Chapter Thirteen

The instant Rosemary had walked through the door and laid her eyes upon Sterling, her anger had faded and her doubts had drained away. She'd never seen anyone, human or animal, in such blatant misery before, and all she'd wanted to do was comfort him. To heal his hurt. To hold his hand. To let him know that whatever agony he'd chosen to endure, he didn't have to travel the path of it alone. She was here now, and she wasn't going anywhere.

Even when he tried to convince her that he wasn't worth saving, she remained resolute in her resolve to stay by his side. Because a relationship between two people wasn't always pretty, and if you wanted the good then you had to be there for the bad.

"For a wallflower who hasn't seen much of the world, Rufina, you're very wise." A half-smile took hold of his mouth as he traced the arch of her cheekbone with a bent knuckle. Their heads remained pressed intimately together, their legs connected ankle to hip, their shoulders touching. Even when they were kissing, they'd never been this close; connected on a level that went beyond the physical…while still leaving plenty of space for Sterling's teasing.

"Rufina?" she said skeptically.

"I may be running out of names," he admitted.

"You could always use mine."

"I could, but what would be the fun in that?" A long, heavy sigh and then he slumped back against the bench, kicking his feet out in front of him as he gazed at the ceiling. "I'm glad that I met you, Rosalind. Even if I thought you were Lady Emma Crowley." A hint of the roguish charm for which he was renowned rose to the surface as he glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. "You would make a smashing blonde."

Scowling ever-so-slightly, Rosemary touched her hair. "If you'd prefer to marry Lady Emma–"

"God no," Sterling interrupted with a shudder. "Have you ever heard her laugh? The sound of it would make a hyena cringe. Besides, I'm not about to anger that furry-tailed rat in your pocket by reneging on my proposal. He's already brutally attacked me once. I am not about to give him an excuse to go after me again."

"Are you referring to the painless nibble Sir Reginald gave you in the tree?"

"Painless nibble?" he said incredulously. "Is that what we're calling it? You should consider yourself lucky that I'm not a eunuch."

Inadvertently, her gaze flicked to his lap, and she blushed when he boldly patted himself there.

"Not to worry, love. All is in working order."

"I…I wasn't worried." Her blush deepened. "That is, I haven't given that area of, ah, your anatomy much thought one way or another. But I'm glad to hear everything is…everything is, ah, functional."

He leaned in close, brought his mouth to her ear, and purred, "I can assure you it's very functional."

As the heat from her face rapidly transferred to other parts of her body, Rosemary resisted the urge to squirm. She'd been more at ease when they were discussing the death of his brother. Grief and guilt. Love and loss. Those were concepts and emotions that she somewhat understood. But passion, lust, and desire? Completely foreign entities, save what she'd already experienced in the arms of the man beside her.

He slowly skimmed the tips of his fingers down her arm and encircled her wrist, the callused pad of his thumb hovering above the frantic flutter of her pulse. "Nervous?" he murmured, and she gave a hard jolt when he kissed the side of her neck, his unshaven facial hair rough and prickly against her smooth skin.

"I…I….I did not come here to be seduced," she said in the firmest tone that she could manage given the circumstances.

"Didn't you?" His breath, warm and smelling faintly of coffee grounds, tickled the hairs at her nape as he reversed course and returned to the shell of her ear to run his tongue, hot and wet and wicked, along the outer edge.

"No. I came to see where you've been for the past week and why…why you haven't called upon me," she said weakly, clamping her thighs together as a damp heat trickled between them. She felt both wide awake and incredibly drowsy, a reminder of the time she'd snuck a glass of wine at one of her grandmother's luncheons. After drinking it far too fast, she had spent the rest of the afternoon dozing in the shade of a mulberry tree, her head pleasantly light and tingly.

"Have you received a satisfactory answer?" Easily untying the laces that held her pelisse closed, Sterling slipped his hand inside the cotton-lined garment to massage her breasts while simultaneously drawing her earlobe in his mouth.

"What answer?" she said, her head too muddled to remember what they were talking about. Something in regards to why she was here, and what he'd been doing for the last seven days, and oh– oh , that felt splendid .

On a mewling sigh she turned into him, draping her arms on either side of his neck when he grasped her waist and lifted her onto his lap. With an alarmed squeak Sir Reginald dove out of her pocket and scurried off in search of higher ground, but Rosemary was too distracted to notice her pet's abrupt departure as Sterling's hands had shifted to cup and squeeze her bottom.

