Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  He picked her up and laid her on the bed, but she smiled as his mouth returned to her breast before traveling lower. She opened her legs without instruction. He licked her belly button and looked up to meet her eyes. “You’ve done this before?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I believe I know what to expect.”

  He smiled. “I hope to not disappoint.” His mouth continued on its way until it met the curls between her legs. He used his fingers to gently push back the folds between her legs and placed his lips around the bud that had risen for his attention.

  She gasped and panted as Rollo kissed her with the same expertise he’d used with her mouth. The trail of his tongue was sure as it traveled up and down her opening before flicking her clit over and over, making her convulse as the sensation overtook her and she exploded.

  He returned his mouth to hers sometime later and asked, “Did I disappoint?” He laid his body over hers as he looked down at her.

  She touched his cheeks and felt tears leave her eyes. “No.”

  “Good.” He kissed her nose and then her mouth before positioning himself at her entrance just as his kisses became demanding. She was momentarily distracted until he began to push forward, stretching her. Her flesh opened and engulfed the head of his manhood, pulling a shudder from his body.

  His hand moved to her nipple, eliciting the same response, and then he was moving again, sliding back and forth and farther into her body. She opened for him, wanting all of him, and when he met resistance, she whispered, “Don’t stop. I want all of you.” She knew what to expect. She knew there would be pain, but if there was ever a man to touch her this way, she wanted it to be him. “Please.”

  He breathed like a man spent from a hard day’s work. “I love you, Florence.”

  She had only a second to accept what he’d said before her body accepted the rest of him.

  She was so full that a sob left her throat.

  He leaned back and met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, choking on her emotions. “No, I’m not crying because of what you did.” It surprised her that there had been no pain for her first time. “It’s what you said.” Tears spilled like twin rivers down the sides of her face. “I love you, Rollo. I love you.”

  He smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You can’t imagine the joy it brings me to hear that.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him, the move causing him to slide out a bit. He leaned forward, taking the offered kiss and sinking farther into the warmth of her body. Florence clung to him as he moved, holding on to the man who held her heart and now dominated her body as well. She felt the muscles move in his back with every stroke and the earlier hunger for him was rekindled in her veins. Her body began to move on its own, searching for the relief from before, burning for it as her inner muscles sucked and pulled him deeper.

  His body grew tense and the moves sharper, driving and pounding inside her as he murmured her name with a desperation she felt in her bones. “Florence.”

  “Rollo.” Her body began to fly again, climbing higher, until her entire body cried and shook with release. She screamed his name from the depths of her soul, then he called out his own release that seemed to pour from his very veins, filling her with his hot seed and her ears with her name, a groan of pain and pleasure.

  She felt the great rock of his body soften, releasing its tension before he fell into her arms.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

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  Rollo bound himself around Florence as he enjoyed the feel of her soft moist body under his. His own body still occupied her, but that physical connection only added to the connection they shared in their hearts. For the first time since before he could remember, he’d told someone that he loved them. While it was well-known amongst the brothers that they loved one another like kin, this was different. Florence filled a place inside him that had gone untouched, a place that only she could fit and fill out. He moaned in approval as her fingers moved in his hair, scratching his scalp, which sent tremors of pleasure through his body.

  He finally had someone to love. Someone who loved him.

  And he had no intentions of ever letting her go. He thought about the violence he was capable of if someone tried to take her from him. He ran his hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, down her smooth leg before letting his fingers move back up her body, memorizing what he now claimed as his own.

  He lifted his hand and found that Florence’s honey-brown eyes were on him, a new look on her face. It was sweet and tender, making him love her more and making him hard. He wanted to claim her again just to be sure she knew she was his.

  Her eyes turned to slits and her mouth gaped open on a breath, her smothered expression shooting straight to his groin, which was already growing inside her, filling her swollen flesh back out. Her pink rosy nipples tightened before his eyes. His mouth watered to suck on them. He moved his hands to the bed and gripped the sheets while trying to find control. “I should let you rest. This is new to you.”

  “Yet I want you all the same,” she whispered hotly. The fingers in his hair tightened. “I need you.” Her eyes grew dark with the truth of her claim.

  “Anything you need.” He leaned forward and took her nipple just as he took her body once more, answering her pleas and demands, holding back until the last minute when her sweet body tightened around his cock like a fist as she shattered, milking his seed from his body right before they both fell to exhaustion and collapsed into a deep sleep.

  Rollo woke first, hours later, and he found that his body lay farther down Florence’s. His head rested on her belly, which moved with her quiet breaths. He found delight in the deadweight of her hand on his head, as though even in sleep she wouldn’t let him go.

  He gently placed her hand on the sheet and rose to move to the other side of the bed.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice was rough with sleep.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He laid down beside her and pulled her slender form against his own. She snuggled close, her head falling to his chest, and her hair to his arm, the pins lost during their wild mating.

