Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella) (4 page)

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because...it...I just don't want you to."
She made to turn away but he caught her chin and gently forced her
to look up at him. His eyes were so deep and tumultuous she
suspected if she fell into them she'd drown.

"That's not fair, Rose. I
need
to
kiss you." His thumb brushed across her bottom lip.

Her stomach flipped violently. She
concentrated very hard on not looking at his mouth or eyes. Indeed,
one more glance at his face may have been her undoing. She fixed on
a point at his throat. "As far as I am aware," she said, "we do not
need
to kiss to get a child."

"There can be more to this than the act
itself. Believe me, it's more fun to kiss and...do other
things."

"You ought to know," she mumbled.

He stepped back and she hazarded a glance at
his face. It was as bleak as the Dover cliffs. "Perhaps...perhaps
we shouldn't go ahead until you find my presence less distasteful,"
he said.

"Don't be ridiculous. We both know that will
never happen. Turn your back while I disrobe."

He didn't. He sat on the bed, rested his
elbows on his knees and lowered his head. His hair fell forward,
shielding his face. She wondered, dully, whether he would cut it to
the more fashionable length worn at court.

"Ah, Rose," he said quietly. He patted the
bed beside him. "I suspect an apology is overdue."

"You already apologized to me once. That
night."

"I apologized in my letters too—in all of
them—but since you never opened them..." He shrugged. "I hoped that
saying it to you in person all these years later would mean
something to you."

"You hoped wrong. I won't spit at you but my
reaction will be the same. Go ahead and waste your breath, Thomas,
but I will not forgive you."

"Ever?"

She shook her head. "Some things are
unforgiveable."

The long dark lashes framing his eyes slowly
lowered. "They are," he said darkly. He stood and took her hands,
firmly so she could not remove them without wrenching herself free.
"But I will try to earn your forgiveness every day until I breathe
my last."

"Why is it suddenly so important to
you?"

"There is nothing sudden about it. I've
wanted to apologize from the moment I set sail for Ireland.
Before."

Her heart hammered in her chest, crashing
into her ribs in an effort to escape. But she couldn't move. Her
stockinged feet were rooted to the rushes.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I am sorry for leaving you
on our wedding night and going to...her. I'm sorry for the pain
this caused you, and I wish with all my heart I could take it back.
The only excuse I have to offer is one of youth and pride—"

"Pride! Ha!" How could it be pride to prefer
his mistress over his wife? She pulled her hands free. "Grant me
some privacy and turn around."

He blinked rapidly and, his face blank,
obediently turned. She quickly removed her housecoat and lay it
across the top of a trunk then climbed into bed and pulled the
covers to her chin. She stared up at the deep green tassels hanging
from the tester at the base of the canopy.

"You may turn around now and...and join
me."

He got as far as the bed but stopped beside
her. He lifted the curtain aside. "You've still got your shift
on."

"From the description my maid gave, the
shift does not need to be removed."

"Your maid gave you advice on being with a
man?"

"Who else is there? I have no mother,
sister, aunts or older female cousins. I was the first of my
friends to wed. My maid took pity on me on my wedding day and told
me what to expect."

"She hasn't advised you more recently?"

"Has the method changed in six years?"

He chuckled. "No."

"Well then? What are you waiting for? Blow
out the lights and...begin."

He didn't blow at the candles. He lifted the
coverlet. She snatched it back. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

She supposed men liked to look but it made
her feel vulnerable when he was fully dressed and she wore nothing
but her shift. Would her husband think her too bold if she asked
him to remove some clothing?

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said before she could
say anything. "I cannot do this while you're angry with me. We'll
get to know each other better first, then when you like me enough,
you can invite me to your bed."

And let him alleviate his urges in the
meantime with his mistress? "No!" She caught his hand before he
could move away. "Stay. Please." His fingers closed around hers but
he was otherwise very still. He didn't even seem to be
breathing.

With her other hand, she pushed the cover
down past her breasts and unlaced her shift. She lifted the fabric
aside until one nipple was exposed. "Is this what you want to
see?"

"Yes," he said huskily. He sat heavily on
the bed beside her and stared at her breast. Gathering all her
courage, she guided his hand to it and gasped as his thumb brushed
across the nipple. "Your heart is beating so fast," he said. "I can
feel it."

"That's because my breast is small."

"Not small," he said. "Perfect."

Empty flattery again. But she swallowed her
retort because he was circling her nipple with his finger, pausing
to tease it to a point. There was fascination in his eyes, as if
he'd never seen breasts or nipples before.

She held her breath and tried to fight
against the tingles rushing through her body, but it was useless.
They were swamping her. That was nothing compared to what happened
when he closed his mouth over her breast. Desire spiked through
her. She arched her back and his arms circled her waist, holding
her to him as his hot tongue sucked and licked.

His fingers touched her between the thighs.
She opened her legs to him, not caring if he thought her bold,
because all she wanted was to feel his thick fingers touching her
there. He dipped inside her opening and she gasped as his thumb
found her sensitive nub, and gently rubbed.

"Thomas," she whispered.

"Yes?" he murmured against her breast.

"Take me. Take me now. I
can't...stand...thisssss."

"Soon. Let me do something for you
first."

What more could he possibly do? Shred her
nerves entirely?

A few more circles of his thumb and it would
seem she had her answer. Her nerves were at his mercy and he was
going to utterly destroy them. She gasped as tension mounted,
starting at her thighs and spreading everywhere. Her body felt like
it was on fire, like she was burning from the inside.

"Thomas!" she cried out at the first
convulsion. She dug her fingers into his jerkin to anchor her lest
she float away on the tide washing over her.

She let the waves take control and soon she
was lost in a sea of sensations that took over her body and mind.
Utterly, utterly lost.

