Page 45 of My Darling Rogue
“Yes. Now. And Celia? No more questions unless absolutely necessary.”
Celia’s lips tightened with the light admonishment, but she sank to the floor with shaky gracefulness. The thick Turkish rug carpeting the Earl of Ravenswood’s private study cushioned her knees. She eased back into a questionable position of comfort and waited for what would come next. The pop and crackle of the fire in the grate accentuated the shallow breaths she desperately inhaled in an attempt at calming herself.
“Mon douce fille,” he murmured. His hand curled under her chin, tilting her head back so he could stare down into her wide eyes. When she trembled, his thumb passed over her bottom lip in a fleeting caress.
Celia gasped softly, surprised by the spark of arousal she experienced. Gabriel’s lips twitched with amusement as he did it again. Heat flared in his gaze as he tracked his thumb’s movement across the plump flesh. His touch was firmer this time, gradually pressing between her upper and bottom lip as if seeking entry into her mouth.
Celia’s hands fluttered. Where should she place them? On his thighs? On her own?
“Behind your back, Celia,” Gabriel said as if reading her mind. Celia did as he instructed, and Gabriel swore softly under his breath when the position arched her back. Her breasts thrust out in an almost obscene manner and his gaze swept over her in a heated rush. “Now, open your mouth.”
Celia did that, too. Her reward was Gabriel’s thumb sliding between her lips and beyond the barrier of her teeth.
“Suck.”
The command was a dark, husky rasp of lust, and Celia hesitated only a second before closing her lips around his thumb. She applied a gentle, hesitant suction, her cheeks hollowing out a small bit. This was so strange but oddly arousing at the same time. Instinctively, her head bobbed until the digit was drawn further into her mouth before withdrawing and allowing it to slide almost free. It was an unconsciously sultry motion that was beginning to excite her and definitely affected Gabriel.
He groaned, thrusting his thumb deeper into the recesses of her mouth. Celia swirled her tongue around him in an experimental gesture, and in the next instant, she was no longer on her knees.
Gabriel’s hands gripped her upper arms with almost painful strength, holding her aloft. The sudden motion of being jerked to her feet was startling. Mostly because for some bizarre reason, she’d enjoyed kneeling before him. Relished the idea she’d given him pleasure instead of receiving it. She’d liked being under his control.
But why had he stopped her? Had she done it wrong? Disappointed him with her inexperience? Did he think simply because she was no longer a virgin that she was proficient when it came to lovemaking?
A frisson of unease swept through Celia at the reminder of her lost innocence.
No matter her reputation and what Gabriel might conclude after watching her over the past year, she was hardly an expert. Her encounters with the men in her social circle were limited to kisses and nothing more. At least until Gabriel Rose entered her world and gave her glimpses of what the shadows truly held.
Even after what she’d been through, Celia could not explain why she sought the danger of this man’s attention. There was always the potential for tragedy. To be hurt as she’d been hurt in that darkened horse stall so many years before. That night she turned sixteen and learned that what felt amazing could not always be trusted.
“Lesson over,” Gabriel said gruffly, staring at her with an expression blended from disbelief and unadulterated lust. His erection pressed into her as evidence of his arousal. His shallow breaths matched her own. “And lesson learned. You, my darling, are the perfect wife for me. I cannot wait to show you what it means to be completely mine.”
CHAPTER20
The mission was completed with relative ease.
Within a week of his father’s death, Gabriel’s petition was granted. He was officially recognized as the new Marquess of Rosenthorne.
And that came with all the perks and problems entailed by a title. With the stroke of a pen and royal signature, Gabriel was now responsible for nearly two hundred souls in his employ and the production of several crops cultivated at Rosenthorne Park.
Gabriel also procured a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. Once a minister was procured, he could marry Celia immediately.
“You did not hesitate in securing one of the most eligible women in all of England, did you, Lord Rosenthorne?” the queen remarked with detached curiosity when he was ushered before her. “It is well that we would have approved the match had you bothered following the required steps.”
“An enviable union,” Carraway, his father’s barrister, declared jovially upon learning the news. “Quite fortunate to have captured a lady from such a well-connected family.”
“An excellent match, I’m sure of it,” an assistant to the archbishop said when handing over the special license. “Congratulations, Your Lordship. I wish you years of happiness.”
Yes. Apparently, everyone considered it an exceptional match with the exception of the bride.
Gabriel still found himself disturbed by Celia’s revelation of her secret. Not because of her previous relationships, but because he suspected there was much more to her past than she was admitting. Was this why she’d never entertained the many marriage proposals over the years? Could she be under the mistaken idea that her worth was diminished simply because she was no longer a virgin?
Gabriel despised the archaic rules of society that measured a woman’s worth based on purity and the size of her dowry. He’d made it clear to Lady Darby that the sizable amount received from marrying her daughter would be placed in a special account. Only Celia would have access to the funds and she could spend the money as she saw fit. Gabriel had no need of her dowry. Not with his own personal fortune and the new influx of riches from his father’s estates.
He scrubbed a hand over his face as the coach rattled along a rutted portion of the road leading to Wiltshire. This portion of his journey was necessary, although he faced it with much dread. The main residence for the marquessate was Rosenthorne Park, and he wondered how much of his father’s presence would exist within its halls.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. By God, he would make the manorhishome. His and Celia’s. Together they would fill it with laughter and light. Children. Happiness.
And he would take his rightful place in society. A place denied him for almost twenty-eight years.