  He thought she might go back to sleep, but when her hands began to trace the muscles on his chest, he knew she was up. He could feel the artist within her fingers and if her pictures were any evidence, he knew she could compete with some of the greatest artists of their time, which led him to ask her a question. “Why did you become a lady’s maid and not an artist?”

  Her answer came easily. “My mother was ill. Someone had to care for her. Trying my hand at drawing didn’t seem wise and the paintings I do were not ones that anyone would display in a place that would gain me attention."

  Rollo agreed. He couldn’t see the halls of dukes and the likes covered in nude courtesans. “Could your brother not help?”

  She was quiet for a moment then said, “My brother and I, just like my sister and I, only share a father. So, Newton’s help would have come with a price.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “He wants me to marry his friend, a colleague of his. A nice man who enjoys art just as much as me, but is so much older than I.”

  He locked his arm around her waist. “That’s not going to happen.”

  She laughed and shook her head before putting it back down. “No, it’s not,” she whispered as she continued to trace over his chest. “But, after everything Newton has done for me, I’ve never had a good reason to continue telling him no.”

  Her words explained a little of the hostility he sensed from her brother and the reason Florence hadn’t wanted to introduce them. “I’ll make sure he understands that when I join him for dinner tomorrow.”

  Florence sat up. “You’re going to his dinner as well?”

  Rollo hadn’t known Florence had been invited and started to th
ink of what was going on in Mr. Newton Crew’s mind. “How likely is it that this colleague will be there as well?”

  “I know he will be,” Florence said with a frown. “He’s always there whenever I’m summoned. My sister-in-law even dresses me up. I have a closet of dresses that I am only allowed to wear over there.”

  Rollo put aside his anger at the thought of Florence dressed up, but this time and every time after that would be for him. “When we’re wed, you’ll be free to paint as much as you wish.”

  She stilled, and Rollo waited for her reply like he’d never waited on anything before. “You want to marry me?”

  He frowned. “Of course. Isn’t it what people do when they’re in love?”

  She smiled and tipped her head, sending a wave of blond hair down her shoulder and across one cheek, instantly transforming her into a seductress and she didn’t even know. “I suppose it is what some people do, I just never thought…”

  His heart raced. “Do you not wish to marry?”

  She stared at him, the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I do.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I want to marry you, Rollo.” She leaned away, her hair now a curtain around their faces. “I just thought you’d marry a woman with more to offer, a lady perhaps. Not a lady’s maid.”

  He grabbed her neck before she could get too far and allowed his expression to convey how serious his next statement would be. “You have gifted me with far more than I ever dreamed. There is nothing more I want or need.” He couldn’t begin to tell her how precious she was to him or how fiercely he loved her. It would frighten her without a doubt. “Your kindness and strength captured me from the very beginning, Florence. Your love completes me. No other woman can compete.” Her tears fell on his face, and he did nothing to remove them.

  She did though, lifted a hand to wipe them away. “I love you.”

  He leaned up and kissed her. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

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  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

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  For the first time, Florence did not complain when Hermione Crew’s maids fluttered like moths around her, getting her dressed in an ivory gown that would complement her complexion and make her eyes and hair glow. Her hair had been styled in fashionable curls and stuck with enough pins to give her a headache, and she now smelled more like a flower shop than herself. Yet she didn’t complain. Not once, and though her sister-in-law noticed, she said nothing about it.

  Hermione stood by the door, looking Florence over with great approval. She was a very pretty woman with strawberry-blond hair and brown eyes. Her father owned a bookshop, and she’d met Florence’s brother when he’d come to look over an old manuscript her father had come in possession of. Hermione was also kin, which made it even harder for Florence to hate her whenever she visited. Hermione wanted the same thing for her that Newton did, but she always did it without the forceful hand that Newton possessed. Instead, Hermione’s encouragements were always done with love, the love of a sister, in fact.

  Her sister-in-law smiled. “Just imagine, if you married Mr. Howe, you could dress like this every day.”

  Florence held back a grunt. Her brother had offered to allow her to live with him a year ago, promising she’d never have to work and could take on the life that many other girls would envy, but Florence had decided to not sell her soul and her hand. Even then, she’d known her brother’s plan had been to marry her to Mr. Malachi Howe.

  Hermione walked over to her and took her hand. “Come, it’s time to go downstairs and wait for our special guest.” Her eyes glittered with excitement that she tried to transfer to Florence at the thought of Mr. Howe.

  It didn’t work. It never worked.

  But this time when Florence smiled, it was genuine. She would be seeing Rollo and they’d decided they would tell her brother the news of their engagement together.

