He hauled her higher, positioning her sex over his mouth. He ate her until she climaxed, her sleek thighs shaking around his face, her lips chanting his name. Only then did he don another sheath and bring them both to ecstasy once more, laying his claim on her the surest way he knew how.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By the next day, Papa’s siblings had arrived in London, and the family convened at the Kent residence. Rosie received squishy kisses and hugs from her aunts’ offspring—an adorable and ever expanding lot—before the children toddled off with their nannies. The adults took advantage of the momentary peace to have tea in the drawing room.
Papa’s siblings were actually half-siblings, their mama having married Papa’s widowed father. While they were technically Rosie’s aunts and uncle, they felt more like siblings to her due to their closeness in age. Emma, the eldest sister, was only eight years older than Rosie. She and the rest of the family—Thea, Harry, Violet, and Polly—were now crowded around the refreshment-laden coffee table, listening as Rosie gave an abridged version of her adventures.
“We’re so sorry we didn’t make it here sooner,” Thea, the Marchioness of Tremont said. The gentlest of the Kents, she was an angel with golden brown hair and soft hazel eyes. “We couldn’t travel until Freddy was feeling better.”
Frederick, Thea’s beloved stepson, was a robust adolescent who suffered from occasional bouts of a chronic ailment.
With concern, Rosie said, “He’s fully recovered, I hope?”
“Despite Thea’s fretting, Freddy just had a head cold.” This came from Thea’s husband, who stood behind her chair. Tremont was a stoic fellow whose cool grey eyes warmed whenever they were upon his lady. “Right now, he’s out in the garden with Edward.”
Being the same age, Freddy and Rosie’s brother were best cronies and usually up to some kind of mischief.
“Harry brought them a new toy. They’reexperimenting,” Tremont added wryly.
A loud bang came from the back of the house, followed by gleeful shouts.
“Thunder ’n turf, what did you give them, Harry?” Violet, a lithe brunette, exclaimed from the settee that she shared with her husband, Viscount Carlisle. At the explosive sound, Carlisle, a strapping sportsman, had thrown a protective arm around her.
Papa aimed an alarmed look at his younger brother. “It wasn’t gunpowder, was it, lad?”
“Of course not,” Harry said, continuing to stack sandwiches onto his plate.
At eight-and-twenty, he was tall and darkly handsome like Papa. His spectacles hinted at his scholarly bent while his rangy, muscular build showed his love of sporting. Harry spent most of his time at the university, and Rosie was surprised at how much he’d changed since his last visit. There was a new brooding quality to him—one that tempered his good-naturedness and gave him a harder and more jaded air.
Has something happened to Harry?she wondered. She thought about asking—and decided against it. Despite his easygoing ways, Harry was notoriously private. Having grown up with five sisters, he knew how to keep feminine inquisitiveness at bay.
“I’d never give them a saltpeter mixture; it’s too unstable.” He popped a ham and watercress triangle into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “They have a sample of a new compound I’ve been working on. All bang and no blast, I assure you.”
A small explosion rattled the windows. Worried looks were exchanged around the room... followed by shrugs. By now, they were all accustomed to Harry’s experiments.
“Well, then, let’s get on with the critical business: that of finding Rosie’s attacker,” Em said in her usual brisk manner. “Ambrose, will you brief us on the case?”
A petite and buxom brunette, Em had an active interest in sleuthing. At one time, she’d wanted to join Papa’s firm, and it was during her first case that she’d met the Duke of Strathaven. Despite being a duchess and mama now, Em still liked to keep up her investigative skills, and His Grace indulged her in this hobby as he did everything else.
Papa gave a summary of the facts, making note of Andrew’s contributions. He did so in a neutral manner, not commenting on the nature of Rosie’s relationship with Andrew. Relieved at the lack of censure, Rosie couldn’t help but think about her lover. When he left her bed this morning, he’d promised to have a special surprise for her tonight. She wondered giddily what he had planned. Who knew that having an affair would be so exciting and delightful?
It wasn’t just the lovemaking—her belly fluttered at the memory of those steamy hours—but howfreeshe felt in his presence. When he’d made her look in the mirror, she’d seen herself clearly for the first time. In the reflection, she hadn’t been wicked or bad. Andrew was teaching her to accept herself as she was.
He’d given her so much… and what did she have to give him in return?
The imbalance niggled at her. Looking around the room, she wished she had some special quality the way each of her family members did. She wished she had Em’s practicality or Thea’s gentleness, Vi’s agility or Polly’s goodness. All she possessed was beauty and passion, and, if Andrew were to be believed, certain madcap tendencies.
What sort of offering was that to a man like Andrew? A man who was so worldly, powerful, and self-contained. What couldshegive tohim?
She couldn’t even offer marriage—if, indeed, he even wanted to marry her…
She gave herself a mental shake. Why was she thinking about marriage? She had everything she wanted: a passionate relationship with a devastatingly attractive mananda position in Society… why rock the boat? Her journey was finally smooth sailing—with the exception of someone wanting her dead. Being targeted for murder did cause some choppiness in the waters.
The reminder made her focus back on Papa, who’d just finished recounting the events.
“Crumpets,” Violet said, her caramel-colored eyes wide. “I thought I was the hoyden of the family, but Rosie has me beat!”
“That’s debatable,” Carlisle muttered.
