Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 9

  But then her eyes widened, and the mischievous laughter vanished. Turning to Rose, she smiled softly. “But you look well,” Isabella assured her. “I understand you attended the theater this last week, yes?”

  “Yes.” Rose smiled. “Yes, it was a wonderful play. Afterward James took me to Mrs. Smyth’s. She served the most wonderful fruit pastries.”

  “Oh, I’ve been to Mrs. Smyth’s,” Annabelle said with a wide smile. “It’s simply wonderful after the theater. She has an array of pastries and teas for supper.”

  “Oh?” Isabella said curiously. “I’ve never been.”

  And just like that, Rose relaxed into conversation with the group. They chatted about pastries and the theater and the latest gossip from Drury Lane. She waited for her opportunity and when a lull came, she ventured her questions.

  “You’ve been friends with James for some time,” she ventured.

  “I’ve known him the longest,” Octavia agreed. “Since we were children.”

  Rose nodded and turned to her. “Has he ever spoken to you, or with you,” she said carefully, “of his dreams of Scotland? I’d press him for more, but I don’t wish to encourage his dwelling upon them.”

  Octavia started to speak but stopped herself almost immediately, as if she took Rose’s question far more seriously than she originally intended. She glanced from Rose to Isabella and Annabelle, and back again. Slowly she nodded.

  “Yes,” Octavia said. “I’m very aware of his dreams, we all are. I have been since I can remember.”

  Rose set her teacup down and licked her lips. “What can you tell me about them?”

  “They’re always in Scotland,” Octavia said slowly. “Always around a castle. He has a painting of it, of the castle, in the gallery.”

  “Yes,” Rose said and nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

  “There’s always the same woman in his dreams,” Octavia said, and Rose suddenly felt as if they told stories on a stormy day. Even on so beautiful a May day. “They’re always the same woman.” She cleared her throat. “We’ve indulged him over the years, believing he heard a story or read a tale that simply stayed with him.”

  “Could that not be it?” Rose asked, though the way Octavia said it, the words didn’t sound like it. “Could it not have been a story he heard as a young boy that he painted in his mind?”

  “Of course it could’ve been,” Isabella said immediately.

  Once more Octavia nodded, but she sipped her tea and looked to Rose as if she gathered her words carefully. “I think at one time or another, we all believed it was simply a story he heard and embellished.”

  Her skin pricked with ice, and her fingers tingled as they had earlier in the ballroom. “You know the details of this story?” Rose asked.

  “He believes there is a man,” Octavia said, and again Rose thought she chose her words entirely too carefully for a simple story.

  “An Englishman in Scotland and a young Scottish lass,” Octavia continued. “James never went into great detail. And as I’m sure you know from history, we’ve had trouble with the Scots over time. James told us there was a conflict regarding the lass; she was in danger. But he’s never truly explained what that was, only that he felt the woman vanished.”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, breaking the trance the table seemed to have fallen into with Octavia’s story. “I remember that. Edmund told me that once, and Mr. Hamilton akin it to Selina’s disappearance.”

  “James has always feared any woman he fell in love with would vanish from his life,” Octavia added.

  “There are times when men’s fears are unreasonable,” Isabella said somberly. “But not necessarily unfounded.” She cleared her throat, and Rose caught her gaze. “However, Hamilton isn’t a man who would act rashly without cause.”

  Rose swallowed dryly and nodded. She didn’t know what to say to any of these revelations and scrambled to change the subject.

  The rest of the afternoon flowed smoothly with no further talk of James or his dreams. His past?

  She didn’t know.

  Later, as Rose watched the front door close behind her friends, she let their earlier conversation play over and over in her head. She nodded to Barrett and started up the steps. She wasn’t exactly tired, but she needed time to herself. Time to think over all that had happened this day. All she’d learned.

  How could anyone dream all their lives, and it be so clear and specific? Rose never said today that James confessed it was her face he saw in his dreams. She’d wondered if he’d confessed as much to them, but no. Apparently not.

