Page 38 of His Betrothed
Chapter 11
Naked? Spencer barely held back a choked laugh, yet he didn’t release Roselyn. He held her body firmly against his.
“And the wings!” she continued, rolling her eyes. “Even the queen cannot find your behavior angelic.”
He tried to picture the incredible sight of Queen Elizabeth holding a naked statue of an angel that resembled him. Roselyn didn’t know her very well if she thoughtthe old girl would be offended. More than likely, the statue held a place of honor at court that day.
Buthefelt embarrassed. Alex had always been willing to go one step farther than Spencer in whatever mischief they created.
He imagined Roselyn’s reaction if she’d actually seen the statue; he would have taken dark pleasure in her prim outrage.
“Are you shocked?” he asked in a low, rumblingvoice.
The light played across her face between the shadow of the leaves. Again he found his gaze straying to her breasts, small but so perfectly formed. For a moment he wondered what she would do if he caressed them—as was his right.
She took a deep breath, and her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Nothing you do shocks me.”
“No?”
The nerve of her, to challenge him so! They stood side byside, pressed together from thigh to hip to shoulder. He could tell he unsettled her, by the way she moistened her lips and refused to break away from his gaze. How much further could he affect her—even to the point of desire? He looked into the depths of her eyes and thought he could use this attraction simmering between them, tease her until she found out what she had missed, arouse her untilshe could think of nothing but him—and then reject her, as she had done to him.
He pretended to stumble forward, and she turned to brace him, obviously without thinking. Their bodies met in a frontal assault, her breasts pressing low against his chest. His hands naturally dropped to her waist, and through her thin gown he could feel the delicate bones of her hips, which flared out with feminineappeal. Whatever else she was, Roselyn Harrington felt like a woman.
Spencer thought for certain she would step away, but she lingered, seeming flustered and unprepared. Her hands came to rest against his chest, and he imagined them sliding up behind his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss—
They both broke away at the same moment.
“We should be returning,” she said in that prim, controlledvoice of hers.
“Of course.” He was stunned by the flash of desire he’d been unable to control, when it was she who was supposed to be overcome. What business had his body to react to a woman who’d betrayed him? And how could he be thinking of sex, when what awaited him in London might be the end of his freedom—perhaps his life?
He let anger sweep away his feelings of helplessness and bitterness.Hewould control their encounters;hewould make her squirm with frustration.
Reluctantly linked together, they walked slowly back to the cottage, his prison.
During the afternoon a light rain swept the island, but that didn’t stop Roselyn and the Heywood brothers from harvesting her grain. She walked the fields behind them, gathering the wheat in bundles, but her mind was on the morningshe’d spent with Thornton.
Why couldn’t she just ignore his assault onher senses? She knew he did it deliberately, that he took pleasure in provoking her. Touching her was surely only another means to some revenge.
If only she didn’t fall for it so easily. It was as if when she was near him, he cast a witch’s spell over her; her common sense fled. When she looked into his dark, exotic eyes,she thought of shadows, and the illicit things one hid in them to do. The calm life she worked so hard for fell away beneath an itch that seemed to burn inside her.
She hadn’t been able to keep her silly gaze off his mouth. It was far too expressive for a man, whether twisted in mockery or grinning in gloating delight.
She raised her face up to the clouds, and let the misty rain cool her heatedskin. Next she’d be forgiving him for every crime and falling at his feet, she thought in disgust.
“Roselyn?”
She heard voices call her name, and she realized how far away her thoughts had been. John and Thomas were some distance ahead of her, and both had turned to look at her with exasperation.
Throughout the day it continued to rain, and Roselyn grew more and more uneasy about where shewould feed the Heywood brothers.Just when she was wondering how she could get herself invited to Wakesfield for the evening, the sun came out. She left the Heywoods to go prepare supper, knowing it would only take a little convincing to make them eat outside.
She hurried inside the cottage, and when she didn’t see Thornton right away, she felt a moment of panic.
Then she saw him standing againstthe far wall. His dark looks and beard blended into the shadows, and she couldn’t help thinking of the night ahead. He said nothing, just stared at her, and she wondered if he, too, was remembering how it felt to touch each other, chest to chest, so close that nothing else in the world had existed but the orchard, their bower.
Forcing such thoughts from her mind, Roselyn clenched her tired fingerstogether.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