He muttered a curse as he shoved her various skirts and undergarments up past her knees, and they both moaned in pleasure when he settled her directly upon his hard, hot arousal, leaving only a few pieces of linen to separate their pulsing cores which wasn't nearly enough to prevent her from feeling the enormous length and width of his swollen member.

Given her rudimentary knowledge of sexual intercourse–having once caught a cow and a bull in the act, she knew the basics of what went where–Rosemary found herself discomfited by the knowledge that all of him would have to fit inside of her . A sheer impossibility, given his size. But then he kissed her flush on the mouth, his tongue sliding almost lazily between her lips to lick and taste, and any concerns regarding anatomy were swept away on a torrent of desire.

Her legs automatically tightened around his hips when he reached inside the waistband of her drawers and raked his short, blunt fingernails across the curved globe of her buttock. Before she could decide whether she liked being touched in such an intimate area–she did, most certainly, although she wasn't sure whether it would be sinful to admit it–that devilishly clever hand of his wandered to the front of her unmentionables and he stroked the downy thatch of ebony curls tucked away between soft, pillowy plump thighs.

Probing deeper, he used a single fingertip to rub a slow circle around the small, sensitive nub nestled within the curls, alternating the pressure until she was slick and wanting and ready for…ready for what, she didn't know, but whatever it was she craved it like a bird craved the air and a ship craved the sea.

She rose higher on her knees, bracing them against the rigid slats of the bench as he continued to fondle and flick, expertly timing the rolling motions of his wrist with the languid thrusting of his tongue. Her breaths grew harsh and uneven. Her entire body, from the tips of her toes still encased in her walking shoes to the rigid set of her brows, went taut; a bow ready to be set free from its quiver.

Then his finger dipped smoothly inside of her while he bit down on her bottom lip and, with a gasp, her eyes flew open and her back arched as sensation after sensation washed over her in a wave of sensual gratification that left her sprawled in a boneless heap upon Sterling's chest.

"What…what was that?" she asked, too weak to even raise her head.

"That is pleasure," he said huskily, brushing a curl off her temple. "Do you enjoy it?"

She nodded wordlessly and his chuckle vibrated against her cheek before he gathered her close.

For a few minutes, they laid together, the wallflower and the rogue, wrapped in contentment and each other's arms with nary a worry in the world. Then, as it tended to do, that world began to come into sharper and sharper focus, bringing with it a myriad of concerns and considerations, not least of which was the bulging arousal pressing against Rosemary's inner thigh.

"Did you…that is…um…" How to put this in a ladylike manner? Not that there was anything exactly ladylike about being sprawled across her lover with her dress rucked up past her hips and her belly still quivering from being touched down there .

Her lover.

Rosemary liked the sound of that.

She liked it quite a lot, actually.

It made her seem wicked, and sinful, and decadent. Everything that she most decidedly was not…except when she was with Sterling. He'd awoken a spark inside of her, and with every kiss it burned just a little brighter and a little bolder.

She was bolder.

Bold enough to prop her chin on his chest and ask, "Are you satisfied? With, ah, what we did?"

Sterling gazed at her with some interest. "Are you asking if I came?"

Came.

Was that what it was called?

Such a common word, but when he employed the use of that deep, velvety timbre in the back of his throat, it sounded anything but common.

She gave a tiny nod.

"Regrettably, no. Not in this instance. As I'm sure you can tell by the phallus-shaped protuberance jabbing you in the leg." He gave a wolfish grin. "That's not to say I didn't thoroughly enjoy myself. But it is probably time I soaked in a cold bath lest this go any further than it should."

"Will a bath help with…this?" She reached between them and passed a light, inquisitive hand across the phallus-shaped protuberance. It was hard as granite and hot as fire, and she was shocked when it seemed to pulse at her touch.

"Well don't do that ," Sterling groaned. "That just makes it worse."

"I'm sorry." She snatched her hand away as her gaze jerked guiltily back to his. "I didn't mean to hurt it. That is, to hurt you."

"It didn't hurt. It felt good. Too damned good. And you need to go home. Right away." So saying, he sat up with such abruptness that she almost tumbled right off his lap.

