Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

R osalyn tumbled into the carriage and when Patrick jumped up behind her, he dropped into the leather seat and immediately lifted her onto his lap. Their mouths collided rather roughly in their haste to taste one another again.

"So sorry," Patrick mumbled against her lips, then he picked her up and unceremoniously deposited her on the opposite seat, bringing an abrupt end to their intoxicating kiss.

"I'm sorry, Rosie." He held her hands tenderly in her lap. "If I don't stop now, I'm liable to lose all control and ravish you right here in the carriage."

"And what if I want you to ravish me?" Oh god, had she really just said that? What was wrong with her?

"The keywords were ‘in the carriage'." He squeezed her hands gently. "We'll be home very soon, and I promise we can pick up exactly where we've left off. But trust me, a bed will be worth the wait."

"If you say so," she said grumpily, folding her arms across her chest.

"Oh now, don't be like that." He leaned toward her and lightly traced her lips with his tongue.

She kissed him back, hungrily sucking his lower lip into her mouth and nibbling softly.

"Patience," he said, as he pulled away once more. But he had barely uttered the word when the carriage rocked to a halt. Patrick pushed the door open and jumped to the pavement.

She raced to keep up as he dragged her behind him up the backstairs to his apartment. Pulling out his ring of keys, he fumbled to find the right one before jamming it into the lock. He kicked the door shut behind them and they sprinted down the hall.

"Lock the door," he called down the corridor to Finch's room as they passed by. Rosalyn giggled.

As soon as Patrick's bedroom door slammed shut, he tugged on the ribbon holding her cloak in place. It slithered to the floor behind her, and she threw herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and pulling his lips down to hers. Patrick grunted, and she knew his shoulder was paining him.

"It's because of these bloody coats!" Mortified, she clapped a hand over her mouth. She'd never cursed in her life.

Patrick threw his head back, a great roar of laughter spilling from him. "You're right," he said with an amused grin. She quickly helped him to remove both coats and waistcoat, and then tugged on his necktie.

"How do you undo these things?"

Patrick stilled her hand at his throat. "Sit," he said, pointing to the bed.

With a huff, she did as he commanded and watched intently as he pulled the knot undone. In almost no time, he stood bare chested before her. Well, almost bare. There was a light sprinkling of chestnut hair, with a crisp line marching down the middle of his abdomen and disappearing into the top of his trousers.

Her body followed her hand as she reached for him, and she was soon running her fingers over his golden skin.

"Your turn," he said after a moment. He twirled his finger over her head, and she spun around. The sash at her waist floated to the floor and he quickly opened the buttons down her back. Even in her impatience, he was able to do in a moment what would have taken her ages. By the time the bodice hit the floor, he had already started on her skirt. He opened the waistband of it and the petticoats and drawers and slid them all to the floor in one swift movement.

Rosalyn stepped out of the mound of fabric.

Slowly and seductively, Patrick's gaze slid down her body, an approving smile growing on his lips. She was strangely aroused by his interest.

Rosalyn wrapped her arms around his neck, and he obligingly brought his lips down to meet hers once more. In no time, her laces loosened, and Patrick reached between them to unhook her stays. The cotton of her chemise brushed across her swollen nipples as he gently massaged her breasts. With a groan, his lips left hers and her chemise slipped off her shoulder. As he took her nipple into his mouth, a bolt of pleasure shot through her body. Her knees buckled under the assault to her senses, but Patrick braced her with an arm around her waist, his tongue flicking relentlessly over her nipple. Her body jerked and twitched, each pass sending another bolt of pleasure to her core, where wetness began to flow.

Just when she thought she might burst, he stopped. Suddenly, she was lifted into the cradle of his arms. He placed her gently on the edge of the bed, somehow pulling her chemise up in the process. Cool air enveloped her heated skin as he pulled the garment up and over her head.

Patrick stepped back to take in her entire body. She should be embarrassed or ashamed, but how could she be when he seemed to be enjoying the sight of her immensely? He didn't even seem to mind that she was still wearing her stockings and shoes.

"Oh, Rosie," he said with a sigh. "You are beautiful." Her heart tripped over itself at the words. She'd never needed anything or anyone the way she needed him, right this minute. She held her hands out to him.

"Please, Patrick."

It was all the encouragement he needed. He crushed his mouth to hers, once more. They became a frenzy of dueling tongues and roving hands. His fingers played her body like a harp, sending sensuous vibrations all the way to her toes.

As his tongue snaked a searing path down her neck, he slowly laid her back onto the bed, meandering his way across her collar bone before taking her other nipple into his fiery mouth. He suckled hungrily before flicking the sensitive tip, making her writhe, each caress moving her ever closer to the release she now knew would come.

