Chapter Seventeen
Temptation won out.
Rowena knew Lord Marley was a man of his word. He had promised he would not bring up kissing her again. That she would have to be the one who spoke of it first.
Who asked for it . . .
She had always believed herself to be a strong person, stoic, thinking always with her head and never her heart.
She had banished all emotion from her life, living rationally and simply.
She had run her father’s household with precision.
Pursued intellectual topics which interested her.
Led the Literary Ladies Book Society. But she realized now that she had cut herself off from feeling anything.
Perhaps she had done so because she believed there was no one out there for her.
Over time, Rowena convinced herself that she did not want, nor did she need, a man in her life.
That children were for others to bear and raise.
Now, her emotions were conflicting within her. She not only wished for a strong, emotional connection with a man, but she felt stirrings within her body that told her she also desired something physical in her life. And not with just any man.
Lord Marley was the only man she would let in for a brief glimpse as to who she really was.
Rowena knew she did this not because she expected him to offer for her after he kissed her.
He was what others would consider far out of her league.
Before, as Lord Dyer, he had been charming and handsome.
Now, holding an earldom and wealth, he would be the ideal husband for a good number of ladies who sought a husband in Polite Society.
She would not infringe upon his bright future.
She only wanted him for now. For a little while.
Besides, what harm could a few kisses bring?
Looking at him, she said, “I believe I want to kiss you again, Lord Marley.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the surprise registering on his face. Shrugging, she asked, “So, you did not think I would bring up kissing, much less ask you to kiss me, did you?”
His magnificent amethyst eyes darkened with what she guessed was desire. “We will not waste time talking, Rowena.”
This time, she was the one surprised that he addressed her by her given name. She knew marriages where a couple never used their Christian names with one another.
Suddenly, she was in his arms. His mouth crashed down upon hers. Her lips would be bruised tomorrow, but tomorrow would have to wait. She was only interested in now.
He kissed her hard, as a man who crawled through a desert, begging God for a single sip of water to quench his thirst. He was that man—and she was glad to be his oasis.
Since he had already taught her something of kissing, Rowena opened her mouth, encouraging him to ravish it.
That was all the invitation he needed, and his tongue swept inside, taking command.
But she was no longer a naive, inexperienced flower, not knowing what to do.
This time, she kissed him back from the start, with everything she could give.
She heard sounds coming from them both, little squeaks and sighs from her, low moans and groans from him. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, and she would gladly have stayed in his arms that way forever, kissing him and letting him kiss her, but he had other things in mind.
She did not know when he had turned her, but he stepped into her, pushing her back against what she guessed was the door to the drawing room.
His mouth stayed on hers, ravaging it, as his hands glided down her arms, capturing her wrists.
He then pressed his full body against hers, raising her arms until they were high above her head, pinning them to the door.
He caught them in one hand, leaving him with a free one. It came to cradle her cheek.
Her body came to life. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples aching for his touch.
She felt odd, not being in control of her hands, but she also liked the hardness of his muscular chest against her softness.
Then she felt something lower, something very hard, between them, and guessed it was his manhood.
She squirmed against him, wanting to touch it.
His mouth left hers, and she gave a cry of distress.
“Hush, love,” he said so softly that she wasn’t certain whether he had spoken or not.
His lips trailed down her throat, finding her pulse, which beat wildly out of control. He licked it, causing it to jump. Then he nipped her throat with his teeth, startling her. His tongue licked the place, soothing the love bite.
He continued to kiss her neck, and Rowena had never known how sensitive it truly was. She wriggled against him, wishing she could wrap her arms about him. He lifted his head, a chuckle sounding in his throat. Their gazes met.
“Are you going to stop kissing me?” she asked, almost indignant.
A slow smile spread across his face. “I have only just begun, love.”
His mouth returned to hers, the kisses gentle now.
The tips of his fingers lightly grazed her throat, gliding downward, tracing her collarbones.
His touch caused her body to tremble in need.
She had never felt like this before, and a cry escaped from her.
He shushed her again, one hand slipping inside her bodice, lifting out her breast. She should be shocked, but she wanted his lips on it more than anything she had ever wanted.
He bent, his tongue circling her nipple, coming ever so close to touching it. The place between her legs tightened and then pulsated. Her body had become that of a stranger’s, reacting unfamiliarly, but she believed he did know it—and knew exactly what she needed next.
Slowly, his tongue teased her nipple before he lifted his head, blowing softly, a delicious sensation rippling through her at the cool breeze.
Then his mouth moved to her breast, feasting upon it.
He released her hands, and they fell limply to her sides as his hand began to caress her other breast. He drank his fill of one and then moved to the other, causing whimpers to escape from her.
Deep sensations ran through her. She knew she should be doing something for him, too, but hadn’t a clue what.
Selfishly, she thrust her fingers into his hair and held his head close against her breast as he continued to nip and lave it.
She felt her knees began to buckle, knowing she only stood because his body held up hers.
Again, he anticipated her needs and swept her off her feet, carrying her to a settee they had shared the first night of the house party.
He sat, her in his lap, and once more, his tongue mated with hers, new sensations traveling through her.
Rowena wrapped her arms about his neck, wanting more from him, but not knowing how to ask for it.
As they kissed, though, his hand stroked her calf, the heat of his fingers penetrating the layers of clothing she wore.
He then brushed against her ankle, his fingers massaging it, moving up her stocking-clad calf now.
She willed him to keep going, to move higher. To touch her very essence.