Catching herself on the bench by her elbows, she frowned at him as he towered over her. "But–"

"Right away," he repeated and, this time, at least he had the good grace to offer her a hand which she grudgingly accepted. Once he'd hauled her to her feet, he began to assist in the arduous task of rearranging her layers of clothing which consisted of a long corset, corset cover, drawers, chemise, regular petticoat, and flounced petticoat. All that before the dress itself, and the pelisse on top to cap it all off.

"My God." Out of breath by the time they'd finished, Sterling bent forward and braced his hands on his knees. "It's much easier to take off than put on, isn't it? You have to do that every day?"

"Sometimes three times a day if there's a social function in the evening." Lips twitching in amusement, Rosemary gave a short whistle to summon Sir Reginald and returned him safely to her pocket once he came scampering back from heaven only knew where. "I've long held the belief that women's fashion has been constructed to occupy as much of our time as possible. If the fairer sex had an equal number of free hours in the day at their disposal as men, we'd have put ourselves in charge of things years ago."

"Undoubtedly," her husband-to-be agreed without hesitation. "That's bloody awful. I'd no idea. Once we're married, you've my full permission to wear as little clothing as you'd like." A gleam entered his eyes. "In fact, I insist on it. No wife of mine is going to waste three hours of her morning getting dressed when she could be out ruling the world."

"Is that so?" Gathering up her reticule and gloves, Rosemary couldn't resist peeking into an adjoining room. What she saw–clothes strewn about, empty plates on the floor, blankets crumpled on the sofa–gave her reason to pause.

It was evident the prior seven days had been anything but easy for Sterling, and she did not want to leave him alone without ensuring that he had everything he required to conquer whatever demons remained to haunt him.

She was hopeful that he had turned a proverbial corner. That the vulnerability he'd shown her was a sign he was ready to let the past rest and move on to a future free of guilt and self-destruction. But she also wasn't going to underestimate the allure of old habits, or the temptation of old sins.

"Maybe I should stay for a while longer. Just to tidy up," she offered. "Do you have food in the kitchen to eat? And fresh water to drink? These glasses are dirty." Her nose wrinkling, she walked into the parlor and began to fill an empty tray with various dishes. It was obvious that Sterling hadn't moved much beyond this room during his self-imposed internment, and just as obvious that he wasn't accustomed to cleaning up after himself. No matter. She may have had the luxury of growing up with a lady's maid, but she wasn't above pitching in where needed.

"Here," she said, carrying the tray over to Sterling.

He stared at the lopsided tower of plates and bowls she'd shoved into his hands as if she had just handed him a mummified head. "What the devil am I to do with these?"

"Take them into the kitchen, then come back for more," she said briskly.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but this is precisely why I have servants. It's one of the few benefits of being a duke. That and women tend to fawn over me in endless droves." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not fawning."

"Nor do I have any intention of starting. Shoo," she said, wiggling her fingers at him. "The dishes aren't going to tidy themselves. And once you've done that, I need assistance with this quilt."

Muttering something indecipherable under his breath, Sterling stomped away and Rosemary turned from the door to hide a smile. When he returned–still muttering–she patiently guided him through the proper steps of blanket folding, and then they tackled the carelessly discarded piles of clothes.

After the room was finally tidied, she rocked back on her heels with her hands on her hips and nodded in approval. "There. Doesn't that make you feel better? You've accomplished a task."

Sterling scratched his chin. "I need to pay the maids more."

"Yes, you should."

"It does feel good," he admitted. "To see the before and after, and know that I had a hand in the improvement of it. Not that picking up a few dirty cups and a pair of socks is anything of great significance. But…"

"It's something," she said, secretly pleased at the glint of pride she saw in the depths of his gaze. A gaze that was, for once, clear of alcohol, cynicism, and pain.

"Indeed. Now, as much as I've enjoyed cleaning my own damned house, it's time for you and your rat to go home, Renita. Unless your grandmother is aware that you've trotted off to the private residence of your wicked fiancé so that you might be brought to sweet release atop a bench in his foyer?" he queried innocently.

"I…I didn't tell her where I was going," Rosemary admitted as a flush crept up into her collarbones. Naughty duke , she thought. "My grandmother may be under the impression that I am shopping with a friend at the new department store on Oxford Street."

"I figured as much when you did not arrive with a chaperone in tow," Sterling said dryly. "You've become quite the troublemaker since leaving Hawkridge Manor. I'm not sure if I should associate with you."

