CHAPTER NINE

"Roselyn."

She was abruptly pulled from the sweet darkness of slumber by the husky baritone, by the hot, nicotine-laced breath that danced across her face.

She felt her lips involuntarily alight in a smile. Her eyes still closed, she placed her hands before her, seeking out this intruder akin to a blind man would explore his darkened world.

Her palms immediately found the smooth, warm planes of his face. Her fingers spread like rippling water over this visage: over his nose, tracing ever so lightly over its delicate bridge and curved top, over his slightly parted lips from which the exhalations came quickly. As she did so, he swiftly captured her index finger and placed it between those lips, sucking languidly.

"Roselyn," he breathed again, finally succeeding in coaxing her eyes open. It was really no battle, truly. She felt herself succumb to him, completely, utterly. For all the juvenile fears that had invaded her mind previously regarding what this moment would finally manifest itself as when it finally occurred, she never could have believed that it is could have been this impossibly simple, that he could overpower her so easily, akin to a falcon devouring its prey…

When she finally did open her eyes, his own set of crystalline ones were peering back at her through strands of askew hair. He grinned lazily at her, her finger still in his mouth. "My dearest wife, I thought you were going to sleep all day." Those blue orbs glittered wickedly as he removed her digit from between his lips, those lips beginning to work their way up the back of her hand, wrist, forearm, upper arm, leaving sweet trails of saliva in their wake.

At that moment, only one singular question could form in the blank void that was her mind. "What are you going to do to me?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He brought his lips up from the slenderness of her collarbone, his mouth curling into a smile. "Don't you mean, 'What are we going to do together?'"

He unexpectedly shifted his weight so that his center of gravity was over her, and with the deftness of a large cat seized her flimsy nightgown with both hands. He tore the garment over her head, flinging it thoughtlessly in the darkened room. For a fleeting moment, she was acutely aware of the soft mounds of her naked breasts against the firmness of chest. Yet the thought was momentary. She elicited a small cry as realization struck that he was already working on his trousers, expert fingers undoing each individual button. They were off in a whisper, crumpled in a heap at the side of the bed

Whenever they had gotten together, she and Lorelei would often discuss the latest scandals of the distant acquaintances in their social circles. They would giggle madly whenever an heiress had been caught kissing a newsboy, or worse…Sometimes they had blushingly tried to ascertain what it must be like, or perhaps what a man's you know what may resemble before dissolving into a fit of laughter. But now…

Now, here she was, in all her glory, with her husband's stark nakedness draped over her body like a shroud. She may have pondered the situation more, but her mind was utterly shattered, deliriously consumed by nothing more than pure canal want for this man upon her. Her blood ran white hot. She was feverish. He was upon her, his lips to her neck. She reacted to him, released herself to him. She was unfettered.

"Oh, Jonathan," she breathed in ecstasy, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him closer, fingers digging into his sweat-laced hair. He may have faltered a moment at the utterance of his Christian name, but she did not realize it, did not care. She wanted him, all of him. He brought his mouth to hers, and she hungrily devoured it, her tongue invading his parted lips.

She arched her back into him, wrapping her legs around his sinewy ones. That is when she first became aware of an acute, throbbing hardness against her upper thigh.

She sighed into him, wanting him, craving him now. His keen senses seemed to detect this, for his nimble fingers were trailing down her belly to the whorl of curls nestled between her legs. The pad of his thumb halted at the pearl buried deep down, while two experienced fingers plunged within the depths of her nether regions.

The primordial, overwhelming feeling of absolute, unadulterated pleasure started in the depths of her belly and travelled through every nerve fiber in her body like electricity. She felt at that moment lifeless, as though she was merely a marionette and he the puppeteer and could control her every whim. He head lolled against the pillows, and her lips parted. She elicited an outstanding cry of untainted desire.

His mouth found her ear. "Come for me, Roselyn."

The electricity blazed relentlessly through her, leaving fire in its wake. She felt like the electricity was swelling, peaking, about to erupt; she didn't think her mortal form would allow her to comprehend such ecstasy. She shuttered under him, releasing another moan of pleasure. This was brutally silenced as he enveloped her lips with his, and withdrew his fingers instead, placing one hand under the small her arched back to guide himself…

Roz awake with a jolt, flinging herself straight up in bed. She felt the perspiration dripping off her face, and the sweat drenched night gown clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her heart beat so quickly she felt it was want to spring out of her chest cavity. She glanced madly about the room. Day was just beginning to break, sunbeams falling across the plush expanse of carpeting of the master suite.

Realization struck that she was the only person in the room.

Roz suddenly felt as though she were asphyxiating, even though her deep inhalations would tell a different story to an objective observer. She flung the covers off of her, and sprung out of bed, backing across the room and eyeing it as though it has been the scene of the murder. Images of the dream that had taken place in that very same bed flashed across her mind's eye, and she suddenly felt violently ill. This abrupt illness was contradictory to the residual heat that still coursed through her belly as a lingering reminder of the dream.

She released a small groan, and rushed over to the full length mirror that occupied one corner of the spacious room. She gazed at her reflection in the light of the breaking dawn. Her face was lost of all color, and her usual wild hair hung limp, drenched in perspiration.

