The Spurned Viscountess Part 23

Her mouth rounded as Lucien started to remove his clothes. Finally, his shirt dropped down his arms and whispered to a puddle at his feet. Her gaze rose to meet his. "You're beautiful." Not even the scars on his face or the one on his upper shoulder detracted from his presence.

"Don't let that get around," he said dryly. "I've worked very hard to scare all the women away with my ugly scars."

Her hand hovered over the bare skin of his chest. "Can I touch you?"

His laugh was short, his voice husky and low. "Please."

Dark hair grew on his chest. It was soft beneath her fingertips. She edged closer, near enough to press her nose against his skin. His scent filled every breath. Something mystical. Oriental. That was it. The aroma reminded Rosalind of the small sandalwood boxes that hailed from the Orient.

His hands tugged her against his chest. Instead of the scratchy cloth of his jacket, his skin was smooth and warmer. Hot to the touch. Her mouth opened and without thought, she kissed him in the middle of his chest. He groaned and tightened his hold.

Then he laughed. "You, madam, are going to be the death of me with your questions and your curiosity. Come, let us lie on the bed before my knees give out."

"Oh, do your knees feel wobbly too? I thought perhaps I'd drunk too much wine," Rosalind said.

He made a small choking noise.

"Are you all right? Should I hit you on the back?"

Lucien laughed hard then. He wiped a splash of moisture from his eyes and grinned at her. "When I first saw you, I knew you'd be trouble."

"I know my gift is a curse, but I do try not to be a nuisance."

"I know you do, sweetheart." He s.n.a.t.c.hed her off her feet and took three hurried steps to the bed.

Rosalind fell to the mattress and bounced lightly. The mattress dipped as Lucien sat on the edge of the bed. He slid off her pink satin shoes and tossed them to the floor. The sensation of his hands on her legs made her freeze. His hands slid up until he came to her garters. Deft movements untied them in a trice. Then he peeled down her stockings, his callused hands smoothing them to her ankles, sending a shiver down her spine. Her pulse raced, her body awash in sensations she'd never experienced before.

And there was much more to come. Pain. Would she bear it? Sighing, she decided yes. To have a child of her own to love, she would bear any amount of pain.

Lucien removed his shoes and stockings while Rosalind watched with avid curiosity. His hands settled on the fastening of his breeches. Hesitation skirted his face.

"Is it necessary to take off your breeches?" Rosalind asked.

Another small choking noise escaped from the depths of his throat. His mouth twitched.

"Maybe not," he murmured and, grinning, he moved up the bed, his upper body covering her chest.

Not an unpleasant experience. The friction of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the sheer cotton of her chemise made her wriggle. Heat engulfed her face, her body; and low down in that place between her legs, an ache intensified. She squirmed a little more.

"Be still," Lucien ordered.

Rosalind froze, not at his order but at the strange guttural groan he emitted. Her eyes widened. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Again his voice sounded strange. "h.e.l.l."

He lowered his head and kissed her. Warmth surged from his lips. Heat. Flickers of sensation exploded, sending tendrils of heat from wherever he touched. His hand on her shoulder, his weight on her upper body-both felt strange but right. His mouth traced a path across her cheek, down her neck and, strangely, her ear.

Rosalind melted like a snowdrift under the rising sun. Who would have thought a kiss on her ear would feel so...so wondrous. One sensation merged into another. His hands, rough from working with the men in the village, elicited magical sparks that p.r.i.c.kled up and down her limbs.

"Let me take your chemise off, Rosalind. I want to see you."

"See me?" Even though she'd seen herself naked in his thoughts, the act of disrobing in front of her husband was not something she'd considered much before tonight. Her aunt hadn't mentioned taking off clothes, and neither had Mary. Wouldn't it make her vulnerable? What if he teased her or scorned her body like her cousin used to? She studied his bare chest and frowned. "Can't you see me now?"

Lucien trailed his hand across her shoulder. "I would like to see your skin, your b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I want to touch you and feel your skin." His hand moved a little lower, the lazy sweep of his fingers grazing one breast.

Rosalind took a deep breath. "I'll take my chemise off if you remove your breeches."

