Page 66 of Sinfully Daring

“Don’t. Don’t be careful. I want you. I want you inside me now.”

Using her thighs, her hands, the angle of her hips, she urged him inside her. It was easy, her body so slick and ready that he slid inside with little resistance. Rosamund gasped all the same, very aware of how completely he had filled her. Sebastian groaned, tremors running over him like chills as he held himself still.

“Did I hurt you?” he demanded, but Rosamund only laughed and shook her head.

“No. No, you could never hurt me. Love me, Sebastian. Show me how it’s supposed to be.”

He did as she asked, worshipping her with his body, with his mouth and his hands, until Rosamund was so enraptured by him, so tangled up in him that she could not imagine how she would ever bear to be without him again.

“I love you,” she sobbed, the pleasure overwhelming, pulsing through her as he thrust harder and deeper and cried out, his powerful frame shuddering in her embrace while he came inside her in a searing rush.

She stroked his passion-damp skin as the orgasm shattered him, leaving him trembling and spent until at last he grew still, his breath rushing hot and ragged against her neck. He collapsed on top of her with a quiet moan.

Gradually he came back to himself, his gaze focusing on her, his eyes all dark spice and sated lust, and such tenderness that her breath caught.

“My love,” he whispered, his smile one of such joy her she felt her heart might burst.

“My love,” she replied, and kissed him again.

Chapter 17

Dearest Evie,

Good Lord, everyone is talking about Rosamund and Hargreaves. The scandal is upon everyone’s lips, every headline. How will they bear it? It is a relief to hear there are those who are defending Hargreaves, saying that he was always kind and decent, and that he would never do such an appalling thing, but there are still those who delight in all the salacious details.

As parliament is still in session anyway, we have all come back to town. We are armed and ready to attend the same events as they do and stand at their backs. Mrs Belvederes’ ball this evening is going to be an absolute crush as everyone attends to get a glimpse of them. Still, they will have Montagu and Bedwin at their backs, among others. They will not be alone, but I fear Rosamund will find it overwhelming. I do not envy her. It is enough to make me wish I were not out yet when I have fought so hard to be given the privilege. How terrifying it is though, for if someone as perfect and well behaved as Rosamund can get into such a dreadful scandal, what hope is there for me?

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Cara Baxter (daughter of Luke and Kitty Baxter, the Earl and Countess of Trevick) to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight)

17thJuly 1842, Mrs Belvedere’s Ball, Bloomsbury Square, Holborn, London.

“I feel sick,” Rosamund admitted as the carriage crawled towards the grand house and venue for tonight’s ball. The entire ton looked to have turned out, if the number of carriages cramming the roads were any indication.

“We don’t have to do this,” Sebastian said, taking her hand. “I can get the carriage to turn around and take us straight back to the hotel. We could have a nice little supper and go to bed early,” he added, his tone hopeful.

Despite the sick sensation roiling in her stomach, Rosamund smiled at her husband. Her husband! She still had not got over the delight of saying that—even to herself—and would readily have turned the carriage around if the circumstances were different.

“We can’t. It is the perfect opportunity to speak to Miss Morcombe for one, and for another, we must do this, Sebastian. It is not enough that we married, we must look them in the eye and show them we have nothing to be ashamed of. You did nothing wrong. It is no secret your marriage was an unhappy one, but you did her no harm. You did your very best for Adelia, and so now you must hold your head up high, and we shall discover who our friends really are.”

Sebastian stared at her, admiration shining in his eyes. “I could not be prouder of you. Very well then, wife. We shall stride in there as if they are lucky indeed to have our divine selves in their presence and anyone who doesn’t like it can go to perdition.”

“Exactly,” Rosamund said, still feeling as though she might cast up her accounts but determined to go through with it.

“Though, I have to say, love… I think we know very well who our friends are.”

Rosamund smiled and took a deep breath as the carriage finally rolled to a stop. “Yes. I think we do.”

By design, they had set off in convoy from Brown’s, the hotel Sebastian had booked them into, for the idea of returning to the house in which his wife had died and where he’d been so unhappy was more than either of them could face. So, everyone had rendezvoused outside the hotel before setting off for Bloomsbury, and the carriages ahead of their own carried Lord and Lady Montagu, Rosamund’s parents and her eldest brother, Jules, the Earl and Countess of Trevick and their daughter Lady Cara, the Earl and Countess St Clair, and Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight, with Evie and her younger brother, Felix. Already inside, Lord and Lady Bainbridge and Lord and Lady Roxborough waited with Rosamund’s older sisters, Lottie and Eliza, and their husbands, Viscount Oakley and Mr Demarteau. There had also been many letters promising support from friends, including Muir Anderson, Leo Hunt, Larkin Weston, the Earl and Countess of Vane, the Comte de Villen, Mr Barnaby Godwin, and Mr Cyril Hadley-Smythe.

The knowledge that they were not alone, that there were many people among the vast gathering who would not only lend their support but raise their voices against the awful gossip, gave Rosamund the courage to nod at Sebastian as he gave her one last enquiring look before getting out of the carriage. It was his presence, though—his hand reaching out for hers—that gave her enough fearless pride to raise her chin and step outside to face everyone else. He was her husband now. Hers. And no one would make her feel anything less than the most fortunate woman in the world. Never again would he stand alone in the face of gossip and scandal. She would stand with him and protect him as he protected her, no matter what it cost her to do it.

As soon as they turned to face the grand building, they found themselves flanked on all sides by their friends and family. Her father and mother had both dressed to the nines, making certain that there was no mistaking the fact they were the highest ranking peers attending that night. Lady Montagu also looked stunning, with the marquess at his arrogant best beside her, his ice-cold demeanour daring anyone to breathe a word in their direction.

Still, their friends could not protect them entirely. When they entered the ballroom, it grew eerily quiet. The moment didn’t last, and the murmur of scandalised whispering followed them about the grand ballroom like the buzzing of angry wasps, effectively chasing away the silence.

“Well, this is fun,” Lord Bainbridge said, his strident voice easily heard over the whispering and gossip. He gave Hargreaves a hearty slap on the back. “You remember how you said you’d cut your throat before causing Lady Rosamund the least bit of trouble—”

Sebastian paled.