Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ROWEN
All was a blur of green as his horse’s hooves pounded on the forest floor, the cold morning air flaring over his cheeks, the blood thundering in his veins.
This was the only thing that afforded him calm and fortitude to withstand the cruelties and humiliations his father meted out day after day.
This was why he’d stayed in Lisbon on holiday for so long after his term of diplomatic service in Naples was done.
But he wasn’t able to stay away forever, especially now that it was his father’s birthday.
Would he be able to leave England again after his engagement was announced?
Dear Lord, he craved his freedom. He’d always had it, and now that it seemed a high wall had been laid and built and was in his sightline, something inside him had shifted, like those giant walls of ice in the Arctic he’d read about.
A slight change in the environment occurs, and suddenly the enormous monoliths of ice crack and break and drift in the cold churning waters of the ocean, changing the topography.
He always assumed he’d choose his own wife. He was to inherit the dukedom of Oakley one day, for fuck’s sake. If he couldn’t marry whomever he pleased, who could?
Fool.
Rowen urged his horse on faster. Not even the Prince of Wales would be able to marry whomever he wished, for his choice of wife would have to fulfil the requirements of the throne and the nation.
Everything had a purpose. Everyone had a value. And for the men of his class, who preened themselves with their privilege, that privilege had its price. This was one bargain that could not be escaped.
But why appease Arthur? Why could his father not find a way to shame and humiliate him into silence? Instead, he was selling his own son to him. Aye, there was the rub for Rowen. His own father would sell him to exploit his enemy’s weaknesses.
He slowed his horse down as he entered the thick of the forest. Rowen took in a deep breath, enjoying the dense scent of green, of damp soil and resinous woods, and that ease that he only found here slid through his veins.
For Rowen, this place was a haven. As a child, he would often walk or ride up here to be alone, to escape boredom, to escape his parents and their endless stream of guests and parties.
His horse neighed and jerked, and Rowen’s fingers tightened over the reins. His eyes caught a figure blurred in motion in a shaft of sunlight, which had managed to break through the dense treetops.
“Who’s there?” he shouted out as he slid down off his steed. Footsteps thudded up ahead, and he gave chase on foot. A figure in a dark blue cape flew before him. Long hair came loose.
A woman.
He grabbed at her cloak. Crying out, she tumbled, tumbling into his arms, the two of them falling to the ground, he above her. That heady scent of earth and wet leaves, along with a faint sweetness from the white wildflowers around them, rose up from the ground.
Her head was turned to the side, and a mass of dark hair shrouded her.
Eager to see her face, he wiped at the thick tendrils shaded with copper, revealing the features beneath.
A long pale throat, the firm line of her jaw, full lips parted as the girl gasped for air.
And then her eyes. A rich brown with unusual flecks of gold and green, which gleamed in the light. Wild innocence and fiery determination.
“Get off me, damn you.” She squirmed underneath him.
“I’ve caught you like a wild deer.”
“I’m not a deer.”
“I didn’t say you were.” His thumbs caressed her wrists. “What kind of creature are you? A forest sprite?”
“I am not made of mist and leaves.”
He pressed himself against her. She had no reaction other than a lift of an eyebrow. “You certainly are not. I thought I knew all the creatures in my forest.”
“Your forest? This is the Forest of Dean.”
“This is my patch of it, Creature.”
“Yours?”A smile twitched at those sensual, full lips.
“Mine.”
Her eyes seemed to gleam more fiercely under his intense gaze. “And will you extract payment from me for trespassing into your kingdom, Your Highness? Will you demand a punishment?”
Rowen took in a breath at the word. He was still straddling her, yet she did not show signs of panic. He leaned into her, his breath fanning her cheek. “Were you poaching then?”
“Ridiculous.”
“Perhaps a poacher sent here to distract me?”
She only brought her hand to his face. Her touch was sure and warm and sent a throb through his veins. “I was …”
“Yes?”
Her gaze was steady. “Searching for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? A servant from hereabouts? Or have you lost your way from the village?”
