The Spurned Viscountess

by Shelley Munro

Rosalind stared anew. Their gazes clashed and held. The silence between them stretched. In the distance soft music tinkled, masculine laughter floated up from outside. A soft breeze ruffled the Flemish tapestries covering the walls.

  “Where…” Rosalind paused to clear her throat. “Where will you sleep?”

  Lucien’s gaze intensified. Her skin prickled, not in fear, but a different, more foreign sensation. His gaze dropped to her mouth. The hush grew heavy with expectation. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  Lucien cursed, long and loud, even as he eyed her lips avidly. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” Rosalind backed up. This time, he stepped closer and raised one hand to trace her mouth with his fingers.

  “That,” he whispered. “What am I going to do with you? I’m trying to do the right thing, but you make it difficult.”

  “I’m your wife.”

  “I know. But I didn’t want to care for you.”

  Rosalind considered his words. He’d loved his first wife. Was there room in his heart for her too?

  His thumb brushed her bottom lip and he bent his head. Rosalind couldn’t breathe as he lifted his other hand to cup her head, his dark eyes intent and serious.

  He’d kissed her before. She knew what to expect, yet this time seemed different and full of unexpected tension.

  “Are you sure you want to sleep in here tonight?” His voice was low. Husky. His eyes glinted in the candlelit room, holding silent questions he hadn’t voiced.

  Rosalind was certain. She nodded, turning slightly to nuzzle his hand and press a soft, moist kiss to his palm. “I’m very sure.”

  He lowered his head and slowly drew her against his chest.

  Apprehension swept through Rosalind when her body came into contact with his. Now that Lucien was finally acquiescing, she had no idea what to do or how to behave. What if she did something wrong? What if she compared unfavorably with his first wife? The thought made her tense, horror flooding her thoughts. What if she did something so wrong he never let her enter his chamber again?

  “Having second thoughts?” He was so close now, his warm breath wafted across her cheek. Port and the faint tang of tobacco plus a scent uniquely Lucien made her sigh and relax.

  “I’m not sure what to do next. I sort of know what happens, but what if I do the wrong thing?”

  Lucien chuckled and the infectious sound made her lips curl up at the corners. “I know exactly what to do,” he said.

  An intriguing dimple winked at the corner of his mouth and entranced her. She lifted her hand to run her fingers over the small dent. Instantly, images flooded her mind. She gasped. Her gaze flew to Lucien’s. “I have no clothes on!”

  The dimple reappeared. “I know.”

  Her brow creased in a frown. “You’re wearing clothes.”

  Lucien grinned, and when Rosalind attempted to speak, he placed a hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he murmured. “You talk too much.”

  The candles flickered. Lucien lowered his hand, pressed a fleeting kiss over her mouth. “Can you read my mind all the time?”

  “My grandmother taught me to block. I can block most thoughts as long as I’m calm. Sometimes they slip in, but I have to be touching the person.”

  “We’ll probably come into physical contact,” he murmured, an undertone of laughter in his voice. “I’d better watch what I’m thinking.”

  This teasing, laughing Lucien was a stranger to her. Relaxed and approachable, he made her crave more of the same in the future. His pointed gaze made her self-conscious. She sighed, knowing she could trust him.

  Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders and took half a step back. Slowly his gaze trailed downward to linger at her lips. Heat bloomed on her skin. Rosalind sucked in a breath as his attention moved lower. It was as if he caressed her. She wanted to fidget, but a strange lethargy held her in place. Suddenly her clothes were heavy and cumbersome. And Lucien seemed to know.

  “Let me play maid tonight.” He pushed her down onto a walnut chair. In the dressing-table looking glass, she saw their twin reflections. Lucien appeared dark and somber in his usual black attire while her blond hair glinted in the candlelight.

  Lucien’s fingers deftly removed the two ivory combs fastening her hair. His fingers worked through her blond locks until they spilled past her shoulders.

