Page 58 of His Betrothed
Chapter 16
Spencer didn’t feel a single twinge of guilt for lying—he wasn’t quite sure what he felt, after listening to that country boy court Roselyn.
He tried to tell himself it was better this way. He’d return to the treachery of London in just six days and have the betrothal contract broken; then he and Roselyn would both be free of each other.
The thought of calling her an adultererbefore the entire court made his stomach sour in a way he hadn’t felt before. But that’s what she was—why did he let her innocence and serenity make him reluctant to hurt her? It was the only way.
The other part of him felt anger churning inside his gut that she would play kissing games when her own betrothed could overhear.
Roselyn’s head appeared in the loft, followed by her trim shouldersand well-formed breasts, encased in that awful widow’s black. When shefinally stood above him, she gave him a suspicious look.
“You do not look ‘stuck.’”
A flash of some emotion—he told himself it was anger—surged through him, and he hooked his foot around her ankle. With a gasp, she tottered, and he caught her arm and pulled her on top of him. They sank down into the prickly straw pallet,and he realized she’d given him the comfortable one stuffed with goose feathers.
Her squirming hips rubbed his as she tried to pull away.
“Spencer!” she gasped.
Even her breath across his ear and cheek made him think lustful thoughts—and he’d never heard his Christian name on her lips. When she pushed against his chest and rose up above him, he turned her onto her back, her head pillowed inhis arm, his leg thrown across hers to keep her still.
In the murky darkness, she blinked at him in astonishment, her incredibly full lips parted, her breath coming fast.
“Don’t!” she cried.
“Why not? Touching my own betrothed is as far from being scandalous as I’ve ever gotten.”
“But why are you doing this?” she asked in a whisper that reminded him of how intimate and alone they were.
“Has he ever kissed you?”
If possible, her eyes widened even more. “Of course he’s kissed me.”
With each breath, her breasts brushed his arm.
“I don’t mean a brotherly kiss on the cheek.” He leaned closer and nuzzled her cheek, smelling the sweet scent of her skin, feeling it arouse him more than any fine perfume.
She was trembling now. “His kisses aren’t brotherly.”
“But they’re never ona more intimate place than the side of your face. So you admit he’s never truly kissed you?”
Roselyn felt surrounded by Spencer: his half-naked body pressed down the length of her, his hard arm beneath her neck. Their legs were caught together, and when she tried to move, it only made them more intimately entwined.
Deep in her heart, she knew this was what she’d been longing for, this closenessto him. His gentle touch, his humor, were things she’d never had with Philip. They drew her far more than fine promises and misleading words.
But how to admit to him that even after marriage, she had never been kissed?
Spencer loomed above her, mysterious and dark as the shadows. She wanted to touch him, to feel his strong face between her hands, to run her fingers across that broad, shelteringchest.
She wouldn’t touch him—but she didn’t stop his hand from cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and she shuddered.
He leaned over her and pressed his mouth gently to hers. She’d never thought her lips could be so sensitive, as she experienced the pleasure of light, butterfly kisses. The wonder of it was almost painful. She closed her eyes and let the sensation shiverthrough her. Slowly, he applied more pressure, angling his head. Was she doing this right? Could he tell that she was innocent of such a normal part of marriage?
The first touch of his tongue made her gasp and open her eyes. He lifted his head the slightest bit, grinning teasingly down at her.
“You didn’t like that?”
Roselyn didn’t know what to say, or even what to think. Her mind was a jumbleof conflicting thoughts, of panic and desire, but the one that chorused most strongly was,Don’t stop!
