Lady Rosabella's Ruse

Chapter Thirteen




Rosa sat in the small drawing room upstairs, reading while she waited for Garth to return. A knock on the door to the street made her lift her head, listening for the sound of his voice, but he’d said he wouldn’t be back until dinner time. It must be a caller. A visitor for Garth. The butler would send them away. A few moments later, the butler arrived at the door. ‘Lady Smythe to see you, my lady.’

‘Me?’ Rosa glanced down at her one and only shabby gown collected from her old lodgings by a footman. ‘Please tell her I am not at home.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said a gentle voice behind the butler. ‘Didn’t Stanford tell you he’d asked me to call?’ She glanced at the butler, who swiftly withdrew. ‘He asked me to come and talk to you about the wedding arrangements.’

The heat of embarrassment scorched her cheeks. She laughed, albeit uncomfortably. ‘He left before I awoke this morning. I had no idea he planned to discuss my circumstances with you.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Please sit down. Would you like tea?’

‘No, thank you. I cannot stay long. I have several more calls to make this afternoon. He plans for you to be married at my house. Do you have a date?’

‘Not as yet. It is extraordinarily generous of you to take such a personal interest in my predicament.’

‘Not at all. Stanford is my husband’s best friend.’

‘The last time I saw Stanford and your husband they were at daggers drawn. Or rather, fists raised?’

A brief smile tilted Penelope’s lips. ‘I gather it is what male best friends do. I hope we will also become friends and behave with far more civility.’

An offer of friendship? Rosa could barely believe her ears. She smiled. ‘You are too kind.’

‘Not at all. I would count it an honour to befriend the woman who captured Lord Stanford.’

Captured. Almost as bad as tricked. ‘It was a mistake.’

‘I wasn’t criticising. It was more…admiration.’ She smiled her sweet smile. ‘About the wedding. Are there family members you wish to invite?’

She would love to invite her sisters, but the headmistress would not allow them to leave until all the debts were settled and that would take a few days. Garth wanted the ceremony to take place right away.

Also, her sisters were still hoping she would find the will. She didn’t yet have the heart to tell them that it didn’t exist and she had married instead. She shook her head. ‘No one.’

‘Who will give you away? Stanford said your grandfather is in town.’

Rosa lifted her chin, the old anger at her only living relative swiftly heating her blood. It was partly Grandfather’s fault she was in this predicament. ‘No.’

‘Then leave it to Mark.’ She beamed. ‘Another of Stanford’s friends can serve as groomsman.’

‘Won’t it all seem terribly odd to the ton?’

Penelope waved an airy hand. ‘We’ll pass it off as a great romance. My husband is very well thought of in political circles and in society. If he approves of the match, many others will follow. Perhaps not those with the highest of insteps. It may be some time before you receive tickets to Almack’s, if ever, but you will hardly care about that once you have a husband.’

‘I will be seeking husbands for my sisters.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She seemed a little nonplussed, then tipped her head and tapped her bottom lip. ‘But not this year, I think. The Season is almost over. You will have lots of time to prove you are the very best of ton over the next few months. You must do exactly as I tell you and we can bring it off. Stanford, too.’

Did Garth account for the note of doubt in her voice? ‘I will do everything I can to live up to your expectations. I am very grateful.’

Penelope took her hand. ‘You were kind to me at Lady Keswick’s house. I am more than happy to return the favour. I really do hope we will become the best of friends.’

‘Me, too.’ For the first time in a long time, Rosa felt as if her feet were on solid ground, no more threats of prison hanging over her, the prospect of a good future for her sisters and now a friend. ‘I will never be able to thank you and Lord Smythe enough.’

Penelope hesitated. ‘There is one more thing I want to say. I am not quite sure how to put it.’

Rosa felt a prickle of wariness across her shoulders. ‘If we are to be friends, I would like you to feel free to speak your mind.’

