personally brought the breakfast tray.
Rose looked up, still unable to wipe the smile off her face. Nodding to the housekeeper, she dug into the pile.
“I believe you have an invitation from the Duchess of Strathmore for their annual ball,” Mrs. Shelley said neutrally. “Which should be answered promptly. And an invitation to every ball of note this week.”
The housekeeper was polite enough to refrain from saying Rose and James had obviously missed several of them already.
“If we were to accept,” she said primly, “I’m not sure we’d be home any night this month.”
She sipped her tea and nibbled on a slice of toasted bread as she continued to sort through the pile. Letters on one side, invitations on the other.
“Likely not,” Mrs. Shelley agreed. She paused then added slowly, “It is traditional for a newly married couple to decline invitations due to their honeymoon.” Mrs. Shelley smiled. “Perhaps that will help, Mrs. Hamilton. There are also several personal correspondences, ma’am. If you don’t need anything else, I shall leave you to it.”
Rose looked up and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Shelley.”
The other woman left, and Rose flipped through the personal letters. She stopped when she spotted her father’s familiar handwriting. Dread curled in her stomach, though Rose was not entirely certain as to why.
Skimming through the letter, her dread turned rapidly to annoyance. Her father’s new clerk apparently knew nothing, and now Robert wanted her to train the man.
Sighing, Rose drained her teacup and rubbed her fingers over her forehead. She’d do it, of course, spending a day with the new clerk and going over letters and accounts and files. Mayhap list where things were so the man could easily find them once she left.
But she couldn’t tell James. That realization settled like lead in her belly. Rose poured herself more tea and stared at the swirling brown liquid for several long minutes.
He wouldn’t understand. And given the last time she wished to visit her father, and his overbearing nature on that short visit, Rose had no wish for James to stand behind her the entire time she was in her father’s offices, glowering at Robert. She’d get nothing done, James’s presence would only antagonize the staff, and she’d have to deal with his overprotectiveness whenever her father entered the room.
Plus, James didn’t need to accompany her everywhere. She was her own woman, and while the complexities of polite society often perplexed her, she was well equipped to handle the offices.
No, she needed an excuse for James. He’d want to know where she was during the day when not with him.
Glancing back at her letters, she saw several from her friends. Perfect. They’d be the perfect excuse. She’d tell James she spent time with Vivian and Martha, the first she’d see her friends since marrying him.
“Hiding from me already?” James asked.
Rose turned, her smile already blossoming across her face. She barely remembered to stuff her father’s letter under the rest of the pile.
“I simply wished to attend to a few things before my husband monopolized all my time,” she said and stood.
“I’ve known pairings that have taken an entire year for a honeymoon,” he said and slowly stalked into the room, his eyes intent on her. “We’ve been married less than a month.”
“A year,” she repeated, mirroring his moves as he circled the room. “I’ve known people who married in the morning and worked in the afternoon.”
“Thankfully, those people are not us.”
He closed the distance and pulled her against him, his hands settling comfortably on her hips. Rose wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she hummed against his mouth.
“You are truly a man of leisure,” she said and pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Dismiss all this correspondence,” he said, kissing down her neck. “What do you wish to do today? Shall we tour London? Or find our way back to the bedroom?”
“Neither, I’m afraid,” she said and then struggled to remember why she said that.
James pulled back and frowned at her. “Why not?” he asked indignantly.
She touched the tips of her fingers to his lips and offered a soft smile. “I intend to do one or two things without my husband today.”
James’s eyebrow raised, and his dark eyes sparkled with laughter. “I’m not sure the law allows for that,” he said with mock seriousness. He kissed her jaw, the small spot behind her ear. “At least not during the honeymo
on period.” He pulled back, his eyes even darker. “Which I was thinking about. Would you like to see France? Or Italy?” He tangled their fingers together and tugged her closer. “Or perhaps Spain.”
Rose stared at him. “I’ve never traveled outside London,” she admitted in a quiet voice.
His eyes softened, and one hand cupped her cheek. She watched him, the way he stared at her, the gentleness in his touch, the little caresses of his fingers over her skin.
“But I think I’d like that very much,” she admitted.
Traveling with James sounded wonderful. Traveling at all did, but to see the world with him? Excitement raced along her nerves, and she smiled. She could think of no better way to spend a month or two.
“I can arrange for passage tomorrow,” he told her with all seriousness. “If you’d like.”
“Not so quickly!” She laughed. Rose pulled back and picked up Isabella’s invitation still lying atop the stack. “The Duchess of Strathmore’s ball is in two weeks.”
He didn’t bother to look at the finely engraved invitation. “I can arrange for passage just after, then.”
Rose brushed her fingertips over his lips again. “I’d like that very much,” she agreed.
Then she pulled back, the contents of the rest of the correspondence rushing back. She cleared her throat and turned from him, uncomfortable with lying to his face. With lying at all, but it was better she did. For this.
“Today I’m off to see my dear friend, Mrs. Thompson,” she said with a nod to the letters.
Undeterred, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and continued to kiss along her shoulder. “We can meet for a stroll afterwards,” he proposed.
“No,” Rose said and shuddered, arching into his touch. “I want to spend time with her. I haven’t seen her since before the wedding.” She stopped at the implications of that, the memory of that day, and rushed on. “And I wish to give her my old dresses.”
“I’m sure your lady’s maid will be very perturbed to know this,” James said against her skin.
Rose laughed, one hand curling up and back to hold him in place. The lies churned heavily in her stomach, but she kept on. “Shaw never need know, she’ll benefit soon enough.”
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 10