He looked back into her eyes and smiled wickedly at her. Then he lowered his mouth and dragged his wet tongue over her nipple, swirling it in hot, agonizingly slow circles, before taking it hard into his mouth.
He leaned against the backrest and cupped her other breast, squeezing it gently as he sucked harder.
Her head swirled with the sensation, and she writhed against his hard body as he sucked, nipped, and touched her, arousing her as she had never been before.
His erection grew harder and began to throb against her.
Raising one knee, she flung one leg over his hip and pressed her body against his groin.
He raised his dark head from the paleness of her breast and pinned her with his gaze. “Are you sure?” He lifted himself up from her, and as he knelt between her thighs, he shoved the layers of skirts to her hips.
“Yes, yes.”
It was about to happen. He was about to claim her body.
But she always woke up the instant before he possessed her, and she knew she would again at any moment if she didn’t hurry this dream along.
“Rogan, don’t wait,” she begged. “Please.”
Over the crumpled mounds of skirts at her hips, she could see that he fumbled at his front fall.
“Hurry.”
He came up on his knees and moved close to her.
He grinned most wickedly as he positioned his thumb against her most private of parts and began to rub a slow circle that made her whimper and thrash about.
Please do not wake. Please.
So close.
Then she felt a hardness touching her, just there. Yes. Intimately sliding between her moist folds, separating them. Yes.
Her head was spinning, and her body throbbed.
She wanted nothing more than to push down upon him. To feel him inside of her before-
“Now, Rogan, please.”
Rogan lowered his body over hers and positioned his hands on either side of her head once more.
God, he wanted her.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, something told him to stop. Stop now.
But hadn’t she told him herself she was not the innocent? That she had done this before?
She was young, but hardly in the first blush of her youth.
And so he looked down into her wide, needful eyes, then closed his lids and thrust into her heat.
There was a scream.
His eyelids snapped open only to see her staring at him in pain and horror.
Suddenly the carriage came to an abrupt halt, bouncing slightly on its springs, sending Mary’s naked breasts quivering beneath him.
“Berkeley Square, Your Grace.”
“Bloody hell. She’s a virgin-was a virgin.”
Rogan’s hand shook as he shoved it through his hair. He paced before the large mullioned windows in his parlor.
He was such a fool.
He’d been so convinced that Quinn was the guinea-eyed wench’s target that he had not seen her greedy scheme to snare him coming.
Damn it all, but she was good.
So comely and innocent, yet so skilled in seduction that he had not been able to refuse her.
Hadn’t wanted to.
The way she’d made him feel, by God, he’d never wanted any woman so badly.
As he passed the settee, he stopped and dropped back into it.
Where the hell was Quinn? He had to tell him what happened. Had to confess.
Rogan set his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. But then, he could not tell his brother, could he?
For all he knew, Quinn might really love the chit-even if the clever country gel wasn’t even close to deserving his affections.
Rogan lifted his head from his hands and slammed his fist on the walnut tea table before him.
How could he have been so blind, so stupid?
He came to his feet and hastened to the open windows and peered out into the dark and deserted square so late at night.
It was nearly two o’clock in the morn. Quinn and Lady Tidwell had left the musicale hours ago. Just where the hell was he?
Rogan leaned back against the narrow portion of the plaster wall near the left window and banged the back of his head against it.
He’d spent the past two hours mulling over what had happened and his options.
But as far as he could reckon, he had but one course of action.
One that mightn’t break his brother’s heart.
One that might slip the notice of the on-dit columnists’ weekly smudges of ink.
One choice.
Rogan’s body slid down the wall, folding like an accordion fan. He closed his eyes, resigned to the truth of his predicament.
He had to marry Miss Royle.
Damn her.
He opened his eyes again when the clock in the passage tinged the sixth hour and he heard the click of the front door closing.
“Quinn? Is that you?”
He heard footsteps in the passage, then his brother peered into the parlor. “Rogan? What the deuce are you doing awake? Just came home yourself, did you?”
“No.” Rogan struggled to his feet. “I’ve been waiting here for you-for some time now.”
A dark red suffused the pale skin of Quinn’s cheeks. “Got me.”
Rogan was not in the mind to play fools’ games. “Where were you?”
“You’re a gentleman. Ought not ask such a question.”
“Where were you?”
“Damn it, Rogan. I am sure you know the answer.” Quinn moved his cane forward and walked stiffly into the parlor. “I was with her.”
“Lady Tidwell.”
“Yes. I am not proud of my behavior.” He clicked his way to the settee and sat down.
“Why not?” Rogan’s tone was harsher than he intended, but somehow it served him better if Quinn was already riled when he admitted his rakish deed.
“She is fragile. My God, she’s a widow.”
“Obviously, that didn’t deter you, Quinn.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes at Rogan. “Why so dark this morning? I would think, given your own proclivities, you mightn’t be so judgmental.” He exhaled slowly. “I have no doubt that you are already aware that Lady Tidwell and I left the festivities early.”
“I am. But that does not explain why you are slipping into my house like a thief before dawn.”
“She was feeling sad. The orchestra played a concerto that her husband had especially enjoyed.”
Rogan said nothing. He folded his arms over his chest and waited for Quinn to continue, lest he be set into the uncomfortable task of explaining his own base behavior this night.
“I took her to her home and tried to comfort her. She was inconsolable at first, but then she softened and warmed to my presence.”
“Oh, good Lord.”
“Deuce it, Rogan, I did not intend for my relationship with Lady Tidwell to progress. I am quite fond of Miss Royle. But…” His gaze shifted to the cold hearth and remained there.
Rogan sighed, feeling some modicum of relief.
Oh, he knew he should admit all to his brother now, while Quinn swam about in his own guilt. But he was who he was, after all. And what good would hurting his brother do anyone?
Met with silence, Quinn raised his eyes to Rogan’s. “I…I think I have feelings for her.”
Rogan straightened. “For Miss Royle?”
Quinn shook his head. “No, no. I thought I might have, that is, until I came to know Lady Tidwell this evening.”
“You can’t tell Miss Royle.”
“What? Why not? I must. It is the honorable road to take.”
“It might be the proper course, but it might also break her heart.” Rogan came to stand before the settee. “Have you not considered that she may be in love with you?”
“I have. I have considered it.” Quinn’s chest seemed to puff out heroically. “Which is why I must confess.”
“Confession will only ease your own conscience. It will not help her.”