Chapter 17
Rosie’s breath fogged the frigid air, but she was nice and cozy warm with Bull behind her, his arms wrapped around her and his jaw pressed to her temple. They’d been on a tour of the house and found their way to the back terrace which overlooked the rose garden.
Whomever had named Rosewood had done it for a reason.
In the springtime these gardens would bloom to life, but for now the snow lay heavy on the paths, reflecting the moon and stars above. It was peaceful, serene…and a little surreal. One day this would be hers?
No…theirs.
Rosie smiled, even though the cold hurt her teeth. Theirs. It seemed as if her great-great-aunt had been planning this for a while, arranging and manipulating them right into each other’s paths.
And she couldn’t be more delighted.
“What are ye thinking of?” Bull rumbled in her ear.
“Forever,” Rosie replied promptly. “What are you thinking of?”
He hummed, and she wondered if he was going to answer her. After a moment, however, he took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself.
“Bairns. I’m a bastard—”
When Rosie began to turn, to object, he halted her with a squeeze and a chuckle.
“Which, in the last decades, has only meant I have two loving families, and the rest besides. But my sire never let me forget I wasnae good enough, and I’ve spent a lifetime ensuring I wouldnae leave a child who would have to grow up feeling like that.
And now…marriage. Legitimacy for any children. Our children.”
Oh.
He was speaking of his lovers; he had taken care not to leave any of them pregnant. The thought was…a little heartbreaking, honestly. Although she was grateful.
She clutched at his forearms, feeling his heat even through his coat and her gloves. “I—I never considered your history might have affected you in such a way.”
“But now…” She felt him huff a little chuckle. “I find myself focused on the thought of a bairn or three. With ye.”
Rosie settled back against him. “I would like that very much, Bull.”
“Would ye now?” He hummed, then nodded toward the garden. “I’m thinking, since they’ll be raised here, we ought to consider the flower theme. No’ Rose, of course”—his arms tightened—”but we’ll need to plant gardens for each of them. Violet. Lily. Heather…Daisy?” He paused. “Um. Poppy?”
“Chrysanthemum,” Rosie deadpanned. “Wysteria. Cosmos. Skunk Cabbage?”
Bull was chuckling outright by now. “I’m no’ allowing ye to name my daughter Skunk Cabbage.”
“And why not?” she declared indignantly, struggling to turn in his arms. “I named my brother, you know, and if I just went through the trouble of pushing out the babe, I should get to name it!” Succeeding in settling herself back in his embrace, this time facing him, Rosie mock-glared up at him.
“And what about our sons? Should we continue the animal theme so popular in this family? Lyon. Drake. Colt. Badger? Shrew.”
Instead of objecting to her ridiculous names, Bull merely chuckled and dropped a quick kiss to her lips. “Nae sons, Rose. I want only daughters. Wee hellions with yer talents and beauty, and I’ll teach them to take the world by storm…just like their mother.”
Oh my.
That was…Well, that was quite possibly the most romantic thing he could have said. Rosie exhaled, her lips curling softly. “I love you, Bull.”
This time the kiss lasted considerably longer, and Rosie wasn’t cold at all when he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged.
“I…I find myself desperate to start on those daughters, but never fear, I’m no’ going to dishonor—”
Laughter burst from her lips as she yanked herself out of his embrace. “Oh, turdbiscuits!” Rosie grabbed his hand and marched him toward the house once more. “I am going to dishonor the fook out of you, Bull Lindsay!”
They were both laughing as they spilled into the back corridor, hurrying out of the cold. Rosie was pulling him toward the main staircase when they more or less ran into Jones, the stodgy butler.
Remembering her father’s strict instructions not to be alone with Bull, instructions she had to assume all the Rosewood servants had been given, Rosie found herself pulling up short. “Jones! I—we…”
But the old man merely bowed slightly. “Your mother has arrived, Lady Rose. She and your father are ensconced with my lady in the parlor, listening to her happily reminisce about her childhood with her sister.” Did his lips twitch just slightly?
“I have instructed the housekeeper to place your parents in the blue guest room in the east wing. I believe the gold room in the west wing has been supplied with some changes of clothing suitable for the late supper Lady Mistree is planning. Perhaps the two of you would like to consider them now?”
