Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Page 14

  Damn it. He closed his eyes briefly and offered himself up to her. The sooner he let her check him, the sooner this could be over. Russell had learned quickly there was no arguing with Rosamunde.

  She ran her fingers over his ribs.

  He tensed his abdomen and forced himself to focus on a spot of wallpaper where birds flittered about the branch of a tree.

  “Does that hurt here?” she asked.

  “No,” he lied.

  Just being near her killed him. Cooking with her, living as though they were practically married, was draining him of every barrier he’d ever put in place. Rosamunde kept smashing through somehow, impressing him then enchanting him.

  “Rosamunde, I am fine, I promise.”

  “I wish you had said something. You should have rested.” She glanced up at him. “Perhaps you should take today to rest. I can quite easily—”

  “I don’t need rest.”

  He needed to be busy. Needed to put an end to their time together as swiftly as possible. Much longer with her and he had no idea what sort of a man he would turn into. She already tested his usually excellent self-control and he found himself wanting—no, craving—things he’d never wanted before. More dinners with her. More carriage rides together. The scent of her on his clothes, the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

  If he wasn’t careful, he would no longer be satisfied with the life of a wandering bachelor, and he could not afford to imagine there might be anything else for him. Their circumstances were too different, and nothing could convince him otherwise.

  “You have a tattoo.” She followed the faded pattern with a fingertip, her eyes wide.

  “A misspent youth.”

  “You have so many scars,” she murmured. Her finger traced down his side.

  “The war,” he muttered, flinching at her touch.

  “I have a similar one.”

  He lifted a brow. “I doubt you were sliced by the end of a bayonet.”

  “Well, no but it was a sword.”

  He shook his head, unable to keep the smile from curving his lips. “Of course it was.”

  “I challenged Cousin Joseph to a fight when I was twelve.”

  “And he won?”

  “Hardly.” She wrinkled her nose. “He mocked me, saying I couldn’t fight dirty, so I punched him. As he fell over, his blade caught my side.” She motioned to her ribs. “I doubt it was nearly as deep as yours, however.” She sighed. “I was never allowed near the armory again.”

  “Good.”

  She pressed a finger near his clavicle. “I have one here too.”

  “Let me guess, you challenged someone to a duel.”

  Rosamunde shook her head with a smile. “Nothing exciting. I fell from a tree and skewered myself on a branch.”

  “Skewered? Good Lord, woman.”

  She laughed and loosened her fichu to tug down the neck of her dress. “See, it goes from front to back?”

  He touched the puckered scar then turned her around to see the other side of it. “Christ, I bet that hurt.”

  She nodded. “Much more than the sword, especially when they had to pull it out.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t die of infection.”

  “I am lucky it did not hit anything important. And that my mother ever let me out of the house again.”

  He eyed her. “How is it a young, well-brought up lady found herself climbing trees and challenging cousins to sword fights?”

  “It was more exciting than embroidery or piano, I suppose.” She sighed. “I always did want more.”

  She moved marginally and he realized his fingers lingered on her skin. He snapped his hand away swiftly. But not quickly enough.

  MORE. SHE’D ALWAYS wanted more. Now, she wanted more, well, Russell. Wanted his fingers on her more, wanted him to look at her like that more. His gaze dropped to her shoulder then back to her lips then scanned her gaze. Her chest tightened and the room filled with this odd sort of thickness. Her skin tingled where he had touched it.

  Her gaze fell to his chest, to the scars littering his tight abdomen. A tiny trail of hair led down into his pantaloons. Her fingers twitched with the need to trace it. Only moments ago, she’d been touching his body, feeling his warm flesh. She needed to touch him more. Slowly, she reached out, landing on a tiny white scar not far from his hip. He drew in a breath between his teeth and she saw his muscles flex.

  “How did you get this one?” she asked softly.

  “Knife fight.”

  “And this?” She moved to a tiny round one, covering his heart.

  “When I was a boy. I don’t remember how.”

  She flattened her palm over it. How awful it must have been to be a child on the streets, struggling to survive alone. His heart beat fiercely against her palm. She longed to take the pain away from him, the pain that lingered in his gaze. The pain of the scars and the experiences.

  Russell put his hand over hers then tugged her fingers away. “Rosamunde,” he said.

  A warning.

  Well, she never listened to warnings before and she was not going to listen now. She tugged her fingers from his and splayed both hands over his chest. “Yes, Russell?” she murmured, lifting her chin.

  His gaze dropped again, and his lips parted. She wasn’t wrong, he wanted to kiss her. And she could not think of anything she wished for more.

  He lowered his head then paused, his gaze searching hers. Perhaps he expected her to retreat but she’d never been capable of surrendering and she would not start now. Kissing Russell was an adventure she craved almost more than anything, regardless of their suitability for one another, irrespective of whether he would want her again.

  His breath smelled minty and was warm upon her lips. She lifted her chin higher.

  He closed the gap in a rush, the sudden heat of his mouth making her cry out. His hands curved around her waist as if to hold her in place and prevent her escaping.