‘Stanford is not the steadiest of men. No one was more surprised than my husband at his intention to marry.’

Rosa’s spine stiffened.

‘Not that you aren’t lovely enough to turn any man’s head,’ the other woman said. ‘Oh, dear, I am making a pickle of this. What I mean is, you should not have to marry out of necessity, if you do not like to do so.’

Rosa stared at her. ‘You think I shouldn’t marry him?’

Penelope took a quick breath. ‘Stanford is a hard man to know. He has rarely stayed with the same woman more than a month or two and has very few good friends. He lets no one close. Even my husband agrees he is not good marriage material. If you want to change your mind, I will help you find an alternative.’

The words confirmed her fears. But marriage to Garth truly was her best hope for her sisters. She’d learned work in the theatre was sporadic. Only the principals made a good living. Everyone else scraped by. It was too late for second thoughts. Another payment to the moneylender was due at the end of the week and Stanford would help her only if they were married.

It wasn’t a love match. She’d given up on those dreams, but she did have hope they could make a go of it.

‘I appreciate your offer,’ she said. ‘But I think this is best.’

The other woman took her hand. ‘I hope so. I married my husband for love and it has been a rocky road. Perhaps your way is better.’

She looked so sad, Rosa couldn’t help herself and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Penelope sniffed. ‘Things are better. I should not have spoken of what I saw. A wife should turn a blind eye to such things or risk looking a fool. I am sure everything is going to be fine. I just wish he would be honest with me, so I know where I stand.’

‘If ever you need someone to talk to, I am here.’

With a brave smile, Penelope rose. ‘You see, already we are friends. I will take my leave now and look forward to seeing you on your wedding day. Have Stanford let me know the moment he has a date arranged.’

‘I will.’

She escorted her new friend to the front door and watched her climb into her carriage, feeling more than a little breathless. She really was going to be married. To a man she hardly knew, and of whom no one, not even his friends, had a good opinion.

Could she accept his intention to do as he pleased after the wedding? She didn’t feel very accepting.

She went back up to the drawing room. She read a few more lines of her book when another knock sounded on the street door.

‘Not more callers,’ Rosabella muttered. She ran to the window, peeped out just in time to see a footman loaded down with packages entering the house.

Voices echoed in the hall below and a second or so later Garth strolled in with a smile, his gaze seeking her out. ‘I went shopping.’

The footman followed him in, deposited the packages on the floor and left. Rosa eyed the parcels. ‘What did you buy?’

‘Bride clothes. Er…items you will need until your trunk arrives from Lady Keswick’s. I persuaded your grandfather to drop her a note. He will let me know when they arrive.’

‘My grandfather? Why?’

‘To observe the proprieties, so to speak. Apparently he isn’t keen on another scandal. He agreed to have your things delivered to his house and forward them on. I could hardly have them sent directly here.’

‘What else did he say?’

‘He agreed to say nothing against our marriage, no matter what his private thoughts might be. And nothing against you.’

She stared up at him. ‘Did he say anything else?’ Such as I want to welcome my granddaughters back into the fold.

Garth shook his head. ‘He wasn’t pleased to see me.’ He looked haughtily down his nose. ‘He indicated he rather thought we deserved each other.’

A small smile at the thought of Grandfather and Stanford glaring at each other touched her lips. ‘I am glad he won’t object.’

‘He agreed to the return of the trunk and the desk, too. Glad to be rid of them.’

Well, that was something.

‘The Smythes have agreed we can be married at their house by special licence,’ he said. ‘Later they will hold a dinner party where you will be properly introduced to some members of the ton.’

‘I know. Lady Smythe left a few moments ago. She wants to know what day you have chosen.’

‘I’ll send round a note.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Then you have a date.’

‘Wednesday.’ He patted his pocket. ‘I have the special licence and a cleric to do the deed.’

Four days hence. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked.