The wetness left by his mouth grew icy in the open air and his kisses continued down her belly. His tongue drew a circle around her navel before… where was his mouth headed? Without warning, he pushed her legs open wide and delved between them.

She meant to say no, or stop, or what are you doing, but what actually came out was a loud moan. She stuffed her fist into her mouth, shame filling her despite the overwhelming pleasure. Rosalyn had thought riding his leg had been incredible, but it was nothing compared to this. Burgeoning pleasure spread like wildfire through her body, growing in intensity with each graze of his tongue. Its ferocity was akin to pain, but so much more. The sensations climbed like steps, up and up and up, until finally, the pleasure crested and crashed over her. She bit down on her fist stopping herself from crying out as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her thrashing body.

Patrick slowed his rhythm, and as she calmed, he stood and leaned over. She felt his hard shaft at her entrance, but he didn't push inside.

"Are you sure you want this?" His voice was hoarse.

How could she possibly deny him?

Rosalyn nodded, giving as confident a smile as she could muster. As he shifted between her legs, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for the coming pain. But as he slid himself slowly into her, there wasn't any. Perhaps a bit of discomfort, but as he gently rocked in and out of her, it began to ease, and its void was quickly filled by a growing pleasure.

Surely she shouldn't be enjoying this, but as his tempo increased, so too did her pleasure. Soon, he was pounding into her body and once again, it took everything she possessed not to cry out as another eruption of pleasure blazed through her. She managed to stay silent, but her body convulsed around him.

Patrick, on the other hand, roared as he slammed into her body, throwing back his head, and warmth suddenly filled her. He collapsed on top of her, his heaving chest like an inferno against hers.

He pushed himself off of her and helped her up to the top of the bed. Her mind in a daze, she hardly noticed as he removed her shoes and stockings before climbing in beside her and covering them with the warm covers. Patrick's eyes searched her face.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." Rosalyn shook her head. "But surely you knew that already." Her cheeks warmed remembering how her body had trembled and writhed against him. She wasn't going to ruin this moment. Instead, she turned on her other side and scooted back against his warmth. He held her tenderly, and soon, she drifted off.

* * *

As Rosie's body relaxed in his arms and her breathing became even, Patrick's mind swung like a pendulum between satisfaction and guilt. Something wasn't quite right.

He turned onto his back, her head still resting on his arm. Letting out a long sigh, exhaustion eventually overtook him, and he slipped into darkness.

When he woke a few hours later, it was to the soft tickling sensation of fingertips brushing across his abdomen. Her eyes twinkled in the moonlight that filtered through the window as she peered up at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I was just…" her voice trailed off, and even though he couldn't see it in the dark, Patrick was sure she was blushing. Perhaps all of this was newer to her than he'd first assumed.

"By all means, don't stop just because I'm awake." She smiled and her gaze shifted back to her fingers. It took all of his control not to twitch as she skimmed her fingers over his belly. He'd never thought himself ticklish before. He breathed a sigh of relief when she reached his chest, her fingers swirling lightly in the hair. But then she ventured to one side, tentatively circling his nipple and forcing a groan from him.

Rosie looked up at him, apparently startled. Her eyes seemed to be seeking his permission. Patrick smiled and nodded once. She immediately continued her exploration, tracing first one nipple, and then the other.

She paused for a moment, but then lifted her head, and gently touched the tip of her tongue to his nipple. She flicked it lightly before engulfing it with the heat of her mouth and suckling. Pleasure jolted through his body, and he groaned once more. Closing his eyes, he grew hard beneath the blankets as she continued her ministrations. While keeping her mouth locked on the one nearest her, she flicked her fingers over the other nipple. It was too much.

Patrick wrapped his arm beneath hers and pulled her up so he could have her mouth on his own. She gasped, but quickly joined him in the kiss. Her tongue tangled with his without hesitation, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

He needed to taste her nipples. She whimpered as he pulled his lips away from hers, but he pushed the blanket down and drew her nipple into his mouth.

She gasped his name and gripped his hair tightly in her fists. Her nipple was firm and swollen when he let it go. He flicked it roughly with the tip of his tongue, her body shuddering with each pass. He needed more. Grabbing the back of her knee, he pushed his leg between hers. Her searing heat nearly burned his thigh, and as he took her other nipple into his mouth, she rocked against him, wetness sliding against his skin.

He needed to be inside her, or he was going to spill right there on the bed. Rising over the top of her, he pushed himself home. But once again, she turned her head away from him, closing her eyes and biting down on her bottom lip. What was happening?