  He’d kept that revelation between the two of them.

  Now, after everything, Rose knew she should’ve realized that. Should’ve realized all this had truly started when they’d met in her father’s study. Before then, James had never seen her face.

  She sat on her window seat and looked blindly over the late afternoon, resting her head against the panes. Rose closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all.

  From all she’d learned of James, prior to his insistence on this marriage, he never felt the need to create a family. It was as if he awaited the woman from his dreams. And Rose seemed to look enough like her, like this dream woman, to pass.

  Except there was that…that image. That ghost or vision she’d had in the ballroom of James standing there in an army uniform.

  She licked her lips and rubbed her suddenly cold fingers against her arms.

  Was it no more than a stray thought brought on by James’s stories? By his dreams? Regardless of the dream, James Hamilton, now her husband, was indeed a good catch. A man who wanted nothing more than to take care of her. And had, in these weeks at least, showed her he wished to love her as well.

  Could she truly ignore that? Ignore his kindness, his laughter, the way he looked upon her? The way he watched her?

  No, she couldn’t.

  James looked upon her not as a ghost from a dream, but a woman. And one who felt lost and manipulated. He’d done all he could these last weeks to put her at ease and give her all she wanted. To show Rose he only wanted her.

  The sharp knock on her door startled her, and she jerked upright.

  Clearing her throat, she called out, “Yes?”

  “Rose?” James called.

  She quickly moved across the room and opened the door. Rose didn’t give herself a chance to stop and think or to worry about how she looked or what she’d say.

  “I wanted to check on you,” James said with a smile. It was a smile reserved for her, a particular light in his eyes, a happiness as well as a softness to that smile. Each time she saw it, it caught her off guard. “And make sure the duchess was on her best duchess behavior.”

  The chuckle surprised her and she stepped back, holding the door open for him to enter. “She was wonderful,” Rose admitted.

  Then frowned—James didn’t step across the threshold. She waited, but he continued to stand here.

  “You may enter,” she said and wondered if there was some etiquette about this that she hadn’t learned.

  James hadn’t entered her rooms since that first day, since their wedding day, when he’d given her the tour of the lower floor and showed her to her room. Rose paused and swallowed hard. She stepped back again as he entered, leaving the door open.

  Biting her lip, she knew and embraced this next step. Rose allowed her eyes to travel from his black trousers and over his dark blue coat and perfectly formed cravat. His dark brown eyes sparkled as he watched her, but his expression remained impassive. Waiting.

  Yes, she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “I’m glad the duchess did well,” James said, his voice low and intimate. “If she had not, I would’ve needed to berate her in some way and possibly steal several bottles of wine from her cellars.”

  Her lips quirked in amusement. “You’ve taken care of me so well,” she said quietly, all traces of humor gone.

  “I’ll always take care of you,” James told her. Promised her.
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  She stopped and swallowed hard. Then, plunging ahead, refusing to look backward, she said, “I asked my guests about your dreams.”

  James stepped closer. “Did their answers frighten you?” he asked, and he sounded as if her response mattered more to him than anything.

  “No,” she admitted honestly. “None of it did. But I am concerned.”

  “Concerned you married a madman?” he asked, perfectly serious.

  Rose shook her head. “Concerned I’m not the woman in your dreams but merely look like her.” She licked her lips again and watched him follow the movement. “What if…what if I fall in love with you, and you find another woman who is closer to the vision in your dreams?”

  “That is impossible,” he whispered. “Even if that ghost of a woman I’ve thought of all my life were to manifest before me, I would still want you.”

  “Why?” Her question was a bare breath of a word.

  “Because you dance like a queen,” James said, his eyes intent. “Because you put jam on your bacon.” His eyes lightened, but he watched her no less intently, with no less seriousness and focus. “Because,” he said, his voice dropping even further, “you cannot hide that look.”

