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Mortification filled her. Torrington had visited her cousin, the Duke of Averell. Told him Rosalind had allowed herself to be compromised in a kitchen. Tony had always praised Rosalind for being the only level-headed member of their family. The one least likely to do something disastrous.
Yes, well, it seems I’ve lost that distinction.
“I didn’t give the duke details, of course,” Torrington continued. “I’m not one to carry tales. I didn’t mention a word about how you visited me wearing no corset or underthings, though I’m certain he wouldn’t have been completely surprised. He’s surrounded by bold women. In case you’re wondering, the duke and I are previously acquainted. I’m a member in good standing at Elysium.”
“I’m not surprised,” she snapped back. “Given your tendencies.”
“By tendencies, if you mean I wish to lay you naked across my bed, Rosalind, and fuck you for hours, then you are correct. My tendencies may also lead me to touch every inch of your skin. With my mouth.”
Her breasts pulsed and tightened, drawing more moisture between her thighs, no matter her upset. “No need to be crude, my lord.”
“Why not? It arouses you.”
A blush heated her cheeks, spreading out across her chest. He was right, damn him.
Rosalind tilted her chin up at him, furious that Torrington wielded such power. It wasn’t fair. Any of it. She’d thought he was her friend. Hoped he could be her lover, one she could keep at arm’s length. He knew of her aversion to marriage. Yet, he didn’t care. Trampling her feelings, he’d committed the unpardonable sin of offering for her.
“Yes, but not arousal foryou, my lord.” The frustration boiled inside her. “Only forCuisiner pour les Rois.” Her words were horrible. Ugly. Completely untrue. But she wanted to hurt him. Drive him away.
Torrington’s jaw hardened as Rosalind’s barb hit its mark.
“Tell me, my lord, what must I do to see the rest of the cookbook? If I get on my knees and take you in my mouth, will that be worth the king’s tart?”
The amber in his eyes glittered back at her. “You’ll have to do much better than that, Rosalind, to secure the tart.” Torrington took a step in her direction. “I’ll have all of you.”
Rosalind shrank back farther into the safety of the tree. “If you come any closer, I’ll call out for my driver. He’s a big man. He’ll—”
“Do nothing.” Torrington moved swiftly until he was merely inches from her. “I informed him of my presence and relationship to you while you were looking at the Serpentine and contemplating how best to drown me in it. Now bend down and pretend there is a pebble in your slipper or something.”
“What?” She looked up at him in confusion. “Why would I do so? And I’m wearing half-boots.”
“I don’t care what’s on your feet. Just do it. Fiddle around a bit. When you straighten”—his voice rolled over her in a low dangerous purr—“lift the hem of your skirts.”
“You can’t be serious.” But she could see he was. “We’re in the midst of an argument. I’ve just said the most horrible things to you.” Rosalind trembled against the tree at her back but not from fear.
“You provoked me, deliberately, I might add, with a vision of you on your knees. Eventually, you’ll have to tell me how you came to know about how a cock fits in a woman’s mouth.”
“My father,” she whispered, feeling the way her body arched in his direction. “He had a collection of books.” Her nipples throbbed against the confines of her corset while an insistent ache took up residence between her thighs. “I told you Lord Richardson was once a flagrant rake.”
“Interesting. Now be a good girl and lift your skirts,” he growled.
Another pulse shot straight down her legs, curling her toes. “I don’t care to be ordered about.” But she was already bending to grab at the hem of her skirts, her arousal stoked by their argument and the wicked thoughts he so effortlessly put in her mind. “Someone will see.”
“Your back is to the path and the waiting carriage. You’re against a tree. Your driver and maid won’t come closer.” The amber gaze flicked downward. “Higher.”
She brought up her skirts further, wobbling slightly as her stocking-clad legs were exposed to the cooler air. Thank goodness for the tree. “We are barely speaking to each other.”
Torrington removed the glove from one hand with his teeth. “Our discussion has been very illuminating. Your thighs are luscious, by the way. I failed to mention the fact to you earlier.” His fingers disappeared beneath her raised skirts, finding the opening in her underthings with little effort. His finger ran along her slit, stroking lightly. Torrington swore under his breath.
“I’m so angry with you,” she breathed, leaning further into his touch.
“So you keep saying, yet your arousal coats my finger. You’re a terrible liar. You would desire me even if the recipe for a tart weren’t involved,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t you?”
Two fingers thrust gently into her heat, impaling her against the tree.
“Tell me you don’t want me.” The words buffeted against her neck. “Say it.”
She couldn’t pretend or lie at this moment, not with every inch of her body craving his. A small sob left her throat, knowing she was doomed. She would never win this argument. Rosalind wasn’t even sure she wanted to.
