Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T hose two little words nearly bowled Patrick over. A kiss. He gazed into her eyes looking for any sign of jest or a desire to take the words back, but there was none. Perhaps a small amount of trepidation as she swallowed, but certainly no indecisiveness. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile.

"Very well." She let out a breath she'd been holding. Had she believed he might refuse?

Without another word, he got up and moved slowly around the desk. Why was his heart racing? It wasn't as if he hadn't kissed plenty of women before. It wasn't as if he hadn't kissed her before. He crouched beside her chair and looked into her eyes. Still no sign of uncertainty or regret. "Are you sure this is what you want for your prize?"

Rosie nodded. "But no cheating," she warned. "Brushing your lips across my cheek won't count. You have to do it properly."

Patrick chuckled. "Your wish is my command." He stood and held out his hand to her. She looked up at him questioningly.

"If I'm to do it properly, you'll have to stand up." She smiled nervously, but took his hand without hesitation.

"But first," she said, holding up a finger, "can I help you with this?" She tugged softly on the lapel of his jacket. "I know it causes you pain."

"Well, seeing as you're in your dressing gown, I suppose it's hardly an issue of propriety." He allowed her to lift the coat from his shoulders then turned so she could pull it down his arms. Why did something so mundane suddenly feel incredibly sensual? He took the garment from her and dropped it into the now vacated chair.

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he slowly leaned down and touched his lips softly to hers. She didn't pull away or hesitate. To his surprise, she leaned into him, pressing their mouths more firmly together. His reluctance dissolved like mist in the afternoon sun, and he threw himself fully into the kiss. He nipped gently at her top lip and then the bottom, before sucking it greedily between his own.

Slowly, he traced her lips with his tongue, and she parted to allow him inside. He entered cautiously, teasing the tip of her tongue with his and coaxing her to follow suit. It didn't take long before she bravely breached his own mouth, and it was his undoing.

He wrapped his hand around her nape and plunged his tongue deep into her warmth. Their position didn't allow him to get close enough, so he wrapped his arms around her and spun them around. Dropping into the chair, coat be damned, he pulled her down on his lap. She gasped.

"Do you want me to stop?" he was barely able to get the words out.

"No." She shook her head.

"Oh thank god!" He immediately claimed her mouth once more. One hand held the back of her head and the other began to wander over her body. Down her back, over the curve of her hip and down the outside of her thigh. He had a destination in mind as he slowly skimmed back up to her waist and over her ribs. When her breast finally filled his palm, it was pure bliss. He squeezed gently and felt a peak grow beneath his hand. He brushed it with his thumb, and Rosie whimpered quietly into his mouth. He brushed more firmly and this time she pulled back for a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. It was unquestionably astonishment and longing.

Patrick untied the sash at her waist and pushed the cotton robe off her shoulders. He gave silent thanks to Ella for providing her with a much less modest gown to wear beneath. It was white silk with a deep-cut neckline, which he took full and immediate advantage of. He plunged his hand inside, seeking out the breast he'd been neglecting. Her nipple was already hard and waiting for him. Slowly, he brushed it with each of his fingertips in turn. Her body gave a small twitch with each one. When he reached his little finger, he made a quick pass back the other direction and then took the treasure between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently.

"Patrick," she moaned breathlessly. She squirmed in her need for more, unconsciously rubbing herself against his leg. He grabbed her hips with both hands and pulled her firmly against him. The barrier of their clothing was no match for her heat as it radiated through silk and wool. He shamelessly rocked himself against her thigh. She groaned as he kissed her again, but he needed to taste more of her. His tongue followed the line of her jaw to her earlobe. Rosie shivered as he nibbled it softly. His kisses moved down her neck, his tongue delving into the hollow at the base of her throat.

What he truly wanted to taste was still hidden beneath silk. Hooking his thumbs beneath the thin straps, he pushed them over her shoulders and lowered them slowly down her arms. When she was bare to the waist, he looked into her eyes to make sure they weren't telling him to stop. Thankfully, the hunger that burned there matched his own. Patrick leaned back to fully appreciate her beauty. Of course, he'd seen her naked body before, but it was different now. A gracefully slender neck and soft ivory shoulders were only an appetizer. Her lush breasts, like berries and cream with their strawberry nipples that jutted toward him, begged to be devoured. He placed his mouth gently over one and suckled. With an appreciative groan, she opened her legs wider and pushed herself more firmly against him.

Grasping her hips, once more, he encouraged her to rock.