  Rose forgot how to breathe. His words washed over her and wrapped around her, and she stared up at him, entranced.

  James bent closer, slowly, slowly, until his lips touched hers.

  Chapter Twelve

  JAMES HAD NO wish to rush her. He’d take his time, as much time as Rose needed. His own heart pounded with anticipation; heat rushed through his veins, and he wanted her. Badly. But he didn’t want Rose to think he pushed.

  He broke the kiss and stepped back.

  With gentle hands, James cupped her cheeks. Unable to resist one more kiss, his lips were soft against hers. He wanted her now, the desperation to claim her pounded through his blood. Swallowing hard, he breathed deeply and used every restraint in his power to remain the gentleman she needed.

  His own need for her was fathomless. And, oh, he wanted to taste her skin and hear her cry out and feel her come undone beneath him.

  “Rose,” he whispered against her lips, “are you certain? Are you sure you want this now?”

  She brushed her fingertips over his cheek and didn’t pull back. Didn’t look away. Her other hand pressed to his chest, over his pounding heart. Slowly Rose nodded and cupped the back of his neck, bringing him closer.

  Her lips touched his even as her body pressed against his. Deepening the kiss, James swept his tongue through her mouth, memorizing her taste. He could kiss her forever.

  She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he shrugged out of it. Suddenly James didn’t want any clothing between them. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin beneath his and the heat of her arousal. Quickly unbuttoning his vest, James let it drop to the floor as well, his shirt following a moment later.

  “Oh,” Rose said, her eyes scanning his chest.

  She reached out, tentative fingers dancing over the bare skin. James sucked in a breath and watched her as she explored.

  Jaw clenched, he reined in his own desire and waited.

  Rose trailed one finger over his chest, a light touch along his skin. Her hands brushed across his shoulders, down his arms, back up again. Down his chest, a light touch along the band of his trousers. James sucked in a breath and waited.

  Her touch sent fire through his veins, and he curled his own hands into fists so as not to touch her. Rose needed to set the pace.

  Finally she looked up. The heat in her eyes and the longing on her face broke his resolve. James gently spun her around and worked on the buttons to her gown. His mouth traced the curve of her shoulder, the arch of her neck.

  Rose shivered beneath his kiss, his fingers, and he sorely tempted him to shred her gown, bare her to him all the faster. But then her breath caught and James stilled. She finally trusted him enough to make love to her. He’d never break that trust.

  The dress pooled at her feet, and Rose turned to face him. He didn’t know whether to expect her to look shyly away or not. Her chin lifted, and those beautiful eyes locked with his.

  Pulling her against him, James kissed her. Softly. Slowly. Hands cupped her face and brushed her hair off her cheeks. He explored her mouth, her taste, and deepened the kiss until she wound her arms around him and held tight.

  She exploded across his senses, slow but never hesitant, awkward but never pulling back. Rose wrapped herself around him and kissed him back. James walked her toward the bed, and they fell onto it. He cradled her against him, his mouth on hers and his hands slipping beneath her chemise, aching hardness pressed to her warm, wet softness.

  Rose arched against him, her mouth meeting his, breath hitching but open, so open to his touch.

  He abruptly stood and shed the rest of his clothing, his eyes never leaving hers. Rose watched him undress, her eyes wide, tongue swiping along her lips, fingers curled into the bedding. Her fingers trembled just the slightest when she sat up and reached for the hem of her chemise, tugging it over her head and tossing it aside.

  His control, however limited, vanished. Disappeared in Rose’s taste and her touch, in her skin beneath his fingers and her mouth beneath his. James tried to pull back, but then she reached out and took his hand.

  “James,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I want you.”

  “Rose,” he growled. He kissed down her throat, nipping the tender skin. His fingers cupped her breasts, lightly rolling already hard nipples between his fingers. “Rose.”

  She laid beneath him—open and vulnerable, her eyes heavy with arousal and trust. That trust was his undoing. She gave it all to him. He needed her skin against his, to run his tongue over her flesh and taste her in the most intimate of ways.

