Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (21 page)

‘Here, let me.’ Lawrence knelt before her and took her hands between his own.

He pulled her fingers towards him and kissed first one pink tip, then the next, gently warming each one with his lips while his palms cradled her hands, infusing them with his own heat. When her skin had lost the raw redness, he pressed a kiss into one palm. Rose raised the other hand to cradle his cheek, slipping from the chair to kneel before him. He pulled her gently into his arms and began to kiss her face with the same slow care he had given to her fingers.

She gave a little murmur of disappointment when he broke off. He pulled her to her feet and swept her up into his arms.

‘We will continue with this in my bed.’

His low whisper sent a delicious shiver running through her. Rose twined her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

With a muttered command to Bandit to go and lie
down, Lawrence strode out of the room. Rose lay passive and silent in his arms, marvelling at the way he carried her, as if she weighed no more than a feather. He took the stairs two at a time and continued without pause until they reached his bedchamber, where he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently down upon the covers.

There was no light in the room save the flickering flames in the hearth, but Lawrence did not waste time lighting the candles. He lay down beside Rose and drew her into his arms, his mouth seeking her lips. The faint doubts that had begun to creep into her mind as they traversed the chill dark passages of the old house immediately fled. She sighed, closing her eyes and relishing the close attention he was giving to every inch of her skin. She breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne: the heady mix of lavender, rosemary and bergamot with a hint of bitter oranges. The fragrance awoke the most sensual memories of times shared, both here at Knightscote and the all-too-brief moments they had been together at Mersecombe. The last shreds of consciousness fled and Rose abandoned herself to the pleasures of his lovemaking. She tilted up her chin, allowing him access to the slender column of her throat. His lambent kisses sent waves of pleasure pulsing through her body and seemed to melt her very bones.

He began to unfasten her jacket, all the time anointing her neck and shoulders with tantalising kisses. She moaned as his hand slid over one breast. The chill in her limbs was replaced with burning desire. It was no longer enough to lie passively in his arms. Urgently she pulled
his mouth to hers and began to kiss him. It was a deep, demanding kiss and he responded with equal energy. She tore at his clothes, desperate to feel his flesh pressed against hers. Hastily they undressed each other, pausing only to kiss and caress each newly exposed section of skin. Every touch, every kiss awoke a memory; they were joyfully rediscovering each other. As their clothes were discarded so the excitement grew. Blood pounded through their bodies; all sense of time and place was lost, nothing mattered but pleasuring each other until they reached the ultimate delight of their bodies uniting in a heady, exhilarating climax that left them both exhausted, their bodies entwined together, a tangle of limbs bathed in the red-gold glow of the dying fire.

Rose lay very still, eyes closed, arms wrapped tightly about Lawrence. He took her face between his hands and kissed her.

‘Mmm.’ She snuggled closer. ‘I would like to stay like this for ever.’

He chuckled.

‘Once the euphoria wears off, you will begin to feel the chill. We should get under the covers.’

They slipped between the sheets, their bodies fitting naturally together.

‘What made you come here?’ murmured Lawrence, nuzzling her ear. ‘How could you risk riding out on such a night?’

She did not answer immediately.

‘I had to come,’ she said at last. ‘I was wrong and I had to tell you. It seems everyone in Mersecombe knew the truth about Althea, except me. I should have been
the first to know, not the last, because I should have listened to you.’ She held him close, running her hands over his back as if to assure herself he was really there. ‘I was afraid I would never see you again. There was no word from you; everyone thought you had left for good. Then Sir Jonas said he had heard from the lawyers that you had left London. He did not know where, but I hoped, prayed—so I came to find you.’

‘Then thank heaven I was here.’

The warmth from his body was seeping into her own, driving away the aching cold, and when he raised his eyes to her face the message she read in them melted the icy fear that had numbed her heart.

‘Yes.’ She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. ‘Thank heaven.’ She hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘Oh, my love, I was such a fool not to trust you. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Never,’ he muttered, covering her face and neck with hot, fervent kisses. ‘You will have to make love to me for at least fifty years before I even begin to forgive you.’

Something between a sob and a chuckle escaped her. The familiar tug of desire was welling up inside and she measured the length of her body against his.

‘Very well, then.’ Her pulse leapt as she felt him pressing hard and aroused against her. ‘Let us begin immediately.’

The fire had burned down to a faint glow, but moonlight shone in through the uncovered windows. Rose lay with her head resting on Lawrence’s shoulder. Their love-
making had continued long into the night. Sheets were tangled, covers had slipped to the floor and remained there, unregarded, until the icy night air began to bite and they gathered them up again, giggling like children. Then they had slept, locked in each other’s arms.

Rose moved onto her back. Immediately Lawrence’s hand closed on her fingers.

‘What is it, my love?’

‘Nothing. Only how wonderful this has been.’

He rolled over and gathered her against him.

‘And it will continue to be. I do not intend to let you go again.’

‘But you must,’ she said gently. ‘At least for a little while. I must go back to Mersecombe as soon as it is light. No one knows I am here—they will worry.’

‘Then I shall come with you.’

‘You do not have to do that.’

‘I want to. I want to be part of your family from now on, Rose.’

His words made her heart soar.

‘I would like that, Lawrence. Very much.’