An expression of resolve crossed his face, his shoulders seemed to straighten and he nodded. ‘Yes. I am sure.’ He glanced at the pile of parcels. ‘Aren’t you going to open them?’ He grinned like a boy caught in mischief. ‘I am sure you will like them.’

‘These are all for me?’

No one had bought her gifts since her mother died.

‘Mmm.’ He pushed two of them aside with his foot. ‘Those you might want to open in private.’

She eyed him askance. His dark eyes danced and her tummy hopped. ‘Personal items.’

‘You really should not have spent your money on me,’ she said. ‘Not when you have the expense of my sisters and—’

He held up his hand. ‘Do you think I want my wife walking around in rags?’

‘Well, no, but—’

His mouth took on a stubborn line. ‘Don’t criticise before you see what I have brought.’

By rejecting his gift she’d insulted him, perhaps even hurt his feelings. Though it was hard to tell, for his mocking smile had returned and he sprawled carelessly on the nearby sofa as if he didn’t give a damn.

She smiled. ‘I’m sorry. Your generosity is appreciated, my lord. I merely didn’t want you to get into debt or anything when you have already done so much for me.’

He looked a little mollified. ‘A few kickshaws and gewgaws will not put me in the sponging house.’

She was glad to hear it. From what little she knew of the rakehells and bucks who lived in town, they more often than not found themselves in the River Tick.

He must have seen the doubt on her face. ‘Don’t give me that look. I’ve been dibs in tune for years. Haven’t spent a night in the King’s Bench since I gained the title. And besides, now I’m a peer, they can’t arrest me.’

But they could lose everything they owned. Wives and children could end up on the street. Many had since the end of the war with France.

Her hand flattened on her waist. Of course, she didn’t know yet whether or not she was with child. It could be at least a week or more before she knew.

She knelt on the floor to hide her sudden flush of embarrassment at the thought she might be carrying a child and undid the knots in the string. The paper parted to reveal a silk gown of the most beautiful shade of rose.

‘I thought you might wear that at the wedding.’

Her wedding. And his.

She lifted the gown from the paper and held it up. Silk roses, a deeper shade than the gown, decorated the sleeves and the festoon of silk above the deep hem of embroidered lace. Despite the intricate decoration, the gown was feather-light in her hands. An extraordinary dress. Striking. The deep colours perfect for her complexion. ‘It is lovely. Where on earth did you find such a beautiful gown at such short notice?’

He gave a deprecating shrug. ‘A seamstress I know. She owes me a favour or two.’

The reason was clear. Whoever this dressmaker was, she would have provided gowns for his women. The pang was painful and raw. Jealousy. How could she be jealous? There was no love between them. At least not on his side. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. As time went on, the more it seemed it was her convenience, for he had nothing to gain from this wedding.

To hide her thoughts she opened the next package and the next, and the one after that. There were morning gowns, and a ball gown, and handkerchiefs and scarves. Even a couple of bonnets and a riding habit.

‘Do you ride?’ he asked when she pulled the royal-blue velvet out of the tissue paper. It was the most gorgeous habit she had ever seen.

‘Yes, I do.’

He looked pleased. ‘We can ride out together in the mornings, if you like. I’ll purchase a mount for you.’

Expense after expense mounted up. Guilt rolled through her. He hadn’t wanted to be married and now he was being forced to spend a fortune.

She looked at the piles of gowns and the lovely fabric lying across her arms. ‘It’s too much.’

A flicker of pain darkened his eyes. Gone so fast, she could not be sure she had seen it at all. Indeed, now she looked at him, his smile mocked her. ‘Only by entering the ton yourself can you introduce your sisters to society. Consider this part of our bargain.’

A bargain. That was all this marriage was to him. ‘Thank you, my lord. You are generous.’

His mouth tightened, probably at her lack of enthusiasm. But how could she be happy when she came like a beggar to this marriage of theirs? A marriage forced on him because she’d been foolish enough to fall for his charms.

