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8
Bram sat back against the fine leather squabs of his carriage as it pulled away from Lady Richardson’s home. Aroused. Frustrated. Annoyed. Rosalind was incredibly fortunate he hadn’t locked them both in the dining room and compromised her. Loudly. With witnesses.
Patience.
But Bram wanted so much more than to simply ruin her.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the hardened length of his cock to stand down. Rosalind wanted him to seduce her—which Bram would gladly do—butnotwed her. She was a stubborn, confounding woman. And her opinion of him, as a man dishonorable enough to bed her and not marry her along with him being far too old and having had a past, obviously hadn’t improved much with his generous offer of the custard recipe.
Bram slammed his palm down on the leather.
There had once been a time when he would have beenthrilledat the knowledge that a young lady, one he desired as much as Rosalind, wanted nothing from him other than to be seduced and properly ravished with no further expectations. She thought of him as a friend, and nothing else.
Friends.Bram snorted in derision.
Friends did not speak of food in erotic terms, unknowingly or otherwise. Or pretend to adore cherries when they both knew it was Rosalind’s nipples Bram was actually considering. Nor would a merefriendlick custard off his damned fingers while mimicking having his cock in her mouth.
Where had Rosalind learned about such a thing? Because it was clear, after watching her nibble the cherry off his finger—
A grunt of frustration left him, compounded by the insistent, unrelenting throb of his cock.
The entire direction of his otherwise peaceful existence had been altered by one plump, pastry-making young lady. One he hadn’t wanted originally but who now consumed his thoughts. Had he not attended Granby’s party, Bram might have missed Rosalind entirely and settled for a more convenient, less bold young woman who didn’t have such a luscious mouth. One who he could have forgotten after begetting an heir. A girl whom Bram wouldn’t have wished to be his companion as well as his lover.
He'd never wanted a woman to be his companion. Not even Lizabet.
That’s why he’d gotten a dog.
Bram’s desire for Lizabet, up until he’d realized she enjoyed bedding every man in London but him, paled in comparison to the way his entire body seemed to curl in arousal at the mere sight of Rosalind.
Dear God.Rosalind inspired the most erotic visions. He often imagined dribbling chocolate over her naked form, which he would then lick off every inch of her skin. Now he had the image of her sucking on his finger to add to it.
Today, when Bram had seen her standing at the dining room table, proudly displaying the custard for his approval, he’d found himself...longingfor her. It had caused a physical ache. And not just in his cock.
Bram slapped his palm against the seat in frustration once more. He was in a trap of his own making. One built of patience and not only for Rosalind’s sake, but his own. He didn’t care for the subterfuge being practiced, but neither did he want Rosalind to end up hating him. Another union as he’d had with Lizabet would be untenable for Bram. ButforcingRosalind to do anything would be a mistake. She would be resentful of having her choice taken from her.
Yes, but you’ve already taken her choice.
His fingers drummed on the leather.
He had. He’d probably regret doing so.
But Bramcouldn’tallow Lady Richardson to continue to toss Rosalind at a series of unsuitable gentlemen, not when he meant to have her. Not only was it humiliating for Rosalind, but the idea of another man even taking her arm made Bram long to punch something. None of them appreciated her as he did. Lady Richardson didn’t understand, but she had agreed Bram could handle things as he saw fit.
His chest tightened right over the area of his heart. Now that organ throbbed in tandem with his cock, and Bram willed it to stop. He would need to make arrangements for a box of oranges to be sent to Rosalind later today so she could make the sponge cake. Bram prayed, as he rarely did, she would perfect the damned cake sooner than she had the custard.
In the meantime, Bram meant to pay a visit to Mr. Rudolph Pennyfoil.
It hadn’t been difficult to find the identity of Rosalind’s business partner. Taking a hack from her home and allowing the driver to drop her a block away from Pennyfoil’s establishment, then walking down the alley to enter a back door wasn’t incredibly secretive. Rosalind hadn’t so much as looked over her shoulder as she’d knocked on the door for entry.
Careless of Rosalind. Reckless. Much like licking the custard from his fingers in Lady Richardson’s dining room. Or raising her skirts so Bram could trail his hand along the curve of her knee.
A groan left him at the memory.
Bloody hell.
Bram rapped on the top of the carriage. “Take me to Hagerty’s,” he instructed his driver.
A few rounds in the boxing ring were sure to take his mind off Rosalind. It was difficult to stay aroused when you were being pummeled. If he were lucky, Bram would return home in a few hours, a little worse for the wear but with a head clear of amorous thoughts.
He’d be bruised. Sore. But nothing that a snifter of brandy and a hot bath wouldn’t fix. And his mind blissfully not on Rosalind.
