by Romy Sommer
When his fingers finally slid out, leaving her sex humming, she did protest.
“Hush,” he murmured. She opened her eyes fleetingly, and saw that he was unbuttoning the front of his grey trousers. They fell to his ankles and he kicked them free. Her breath snagged in anticipation. He stood before her in nothing more than his unbuttoned shirt and shorts.
With impatient fingers, he unbuttoned the front of his shorts. His erection, springing free, was long and thick. Wildly curious, she stroked the silken length of him, her heart stuttering at the size and weight and beauty of him.
Then there was no more time for thought. Pushing her skirt up out of the way, he ripped the delicate satin of her knickers, and there was no longer any barrier between them.
“Yes,” she sighed, as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist to bring the head of his naked shaft to the aching apex between her legs. Pausing for the barest moment at her entrance, he pushed up into her, gently, inexorably.
Her muscles clenched around him, resisting, fighting him.
“Relax,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly against her cheek.
She tried to do as he asked, though every inch of her being throbbed in a state of delicious tension, her body strung tight as a bow. Every nerve ending had sprung to life, every inch of her skin longed for his touch.
He thrust again, one hard, piercing lunge, and she cried out against the pain as he broke through her virginity. He held her tight, supporting her up against the tree trunk. For a long moment, he remained still inside her, allowing her to adjust to the size and weight of him.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.
She nodded, unable to speak. Even as the first pain subsided, a new pain rose up in her, building in waves. A torment, a need greater than any she’d ever experienced.
“Yes,” she said, her voice nothing more than a tendril of breath. Then, “Please.”
He pulled out of her, slowly so as not to hurt her, but she was beyond pain now, the need beating at her relentlessly. She cried out at the loss of him, appeased only when he buried himself in her once again, rubbing the length of his erection against the walls of her sex. She moaned and twisted against him, wanting more.
Time stood still as she abandoned herself to that sweet mix of pleasure and pain. The scratch of bark against her back, scratching through layers of clothing, went unheeded as William moved inside her, plunging in and out, pushing deeper with each thrust, growing faster, building wave on wave inside her, a rising tide of want and need and ecstasy, until she cried out in surrender to all sensation.
At her cry, he jerked inside her, and the warm rush of his desire spilled into her. He buried his face in her neck, the heat of his breath tingling against her skin.
She touched her lips to his temple, inhaling the scent of him, the sweet fragrance of his shampoo at stark odds with the masculine aroma of sweat and musk. Her sex clenched around him, and he twitched inside her, hardening momentarily. Then he pulled out. A trickle of his warmth slid down the inner skin of her thigh.
“Rosalie.” He lifted his head to look into her eyes, stroking her cheek with rough fingers.
She smiled at him, putting everything of herself into that smile, hoping he would read in her eyes all the words she was unable to speak. Her chest still rose with each erratic breath.
He kissed her, his lips brushing softly over hers. Then he pulled away, and she was shocked to see the depths of sadness back in his eyes. Not the bleakness of before, but a sorrow deeper than she’d ever seen in them. When he pulled away from her, it was more than a physical separation. Her heart cried out for the loss of him, and she reached a hand out, but he flinched away.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” The agony in his voice was unbearable. “I shouldn’t have given in to my passions like that. It was wrong.”
“But I wanted you to.”
He shook his head. “You deserve so much more. Your first time should not have been like this.” Or with me. The words hung unspoken in the air between them, and she couldn’t find the words to dispel the walls he’d wrapped around himself so suddenly that she was left reeling.
“I wanted this,” she said again. “I wanted you. I want you.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Then he turned away, fastening his shorts, and reaching for his sodden trousers on the dirty ground. He kept his back resolutely to her as he dressed.
Rosalie remained motionless against the tree trunk, needing its support to keep her standing as the bottom fell out of her world, filling her with a pain so much worse than the physical pain that had taken her maidenhead.
With fumbling fingers, she re-buttoned her blouse, and pulled the dripping raincoat cose around her, wrapping herself tight.
When William was dressed, he cast her one last look, a terrible, apologetic look that cracked her heart. Then he walked away without looking back, wrapped in emotions so dense she could not pierce them. She could not call him back, could not reach out to him.
She sagged against the tree, sliding to the ground as the fight left her and the rain mingled with the tears on her face.
Chapter Eleven
“There’s a letter for you, Miss Rosalie.” Anna held out a crinkled envelope to her, and for a moment Rosalie ceased to breath. Then she recognised her aunt’s scrawl.
Disappointment crashed over her.
She slit the envelope open and scanned the lines.
“Anything interesting?” Anna looked up from the other letters she’d been sorting through.
Rosalie read aloud. “Since that nasty Mussolini man invaded Corfu, we’ve decided against holidaying in Italy, and have taken a villa near Nice instead. We leave next week, and would be delighted if you’d join us. You must be tired of rusticating in the country by now.”