  “I’ve thought about seeing you like this,” he confessed. His hand smoothed across her hair. A relaxed sigh drifted from Rosalind as his fingers combed and massaged her scalp. She eyed his reflection. His intent expression was easily discernable with his restrained hair. She liked it best when he allowed his hair to hang loosely about his face, the curls springing to life.

  “Stand for me, Rosalind.”

  She rose on unsteady legs. His deft fingers dealt with her gown and petticoat. Laces unfastened and tapes were untied as if by magic. The silken fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whoosh. He whisked her hoops and stays from her body. Rosalind chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety rising once more. Lucien tugged her against his chest, his mouth nuzzling behind her ear. Velvet fabric tickled her back. Hot, moist breath fanned her neck and the sensation did little to aid her wobbly knees. The heat in the room intensified, despite her lack of clothing. Muscles constricted with alarm but the feeling of his lips on her heated skin was most pleasant. A shiver moved down her body.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he murmured.

  “I’m not,” she said, and knew it for a lie. It was hard to act brave when the future looked so hazy.

  His hand toyed with her chemise strap. He turned her to face him, cupping her head until she met his gaze. His eyes were wild and stormy. Hot. Her pulse skittered, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips again. Lucien gave a soft laugh as if he found her nerves amusing. Rosalind stiffened.

  “Relax. I’m not laughing at you.” He smiled and brushed one finger over her quivering mouth. “Your face is easy to read. Your emotions give you away.”

  Lucien bent his head, closing the gap between them. The touch of his lips was different from what she expected. His kiss was soft and fleeting, tentative as if he was trying not to scare her. His lips moved over hers, and she felt a flick of his tongue. Startled, she opened her mouth and his tongue swept inside.

  Smell. Taste. Her senses bombarded her as she experienced close proximity to Lucien. Curiosity burned inside her and, greedily, she wanted to try everything. Her hands fluttered before settling on his shoulders. His black jacket was rough to her touch while his velvet waistcoat felt soft and luxurious. Her hands slipped under to discover the white linen shirt beneath.

  “Would you like me to take off my waistcoat and shirt?”

  Rosalind considered the idea. “Yes, please.” Heat suffused her face, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. Her brow creased momentarily. This was nothing like the scenario her aunt had described. The dark fumbling and mortifying touches of a husband forcing his way into the bed. Pain for a short time, then left blessedly alone until the next time.

  Candles spluttered in the wall sconces. Rosalind shifted to allow the light to shine on her husband.

  Her mouth rounded as Lucien started to remove his clothes. Finally, his shirt dropped down his arms and whispered to a puddle at his feet. Her gaze rose to meet his. “You’re beautiful.” Not even the scars on his face or the one on his upper shoulder detracted from his presence.

  “Don’t let that get around,” he said dryly. “I’ve worked very hard to scare all the women away with my ugly scars.”

  Her hand hovered over the bare skin of his chest. “Can I touch you?”

  His laugh was short, his voice husky and low. “Please.”

  Dark hair grew on his chest. It was soft beneath her fingertips. She edged closer, near enough to press her nose against his skin. His scent filled every breath. Something mystical. Oriental. That was it. The aroma reminded Rosalind of the small sandalwood boxes that hailed from the Orient.

  His hands tugged her against his ches
t. Instead of the scratchy cloth of his jacket, his skin was smooth and warmer. Hot to the touch. Her mouth opened and without thought, she kissed him in the middle of his chest. He groaned and tightened his hold.

  Then he laughed. “You, madam, are going to be the death of me with your questions and your curiosity. Come, let us lie on the bed before my knees give out.”

  “Oh, do your knees feel wobbly too? I thought perhaps I’d drunk too much wine,” Rosalind said.

  He made a small choking noise.

  “Are you all right? Should I hit you on the back?”

  Lucien laughed hard then. He wiped a splash of moisture from his eyes and grinned at her. “When I first saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”

  “I know my gift is a curse, but I do try not to be a nuisance.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart.” He snatched her off her feet and took three hurried steps to the bed.

