He said nothing, but placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her to face him. He searched her gaze for what felt like an eternity, and then said, “I wanted you from the first moment you stepped into the inn. Desire is something I have tried to stifle for a long time. But now we’ll both have what we need at last.”
She nodded, though she wondered what he meant by his statement that he had stifled his needs for a long time. The question left her mind when he tugged on her dress and it fell forward around her waist.
Heat flooded her cheeks as he shimmied the fabric away until it pooled at her feet. Then he stared. Just stared at her.
“You are truly lovely,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to her.
He reached up and threaded his fingers into her hair, plucking away the pins Gertrude had so meticulously placed there hours before. Her locks fell around her shoulders, covering her partially, and he smiled as he glided them back to look at her again.
“Much better,” he drawled.
“And what about you?” Rosalinde asked, her hands shaking as she lifted them. “Wouldn’t you like to be more comfortable as well?”
He chuckled, but didn’t argue as she slid her hands beneath his jacket. She hissed out pleasure at the body heat she found trapped there and the muscles that were present beneath his shirt. If she was going to be wicked and take a lover, she had certainly been gifted with a remarkable specimen of a man. Whatever fairy godmother had placed her on this path, Rosalinde intended to write her a long note of gratitude the moment she had time.
With a shiver, she shoved his jacket away, letting it fall to the floor in a pile with her discarded dress. She met his eyes as she began to unbutton his shirt and his gaze lit with unadulterated desire. He wanted her. Truly. It was a thrilling prospect to inspire such a feeling in a man such as this.
And she intended to savor every moment.
She parted his shirt and took in a harsh breath. “Oh my God,” she murmured as she dragged her fingers across his chest.
Martin had been soft, a gentleman who never went outside unless required by some kind of royal edict. This man, though, this man was made of stone. Beautifully carved stone that only masqueraded as warm, living flesh.
It made her wonder, briefly, just who he was outside of these walls. Was her Mr. Gray a highly educated laborer? A handsome farmer? A man so far removed from her sphere that her grandfather would ban her from his house for life if he found out she’d stooped so low? Again.
She pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her head and focused instead on the man in front of her. She stroked his chest, shivering as his muscles rippled beneath her fingers.
Slowly, he lifted his hands and removed his shirt on his own. She glanced up to find his gaze focused on her face. She blushed.
“I-I’m sorry. I was…you are…I’ve never—”
He kissed her to cut her off and she sank against him, her body going soft as her chemise-clad breasts flattened against the warm, hard expanse of his chest and his strong arms encircled her.
His tongue massaged hers and she whimpered as electric desire coursed through her, pulsing and teasing and demanding she find release in some way, any way, every way she could. One of his big hands found its way into the small of her back and drew her closer, while the other dragged the strap of her chemise halfway down her arm.
His lips broke from hers, dragging down the column of her neck and down her bare shoulder, tracing the path his finger had just taken. She fisted her hands against his chest and arched into his body, swept away now by need, propriety torn to shreds at last.
He tugged the chemise lower and her breasts came free. He made a low sound once again, possessive and hot, and his mouth dragged over her collarbone, down the swell until he latched onto her already hard nipple.
She cried out. She couldn’t have stopped herself from doing so, even if she were in complete control of her facilities, which she was not. The gentle scrape of his teeth over the sensitive nipple, the rough laving of his tongue, the way he sucked her and then swirled his mouth over her…her vision blurred and pleasure pooled between her legs with frightening speed. There was nothing left to do now but hold on, and she did, clinging to him as he pulled the rest of her chemise away and left her naked to his touch.
He pressed her across the room as he continued to suckle first one nipple, then the other, torturing her until she was trembling. She felt the bed at her backside, felt him lift her to sit on the edge as he continued his erotic assault, but she could do nothing, say nothing. She was too lost now.
He nudged her legs open with his hips and stepped inside the space there. She gasped as she felt the hard ridge of his erection, still hidden beneath his trousers, pressed against her sex. She lifted against it with a moan, seeking out the friction that action created.
“God, woman,” he gasped, breaking his mouth from her flesh at last.
Her eyes went wide at his reaction. She hadn’t thought her movement would bring anyone pleasure but herself. Seeing his glazed expression now, she ground against him again and he dipped his head back with another long moan.
“All right, enough of that,” he grunted, pushing her fully onto the bed and taking a place beside her. “I have more to do before that.”
She shook her head, not understanding what he meant, but before she could ask, he dropped his head down to her belly, dragging his tongue across her flesh. Then lower to her hip. Lower to her thigh. And suddenly he was sprawled at her sex.
She stiffened as he parted her clenched thighs and her most private of areas was now on display for him. She stared at him as he looked at her, a smile on his face that made even more liquid rush to her sex.
He slid his hand beneath her backside, dragging her closer and tilting her hips toward him. Then, to her shock and utter pleasure, he kissed her quim. And it was no chaste peck, either. He slid his tongue across her exquisitely sensitive flesh, swiping away the evidence of her arousal as he swirled his tongue around and around.