His grin was wide and instant. He levered away from her, his hands moving to unfasten his breeches. His eyes held a silent dare, along with heat and a strange yearning that made Rosalind desperate to please him. Her hand hovering at the hem of her chemise, she steeled herself and whipped the white cotton garment over her head. Clothing rustled and, when she risked a look, she discovered none of her naughty visions had prepared her. Her aunt and Mary had lied. It It was much bigger than the appendage Mary had described. Not exactly ugly or scary. No...more interesting. Different. She lifted her gaze to meet his quizzical smile. They stared at each other for long seconds before Rosalind reached a trembling hand out to touch a pectoral muscle. "You're brown all over." was much bigger than the appendage Mary had described. Not exactly ugly or scary. No...more interesting. Different. She lifted her gaze to meet his quizzical smile. They stared at each other for long seconds before Rosalind reached a trembling hand out to touch a pectoral muscle. "You're brown all over."

"I go swimming in the sea."

Rosalind's gaze flew to his. "With no clothes?"

"The water feels like silk against your skin."

"I'd like to do that." Her tone held wistfulness. "Can I go with you next time?"

"I'd enjoy that," Lucien murmured, an undercurrent of laughter shading his voice. "Come here." He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her shoulder. A shudder sped down her body. Then he kissed her. His tongue swirled across her lips and this time she knew to open her mouth a little. The kisses were sweet and addictive, rich and heady, tasting of port and summer sunshine.

While he kissed her, his hands were at her shoulders, but then they moved. She gasped in a breath, her heart thumping like the waves pounding at the base of the cliff below the castle. "What are you doing?" Her aunt had told her marriage bed activities were quick, and her husband would leave her bed after ten minutes at the most. Her brow crinkled. They'd been here for some time and all Hastings had done was kiss her.

"I want to learn your body, so I know it as well as my own." His fingers skimmed down her arm.

"Oh."

"Is that all right?"

Rosalind considered his words. The touching and kissing wasn't so bad. "I think so."

"I'm glad you approve." He paused to flash white teeth at her in a wide grin. "You don't have to lie so quiet and still. You're allowed to touch me too."

The idea appealed a lot. She set out to quench her curiosity, to search for the similarities and the differences between them.

Lucien couldn't help his amus.e.m.e.nt. It was the way Rosalind threw herself into every situation-with a little trepidation but lots of heart and determination. His mouth quivered. Let's see how she handles this. Let's see how she handles this.

He rolled, tugging Rosalind on top of him. She squeaked, her mouth rounding, her brows shooting upward. "So you can explore easier," he said.

Her hands clutched his upper arms, nails biting into his skin. Instead of pain, arrows of sheer need collected at his groin. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Slow. He needed to give Rosalind time, but the urge to roll her over and thrust his c.o.c.k into her tight warmth was almost overwhelming.

Shy, hesitant hands crept across his chest. He could hear her breathing, the tick of a clock, the occasional splatter of wax from a candle.

He opened his eyes and the concentration on her pale face made his heart race even faster. "Kiss me."

Slowly she leaned toward him but instead of kissing him on the lips, she kissed his chest, his neck. Shy and hesitant at first, then with more a.s.surance when she realized he wouldn't protest. Her mouth grazed a flat nipple and his breath escaped with a hiss. She froze.

"Did that hurt?"

"No."

"You liked it?"

"I did. I do, but I'm not sure how much exploration I can take."

Her bottom lip stuck out in a cute pout, and he had the sudden urge to sink his teeth into that lip then soothe it with kisses. h.e.l.l, he needed to speed up this process before he went mad. He snaked a hand behind her head, tugging her flush with his aroused body from shoulder to groin.

"Oh," Rosalind said, moving aside and peering at his groin. "Does that hurt?" One small hand crept downward. She wrapped her hand around his rod, the heat in her touch making him want to groan out loud. G.o.d, her touch felt good. As if she could read his mind, she slid her hand up and down, exploring him, until he thought he might go cross-eyed attempting to restrain himself.

Lucien tightened his arms around her. "Sweetheart, no it doesn't hurt. Please." Needing to distract her, he cupped one breast and explored her luscious curves. The scent of flowers teased at his nostrils. What would she taste like? He held her away from him, replacing his hand with his mouth. h.e.l.l, she tasted sweet. He should have known. She moaned softly. His hands tightened at her sensual reaction while his mouth laved her pouting nipple. His plain English mouse had many hidden qualities, which only now he was coming to appreciate.

The pressure in his groin urged him to make haste, to dispense with patience, and for once Lucien was in full agreement. He kissed her, ravishing her lips, tasting, nipping. Hands explored, shaping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and moving lower. His hand skimmed the hot, sweet place at the juncture of her thighs. She stiffened.

"Relax," he murmured. "You can tell me to stop at any time and I will." If he could. He wasn't so sure of his ability to halt should she ask.