Releasing her from his mouth, he laved the tight bud with his tongue, and she bucked against him. Mewling noises summoned him back to her lips, his fingers moving to caress the breast he'd been ignoring. Their tongues wrestled, and as he squeezed her nipple firmly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, she rocked faster, grinding herself against him. He lifted and lowered his leg in tandem with her.

He greedily sucked her tongue, lips, anything he could, both of them gasping for breath. Her entire body began to tremble, and he pulled back to admire her again. Her plump breasts shook tantalizingly, barely an inch from his lips. Unable to resist, he teased each nipple once with the tip of his tongue. She plunged her fingers into his hair, gripping it painfully tight and pulling his head back.

"Patrick!" She rode his thigh like it was a stallion, her own leg nearly his undoing as it rubbed vigorously against him.

"God, you're beautiful, Rosie." Pinned in place by his hair and unable to get his tongue to her breast, he licked his fingertip and brushed it across her nipples. It was the final push she needed. She cried out as she cascaded over the cliff, her eyes wide with wonder.

Patrick barely managed to avoid embarrassing himself and finishing in his trousers. He lifted her to rest on the edge of the desk and hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers. Bending down, he grabbed the hem of her nightgown and began pulling it up. He needed to be inside her like he needed to draw breath.

"Wait." He heard the word, but it didn't fully register. "Wait." It came again. "Stop." Rosie pushed against his shoulder, the pain finally breaking through his desire. He looked up into her eyes, expecting to see blissful satisfaction, but was instead met with raw panic. Panting in terror, she pushed against him and thrashed like a wounded animal.

Not knowing what to do, he held his hands away from her and stepped back. As soon as both of her feet were on the floor, she sprinted from the room without looking back.

What the devil had just happened?

* * *

Rosalyn closed the heavy wooden door behind her. Every inch of her trembled as she slid down its surface to sit on the floor. Of course, her body weight wouldn't stop him coming through the door if he wanted to, but what else was she supposed to do? Surely, he would follow her. She had definitely enticed him into whatever was about to happen. Rosalyn's stomach clenched with fear as she waited, listening for approaching footsteps.

But they never came.

Why didn't he storm down the hall, force the door open, and take what he so clearly wanted?

And why was a tiny sliver of her disappointed that he hadn't?

Something was undeniably wrong with her. She'd asked for a kiss, but he'd given her so much more, and she'd enjoyed every second of it. Her stepfather had probably been right. Deep down she must be a whore with unnatural and indecent desires. Even now, her stomach fluttered at the remembrance of the incredible pleasure he'd given her. Surely, that wasn't normal. She'd ridden his leg like some sort of deranged jezebel, unabashedly calling out his name for anyone to hear.

Oh god, Finch. The door to Patrick's study had been wide open. It wasn't possible that he hadn't heard.

Rosalyn dropped her face into her palms, wishing she could simply disappear. How could she possibly look Finch in the eye ever again? And Patrick. She undoubtedly owed him an apology, but whether for playing the strumpet or for stopping him from taking what he desired and running away like a madwoman, she couldn't say for certain.

After all he had done for her, getting what he wanted from her body was the least he deserved in return. She let out a long sigh. How long would he be patient with her before he either took what he wanted or threw her out? She hadn't intended to run away, but when he'd reached for the hem of her nightgown, she was suddenly trapped under Percival's foul smelling, porcine-like body once again.

A tear ran down her cheek as she recalled the pain and humiliation. She'd learned very quickly that fighting him only made it hurt more. It certainly didn't stop him from accomplishing his goal. By the third time he'd stumbled into her room during the night, she started trying to imagine herself somewhere else and just allowed him to take what he wanted. Why couldn't she at least have done that with Patrick?

Rosalyn shivered. Her nightgown was still slouched around her waist. Running mostly nude through his house could also be added to the list of utterly embarrassing behaviors she'd exhibited in the span of about a half hour tonight. She pulled the thin straps, none too gently, over her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on her skin.

She eyed the bed. Its cozy comfort called to her, but guilt wouldn't allow her to slide into its warmth. She didn't deserve any more kindness from Patrick. She should march back down the hall and tell him as much, tell him to take her body just as he'd wanted to.

Next time, if there was a next time, she wouldn't stop him, but tonight, she was too much of a coward to face him again. Instead, she curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace. Its dying embers radiated enough heat to ease her shivering. In spite of the hard, cold floor, and lack of pillow or blankets, exhaustion soon overcame her, and she slipped into a deep, fitful sleep.