"That may be a problem, seeing as we're to be married." Gloved fingers twining together behind her back, she bit her lip as they reentered the foyer. "We are to be married, aren't we?"

Positioning himself in front of the door, her fiancé folded his arms. "That's the second time you've brought our engagement into question. Have I done something I'm unaware of to make you doubt my intentions? I'm well versed in my numerous shortcomings, but going back on my word isn't one of them."

"You mean besides asking me to marry you on a whim and then disappearing without a word?" From inside her pocket, Sir Reginald, who was no doubt growing restless, gave a loud chirp. Scooping him up, she placed him on her shoulder where he sat with his black eyes fixed on Sterling and his fluffy tail twitching.

"I did not propose on a whim." Sterling looked at Sir Reginald. "Why is he staring at me like that? I don't like it."

"Then you had every intention of asking me to marry you before Lady Navessa caught us together at the ball?" Rosemary hadn't come here today with the intention of pressing Sterling about why he'd asked her to marry him. Whether, she'd just wanted to know if they remained engaged. A question he'd already answered. Twice. But doubt was like a thief in the night. It moved rapidly through the shadows, stealing whatever precious sense of security and confidence it was able to get its hands on.

She didn't expect Sterling to be head over heels in love with her. Not yet, anyways. But she needed to know it was a possibility. She needed to be reassured that there was something about her that he found alluring enough to want to marry her. Not only because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to.

"I cannot say I specifically went to the Marigold Ball with plans to propose, no." Sterling's gaze remained trained suspiciously on Sir Reginald. "He's plotting my demise. I can tell."

"If you didn't come to the ball with plans to propose to me, then you did, by definition, do it on a whim," she said, almost desperately.

"Then I guess I did." He started to shrug, took note of her expression, and dropped his shoulder. A line chiseled itself into the middle of his forehead. "Is that a problem? You already said yes."

"I know I did, but…"

"But?" said Sterling in a voice that was noticeably colder than it had been just a second ago.

But I need to know that I am more than a convenient means to restore your reputation. But I need to know that had Lady Navessa not come upon us that night, you would still be interested in me. But I need to know that our marriage will be built on more than a whim.

But, but, but.

The words were there, right on the tip of her tongue.

Except when she opened her mouth, they weren't the words that came out.

"But we should probably start planning our wedding earlier rather than later." Coward , she told herself. Even Sir Reginald appeared disappointed, if the sound of his chittering was any indication. "We don't even have a date, or a church selected. Evie and Lord Weston are to be married this autumn at the village parish by Hawkridge Manor. She's asked me to be a bridesmaid, and I'd not dare incite her wrath by doing anything before her big day. But perhaps in the spring or summer? That would give us plenty of time to plan, and–"

"We can be married whenever you prefer," Sterling cut in dismissively. "I've never cared about weddings before, and I'm not about to start now. Mindless pomp and circumstance, if you ask me. Tell me where to be, and I'll be there. The rest I will leave up to you and your grandmother and cousins, as I'm sure they'll want some say given how nosy Americans can be. Just don't make the date for Christmas, as that is when my sister is to wed Lord Hamlin."

"Is she?" Rosemary said, startled. "You hadn't mentioned. How exciting."

"Very," he said in a tone that implied he didn't think it was exciting at all. "They're having it at Hanover Park. I haven't decided if I'm going or not."

"Oh, but you have to go. It's your sister."

A muscle clenched in his jaw. "We'll see. Regardless, so long as you avoid December 25 th , we can be married any day that you like. Wait until summer, or don't. It makes no difference."

"I didn't realize you had such a strong aversion to weddings."

"It's not that I have an aversion. I simply fail to see what all the fuss is about. The wedding night, on the other hand…" His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, her only warning before he leapt forward to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her snug against the hard plane of his chest. "That, I'm far more excited about," he murmured, finding and kissing the small sliver of exposed skin above the raised collar of her pelisse.

When her knees wobbled (useless things, knees), she sagged helplessly against him and wrapped her arm around his neck to hold herself upright. Abandoning his perch on her shoulder, Sir Reginald streaked down her other arm and dove headfirst into her pocket. "I thought I was supposed to be l-leaving," she gasped.

"You've already been here this long." He cupped her breasts as his mouth tracked a heated path along the slender column of her neck to her earlobe. "What's a few minutes more…?"