Secluded with the Rogue

22. Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

S HE’D SAID YES . He was going to marry Chrystabel.

Holy Hades, how would he keep his hands off her now? They’d been sitting on a bed, for heaven’s sake. A bed .

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he returned, his own whisper filled with wonder. He could scarcely believe he didn’t know her four days ago. “I love you, too.”

“Oh, my God, Joseph—we’re betrothed. We’re betrothed!” Her whisper was infused with glee. She was adorable. Even when he couldn’t see her, she was adorable. “You said you would kiss me if I said yes.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He came up off his knee and sat again beside her, turning to gather her into his arms, suddenly grateful that his surcoat was gone when he held her close. Through his thin waistcoat and his thinner lawn shirt, he fancied he could feel her heart beating. When he kissed her, she released a blissful sigh.

Keeping himself in check, he kissed her shoulder and her forehead and her throat, because that felt safer than kissing her mouth. He trailed his lips over her soft, fragrant skin. Her carefully crafted perfume assaulted his senses. For the past few days, just a whiff of that scent had sent his pulse to racing, and now he could hardly fathom that he was here all alone in a priest hole with his irresistible Chrysanthemum.

And they were betrothed.

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he went back to kissing her mouth. Her lips were simply too tempting. She felt so warm against him, and so soft, her curves melding to his body, her mouth tasting so right . He wished he could kiss her forever. Or at least his head wished he could kiss her forever.

Other parts were telling him that would never be enough.

“When shall we be married?” he asked, coming up for air.

“Hmm?” She sounded dazed. He felt her hand come up and search in the dark for his shoulder, then skim over to the back of his neck. Finding his nape, she curved her fingers around it and pulled his mouth back to hers, and they kissed for another long, exciting minute.

Too exciting. He couldn’t take this. He broke the kiss and released her. When that wasn’t enough distance, he moved apart from her and sat up straighter.

“Joseph?” she whispered. “Where did you go?” He heard her patting the bed, looking for him. When her hand found him, she crawled over and moved in back of him, kneeling on the pallet and hugging him from behind. Or at least he thought she was kneeling on the pallet—he wished he could see her. “Come back,” she whispered, trying to pull him down on the bed with her. “I’m not finished kissing you.”

“When shall we be married?” he asked again. “Tomorrow?”

Their wedding couldn’t come soon enough for him. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her with a clear conscience.

“Not tomorrow.” Wafting from behind him, her sigh felt warm by his ear. “I want a church wedding. We’ll have to wait three Sundays for the banns to be called.”

“Three Sundays? Three weeks? Wait, that’s more than three weeks, isn’t it?” It seemed a lifetime. “I want to be wed tomorrow. Church weddings aren’t legal anymore, anyway.”

“They’re not illegal , either. They’re allowed—they just don’t count as far as the government is concerned. We can be wed by a Justice of the Peace in the morning to satisfy the law and then have a church wedding in the afternoon. Our marriage won’t feel real to me if it’s not blessed by the church.”

“Very well,” he grumbled. He certainly wanted her to feel really married.

But more than three weeks seemed a long, long time.

Not a lifetime—a lifetime and a half.

Catching him off guard, she grabbed him tighter and managed to pull him down beside her. “Can we kiss again now?” she asked.

He quietly laughed and kissed her again. And kissed her and kissed her, until he realized he was now lying half on top of her, which was not a good idea. He wasn’t a fust-cudgel like his father, but he knew right from wrong. With a wistful sigh, he broke the kiss and pulled her upright again.

Chrystabel’s little sound of frustrated disappointment matched his own feelings all too well. He reached out to hold her, but she broke free. He felt her moving beside him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking off my shoes.” He heard two soft thumps as they hit the floor. “It feels wrong to lie in bed wearing shoes.”

“We’re not in bed, we’re on a bed.” He was thankful for that. “And it’s not even a bed, really.”

It wasn’t comfortable—it was just a thin, straw-filled pallet on top of a low wooden box that someone had probably built in the last century. Which was just as well, because God only knew how far he’d be tempted to take things on a real bed.

He heard some rustling. “What are you doing now?”

“Removing my garters, so I can take off my stockings.”

“I’m not sure you should do that.”

“Why not? Do you usually wear shoes and stockings in bed?”

“I told you, it’s not a bed.” The little rustling sounds continued. Mentally picturing her removing her garters, he swallowed hard. “You’re not going to take anything else off after the stockings, are you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Good.”

“Well…” She paused so long he began wondering what was happening in her head. “Do you want me to take off more?”

Oh, he wanted her to, all right.

“No,” he said, and then, “yes, but no.” He forced a whispery laugh. “I fear we shouldn’t be alone like this.”

”Perhaps not.” She shifted, and he felt as if she were looking at him in the dark, evaluating his mood, his intentions. Which was impossible, of course. It was pitch-black. ”But I’m glad for it,” she added in a breathy whisper. “I like being alone like this.”

Joseph was finding it hard to breathe.

He knew she was innocent—he’d been the first man to kiss her, for heaven’s sake. But did she have to be so innocently seductive? How was he supposed to resist her when she was shucking clothing left and right?

He felt movement beside him and figured she was rolling down her stockings. Picturing that wasn’t helping his breathing any.

“Oh, that feels so much better.” He could hear the smile in her voice and imagined her wiggling her toes. He’d never seen her toes, and he couldn’t see them now, but he envisioned them all pink and pretty and stopped breathing altogether.

“Let me help you with your shoes,” she whispered.

Not sure he could stand her help, he leaned over and tugged them off before she had a chance. His stockings followed. He finally blew out a breath.

Her soft chuckle made him wonder if she knew what she was doing to him.

Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought.

When he straightened again, she leaned close and managed to find his lips with hers. Her mouth was so sweet, it took all he had to keep from tearing her gown off then and there. He was tired of fighting with himself. Forgetting that they shouldn’t be lying horizontal together, he found himself drawing her down to the pallet again.

Or maybe she drew him down. He wasn’t sure.

And lost in the moment, in the pleasure of her mouth on his, he didn’t care.