by Anne Barton
Charles knelt before the hearth, and Neville handed him some kindling and a match. “It’s nice to see it getting some use.”
After lighting the fire, Charles stood and reached into his pocket. “We’ll most likely head back to our wagon first thing in the morning. Please accept this small token of our gratitude for your generosity,” he said, holding out a few coins.
Neville waved his hand away. “Matilda would have my head if I took money from a nice young couple like you. Save it up for the children you’ll have one day. You’ll need it.”
The mention of children made Rose blush, and she was grateful for the dim light in the cabin. “Thank you,” she said.
Neville brushed off his hands and reached for his lantern. “Come to the cottage if you need anything else. Otherwise, sleep well.”
He left, and as Charles poked at the fire, Rose sank into one of the rocking chairs, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like days. “I think I’m going to sleep very well indeed.”
“Shall I take your cloak?”
Though loath to move, she slipped off the cloak and handed it to him. “I think I shall stay in this spot. Forever.”
Chuckling, Charles walked up behind her chair, placed his warm hands on her shoulders, and gently kneaded the tension out of them.
She closed her eyes and moaned softly. “That feels heavenly.”
“So will a good night’s sleep,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll spread out the quilts and pillows for you.”
Turning in her chair, she watched as he layered two thick quilts on the floor and tossed two fluffy pillows against the wall. “You’ve had less sleep than I in the past two days. You must be about to collapse.”
“Not at all.” He returned to her, took her hand, and when she would have stood, swept her up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” She kicked playfully, loving the solid strength of his arms beneath her.
“Taking you to bed.”
“It’s an odd thing,” she said, as he gently lowered her onto the quilt. “I suddenly find that I’m not as tired as I’d originally thought.”
Charles shot her a grin that melted her insides. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tack: (1) All the equipment that a horse wears, including the saddle, bridle, and harness. (2) A course of conduct, especially one that is heretofore untried, as in Determined to try a new tack, she slid her hand under his waistcoat, across his hard, flat abdomen.
Rose sat back on her heels and removed the pins from her hair. Charles watched her with an expression of awe, as though she were performing a sacred rite that few mortals had ever witnessed. With each pin she pulled free, the heavy bun on top of her head began to fall, easing the tightness in her scalp. When she’d rid herself of the last one, she tossed them into her satchel and ran her hands lightly through her unruly curls.
He swept a lock off her shoulder and wound it around his finger. “You have no idea what the sight of you like this does to me.”
Her heart beat faster. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’d rather show you.”
They couldn’t remove their clothes fast enough. He pulled off his boots while she pushed off his jacket. He wrestled off her dress, not seeming to mind in the least that it was serviceable wool rather than elegant silk. Her boots and stockings were the next casualties, tossed across the small room like the nuisances they were. Before long, she wore only her chemise, he only his trousers. They tumbled onto the makeshift bed in a tangle of arms and legs, skin against skin.
“I hope you don’t mind that I introduced you as my wife,” Charles said. “I thought it would make things easier… but I probably should have warned you.”
“I like this charade,” she admitted. “And truthfully, it doesn’t feel like much of a charade.”
He turned sober then, his beautiful eyes intense. Almost pained. “How in God’s name did I get so lucky?”
“I am lucky, too,” she said. “Every minute that I’m with you feels like a gift. And greedy person that I am, I want more. More of you.”
“Tonight,” he said huskily, “we have lots of minutes together, and you may be as greedy as you like. I’d encourage it, actually.” He loosened the tie at the neck of her chemise and tugged the soft linen lower, exposing the swells of her breasts and taut, pink nipples. “I may not be able to give you riches or a title, but I will gladly give you everything I have and everything I am. I promise to provide for you and protect you.”
She cupped his cheeks in her hands and brushed her lips over his. “I’ve never doubted that,” she said. “I’ve never doubted you.”
His eyes turned hungry—and mischievous. “You trust me, do you?”
“Implicitly.”
His gaze lingered on her breasts, heating her skin. “Lie back.”
Tingling with anticipation, she lay her head on the down pillow and placed her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to cover herself.
“I’m going to taste every inch of you,” he promised. “I should warn you, it’s going to take some time.”
A delicious shiver stole through her. “I’m all yours.”
God, he was handsome. The firelight cast shadows over his body, shading the contours of his chest and abdomen. The muscles of his arms flexed as he moved over her, dipping his head to nibble her shoulder and kiss her neck. With every touch, she slipped further under his spell. Her whole world boiled down to him, her, and the passion that sparked hot between them.
With calloused palms, he caressed her bottom and the soft skin behind her knees. With the stubble on his chin, he skimmed her belly and tickled the insides of her thighs. With his tongue, he teased the folds at her entrance, turning her limbs to jelly and her insides to butter.
True to his word, he took his time, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy and keeping her balanced there for an eternity. “It’s been long enough,” she said breathlessly. “Even the sweetest torture must end. Please.”
“The waiting is almost over, love.” He sat up, pulled off his trousers in one fell swoop, and hauled her chemise over her head. “Come with me.”
