22. Bliss On the Gale
BLISS ON THE GALE
Rose had come to him. She was here.
And that changed everything.
What had happened at The Domus had been different.
There, Rose had controlled every moment. She chose what to wear, how to move, when to pause, and where to touch him.
Nothing had been accidental.
She had drawn out his pleasure until he could scarcely bear it.
But this…
This was real.
Her hands closed around his shirt.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Please.”
That plea broke what remained of his control. “Aye, love.”
Reginald backed her toward the bed until it caught behind her knees. She sank onto the mattress, and he followed, gathering her skirts in both hands.
His palms moved over her calves, then higher.
Her skin was silk beneath them.
And then Rose parted her thighs for him.
For one breath, the hunger in him gave way to awe.
He’d wanted. God, how he’d wanted. But he’d always believed love demanded a fair exchange—and that he would always come up short.
Rose had somehow, against all reason, shattered that belief.
“Please,” she said again.
Always,” he promised, the word torn from him.
Heat blazed through his body as he moved over her. She held his gaze, and then…
She reached for him.
“Put yourself inside me.”
Yes.
Reginald settled against her, and the first intimate press nearly stopped his breath. Every muscle in his body tightened. For one wild instant, he feared the force of wanting her might undo him before he had truly begun.
No.
Not again. Not this time.
He drew a slow breath and fixed his mind on winter watches at sea—the frozen rail beneath his hands, wind cutting through wool. Anything but the heat of her beneath him.
Rose’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, and a soft breath escaped her.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
The first pleasure, she had told him, is being wanted.
At last, Reginald understood.
He pushed forward, slowly at first.
That first—unbelievably soft—yielding of her body sent a shudder through him. His breath broke.
But Rose took him deeper, surrounding him with such warmth that sweat gathered at the back of his neck. “Rose.”
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. A low sound rose from her chest, escaping past her lips.
“Reginald.”
She pulled him closer.
No seduction. No bargaining.
He moved instinctively, driven by a need to be closer than two people could possibly be.
And Rose met him each time.
Her body lifted beneath his. Her breath came hot and broken against his throat.
“Yes.”
The word caught on a gasp. Then she tightened around him, her back arching as pleasure swept through her in a series of helpless tremors.
Hold fast.
Reginald went rigid, refusing to let himself move. He remained deep inside while her body pulsed around him, holding on until the last shudder faded and she softened beneath him.
Only then did he let himself go.
God in heaven.
The initial force tore through him.
Then another—so powerful it emptied his lungs and stripped every thought from his mind. His darling Rose. Forever.
And as unending waves of pleasure rolled through him, again and again, Reginald buried his face in her neck. Shaking. Trembling. Utterly intoxicated for the knowledge that he was still deep inside her.
When it was over, there was nothing left of his strength.
Nothing left of him.
Only Rose beneath him, her arms holding him close while a few late tremors took everything he had.
For several moments afterward, Reginald could hear only their breathing and the quiet groan of the ship around them.
Everything was perfect.
She was perfect.
He didn’t want to move, but when he finally did, he shifted carefully to her side and drew Rose with him, pulling her across his chest.
“Mmmm…”
She settled against him, one leg tangled with his, her cheek resting on his chest.
“It was worth the wait?” she asked softly.
Reginald looked down at her.
“I wasn’t waiting for this,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”
A tremor passed through her.
For a moment, she only stared at him. Then her eyes closed, and she turned her face into his palm as though the words had struck somewhere too deep for an answer.
The ship moved gently beneath them, the timbers creaking with the river. It reminded him of the last week. Waiting…
“You cannot know the terror I felt,” he said at last.
Rose turned her face back to him. “Terror?”
“When I saw you crossing in that boat.” His hand moved slowly along her back. “I thought perhaps you had come to tell me goodbye.”
“Reginald—”
“I know what I asked of you. What I am still asking.” His gaze focused on the ceiling. “But I could not bear the thought of losing you.” He looked back down at her then. “What changed your mind?”
Rose went very still.
“I don’t know that anything changed,” she said carefully. “I only knew I wanted to be here. With you.”
The answer should’ve reassured him.
Instead, something in her careful tone kept him from relaxing.
His gaze searched hers. “No regrets?”
“No.” She traced one finger lightly across his chest. “Right now, this is exactly where I want to be.”
Reginald watched her, waiting for the rest.
Whatever else she might have said, she kept it to herself.
“Is your brother disappointed,” she asked softly, “that you’re leaving?”
Reginald gave a short laugh at how easily she could complicate this conversation.
“Reginald,” she prompted when the silence stretched a little too long.
His hand moved slowly along her arm.
“Do you know why I became a sailor?” he asked at last.
Rose shook her head.
He kept his gaze fixed on the darkened cabin. “My father used to say a second son ought at least to make himself useful. In his estimation, I never did.”
Rose said nothing.
“Said I have too much feeling and not enough backbone.”.” His mouth twisted. “For years, I believed him. It took me rather longer to understand that he was simply cruel.”
He felt Rose’s palm flatten over his heart.
“What about your mother? Was she…?”
“She kept to herself. It was safer for her that way,” he continued. “And Harry was smart to escape. Once he reached his majority, he left and never looked back.”