“That’s exciting! You’ve always wanted to visit the south of France. You’ll need to send off a telegram as soon as you can, to let them know.”
“I suppose so.” Listlessness weighed her down.
Anna sat beside her on the sofa. “What’s wrong, dear?”
She resisted the urge to put her head down in Anna’s lap and sob her heart out, as she’d done as a girl. Instead, she set her shoulders straight and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. It’s Commander Cavendish, isn’t it?”
Rosalie didn’t have the energy to deny it. Anna pulled her into her shoulder and patted her back. “Isn’t that like you to lose your heart to a man like him?”
“He’s not what you think.” Rosalie sniffed back tears. “He’s warm and kind and funny. But he’s hurt. And I think he’s still in love with Julia Fortescue.”
“You think? Have you asked him?”
Rosalie shook her head. “I’m scared of what his answer might be. What if he is still in love with her? What if our friendship was nothing more to him than a chance to keep her memory alive? I don’t think I could bear it.” She sniffed. “It’s easier to walk away.”
Anna pinned her with a stern glare. “Now, don’t you be a ninny. The things in life that are most worth having don’t always come easy. Of course giving up is easier, but you’ve never been afraid of doing things the hard way before now. You’ve never given up on anything in your life. Even after that big horse threw you when you were ten, you got right back up there. So don’t you give up now, before you’ve even given him a chance.”
“When did you get so know-it-all?”
“I’ve always known everything. You just don’t listen to me very often. Now dry your eyes, put on your prettiest frock, and go tell that man how you feel.”
Rosalie kissed the housekeeper’s forehead. “Thank you, Anna.”
She took the stairs two at a time, feeling lighter than she had in days. Courage is its own reward, her father often said. She hoped so. Because she’d never before felt fear as she did now. What if William rejected her again? What if he told her he didn�
�t love her and never could?
But Anna was right. She couldn’t give up without at least trying.
Rosalie steeled herself to knock on the door. Her hands curled into anxious fists, but she held her nerve as she waited for the answering footsteps inside.
Peters’ eyes widened in surprise as he opened the door. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning, Miss. If you want to ride, I’ll saddle Mairi for you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not exactly dressed for riding.” No, the diaphanous dress, in a colour that matched her eyes, had been chosen for seduction rather than practicality. Even Peters was struggling to keep his eyes focussed any higher than her collarbone. She smiled. “Is William in?”
Peters nodded, but did not open the door further to let her in. “He’s not in any state to receive guests.” He eyed her doubtfully.
“That’s all right. I’m not a guest. And I know my way.”
Peters was too well mannered to attempt to restrain her when she pushed past him and swept down the hall towards the library. The door stood open, and through the doorway she was able to appreciate what Peters meant. If the near-empty whisky bottle didn’t clue her in, the sight of William did.
She had never before seen him so dishevelled, his clothes, his hair... and he hadn’t shaved. The rough stubble on his chin was surprisingly attractive. Her stomach contracted.
The dead expression in his eyes as he finally looked up at her was not.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice sounded rough, and more than a little thickened by the drink.
She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “I received a letter.”
He looked back into the bottom of his crystal tumbler, seeming surprised to find it empty. He set the glass down with extraordinary care, still not meeting her eyes.
“My Aunt Frances has invited me to travel with them to the south of France.”
“Have fun.” Bitterness blurred his words.
She crossed to stand before him. “There’s something I need to tell you before I can go.”
“You could have written to me.” He squared his shoulders, as if expecting the worst. What did he expect, tears, recriminations? All she had to give him was love.
She knelt before him. “I don’t trust letters. They have every chance of going astray.”
“You once told me all I had to do was tell you to leave and you’d go. Go away.”
She shook her head. She’d come this far; she wasn’t leaving without finishing what they’d started. What she’d started, she admitted wryly. “First tell me you don’t love me.”
“I don’t love you.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Hope surged in her breast. “Now say it like you mean it.”
“I wish you’d never come.”
“That’s more honest, at least.”
Very slowly, he raised bloodshot eyes to hers. His brooding gaze raised a familiar, delightful prickle of excitement along her skin.
“What do you want from me?” The words sounded as though they were torn from him. He passed a hand over his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m no good for you.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” She drew in a deep breath. “I want to thank you.”
The silence that hung between them could have lasted the blink of an eye or the space of an hour. Rosalie wasn’t sure which. All she knew was that his gaze held her captive.
“For what? For taking your virginity? For ruining you because I couldn’t control my desires?”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “What an old-fashioned notion! I wanted you to take me. I have no regrets.” She bit her lip. “Well, maybe one. My only regret is that you walked away. Was I such a disappointment to you?”
He choked. “How could you think that? You are perfect. You’re beautiful, and bright, and spirited.”
“But I’m not Julia.”