It was the only thought he could manage on the subject, because at that moment, she contracted around him, sending him toppling over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him and he slammed into her with no regard for anything else. He was lost in the oblivion of pleasure.

When his heartbeat and breathing slowly returned to normal and the fog began to dissipate from his brain, he forced himself away from her and climbed out of bed.

"Patrick? Is something wrong?"

Yes, something was definitely wrong, and he needed to know what it was. Without a word, he donned his robe and fetched hers as well. He needed answers. He held out his hand to help her from the bed, but she didn't move. Rather than pressing her, he simply placed the robe on the bed and walked across to light the lamps. He would need to see her face. When he returned, she stood beside the bed, wrapped in her robe, her brow furrowed.

"Oh, Rosie, don't look so worried." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I just want to talk, and I fear if we stay in bed, I may get distracted." He winked and she smiled nervously.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it and followed him to the large armchair where he seated himself. He patted his lap, and after a brief hesitation, she climbed on, tucking her toes between his leg and the arm of the chair.

He looked at the scar just below her lower lip. He'd never really thought anything of it before, but it was reddened now, from her biting down on it. He touched it lightly with his fingertip.

"Will you tell me how you got this?" he asked, looking into her eyes. They widened and her breathing hitched. She swallowed and shifted nervously on his lap. It was confirmation that this was a story he needed to hear.

"I would never hurt you, Rosie. I hope you know that." She nodded but said nothing. Perhaps it would be easier for her if she wasn't looking him in the eye. Patrick wrapped his arms around her and gently encouraged her to lean against him. Slowly, she did, tucking her head into his neck.

"Please will you tell me the story?" He held his breath, waiting for a response. Finally, she nodded. She didn't speak right away, but Patrick waited patiently. Clearly this was something very difficult for her to share.

She was quiet for a moment, but eventually she began her story. "After my father died, my mother married another man. It was a scandalously short grieving period, but if she hadn't, we would have ended up living on the streets. My father had left nothing behind for us." She inhaled a shaky breath. Patrick said nothing, but rubbed slow, gentle circles on her back, trying his best to encourage her to continue.

"Her new husband was strict. Every morning we would wake before the sun rose. Breakfast needed to be ready for him whenever he decided to get up, and if there was ever a speck of dust or something out of place, there'd be consequences. When we first moved into his home, it was only the three of us, but it wasn't long before his son returned home from traveling the continent. His name was Percival." His name came out as barely a whisper. Patrick closed his eyes, dreading the words he knew were coming.

"One night while I slept, Percival stumbled into my room, drunk and reeking of booze." Rosie shifted in his lap and swallowed. "He…" she paused again before taking a deep breath and plunging ahead. "He threw back the blanket and climbed on my bed. I scurried to the top of the bed to get away from him, but,"—her body began to tremble against him—"he grabbed my ankle and hauled me back down. Before I realized what was happening, he was inside my body."

"Oh God, Rosie." Patrick wrapped his arms tightly around her. "You're safe now. I promise. He will never hurt you again." She nodded against his neck, but she didn't cry.

She sat up then and looked into his eyes. "I must have bitten down on my lip to keep from crying out." She rubbed her fingertip over the spot. "I had a wound there the next morning."

Guilt flooded his whole being. She had done the same with him. Surely that made him no better than the piece of garbage who had raped her. "Was that when your stepfather found the two of you together?"

Rosie burst out laughing, not the type filled with amusement or joy, it was high-pitched and riddled with panic, teetering on the edge of hysteria. Ice dropped into Patrick's stomach. The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun and she shook her head. And suddenly, the dam broke. Tears flooded down her cheeks and a heart wrenching sob tore from somewhere deep inside her, filling the room. Her entire body shook, and all Patrick could do was hold her. He wanted desperately to be able to take away her pain, but instead, he had only added to it. How many times had she had to endure being abused?

Patrick rocked her and held her tightly. One thing was certain, he would do whatever he had to to make sure no one ever hurt her again, including him. Slowly, her crying began to subside, and she sat up again. She closed her eyes when she spoke next, as if she couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"Percival had been coming to my room once or twice a week for nearly a year when my stepfather discovered us."

"Dear God." Patrick closed his eyes. Anger pumped through his veins and an intractable, violent need to kill the son of a bitch who did that to her erupted within him. It took every ounce of his self control not to howl and rage and throw things, but that would not help Rosie. He needed to be better. He needed to protect her. And suddenly, Patrick knew what he had to do to keep her safe.

"Rosie," he said, wiping her tears away. "I'm going to make sure no one ever hurts you again."

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't speak.

"Marry me."