“No…and no.”
“Mmm.” His tongue lashed at his bottom lip. “Why are you not fighting me?”
“Do ladies always fight you?”
“Most often they beg.”
A grin swept her lips. “I shall not fight or beg you. I wish to kiss you.”
His pulse kicked up. “I give you leave to do as you wish.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission.”
His insides tightened. “Kiss me then.”
Raising her hand, her fingers slid in his hair, pulling him closer, and she kissed him. A gentle press of warm silk and sweet breath. A swipe of her wet, warm tongue seared his flesh. His every muscle tightened as his tongue slid against hers and dove into the luscious warmth of her mouth.
She did not recoil. Her body only pressed against his and trembled ever so slightly. “Kiss me again.”
She did not behave like any woman he had known.
“Are you commanding me?”
“I’m only telling you what I would like. And I liked your kiss. Do you not want to kiss me?” Her body shifted. One of her legs slid around his, and she curled her hips against his.
He gritted his teeth. “What I want is to ride you, but—”
“You’d take me for a very fine ride, I wager,” she whispered against his lips, pressing against his hardness.
His neck tensed. “Damn me, young lady. How old are you?”
“Nineteen. And you?”
“Thirty.”
“Ahhh, a man of great experience…”
Was she mocking him or flirting?
“Do you know who I am?”
She blinked. “The Prince of Wales?”
“I am no prince.”
“It is of no matter to me who you are. I would prefer your prick to remain in my memory, not your name or station.” Her cheeks bloomed with a deep pink as those bold words left her fetching mouth.
His pulse throbbed. “Bloody hell, the things you say.”
“I have been cloistered away for some time, sir. To be able to speak freely, act freely, are things of wonder.”
“There’s no convent hereabouts.”
She laughed, and he grinned at the unfettered sound of it.
“Are you from the Fang & Feather then?” He hadn’t been to the ale house in the village in years, so he couldn’t know if she worked there.
“I am not.”
Perhaps she was an unhappy wife? An unhappy, unsatisfied wife...
Her warm fingertips stroked his tense jaw. “I’ve escaped my earthly prison for but a precious hour…can we not make it memorable together?”
“Is that what you want of me?”
“That is what I want.”
His hand slid under her dress, and his fingers brushed over her stockings until he finally found bare skin. Her legs twisted under his long strokes. Nipping at her lip, he took her mouth, and she opened to him. His blood heated.
He was usually controlled in congress. Efficient. With her, there was no control, no measure. Only the raw urgency to possess and be possessed. Only the fierce, unguarded pull of her body against his.
Rowen cupped the curve of her breast, and she let out a tiny gasp.
His every muscle tightened at the sound, and he tugged at the top of her dress to reveal what lay beneath.
Her silky skin was scented of pine and damp earth.
His tongue lashed around the silken mound, and her head fell back as she shuddered, giving in to the sensation.
His teeth scratched over the hardened nipple, and her legs squeezed his as her body drew him closer. His hand found her warmth, and her body tensed for a moment and melted once more.
“Mmm…go on.” Her voice had an air of confidence about it that made his desire smoulder.
He unfastened himself with speed. She did not betray any signs of shock at the sight of his manhood.
Rowen brought his swollen tip to her entrance, and her breath heaved with the contact.
He nudged himself inside but an inch. She lifted her head from the ground, and her gaze, clear and intense, met his. “Go on. Take me.”
There was nothing coy or trained in her. Only a fierce, unguarded will.
His fingers sank into the wet earth, and a sweet hint of the wood anemones on the ground wafted up.
He thrust inside her fully. She cried out, her voice piercing the air.
Birds fluttered and flapped overhead, the tree branches shuddering, and Rowen stilled, startled by the knowledge that came too late.
Devil take her.
“You are a maiden?” he gritted out, holding himself still as his body urged him forth.
She swallowed hard. “Not any longer.” Her hands dug into his back, the pressure unbearable. “Go on.”
