Rose (Flower Trilogy) (36 page)

“Will you?”

“You have only to say the word.” With a little luck and a lot of skill, he hoped to have her so out of her mind with pleasure that words at that moment would be impossible.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her gown’s wide neckline slid off one creamy shoulder, and he bent his head to kiss her there.

“Kit?”

“Hmm?”

“About Ellen . . .”

He straightened, supposing he’d get nowhere until she’d finished this fruitless conversation. “What about her?”

“I know her attitude must be hurting you, especially after she didn’t come to you with her pregnancy. I cannot imagine why she is acting so childish, why she refuses to talk to you when you’re the easiest man to talk to. But I don’t like to see you hurt.”

Hurt
was such a simple, innocuous-sounding word.
Devastated
better described the way he felt. But he didn’t want to discuss this now. Not with Rose half undressed and about to fall into his arms.

She sighed. “If you’d just give her the dowry you saved—”

“No.” He led her over to sit on his red-draped half-tester bed. “I am not going to give her eleven thousand pounds when she won’t even deign to speak to me.”

“Clearly her behavior doesn’t warrant it, but for you, Kit, and for me. Because we want her at our wedding. What if she promised to speak to you afterward—”

His jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to bribe his sister, either.

Rose’s half-exposed breasts rose and fell with another sigh. “I’ll talk to her in the morning. I’ve the perfect excuse, since I need to return her book.”

“Her book?” His gaze snapped from the swell of her chest to her face. “You mean
the
book?”

“
I Sonetti,
yes. I am telling you, I can hardly wait to rid myself of the blasted thing.”

“Where is it? I want to see it.”

She’d brought a small valise, which one of Kit’s maids had set in the corner of the chamber. Rose dug out the volume and handed it to him, looking more hesitant than ever he’d seen her.

In his estimation, Rose was not a hesitant sort of woman.

Or a prude, either. Curious, he opened the cover. He’d already heard the book contained nude pictures, so he wasn’t at all surprised to see an engraving of a couple making love. “I cannot read this,” he said.

“ ’Tis Italian. Translated, it does not sound much like a sonnet.” She sat beside him, hitching her dress back onto her shoulder. “Turn the page.”

He did, shrugged, then turned a few more and stared.

“Lord Almighty. Are these people acrobats? My poor back wouldn’t last ten seconds in that position.” Amazed that the whole Court was abuzz and dying to view these secret poses, he flipped another page, then eyed Rose speculatively. “Do you bend like that? Hell, sweetheart, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re not going to want to try these, then?”

He could only laugh. “I’m afraid I’d end up in bed for a month. And I don’t mean passing a pleasant time.”

“Thank God,” she said, and launched herself at him again.

The book fell from Kit’s hands to the floor. “What’s this?” he asked, still laughing.

Rose couldn’t remember ever being quite so relieved.

She kissed his eyes and his cheeks and his chin. “I’m just so happy to find that you share Charles’s preference for catholic lovemaking.”

He drew back a little, looking puzzled. “Charles?”

“King Charles.”

Kit’s brow didn’t clear. “I know there are rumors that he’s secretly a Catholic, but they’ve never been proven.

And I can assure you I’m a member of the Church of England.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Nell told me Charles was catholic in his lovemaking, not that he’s a secret Catholic. She explained that he is enthusiastic but not imaginative.”

“Ah. Poor Nell.”

“Pardon?”

“I can assure you, sweetheart, one needn’t be a gymnast to be imaginative.”

The look in his eyes made the bottom drop out of her stomach. It must have shown on her face. “Nothing frightening, I promise,” he added quickly.

But she wasn’t frightened. Kit’s laughing reaction to the engravings had cured her of that. Now she was just intrigued. Very, very intrigued.

And eager. She started pulling down the top of her loosened gown.

He stayed her hands with his own. “Let me have the pleasure of that.”

Those hands went to work undressing her. He knelt at her feet, pulled off her shoes, reached under her skirts to pluck off her garters one by one. Rolling down her stockings was a production all itself, a sensuous slide of silk. His fingertips smoothed her calves, making her wish they’d move up higher.

