The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (30 page)

She didn’t press Julian on the matter, for he’d reveal the villain’s name once it was safe to do so. He meant to feed this lord false bits of information, so the fewer people who knew his identity, the better.

Julian planted a gentle kiss on her lips, regaining her attention. “We’re married, Rose. You needn’t feel guilty or ashamed.”

“By special license,” she said with a wince, but her smile must have given away that she wasn’t terribly appalled or overset. “The gossip must be rampant, but I’m glad we didn’t wait. I don’t think I could have behaved myself with you much longer.”

“It took a Herculean effort on my part to keep my hands off you.” She loved the way his eyes shone with the promise of passion. “The wedding breakfast felt as though it would never end.”

She nodded. “It did go on well into the evening, but I enjoyed celebrating the day with our families. Didn’t Emily look adorable with the basket of rose petals as she marched down the church aisle?”

“True to form, my idiot brothers almost set fire to the altar, but the minister survived with hardly an eyebrow singed. I don’t think he was too pleased that I used his holy water to douse the flames.”

She nestled in the cradle of his arms. “Fortunately, this evening will be much quieter.”

“
Hell
, no. I certainly hope not,” he said with a choked laugh. “But before I make a sex-starved fool of myself, I have something important to show you.” He carried her over to the window and set her down beside him. She leaned her back against his chest and sighed when he wrapped her in his embrace as they gazed out onto his small garden, which was aglow with light from the fading rays of the setting sun.

She turned slightly in his arms to gaze at him. “What am I supposed to be looking at? The magnificent sunset?”

He pointed to the far corner of his garden. “It is beautiful, almost as beautiful as you.” He planted a chaste kiss on her nose. “But no, that isn’t it. See that stake planted in the ground?”

She followed to where he was pointing and nodded. “It’s a stick in the ground. What is it for?”

“It marks the spot for your new kiln. Rose, this house has been a bachelor’s quarters for a long time, but I want to make it our home. I want to fill it with the things you love most. Hopefully, you’ll include me in that list.”

She thought her heart might burst with happiness. “You’d build it for me?”

He nodded.

“Oh, Julian, you’ll always be first in my heart. My very own kiln,” she said, still amazed by the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you.”

“I meant it when I said you’re a rare talent. I’ll do all in power to support you. I know the letter you received from old Runyon broke your heart. His son was quite angry about it as well. He approached me when he heard that we were to marry.”

“Ben Runyon spoke to you?” Her eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t dare hope that something could be salvaged with the Runyons.

“We’ll discuss the business details tomorrow, but he admires you and wants to work with you. I ought to be jealous, for the man is obviously besotted with you. He has excellent taste.”

She laughed. “No, he admires my vases. That’s all. My sisters and I scare the wits out of him.”

Julian turned her away from the window and led her to bed, but she hesitated as they drew near it.

“Rose?” He was obviously surprised by her hesitancy because she was fearless in most things. “Does this scare you?” He nodded toward the bed they would share.

She sighed. “Mostly I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

He caressed her cheek. “Sweetheart, you never will. We’re in this marriage together, for the rest of our days. Yes, I want to get my hands on your outrageously beautiful body and turn you into an utter wanton in my bed. But I also want to protect you. Cherish you. Keep you safe from harm. I’ll never hurt you, Rose.”

She put her hand to his lips, now feeling foolish about her doubts. He’d guide her, be gentle and patient as she learned whatever it was that he meant to teach her. “I know. I trust you. Undress me, Julian.”

So he did.

She held her breath as his hands covered her body, warm and gentle as he slid the gown off her shoulders and let it pool at her feet. He did the same with her camisole, then began to remove his clothes, his attention fixed on her as he slowly stripped out of his garments and tossed each aside.

“You’re blushing,” he teased.

“I’m naked and so are you, but you don’t seem in the least embarrassed. You’re purposely putting yourself on arrogant display.” She licked her lips, suddenly feeling quite warm and tingly, for he had a magnificent, muscled body and she couldn’t wait to wantonly explore it.