“No, you’re not.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his. His expression sobered in an instant. “You’re not like her at all. You’re so much more than Julia ever was.”
It was her turn to choke on her emotions. “Then why did you leave me?”
“Because you deserve someone far better than me. You deserve an undamaged man, a younger man who can give you the life you want.”
She sat back on her heels. “And what is it I want?”
“A life full of excitement. Parties and people.”
“How about I tell you what I want, and you can decide whether it’s something you’re willing to give?”
His eyes swivelled to the bottle beside him, as if he wondered whether this was all a drink-induced dream. Her heart filled with love for him. Not the mad rush she’d felt from the first moment he’d opened the door to her, but a blossoming sensation, as if her heart were expanding to hold all her emotions.
For so many years William had put his own peace and comfort ahead of all other considerations, but he was willing to set them aside, even his own happiness, for hers.
“More than anything else in the world, I want to be with a man who takes my breath away simply by looking at me. I want a man who respects me and treats me as an equal, and who doesn’t care that I’m too forthright and have none of the accomplishments of a well-bred lady. I want a man who loves me as much as I love him.” She took a deep breath. “The thing that I wanted to tell you before I could leave is this: I love you, William.”
His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. “You’re not saying this out of pity, or to try to ‘fix’ me?”
She shook her head. “You don’t need fixing. I love you exactly the way you are. I love you so much that the thought of going anywhere without you is too much to bear. I don’t want to go to France if there is even the slightest chance that you might love me too.”
“Enough to stay here in Somerset?”
She nodded. “I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else in the world without you.”
He traced her face with his fingers. “Then stay.” His voice was a whisper, a caress.
“You wouldn’t prefer Deidre Preston?” she teased.
“Not Deidre Preston. Not Julia. There’s no other woman in the world I want to share my life with.” He grinned. “Or my bed.”
He rose and crossed to his desk, fetching something from a drawer. When he returned to his armchair, he pulled her into his lap. Joy and curiosity warred within her.
“This time I’m not taking any chances.” He opened his hand. A ring lay on his palm, a very old gold band with a delicate, interwoven pattern. A ring she’d never seen, though she’d held it in her hands. “I want to see your face when I ask this.” He cupped her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. Her father was right. Courage was its own reward. “Yes.”
Still holding her chin, he dropped his mouth to hers, capturing her in a hungry kiss that drove away every last fear and doubt. Her heart soared. He loved her. He truly loved her, as much as she loved him.
She returned the kiss with all the passion he’d awakened in her.
When at last they broke apart, breathless, dizzy, his eyes shone with his emotions. He slid the ring onto her finger. “This ring was my mother’s. I don’t want you to think of it as Julia’s. It never was.” He smiled. “I will be forever grateful that Fate ensured it never reached her.”
“I don’t want to talk about Julia right now.” Rosalie nuzzled into his neck, planting kisses along his strong jaw line. His stubble scraped across her sensitive skin, but she didn’t mind.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Really? What would you rather be doing?”
“You can’t guess?” She rubbed herself against him.
He swallowed. “Peters is in the house.”
“Peters is a very sensible man. I expect he’ll make himself scarce.”
“I must reek of whisky.”
“You do, but I don’t mind. Do you have any other excuses, or are you ready now to
show me what my first time should have been like?”
He didn’t need to voice his answer. She felt it stirring against her leg. “Oh, good!”
He growled. “We should wait until we’re married.”
She threw her head back in laughter. “It’s too late for that! Besides, you might be able to wait, but I can’t.”
He swept her up in his arms and headed for the door, and beyond it the stairs. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, the raw, masculine smell of heat and whisky and sex. Her core ached for him, a sweet torment. She curled a hand through the thick hair at the nape of his neck, and without faltering in his steps he kissed her, roughly, passionately. She purred her approval.
“Is this a good time to suggest we have a very short engagement and get married as soon as possible?” he asked as they reached his bedroom door.
She grinned and pushed it open. “It’s lucky you’re such good friends with the vicar. Do you think he’ll read the banns for us at his next service?”
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Other historical novellas by Romy Sommer
Let’s Misbehave
An Innocent Abroad
Prohibited Passion
Contemporary romances by Romy Sommer
Waking up in Vegas
The Trouble with Mojitos
To Catch a Star
Not a Fairy Tale
Thank you for reading Dear Julia. If you enjoyed this novella, please read on for the opening chapter of An Innocent Abroad.
Chapter One of An Innocent Abroad
Isobel lifted her face to the glorious warmth of the sun. It pricked at her eyelids, impossibly bright after the damp chill of England. She opened her eyes to colours brighter and more exotic than any she’d ever seen. Pastel-washed houses clung to precipitous mountain slopes green as emeralds, that dropped into the azure Tyrrhenian sea. A world away from the grey, sullen seas of her childhood holidays, this sleepy fishing village seemed as unreal as an Impressionist painting, a landscape of emotion rather than form.