She lay there in his arms, fitting perfectly.
Drew shut his eyes, his fingers playing in idle circles over the heated silk of her skin as he pondered the remarkable effect she had on him. Surely his softer feelings for her would fade in the cold light of day. Yet he knew his hunger wouldn’t easily be sated. His loins were already hardening again, his arousal swelling.
But he couldn’t make love to her so soon. Even though he’d unleashed her passion, taking her virginity could not have been entirely pleasant for her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
She gave a soft sigh. “No. Not as much as I expected. Fanny said it might hurt the first time.”
He would make it much better for her the next time, Drew vowed. It was a matter of pride with him, pleasing his lovers, but in this case, it was imperative. He intended to keep Roslyn so contented, she would never want to leave his bed.
He didn’t like it, therefore, when she gave another sigh that was full of resignation. Drew pulled back to gaze at her. Seeing her grave look, he realized how badly he wanted to soothe away the crease between her eyebrows. “I don’t want you to regret this, Roslyn.”
Unable to answer, she buried her face in his shoulder again, her body still quivering with lingering bliss, her mind awash with chaotic emotions. She’d been awed by the sheer wonder of his lovemaking. What shocked her, though, was how eagerly she’d surrendered. She’d been gripped by a desire so overwhelming she could have wept for it.
Her throat was tight now. Arden had awakened her to stunning passion, the kind she had never let herself dream of. It was no wonder women fought to share his bed. He was just as magnificent as she’d been warned.
It wasn’t his carnal expertise that was so devastating, however; it was his tenderness.
Shutting her eyes, Roslyn savored the feeling of being held in the warm shelter of his arms. The rain had slowed to a patter, while the wind had died down to a low moan, yet she didn’t want to leave. Nor did she want to face the enormity of what she had done.
She had given him her innocence.
She ought to have profound regrets, since she had spoiled all her long-held plans for good. She would not be marrying Lord Haviland now. Gentlemen expected to wed virginal brides, and she was no longer virginal.
Strangely, however, she wasn’t as devastated as she should be. Perhaps because she had already determined that she didn’t want to wed Haviland.
But where she stood with the duke was still very much at issue. She suspected that he intended to renew his marriage proposal. She’d seen the satisfaction that blazed in his face when he was taking her-
A sharp rap on the cottage door made Roslyn give an abrupt start, while Arden tensed. When the pounding knock sounded again, he quickly disengaged himself from their embrace and flicked the quilt over her near nakedness before rolling to his feet.
“Go into the bedchamber,” he directed as he buttoned the front placket of his breeches. “I’ll send whoever it is away.”
But he was too late. As he draped the blanket around his shoulders and turned toward the door, it swung wide open.
The portly gentleman who bustled in froze upon seeing the cottage occupied, his gaze shifting from Arden to Roslyn, who had just stood up.
Recognizing Squire Goodey, one of the largest owners of farmland in the district, Roslyn wanted to sink through the floor. She had managed to pull up the bodice of her chemise to cover her bare breasts and had wrapped the quilt tightly around herself, but her hair was a bedraggled mess and her bare feet were clearly showing, not to mention that most of her clothing hung drying on wall pegs alongside the duke’s.
The squire’s eyes widened in shock when he recognized her in turn. “Miss Loring! Whatever-”
Arden stepped in front of her to shield her from view, yet Roslyn could see the squire’s already florid complexion grow a deeper shade of scarlet upon his comprehending that he’d interrupted a lovers’ tryst.
“Your g-grace… Do f-forgive me,” he stammered.
“Mr. Goodey, is it not?” the duke said smoothly. “I believe we met at the Haviland ball last evening.”
“Aye, sir…your grace. I didn’t meant to…The Missus and I came across a curricle in the road and then saw smoke coming from the chimney, so I came to investigate. She is waiting in the carriage-”
But apparently that wasn’t the case, for a plump matron appeared in the doorway, shaking off drops of rain from her cloak. “Ralph, whatever is keeping you-Oh, my word!”
Roslyn wanted to die and to curse at the same time. What a dreadful misfortune, to be discovered by Mrs. Goodey of all people. The squire’s wife was the biggest gossip between London and Richmond. She fancied herself a leader of local society and had always looked down her rather large nose at the Loring sisters, not only for the past scandals in their family but for having to earn their daily bread by teaching at an academy for daughters of the lower classes.
Guilty of putting on airs far above her own station, the Goodey woman couldn’t even recognize her hypocrisy. She’d been the first to fawn over the new Earl of Danvers, and professed to be glad to welcome his wards back into the fold of the Beau Monde.
Now she seemed gleefully appalled to see Roslyn looking as wantonly disheveled as she did. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline at the titillating ignominy of finding the most reserved and refined of the Loring sisters causing a new scandal. “Miss Loring…I cannot believe my eyes.”
Roslyn felt her stomach clench into knots as reality returned with a vengeance. The dreamlike moment she had shared with Arden had shattered in a thousand fragments.
Knowing her ruin was inevitable, she decided it was time to stop hiding behind the duke, and so stepped forward, her head held high. “How fortunate that you have come to our rescue, Mrs. Goodey. We were stranded here by the storm when his grace’s curricle suffered a broken wheel.”
“I can see that,” the squire’s wife said, her tone gloating.
Arden fixed her with a quelling glance. “You will do me the courtesy of keeping this unfortunate incident to yourself, Mrs. Goodey. Miss Loring has consented to be my wife, and I don’t wish my duchess’s reputation to suffer. You understand, of course.”
His startling pronouncement had the desired effect: The matron’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
Even realizing his purpose-to shut up the nosy woman by giving her a more juicy tidbit to chew on-Roslyn froze in dismay and only just managed to keep her own jaw from dropping.
She certainly was in no position to deny the betrothal, however, so she merely forced a smile to her lips. “I admit I was quite surprised by his grace’s offer myself,” Roslyn murmured. “You are the first to hear of our betrothal, Mrs. Goodey. But perhaps you will be kind enough to keep the news secret until I have had the opportunity to inform my family and close friends.”
The squire answered for her. “Of course, Miss Loring. My wife won’t mention a word of any of this, will you, dear? We wouldn’t want your little mishap to be misconstrued.”
His wife looked a little indignant and mulish, but the squire ignored her. “Pray, how may we be of service, your grace?”
Arden offered him a bland smile. “Now that the storm has passed, I would like to take Miss Loring home, so a loan of a vehicle would be welcome. And I must arrange proper care for my horses-they’re stabled in the shed-and have a wainwright fetched to repair the wheel.”
“Leave everything to me, your grace.” The squire bowed deeply. “I will take the Missus home and send our carriage back to you, to use at your leisure. And my servants will see to your curricle wheel and horses.”
“Thank you, Goodey,” the duke replied. “I will be greatly indebted.”
“Think nothing of it, your grace.” He took his wife’s plump elbow. “Come, dear, we must give this betrothed couple some privacy,” the squire insisted, before ushering the sputtering lady out of the cottage and firmly shutting the door behind him.
Chapter Twelve
