Chapter Twenty

Rosamunde sat up in the comfortable bed and sighed. She was at the Heartstone town home. Honestly, she didn’t remember getting here. After Bryn—she flushed from head to toe—had switched from demanding lover to simply demanding, she didn’t recall much.

She had refused to say anything about who had put their hands on her neck. The argument had changed into another round of his filling her full and making her scream his name, more than once, to the room. Then she’d fallen asleep.

And now I’m here again. Darkness had come and the room was illuminated from the fire burning healthily in the hearth. While she had been dressed, it wasn’t complete, almost like she had been made ready for bed. A small bag rested upon the bottom of the bed and she leaned over the blankets to tug it closer.

She gasped upon opening it. Her torn drawers were in there, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she flushed with embarrassment. Or was that heat from the reminder of what had happened when he’d ripped them?

Her entire body ached. Never in her life had she assumed that something like she’d done would make her ache. In a good way, for sure, but moving pulled groans and moans from her as her muscles tried to loosen up.

It took a few moments but she swung her legs over and got to her feet. Oh yes, I’m still sore . Walking didn’t help and her legs were shaky. She went to the fire and stood close to the heat, not that she was cold, for thinking about Bryn and what they’d done heated her like nothing else could.

A quick staccato of knocks pulled her from her musings. Ensuring she was covered enough to open the door, she padded that way, only wincing once or twice. “Yes?”

A maid stood there holding some garments.

“Good evening, Miss Fletcher. I was told to bring this to you by Lady Heartstone. Since you’re staying the night.” She pushed into the room and made her way to the closet.

Rosamunde hurried to follow, taking a brief moment to hide the ripped drawers that she didn’t need the help gossiping about. “Why?”

“The young lord said you had taken a tumble in the wet and while your clothes are drying a bit, we should get them cleaned for you. My lady wanted you to have a few options while we did that.”

The young woman turned, holding a softly colored blue muslin dress in hand. “I think this one would be perfect.” Her smile didn’t fade and Rosamunde realized after a few moments that the woman expected her to strip now.

“I can change myself. Come back in ten minutes.”

No hesitation, she simply walked to the bed and laid the dress out. “Very good, miss.” Then she was gone.

Rushing, Rosamunde ripped off the other dress and moaned as her body protested the fast motion. Glancing down, she saw marks all over her pale skin and she smiled. Those were from Bryn. Her nipples tightened at the memory and she cupped her breasts, marveling at the difference between her touch and his. With his large, callused hands, he created a fire deep within her. Her own touch? Passable.

Head back as a low moan slipped from between her lips, she pulled on her nipples, wishing again he was there with her as a needy tug shot directly to her core. With a curse, something else that hadn’t been a thing before she’d begun spending time with Bryn, she lowered her hands and shook herself. The maid would be back in moments and it wouldn’t do to be in the midst of pleasuring herself when she walked in.

The dress fit her perfectly, and she had to say was very comfortable and a lot warmer than she’d expected it to be. There were no stays or multiple layers, it was merely a simple dress.

Rosamunde had just stepped in front of the mirror when the door opened, admitting the maid.

“That is stunning on you, miss. Would you like me to do your hair?”

Arms aching, she nodded. “A simple bow in the back, please.”

“Of course.”

The idle chitchat didn’t bother her as the woman brushed her hair and gathered it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon matching her dress color.

“Thank you.”

She curtsied. “Anything else you need?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

Another curtsey and Rosamunde found herself alone once again. Feet in the deliciously warm moccasins she’d been given by Lady Heartstone, she exited the room and walked down to the first floor.

“Let me get this straight,” a deep, deceptively calm, masculine voice said. “You’re accusing my son of this?” A tense pause. “ My son?”

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, unsure if she should continue or retreat. Keely came into view and shot her a look of pure exasperation.

“What’s going on?”

“Your daddy’s pissing off my daddy. Wanna watch?” No anger in her tone, only amusement.

Keely hooked their arms and began moving them toward the voices.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry, my family still looks at you as one of theirs.” She stopped them closer to the study. “We’ll stay here.” Keely patted her on the arm.

“My son is beaten and bruised.”

“From what I heard, he wanted to learn boxing. That kind of thing happens when a boy tries to fight a man.” Lucien St. Martin sounded bored.

Yet there is something else in his voice. A warning, perhaps.

“This didn’t happen at the academy, because your boy refused to train mine any longer.”

“I’m only going to say this one time, Lord Barberaton.” Honey-smooth with a chest-tightening dose of menace. “Mind your tongue how you speak of my family. I’m not a man you want as an enemy, especially given your financial issues. I know exactly how you have spoken of my son, what name you call him, and let’s not forget the insults to my wife .”

A cold wave of embarrassment hit her. Keely leaned close. “We know you don’t feel that way and we don’t hold his actions against you.” Another pat. “You’re family, we protect family.”

This was so bad. She longed for nothing more than to run out into the winter weather and let it do what it did best. Freeze everything.

