The Seduction of an English Lady

by Cathy Maxwell

Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without it.

  “Rosalyn?”

  He didn’t know what had happened to her. She heard his confusion in his voice. Had she changed that much? That quickly?

  Yes, she had.

  So she did something completely alien and radical. She kissed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Colin went very still, surprised by what was happening and afraid that if he moved, she’d stop.

  She pressed her lips against his, tentatively at first, and then with growing ardor. His poor mouse, she still didn’t know how to do a kiss right, although she was on the right path.

  He released the breath he was holding and decided to show her.

  Putting his arms around her, he kissed her back, urging her to open to him. Her hands slid up to his neck. When his tongue touched hers, she didn’t draw away but sucked gently on it. Her breasts flattened against his chest—and every fiber in Colin’s body reacted with a force that defied any law in the universe.

  What had happened to his shy Rosalyn?

  He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He wanted her. Now. On the floor, if necessary.

  But that wouldn’t be good. At least not for this first time. He knew better. Reluctantly, he slid her off his lap. Their lips reluctantly parted.

  “We should go upstairs,” he whispered.

  Her answer was a moue of protest. She pulled him back to her and kissed him again, nipping his bottom lip before she did so.

  Colin was amazed. There was fire in Rosalyn. Passion.

  And he was exactly the man to quench her needs—but he didn’t want the innkeeper or serving girl to come in and find them rolling on the floor. He stood, bringing her up with him.

  Her legs didn’t support her weight, and she rested against him, using the opportunity to fit her body intimately against his. She moved her hips and almost brought him to his knees.

  From the moment he’d met her, even when he’d been blistering angry at her for stealing his deed, he’d wanted her. He recognized that fact now. She challenged him in a way no other woman ever had.

  Was it the wine that had brought about this change?

  Colin didn’t know. But in case it was, he reached for the bottle. “Come,” he said, taking her hand.

  In the candlelight her eyes were luminous and dark. Her curls had escaped her pins, and she had the look of a woman who needed to be loved. He led her out of the room, checking first to make sure no one was in the hallway. She surprised him by slipping past him, taking his hand, and leading him toward the stairs.

  Dear God, did any man ever understand women?

  In front of their door, he tucked the wine bottle in the crook of his arm while his fingers fumbled with the key in the lock. The job would have been done quicker if she hadn’t been kissing his neck.

  Inside the room, Colin didn’t waste time. He couldn’t. He slammed the door shut, grabbed his wife, and gave her the kiss she’d been begging for. He held nothing back, and to his delight, she met him with an equal passion.

  The wine bottle in his hand was now a nuisance as he walked his bride back toward the bed, their lips locked. A candle burned on the washbasin, probably set there by a maid, but it was enough light. They needed no more.

  Colin wasn’t certain what had enflamed Rosalyn’s desire, but he wasn’t one to question such good fortune. He set the bottle down beside the bed and turned his attention to the pleasurable task of undressing her.

  Pushing her dress down around her shoulders, he kissed the satiny smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, moving himself steadily lower. Pressing his lips to the pulse point beneath her chin, he could tell her heart raced with a beat that matched his own.

  Nor was she a submissive partner. She slid her hands in his jacket, sliding it down his shoulders, and tugged his shirt out of his breeches. Her deft fingers untied the knot in his neck cloth and tossed it aside.

  He adored her abandoned response. Rosalyn was not one to do anything halfway, especially something like making love. He shrugged his jacket the rest of the way off and threw it to the other side of the bed.

  Her hands ran up under his shirt just as he freed her breast from the confines of her chemise. She pulled his shirt up over his head. He bent her back and covered one pink, hard nipple with his mouth.

  Rosalyn gasped in surprise, her body arching, as if ready to jump out of his arms.

  It took all his control to stop. He looked up. “Do you not like this?”

  Her mouth was open, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “I’ll stop—”

  “Don’t stop,” she ordered and used both hands to bring his head back to her breast.

  There were some orders a man didn’t question.

  He pulled her dress down over her hips, the image of her as she was in the bath never far from his mind. She began unbuttoning his breeches. Her fingers were clumsy. He didn’t mind. It was exquisite torture.

  Kneeling, he pushed down her chemise, petticoat, and skirts. Her legs were longer than he had anticipated, and he could barely hold himself back any longer.

  He gently leaned her back on the bed. She freed one button and came down to the second. Colin feared he would die before she was done.

  He took over, his fingers almost as clumsy as hers, but who could blame him?

  Her skin was a pale gold in the candlelight. Her curls formed a halo around her head, and her naked body was the stuff of dreams. She still wore her stockings and garters.

  She was shy but watched him intently, her eyes trusting—and that was his undoing. The fact that she depended upon him.

  He’d taken a vow to protect her. A tenderness the likes of which he’d never known welled up inside Colin. This would be no common mating. This was the joining of two people for life.

  Sitting on the bed beside her, he pulled off his boots. He stood to slide his breeches down his legs. Her gaze settled on his obvious arousal, and he knew this was the first time she’d seen a naked man. “Let me have your hand.”