In a bargain both people gained something. What did he have to gain except in his bed? That he could get anywhere.

It must be the child he cared about. A child would bring them together. Happiness curled around her heart.

A hot lump rose in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and smiled at him. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll call for a footman to have them taken upstairs.’ Oh, dash it all, did her voice have to sound quite so damp? He would think her a watering pot.

‘There is one more thing,’ he said with a smile. ‘The chest and the writing desk will arrive tomorrow as promised.’

‘So soon?’ Her smile widened. ‘How wonderful.’

‘You are very welcome.’ He looked pleased. ‘There is one last thing I must do today. I need the information about this moneylender for my man of business. I will have him take care of the matter right away.’ He went to the writing desk and set forth paper, pens and ink. ‘Write down his direction, along with that of your sisters.’

She hurried to comply, grateful he was acting so speedily. She quickly wrote down the required information and handed it to him. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. ‘This means everything to me.’

He captured her hand. ‘I will be back in time for dinner.’

He kissed her hand and the traitorous warmth rushed up from her belly. The desire for his touch.

She saw the answering warmth in the depth of his dark gaze.

At least they had this in common. It might not be perfect, but it was something they shared.

She would have to be very careful not to let him see her emotions went deeper. She had the sense he preferred to keep everything light and easy. And if she didn’t do the same, he would become bored and find other interests; he had as good as said so.

The thought made her feel simply dreadful.





When Garth returned home for dinner, Rosa did not object when he suggested they have dinner in his chamber. No, their chamber.

Hand in hand they left the drawing room, where they had partaken of sherry together, and climbed the stairs. He opened the door and stood back for her to enter.

A small oblong table set for two sat in front of a sofa. Apparently they were to eat side by side. Candles flickered, silver glittered and crystal sparkled. The room looked positively…romantic. There was even a lovely yellow rose gracing a vase in the middle of the table.

Her anxiety of earlier in the day reduced to a faint unease only to be expected in these early days, she supposed. And although she wasn’t yet married and she’d already experienced the delights of the marriage bed, she did feel a little like a new bride. Being a wife would be very different to being a mistress. A mistress could walk away.

From what Penelope had said, Rosa guessed that Garth disposed of his mistresses long before they were ready to leave. And he’d made it quite plain he did not intend to change his ways. Then why was he going to all this trouble to woo her?

At the back of her mind, something, some nagging little thing she could not quite grasp, kept making its presence known. A little whisper of disquiet. A feeling there was something she had yet to learn.

Why, when he’d been nothing but brutally honest about his lack of emotion?

He helped her to sit, rang the bell and sat beside her. The butler and two footmen carried in a series of trays, which they proceeded to set before them. The butler filled their wineglasses from a decanter, which he left on the table at Garth’s elbow. It was all done with such smoothness, Rosa had the distinct impression this was not the first time they had served dinner this way.

Not something she should be thinking about.

‘Will there be anything else, my lord?’

‘No, thank you. We will not need you again this evening.’

The man bowed and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.

Garth lifted his glass. ‘To my future bride.’

She picked up hers. ‘To my husband-to-be.’

Before she could drink, he held his glass to her lips. And when she had taken a sip, he drank from the same spot on the glass, his dark gaze all the while fixed on her face. Seductive. Tempting.

Not to be outdone, when he had finished drinking from his glass, she held her goblet to his lips. His eyes danced in appreciation as first he took a sip and then she drank.

‘Bravo,’ he murmured in her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine at the wicked sensation.

‘Ready to eat?’ he asked.

‘I’m famished.’

He lifted the covers from the plates the servants had set in front of each of them. Oddly, his plate held only cuts of meat and hers only an assortment of vegetables.

He grinned when she gave him a puzzled sideways glance. ‘I call this déjeuner au médiéval. Watch what I mean.’ He carefully cut a portion of chicken breast, then held it up to her mouth.