“I would suggest you and your son think very hard before you come after my family. I know exactly who you are and what you’re doing. I hear the slightest bit of a slander against my son or the love of my life and you’ll see exactly why they used to refer to me as the Black Marquess. I will have zero mercy as I take from you everything you hold dear. Every fucking thing. If there is anything left, I’ll let my father have a turn and we all know how gentle the Duke of Stokley is. I will ruin you and your family without hesitation.” The tone, short, clipped, did nothing aside from promise everything the man had just declared.

“You wouldn’t.” A deaf man could have picked up on the desperation in her father’s voice. “You daughter is my daughter’s friend. This would hurt our daughters.”

“I would in a second.” No forgiveness.

Rosamunde tried to curl into herself and pull away from Keely, but she held fast, disturbingly strong.

“But…”

“Everyone knows you’re selling her to get money to pay off your debts. She won’t be in the picture. So it will have no bearing on either of them.”

“I have two other daughters.”

“Whom I care nothing about. They’re your children, not mine.” A sigh. “We’re done. You may see yourself out.”

Keely stepped them back so they wouldn’t be seen when her father exited. The door opened farther and Rosamunde looked at the man who stepped in the doorway. No, this was no longer a man she would view as her father. That man would only live in her dreams now, this was a stranger.

The hug she got from Keely as they hid in the shadows brought tears to her eyes.

“One final thing.” The marquess didn’t even raise his voice yet it carried easily.

Her father visibly trembled a tiny bit before he turned back. “My lord?”

“I see one more mark on your daughter from someone in your family laying hands on her, and I won’t wait to bury you. I’ll simply drag you out of your house and do it.”

“I never touched her.”

Shame overflowed and she lowered her head.

Bradford Fletcher stepped back into the hall and Lord Heartstone pursued him, face set in a stony mask of unforgiveness. Blue eyes so like his son’s blazed with anger and his jaw clenched as thick black hair fell forward over his forehead.

“I’m a father and I will kill anyone who dares to mark my child. As would my wife. That’s your household. If you don’t plan on dying soon, I suggest you get them in line. I will be watching.” A wave of one large hand. “Get out of my house.”

Knees trembling, Rosamunde watched her father try his best and fail to leave with his arrogance intact. Lucien St. Martin rested against the doorframe, arms crossed over his large chest and his ankles hooked. Once the door to the house closed behind her father, Lord Heartstone sighed and turned that lake-blue gaze to where she and Keely hid.

“Come along, ladies. I think it is time we had a talk.”

Fear exploded inside Rosamunde and her legs shook harder than before. Keely muttered and stepped out with a, “You always knew when I hid, listening in.”

The marquess brushed a kiss along her forehead then glanced to where Rosamunde remained quaking.

“Come along, Miss Fletcher. You’re to be part of this discussion as well.” He held out a strong arm and beckoned.

* * * *

The sound of flesh hitting a bag reached Bryn before he got to the room he trained in at the townhouse. He pushed his hands into his pockets. Falcon had been with him until they’d left the club.

Perhaps it was his sister. She’d been known to work off some anger in there, hitting the items that didn’t complain when she used moves their mother had taught them. As well as ones he’d shared with her that he’d picked up on his travels through China and Russia.

It was late. He’d remained at the club, drinking with friends, after resolving the issue with the baby that had brought Rosamunde to Mac’s.

He ground his jaw as he thought about what that had turned into. Him being balls-deep in the tightest sheath he’d ever had before. That woman had a body made for sin and he wanted to commit them over and over again with her.

The door was slightly ajar, and he peered inside. Near darkness in the room didn’t allow for him to see too much, but he didn’t need to. The air was filled with her scent. Nudging the door farther with one boot, he reclined with his shoulder to the frame, momentarily content to simply watch.

She moved well, having picked up what he’d taught her quickly. There was definite room for improvement, but for a woman who’d grown up sheltered and had boxed a total of three times in her life, she was excellent.

He couldn’t make out what she was muttering and didn’t ask her to repeat it, after all, he was spying on her. However, when she punched wrong and swore, shaking her fist, he grinned.

“You’re bending your wrist before you make contact. Make sure you keep it straight.”

Rosamunde jumped and glared at him. Sweat dripped down her face and some hair had escaped from the ribbon holding it out of her eyes, sticking to her skin and framing the roundness there.

She opened her mouth then snapped it shut before giving a nod and shuffling back to throw the punch again. A complete ‘hands off’ attitude rolled from her.

He snorted and shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen. He wanted far more. So he moved behind her, took a moment to appreciate the view in the flickering firelight, then shifted in close.

“Need to make sure you align your elbow and your wrist to your shoulder. That will help give you the correct form and structure to withstand the pressure of your strikes.”

He held immobile for a second, but when she didn’t move away, he touched her. Instant fire spread through him. Flexing his hands on her hips, he took a deep breath before focusing on teaching her.