  Rosalind fell to the mattress and bounced lightly. The mattress dipped as Lucien sat on the edge of the bed. He slid off her pink satin shoes and tossed them to the floor. The sensation of his hands on her legs made her freeze. His hands slid up until he came to her garters. Deft movements untied them in a trice. Then he peeled down her stockings, his callused hands smoothing them to her ankles, sending a shiver down her spine. Her pulse raced, her body awash in sensations she’d never experienced before.

  And there was much more to come. Pain. Would she bear it? Sighing, she decided yes. To have a child of her own to love, she would bear any amount of pain.

  Lucien removed his shoes and stockings while Rosalind watched with avid curiosity. His hands settled on the fastening of his breeches. Hesitation skirted his face.

  “Is it necessary to take off your breeches?” Rosalind asked.

  Another small choking noise escaped from the depths of his throat. His mouth twitched.

  “Maybe not,” he murmured and, grinning, he moved up the bed, his upper body covering her chest.

  Not an unpleasant experience. The friction of her breasts against the sheer cotton of her chemise made her wriggle. Heat engulfed her face, her body; and low down in that place between her legs, an ache intensified. She squirmed a little more.

  “Be still,” Lucien ordered.

  Rosalind froze, not at his order but at the strange guttural groan he emitted. Her eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” Again his voice sounded strange. “Hell.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her. Warmth surged from his lips. Heat. Flickers of sensation exploded, sending tendrils of heat from wherever he touched. His hand on her shoulder, his weight on her upper body—both felt strange but right. His mouth traced a path across her cheek, down her neck and, strangely, her ear.

  Rosalind melted like a snowdrift under the rising sun. Who would have thought a kiss on her ear would feel so…so wondrous. One sensation merged into another. His hands, rough from working with the men in the village, elicited magical sparks that prickled up and down her limbs.

  “Let me take your chemise off, Rosalind. I want to see you.”

  “See me?” Even though she’d seen herself naked in his thoughts, the act of disrobing in front of her husband was not something she’d considered much before tonight. Her aunt hadn’t mentioned taking off clothes, and neither had Mary. Wouldn’t it make her vulnerable? What if he teased her or scorned her body like her cousin used to? She studied his bare chest and frowned. “Can’t you see me now?”

  Lucien trailed his hand across her shoulder. “I would like to see your skin, your breasts. I want to touch you and feel your skin.” His hand moved a little lower, the lazy sweep of his fingers grazing one breast.

  Rosalind took a deep breath. “I’ll take my chemise off if you remove your breeches.”

  His grin was wide and instant. He levered away from her, his hands moving to unfasten his breeches. His eyes held a silent dare, along with heat and a strange yearning that made Rosalind desperate to please him. Her hand hovering at the hem of her chemise, she steeled herself and whipped the white cotton garment over her head. Clothing rustled and, when she risked a look, she discovered none of her naughty visions had prepared her. Her aunt and Mary had lied. It was much bigger than the appendage Mary had described. Not exactly ugly or scary. No…more interesting. Different. She lifted her gaze to meet his quizzical smile. They stared at each other for long seconds before Rosalind reached a trembling hand out to touch a pectoral muscle. “You’re brown all over.”

  “I go swimming in the sea.”

  Rosalind’s gaze flew to his. “With no clothes?”

  “The water feels like silk against your skin.”

  “I’d like to do that.” Her tone held wistfulness. “Can I go with you next time?”

  “I’d enjoy that,” Lucien murmured, an undercurrent of laughter shading his voice. “Come here.” He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her shoulder. A shudder sped down her body. Then he kissed her. His tongue swirled across her lips and this time she knew to open her mouth a little. The kisses were sweet and addictive, rich and heady, tasting of port and summer sunshine.

  While he kissed her, his hands were at her shoulders, but then they moved. She gasped in a breath, her heart thumping like the waves pounding at the base of the cliff below the castle. “What are you doing?” Her aunt had told her marriage bed activities were quick, and her husband would leave her bed after ten minutes at the most. Her brow crinkled. They’d been here for some time and all Hastings had done was kiss her.

  “I want to learn your body, so I know it as well as my own.” His fingers skimmed down her arm.

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all right?”