Her cry echoed in the room around them as she fisted the bedclothes. This was amazing. Incredible. And he wasn’t finished. He licked her up and down, tasting and teasing, flicking his tongue over the nub of her clitoris and then diving into her sex to slide in and out in the rhythm with which he would eventually take her.
She began to lift her hips to meet him, mewling out pleasure as he relentlessly feasted on her body. Eventually, he moved his focus to just one part of her quivering flesh. He flicked her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, then alternated with gentle sucks of that tingling nub. She gasped, arching and thrusting as her pleasure grew, crested, and finally it exploded. She thrashed her head on the pillow as wave after wave of release rolled over her. He drew her through them all until at last she shivered one last time and lay still.
“Very sweet,” he growled as he moved up the length of her body with his tongue and finally kissed her.
She tasted herself on his lips and glided her fingers into his hair to angle his head differently. They warred that way for a while before he finally drew away and stepped back.
“Oh no, don’t go,” she whispered, heedless of the desperation in her tone.
“I would not go if the inn caught on fire,” he assured her as he unfastened his trousers and stripped the last barrier between them away.
She sat up partially, staring at his hard, ready cock. He was thicker than Martin had been, longer too. She was going to have that inside of her and she couldn’t wait. It had been too long, far too long, since she’d had that pleasure.
He crawled back over her and settled between her legs, but he didn’t claim her. He kissed her again, slow and languid, and she sank into it, letting go of any remaining fears and questions about right or wrong or proper.
And just when she was almost boneless with surrender, he caught her hips and rolled, dragged her on top of him.
She straddled his hips immediately, her tingling body
driving her for more, for everything. Now she was too far gone to deny herself, or to deny him, the ultimate end to this wicked night. He gripped her hips, helping her position herself, and she reached between them to grasp his cock.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth and she smiled as she stroked him once, twice, then slid him to her entrance. They both stopped breathing, their eyes locked, as she finally glided down over him. Inch by inch, she took him, reveling in the stretch of his body inside of hers. Oh yes, he was bigger than Martin, certainly bigger than her own fingers, which had been the last thing to breach her. When he was finally fully seated, she felt full and womanly and her body screamed at her to move.
She did not deny herself. Placing hands on his shoulders for balance, she began to grind down on him in small circles. He squeezed his eyes shut, meeting her movements, their short breaths matching as she worked them both toward yet another release. This one would be more powerful, she could already tell from the rapidly growing tension and pleasure in her loins.
He caught his breath. “Jesus,” he grunted, and surprised her by sitting up. His arms came around her, his mouth sought hers, and as she continued to thrust over him, he lifted to meet her.
It was too much, and at last she lost control, whimpering into his mouth as pleasure mobbed her once more. It was only when her body went limp in his arms that he shifted her, flipping her on her back, her head at the end of the bed, her legs locked around his waist. Then he began to take her harder.
She lifted to meet him, watching his face in fascination as he finally sought out the pleasure he had thus far denied himself. His neck strained, sweat formed on his brow and after a few long thrusts his face twisted. He withdrew from her clenching sex and came between them with a long, deep moan that seemed to shake the very room.
Then he collapsed on top of her, his mouth seeking hers, his arms dragging her closer. She could feel his pounding heartbeat through his chest, its rhythm matching her own erratic one, and she held him close, pretending, just for a moment, that this was real. That this would last.
Even though she knew it wouldn’t. After all, it was only a dream. A stolen night. When morning came, it would be over.
Chapter Five
It didn’t seem fair that dawn came with a burst of bright sunlight. As Gray let the curtain fall, he sighed. Today should be cloudy and gloomy, as he was. He turned to find Rosalinde in his bed, her eyes open and watching him. She said nothing, she asked for nothing. She just watched. He couldn’t find a smile to give her, so it was with a frown that he snatched his discarded trousers from their pile of abandoned clothing and shoved his legs into them one by one.
“The roads will melt off before noon with the sun up as it is,” he said. “Your carriage will be able to make its destination by tonight, I would wager, even with the inevitable mud.”
She didn’t respond. Her bright blue gaze tracked him in silence for a moment, and then she sighed. “I suppose I should be happy for that.”
He frowned even more deeply. Why couldn’t the weather trap them another night? What would he give to stay in this room, pretending all that existed was the two of them?
But that was longing talking, not sense. Longing for more passion, but also longing for something else. Something he would not name, but felt as though he’d lost as he prepared to leave this woman’s side.
He buttoned his shirt swiftly and then turned to her again. She’d sat up, the sheets tucked around her bare breasts, her dark hair tangled around her face. It took everything in him not to fall back into her arms, consequences be damned.
How that was possible, he didn’t know. After all, he’d made love to her, how many times the previous night? Four, five? He’d lost count of the pleasures they’d shared. But it wasn’t enough. Somehow it wasn’t enough.
“I must go before the others wake,” he said, hating the words as they echoed in the room.
“I know you must. But will you come here before you leave?”
She motioned to a spot on the bed beside her. He joined her, perching on the edge, looking down into that upturned face that had inspired such foolhardy actions.
She smiled, and his world froze.
“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching up to trace his lips with her fingertips gently. “Last night was incredible. I never knew, Mr. Gray.”