Her mind deceived her, for it began to recall the way his lips had felt against hers, how their bodies had writhed together, drenched in sweat…

She felt her throat begin to swell shut again, the air stolen from her lungs. She immediately rushed to the nearest window, thrusting is open, plunging her head outside, and inhaling deeply. The morning air was still cool, and aided in dousing the fire that had been mounting inside her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, relishing the refreshing coolness of a summer's day that held the promise of a stifling hotness.

It was only when she did open her eyes did she espy the small black carriage parked outside of the townhouse. Genuinely confused and her curiosity piqued, she drew back from the window, covering the distance across the room in just a few paces, before opening the door and entering the hallway.

It was then she heard the excited rush of the tinkling Cockney accent, echoing from down the hallway. "Well, isn't this lovely, Bronson? What a nice little home they have! I wonder where the Mister and Missus are staying?"

Judging by the excitable ramblings, Roz deduced that the only person that particular voice could belong to would be Lizzy. Devon must have made good on his curt promise to send a handful of the household staff of his estate over to the newlywed's gifted townhouse. Her speculation was correct when she noticed the mismatched pair rounding the corner into the main hallway of the second floor.

She recognized Lizzy immediately, her black and white uniform neatly pressed as always, frizzed curls pushed under her white cap, freckles standing out like bulls-eyes on her fair skin, and small black suitcase in one hand. She looked excitedly round, here and there, taking in the new surroundings. She was a younger girl, most likely a year or so older that Roz, and had been Roz's attendant for the past several years.

A tall, thin, balding gentleman with a thatch of brown hair strode next to her, immaculate appearing in his tails. Bronson had been in Devon's service for a considerable amount of time, and Roz was rather surprised to see him; she never would have thought that Devon would have let go such a butler of substantial skill.

Roz stood, peering at the pair for a moment, before Lizzy was the first one to notice her. As soon as the girl's excited hazel eyes fell on Roz she released an enthusiastic cry, and dropped her bag, running over to Roz, covering the distance between them. Roz almost thought Lizzy was apt to hug her for a moment, before it seemed like she regained her composure. She released a small cough.

"Miss Rialto, I am so glad to see you!"

From behind her, Bronson cleared his throat. "Do not forget that Miss Rialto is now married, and you now address her as such." At his tongue lashing, Lizzy's face turned a spectacular shade of red, and she cast down her eyes. Bronson halted before the pair, addressing Roz simply, "Mrs. Conlon, your brother-in-law sent us with the intentions that we will be here to look after this house. If you will excuse me, I am going to glance over the rest of the house." With a curt bow, Roz watched him disappear down the hallway.

She turned her attention back to Lizzy, only when she began to stammer. It appeared as though unshed tears were brimming at the corners of her eyes. "Missus…I didn't mean no harm, you know I never would…"

Roz issued Lizzy a warm smile. "Lizzy, never you mind, Bronson. You know that man can be colder than a snowman."

Lizzy released a titter, and a grin once again alighted upon her lips. She dropped her bag where she stood. "Missus, what can I do for you? Would you like me to draw you a hot bath?"

Roselyn come for me.

She suddenly felt a wave of weakness pass over her, threatening her knees to buckle. "Yes, Lizzy, that sounds superb," she said, perhaps a little too loudly. She stepped back into the room, allowing Lizzy egress in. The girl released an abrupt squeak, frozen in her tracks.

"Missus, but your husband?"

Roz stared at her quizzically, now fully comprehending her question, until understanding dawned upon her. Lizzy thought that Roz's new bridegroom would be languidly sprawled across the bed, perhaps in the nude, perhaps with the covers mussed from the night's previous consummation of the marriage…

The very notion was enough for Roz to elicit a high-pitched laugh. Lizzy looked at her as though she was a lunatic. "Oh, Lizzy he is not here!"

Lizzy arched a cautious eyebrow and glanced at the bed. Upon not seeing the unclothed form of a male, she seemed to relax, and bustled over to the bed. She began rip off the covers, "Oh, missus let me just get rid of these dirty old things…"

A feeling of dread suddenly overtook Roz, and she dashed over to Lizzy's side, practically pushing the covers out of her hands and back onto the bed. "Oh, don't worry, Lizzy, they are fine!" she said, her voice shrill.

But it was too late. Lizzy had already seen the pristine, unsullied white of the sheets. Roz felt the pit in her stomach expand. But Lizzy only turned to Roz, a small smile on her lips, and said, "Why don't I draw you that hot bath now, Missus?"

Roz sat in the bathtub, her limbs splayed before her. She had done quite a lot of thinking. She wasn't sure how long she had been in tub for, but by now the water was growing tepid and the pads of her fingers were pruning.

She decided that she would call on Lorelei today. She hadn't spoken to her best friend since before the hasty engagement to Spot Conlon had been announced, and she was indebted to her to at least an explanation.

Her thoughts were swift to wander from Lorelei to him. She wondered, while she was sprawled in the tub, what he was doing at this very moment. Was he thinking of her, like she was thinking of him?

She held her hands and pruning fingers aloft before her, water gently trickling off them. She could only glance at the platinum, diamond encrusted band that encircled her left ring finger. The band that captured her, ensnared her in this con, in this ruse. It felt impossibly heavy, alien on her slender digit.

Don't you mean, What are we going to do together?

She felt the electricity begin to kindle once again within the depths of her belly, and she elicited a gasp in spite of herself. The band suddenly felt charged, hot, burning her very flesh.

She closed her eyes and dunked her head under the water, desperate for the respite of darkness, but all the saw was a pair of blue eyes, color of her tattered debut dress.