Something tightened in his chest. All his previous women had been married ladies, widows, prostitutes. He’d never had any interest in an innocent. Unlike his father.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“Why did you lie to me?” His voice was now ragged, roughened by unexpected questions, by an untamable frenzy.
“I did not lie to you.”
She hadn’t lied to him, he hadn’t asked, but—
Her arms slid around his back as her insides squeezed around him, contained him, and his breath cut.
What the devil…how does she know to…
He moved again, gentler this time, slower.
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he met her gaze.
Her body kept in rhythm with his. Eyes clear and full and…
widening. She let out a whimper. Was she startled at the pleasure she was feeling?
It rose in him, filling him, pressing against him.
His lips fell open. He was spellbound by it. By her.
The need to have her finish and finish well sank its fangs into him. “Do you feel it?” he breathed against her lips. “Don’t lie to me. I want you to feel it. I won’t stop until you do.”
“I feel it…I feel…” Her determined gaze locked on his as he pulled more of those exquisite moans from her. “I feel you…you…” Her back arched, and she began to tremble in his hold.
Rowen finally gave way and released himself on the grass.
His hand went between her legs. He couldn’t resist finding her blood and wetness.
He wanted to know it. Startled, she lifted her gaze to him as he licked his fingers.
Clutching his coat, she lifted up and kissed him, slowly this time, as if she were committing every inch of his mouth and his tongue, their taste to memory.
Digging his hands into her silky hair, Rowen surrendered to her kiss.
“My Lord? Are you here?”
They both froze. Fucking hell.
That voice was unmistakable. More so its irksome tone. His father’s bastard son was here and had found him.
On a muffled curse, Rowen touched his fingers to her lips to make sure she wouldn’t utter a sound. Her tongue licked at them, and he let out a grunt. “Hush, my wildcat.” He stood up, fixing his shirt and trousers, and stalked to where the bastard was.
“What are you doing here, devil take you?”
“Forgive me, your Lordship, have I interrupted you?”
Rowen’s hands curled into fists as the urge to smack the sly grin off the boy’s face overwhelmed him. But Francis was no longer the boy Rowen remembered. In the four years since he’d seen him, he’d grown taller, and his lanky form had filled out. “What do you want?”
“I was sent to find you. I was told you had gone out riding, but I didn’t think that meant riding a wench. Are you done with her or did I interrupt too soon? As you must return to the house, perhaps I could enjoy her virtues as well?” He made his way in the direction of the girl.
Rowen shoved him back, and Francis stumbled. “Are you following me?”
Francis only laughed. “I would have done it sooner had I known what you were up to. We could have done her together, as brothers.”
“You are not my brother.”
“Your denials are terribly tedious.” Francis wiped at his coat sleeves.
“Why are you following me? Are you bored?“
Francis sniffed in air. “Father sent me after you. He—”
“You are only my father’s dogsbody.”
“I am his favourite son, don’t you know?” Francis shot back, his lips pressed in a firm line. “He wishes to see you. He was quite insistent. I would even say a touch angry. Your hair has come loose. Perhaps you should tend to it first.”
“Lead the way, lackey.”
“Would you like me to escort your paramour safely out of the woods?”
“Get on your bloody horse!”
Rain fell, pattering on the leaves of the trees, louder and louder.
Rowen adjusted his shoulders in his frock coat and got on his horse.
As his fingers tightened over the reins, he silently cursed to himself that he’d left the girl in such a way.
Wiping the water from his face, he urged his horse out of the woods.
They rode swiftly back up the hill, down the meadow, and up to the house, drenched in rain. All the while Rowen worked through a puzzle which confounded him.
What was it about her? What was it that made her indelible through the fervour of lust? His desire for her had been fierce and intense. As his horse rounded the drive of the house and the footmen reached him, he realised.
Her bold spirit.
Her curiosity, her desire for adventure. Undaunted by a stranger, by pain. Her discovery of pleasures and her embrace of them. More than her beauty, more than her innocence, her strong spirit had marked him.