Gloriously naked, he took her hand as he walked to one of the rocking chairs in front of the low-burning fire. He lowered himself onto the wooden seat and tugged her forward, guiding her hips until she straddled him in the chair. Her toes just touched the floor, and if she pressed down, the chair swayed.
She glanced down between them, blushing at the sight of him erect and undeniably aroused.
“I want to memorize everything about you,” he said. “The taste of your skin, the sound of your moans, and the softness of your lips.”
“I don’t think I could possibly forget this night. It feels like a dream I’ve had a million times before and one I want to live again and again.”
She moved over him then, taking him inside and surrendering to the rhythm that her body craved. Each time she lowered herself, taking him deeper, he moaned, and her own pleasure spiraled. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her bottom, demanding more from her, pulling her closer. His mouth found the tip of a breast, and he sucked hard, sending sweet vibrations throughout her body.
She felt like she was floating, weightless and free. And when he thrust faster, the insistent pulsing began, lifting her even higher. Needing something to cling to, she raked her fingers down his arms and called out his name.
“That’s it,” he urged. “Come with me.”
And then she did. Her head fell back and every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of pure bliss. She whimpered as the waves rolled over her, overwhelming her body, mind, and soul.
The muscles in his neck tensed, and he gasped as he found his release, too. He held her tightly until she collapsed onto him, deliciously content. They remained there, joined together for several minutes, neither of them willing to move.
At last, he kissed her forehead and gazed into her eyes. “You’re the center of my world, R
ose. I tried to pretend that you weren’t, that I could go to America and find what I needed there, even while you were an ocean away. But I need you. Your goodness, your wisdom, your kindness. I need you.”
She warmed at his words. Being needed was good. People didn’t leave if they needed you. If it wasn’t quite the same thing as love, well, it was close. It was good enough for her, good enough for now. “I need you, too.”
Gently, he helped her stand, then carried her to the quilts. “Rest. I’m going to see what treats Matilda gave us.” He peeked into the basket and grinned at her. “Soft cinnamon-apple rolls with butter. Have a bite.” They shared one roll and then another, savoring each decadent morsel.
“I think Matilda must have a soft spot for you,” said Rose.
“It’s my charm,” Charles confirmed, licking a crumb off his thumb.
She stretched lazily and yawned. “You have definitely charmed me, Mr. Holland.”
He drew a blanket over her and kissed her tenderly. “I’ve only just begun. Sweet dreams, Rose.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, and the weight of the arm he’d draped over her waist made her feel safe and warm. She snuggled closer, secure in the knowledge that there would be no worries tonight. Only intimacy, comfort, and pleasure.
When Charles awoke in the morning, their idyllic hideaway was several degrees colder than the night before. The fire had died, and a chilly draft blew beneath the door and around the window.
Rose slept snugly under the blankets. Her fair skin and auburn hair gave her the look of a mischievous woodland nymph. Though Charles hated to rouse her, they needed to be on their way. He wanted to leave before Neville and Matilda came to check on them. Besides, if they made good time today, they might reach London before nightfall.
“Good morning,” he said softly, brushing a tendril of hair off her cheek.
She blinked sleepily, smiled, and arched a brow. “A good morning indeed.”
“It’s time to get dressed.” He shook his head and grinned. “Though I should have my head examined for even suggesting that you put on clothes.”
“No, I think clothes are prudent.” She sat up, shivered, and pulled the quilt up over her shoulders. “How much longer until we reach London?”
“Tonight, perhaps.”
A range of emotions flitted over her face. Relief, apprehension, and resolve.
He squeezed one of her hands and laced his fingers through hers. “You must be nervous at the prospect of seeing your mother after so many years.”
“Yes. I’m not sure what to expect, but I know I need to see her.”
“I’ll tend to Pandora while you dress. There’s a bowl of water on the hearth in case you’d like to wash up and a roll in the basket if you’re hungry. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, thank you.” She sighed as she looked around the cabin. “I confess I’m a bit sad to leave this place.”
Charles’s heart swelled. Who would have thought that the daughter of a duke could be content sleeping on the floor of a rustic cabin? And yet there was no mistaking the wistfulness in her voice or the sincerity of her words. They made him want to tug the blanket off her and pleasure her all over again, but he refrained. There would be many other mornings… and afternoons and nights.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said, kissing her on the cheek before slipping on his greatcoat and leaving her alone in the cabin.
Outside, the sun had just peeked over the tree line, and the first rays glinted off the frosty fields, promising a warmer day was in store. Charles felt lighter than he had in ages. He could make Rose happy, and that’s what he intended to do. But first he had to see her safely to America. He retrieved Pandora from the small stable where she’d spent the night with Neville’s cows, led her back to the cabin, and tied her lead to one of the large trees. When he knocked on the door, Rose answered, “Come in.”
Dressed in her dark wool dress and black cloak, she stood in the middle of the room, slipping on her gloves. “I’m just about ready,” she said.