  Yesterday, after prying herself from Rollo’s arms and his bed, he’d taken her home and wouldn’t leave until he was sure that Elipha had not punished her for leaving with him. But Elipha, who would usually get upset at being left to fend for herself, had waved Rollo away with a smile and said nothing to Florence about how foolish she was being for seeing a man well above her station in life.

  This had prompted Florence to tell her lady the truth about her pending nuptials, and Elipha had surprised her once again with her great happiness. Her lady had changed, and Florence couldn’t remember when the change had started but was glad she’d been there for the journey.

  This had then caused Florence to mention the fact that she’d not bled with Rollo. No sign of a broken maidenhead lay on his sheets afterward, which he’d said was possible with some virgins. Elipha with her womanly wisdom had reassured her that Rollo was right, which eased Florence’s worry greatly.

  Tonight, the same maid who’d helped Elipha the first night they’d returned to London was helping her again and would most likely continue to do so as Florence started her new life as the fiancée of a wealthy man.

  She walked down the stairs with Hermione, who was going on and on about Mr. Howe’s latest findings when her sister finally said, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll wish to tell you the rest himself. You two always enjoy talking about art.”

  They did, Florence admitted. Mr. Howe was a well of knowledge and whenever he spoke of history, Florence listened attentively. It was no wonder the man still pursued her. She never flirted with him, but it seemed her love of history connected them.

  The front door opened and the man in question came inside just as Florence’s brother came from around the stairway. She watched the two men greet one another before parting. Then Mr. Howe’s gaze fell on her and he smiled. Howe was about her height and probably her weight as well, which made him look much smaller compared to her tall brother and even the lithe Hermione. He had blue eyes and receding gray hair.

  Florence returned his smile but kept it light and controlled.

  Mr. Howe crossed the room, took her hand, and Florence quickly turned her head to avoid his mouth. His lips landed on her cheek and she pulled back, surprised by his forwardness. He’d never tried to kiss her before. Always, he’d been a gentleman.

  “Mr. Howe,” Florence took her hand from him and looked around. Her sister-in-law looked slightly guilty. Newton looked upset, not at Mr. Howe, but at her.

  Mr. Howe spoke as he took her hand again, and this time his grip was tight. “Florence, I realized my mistake over these last few years. While I’ve tried to be gentle with you, I realize gentleness is not what you want.” His eyes grew heavy with some emotion that made Florence shiver. “I understand now that you need strength and virility, and though I may be much older than you, I promise that you and I are perfectly matched.”

  Florence narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  Sympathy filled his eyes. “I know the whole terrible truth, but while others would call you a whore and turn their backs on you, I will accept you.”

  She gasped at the word ‘whore’ and turned to her brother, waiting for him to come to her defense, to tell Mr. Howe how far beyond the line he’d crossed.

  Newton disappointed her. “Mr. Howe is right. You’re lucky he’s decided to look the other way considering the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?” Florence had no idea what he was talking about.

  Hermione said, “Perhaps this is better discussed after the meal.”

  “No,” Newton said. “This will be discussed now before Mr. Kerry and Lord Ashwick arrive.”

  Florence hadn’t even known Emmett was coming, but there were other things concerning her. “What is going on?”

  Mr. Howe squeezed her hand to gain her attention. “Florence, there’s no need to play the innocent. I know the truth. You slept with Mr. Kerry.”

  Florence’s heart raced, and she stared
around the room at everyone, wondering how they knew. It had only happened yesterday. Surely, he’d not told anyone. Had he? Her mind raced with the possibilities.

  “You did the right thing when you rid yourself of his baby,” Mr. Howe continued. “While I would never accept his child, you, Florence, are very dear to me.”

  “Baby?” Florence asked.

  “Don’t play innocent,” Newton said as the door opened again, his face an angry mask. “We know about the baby you gave away in Scotland. I gave you so much. I made sure you were educated but allowing you to have your freedom these last few years has been a mistake. I knew you were the creator of the drawing in the Babbler the moment Hermione showed it to me.”

  His wife tried to cut in. “Newton, dear…“

  Her husband went on. “While I was in Bath, I sent a man north to inquire about what you’d been doing in Gretna Green and was gravely disappointed when he returned with word that you’d had a baby.”

  Florence placed a hand over her racing heart as Elipha’s well-kept secrets fell before her. She should have known her brother would put it together. It was why she’d told Rollo to find him on his own. As a curator, her brother had come across men who’d be able to find a needle at the bottom of the Thames. She’d written him one letter, so he wouldn’t worry about her during her time in Scotland and now regretted it.

  She and Elipha had pretended the baby was hers for fear of the truth reaching London. The Turnbulls never met Elipha, and she’d never corrected anyone’s assumption. Why would she? She’d been nothing more than a maid. Her story would matter to no one, would be the least likely to reach back to London.