“You make an excellent ladies’ maid,” she said shakily.

“You think so?” He stood and took her hands to bring her up with him. In no time at all, her gown was a memory, her chemise gone along with it.

He stepped back, his gaze roaming her hungrily. “You’re exquisite,” he said in a tone so husky it squeezed her heart.

She knew she had a pretty face, and men had often ogled her clothed body. But no one had ever seen her nude. Part of her wanted to fold her arms across her breasts, turn away, grab the red counterpane off the bed and cover herself.

But a larger part loved the way he was looking at her.

Reveled in it.

The appreciation in his eyes made her feel powerful. She didn’t cross her arms, instead striking a pose with one hand on a cocked hip. “I’m not too slim?” she asked teasingly, fishing for compliments.

The Court ideal was quite a bit plumper, but Kit didn’t seem to agree. “You curve in all the right places.”

His gaze kept skimming her body, making the bubbles dance in her stomach, the ache start down lower. “Or too tall?”

“Hell, no, sweetheart. I don’t get a crick in my neck kissing you.” He stepped closer and gathered her into his arms, demonstrating by lowering his lips just a fraction to meet hers. While his mouth plundered recklessly, his hands wandered her back, raising goose bumps in their wake. “You’re the perfect height,” he murmured, his hands moving down, warm on her bare bottom, pressing their bodies together where the ache was building. “We fit.”

They did. Already, the ache was becoming insistent, intolerable. Wanting him closer, she broke from the embrace.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He laughed and shrugged out of his surcoat.

“More,” she said, moving nearer to the fire, hoping the burnished light would look pleasing on her skin.

Apparently it did. The green in his eyes deepened as he stripped off his long waistcoat and let it drop to the floor.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” he said.

Just hearing the words, she felt them tighten. “Your shirt,” she ordered, presenting him with her back as she bent to stir the fire.

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and he couldn’t get out of the shirt fast enough. By the time she straightened and turned, he had his shoes and stockings off as well.

Gemini, he looked magnificent. Firelight danced over the planes of his face and flashed gold and red on his body. She moved closer and laid her palms on his chest, closing her eyes as her hands learned the feel of a man. Taut skin over bone and muscle, the springy softness of dark hair. She smoothed her hands down, down, until they rested against the waistband of his breeches.

“This, too,” she said.

“Not yet.” He swung her around, backing her toward the bed and finally pushing her onto it. She laughed as she landed on her back.

He rested a knee on the mattress and raised one of her feet. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, his expression one of concentration. His fingers slid between her toes, his thumb massaged her instep.

She arched her foot in response. “You’re beautiful, too.”

The concentration turned to amusement. “Am I?”

“Oh, yes.”

He smiled, sliding his hands slowly up her leg, paying special attention to her knee. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, flexing it and straightening it again. He raised her leg higher and kissed her behind it, sending a shiver rippling through her.

She’d never imagined the back of her knee was so sensitive. A hot stab of lust speared her right between her legs.

He watched her face as his hands moved up higher, higher, dancing on her thigh, a gentle, swirling torment. He was close, so close to where she wanted him. She wanted not only his hands, but all of him. Most especially that part of him that was meant to slide into a woman.

“Kit,” she murmured. “Can you not—”

“No.” He set her leg on the bed and switched to the other, starting again with her foot by pressing a warm kiss to the sole.

She decided to relax to the inevitable, enjoying the little bursts of pleasure he created as he slowly worked his way up, leaving no part of her limb untouched. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, tracing the curve of her calf. And teasing the inside of her thigh. “You’re beautiful here, too.”

A bead of sweat rolled down his chest, glistening in the firelight. She wanted to lick it off.

The ache was becoming an insistent pulse. She wanted to feel him inside her.

She wasn’t relaxed at all.

“Kit, please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” He was concentrating again, his eyes closed, his fingers working their way up, closer to where she wanted him.