* * *

Patrick scrubbed his hands over his face as he paced his study. After he'd shoved himself back into his trousers and downed a glass of brandy to ease his wounded pride, he eventually realized this wasn't about him. There was more to Rosie's story. Something dark was hidden there. Even darker than being abandoned at a brothel by someone who was supposed to protect her.

Why hadn't she told him? He would gladly kill whoever had hurt her. A sardonic, hissing laugh issued from his lips. He was the one who had very nearly hurt her this night. He pounded his fist against his forehead. How could he have been such a bounder? She'd asked him for a kiss, and he'd practically ravished her. If she hadn't stopped him, he'd have had his way with her on his desk, for god's sake. She deserved better than that. What had come over him?

He continued wearing a path into the rug until sunlight crept in through the window. It landed on something white that lay in front of his desk. Her robe. He was a bloody cad. Somehow, he would make this up to her. There had to be some way he could make things right.

Dejectedly, he bent to retrieve the cotton garment from where it lay. As he lifted it, something fluttered to the floor. Her questions. He smiled, remembering her confidently shaking the paper open, determined to ask him everything. Had that only been a few short hours ago? She'd been so happy. He hesitated before unfolding the page.

He'd expected to see some sort of vague, bulleted list and was somewhat amused to see she'd actually written the questions exactly as she'd intended to ask them.

What happened to your shoulder?

Why does it bother you so much when someone calls you my lord?

May I visit The Raven's Den?

Why am I not allowed to go to the market?

Am I your prisoner?

It was a short list, but each question pushed the knife just a little deeper into his gut. He hadn't realized just how badly he'd bungled everything. Patrick hadn't meant for her to feel like a prisoner in his home. He'd only wanted to keep her safe. And of course, this list also answered his own question. How could she possibly have trusted him enough to tell him of the horrors of her past, when he'd been so cryptic about his own life? That all ended today.

Patrick located A Christmas Carol in his collection of books and carried it with him down the hall. When he reached the door to his bedroom he pressed his ear to the cool surface of the door. He was relieved that he didn't hear any sobbing, but that was hardly a goal to strive for. The cowardly part of him wanted to just place the items on the floor and creep back to his study to hide. The story of his life, really. Run away from anything even the least bit difficult. Well, Rosie deserved better. He tapped quietly on the door and was met with utter silence. A little bit louder the second time, but still nothing.

Praying she was asleep, he opened the door just enough to peer inside. His heart stopped. She wasn't there. Not in her usual chair, and the bed hadn't been touched. Somehow she must have sneaked out and he'd been so caught up in his own worries, he hadn't even heard her go.

He burst into the room, and looked around in desperation, his gaze finally landing upon her still form in front of the fireplace. His heart thumped back to life. Thank God. Still here, and asleep. But why was she on the floor? But he knew the answer to that too. She'd tried to tell him she wouldn't sleep in his bed anymore, but it never occurred to him that she'd choose this instead. Curled in a tight ball with nothing but her silk nightgown for warmth, she must have been freezing. He was just about to crouch down and carry her to the bed, but then he realized if she woke up and saw his face, she'd be scared witless. He'd do everything in his power to never see terror like that in her eyes again.

Instead, he carefully covered her with the robe he held in his hand. It would have to suffice for now. He set the book on the table beside her chair and tiptoed from the room. Closing the door as softly as he could, he rested his forehead against the wooden surface. His heart ached for her. He had failed her, just like everyone else in her life. "I'm sorry, Rosie," he whispered.

When he turned back toward his study, Finch stood in the hall, a knowing smile on his face. It vanished instantly when he looked into Patrick's eyes. He backed quickly around the corner as Patrick stalked toward him, in what was probably a desperate hope he would simply pass him by. Not this time. Patrick turned and pinned him against the wall with his gaze. He leaned in, his face a mere inch from Finch's.

"Don't you dare to bother her."

Finch nodded frantically.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," he squeaked, still nodding feverishly.

"Good." Patrick turned, and started down the hall once more, but then he remembered something. He turned back, and Finch reflexively pressed himself against the wall once more.

"I'll need you to run a note to Ella for me in a few minutes."

"Of… of course." He nodded again, his features reflecting not fear for his own safety, as they should, but concern for Patrick, instead. Patrick shook his head.

He truly didn't deserve Finch's unwavering loyalty. Especially not on a day like today.