Mad About the Earl (25 page)

In no time, Rosamund had kissed Tibby, handed her pretty bouquet to Jacqueline, received the others’ congratulations and good wishes, and driven off in Griffin’s rattling old landau.

Griffin sat opposite her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “That’s a very fetching bonnet you’re wearing, my dear,” he said. “Take it off and come here.”

Her eyes widened. “What, you mean
here
?”

“There is no harm in taking off your bonnet, is there?” inquired Griffin innocently. “Is it a crime to wish to look upon my wife’s face without obstruction?”

“You know very well what I mean,” said Rosamund with a laugh in her voice. But she tugged on the ribbon of her bonnet and lifted the confection from her head. Laying it aside, she rose to cross the carriage.

As she did so, his boot hooked behind her ankle, toppling her off balance so that she all but sprawled over him. He caught her, and silenced her cry of surprise with the ravenous drag of his mouth over hers. He held her and kissed her until the impropriety of her situation faded from her mind.

His hand found the backs of her thighs, and he lifted her to sit sideways across his lap while he continued to kiss his way down her neck.

The decadence of such behavior made her hot and feverish and ashamed at once, but she didn’t want him to stop.

Forceful and demanding as he was, the tenderness inside her grew. She put up her hand to caress his thick black hair. Shorter now than when she’d done this last. She was surprised to find she missed the luxuriant length, the bushy texture of it.

Had it been only last night that she’d given herself to him? She seemed to have existed another lifetime since then.

The carriage halted, bringing Rosamund to her senses. She sat up, scrambling to her own seat and diving for her bonnet, which had fallen to the floor during their frenzy.

The footman seemed a little slow in opening the door. She’d just retied her bonnet ribbons when Diccon appeared and let down the steps.

He shook his head. “Sorry, my lady. I shouted at the coachman to take you around to the front door, but he’s deaf and, I fear, bent on having his own way.”

Rosamund emerged from the dimness of the carriage to find they stood in the midst of the stable yard, where she’d first met Griffin those years ago.

She laughed. “No, no, Diccon. It is quite all right. Perfect, in fact.”

Still smiling, she turned to Griffin as he emerged from the carriage. “The scene of our infamous first meeting, my lord. How rude you were.”

He glanced down at her. “Pot calling the kettle black, my dear. You ordered me about like a groom, if I recall.”

She sniffed. “That was to teach you a lesson. Anyway, you certainly
looked
like a groom.” She felt a distinct pang when she glanced at his smooth elegance—perhaps a touch more disheveled now, after their tussle in the carriage.

“Do you want to see what I was doing that day?” he asked.

Curious, she nodded.

He jerked his head. “Come on.”

He led her to an open pasture, where a gleaming black mare grazed.

“Oh, she’s a beauty,” said Rosamund. “What’s her name?”

She glanced at Griffin. He was looking not at the horse, but at her. Then he seemed to snap out of his abstraction.

With a slight quiver to his voice, he said, “Her name is Black Rosie.”

Surprise made her start and blurt out a laugh. “You named her for me?”

He nodded, his eyes dancing. “You and those black looks you gave me.”

“Black looks? Did I really?” She blinked. “That was out of character.”

“I liked it,” said Griffin. “There aren’t too many women who would stand up to me.”

He leaned his elbows on the fence and clasped his hands together. “The filly was born a day or so before you came, but the mother died. I’d been struggling to get another mare to suckle her when my grandfather sent word of your arrival.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t leave her.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Rosamund shook her head in disbelief at her own behavior that day. “You must have thought me spoiled and juvenile.”

He laughed, then shook his head. He turned to her, and the laughter lit his eyes as she’d never witnessed before. “I thought you … enchanting. Magical. Like a fairy-tale princess, far above the likes of me.”

He drew closer, his gaze intent on her lips. Rosamund lifted her face to his.

Her soul shuddered as their lips met. They’d kissed many times, but those kisses had never been like this. So tentative, so sweet, so utterly new.

Gently drawing out her response, he cradled her face in his hands as if he held a precious gift. Their lips clung and brushed and sipped in a kiss that was almost innocent in its chaste restraint, filled with emotion and promise.

The tenderness of it nearly broke her heart.

Griffin raised his head and looked into her eyes. She saw pain reflected in his gaze. How could that be?

“Rosamund, I—” He started to speak when the mare, who had crept up on them unnoticed, gave him a forceful butt in the shoulder. “Hey, there!” He turned to rub his hand over the white blaze on the mare’s nose. “Not so rough, sweetheart.”

“She is jealous!” Rosamund laughed.

Stripping off her gloves, Rosamund joined him in fussing over the handsome steed. After a few minutes, gathering that no lump of sugar or apple was to be had, the mare loped off to lip at grass, her long tail swishing.

Griffin glanced up at the sky. “So. We are married.”

“Yes,” she said, with a shaky laugh. “Yes, we are.”

“What would you like to do now?” He gestured around him. “I could give you a tour of the grounds.”

She tilted her head and gazed at him from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps tomorrow. That would be pleasant.”

“I could ask Peggy to show you the house,” he said.

She’d seen quite enough of the house to know she was in no mood for that depressing excursion. “Thank you, but I am sure that can wait.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin. “We could go for a ride down to the sea.”

At any other time, she would have jumped at that prospect. Now, she murmured, “I thought you said there weren’t any horses fit for me to ride here.”

“I only said that to be disagreeable,” said Griffin.

“Aha, so you admit you were rude that day.” She grinned up at him. “We make progress!”

