Page 72 of Almost a Bride
Chapter 21
Roselyn wanted to lie still, to enjoy the sensation of him deep inside her, the absence of pain. She wanted to shiver at the deliciousness of his lips just touching hers, the teasing, gentle way he smiled at her. This was how it should be between a man and woman—and she never wanted to go back to spending her nights alone.
This intimacy changed everything—surely he wouldn’t leave her, surely he wouldn’t mind that she’d withheld the pouch. He must have plausible answers for everything.
Spencer lifted himself off her body, and the shock of the cold rain on her heated flesh made her gasp. He pulled her to her feet, then lifted her up, his arms beneath her knees and back.
She flung her arms around his neck. “What are you doing? You can’t carry me inside!”
“I most certainly—” He broke off, and she giggled at the puzzled look on his face. He was standing on one leg, and he swayed precariously until he leaned back against the wall.
Roselyn clung to him tighter. “Don’t drop me! Maybe I should carry you.”
“We’d better do something, because this rock wall is biting into my ass.”
She buried her face against his neck and laughed until her chest ached with the unfamiliarity of such abandon. He lowered her legs until just her toes touched the earth, and her body was pressed to the length of his. She could feel every inch of his skin, as hot as hers, rough with hair that teased her sensitive nipples.
She looked up into his shadowed face, her smile dying as he held her still with a gaze so hot she felt seared with passion.
“Our clothing—” she began.
“Leave it.”
His husky voice sent a pleasurable shiver across her skin, and they walked toward the cottage. She barely felt the stones pricking her bare feet, or the watery puddles in the grass.
Inside the tiny cottage, there was only a glow from the embers of the dying fire. As Spencer knelt before the hearth to add wood, she ignored the doubts that tried to assail her. Wild Roselyn still held sway over her body, and she wanted to immerse herself in all the pleasure Spencer could teach her.
When the fire began to crackle with warmth, he turned to look up at her.
“Rose, you’re cold,” he whispered, leaning over to his pallet for a blanket.
He pulled her down into his lap and wrapped her securely in the blanket and his arms. She rested her head against his chest and looked into the fire, trying to memorize everything about him and this evening.
She closed her eyes as he began to rub her back gently with the blanket, then squeezed the water from her heavy hair.
“I need to apologize,” he whispered close to her ear. “I finished rather…abruptly out there in the courtyard.”
“Abruptly?”
“I could have made things so much better for you.”
“I don’t see how,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him.
To her surprise, Spencer’s face looked red. “I haven’t lost control like that since my youth.”
“Lost control?”
He groaned and cupped her cheek. “How to explain such things to an innocent?”
“But I’m not—”
“In many ways you are. I rushed too fast, and didn’t give you the same pleasure you gave to me. My only defense is that I have not been with a woman since last year—”
He broke off, and Roselyn saw the sudden shuttering of his face, as if he were a stranger again. The icy fingers of guilt and doubt crept closer.
“Last year?” she whispered, feeling herself stiffen. If the stories were true, he should have been in London with his many mistresses not six months ago.
“I meant to say last month,” he said quickly, and his voice sounded forced.