  Unquestioning, she placed her hand in his. “If I do anything to cause you distress or pain in any way,” he said, “squeeze my hand and I will stop whatever I’m doing.”

  And then he bent down to kiss her. She was open and eager. Their tongues teased each other, while Colin ran his free hand over the curve of her hip and down the length of her thigh, marveling at the perfection of her. Pressing her back onto the bed, he settled himself between her thighs.

  Instinctively, she curved to accommodate him. He prayed he didn’t do the wrong thing. Lacing his fingers in hers, he raised her hands above her head, kissed her, and thrust deep.

  He felt her tear.

  She was his.

  Her hand squeezed his.

  He stopped. All he wanted to do was push forward, to fill her. The primal urgency to do so was astounding, and yet he forced himself to stop.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She swallowed and then relaxed. “I think. I don’t know?”

  “I won’t go on if you don’t want me to.”

  “We’re not finished?”

  Her question slipped past his guard. Colin chuckled—it was either that or groan—and her eyes brightened. “I felt your laughter,” she said, “all the way inside me.”

  He dared to press deeper. She smiled, and he knew the pain was gone. He kissed her temples, her cheeks, her lips. “It will be better now,” he promised.

  Her fingers relaxed, and he began moving.

  Nothing had ever felt as good as being inside Rosalyn. She was liquid fire. The perfect fit.

  Timidly at first, and then with gathering eagerness, she met his thrusts. His last coherent thought was that he had been meant to make love to this woman.

  She released her hold on his hand. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his shoulder and held tight.

  Colin reached the point where he could not have stopped if she’d begged him to. He
drove relentlessly forward. Rosalyn was whispering his name, her soft cries pushing him to completion.

  He wanted to tell her it would be all right. He wanted her to know what awaited her at the end. But he couldn’t speak. Dear God, he could barely think of anything save his own need—

  Rosalyn tightened. She cried out, a sharp exclamation of surprise and wonder, and Colin could not stop himself. His seed shot out of him, deep within her. His senses were full of her. She was his only link to sanity and earth.

  They held each other as if they feared letting go, and he knew their loving had been as intense and mighty for her as it had been for himself.

  Colin rolled over on his back, bringing her with him. He never wanted to let her go. Their hearts pounded in unison. He could feel hers as clearly as his own…and slowly they both drifted back to reality.

  Their overheated bodies began to cool. Colin reached for the other side of the bedcover and flipped it over them. Rosalyn’s head rested on his chest. Her legs entwined with his.

  He traced the tilt of her nose with his finger, and she raised her head to look down at him. Her eyes were the dreamy opaqueness of a woman who had just been loved well. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. “Is it always like this?” she whispered.

  “It’s never been like this,” he replied, and knew he spoke the truth.

  She smiled, her expression sleepy. “We’ll get to do it again?”

  Beneath the covers, Colin ran his hand up the curves of her body. “Oh, yes,” he promised, “again and again and again.”

  Colin fell asleep first. As supple and indolent as a cat, she contentedly used his body for her bed and affectionately watched his eyes close. She lay her ear against his chest and listened to the strength of his heartbeat.

  For the first time in her life, she felt completely whole. She’d learned the secret of marriage. She understood why men and women searched it out. She was surprised everyone wasn’t married and understood Covey’s devotion to Alfred, because she now knew where she belonged—beside Colin.

  With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes.

  He woke her sometime in the night. She didn’t know the hour, but it was dark. His fingers found her secret places, and when she was panting and needy, he entered her. This time, there was no pain, and she knew the pain was gone forever. From here on out, there would only be pleasure.

  They didn’t bother to get out of bed or even dress the next day. Colin told her that he had hired the stable lads to fetch his phaeton with the broken wheel. It arrived that afternoon, and they watched from behind the shuttered windows as it was unloaded. Seeing the damage in the light of day, they agreed they really were lucky they hadn’t broken their necks.

  A few moments later, someone knocked on the door.

  Colin had no choice but to put on his breeches and talk to Lucas the innkeeper. Rosalyn listened to their conversation from beneath the covers as Lucas said, “The blacksmith says he can fix the wheel, but it will take two days.”

  “Two days?” Colin repeated.

  “Aye, I’m sorry, sir,” John answered. “The room is available to you as long as you want its use.”

  “Then make it three days, and send up food.” Colin shut the door in the man’s face. He faced Rosalyn, the devil in his grin. Before she knew what to expect, he took a flying leap and landed right on the bed.

  He pretended to gobble her up, and she laughed so hard her jaw ached. Then he made love to her. Sweet, wonderful love…and promised three days more of the same.

  Rosalyn didn’t know when she’d ever been so happy.

  However, by the end of the third day, when the phaeton was returned repaired and sat ready for their journey on the morrow, she realized something was missing. Colin had not yet said he loved her. She tried not to let it bother her, but the lack of it worried the back of her mind…and caused her to keep her feelings close.

  Colin didn’t even seem to notice.