  Rosalind considered his words. The touching and kissing wasn’t so bad. “I think so.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He paused to flash white teeth at her in a wide grin. “You don’t have to lie so quiet and still. You’re allowed to touch me too.”

  The idea appealed a lot. She set out to quench her curiosity, to search for the similarities and the differences between them.

  Lucien couldn’t help his amusement. It was the way Rosalind threw herself into every situation—with a little trepidation but lots of heart and determination. His mouth quivered. Let’s see how she handles this.

  He rolled, tugging Rosalind on top of him. She squeaked, her mouth rounding, her brows shooting upward. “So you can explore easier,” he said.

  Her hands clutched his upper arms, nails biting into his skin. Instead of pain, arrows of sheer need collected at his groin. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Slow. He needed to give Rosalind time, but the urge to roll her over and thrust his cock into her tight warmth was almost overwhelming.

  Shy, hesitant hands crept across his chest. He could hear her breathing, the tick of a clock, the occasional splatter of wax from a candle.

  He opened his eyes and the concentration on her pale face made his heart race even faster. “Kiss me.”

  Slowly she leaned toward him but instead of kissing him on the lips, she kissed his chest, his neck. Shy and hesitant at first, then with more assurance when she realized he wouldn’t protest. Her mouth grazed a flat nipple and his breath escaped with a hiss. She froze.

  “Did that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “You liked it?”

  “I did. I do, but I’m not sure how much exploration I can take.”

  Her bottom lip stuck out in a cute pout, and he had the sudden urge to sink his teeth into that lip then soothe it with kisses. Hell, he needed to speed up this process before he went mad. He snaked a hand behind her head, tugging her flush with his aroused body from shoulder to groin.

  “Oh,” Rosalind said, moving aside and peering at his groin. “Does that hurt?” One small hand crept downward. She wrapped her hand around his rod, the heat in her touch making him want to groan out loud. God, her touch felt good. As if she could read his mind, she slid her hand up and down, exploring him, until he thought he might go cross-eyed
attempting to restrain himself.

  Lucien tightened his arms around her. “Sweetheart, no it doesn’t hurt. Please.” Needing to distract her, he cupped one breast and explored her luscious curves. The scent of flowers teased at his nostrils. What would she taste like? He held her away from him, replacing his hand with his mouth. Hell, she tasted sweet. He should have known. She moaned softly. His hands tightened at her sensual reaction while his mouth laved her pouting nipple. His plain English mouse had many hidden qualities, which only now he was coming to appreciate.

  The pressure in his groin urged him to make haste, to dispense with patience, and for once Lucien was in full agreement. He kissed her, ravishing her lips, tasting, nipping. Hands explored, shaping her breasts and moving lower. His hand skimmed the hot, sweet place at the juncture of her thighs. She stiffened.

  “Relax,” he murmured. “You can tell me to stop at any time and I will.” If he could. He wasn’t so sure of his ability to halt should she ask.

  Lucien stroked her thighs. So soft and pale. And bruised, he noted with a frown. One knee bore a graze while numerous scratches marked the pale perfection of her thighs. He slid down and touched his lips to an angry mottled yellow bruise. He trailed his fingers upward. Warm feminine flesh greeted his touch. His fingers moved, circled slowly until the tenseness left her body and her thighs fell apart. The scent of her, sweet-smelling and delicious, made him tremble. He pressed a kiss to her abdomen and slid up to kiss her breasts again. When her hands cradled his head, holding him to her, a surge of pure lust spread through his veins.

  “You know it will hurt,” he said, looking down at her slightly flushed face. Her blue eyes darkened, her bottom lip caught between white teeth.

  “I don’t mind.”

  She sounded sure this was what she wanted. But she was apprehensive. Lucien covered her lips with his even as he parted her legs. Take it slow and easy. Slow and easy. He pushed into her, the sensation almost more than he could bear after months of celibacy. Her warm, feminine flesh massaged his cock. He sucked in a deep breath, reinforcing his need to take his time.

  “That doesn’t hurt.” Rosalind sounded surprised.