‘Oh,’ she said. And he popped it in.

He cut another piece for himself.

She cut up a carrot braised in butter and fed it to him. He dragged it off the fork with strong white teeth. Somehow it seemed sumptuously decadent, to be fed and to feed. There was also laughter when they tried the peas and ended up scattering them all over the floor. He dived for a rescue.

‘I’ll request no peas next time,’ he said, getting up from his knees after chasing one of the recalcitrant vegetables under the table.

‘Asparagus works best,’ she agreed, holding one of the delicate shoots out to him by a thumb and forefinger.

He bit all the way down it, reaching her fingers, then pretended to take a bite of her thumb.

She laughed.

He popped a mouthful of roast beef in her open mouth.

‘Mmm,’ she protested. When she finally managed to swallow both her laugh and the meat, she shook her head at him. ‘Not so fast. Do you want me to choke?’

A look of mock consternation crossed his face. He placed a hand over his heart. ‘Not before our wedding night.’ His face turned serious. ‘I never want any harm to come to you.’

Her heart gave an odd little bump. It was as if it had stopped for a moment, then started again, but out of rhythm. Her insides felt suddenly loose. Welcoming. Heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘I’m glad to know it,’ she said with mock severity, hiding her wanton reaction.

He held his glass to her lips once more and she drank deeply this time. He finished the wine, knocking it back with practised ease. He looked down at their plates. Very little remained. ‘Are you ready for dessert?’

‘I thought that was me.’ Good Lord, was this really her, this bold flirtatious woman? And was that a flush of pride she felt at his sudden boyish laugh and the flare of heat in his gaze?

She liked him so much more when he lost his cynical expression. Affection filled an empty space behind her ribs. She leaned forwards and landed a clumsy kiss on his cheek.

In an instant, he caught her close, turning his head to capture her mouth. His kiss tasted of red wine. His arm around her shoulder felt strong and manly; the touch of his knuckles on her cheek was tender. Something inside her seemed to settle, the way a cat sprawls out in front of a fire. She felt comfortable. Warm. Welcome.

Slowly he let her go, an expression of awe on his face. Or was it simply pleasure? It fled so fast she could not be sure, especially not when he turned away, removed the remains of their feast to the tray side table and lifted the last two covers. Beneath one was a mound of strawberries. The other hid a dish of cream and a bowl of sifted sugar.

‘Now how does this work?’ she asked.

His eyes were laughing with genuine amusement. ‘We could try sipping the cream and then eating a strawberry before we swallowed.’

‘A disaster worse than the peas in the offing.’

He grinned. ‘You’ve tried it before.’

Scandalised, she laughed. ‘Certainly not. Why don’t I dip a strawberry in the cream and sugar for you, and you do the same for me?’

‘They look so good, why don’t we do it at the same time.’

She smiled and nodded. ‘Why not?’

It was harder than it sounded. Trying to bite a strawberry while aiming for the other person’s mouth at the same time. The fruits were particularly large and when she bit into the second one he gave her, the juice ran down her chin.

He licked it away.

His tongue felt delicious on her skin, a sensual sensation low in her core. Her eyelids drooped.

‘You taste good,’ he murmured, low and enticing.

Pleasure hummed through her veins. A pulse beat low in her abdomen. Excitement stole her breath as desire took hold. But she wanted to give him pleasure, not just receive. Her hand drifted over the strawberries, her eyes selecting the ripest of the fruit in the bowl. She swirled it slowly in the cream.

From a sidelong glance, she watched his gaze follow the movement, his lips already parting, his teeth gleaming white, ready to bite. She scooped up a mountain of cream on the berry and dabbed it on his chin.

His dark eyes twinkled.

And she cleaned it off with several licks of her tongue. The faint graze of his stubble on her tongue had the feel of a cat’s lick. She purred.

His eyes creased. ‘Oh, my sweet Rosabella,’ he breathed. ‘There are many more uses for strawberries and cream.’ An eyebrow shot up. ‘If you dare.’

