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“The rose you gave me in the library in Cornwall. I told myself I was keeping it as a talisman to wardaway swooning tendencies and imaginary kisses from arrogant rogues. But really I kept it for much more sentimental reasons. I knew then, as I know now.” She traced the line of his strong jaw. “You’re the rogue that stole my heart.”
Later, when they both gleamed with sweat and he was quite breathless, Ford decided to broach the subject of desks.
“I’ve had a fantasy about you ever since we first met, Beatrice.”
“Oh? Do you want me to teach you more words?”
“I want to teach you about desks.”
“Desks? I know all about those. I use them every day.”
“Not in this way, you don’t.”
“Oh,” she said in a knowing tone. “You don’t mean writing on desks.”
“I mean ravishing.”
She gave him a saucy smile and hopped out of bed. “How does this work?”
His heart began pounding. “Bend over the desk, princess.”
She bent over the desk, just as she had that night when she visited his room. But this time she was entirely naked.
And entirely his.
“When you arrived in this room the other night and slid over this desk with your pert bottom in the air. Gods, I wanted to...” He positioned himself behind her. “I wanted to do this.”
He buried his length inside her, watching the globes of her bottom shiver with each thrust.
She moaned, tossing her hair over the desk. “I didn’t . . . know that I was . . . being so provocative.”
She wiggled her bum and tilted her chin back toward him. The look in her eyes was pure sensuality, and it was all over for Ford.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and rocked inside her until he exploded, moaning her name like a prayer.
Several hours later, they lay entwined on the bed, enclosed by pink velvet curtains and surrounded by love.
“Ford?”
“Yes, my wallflower?”
“Have you exhausted the limits of your excessive virility?”
“Maybe.”
“Then we can talk.”
“We can always talk, Beatrice. Always.”
“I thought I was making the difficult choice by retreating from society, but this is the more difficult decision. Taking the risk of loving a rogue.”
“I’m a one-woman rogue. I’m all yours. Risk-free.”
He kissed her. He’d never get enough of being able to kiss her whenever he felt like it. “What will you name this new clubhouse?”
“We couldn’t decide on a name at the last meeting. Isobel suggested the Virago Club, but I thought that was too negative. Viola offered the Muses Society, because we’re our own muses, but that’s too commonly used.”
“What about the Boadicea Club?”
