Page 59 of His Betrothed
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to her cheek, then hovered just above her lips. “Touch me, Rose,” he whispered, his breath fairy-light on her skin.
She didn’t stop to think, just placed her hand on his bare arm and let herself feel the warm,smooth hardness of him. Yet his mouth remainedjust above hers until she yearned for his lips with an ache that centered with shocking warmth between her thighs.
Her gaze clung to his face, as she ran her hand across his shoulder and up to the back of his head. He was breathing just as hard as she was, but still he didn’t kiss her. She knew what he wanted, and she gave in, pulling him down to her.
His shining grin faded as he tilted hishead and covered her mouth with his. His tongue slid urgently between her lips, and a hot and sinful feeling shook her as she willingly opened her mouth. The feel of him stroking inside her made her quiver even more as she clung to him. His thigh slid between hers, and she wished there were no garments between them.
He moved on top of her, freeing both of her hands to touch him as she wished.She slid her palms up his back, felt the damp heat of him, and as his kiss deepened again, she stroked his tongue with her own.
A groan rumbled through him, and he clasped her face between his hands, kissing her deeper, harder than she could have imagined. Did he feel the same way, full of wildness and daring and desire?
She had never felt like this in her life, and she reveled in it, touchinghim freely, moving restlessly to be ever closer to something new, something wonderful, just out of reach.
His mouth followed an invisible path across her jaw and down her neck, and she tilted her head back to give him the access he wanted. His hands slid down her ribs, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts, before he filled his palms with them. The pleasure that suffused her was overwhelming.Her nipples were hard and aching, and she knew that soon she’d be lost in these new sensations, letting him do anything he wanted.
Hadn’t the first touch of Philip’s hand on her bare skin made her quiver with excitement? But on their wedding night he’d been drinking, andhisneeds were all that mattered—all that ever mattered.
She stiffened beneath Spencer, and he raised his head to look ather with a frown.
Were his needs all Spencer considered, too? How could she so easily forget the child who’d suffered and died because of her flaws, this wildness that made her forget herself?
“We must stop,” she said hoarsely, dislodging his hands and covering her chest. “This isn’t what either of us wants.”
“You don’t know what I want,” he said in a low voice.
He tried to kiss her again,but she turned her head away.
“Then tell me,” she whispered. She wanted the truth, all of it, but his silence was as eloquent as the thrust of a knife.
He rolled off her.
Roselyn stood up, straightening her clothing with shaking hands, trying not to feel empty and alone without Spencer holding her. She turned to start down the ladder, but couldn’t resist looking at him.
He was propped on oneelbow, his hair in disarray, his mouth wet. My God, had she done that?
His eyes glittered at her in the darkness. “Is John Heywood the next boy you’ll replace me with? Does he know you’re already betrothed?”
“John knows everything about me,” she said wearily, “which is more than you can say.”
She went down the rope ladder quickly, her chest tight with tears she refused to shed. She gatheredlinens and a change of clothing and went out into the night to bathe.
Spencer listened to the door slam and knew just where she was going. He rolled off the pallet onto his stomach—which was an uncomfortable position since his arousing encounter with Roselyn—and inched backward until his legs hung over the edge of the loft. The rope ladder was tricky, and he almost slipped andbroke his foolneck, but soon he was safely on the floor. He blew out the candles, hopped to the window overlooking the courtyard, and slowly opened it.
Roselyn had already finished filling the barrel by lantern light. The rain clouds had finally blown away, and under the starry, moonless night she took down her hair. Each pin she dropped onto the wall nailed home how this desire for her had sneaked up on him.When the dark mass of her hair unrolled past her shoulders, his skin twitched as if she’d touched him. She had glorious, womanly hair, hair that was made to curtain him as she rode his body through desperate pleasure.
Then she began to remove her garments.
Spencer knew this was only further torture, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching. He’d touched parts of her through her clothing, andnow his eyes wanted to devour her as well.
Her black gown fell to the ground, leaving her smock to glow under the stars. His eyes were drawn to the pale skin of her shoulders. She unlaced the smock and allowed it to sag to her waist, revealing breasts as perfect as pearls adorning the night sky.
He stopped breathing as the smock joined the gown in the grass. Though Roselyn was delicately small,the curve of her hips was lush and full and made to comfort a man. When shestood on the crate and lifted one leg to step into the barrel, he groaned and turned away, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.
The sound of splashing water did nothing to cool his ardor.
By the time she returned to the cottage he was lying on his pallet, facing the wall, trying to keep from panting like the lustfulbeast he was. Six days seemed too far away—and much too quick.
Spencer opened his eyes in the morning, and was glad that the day already seemed cooler. He lay still for a moment, staring up at the loft, wondering what had awakened him besides frustrated desire.
