She closed her eyes, drawing in a sharp lungful of crisp, damp dawn air.

  She held her eyes closed, waiting for her courage, her resistance, to resume control. He touched her, his hands taking her shoulder, first one and then the other, sliding to her neck, cradling her head. Then his lips touched hers for the briefest of kisses and slid away, burning a trail along her jaw line, to her ear. She shivered, though she didn’t feel the least bit cold in her wool cloak. Her internal temperature climbed swiftly as he made no move, his warm breath feathering her ear.

  “She’s quiet as a starless night, as still as waters deep.” He pulled away, meeting her gaze and holding it. His eyes were so dark as he held her stare, and he ran his thumb over her cheekbone and then her bottom lip.

  “What lurks therein, secrets? The bones of ships long sailed. Sailors entombed by a mermaid’s kiss?” He bent his head again, and Anne closed her eyes as he kissed her. This kiss was deeper. His lips molded to her mouth and held her captive for a moment, but then he pulled away.

  She didn’t know how she was still standing. She couldn’t feel her knees, but she could feel the savage heat that was spreading through her, an inferno of want and aching desire determined to consume her as she stood there, listening to his words and succumbing to them like a spell.

  She was entranced, held immobile by his dark stare, waiting for something—anything to happen.

  “I hear a siren’s call on the salty air, calling me to heel. You have speared my heart and before you now, I kneel.”

  And then he knelt before her, his head bowed into her abdomen.

  Anne bit back the urge to laugh. That last bit of his poem was rather terrible. But what could she say? No one had ever spouted poetry to her, not like this, not in such a devastating manner as he had, here in a private garden minutes before dawn. Never mind the bad poetry, she was lost to him, to the sheer wild romantic heart of hers that positively throbbed for him.

  She slid to her knees and cradled his face.

  “Roderick?”

  “I want to hold you, Anne.”

  She was already nodding her head before he finished. So he held her, and her heart danced a joyful reel, then he nuzzled her neck, and the kisses began again. Anne arched her neck, her skin burning for him.

  Their mouths clashed together, and a desperation Anne had never felt took hold of her. Her senses fled, and all she knew was that she needed more of everything, his lips, his hands, the firm pressure of his body as he pulled her tightly against him. They were a flurry of frantic motion. He whipped off his triple-caped coat off and spread it on the ground, and then he gently lowered her down. Anne’s heavy cloak became a nuisance, and she undid the strings from around her neck adding it to the layer of his coat beneath them. He came over her, taking her wrists and holding them above her head. Her heart pounded with exhilaration as he looked down at her, his eyes wild with passion and the glassy blue-green of the sea in the early morning light. Dawn was at last approaching, and she could clearly see his features, the smile creases bracketing his eyes, the stubble of his morning beard shadowing his jaw. It was the most intimate she’d ever seen him, a sight reserved for lovers and wives.

  With everything in her, she knew she wanted to be both to him, to be the only woman to tame his wicked heart and harness his unruly spirit.

  He let go of her wrists and held her face again as he kissed her. Anne took pleasure in bringing her greatest fantasy to reality and running her hands down his back, reveling in the feel of his hard muscles under her hands. Then she dug her fingers into his hair, unable to help taking a gentle tug of his silky light brown hair. He’d always warn it in such a devil may care way, softly curling locks just begging for her to run her fingers through and now she could.

  He groaned, and Anne felt a wave of triumph and glory. His kisses and touches became more frantic, pushing aside clothing and adjusting them. Anne arched her back as he ravished the tender skin of her neck with his lips and tongue.

  The friction of their bodies grinding together set her nerve endings alight, and she couldn’t help but squirm in return, answering the wants of her body, feeding the frenzy of desire. He parted from her for a moment, a flash of cold air separating them, but then he returned, and just as the inferno inside her built to a storm of furious sensation, a sharp sting between her legs startled her, and then Roderick was holding her, muttering beautiful words and sounds in her ear as he moved inside her. Her clawing need swiftly buried the pain. She shattered into raw bliss, slamming her eyes shut, sparkles of light filling the black void behind her lids. She cried out, a breathy moan she’d never heard herself make before, and Roderick did the same. Only then did he stop moving, shuddering above her, one hand cradling her head as he adjusted himself and fell to the side of her.