“Can you not just take off your—”

“No,” he said, moving suddenly to silence her with a kiss.

His weight on her felt exciting, but he gave all his attention to her mouth. His woodsy scent filled her head. Her hands smoothed his back, his sides, wherever she could reach.

“You are very imaginative,” she admitted weakly when he finally relinquished her lips.

His response was a lazy smile as he retreated back toward her feet.

“If you kiss my knee again,” she warned, “I’m going to scream.”

“I’d like to hear that,” he shot back with a grin, gripping both her ankles.

He looked too blasted good looming over her. She held her breath as he skimmed his hands straight up, spreading her legs as he went. “You’re beautiful here,” he said softly, his heated gaze fixed between them.

Her breath burst out in a rush. Never had she thought to have anyone look at her there.

’Twas almost unbearably exciting.

He looked closer.

“Kit,” she breathed, her entire body tingling.

He looked closer still. “Beautiful,” he repeated.

“Kit, take off your—”

“No,” he said and closed the distance, pressing his lips to her in the most intimate kiss imaginable.

Her hips shot off the bed. “Kit!”

“Hmmmm?”

The single, drawnout syllable was a hum that drove her wild, sent her past the point where she was capable of protesting any longer. All she could do was feel.

He licked her, slowly, his tongue swirling in a place so sensitive she wondered that she didn’t just fly to pieces. He lingered there, suckling gently, then licked and suckled her again, and again, and again until she did fly to pieces, shuddering beneath him while he held her hips tight.

And after she remembered how to breathe, after her heart stopped galloping, after the pieces had painstakingly rearranged themselves, she still wanted him. More than ever.

He raised his head, slowly, licking her off his lips, a sight that made her heart stutter in her chest, made a new flash of heat skitter through her. He settled beside her and gave her a gentle kiss. “How’s that for imaginative?” he asked softly.

Imaginative, indeed. She released a ragged breath. “I translated sixteen scandalous sonnets, and not one of them mentioned
that.
”

His grin would have done the devil proud. She swallowed hard, her eyes traveling down to the unmistakable bulge at the front of his breeches. “I want to see you.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve seen me.” In more detail than she’d ever imagined. “I want to see you now.”

This time, she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Her hands went to his laces.

Under her busy fingers, the bulge seemed to grow, and her excitement grew along with it. He helped her push the breeches down and off, and she stared, fascinated.

She reached to touch him, her heart hitching when he moved against her palm. She wrapped her fingers around him, thrilling at his sharply indrawn breath and the pulse she felt filling her hand.

The ache between her legs was intensifying again. She moved her hand experimentally, amazed that he seemed to grow even more. As she watched, a single glossy drop of fluid emerged.

Curious, she collected it with a fingertip and raised it to her mouth, licking it off.

His eyes widened. “How do I taste?” he asked in a thick whisper, his breath coming short to match hers.

“Creamy. A little salty. Good.” She skimmed her tongue across her lips, loving his reaction. “I want to taste you more, the way you did me.”

“You want to kill me, you mean,” he said with a strangled laugh. “Not tonight.” And with that he rolled on top of her, fitting himself within the cradle of her thighs.

Just that quickly, the heat inside her flared fully to life.

She raised her knees instinctively, wrapping her legs around him. Poised there where she craved him, he just kissed her for a long while, kissed her until she could barely think straight for wanting him. Until she seemed nothing but a mass of need.

“Now, Kit,” she begged.

“This might hurt,” he whispered regretfully.

“I don’t care,” she said, and she didn’t.

He nodded and drew a deep breath, and at long last she felt him there, felt an incredible urgency as he entered her ever so slowly, felt herself stretching to accommodate him.

“Faster,” she whispered, and he pushed farther, but not far enough for her.

Not fast enough.

Not enough.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved her hips against him and took him inside with a gasp.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, misunderstanding.

“No. It doesn’t hurt.” The pain had been so fleeting, so insignificant compared to the marvelous feeling of him filling her. The gasp had been one of wonder. “A thing of beauty,” she whispered incredulously.