  They made love that evening, and Colin talked about their return. It was decided they’d go to Maiden Hill first and then he would go, alone, to speak to his brother. “Matt can be funny about some matters,” he said. “He’s the oldest and so he has definite opinions, and will be a bit put out I didn’t say anything to him first.”

  “You didn’t even tell him you were leaving?”

  Colin pushed his dark hair back before admitting, “No.” Then, apparently realizing how bad it sounded, he said, “I told the children. Boyd will tell them.”

  “You told the children you were getting married but not your brother?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Yes,” he replied as if the answer caused him pain.

  “Will he be unhappy that we are married?” She feared his response.

  He kissed her temple. “No. If anything, he and Val will welcome you with open arms.”

  Colin made love to her then, a quiet, comfortable love. Over the past days, she’d learned passion in all forms, but this was her favorite. It was the easy acceptance of one another.

  Afterward, he fell right to sleep. He liked to curl up around her, his arm across her waist to keep her close. Rosalyn should have fallen asleep easily too, save for the doubts that kept her awake.

  She slid out from his arm, rising to go sit by the window a spell. The moon was full and high in the sky. She studied the sleeping man in her bed. Colin had made her a woman and he’d made her a wife…but she wanted something more.

  Her love for him had quadrupled every day. She was surprised he could not tell. He seemed almost oblivious to anything but the enjoyment of her body. She, on the other hand, could not have given anything without the presence of it.

  Was that the difference between men and women? Or was she more like her father than her mother?

  The questions haunted her.

  In the end, she knew there was nothing she could do. Her pride would not let her confess her deepest-felt emotions first. Better he think she was like him—carefree and unconcerned about such a weighty commitment. After all, he’d been willing to marry her without even knowing her.

  No, she’d keep her love a secret, but, please God, don’t let me be like my father.

  With that prayer, she climbed back into bed beside Colin and fell asleep.

  Colin opened his eyes. Rosalyn’s breathing was slow and rhythmic now. He was certain she was asleep.

  The moonlight through the window highlighted the curve of her cheeks. He wondered what was bothering her…and why she didn’t confide in him.

  He feared he knew the answer.

  Tomorrow, they would return to the Valley. Tomorrow, he would find out if she resented no longer being Lady Rosalyn.

  Of course, she must. He understood the power in title. It was the reason he wanted one.

  He also understood that of late, Rosalyn had moments of deep introspection like the one she had this night. Moments when he could feel her watch him. The mind that had once been so open to him now seemed closed. He could not divine her thinking at all, not when the subject was himself.

  Then again, he feared he knew the directions of her thoughts. She’d married beneath herself. Of course she would have doubts. Why else would she be so quiet?

  It was a long time before he went to sleep.

  The next morning, Colin woke an hour later than he’d planned. His desirable wife still hugged the pillow.

  For the past several mornings, he’d woken her by making love to her. This morning, he didn’t.

  He needed a little distance between them in case she decided that what had happened between them in Scotland stayed in Scotland.

  Colin took the time to shave and dress before he finally woke Rosalyn. She frowned at him groggily. “You’re dressed?”

  “Yes, I need to go outside and make final arrangements.”

  She nodded, her thoughts apparently elsewhere.

  “Disappointed?” he asked, wanting to know if she missed their morning ritual.

  “No, that’s fine,” she said absently. Sh
e pushed her curls back from her face with one hand. “We must go.” She smiled, and he couldn’t decide if she was happy to be leaving or regretful.

  Colin stood a moment, debating whether or not to ask what had kept her up last night.

  “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “Say hello to Oscar.”

  Well, there it was—marching orders. He started from the room, but she stopped him. “No kiss good-bye?”

  He turned. She looked enchanting, sitting there on the edge of the bed with only the sheets for clothes and her hair curling down around her shoulders.

  “Of course there is a kiss,” he said, and he dropped one on her lips. He dared not linger because, if he did, he would make love to her. He wanted to. His favorite time to have her was when she was all warm and relaxed from a night’s sleep.

  He left the room.

  A half hour later, his bride joined him for breakfast. She wore the green dress she was married in, and she carried her bonnet. “It’s the worse for wear,” she said, holding the hat up for him to see what a disaster it was.

  Colin shrugged. He didn’t care about clothing. Not right now.

  Over breakfast, she seemed to lack an appetite. Colin wasn’t hungry himself. Women were fickle. Belinda had taught him they could be one way one moment, and another in the next. And what did he really know about Rosalyn? The past few days, they’d barely talked. They’d had more intriguing ways to pass their time.

  Oscar was harnessed to the phaeton and was waiting for them when they finished eating. Colin tossed the stable lad a coin, while Rosalyn put on her hat and tied the ribbons into a saucy bow that belied the crooked brim. Offering his hand, he helped her up into the seat and took his place. With a snap of the whip, they were off.

  The day was perfect for a drive, and they would have enjoyed themselves…except for the subtle tension between them. They were too polite to each other. Too considerate.

  Nor did Rosalyn touch him with the easy familiarity she’d had up in their room at the inn. He sensed she was trying not to have contact with him. The vehicle’s seat was short and narrow, and yet she placed as much space as possible between them.