To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)

“Yes, I drove out with him,” she said slowly.

“After I specifically asked you not to?”

Roslyn turned her head to stare at him. “You cannot possibly be jealous of Haviland.”

He wanted to deny it, but even to his own ears his tone held irritation and impatience. Curse it all, of course he could be jealous. Roslyn wanted another man. Lord, how he hated the idea.

Before he could reply, another wracking shudder ran through her, which only added to his growing ire. When she clenched her teeth together to keep them from clacking, Drew had had enough.

“Roslyn, my sweet, take yourself into the bedchamber and divest yourself of those wet garments before I do it for you.”

She eyed him for a long moment before giving an exasperated sigh. “You probably would, wouldn’t you?”

“Most assuredly.”

She didn’t quite stalk into the other room, but she was clearly not happy about having to obey his order.

During her absence, Drew took the opportunity to remove most of his own soggy clothing-his cravat and waistcoat and shirt-and hung them on wall pegs to dry. In the interest of propriety, he left on his drawers and breeches, no matter how cold and clammy they were, and crossed to the hearth to warm his chilled body before the growing blaze.

But even that, apparently, was too risque for Roslyn. When a brief while later she emerged from the bedchamber with her feet bare and a quilt wrapped around her shoulders, she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widened as she surveyed his partial state of undress, the blush staining her cheeks revealing her discomfort.

“I f-found a blanket for you,” she stammered. “You should cover yourself.”

“I will be happy to.”

When he made no move toward her, though, she slowly crossed to him and handed him the blanket. Drew draped it around his shoulders as Roslyn quickly turned away. His loins had hardened at the thought of her naked beneath that quilt, but when it parted slightly, he saw that she’d kept on her chemise, even though the lawn fabric was wet.

She was carrying her sopping gown and other undergarments, h

owever, and hung them on wall pegs before casting him a wary glance as if to ask, “Now what?”

Drew was very aware of the sudden tension in the air, just as he knew she was.

She was also still trembling with cold.

“Come warm yourself at the fire,” he said, feigning indifference.

She obeyed with obvious reluctance-and then jumped when he reached up touch her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Taking down your hair. It’s still dripping wet. You need to dry it if you hope to get warm.”

Her indecision was understandable; she couldn’t remove the pins from her hair and still keep hold of the quilt.

She stood stock-still while his fingers searched for the pins that held up the heavy gold mass, then smoothed the damp tresses down her back. “There, that should help.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing up at him.

Drew sucked in a sharp breath. The light thrown by the flames cast a golden glow over her beautiful face. She was temptation itself, and he wasn’t able to resist.

Slowly he lifted his hand to her face, letting his thumb trace her jaw.

“I th-think I had best make the tea,” Roslyn said shakily.

“The water isn’t hot yet.”

When he moved his fingers to her lips, she drew in a sharp breath, too. “You promised…” Her protest was no more than a whisper.

His smile was tender. “I said I wouldn’t ravish you, and I won’t.” But ravishment implies lack of consent, he added silently to himself, and I promise your consent won’t be lacking.