He lifted her in his arms and set her down in the center of the bed, settling his body over hers. Her lips parted in a smile.

She emitted a soft breath as his hand cupped her breast. “I love you, Rose.” And then he dipped his head and took the pink tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue across it until she moaned and arched her back and clung to his shoulders. Until all thought melted away, leaving only hot sensations… the damp heat of his skin against hers, the warmth of his mouth on her breast, the tug of his fingers sliding between her slick thighs. Then he was inside her, thrusting slowly at first to give her time to adjust to him, and taking her with him as their bodies began to move together in an eternal dance, no music, just throbbing, fiery desire. Mindless. Beautiful. Hot.

His muscled body straining and aching to hold back, he took her cries of ecstasy into his mouth in a long, deep kiss. He matched her frenzied thrusts with his own until he reached his own release and spilled his seed inside of her to claim her as his own, their connection now complete.

She ran her hands up and down his body, feeling him shudder in powerful surges of pleasure until he was spent and sweating and sapped of all strength. He rolled her atop him as he collapsed against the sheets, their bodies entangled and their hearts even more so.

“I love your colors, Julian,” Rose whispered as she lay entwined in his arms, her soft body pressed against his and the scent of sex and lavender on her skin.

He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Colors?”

She kissed his shoulder, the slight movement causing her breast to graze along his chest and instantly revive his desire. She noticed his response and laughed softly. “The brilliant green of your eyes, the dark blond of your hair. The rippling tan of your muscles. Oh! I thought you were done.”

“You’re the Lorelei, remember? No man can resist you. I certainly can’t.” He ran his hands through the wild mane of her hair and began to slowly kiss his way down her body. His lips felt so good against her skin. His arms were gentle as they held her.

The night was dark and silent.

All she heard were Julian’s even breaths and the husky timbre of his voice as he said, “I love you, Rose.”

THE END

IF YOU LOVED ME

Yorkshire, England

December 1819

DESMOND CAMERON, MARQUIS
of Blackfell, made three mistakes on this cold and blustery winter afternoon while traveling in his spacious carriage from the thriving market town of Durham to the bustling city of York.

His first mistake was asking his driver to divert from the main road onto a lesser-known path that cut across a desolate stretch of moor in order to shorten his journey.

His second mistake was ordering his driver to chase the careening carriage that had blown past them a few moments ago and now lay tipped on its side just beyond the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey. The abbey was only a short distance from the village of Helmsley, known for the excellent inn that was to be his destination for this evening. The weak sun had already faded into a pale pink horizon so he couldn’t very well leave these travelers, some of whom might be injured, stranded on the frigid road as darkness fell.

His third mistake was stopping to help.

“Is anyone hurt?” he asked, his heart pounding as he flung open the door of his carriage and jumped down the moment his driver brought his team of matched bays to a halt. He meant to assess the damage and then invite these travelers to ride along with him, for it was a short distance to the Dragon Sail Inn. There they would all find rooms for the evening and obtain a nourishing hot meal, perhaps a compress and some bandages for the aches and bruises suffered.

He hoped there was nothing more serious.

“Blackfell! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Rupert Farthingale struggled out from the broken carriage, flashing a toothy grin beneath his thick black moustache. But he winced as his feet hit firm ground and he began to rub his shoulder. No doubt he’d been slammed hard against the sturdy carriage frame as it began to tip over. The conveyance was now leaning precariously to the right, needing no more than a gust of wind to knock it completely over on its side. “Help me, won’t you?”

“Of course, Rupert,” he said with concern, for the man was fortunate to be in one piece. “What happened? And what brings you to this part of England?”

“Carrying precious cargo back to London,” he said, turning back to his carriage and attempting to reach into it.
“Bloody blazes.”
He winced again, drawing back in obvious pain from the shoulder he’d just been rubbing. “You’ll have to help her out. I can’t manage it.”

“Her?” Desmond hopped onto the carriage wheel to raise himself sufficiently to peer inside.