  Anne couldn’t open her eyes as she felt the wave of cool air on her cold legs. She pushed her skirts down, the overwhelming, heavy satiation that had claimed her only seconds ago quickly evaporating like beads of dew in the bright morning sun. Her breathing grew rapid as panic set in.

  Dear God, what had she done?

  She sat up, her heart pounding. Roderick lay beside her, thankfully his breeches fastened now, but he still looked every bit the seducer and she his seduced. His arm was thrown over his eyes, and he didn’t appear to be the least bit alarmed by their behavior.

  Her mind raced with the dozen different ways they would soon be caught, and she stood, urgently trying to fix her hair and clothing.

  When he still hadn’t roused, she nudged his arm with her booted foot.

  “Roderick,” she hissed. “We must leave this place at once and return separately to the house before we’re caught!”

  He didn’t move.

  She knelt beside him and shook him. His arm slipped from his face, and his eyes were still closed. He didn’t even grumble as she shook him again.

  “Roderick,” she said louder, still afraid someone might be up and about to hear. It was now light enough that surely the scullery maids had begun their chores. But Anne had no knowledge of when gardeners began their day. She shook him again, and then, in a fit of panic she slapped him. Still he did not wake, but his lips moved into a smile.

  “Not right now, darling. I need a few minutes of rest and then I’ll lick your cunny.”

  And then he belched.

  Anne bolted to her feet, pacing the patch of gravel beside him. Every second they were here was inching them closer to disaster. Her family would not survive a scandal such as this, a Marsden daughter deflowered in a garden? She hugged herself. She couldn’t be caught with him like this.

  Glaring down at him, she made a choice. He wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. He could be caught here alone and lose nothing but his pride. But Anne couldn’t. She yanked her cloak out from under him and wrapped it around her shoulders. He was now on his side, and she could hear a soft snore coming from him. She turned on her heel, shame and anger warring inside her, and a small stab of guilt. Would he be all right out there until he woke?

  Returning to the house, she came across a boy in the back hall carrying a pale of ash.

  “Please help. I went out for a quick walk, and I thought I heard someone calling for help from the walled garden. Can you please find someone to go look?”

  The boy nodded and took off back toward the kitchen. Anne sighed with relief and hoped that would be sufficient help for Roderick and they wouldn’t be linked together. The staff may speculate, but Anne would risk it. She couldn’t just leave him out there and do nothing.

  She returned to her room. Bernie was still asleep, and the scullery maid had not yet tended their fire.

  She began to shiver, the full enormity of what they’d done coming down on her now that she was safe in her room.

  They’d made love.

  Wild, carnal coupling on the ground and Anne had allowed it. She’d more than allowed it. She’s gloried in it, running her hands over his body, cherishing every hot lick of his tongue on her skin, every fevered kiss. Even now, just thinking of it brought a wash of heat to her skin, but cold hard reality quickly followed. She’d given her body to Roderick and she wasn’t sure what would happen now. The uncertainty made her stomach turn. All she could do was wait until she saw him again, and that wouldn’t be until they left in Chester’s carriage after breakfast.

  * * *

  Anne kept her gaze glued to the window of the carriage, her hands fisted around the blanket. Bernie and Chester carried on with their usual bickering, but Anne could feel Bernie’s curious glances.

  Her temples throbbed with every turn of the wheel, and her stomach revolted at the gentle sway of the lavish carriage. Roderick was absent from the carriage, and Anne didn’t have the courage to ask why.

  She swallowed, her brow feeling damp.

  “Anne, are you all right?” Bernie asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Bernie replied. “You look rather green.”

