Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

Dutch courage was the order of the day, and mine host had some fine Irish whiskey. Two shots and he was ready for his own bed, which, unfortunately, was up those stairs, too close to Miss Jane Pagett for comfort. He considered a chair by the fire again, but the night was warm and he was restless and told himself he needed a bed He did.

He needed her bed.

He made his way up the stairs, trying to keep quiet. There were three doors on the upper landing, and two of them were open. He chose the smaller one, closing the door quietly behind him before opening the window to the soft night air. He groaned as he sat down on the narrow bed and began to remove his boots. God was out to torment him, sure and proper. Here he was, trying to be a decent human being for a change, and he got to share the floor of a tiny bloody inn with the love of his life. If he were a hard-drinking man and she was a glass of whiskey, just out of reach, he’d feel the same way. Ready to cut his own throat.

He dumped his coat and vest on the floor, then used the cold water to wash up as best he could before putting his loose shirt back on. The bed sagged in the middle, and he lay down in the

middle of it. It was lumpy, but he’d slept in worse, and as long as he didn’t think about Miss Jane.

He heard her. She was crying. There were any number of things he could resist, and he’d never been overly fond of weeping women, but Jane was different. He could no more lie there and listen to her cry than he could fly to the moon.

He climbed out of bed, calling himself every kind of name. He opened his door, and there was sudden silence from behind the closed one, as if she’d heard him.

He should go back in his own room and close the door.

And he knew he wasn’t going to.

He didn’t even bother to knock. He simply pushed open her door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

She was a shadow in the bed in the middle of the room. She’d opened her window as well, and he could feel the soft spring breeze. She froze, looking at him, and he couldn’t see more than the glitter of her tear-filled eyes in the moonlight.

Ah, to hell with noble plans. Even if she’d come through this with her reputation unscathed he wasn’t going to give her up and he knew it. He crossed the room to her, caught her face in his hands and kissed her. She let out a quiet sob.

“Miss Jane Pagett. I’ve been trying my damnedest to be a gentleman, when I’ve been wanting to kiss you so badly my hands shake with it, but I knew if I kissed you I’m going to end up doing far worse to you, and …”

“Far worse?” she echoed.

He couldn’t smother his laughter. “Well, I’d be trying to make it something glorious, but either way, it’s nothing I should be doing to you at all, and you know it. I’m not for the likes of you. ” He could at least try to do the right thing. Sitting down on the bed beside her wasn’t a very good start, but he did so anyway.

“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “You don’t want me. ”

“Oh, Lord, love,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his erection. “Do you have any idea what this is?” She jumped, and he expected her to pull her hand away as if she’d touched a poisoned snake, so to speak. But she didn’t. Her lovely little fingers danced along the stiffening ridge in his breeches, and he let out a choked gasp.

Author: Anne Stuart

“Christ, Janey!” he said, removing her hand himself. “Don’t do that! It’s dangerous to a man’s behavior. ”

She sat very still in the bed, as if she were considering all this. “I know what that is. So you do want to kiss me. And you want to put that inside me. ”

Bloody hell. “Lass, you can’t imagine the things I want to do to you. I want to take you to bed and not let you out for days. I want to take you every way I can, so hard that neither of us can walk. I want you in my bed and in my life, for the rest of my life, and if you don’t want to believe it you can check your hand. ”

“My hand?” she echoed, confused. She looked down, and saw the huge, winking diamond on it. “When did you do that?”

“Just now, love. You’re mine, Miss Jane Pagett, and you know it, too. I was just trying to be polite about it. ”

She appeared to consider this for a moment. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and he hated to think he’d caused her pain. He held still, but her hand was still on his John Thomas, and she was absently stroking it.

“Prove it. ”

“Prove what?” he said, confused, doubtless as much by what her hand was doing as by what she said.

“Prove that you really want me. ” She moved her hand then, and he wanted to beg her to put it back. Instead she pushed down the covers, and she was lying there in nothing but her shift. “If you want me, ruin me. And then we won’t have any other choice. ”

He hadn’t had a better offer in his entire life, but he still hesitated. “I don’t know as I’d call it ruined, lass…. ”

She reached up, grabbed his shirt in two fists and pulled him down to her. “Please,” she said.

“Now how can I refuse you when you ask so politely?” he said, covering her body with his, letting her see what she was getting into. She didn’t flinch, and he caught her mouth and kissed her, as slow and as hard and as deep as he had that night so long ago.