This was what he was getting from their marriage. This physical enjoyment. And she enjoyed it just as much and saw no reason to be ungenerous. Indeed, after all he had done for her, he deserved far more. ‘I dare,’ she whispered, flashing him a saucy glance. ‘If you do.’

He laughed. Loud and free. A sound full of joy. ‘Oh, little nun, do you know how you tempt me? Come.’ He took her hand. ‘This game needs no barriers between us.’

He pulled her to her feet and twirled her around and made short work of the fastenings on her gown. While he nuzzled her neck, he pushed the gown down her arms and over her hips. It slid to the floor, and she stepped out of it, turning to face him.

‘I’m not finished.’

She smiled. ‘Your turn.’ She undid the buttons on his coat and pushed the tight-fitting garment off his shoulders. She tugged and pulled at the soft wool, dragging it down his muscled arms. Panting, she pulled it off and cast it aside. ‘My word, that jacket is tight.’

No response. She glanced up at him and found his gaze fixed on her breasts rising and falling from her exertions. He raised his eyes to her face and she almost drowned in the heat of his desire.

Her insides turned liquid. She flung her arms around his neck, kissed those wonderful sensual smiling lips and leaned in to him. His hands came to her hips, large, warm, gentle. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her hard against his length. His arousal pressed against her belly.

Lovely. Pleasurable. Wildly entrancing. A tilt of her pelvis brought him closer to where she needed him. Urgency flowed through her blood.

Sweeping his mouth with her eager tongue, she tasted strawberries and cream. A hand stroked circles on her back and came around to cup her breast lightly. Too lightly for the powerful waves of longing sweeping through her.

A groan rumbled in his throat. He broke away, his breathing harsh. ‘Turn around, sweet. Let us be done with these clothes.’

He stripped her of her stays and chemise and carried her to the bed. Feverishly he untied her garters and ripped off her stockings, all tangled up with her shoes. His hot gaze raked her body as he tore at his cravat, flinging it aside. The shirt quickly followed. He toed off his shoes and peeled off his pantaloons.

She gazed at him. Her almost-husband. So glorious in his nakedness, so lean and finely drawn. His arousal jutted straight up, engorged and dark and magnificent.

An instrument of pleasure.

‘Do you like what you see?’

A slow perusal up the flat stomach ridged with muscle, over the wide sleek-as-a-Thoroughbred chest, up a strong column of throat to his face. He was watching her with desire, and something else—pride. Not the pride of arrogance, but a defiant pride, as if he thought she might reject him. Puzzled, she stared at him and saw a vulnerability she had not expected.

‘I approve very much.’ She licked her lips and his gaze followed the movement.

It seemed to break the spell, for he returned to their table and brought the strawberries and cream to the bed. ‘I hope you won’t mind if we dispense with the sugar?’ His eyes gleamed wickedness, brimming with mischief. ‘I am guessing it will be worse than sand for getting in places it is not supposed to be.’

‘I will take your advice,’ she said, ‘for I am sure you have lots of experience.’

He darted a glance from under lowered lashes, then smiled. ‘Not at all. Just an assumption.’

So he was going to pretend he had not played this game before. It was rather sweet that he would consider her feelings in such a way. It made her feel special.

He lay down beside her, placing the bowls on her side of the bed. Leaning over her, he picked up a strawberry and dipped it in the cream. ‘Let me see,’ he said, running his gaze down her body. ‘Which part of you do I most want to eat?’

Her inner muscles clenched. She gasped at the wickedly pleasurable pulse. Her breathing quickened. Her heartbeat went wild.

‘Here, I think.’ He dabbed the cream on her breasts, right on the peaks, and in her navel. He bit into the strawberry, taking half of it into his mouth, then leaned over to kiss her.

Along with the kiss, she received the ripe fruit in her mouth. ‘Don’t swallow it yet,’ he said.

