Equally difficult, because his Rose slept like the dead.
He’d noticed the moment she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and had to admit he’d breathed a little sigh of relief. Not because he didn’t want more time with her, or because he didn’t want to kiss her again…but because he was stickily uncomfortable.
When was the last time he’d spilled in his trousers?
Christ, was ‘never like this’ a valid answer? He couldn’t recall ever doing it before, but the moment Rose had shown up in his room, he’d known he was fooked. He’d had the wherewithal to attempt trousers, but it hadn’t beencomfortable without smalls. And when she’d reached in and begun to stroke him?
Bull should’ve just allowed himself to spill then, all over her clever fingers so he could focus onher. Thank fook he’d buttoned the damn things back up again, because having his tongue in her cunny, feeling her body spasm around his fingers? Good Christ he’d wanted, more than anything, to be inside her.
To claim her as his.
Ye’re no’ good enough for her.
Demon had told him that, and Bull knew it.
But now? Now he’d held her as she’d climaxed? Now he’d brought her pleasure?
Now it didn’t matter he wasn’t worthy of Rose. He wasn’t going to be able to give her up.
But he also couldn’t claim her, not until he knew they could have a future together.
So he’d soiled the inside of his trousers instead of her cunny.
Stifling his sigh, Bull now worked to extract himself from her tight hold. She was twined around him in the most delicious way, but she was also deeply asleep which made it a little easier. He made certain to rest Lady Mistree’s emerald ring between her breasts before he tucked Rose in and rolled from the bed.
Making quick work of shucking his soiled trousers, Bull pulled on a fresh pair of smalls, then tested the water in the jug. Still warm. Good.
One of the first things he’d learned as a lad was how to care for his own clothing. He knew fabrics and materials backwards and forwards, knew how to pair them for the best contrast or match, knew which ones worked with which designs, knew how to make themflow. And the first thing he’d had to do when he studied under the masters was learn how to wash and care for the fabrics he was learning.
Bull figured he had to be the only duke’s son in London who washed all of his own clothing. Not because he couldn’t afford laundry services, but because heenjoyedcaring for the fabrics and weaves.
Now, with utmost care, he cleaned the insides of his trousers, wincing a little at the inelegance of his plentiful spend. He hadn’t been able to help himself; with his mouth and jaw pressed against Rose’s sweet cunny, feeling her squeezing him from all angles as he’d brought her to climax, he’d lost control of his own body and, with a muffled grunt, had come in his trousers.
“Well, worse things have happened,” Bull murmured, hanging them up to dry by the dying embers of the fire and pulling out a fresh pair from his luggage.
Once he was fully dressed—a sort of armor against the temptation of the perfect woman nestled in his bed—he set to work getting Rose’s nightgown and robe back on her. Since she was so deeply asleep, he’d struggled to lift her upright, to slide her arms into the sleeves, and had found himself chuckling at the little noises she made as he wrapped her in his blanket.
Then he lifted her in his arms, made certain she was fully covered, and carried her from his room. The fact he didn’tslam her head into the doorframe was a miracle, as was the fact that two flights of stairs later, shestillhadn’t woken.
He knew her room, and tucked her into her bed without issue.
But as he bent to drop a parting kiss to her lips, Rose rolled over and grabbed him, pulling him down beside her. Bull had just a moment to wonder if she’d been awake this whole time when she muttered something—likely a curse word, knowing this particular duke’s daughter—and buried her head in his neck.
Smiling, he lay down, wrapped her in his arms, and gave into the inevitable.
He couldn’t recall a better night’s sleep.
He’d always been good at waking before dawn, and today was no different. This time he managed to kiss Rose—lightly, although he wasn’t sure it would have mattered, judging by how she was snoring lightly in the most adorable manner—and extricate himself without issue, sliding his shoes silently back on.
He was just backing out of her door, pulling it closed quietly behind him, when a throat clearing had him whirling about. Oh ye God—was he was going to have to do battle with Demon?
Nae. But it was worse.
It wasGeorgiastanding in the hallway behind him, one brow raised and a mug of something cradled in her palms.
“Why good morning, Bull.” She lifted the mug as if in explanation, her tone mild. “When a woman reaches a certain age, she finds her sleep cycle all fooked up, alongwith unexplained hot flashes and irritation. Mostly this is a tremendous inconvenience, but it also means I am prone to wander the house while my husband snores blissfully.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which means I can catch clandestine rendezvous. Which is what this looks like. Is this what it looks like?”
Her conversational tone had thoroughly ambushed Bull, and he blurted out his answer before thinking about it. “Lady Georgia, I genuinely wish it were.”