  Anne met their concerned regard, their matching frown almost comical.

  “We can stop the carriage, or even return to Ablehill castle if you are unwell,” Chester said.

  Lord Chester, though just as handsome as Roderick, was the antithesis to that blasted rogue. He’d been the self-proclaimed protector of the Marsden women for years now. He watched over them like a mother hen, especially Bernie. Anne had always wondered if perhaps there was something deeper there, but Chester never stepped out of line. His father, the Marquess of Kirkland, was much like Roderick’s father. He only tolerated the presence of the Marsden women as long as they knew their place as poor gentry. Chester was responsible, caring, the truest of friends. She didn’t know where her family would be without his support.

  “I’m fine,” Anne repeated.

  “Well, I’m not,” Bernie retorted. “Just looking at you makes me want to forfeit my accounts. Stop the carriage, Chester.”

  He hastily rapped on the roof and the carriage swerved to the side of the road. Chester hopped out and assisted Bernie and then Anne.

  Cool air buffered her face, and she immediately felt better. She would not lose her breakfast as Bernie has said she might. She hadn’t had any breakfast. She returned and washed before Bernie woke. And then pretended to sip tea in their room while Bernie said goodbye to Violet. All the while, she had no idea where Roderick was. Still unconscious in the garden? Had he roused himself and returned to his room? Was he dead?

  They climbed back into the carriage after Bernie proclaimed herself revived, and Anne sat gingerly, the tenderness between her thighs an unwelcome reminder of her terrible judgment and weakness.

  She huddled under the blanket again, Bernie beside her.

  Her cheeks filled with warmth. She could still feel him, the drag of his lips along her throat, his hands tangling in her hair like a man starving and she his only nourishment.

  She’d been so lost in his touch and fevered kisses that she hadn’t realized how desperate she’d become for him. Her own needs rising like a rogue wave and sweeping her away, up to heaven. But then she’d swiftly been tossed down again.

  His words, the emotion in his touch. Had it all been a lie? She wouldn’t know until she saw him again, and yet she was afraid to face him. That torrid moment had changed her, revealing everything she’d felt for him for years now, and yet she didn’t know what it meant to him at all. Because as always, he’d been drunk. But he hadn’t seemed drunk at first, he seemed different, raw, vulnerable even.

  And now she would have to wait to know what would happen next. Roderick was a rake, but he knew not to dally with an innocent like her. There was only one outcome after what they’d done.

  Marriage.

  She was going to marry Lord Roderick Andrews. At that thought, her heart took off like a quail startled from a bush. She couldn’t name all the bubbly emotions inside her. She shouldn’t get ahead of herself.

  It was out of her character to leap at fantasy, but this couldn’t all be fantasy. Regardless of how their intimacies ended, they’d still made love, and that meant he would marry her. He may be a rogue of the worst sort, but surely he wasn’t so blackhearted as to take her virtue—a woman he has known all his life—and leave her ruined. Anne refused to believe it of him. He would never be so cruel as that.

  Chapter 7

  Roderick woke in his bed, his head throbbing, his mouth dryer than wool. He winced as he sat up, blindly reaching for the glass of water some servant who had helped him to bed must have left him. His fingers touched cool glass, but the result was not a good grip, and the glass fell to the floor, shattering. The sound lanced through his temples and he grabbed his head, collapsing back onto the bed. Outside of his own agony, he heard a heavy sigh.

  “Is this how you end every evening brother? Not at all very dignified, having a footman drag you through the grass. I thought you’d pissed yourself, but no. It was only morning dew.”

  Weirick.

  His brother’s words raked over the tender parts of his brain with calloused fingers.

  “Good god. Don’t you have something better to do this morning than torture me?”

  “I certainly do. I could be in bed with my wife as I wish to be, but I was summoned due to my brother’s grave condition.”

  “Since when is being drunk a grave condition,” Roderick said with a sneer that hurt the muscles of his face. He really needed that water.