  Taste all she offered him.

  He closed his mouth around one nipple, already dusky and hard, and tugged, his teeth closing around the peak, his tongue swirling around it. Releasing her nipple, James kissed beneath her breast and she shivered, her hand on the back of his head when he kissed the underside of her other breast.

  “James,” Rose cried, her back arching off the bed and hips rocking against his.

  Her hands scrambled against his shoulders, fingers digging into his back. James shuddered in her arms, but didn’t release the tenuous hold on his control. This wasn’t about him. It was always, always, about her.

  For a moment, he saw the vision from his dreams. Rose beneath him, wild and passionate. James pushed the image away. Now wasn’t about his dreams or whatever those visions might be. It was about Rose, this woman in his arms, the only woman who mattered.

  “Not yet. I’ve got you, Rose,” he promised and tugged her other nipple into his mouth. “Hold onto me.”

  She did as he bade, her hips cradling his, hands pressed into his back. She didn’t pull away but arched into his touch.

  He intended to worship her. To commit every taste and sigh and plea she uttered to memory. To make her come until she sobbed with pleasure. He had no intentions of wasting one more moment.

  His fingers were gentle on her hips and along her thighs as he opened her to him. James kissed down her body, over the swell of her hip and down to her silky wetness. His teeth scraped over her sex, and he slipped a single finger into her. Rose cried out and jerked against him, but still didn’t pull back.

  Slowly he thrust his finger, his mouth on her even as he added a second finger. Her orgasm rushed through her, exploded along his tongue, until all he tasted was the ambrosia of her pleasure.

  “James!” she cried, her hips bucking against him. “Oh!”

  She shuddered around him, her breath fast, thighs locked tight, nails sharp in his shoulders. Gently kissing her thighs, her belly, her breasts, he withdrew. Rose cried out, a breathless sound of pleasure. He leaned back, his cock hard and his own wild desire pounding through him, and looked at his beautiful wife.

  With her eyes bright with need, cheeks flushed, nipples hard and red and legs
still open from his touch, she looked exotically beautiful. James licked his lips, her taste momentarily blinding him to all else.

  He bent down, his eyes on hers, and carefully gripped her legs, opening her even further to him. Rose trembled, and God was she the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. James wanted to say something—how he needed her, how much he cared for her, maybe even loved her. How she never needed to hide from him.

  The words caught in his throat, and all he managed was her name. “Rose.”

  He knelt between her legs, his fingers brushing her wetness, and breathed her in. James started at her right ankle and kissed his way up one leg then the other. Each kiss drawn out, he felt her desire build again. He felt it in the way her hips jerked and her breath hitched. How her fingers trailed down his spine, holding tight to his waist.

  He skimmed his fingers up her inner thighs, over her hips, up her belly to her breasts. Once more settled between her legs, James pressed the underside of his aching cock to her and rocked against her, teasing her. With her eyes on his, she trembled, her chest heaving for breath, hips rocking with his.

  James’s fingers found her again and gently rubbed tight circles until Rose once more cried out, her body tightening in pleasure, shuddering through her orgasm.

  Grasping his cock, he entered her. The low gasp caught in her throat, but he pushed in, gentle and slow, waiting until she adjusted.

  “Rose?” he asked, control slipping from his fingers.

  “I—I—” She trailed off and gasped for breath. But her legs tightened around his hips, and he slipped in deeper.

  “I’ll go slowly,” he promised.

  Rose nodded. She opened her mouth but sucked in a breath instead, her entire body trembling.

  James moved with shallow thrusts as she grew accustomed to his weight, to him within her. He waited for her signal, any signal, that she was all right, that she enjoyed this. He leaned on one arm, brushed fine strands of hair off her damp forehead, and simply watched her.

  “This is nice,” she said.

  The disbelieving laugh caught in his throat. “Nice?” he echoed.