Lucien stroked her thighs. So soft and pale. And bruised, he noted with a frown. One knee bore a graze while numerous scratches marked the pale perfection of her thighs. He slid down and touched his lips to an angry mottled yellow bruise. He trailed his fingers upward. Warm feminine flesh greeted his touch. His fingers moved, circled slowly until the tenseness left her body and her thighs fell apart. The scent of her, sweet-smelling and delicious, made him tremble. He pressed a kiss to her abdomen and slid up to kiss her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again. When her hands cradled his head, holding him to her, a surge of pure l.u.s.t spread through his veins.

"You know it will hurt," he said, looking down at her slightly flushed face. Her blue eyes darkened, her bottom lip caught between white teeth.

"I don't mind."

She sounded sure this was what she wanted. But she was apprehensive. Lucien covered her lips with his even as he parted her legs. Take it slow and easy. Slow and easy. Take it slow and easy. Slow and easy. He pushed into her, the sensation almost more than he could bear after months of celibacy. Her warm, feminine flesh ma.s.saged his c.o.c.k. He sucked in a deep breath, reinforcing his need to take his time. He pushed into her, the sensation almost more than he could bear after months of celibacy. Her warm, feminine flesh ma.s.saged his c.o.c.k. He sucked in a deep breath, reinforcing his need to take his time.

"That doesn't hurt." Rosalind sounded surprised.

A smothered chuckle escaped Lucien as he reached her maidenhead. "Not finished yet."

He battled the need to thrust hard. A deep breath and gritting of teeth didn't help the urgent desire thrumming through his veins. He kissed her and surged inside her until he buried his c.o.c.k deep. She flinched. h.e.l.l. He pulled away enough to see her face even as he cursed his lack of willpower. He kissed her hard, moving in soft, measured strokes.

Gradually she relaxed, and Lucien knew everything would be all right when her small hands stroked his back and flanks, urging him on. Her breathing quickened. He stroked a little faster. Harder.

Just when he thought he could hold on for no longer, Rosalind gasped and tensed. Tiny ripples ma.s.saged his shaft. He thrust once. Twice. He groaned, his heart thumping. Another thrust and pleasure flooded his body.

"Rosalind." He held her tight until his heartbeat finally slowed to normal. Then he looked down and smiled because her small face looked radiant.

"Is it always like this? Making babies?"

Lucien tensed, the smile losing some of its crispness. G.o.d, what if they had made a child?

"Lucien?"

His breath eased back out. "No, it's not always like this."

"Can we do it again?"

A baby.

h.e.l.l. What if something happened to Rosalind?

"Don't leave the castle without me. I mean it. If I'm not available to escort you, stay at the castle. Inside the castle, and not outside wandering about the gardens."

Rosalind stared at him. She snapped her teeth together. "What have you done with my husband?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Minutes ago we were making love and now you're issuing orders, treating me like a servant."

"This is no joke. I mean it. Don't leave the castle without me."

"I promise to take a footman with me."

"Not good enough." Lucien yanked her to him, jerking a surprised yelp from her. "Not a footman, Rosalind. A footman is no protection. Me."

Her eyes narrowed, and she wrenched from his touch. "That sounds like an order."

"It is."

"But why? Nothing has happened to..." She trailed off as she registered his glare.

"Nothing? You were shot at, pushed over a cliff, then fell down the stairs, and someone watches you whenever you're in your chamber."

"You forgot being pushed out of bed."

"d.a.m.n it, don't be flippant. You could have died."

"I didn't think you cared."

Lucien sat up in the bed and glared at his troublesome English mouse. Didn't care? "You're my wife," he snapped.

"Not a servant," she countered sweetly.

Lucien didn't wish to discuss the matter. He didn't want to explain. Instead he did the only thing he knew would distract his wife. He grabbed her and tucked her against his naked body. His mouth slammed down on hers, gentling when she responded.

Perhaps they would make a baby after all-if that was the only way to keep her safe.

Chapter Seventeen.

Rosalind limped into the breakfast room eager to see Lucien. Her face fell when she found the room empty save a maid. She'd thought Lucien would remain by her side, but instead he'd left like a thief in the night. Disappointment stabbed her, spreading niggling doubt. What if Lucien regretted last night?

The maid bobbed a quick curtsey. "Would you like a pot of chocolate, Lady Hastings?"

"Thank you, Janet."

The maid bustled from the room, and Rosalind helped herself to eggs before taking a seat at the table. Footsteps in the corridor made her head jerk up, but the new arrival was Charles. Mansfield arrived shortly afterward.