Once again, he moved exactly where she needed him to go. He reached her thigh and went even higher. Then his finger stroked the seam of her sex, and she murmured, “Yes.”
Breaking the kiss, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Do you like that? Do you want more of it?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Very much.”
“Then you will certainly like this,” he added, repeating the same caress, causing her to suck in a quick breath.
Without warning, he pushed a finger deeply inside her, curling it, stroking her. She gave a small cry, partly in surprise and partly in sheer delight, as her back arched.
“You are going to enjoy this, Rowena,” he told her. “Your body is going to do things it never has done before. And I want you to remember when this is over and you are lying in your bed tonight, thinking of us together, you will know that I am he one who made you feel this way. Promise me.”
“Yes,” she managed. “I . . . promise.”
“Shall I continue?”
“Yes,” she said, urgency in her voice. “Touch me. Now.”
Magic happened, his finger dancing inside her, another one joining it. He whispered to her that he searched for her pearl, calling it the pearl of pleasure. Within seconds, he had located it. Circling it. Pressing against it. Causing her to cry out.
Then something began building within her. Something taking hold of her. Something out of her control.
“I am frightened,” she told him. “Of what is coming.”
“You have nothing to fear, love. Because you are with me.”
His words calmed her, allowing her to enjoy not only the coming storm—but the storm itself when it erupted.
It came from nowhere—and yet it was the result of everything building up to this very moment.
It was as if pure joy mixed with sunshine and then washed over her.
She cried his name. Her hips moved, adding to the pleasure, and she wanted the wild sensations to never end.
Slowly, the pleasure subsided, however, leaving her feeling weak as a kitten.
He removed his hand from under her skirts, and she watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them.
“Ah, your juices are sweeter than I had even dreamed they might be.”
She should have been shocked by his action, but it somehow pleased her. He pleased her.
He eased her breasts back into her bodice, taking care to straighten it. Then he stood, placing her on her feet, smoothing her gown.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Is it your intellectual curiosity searching for an answer—or a woman seeking an answer from a man who has just pleasured her?”
Her face grew hot, and she knew it now flamed. “Perhaps a bit of both,” she said primly, causing him to laugh.
“The French call it la petite mort.”
“The little death,” she translated. “I can understand why.”
“We English are not quite the romantics the French are. We call it an orgasm. It is something that ripples through your body, giving you immense pleasure.”
Rowena thought a moment. “Is it just women who experience this . . . orgasm you speak of, or is it also something men can feel? If so, I must return the favor.”
He looked at her and then burst out laughing. She frowned, causing him to smooth her hair.
“I do not mean to make fun of your innocence, Rowena. Yes, men can also feel an orgasm, but we are not going to worry about that tonight.” Mischief in his eyes, he added, “We shall save that for another encounter.”
She huffed. “What if I do not wish for any more of these . . . . encounters?”
He shrugged. “Then we will not participate in them. You are the one who gives consent, Rowena. Always remember that. Never let a man force anything upon you that you do not wish.”
Already, she was more than willing to have him touch her intimately again, and she wanted to do the same for him. Give him the immense pleasure which he had shared with her. At this point, she was not willing to concede that to him, however.
“I should be going. Ollie will be looking for me.”
“Will he be?” Lord Marley mused. “I suppose he will.” He sighed. “How I wish you were staying here at Pebblestone. If you were, I would come tap upon your door tonight. Crawl into your bed and hold you close. Touch you wherever you wished me to.”
The thought caused her to shiver.
Her head chose this moment to overrule her heart, however, and Rowena told him, “There will be no next time, Lord Marley. I was merely wishing to add to my experiences. To have insight . . . as to what passes between a man and a woman.” Then she paused, swallowing.
“We did not . . . make a baby just now, did we?”
He framed her face with his long fingers. “No, Rowena. We did not. That would require my slipping my cock inside you and spilling my seed.”
“I have had no one to speak of these things about, my lord. Certainly not my aunt Sylvia, much less Lady Pebble.”
“I am happy to answer any questions you might have, Rowena.”
“Please do not get used to calling me that, my lord.”
“Might I do so when we’re alone together? Would you call me Con?”
She wanted to tell him that she could not trust being alone with him again, but she heard herself say, “Yes, Con. I will do so.”
“Would you sit at the pianoforte and play something for me now? Your cousin will be coming soon enough. Lady Pebble will direct him here. I wish for him to find us not as we were but as we should be.”
She moved to the instrument and sat before it.
He followed, standing next to it and facing her, one hand resting upon it.
She played one piece for him, and then in the middle of the next one, Ollie came through the door, and she lifted her fingers from the keys, mid-song.
Rowena hoped by now that her color had faded though she could still feel her lips being somewhat swollen.
Then again, Ollie’s looked as if he had been doing a bit of kissing himself.
“There you are, Rowena. It is time for us to leave for the evening.”
Rising, she looked at Lord Marley, who said, “Thank you for playing for me, Miss Stanhope. I enjoyed our time together a great deal.”
He winked at her, and she almost burst out laughing. It would be hard to explain to Ollie, however, what was so funny, and so she stifled her laughter.
“We will see you again tomorrow, Lord Marley,” her cousin told the earl.
They went downstairs where Ollie’s carriage waited for them.
He handed her up, and they were both pensive on the way home, not a word exchanged between them.
Rowena went inside her cottage and undressed, donning her night rail, and climbing into bed.
Once there, she thought exactly of what Lord Marley had done to her body.
How he had played it as she played her violin, bending it to his will.
She knew, no matter how much time passed, she would never forget what had happened between them that night.