  He heard the scuff of his brother's footfalls, and then the blessed sound of another glass being filled.

  “Someone reported you calling for help from the walled garden and a footman found you face down in the gravel. He thought you were dead at first. But then you belched in his face.”

  Roderick held out his hand for the glass of water with his eyes still closed. He wouldn’t make excuses for having a rousing good time the night of his brother’s wedding. His fingers wrapped around the cool glass, and he slowly brought it to his lips, careful not to spill a drop. Pure liquid heaven met his mouth, washing away the grimy taste of dirt and foul film on his tongue. He drank greedily.

  “Careful or you’ll see that water again,” Weirick said.

  “I never vomit. It’s a true gift for such an experienced drinker as I. I’ve worked it all out over the years.”

  “You sound proud of that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” Roderick slowly opened one eye. “What time is it?” Light filled the room and pierced his eye with painful precision.

  “Half past ten,” Weirick said.

  Roderick gulped down more water and lay back against the pillows with a sigh. A few more hours of sleep would see him well again.

  “You were meant to return home with Chester, Anne, and Bernie. Or did you forget?” Weirick prodded him.

  “Chester can manage them without me,” Roderick muttered. He'd looked forward to four hours of staring at Anne and engaging her in conversation since she wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

  Oh, Anne.

  Just the thought of her soothed his pounding head. His body responded, blood warming, his stiff heavy limbs relaxing, and other parts of him growing firmer.

  “Leave me. I need to sleep this off.”

  “Before you begin again?”

  Roderick grimaced. He wanted his brother out so he could indulge himself with thoughts of Anne, but his brother need not know that.

  “I’m a rake. Drinking is what we do.”

  “No, Roderick.” By the sound of his voice, he was moving toward the door, no doubt with a disappointed scowl.

  “You’ve gone beyond that. You’ve an unhealthy thirst now. And if you don’t stop, it will kill you.”

  Such a warning did not hamper his ardor though. The warm and inviting Anne in his mind was stronger than that.

  “Warning headed. Now go.”

  The door slammed, splitting Roderick’s head in two. He groaned as he held his skull until the pain eased. That sufficiently killed his erection.

  He rolled to his side, the world tilting, and fought the sensation that he might roll off the bed. He’d begun many mornings like this. He enjoyed the spinning lightness and returned his mind to thoughts of Anne. He slipped his hand inside his breeches to see if he could summon his earlier intention and found himself somewhat sticky, as if…

  Had he been with a woman last night?

  He scoured his mind, but things grew fuzzy during the wedding ball. He remembered Weirick and Violet dancing, teasing Chester about his hovering over Bernie, and something else…

  With a jarring bolt of memory, he recalled tugging Anne into an empty room and—dear god he had kissed her, quite soundly too. In his mind, he could still feel her under his hands, the softness of her dress, the heat of her skin beneath the material.

  Her lips. Her lips.

  He’d at last tasted her lips, so soft and pliable beneath his. She’d tasted like forbidden fruit, light and sweet, like fine champagne. She'd kissed him back. That, he did remember. She'd clung to him, her body writhing against him, frantic in its search for relief.

  Was it her first kiss? Most likely. Roderick couldn’t stop his triumphant grin. Her first kiss and it was all his. Her first taste of desire. They all belonged to him now. But it was after that things got fuzzy. He couldn’t remember exactly what happened.

  Ah, yes. He'd said something utterly stupid and she'd stormed off.

  That was what usually happened.

  He could make most women melt at his feet, but Anne Marsden had never been one of them. Try as he had through the years to impress her, or simply annoy her just to keep her attention on him, he could never succeed. But that kiss...

  That kiss.

  Proof she was not immune to him as she pretended to be. She was not a woman to easily give liberties. She’d enjoyed that kiss.

  Now all Roderick had to do was make another happen again, and then another and another. Only then would he be able to break down her barriers and show her how much more there could be between him. Because Roderick had learned one important lesson from his brother’s attempt to marry him off.