He nodded, for he knew what she meant. “Nor did I.”
She curled her fingers around the line of his jaw, drawing him down, and their lips met. In that moment, Gray knew this was the last time he would ever kiss her. Ever see her. Ever touch her. And it shattered some part of him that he’d never even known existed. He slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her more deeply, hoping to brand her in some way. To brand himself. To make a permanent mark that wouldn’t fade.
But it had to end. At last, he pulled away and stood. “If I don’t go now, I never will,” he choked out. “Goodbye.”
She blinked furiously, as if she were fighting tears, but she merely whispered, “Goodbye.”
He took his jacket from the floor and strode out, forcing himself not to look back. Forcing himself not to stay. And when he was in the hallway, the door shut behind him, he tried to lie and say their night had been nothing but a bit of fun in the midst of a storm.
But it felt like so much more. And it felt like he’d lost everything as he walked away from her door, from her and back to reality.
Gertrude pulled back the curtain and let a bright blast of sunlight into the carriage. It was all Rosalinde could do not to hiss at the light as she lifted her hand to shade her eyes.
How dare the day be so beautiful when her heart hurt?
“Funny how we can have such an unexpected storm one day and the next it’s gorgeous,” Gertrude laughed, completely oblivious to the pain in her mistress.
“Funny,” Rosalinde repeated.
“When we stopped a while back, Lincoln said we’d make it to Caraway Court by midnight,” her maid said, watching her face carefully. “That ought to cheer you up.”
Rosalinde pressed her lips together and nodded. “Good,” she said, though she was barely attending anymore.
Her thoughts had turned, yet again, to last night. She did not regret those hours with the mysterious Mr. Gray. She only wished she could have stayed longer. That the stolen night could have been a stolen week. Or a stolen month. Or a stolen lifetime.
She blinked. Foolish thoughts, those. Mr. Gray hadn’t even looked back when he walked away from her. He certainly felt none of the connection to her she had toward him.
“It was good luck that the gentleman next door to you as willing to give up his chamber after that awful tree came through the window,” Gertrude continued, digging out some sewing from her bag and beginning to fuss with it. “Was it the man who shared supper with you?”
Rosalinde stifled a sigh. She had given her maid just a few details about how she’d ended up in Mr. Gray’s room. She’d rather hoped Gertie would leave it at that, though she had not believed it. In truth, she was surprised the inquisition had been stayed for so long.
“Yes,” she said past a thick tongue and a dry throat. “The very gentleman. He kindly slept on the floor downstairs with the others to save me trouble.”
“Hmmm,” Gertrude hummed, and Rosalinde shot her a look.
Gertrude was still sewing, but there was something about her maid’s pursed lips, her slight glances in Rosalinde’s direction. Did Gertrude not believe her?
In the end, it likely didn’t matter. Gertrude had been her maid for many years and had proven herself to be a loyal companion. She didn’t have loose lips, she never had. In fact, Rosalinde might have even confessed the truth to Gertrude, but for one fact about her passionate night.
It was hers. Hers alone. It was too precious and private to share with anyone but the man she would never see again.
She turned to the side, leaning her head against the carriage wall as she fought the tears
that stung her eyes. It was foolish to let them fall for a person she didn’t know. One who’d she’d known from the start was not meant for her. She’d lost nothing.
“With all the excitement last night, I hardly slept,” she admitted. “I think I’ll close my eyes for a while.”
“You do look exhausted,” Gertrude said with a smile. “You sleep now. I’ll wake you if you’re needed.”
Rosalinde let her eyes close and the rocking carriage began to lull her to sleep. But she feared, as she drifted away, that there would be no rest to come. Just dreams of Mr. Gray. Dreams of what would never be.
“Mrs. Wilde?”
Rosalinde shifted, but did not open her eyes. She didn’t want to wake. She didn’t want Mr. Gray to leave again.
“Mrs. Wilde? We’ve arrived at Caraway Court.”
Rosalinde opened one eye and realized she was not back at the inn. She was in her carriage and it had stopped. Gertrude was already outside—Rosalinde could hear her talking to Lincoln. It was the groom, Thomas, who now stood in the carriage door, his face uncomfortable as he tried to rouse her.
“What time is it, Thomas?” she asked as she sat up slowly.
“Nearly midnight, ma’am,” he said. “A few of Lord Stenfax’s men are helping with our things, but the rest of the household is already abed. I’ve heard Miss Celia is still awake, waiting for your arrival.”
Rosalinde let out a sigh. “Well, at least I shall not have to deal with Grandfather tonight.”
Thomas said nothing, but took a step back and held out a hand to help her from the carriage. She stretched her back as she stepped down. She was achy all over, both from the long, cramped ride and from the passionate night she’d shared with Mr. Gray. She knew that stiffness, that well-used ache between her legs would fade soon, and she hated it. It would make that night nothing more than a distant memory.
“Come, Mrs. Wilde,” Gertrude said as she approached. “Lincoln and Thomas will help the others put away the carriage and horses. I’ll take you to the room you’ll share with Miss Celia.”
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 4