Page 80 of Almost a Bride
“I couldn’t risk being seen. The more people who knew where I was, the more danger I was in. And I must admit, I took some satisfaction in forcing my presence on you.”
She arched one eyebrow. “And then the Spaniard came. Did you know him?” she asked softly.
Ah, she still had her doubts. But now that he was telling her everything, she had to believe him. She needed to understand the danger there could be for her in London; she needed to return freely to her island and let him finish the mission he’d begun.
“I knew who the Spaniard was. He was in the employ of my enemy, Shaw. He was one of the men who held me while Shaw beat me.”
She touched his arm, and he felt the shudder that moved through her. He put his hand on hers and she didn’t pull away.
“Shaw sent the Spaniard to finish the task, but instead he hurt you,” he said.
Though Spencer knew Roselyn didn’t want his touch, he couldn’t help sliding his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t resist, nor did she relax against him.
He pressed his lips to her temple and closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of her, feeling the blood speed through his veins as he remembered her welcoming body beneath him in the garden. It had been so difficult to leave her, even though the danger to her frightened him.
He tilted her chin and loosened the clasp on her cloak. As it fell from her body, he noticed that her widow’s weeds were gone.
He smoothed his hand up her waist, then gently cupped her breast. “You’re wearing new garments.”
He could feel her heart flutter near his fingers, felt the beat pick up and match pace with his own.
“These are for traveling,” she countered, whispering.
Spencer watched her lick her dry lips; just the sight of her pink tongue made him stir to life. His hand on her breast trembled, and he could no longer control the longing that swept through him. “You would have traveled more safely as a widow.”
When she didn’t answer, he tipped up her chin. Her wide eyes gazed at him, and her lips were parted with her rapid breathing.
“Are you finished with mourning, Rose?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“No.”
“Yes,” he whispered, then leaned down to press his mouth to hers. Roselyn was trembling, ready to flee his embrace, or perhaps wanting to stay. It was as if he was being given one last chance to make amends the only way he knew how.
He gently parted her mouth with his tongue, willing her to receive him, to receive all of him. He stroked the roof of her mouth, her teeth, her tongue, each time probing deeper until her head was pressed to his shoulder, her body quivering in his arms. He slid his hands down her back and cupped her backside, pulling her hips hard against his.
He groaned, wanting to grind himself against her, to be a part of her, to surrender to these new feelings that swept through him.
Only Roselyn had ever made him feel like this; only Roselyn could make everything else go away but the two of them.
With a little cry, she turned her head from his kiss and buried her face in his shirt.
“We must stop,” she said haltingly.
He brought his hands back up to her breasts, caressing her through her clothing. “Rose—”
“But there is more you must know!” she cried, tipping her head back.
For just a moment he saw her hunger in her for the pleasure he could give. He let his thumbs rub her pointed nipples in little circles. “Tell me later,” he whispered.
She broke away from him, bumping into the beams that supported the roof. “No, you must hear it all now. A man came looking for you yesterday.”
Spencer felt as if he’d jumped headfirst into an icy pond as he stared at her flushed face. “Who was it? Did he ask for me by name? By God’s precious soul, did he hurt you?”
“I am fine. He didn’t give his name, and made me feel suspicious. After I brought Francis to him, I hid nearby to listen. He never said your name outright, but he had heard about the dead Spaniard, and was looking for another Spanish spy. He left soon after.”
Spencer sat down heavily on the stool and rubbed his hands down his face. Weariness crept over him, but he could not give in to weakness, not with Roselyn in harm’s way. “You’re certain he never said his name?”
“I’m certain. But he wore the clothing of a gentleman, not a soldier—which I found peculiar—and he had brown hair and an arrogant manner.”