“The west wing…as in the opposite side of the house from the east wing?” barked Bull, a mischievous grin twitching his lips.
The butler inclined his head again, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Indeed, Mister Lindsay.”
“You are an absolute wonder!” Impulsively, Rosie stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to the aging butler’s cheek, and was amused when the old man flushed happily and stepped back, gesturing toward the stairs.
“Turn left, look for the room with the lock on the door. You’ll find the key on the other side.”
Giggling, Rosie pulled Bull up the stairs.
They found the gold room, which did indeed have a convenient lock on the door, already warm from the lit fire. There was a collection of slightly out-of-date clothing waiting for her, including a warm nightrail, and the bed was turned down.
“If ye’re going to change for dinner, ye’re going to need to get out of those clothes.” Bull’s gaze was dark with wicked promises as he stalked toward her. “I’ll help.”
She’d already stripped off her outerwear when he went to work on her buttons. Of course, there was nothing to do but help him with his clothing as well. Rosie always strove to be helpful, after all.
Soon enough, she was standing naked before him…and Bull still wore his trousers. It was a familiar sight, and one she relished. The room should be cold, but the heat from the fire and the heat from him ensured her skin prickled merely with awareness. And yearning.
“Bull…” Rosie whispered, stepping into the circle of his arms. “I want you. All of you.”
She saw indecision flicker in his eyes, and smiled softly.
“Love, you see this ring?” She held up her left hand, even as her right hand reached for the front of his trousers to squeeze his hardness through the wool.
“I am yours, and you are mine. My father has agreed you are a good man, and we are beginning forever together. Can our forever start now? Give me this, please?”
And as she squeezed, Bull groaned and lowered his mouth to hers.
Bull’s mouth claimed hers with an urgency that made her knees weak. His tongue swept past her lips, tangling with hers as his hands gripped her waist, then slid upward to cup her breasts. His cold thumbs circled her nipples, and she gasped into his mouth at the sensation.
“Fooking perfection, Rose,” he groaned against her lips. “And mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed breathlessly, arching into his hold.
Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, her fingers clumsy with need. She managed to get them open, shoving the fabric of trousers and smalls down his hips as she wrapped her hand around his cock. He was hard and hot in her palm, already slick at the tip, dripping for her.
“Yes,” she breathed, stroking him from root to tip. “Fook, I love touching you.”
Bull’s hips bucked into her hand as his lips trailed across her jaw, her throat. His hands roamed over her body—sliding down her back, gripping her arse, pulling her flush against him. The press of his bare chest against her breasts made her nipples tighten into hard points.
She stroked him faster, her thumb swiping over the head of his cock to spread the wetness there. His breathing grew ragged and she felt him throb in her grip.
“Need ye,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to hers. “I need to taste ye again.”
Before she could respond, before she could raise her lips in eager anticipation, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bed. He set her down on the edge of the mattress, then dropped to his knees before her.
Ah. A different pair of lips.
The sight of her man kneeling between her thighs, his gray eyes dark with hunger, sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through her. She was already wet, could feel the slickness between her legs, but when his gaze dropped to her cunny she saw his pupils dilate.
“Spread yer legs for me. Now.”
Bull’s command sent a spike of desperation through her and Rosie obeyed, her thighs falling open, baring herself completely to him. Bull groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping her knees to push them wider.
“So fooking beautiful,” he murmured. “And so wet already.”
The first stroke of his tongue made her cry out. He licked her from entrance to clitoris in one long, slow glide, and she felt her hips lift instinctively off the bed to chase his mouth.
“Bull!”
He did it again, his tongue flat and broad as he licked eagerly through her folds. The wet sounds of him tasting her filled the room, punctuated by his groans of appreciation and her mewls of appreciation.
When his tongue circled her entrance, she whimpered. “Please—”
Bull slid his tongue inside her and the sensation made her grab for his hair. Her fingers tangled in the auburn strands, holding him in place as he worked his tongue along her core. The feeling of being filled, even just by his tongue, was exquisite—
But then he moved higher, and his mouth closed around her clitoris.
Rosie nearly came off the bed. The suction combined with the flick of his tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves was almost too much, and he damned well knew it. She held his head, her fingers tightening in his hair, and she felt powerful.
Here was this strong, capable man, on his knees before her, worshiping her with his mouth.