‘We need not wait for dawn.’ He raised himself on one elbow, his face a shadowy blur hovering above her. ‘There is moon enough. We will send for the gig and be back at Bluebell Cottage before your family has finished breakfast. And I will come to the church with you,’ he added, his lips brushing hers. ‘We can ask Mr Wilkins how soon we can be married.’

She put her hands against his chest.

‘If we are to do all that, then ought we not to get ready?’

His voice deepened and he slid his body closer.

‘We should, of course. But not
quite
yet.’

‘I have checked all her cupboards, ma’am, and she’s not taken any of her clothes, but
her bed has not been slept in
!’

Mrs Molland put her hands to her cheeks as she heard Janet’s anguished announcement. She glanced at the clock.

‘We have a little time yet before we need to set off for church.’ She tapped her foot, her brow furrowed, then shot another question at the maid. ‘Does Sam know?’

‘Not yet, ma’am, but—’

‘Hush!’ The hinges of the garden gate squeaked and Mrs Molland ran to the window in time to see Rose and Sir Lawrence walking up the path. ‘Thank heavens! She—I quite forgot that she has been out for an early-morning drive with Sir Lawrence.’ Her eyes slid away from the maid’s sceptical gaze. ‘Go and let them in, Janet, if you please!’

If anything was needed to confirm Mrs Molland’s suspicions, it was the glow of happiness in her daughter’s eyes as she came into the room, followed by Sir Lawrence and a bouncing, liver-and-white pointer.

‘Have I given you a fright, Mama? I beg your pardon.’ Rose came forwards, happiness bubbling in her voice. ‘I hope we are not too late for church?’

‘Of course not, but where—?’ Mrs Molland broke off as Sam came racing into the room. He pulled up quickly when he saw Sir Lawrence, but it was the sight of the
puppy bounding up to him that caused him to cry out in delight.

‘Bandit!’

Rose bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Her mother was quite bursting with questions, none of which could be asked in front of Sam. That, of course, was a relief. She would have to explain everything at some stage, but she was quite happy to put it off for a little while.

‘Sir Lawrence has come to spend the day with us,’ she said, in answer to the unspoken question in Sam’s round eyes. ‘And he thought you might like to renew your acquaintance with Bandit.’

Sam was on his knees, happily allowing the dog to lick his face.

‘I’m afraid we will have to lock her in the outhouse while we go to church,’ added Sir Lawrence, apologetically.

‘And will you be coming to the Woolers’ later, sir?’ asked Sam, getting to his feet.

‘I had forgotten,’ uttered Rose, dismayed. ‘Old Mrs Wooler invited us to join them for dinner this evening. We are the only guests. In light of their loss the family is observing a very quiet Christmas and as we were doing much the same thing—we will see them at the church, and I will ask them if they would object to you joining us.’

‘Do say you will, sir,’ cried Sam, his eyes shining. ‘Jem has said there will not be any dancing, but there will be games, like snapdragon and forfeits, and bob
bing for apples! Jem says they have decorated the house with garlands—and mistletoe.’ He giggled and cast a mischievous look at Rose.

‘Then I do hope they will allow me to come,’ said Lawrence gravely.

A few minutes later the little party set off for the church. Rose was conscious of the curious stares as she walked in upon Sir Lawrence’s arm, but she held her head high. She was encouraged by the vicar’s kindly welcome, and by an approving nod and smile from old Mrs Wooler. That lady’s keen eyes accurately assessed the situation and as soon as the service was finished she sent Jem over with an invitation for Sir Lawrence to join them for dinner.

‘I think we may conclude that our marriage will generally be welcomed,’ murmured Lawrence as he escorted Rose away from the church.

‘I believe so.’ Rose wondered how it was possible to feel so happy without bursting.

‘It is starting to snow.’ Lawrence turned up the collar of his greatcoat. ‘I should have brought you in the gig.’

‘No, it is only a few minutes’ walk to get home. Besides, you have promised to use it to take us to the Woolers’ later.’ Mrs Molland and Sam were walking ahead of them and Rose could tell by her son’s eager steps that he was keen to get back to the cottage. ‘It was kind of you to bring Bandit; Sam is so excited to see her again.’

‘Perhaps we should let him keep her, once we have decided where we are to live. It will be company for the boy.’

Rose hesitated.

‘There is something I have not told you. I missed my monthly course.’ Lawrence stopped immediately and she said quickly, ‘It is early days, I know, but I went to see a doctor this week. A new man, just moved from Bath and said to be very experienced. He thinks there is no reason why I should not be able to have another child.’

Lawrence took her hands, giving her such a long, sober look that she began to panic.

‘Of course it is not confirmed, and very likely it is not what I think—after all that has happened this year—’

Lawrence put his fingers to her lips, silencing her.

‘If you are carrying my child, that would please me more than I can say, but if our family is never more than you, me and Sam, I shall count myself the luckiest man alive.’

‘Oh.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Oh, what have I ever done to deserve you?’

His lips twitched.

‘I cannot think.’ The snow was falling heavily now, like a thick, white curtain, deadening all sound. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if this continues, I might not be able to get back to Knightscote this evening.’

‘You should not even attempt it,’ said Rose, trying to sound serious. ‘We will put you up at the cottage.’

‘What, you would risk sharing your house with one of the country’s most notorious rakes?’

‘Not at all.’ She smiled up at him mistily. ‘I would share it with my own, true love.’