  As if she would ever wish to. His mouth slanted across hers and she moved her hands upward to grip onto his shoulders. He urged open her lips with his and swept his tongue into her mouth. Her legs trembled at the contact, her insides knotted. He held her firm and strong and as carried away as she was by his kiss, he kept her rooted. She tangled her tongue with his, over and over, losing herself to the sensations.

  His hand skimmed up and squeezed her breast through her bodice. She moaned against his mouth and moved into the touch, receiving it gratefully. He moved his fingers up then pressed them down, underneath her stays. She gasped when his fingers met her hard nipple.

  “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered, drawing back and flicking her nipple with his fingers. He ducked his head and covered her breast with his mouth.

  “Oh.”

  Her eyes widened at the heat and dampness. The sight of his dark hair against her skin made her body pulse. She splayed her hands over the taut muscles of his back and offered herself to him. He eased her other breast out and lavished attention there too, murmuring sweet words against her skin, sweet words she would never have expected to hear from such a stoic man. Talk of her beauty, how delicious she tasted, how much he craved her.

  He moved away from her breasts and down, dropping to his knees. She watched, wide-eyed, as he lifted her skirts and she heard him suck in a breath once she was revealed to him. She glanced in the mirror and a flood of dampness settled between her legs at the sight in front of her. Her breasts were revealed, rosy and wet from his kisses. Her skirts were hitched high. She couldn’t see Russell in the reflection, but his fingers were curled into the fabric of her gown. She had never seen anything so...so erotic.

  He lifted her skirts higher and moved between her legs. She felt the heat of his breath upon her tender flesh. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she held her breath and waited for that first touch. His tongue swept over her flesh in one swift movement and she cried out.

  “Oh my.” She gripped onto him tighter.

  Russell made a rumbling sound of ap
preciation, sending tiny tremors through her. He urged a leg up and over his shoulder then licked again. She tilted her head back and clung onto him for dear life while he licked and tasted and nibbled, running his tongue in circles around that sweet, sweet spot until she feared she would collapse. His hands curved over her bare rear, keeping her firmly against his mouth until the pleasure crescendoed and burst over her.

  Gulping down breaths, she closed her eyes and waited for the pleasure to dissipate while he licked gently, coaxing every ounce of it from her. Gradually, it faded, leaving her feeling as though she could sleep for a week. He eased away, dropping his grip from her rear then lowering her skirts and finally standing. He swiped a hand over his mouth.

  “No one...” She sucked in a breath. “No one has ever done that to me before.”

  His gaze took on that strange intensity that she never quite understood. He twisted away and splashed his face with water. “Gentlemen probably don’t do that to their wives,” he muttered.

  As he turned, his mouth stretched into a grim line. Rosamunde swiftly tugged up her bodice, feeling suddenly exposed.

  “I’m not a gentleman, if you recall,” he reminded her.

  “I do not...that is—”

  “I’ll be ready in a moment. Then we can get on with our search.”

  She tried to swallow the knot in her throat. She was no fool. She read what he was trying to tell her. He regretted making love to her with his mouth. It was a warning, a reminder not to get too close to him, not to let her imagination run away with her. Russell did not want her, and that wouldn’t change.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Rosie!”

  Russell paused in the hallway of the townhouse and peered down at the petite dark-haired woman.

  She giggled. “Oh, you are definitely not Rosie, Mr. Russell.” Mabel peered around him. “Where is she?”

  “I’m not certain, Miss Heston,” he muttered to her cousin.

  Truth be told, he had done his best to avoid her this morning. They had not broken their fast together and he had dressed with haste, intending to search Bath without her. They had already decided Rosamunde would call upon friends and acquaintances to see if anyone had heard from or seen Albert and he would search the gentlemen’s clubs and any less savory areas.

  So there really was no need for them to even see each other. He released a breath through his nostrils. Especially when he had seen far, far too much of her yesterday.

  She stepped around him, coming to the bottom of the stairs. “Rosie,” she called up the stairs. “Mabel is here.” She twisted. “Whatever have you done to my cousin?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped quickly. “That is, your cousin is perfectly well.”

  Confusion flitted briefly across her face then she smiled swiftly. “I only meant she is not normally late to rise.”

  He cursed inwardly. Neither of them had been late to rise. He half-wished he had been. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up with his face under her skirts and his tongue buried in...

  “She’ll be down in a moment.” He snatched his hat from the hat stand in the hallway. “Now, if you’ll—”

  Mabel stepped in front of him, hands to her hips. “Wait!” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you two alone here?”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  “Goodness me.” She ran her gaze up and down him. “You seem a good, dependable sort of a man, and my family likes you.” Her pursed lips broke into a smile. “Well, I like you too.”

  “Good, now if you’ll—”

  “But,” she lifted a finger, “I feel I must warn you, Mr. Russell, I do not wish to see any unsavory behavior toward my cousin.”

  “Unsavory?” he repeated.

  Like kissing her and touching her and tasting every inch of her? Unsavory like that? Because it was far too late to take back his behavior now, even if he wanted to. Which he did. Absolutely.

  Didn’t he?