He reached for her. “Listen, wife, if I have any more of your lip, I’ll…”

Rosamund blinked up at him innocently. “You’ll what?”

He exhaled an unsteady breath and brought his mouth within inches of hers.

Then he stopped and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The horse barn was sweet with the scent of clean hay. At the moment it stood empty, and Rosamund wondered why Griffin had brought her here.

She wasn’t left in doubt for long.

He pushed her back into a bed of straw and swiftly followed to kneel down, straddling her legs.

Her heart raced and her breath came in rapid pants as he loomed over her. His eyes had lost their lurking humor as his gaze fixed on her mouth. Now his face was set with intent. He planted his hands on either side of her head and bent to kiss her.

He made her mindless with that kiss. She smoothed her hands over the fine broadcloth that encased his shoulders. Despite the thickness of his clothing, she felt his muscles shift beneath.

Stroking her tongue with his, he gathered up the muslin of her gown, shift, and petticoats until her legs were exposed to the air.

She had on stockings, of course, and she gasped as his finger traced the bare flesh above the garter that anchored them. He looked down as he fondled her, and the hunger on his face made her flush all over.

He spread her legs and changed his position to kneel between them, then set his fingers to her soft, sensitive flesh. He made her wild with his touch until she whimpered and begged. When it came, her release was swift and strong.

He moved up, over her once more. Resting on his elbow, he looked down into her face. “If you need me to stop, say so,” he said. “You are probably still tender from last night.”

She shook her head. She’d bear that pain gladly to return the bliss that he’d given her. But in the event, there was no pain. Only the odd and wonderful sensation of the inner walls of her body shifting to accept him, gripping the hard length of him as he eased deeper and deeper. With a guttural groan, he thrust all the way inside her.

He stopped, and she opened her eyes to see that his face bore marks of strain. Did it hurt him to hold himself in check?

“I am all right,” she breathed. “It is lovely. There’s no need to stop.”

With his eyes squeezed shut, he stroked slowly, oh so slowly, in and out of her body.

Rosamund tried to move with him, but he held her in place, exactly where he wanted her, taking her as he wished, and it was strangely freeing to simply lie there and feel.

She’d expected more of that tearing pain in the place where they joined, but other than a slight burn when he’d first entered her, there was none.

She
hadn’t
expected the sensations that now built in her body. They were distant yet, like an echo of the pleasure he’d already orchestrated within her. An echo that built and built, stronger and louder as he moved inside her.

Griffin slid his hand beneath her thigh, lifting it so that it hugged his waist. His buttocks flexed beneath her heel as he drove into her, and the change in angle took him deeper, striking a triumphal chord of bliss that resonated throughout her body.

Desperation made her whimper. She didn’t know what she wanted or what to expect, but this steady, smooth slide of his body into hers drove her mad with longing for
something
.

“Rosamund,” gasped Griffin. He demanded something of her, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

And then he pushed her leg even higher, pistoning into her with deep, hard thrusts, hitting something on the way that took her pleasure up another notch. Her body went taut as a violin string; her heart seemed to split open with sweetness. She convulsed around him. Ripples and shudders dragged her through wave after wave of bliss.

He remained hard inside her while the crescendo eventually died to a gentle harmony of aching tenderness and subtle sensation.

Her eyes fluttered open to see that his grim, almost pained expression had become fierce with triumph. She was so limp with satisfaction, she couldn’t speak. But something in that smug look made her decide that next time she would not lie so passive in his arms.

For now, she would simply enjoy.

Griffin’s release came with great, heaving shudders that racked his body and left him gasping for air. He rolled off her, his big chest heaving. Rosamund lay there in the midst of the soft, sweet-smelling hay, smiling and replete, as boneless as if she herself were made of straw.

After a moment, she saw that Griffin watched her with a hint of expectation in his eyes. She wondered if she was supposed to tell him what a wonderful lover he was. That felt awkward and forced. Besides, his smug expression told her he didn’t need any reassurance on that point.

Instead, she said, “You are vastly pleased with yourself.”

He tilted his head as he thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “I do believe I am.”

She laughed. “I am very pleased with you, too.”

His expression was so open and unguarded that her heart turned over with longing. She leaned over to kiss him.

Then he said, “We’d best go into the house.” He grinned and reached over to pluck a piece of straw from her hair. “With any luck, we’ll make it to a bed next time.”

*   *   *

In the following weeks, their nights were filled with sensual exploration, but Rosamund rarely saw Griffin throughout the day. He had much in the way of business to attend to around the estate.

Rosamund occupied herself with setting the house to rights, a gargantuan task, far too great for three women to tackle. She’d discovered that while the estate workers largely remained, Griffin had dismissed half the household staff after his grandfather died. The other half had left of their own accord over the business of Mr. Allbright. They might serve him in the stables or on the land, but no one wanted to sleep in the same house with such a monster as Griffin deVere.

“What nonsense!” she said to Jacqueline as they walked in the village. “I cannot abide such narrow-minded prejudice.”

“Best keep your voice down, Rosie,” murmured Jacqueline. “There goes Mrs. Simpkins. She’s a neighbor of our friend Mr. Maddox, and the biggest gossip in the county.”

“Really?” Rosamund’s interest sparked. “My dear, come with me. I have an idea.”

She took Jacqueline’s arm, and they followed Mrs. Simpkins into the haberdasher’s shop. This excellent establishment sold all manner of materials, buttons, ribbons, and threads. Rosamund had already patronized the shop on numerous occasions, and she smiled and nodded to Mrs. Thorne as she walked in.