* * * *

About thirty minutes later, they’d moved through jabbing, straight punching, and he’d even thrown in some martial arts moves, which she had mimicked well. He stopped and pushed her to the seat by the fire and poured her some of the water he always kept in the room.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” She tipped her head to glance up at him from beneath a few strands of her thick chestnut hair.

He plucked the glass from her and emptied it before filling it once more. “Not even close. I’m furious with you.”

She huffed and he tried not to smile as he watched her. “Why? And why did you bring me here?”

“You belong here.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, despite him knowing they were the truth.

Rosamunde didn’t jump up in joy, didn’t wrap her arms around him and pepper him with kisses. None of that. In fact, she snorted and shook her head.

“We both know that’s not true. My father confronted yours today. About the marks on my brother.” She flattened her lips and moved the stubborn hair again. “Yours mentioned the bruising on me.”

Bryn lifted an eyebrow, trying to convince himself it was best she continued her incorrect thoughts how she did, that this between them was all to give her the experience she wanted. This way he could continue to not get attached because he was leaving. Right?

Right .

“Your brother?”

She wiped sweat off her head with the back of her hand. “I guess he had gotten beaten up and my father thought you did it. Made the mistake of speaking to your father about it.”

Yeah, he bet that hadn’t gone well.

“I didn’t beat up your brother.”

“He said you choked him. At least that’s what he yelled at me when he had his hand around my throat. Wanted me to know how fun it was to not be able to breathe.”

Bryn’s blood boiled and he ground his jaw. “That fucker is lucky I didn’t know any of that. I would have beat him far worse than whatever has happened to him now.” He cupped her cheek, and the warmth of her skin from her working out singed his palm.

She shrugged and didn’t meet his gaze. Bryn didn’t like that. At all. His woman was proud and brave.

“Do you think I hurt your brother, baby?”

She finally gave him her eyes. “My baby brother?”

The smile was tugged out of him. “Didn’t we go over this already?”

“I think whatever my brother got, he deserved.”

“Not even close,” he growled, edging between her legs.

It wasn’t easy to ignore how the material of her simple dress stretched around her legs as he widened them, so, strong man he was, he only looked once.

Twice .

Okay, fine, three times, but he had to ensure he wasn’t stepping on her .

Lifting her chin with two fingers, he dipped his head to put them nose to nose.

“Tell me to back away.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Then we fight.” He tipped his head to the open space in the room.

She gave a small shake of her head. “We’ve fought already, you’re better than me. I’m learning still. I’ve been punching for a while now. And you, while I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, we both need something else.”

His lips curved up. “Getting brave, lioness?”

She didn’t look away. “Not even close. Everything about you scares me, Bryn. All the ways you make me feel, how badly I want to touch you like you did me. How much I want to experience what we did before.”

Bryn’s cock swelled and pushed hard against his trousers. Rosamunde’s tongue peeked out quick enough for her to dampen her lips and he swallowed his groan. He would swear she wasn’t doing it to tease him. She tipped her head back and met his gaze with one of her own that informed him he was in trouble. Rosamunde wasn’t going to have the level head between them. He would have to find the strength to refuse her and…well, he simply didn’t have that.

Nor will I ever when it comes to her.

Movements slow and hesitant, he locked his knees when she reached between them for the fall of his trousers. Two buttons, that’s all that prevented her touch from gliding along his shaft.

He rolled his lip with his teeth and held his breath. He wanted to say she didn’t have to do this, wanted to take the road that would start to redeem him in the eyes of someone much higher up than him. But he couldn’t.

Right now, all he wanted in the world was her touch, those fingers stroking up and down his length. His breath stuttered when she undid the first button on the dark-gray material and it dipped down toward the floor.

Heart thudding in his chest, he dragged his knuckle down the side of her face. The swell of her breasts tempted him from where he stood over her, looking at how the material cupped them.

One side of her mouth tipped up as she reached for button number two. Suddenly his double-breasted shirt with its notched collar was too tight. He’d rolled up the buttoned cuffs when he’d gotten home, prior to finding this delicious offering in his boxing room. The hair on his arms stood on end as energy pulsed through him, a type only Rosamunde could create.

He licked his lips and waited for her to make the decision. He wouldn’t say one way or the other.

Rosamunde took a deep breath, the material already tenting out because of his erection, and nibbled on her lower lip. God, he wanted her on her knees, those plump lips spread around his shaft.

Bryn swallowed his moan as her fingers brushed against his skin as she worked free the last button. The front flap dropped and his cock sprang out, nearly hitting her in the face.

She groaned, bit her lower lip and reached out to touch him, all without asking permission.

Not that he’d stop her.

Holy shit . The caress of her soft skin against him had him hardening further. It was his turn to moan and groan. His hips thrust forward with a mind of their own.

When he didn’t think he could take any more of the light, teasing touches, Rosamunde leaned forward and took the entire head of his cock in her mouth.

Fuck him .