  Christ, he couldn’t help thinking he’d take that moment to the grave with him, even if it was a huge mistake. What if he’d given her the wrong impression? He was a damned cad, touching her like that. Once more, he had proved to them both he was nothing more than a kid from the gutters in fine clothing. There was no disguising who he was at the heart of it all.

  “Rosamunde is a handsome woman. Not to mention clever and humorous,” Mabel said. “Many a man would be quite content to be in your shoes.”

  “Believe me, I—”

  She stepped closer, lifting her chin to view him. “I need to know what your intentions are toward my cousin.”

  He stared down at the little woman and groaned inwardly. What was it with this family and their utter pig-headedness? He could move her aside with a mere flick of a finger, yet she was trying to intimidate him?

  “I have no intentions.”

  “No intentions?”

  “None.”

  She shook her head. “Well, that isn’t possible. I have seen the way you look at her.”

  “It is entirely possible, I assure you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Heston, I am merely the hired help. I know full well there is no future for Rosamunde and me.”

  “Ah.”

  He didn’t want to ask. He shouldn’t ask. “Ah?”

  “You think you are not good enough for her.”

  “I did not—”

  She shrugged. “You are probably right. There are few men good enough for her. But I think she likes you.”

  “No.” He couldn’t let himself believe it. Even if she did like him just a jot, it was no good. The divide between them was enough to prevent anything happening between them but add in his inability to form relationships, and it was a disaster waiting to happen. He wasn’t willing to put Rosamunde through such a thing.

  “She had a rather miserable marriage, you know.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “I always hoped she would find someone more exciting, someone who would treat her like the wonderful person she is.” Mabel pursed her lips. “It could be you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Rosamunde is titled. Your family is wealthy,” he pointed out.

  “You are wealthy.” She nodded toward his waistcoat. “No one wears such buttons unless they have a large amount of excess wealth.”

  “I could be in debt.”

  “A man like you? No, certainly not.” She looked up at him. “You are a very in-control sort of a man. I know because my father is similar. I doubt you have ever had a debt to your name.”

  Good Lord, who was this woman? He had certainly underestimated Rosamunde’s cousin. Apparently quite a shrewd character hid behind the easy laughs and charming smile.

  She waved a hand. “Anyway, it comes down to this.” She pointed at him. “Rosamunde deserves all happiness.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good, so you will agree with me that you will not ever, ever hurt her.”

  He blinked. “Are you...threatening me, Miss Heston?”

  She released a laugh. “Oh, I suppose I am.”

  He inhaled slowly. “Well, I can assure you that I shall never hurt Rosamunde.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh good.” She tapped his arm. “Because I do like you, Mr. Russell, I really do. But you must understand, Rosie is almost like a sister to me and she deserves the world.”

  “I agree.”

  “Excellent.” She beamed at him. “I’m so glad we had this little talk.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Heston.” He put on his hat, dipped his head to her, then left swiftly before she could issue anymore threats.

  Which were entirely unnecessary. He wouldn’t hurt Rosemond, because he would never put himself in the spot of being able to do so. All he had to do was ensure he never touched her again. Easy enough, surely?

  THE SLAM OF the front door echoed through the house. Rosamunde scurried downstairs and paused on the bottom step, breathless. “Mabel, what a
re you doing here?” She eyed the closed door. “Did Russell leave?”

  Mabel nodded. “Quite abruptly too. Whatever did you do to the man?”

  “What did I do? I haven’t seen him since...” Heat rushed into her cheeks and she paused. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

  “Mama heard you were coming to Bath and decided we should join you. She wants to take a look at fabrics for the wedding whilst we are here, but I think there’s quite enough of a selection in London.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hope Mama does not choose something too old-fashioned.”

  Rosamunde glanced between her cousin and the closed door. She was not even certain what she would have said to Russell had she caught up with him. He’d been avoiding her since their, um, meeting this morning but she had at least hoped to discuss their plans for the day.

  And perhaps had a chance to gauge how he was after their...time together.

  He likely feared she would turn into some lovesick debutante who had never felt the touch of a man before.

  Well, she supposed that was not a wholly inaccurate description. She was no debutante, nor was she lovesick, but no man had ever touched her there before with his tongue, for goodness sakes. Even now, the warm flow of pleasure rung inside her, simmering through her insides and making her face warm.

  “Rosamunde?”

  She snapped her attention to Mabel. “Yes?”

  “I was asking if you two are alone here.”

  “Well...”

  “Goodness, I cannot wait until I am married. Being engaged has certainly afforded me a little more freedom but once I am married...” She grinned. “I shall be able to go anywhere and do anything.”

  “I’m not certain Hugh will wish to let you out of his sight.”

  Mabel squeezed her hands together. “Well, that is true. He is quite devoted to me and hardly wanted me to come to Bath for a few days, but I said you needed me, and you know he thinks highly of you.”

  “I’m perfectly well.”

  “Rosie, you are alone with Mr. Russell. I think even your mother will be a little scandalized by it.”

  “I hardly expected to be alone and you know Mrs. Lambert is unwell at present. It did not seem fair to bring her when I expected some of the family to be here.”