Rose said quietly, “I suppose your brother had demons of his own.”
Reginald knew that better than most. Harry’s hatred of their father had never been a secret.
“I know,” Reginald said. “And I don’t blame him. For years, we were almost strangers.”
Perhaps Harry had meant the gift to bridge some of that distance. He had trusted Reginald to see The Domus in the same light he did.
That should have been enough.
But their father was dead. Harry was happy now.
And Rose was coming with him.
Reginald stared past her into the shadows of the cabin.
“So, in answer to your question, I doubt Harry will be too disappointed,” he said at last.
Rose shifted against him. “But he’ll miss you, no?”
“Perhaps.” His hand continued its slow path along her arm. “I know he’d rather I keep The Domus operating. Like you, I think he hoped I’d see the good in it,” Reginald admitted.
“And have you?”
His hand stilled.
There were good people there. Far more than he’d expected.
But good? In The Domus?
“I found you,” he said.
She nestled closer, rubbing her foot along his calf.
They just lay there silently for a few minutes, and then Rose let out a sad little sigh. “Were you ever happy as a child?” she asked softly.
“More often than I had the sense to recognize.” His hand moved slowly over her arm. “I never went hungry or cold. I had clothes, tutors, every comfort money could buy. Our family was… troublesome, but God knows others endured far worse. You’ve endured far worse.”
He pressed his mouth to her hair.
“I’ve had more than my share of good fortune, Rose. I’m trying not to mistake what I lacked for having had nothing at all.”
“You lacked love.”
The simple words struck deeper than he expected.
Reginald looked down at her. “That hardly compares.”
“I’m not sure about that.” She dipped her chin. “My family wanted me. After my mother died, my grandmother took me in and gave me everything she had. It was not much, but I never doubted that she wanted me. I never doubted that she loved me.”
Reginald covered her hand with his.
“She died too soon. But even when I had nothing, I always had that.” Rose continued. “And later, when Nell found me, she invited me to be a part of something special too. She could have left me where I was. But she didn’t.”
Something that almost felt like guilt tightened inside Reginald at the thought of Rose alone in the streets, waiting for someone to see that she was worth saving.
“And now I’ve met you,” she said quietly. “And you wanted me.”
Reginald could scarcely breathe.
He touched her cheek.
“Then you understand what it meant,” he said, “when you came here. To me.”
For less than a breath, pain flickered across her face. Before he could question it, Rose leaned forward and kissed him.
It felt like a promise.
Only later would he understand it had meant goodbye.
For now, the kiss quieted every doubt.
Much later, with moonlight silvering the water beyond the stern windows, hunger finally drew Reginald from her warmth.
He sat up with a quiet groan and pulled the coverlet over Rose. Then he found his breeches, fastening only enough buttons to make himself decent.
He lifted the silver covers from the waiting dishes, then carried the food to the bed.
Rose was still curled among the pillows. Soft. Rumpled. Entirely at home there.
It felt right.
He poured the wine, broke apart the small loaf, and fed her bread, cold chicken, and slices of fruit with his own fingers. Each time her lips closed around another bite, an absurd sense of satisfaction moved through him.
“You’re spoiling me for anyone else,” she murmured.
“Good.”
For once, Reginald allowed himself the possessive satisfaction of it. He had spent weeks refusing to think of Rose as his—refusing even to imagine he had any right to want such a thing.
But she was here. In his bed. On his ship.
He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.
There was no frantic need to reach one another. Reginald touched her slowly, learning rather than taking, while the ship moved gently beneath them and the rest of the world waited somewhere beyond the cabin walls.
There was only this room.
This woman.
Reginald watched her face as he moved, memorizing every breath and every change in her expression. And he whispered her name when the pleasure finally claimed him.
Later, he fell asleep with one arm wrapped firmly around her waist.
In the very early hours of dawn, long after Lord Reginald had fallen into slumber, Rose remained awake. She listened to his breathing. Tenderly touched his hair, his jaw.
“Then you understand what it meant, when you came here. To me.”
And she knew, with all her heart, that she could not make what happened between them into a weapon. She could not lie beside him, take the most vulnerable thing he had ever given another person, and then name her price.
But it was time.
Rose carefully lifted his arm from her waist. He stirred, and for one reckless moment, she hoped he would wake and stop her.
He didn’t, of course.
She dressed in the darkness, moving quietly, clumsily, blinking away tears.
And by the time she reached the final button, her fingers were trembling.
Every part of her wanted to turn back. To slip beneath the blankets and let him draw her close again. To let him believe she had come to stay.
But she could not do what she had come here to do. Not after the tenderness he had shown her. Not after he had trusted her with the one part of himself he had never believed worth giving.
But she couldn’t sail away with him either.
The people who’d saved her life—her family—were waiting for her. Trusting her.
Rose looked back at Reginald one last time.
Then her gaze caught on something resting beside the charts upon his desk.
A black silk mask. One ribbon torn, the edge slightly bent.
Her mask.
The one she’d lost at the masquerade.
He had found it.
He had kept it.
Rose swallowed hard as another crack split through her heart. For one dangerous moment, she almost turned back.
Instead, she forced herself through the door and left him behind.