He swiftly dipped his head and licked her breast, returning with cream on his tongue, which he added to the strawberry already in her mouth.

Wicked. Ridiculous. But very, very sensual. He encouraged her with a nod and she chewed and swallowed as he watched with his devilish smile. He winked. ‘What is left is mine.’

He swooped down and suckled her other breast, sending sweet aches all the way to her core. ‘Delicious,’ he mumbled against her skin as he trailed kisses all the way to her navel, where he swirled his tongue. She sighed with pleasure.

He laughed. Not mocking. Just pure enjoyment.

She loved this side of him. This delightfully boyish, playful rogue. She smiled at him with tenderness, hope blossoming in her heart. Perhaps, in time, there would be more than convenience in their marriage.

She sat up and pushed at his shoulder until he rolled spread-eagled on his back, then she knelt beside him and selected a strawberry, loading it with cream. ‘Now what shall I do with this?’

He opened his mouth, his eyes full of laughter.

‘Too easy, sirrah.’

There really only was one new place to put the cream. Excitement mixed with trepidation sent trembles running through her body. A drop of cream rolled off the strawberry on to the flat plane of his stomach. It would all run off if she didn’t act soon. Taking a swift breath, she dabbed carefully at the head of his shaft.

A groan and his hips came up off the bed, making her recoil. Strawberries scattered across the bed. Somehow the cream didn’t spill. He started laughing. Making the bed shake. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You caught me unawares. I really didn’t expect you to be so bold.’

She frowned. ‘Is it wrong?’ she asked, looking at her handiwork. If anything his thing, his rod, looked stiffer than ever, where it emerged from the dark nest of hair.

‘No. Nothing between a man and a woman is wrong, if both enjoy it. Don’t for pity’s sake stop now.’

‘You must be patient,’ she said, seeing his hands grip the sheets, anticipating… Oh, he really liked this idea. She dipped the strawberry again and smeared cream down his rigid shaft, smiling at the hiss of his breath, which set an answering tightness inside her that was altogether too delicious for words. She swirled the berry on the sacs at the base of his shaft, eyeing them with interest, wondering at their soft texture compared to his erection.

A glance at his face showed his eyes closed, his face a mask of calmness, but the tic in his jaw told the truth. She popped the strawberry in her mouth.

He opened one eye. ‘Are you done?’

She gave him a saucy smile. ‘Not quite. I just want to see how it tastes.’ She leaned over him and, after a moment’s hesitation, licked at the cream. ‘Delicious.’

He muttered something under his breath. The hands flexed into fists and relaxed.

Hmm. She trailed her tongue up his shaft and swirled it around the head, finding the varying textures fascinating. She took the head in her mouth and heard him groan.

Those large hands came down and caught her beneath the shoulders, pulling her upwards. His dark gaze clashed with hers. ‘Little nun, we will play this game another time. I find I do not have the patience tonight.’

He tossed her on her back on the bed, roughly moved the bowls to the table, then settled between her thighs. Desperation filled his gaze. He looked stunned. ‘I’m sorry, but right now, I want to be inside you.’

Raw power hung over her. The strength to take what he wanted and yet he waited for her assent.

Her limbs melted beneath the heat of that gaze and the gentleness of his hand cupping her cheek. She smiled.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, he reached down and guided himself into her. He drove hard and fast, with a fierceness she matched in the thrust of her hips. The pleasure was raw. Wild. It drove her to new heights of longing. Harder and faster he pumped his hips, suckling at her breasts, nipping at her ears, while she dug her nails in his back and bit at his shoulder.

She hit the peak fast and hard with a cry that sounded nothing like her voice. Her vision splintered, her body shattered into bliss.

He made sounds low in his throat, sounds of desperation and pain. He withdrew from her, using his hand to spill his seed on her belly. Then he collapsed on her, a dead weight. Delightfully heavy.