“In here,” a delicate, female voice called out. “I’m unharmed, just a little shaken. One of the carriage wheels must have struck a rut and twisted off. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along to rescue us, sir.”

Desmond reached inside to assist her. “Grab hold of me and I’ll pull you out.”

He ignored the pleasurable heat that shot up his arm the moment the young woman took hold of his hand, for he had yet to manage a good look at her in the dim light. But he was already intrigued, for her voice was sweet as honey and gently melodic as it reached his ears. “Wrap your arms around my neck while I help you down.”

He silently chided himself for his eagerness to take her into his arms, not liking the effect this young woman was having on his composure.

No, not liking it one bit.

She circled her arms around his neck, then suddenly gasped and clung tightly to him as the carriage groaned and began to teeter.

“I have you,” he assured her, securely wrapping his arms around her slender body and speaking into her silky hair. How he managed to speak at all was a mystery, for his heart was pounding a hole through his chest and his breaths were coming in fits and starts. “You needn’t fear.”

Though she said nothing, he felt her shudders as she continued to cling to him like a barnacle to a ship while he carefully made his way off the wheel.

Hell’s bells. Who is she?

Despite his trepidation, he was in no particular hurry to release her. She felt surprisingly good in his arms. He blamed the racing of his heart on the tottering carriage and not on the graze of her lips against his throat or the exquisite feel of her body as she shifted against him.

Hell’s bells again.

What was wrong with him? Once his feet were on firm ground, he made certain she was steady on her feet and then released her, eager to have a good look at this girl who was rousing sensations within him that she had no business rousing.

He stifled a groan. She must have been an angel in an earlier life, for Desmond had never met a girl prettier than the one standing before him right now. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, but there was something soft and appealing about her that made his breath catch. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?”

She was of average height and nicely shaped from what he could tell when he’d held her and now whenever the wind gusted and whipped her cloak against her slender curves. Perhaps she was a little on the thin side, but it was hard to tell amid the angled shadows of the fading light. She’d felt perfect when pressed up against him.

Her hair was a fiery mix of chestnut and gold, and her eyes were an exquisite sapphire blue. Her mouth was a touch too broad and had a slight downward tilt at the corners that gave it a sensual quality.

She nodded. “I think Uncle Rupert took the worst of it.”

“Just a few bruises. Nothing more,” Rupert assured her when her expression turned fretful and she began to nibble her fleshy lower lip.

Desmond cleared his throat. “Well, hop in. I’m sure the local farrier will have that wheel fixed by tomorrow and then you can be on your way again. Are you certain you’re all right, Rupert?” He swung open his door and motioned for both of them to climb in.

Rupert shook his head and frowned. “I’m in the pink, but I must have the wheel fixed this evening. Tomorrow won’t do. My coachman and I will tend to it as soon as we reach Helmsley. You see, I have a meeting in Coventry on Wednesday that I can’t miss. Then it’s on to London for us.”

Desmond nodded. “I’m bound for York, then on to London as well. My grandfather and Evie will have me drawn and quartered if I miss any of the Yuletide celebrations they have planned.”

“Same here. But I must make that stop in Coventry first.” He climbed in slowly and eased back against the squabs with a lengthy moan and a heavy exhale of air.

Desmond assisted the young woman Rupert had earlier referred to as his precious cargo into his sleek carriage. Inexplicably, his heart began to pound like storm waves against a rocky shore, for her hesitant smile stirred a tempest within him, evoking a physical response that could only be described as lust.

He climbed in after her and settled opposite the pair. “Who are you?” he asked more roughly than intended, not at all liking the effect she was having on him. She’d referred to Rupert as her uncle, but it was not at all uncommon for a sweet young thing traveling alone with an unrelated older man to refer to him as such in order to lend respectability to an arrangement that was anything but respectable.

Rupert made hasty apologies. “I must be more dazed than I realize. Unpardonably rude of me to neglect introductions. Lord Blackfell, may I present Miss Adelaide Farthingale? She’s the daughter of my cousin, Hugh. His only child.”