She’d straightened the room, and everything was back in its place. The quilts were folded and neatly stacked in the corner, along with the pillows and something else… something silver. “Is that… ?” He pointed at the luxurious fabric, oddly out of place among the patchwork quilts and humble linens.
“The ball gown,” she confirmed matter-of-factly.
“Did you intend to leave it here?”
She hoisted her satchel onto her arm and walked toward him. “Yes, I thought perhaps Matilda would like to have it.”
“Matilda?” It didn’t seem polite to mention, but the older lady wouldn’t be able to fit one leg into Rose’s gown. “She doesn’t need a dress like that.”
“Then maybe one day her granddaughters will use it to play dress up. It seems silly for me to take something so impractical on our journey. It’s not as though I’ll have need of it.” She spoke without a trace of bitterness or regret, and yet Charles felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.
Because what she’d said was true. Married to him, she would never, ever have use for a gown like that. There would be no balls for her, no house parties, no elegant soirees.
And regardless of what she thought about the matter, that truth struck him as very, very wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rose and Charles traveled all day, and when darkness fell they took a room at the Pelican, a small inn just outside of London. Once again they pretended to be married; however, this time Charles gave the innkeeper a different name.
Stopping at an inn was risky, and Rose suspected Charles had done so out of concern for her. Her face was so cold that she could barely move her mouth and tongue to talk; her fingers and toes had lost feeling after a couple of hours of riding. So, while the inn was far from luxurious, a warm room and real bed seemed like true decadence.
The minute they walked into their tiny room, Charles set down their bags, shut the door, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her cheeks and rubbing her arms and back. “You’re frozen.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“You should have told me,” he scolded. “We could have stopped earlier.”
She slipped her hands beneath his coat and jacket and splayed them over his back, savoring the warmth of his body. “I’m thawing nicely,” she said, nuzzling his neck.
The look he shot her conveyed an equal mix of affection and skepticism.
“I’m going to ask for hot tea and supper to be sent up. In the meantime, I want you to take off your boots, climb into that bed, and stay beneath the covers until I return.”
“And then you’ll join me?” she asked with a smile.
“Gladly.” He cupped her cheeks and took her mouth in a kiss that banished the chill. “Under the covers,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Rose sat on the room’s one rickety chair and removed her boots, still stiff from the cold. As she rubbed the feeling back into her toes, she gazed out of the window at the stars winking in the ink-black sky.
They were close to Town now. During the last several miles they’d ridden, they’d encountered more travelers and seen more shops and taverns than they had in the two previous days combined. And that meant Rose was closer to home.
Home. With her comfortable bedchamber and her favorite chessboard and shelves of much-loved books.
So close to Owen, Belle, and their little daughter Lizzy; Daphne and Ben; and Sophia. Olivia and James would return from Egypt any day now, too.
She swallowed the sudden, painful lump in her throat and shook her head. The elegant town house in Mayfair was no longer home. Her life was with Charles now, and for all that her childhood home had to recommend it, it didn’t have him.
Still, she wondered what her brother and Belle were doing at that moment. By now, they had no doubt heard the news of the scandal. Owen would be one part livid and two parts frantic with worry. If Olivia had heard the news, she would be sympathetic but
distraught over the apparent splintering of their small family. Family was everything to Olivia.
It was to Rose, too.
She took off her cloak, hung it on a hook, and climbed into the bed, fully dressed. She tried not to look at the peeling paint on the walls or the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. She didn’t dwell on the lumpy mattress or the dingy linens. None of these things troubled her greatly.
But the thought that she might never again see Olivia or Owen… that was enough to break her heart to bits.
She pulled the covers to her chin and trembled with the effort to stave off tears. If Charles saw her crying, if he guessed the depths of her despair, he would return her to Owen immediately and sail away, out of her life forever—a prospect that was equally terrifying.
So she closed her eyes and told herself she was only emotional at the moment because she was cold and tired and hungry… and because Charles wasn’t there, circling her in his strong arms.
A soft knock on the door made her gasp and bolt upright in the bed.
“It’s just me.” Charles opened the door slowly, balancing a tray in one hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Look, I brought supper.”
Rose blew out a long, slow breath. The mere sight of Charles standing there soothed her frayed nerves and distracted her from her sorrow. It was difficult to be sad while she stared at his ruggedly handsome face, broad shoulders, and lean hips.
He stepped toward her and nodded at the tray. “Shall I set this on the bed?”
She shook her head. “On the chair, I think.”
Frowning, he did as she asked. “Don’t you want to eat?”
“Eventually,” she murmured, holding her arms out to him.
A slow, wicked smile lit his face as he rested the tray on the chair seat and eased himself onto the bed beside her. “I approve of your priorities, but will you mind if your food grows cold?”
“I shall be disappointed if it does not.” Sighing, she grabbed him by the lapels, hauled him close, and kissed him.
She kissed him till there was no room for pain or homesickness or grief. Till she was dizzy with desire and weak with longing. Till all she could feel was the perfect rhythm of their bodies coming together and the pounding rush of pleasure that overtook them both.