Page 17 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Seventeen

I n the early hours of the morning, the last of the guests departed the ducal estate. Nathaniel waved off Lord and Lady Smale, a distinguished couple in their sixties who relished an entertaining ball more than anyone else. Not that he could blame them for overindulging. The evening had been a resounding success.

Rosalind hiccupped at his side before she started up the stairs. Nathaniel turned to watch, giving himself even that little tidbit of pleasure if he could have nothing else. She wobbled and reached for the banister to steady herself and his concern grew. How much had she soused this evening? Was she foxed? He went to her, sensing she may fall and lucky he did so for she stumbled her footing not a moment later. He clasped her about the waist to prevent her from toppling backward and injuring herself.

"Here, let me help you to your room," he said as he scooped her up into his arms. It might not have been his wisest choice that evening, but once she was safely nestled against his chest, he could not regret the decision.

"Put me down, Your Grace. What will the servants think if they see you?" She giggled as she reached for his jaw, running her fingers over the stubble that had begun to grow. The feel of her touch sent a longing to slice through him that nearly tore him in two. He ground his teeth, unable to pull her hand away from his face.

"You're so handsome." Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, and he felt an overwhelming urge to bite it, to take her into his mouth and suck on her finger.

"Stop," he said through gritted teeth, quickening his pace so they might reach her room faster. "Do not be so familiar. Remember who we both are and where, my lady."

She chuckled, biting her bottom lip and sending heat coursing through his veins. His desire hardened him even further, and damn it to hell, he wanted nothing more than to bite her sweet, plump lip and kiss her into sin.

"I do not wish to remember who I am. Not tonight. Tonight has been a dream." She sighed, and her hand dropped from his face. "I have so many gentlemen admirers I do not know what to do with them all. Perhaps I ought to kiss each of them and see which one suits me best. "

Her bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Without thinking, he kicked it open and then, because the thought of her kissing anyone but him sent a red haze of fury to form before his eyes like that of a deranged mythical berserker, he kicked it closed behind him.

"The hell you'll kiss any of them. Not until they have courted you properly and proven themselves worthy of your hand will you ever have the liberty to be alone with them and kiss them," he declared. “Actually no, that will not happen. You shall only kiss one man, whoever has won your heart and will become your husband.” What had he been thinking? Certainly he wasn’t thinking straight.

He laid Rosalind gently on the bed that her maid had already turned down. She sighed and grinned at him as if she knew a secret he did not. She stretched, placing her hands above her head. The sight of her outstretched on her bed evoked an intimate vision where he could hold her hands hostage, take his fill of her while she cried out his name in longing. Begging him to give her more…

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

"I think Lord Issacs will be the best kisser of them all. Have you seen his lips, Nathaniel? So plump and juicy. And there is something about his eyes, they seem to shine with wickedness," she murmured with a mischievous laugh as she squirmed on the bed. "Oh yes, I do think he'll be my first and the one I judge all the others against."

Issacs? His friend? The hell she would do anything of the kind. "You will not." Before Nathaniel could think better of it, he found himself on the bed with Rosalind, pinning her arms above her head. His face hovered within a breath of hers. "Over my dead body will you act so rashly with any of the gentlemen who courted you this evening." So close to Rosalind, he could almost taste the champagne on her lips. The scent of jasmine teased his senses, and she smelled so good he could almost eat her.

She stared at him, mockingly. "You cannot stop me, Your Grace. You cannot watch me every second of every ball. And so what if they wish to kiss me?" She pouted, igniting a fire in his soul. "After our kiss, I have discovered that I enjoy the pastime and wish to do it more often than not. Who are you to stop me from having a little fun before I'm married? Are women not allowed to enjoy the same pleasures as men? Are we forever to miss out on what occupies the time of men of your ilk merely because we are female?"

"Yes, damn it, that is exactly what is to occur."

She rolled her eyes, her gaze dropping to his lips. "If I cannot kiss Lord Issacs or any of the other fine specimens of men you presented to me this evening, perhaps you ought to kiss me again so I can have my fill."

"Do not tempt me, Rosalind. You do not know what you ask."

She squirmed beneath him, and with horrifying clarity, he realized he was nearly completely atop her. He could feel the length of her legs, his cock twitched, and he had the sudden urge to press against her like some lovesick swain. Desperate for release.

Not entirely untrue…

"Do I tempt you, Nathaniel?" Her eyes darkened with need and the last tether to his restraint snapped. He released one of her hands and reached down with the other to grasp the hem of her hideous dress.

Meeting her eyes, he did not waver as he slowly slid the material, dragging his hand along the silk of her inner thigh until he reached the apex of her heat. She squirmed, pressing toward his hand before he covered her mons with his palm. A finger stretched down to tease between her folds.

She was wet. Gloriously so.

"Nathaniel…"

His name was a plea, and even though he knew he should stop, he could not change the course of his actions. He wanted her to know pleasure, not from some popinjay lord who could not distinguish one lady from another, but from him, by his own hand.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me that you do not want my touch," he said, offering her an out even as he knew what her answer would be.

"Touch me more."

He ached for her, so damn much. His rock-solid cock strained in his breeches, and he wanted to come. He wanted to spend himself in her, on her, wherever she would allow him.

But he would not. Not tonight, perhaps not ever. Yet he would give her release. That one pleasure he could allow himself—a single night in her arms.

Then he would stop. Stop the madness that raged within him. She was his ward, here to secure a proper and good husband, not some cretin who preyed upon a woman under the safety of his own roof.

Blast, he hated himself, and yet he could not stop.

Her moans of delight and urgent gasps spurred a madness within him that he could not restrain. There was something about being in her arms, giving her what she desired, that he could not deny. He did not want to refute her, even though it was wrong.

He slipped two fingers just inside her heat. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her nails scoring his skin.

"Deeper, Nathaniel. Do not tease me," she urged, her eyes heavy with need and burning with expectation. His stomach clenched as he pushed further.

"Mmmm." She licked her lips, closing her eyes in pleasure.

Jesus, he would come in his breeches.

"I want you," she gasped, pressing her body closer. "Stop teasing me so."

Slowly, he obeyed her command, unable to stifle the moan that burst forth. “Fuck you’re sweet.” He fondled her with his hand, giving her what she craved. He relished the feel of her tight cunny around his fingers, her spread legs inviting him further.

She was a marvel—the sweetest and most sinful woman he had ever known.

Rosalind threw her head back, and he felt the first contractions of her orgasm rip through her. He teased her nub with his thumb as waves of pleasure shattered over her body and danced across her face.

She was utterly breathtaking, stealing his wits and every part of him he had never known could be surrendered.

"Nathaniel, yes…"

He kissed her, needing to taste her on his lips as he wrung out the last of her pleasure.

"Do you like my touch, Rosalind?" he asked, desperate to hear her say it even once.

"Yes, and I want more."