Page 74 of His Betrothed
He heard a sob, and as he turned Roselyn darted past him, wiping tears from her face.
“Rose?” he called, his voice soft and urgent, but she ran out into thedarkening night. He followed her as fast as he could, stumbling over rocks and into holes he could no longer see. He knew where she was going, the only place she had to call hers—the place he’d threatened to take from her, like a selfish monster.
Roselyn didn’t know why she couldn’t stop crying. As the heavy skies finally opened and rain came pouring down, it mingled with her tears. Still sheran, knowing that Spencer was leaving, that he wouldn’t stand in the way of her marriage to John.
Wasn’t that what she wanted? So why did her chest feel as if it were torn in two and she couldn’t breathe?
She heard Spencer behind her, the rain muffling his voice. She reached the cottage and fumbled frantically with the latch, but beforeshe could get the door open, he was near, calling her ina voice so tender it made her weep all over again.
She gave up trying to open the door and ran to the back of the cottage. Her solace, her courtyard garden, was sodden, still steaming from the day’s heat, the graying dusk making everything look as bleak as her soul felt.
“Rose.”
She whirled about, stumbling back against the stone wall, staring at Spencer. His hair was plastered to his headand brushed his shoulders in dripping strands. His wet shirt clung to him.
But it was his dark eyes that held her trapped. She couldn’t—wouldn’t run. There was a plaintive appeal in those eyes that she’d never seen before. It cut her deep to see him vulnerable, to see him needing—what?
“Go away!” she whispered raggedly.
“Why did you run?” He stepped toward her, his hand reaching for her.
“I don’t know!” Her voice broke and she whirled away, covering her face with her hands.
And then he enveloped her from behind, his arms crossing to hold her tight, his chest pressed so closely to her back that she didn’t know where she ended and he began.
He whispered, “Rose,” against her ear, andjust the vibration of his voice deep in his chest shot a sudden need through her.
With a cry, shetilted her head back, and then his mouth was against her throat. The heavy rain on her face was the final blow that unleashed the wildness she’d tried to deny in herself. She wanted this—needed this.
She arched back against him, desperate for his heat and strength. His hands grasped her waist, then slid slowly up over her ribs, pausing, hesitating, until she wanted to press her breasts into hishands.
She held still with aching need as his palms slid over her breasts and cupped her tight. Her gasp was a demand that he continue, and he caressed up and over her breasts repeatedly, until the sheer pleasure of it created a full ache between her thighs. Never had she felt this need to be with a man, to take anything he could give her, to give all she had of herself.
Then he found her nipplesthrough the garments, and he plucked at them until they pressed hard into his hands. It was as if he played a lute, and each strum of his fingers made her entire body vibrate. She could only drop her head back on his shoulder with a moan. His tongue licked along her ear and cheek, then she turned her head to meet his mouth with her own. They took sustenance from each other, tongues meeting andstrainingand stroking, and all the while his hands molded and shaped her breasts.
But it wasn’t enough—she wanted to feel his wet skin, the heat and power of him. She pushed back against him, rubbing into him with her hips, and his ragged groan took her by surprise. She caught her breath when his hands dropped to her waist and pressed their hips together.
“Rose—” he said into her ear. His tonguefollowed.
“Don’t speak! Just make me feel…Stop this need that I can’t control.”
He lifted his hands to her hair. She didn’t understand at first, then she felt the plucking of the pins buried tightly in her hair, and she stilled. Each tug of his hands sent an answering quiver through her. When the heavy mass of her wet hair fell about her shoulders, she heard Spencer groan, felt him bury hisface against it.
It made her knees weaken, and she sagged against him. “Spencer—”
From behind her, he whispered, “I want to see your skin bare and wet again.”
“I—I don’t understand—”
“That night when we kissed—I stood at the window and watched you bathe under the stars.”
Roselyn imagined him watching her, and she felt a rush of desire so heady it made her dizzy.
The laces suddenly loosenedat her neck, and her black gown gave way at her chest, which rose and fell rapidly.
“Before your bath, you removed your dress first, and I thought your smock seemed to glow as if you were a sea nymph sent to torture me.”
“I torture you?” Her own voice was breathy, trembling.