And she didn't care.

When finally the convulsions subsided and
she was left feeling languid and loose, she opened her eyes. Thomas
had a strange smile on his face, and his eyes simmered with pent-up
desire.

She sat up and her shaking fingers fumbled
with the buttons on his jerkin. He gently lay his hands over them
and for a long moment, simply held them there, near his heart. Then
he removed them and finished the unbuttoning himself. He took off
his jerkin, doublet, shoes and hose, then finally his shirt and
netherhose.

His chest and shoulders were magnificent,
like hard, polished oak. She had a wild urge to sink her teeth into
them and take a bite. Her husband was lean and muscular, his skin
smooth except for a deep scar running from right shoulder to his
chest.

Her gaze traveled down and her eyes widened.
Her maid, Annie, had warned her a man's yard would grow when it was
ready for lovemaking, but Rose hadn't expected it to be quite so
big or so rigid.

"Don’t worry," he said, his voice rough.
"I'll be gentle."

To hide her heating face, she removed her
shift completely. When she finally looked at him again, Thomas's
gaze was focused once more on her breasts. It swept down her body
then back up to her face. He smiled.

"I am a very lucky man," he said.

She suspected it was more false sweet talk
but her tongue was still too tied to speak so she let the remark go
and lay back. He settled himself above her, keeping his weight off
her. She stared down between them at his hard pole.

"Do you want to touch it?" he asked.

She hesitated then took it in her hand. He
grunted and his hips jerked. Then he went still. His length was
surprisingly smooth, despite the ridges, and the head felt silken
when she pulled the skin back. She ran her fingers over it, around,
and even thought about brushing it against her lips, but she wasn't
sure what he would make of that so she didn't.

A drop formed on the very tip and she
brushed it off with her thumb and rubbed it into the head. He
groaned low in his chest and threw his head back. "Enough, Rose,"
he murmured. "Or I will spill my seed too soon."

He would? He had that little control?

She let him go and he gently pressed his
length to her opening. She shut her eyes and braced herself. Annie
had told her this part would hurt.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

He kissed her and she let him, her opinion
on the matter entirely changed from earlier. He could kiss her for
as long as he wanted. It was soft and warm and made her heart do
somersaults.

He pressed himself into her and she gasped
against his mouth. His hand snaked down between them and he rubbed
gently. Her body melted and opened to him. He slid all the way in,
holding her against his hard body with one arm as he broke through
her resistance.

She cried out but it was lost amid his loud,
long groan. Nevertheless, he paused and looked down with a troubled
gaze. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. The sharp pain had already
subsided. She lifted her hips to signal him to continue and felt a
responding pulse of his member buried deep within her. But instead
of moving, he kissed her again. Possessively, as if his mouth could
brand her.

She reached around him and held him close,
not wanting to break the kiss, not daring to move lest she shatter
the moment. This wonderful moment in which there was no one else,
no past, no future, just now. Just him and her and the passion that
fueled them.

He increased the pace, and soon his body
shuddered against her. His kiss seared her lips, the muscles in his
back and shoulders tensed. He broke the kiss and growled like an
animal as his seed spurted inside her.

Breathing hard, he lay half on her, half
off, one leg between hers and an arm across her stomach. He turned
his face into her throat and nuzzled sleepily. She stroked his
hair, his back and shoulders. She didn't want to let go. Didn’t
want the evening to end. She wanted him in her bed, forever.

Thomas moved off and lay beside her on his
back. He gathered her into his arms and she rested her head on his
chest. She listened to his heart as it slowed and returned to a
strong, regular beat. His breaths became even too, ruffling her
hair. He was asleep.

She closed her eyes and one tear escaped,
sliding down her cheek onto his chest before she could stop it. She
bit down against more tears lest he wake and repeat his false
flattery, apologies and promises. Those words meant nothing—they
were drowned out by his actions of that night, still so fresh in
her mind.

Yet she lay very still, hardly daring to
breathe. She might not have Thomas's love, but she had
this
moment and she would not relinquish it too soon.

CHAPTER 6

Thomas awoke to the sound of his wife's soft
breathing. She lay in the crook of his arm, her breasts pillowed
against his chest, her legs entwined with his. He smiled into her
hair and listened to her breathing for several minutes. He was a
lucky man to have her as his wife. Lucky and thankful. The night
could so easily have gone differently after his failed apology.
He'd put his heart into those words, yet she had not forgiven him.
Not then but later, in his arms, she had melted. Now she was his.
He wished he could've come home and made amends earlier, but the
queen had forbidden him to leave Ireland until word of his father's
death reached her ears. She'd seen it as a kindness to allow him to
return. He'd seen it as an opportunity to finally apologize to his
wife in person. His letters, it seemed, had been useless.

She stirred and he kissed the top of her
head. "Good morning," he said.

Her body stiffened. "Good morning," she
said, hesitant.

He kissed her nose. "Are you sore?"

She sat up, pulling the covers with her. Her
sleepy eyes watched him from behind wayward strands of her tousled
hair. "A little."

"Do you want your maid?"

"Not yet."

"Then come here and let me warm you."

"You could stoke the fire."

He laughed. "Yes, my lady." He got out of
bed and felt her gaze on his back, his arse. Did she like what she
saw? Did she want to explore his body as much as he wanted to
explore hers?

He built up the fire and turned to her. She
still sat on the bed but had lowered the covers to her hips,
exposing those exquisitely pert breasts. Her palm was pressed
against her stomach as she pretended not to watch him.

He put his hands on his hips and grinned.
She colored from her hairline down to her rosy nipples. "So you are
watching."

"My gaze happened to fall upon you just this
moment," she said primly.

"I'm sure it did." He nodded at her hand
where it still rested on her stomach. "It's too soon to know if
there's a babe in there."