“What…whatwasthat?” she asked, too weak to even raise her head.
“That is pleasure,” he said huskily, brushing a curl off her temple. “Do you enjoy it?”
She nodded wordlessly and his chuckle vibrated against her cheek before he gathered her close.
For a few minutes, they laid together, the wallflower and the rogue, wrapped in contentment and each other’s arms with nary a worry in the world. Then, as it tended to do, that world began to come into sharper and sharper focus, bringing with it a myriad of concerns and considerations, not least of which was the bulging arousal pressing against Rosemary’s inner thigh.
“Did you…that is…um…” How to put this in a ladylike manner? Not that there was anything exactlyladylikeabout being sprawled across her lover with her dress rucked up past her hips and her belly still quivering from being touched downthere.
Her lover.
Rosemary liked the sound of that.
She liked it quite a lot, actually.
It made her seem wicked, and sinful, and decadent. Everything that she most decidedly was not…except when she was with Sterling. He’d awoken a spark inside of her, and with every kiss it burned just a little brighter and a little bolder.
Shewas bolder.
Bold enough to prop her chin on his chest and ask, “Are you satisfied? With, ah, what we did?”
Sterling gazed at her with some interest. “Are you asking if I came?”
Came.
Was that what it was called?
Such a common word, but when he employed the use of that deep, velvety timbre in the back of his throat, it sounded anythingbutcommon.
She gave a tiny nod.
“Regrettably, no. Not in this instance. As I’m sure you can tell by the phallus-shaped protuberance jabbing you in the leg.” He gave a wolfish grin. “That’s not to say I didn’t thoroughly enjoy myself. But it is probably time I soaked in a cold bath lest this go any further than it should.”
“Will a bath help with…this?” She reached between them and passed a light, inquisitive hand across the phallus-shaped protuberance. It was hard as granite and hot as fire, and she was shocked when it seemed to pulse at her touch.
“Well don’t dothat,” Sterling groaned. “That just makes it worse.”
“I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand away as her gaze jerked guiltily back to his. “I didn’t mean to hurt it. That is, to hurt you.”
“It didn’t hurt. It felt good. Too damned good. And you need to go home. Right away.” So saying, he sat up with such abruptness that she almost tumbled right off his lap.
Catching herself on the bench by her elbows, she frowned at him as he towered over her. “But–”
“Right away,” he repeated and, this time, at least he had the good grace to offer her a hand which she grudgingly accepted. Once he’d hauled her to her feet, he began to assist in the arduous task of rearranging her layers of clothing which consisted of a long corset, corset cover, drawers, chemise, regular petticoat, and flounced petticoat. All that before the dress itself, and the pelisse on top to cap it all off.
“My God.” Out of breath by the time they’d finished, Sterling bent forward and braced his hands on his knees. “It’s much easier to take off than put on, isn’t it? You have to do thateveryday?”
“Sometimes three times a day if there’s a social function in the evening.” Lips twitching in amusement, Rosemary gave a short whistle to summon Sir Reginald and returned him safely to her pocket once he came scampering back from heaven only knew where. “I’ve long held the belief that women’s fashion has been constructed to occupy as much of our time as possible. If the fairer sex had an equal number of free hours in the day at their disposal as men, we’d have put ourselves in charge of things years ago.”
“Undoubtedly,” her husband-to-be agreed without hesitation. “That’s bloody awful. I’d no idea. Once we’re married, you’ve my full permission to wear as little clothing as you’d like.” A gleam entered his eyes. “In fact, I insist on it. No wife of mine is going to waste three hours of her morning getting dressed when she could be out ruling the world.”
“Is that so?” Gathering up her reticule and gloves, Rosemary couldn’t resist peeking into an adjoining room. What she saw–clothes strewn about, empty plates on the floor, blankets crumpled on the sofa–gave her reason to pause.
It was evident the prior seven days had been anything but easy for Sterling, and she did not want to leave him alone without ensuring that he had everything he required to conquer whatever demons remained to haunt him.
She was hopeful that he had turned a proverbial corner. That the vulnerability he’d shown her was a sign he was ready to let the past rest and move on to a future free of guilt and self-destruction. But she also wasn’t going to underestimate the allure of old habits, or the temptation of old sins.
“Maybe I should stay for a while longer. Just to tidy up,” she offered. “Do you have food in the kitchen to eat? And fresh water to drink? These glasses are dirty.” Her nose wrinkling, she walked into the parlor and began to fill an empty tray with various dishes. It was obvious that Sterling hadn’t moved much beyond this room during his self-imposed internment, and just as obvious that he wasn’t accustomed to cleaning up after himself. No matter. She may have had the luxury of growing up with a lady’s maid, but she wasn’t above pitching in where needed.
