My Lady Quicksilver (43 page)

His words set off another cascade of pleasure within her—this time of the soul.

“I missed you,” Rosalind admitted. “But I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed you to know the truth.”

“Aye.” He kissed her shoulder, slowly grinding against her again. “I’m glad you told me.” She felt his lips twitch against her skin. “Though the timing could have been better.”

Another slow grind. Rosalind shifted, rolling her hips. Pushing away from the window, she arched her back and lay back against his shoulder, sliding a hand up his throat. Clenching her inner muscles, she heard him curse softly, under his breath.

“You like that?” she whispered.

“Minx.” But his hands were quivering on her hips and he urged her faster. Each squeeze drew a sharp intake of breath from him. “You drive me insane.” He groaned and pressed his lips to her shoulder. Teeth sank into the soft muscle there as he thrust hard against her. Hoarsely, “Want you so much, so damned much…”

He pressed her against him, one hand on her abdomen as he gasped. Rosalind squeezed hard, feeling his body shake around her as he climaxed. She loved this feeling, the power she had over him, the way the world seemed as though it belonged to just the two of them.

Lynch collapsed back against the seat with a groan, dragging her with him. Long minutes ticked by as she lay back in his arms. She didn’t want this to ever end.

“I never thought I’d miss the mask,” he murmured, kissing a blazing trail across her trapezius. “But I like this too. Having you so vulnerable beneath me—atop me. Knowing that it’s you. That it was always you.” His teeth sank into her skin and she gasped.

A little uncomfortable now. “It wasn’t always me. Not… Not the true me.”

“You don’t think I see her?” he whispered, nuzzling her throat. “The true Rosalind? Cerise?”

Rosalind pushed away from him, turning in his lap to face him. “I’m not Cerise.”

“She’s as much a part of you as Mrs. Marberry was. Or Mercury. I can see pieces of them all in you. You shouldn’t be ashamed.” His hand came up, cupped her face, his thumb stroking over her mouth. Those glorious gray eyes dropped too. As if he were thinking of tasting it again. “All of those pieces are you, Rosa. They made you what you are. Even Cerise…the girl who hurt…the girl who didn’t want to exist anymore… You wouldn’t be you, who you are, without her.”

Tears stung her eyes that he should see it so clearly. She swallowed hard, wanting to kiss him again. But that was the coward’s way out. A way to hide herself, to express herself without speech. “I wanted to destroy her,” she whispered. “Because she didn’t deserve to live after what she’d done. I wanted to be Rosalind. A new start. Away from all of the guilt. All of the hurt. If I finished what Nate started… It was a way to make things right, to find…forgiveness…”

That cool hand cupped her face, made her feel safe. So safe. Rosalind tilted her cheek into the touch, like a cat. Nothing had ever felt better than this, than being in his arms. A wet tear slid down her cheek.

“He forgave you,” Lynch said gently.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He insisted. “That is what it means to love another.”

The words stole her breath. With them came hope. Then his arms crushed her against him, holding her so tightly it were as if some part of him were afraid she’d be torn from his grasp.

The words bubbled up in her throat, tickled against the roof of her mouth. Clutching at his ruined shirt, she pressed her face against the bare skin of his throat. But she couldn’t say it, as if a part of her still felt unworthy. Pushing against his chest, she looked up. “I lied to you.”

“With your lips, yes.” His eyelids lowered, almost hiding those luminous eyes, but his hand kept on stroking her cheek. “I should have paid more attention to my instincts, to what my dark half was telling me.” His thumb paused in the middle of her lip and he looked up, capturing her gaze. “It knew who you were no matter what guise you wore. It claimed you long before I did.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And did you ever lie to me…here?” Tentative fingertips pressed between her breasts, directly over the thumping beat of her heart.

Rosalind shook her head, swallowing hard. “You know I didn’t,” she whispered, cupping his hand and holding it firmly against her chest. She could feel the heady pulse of her heartbeat through his touch. “It belonged to you long before I knew it.” Another heady swallow. She had to say it. He deserved it and she wanted him to know. “I love you.”

“I know.” He said the one thing she needed to hear the most. This time he believed her. Slowly his lips curled up, and she thought she might die for the joy the sight elicited in her. His smile—so rare—was a thing of wonders. “I knew the instant you walked through the doors of the atrium.” The smile began to fade.

Rosalind quickly pressed her fingertips to it, as if to capture it. “Don’t think about it.”

Lynch kissed her fingertips and took a shuddery breath. “I won’t. That is done. However, there is one last thing we must discuss.”

“What now.” It wasn’t a question.

His fingers laced between her iron fingers and held them up. “I have had Fitz design something special for me.” Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he drew out a small red velvet box. “Considering that no normal ring would fit—”

Rosalind sat up and nearly hit her head. All she could see was that box, her heart pounding so swiftly she almost swayed with dizziness. “What are you saying?”

“I asked your brother if I had permission to make you my consort.” He flicked the box open. “I want you to share the world with me. Forever, Rosa. No more secrets between us. Nothing but you and me, till death do us part.”

Nestled within was a gleaming steel ring, burnished so brightly that it shone. An enormous square diamond was set into the top, with a lattice of tiny, filigreed silver holding it in place. No lady of the Echelon would wear it, but it suited her, so perfectly he had obviously designed it himself. And the fact that he had asked Jack—who had given his blessing—meant so much more to her than any diamond.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hand trembling as she held it up.

Lynch slid the ring from the box. “You can never take this off, Rosa. I intend to have Fitz solder it to your finger.”

“I don’t want to take it off.” She bounced impatiently. “Hurry up and put it on.”

He slid it down over the iron knuckle and settled it in place. “Well, duchess… How do you feel?”

“I feel as if you have given me the world.” Her throat was dry and tight again as she looked at him. How could one have so much feeling inside and not drown in it? She would have to learn to cope with this. “I wish I could give you half as much.”

“You have.” He kissed her iron fingertips. “You have given me a future and joy in it too. Before I met you, I was only existing. I wasn’t living life. The last few weeks…as tumultuous as they’ve been, at least I’ve lived them.” Leaning down, he kissed her lips lightly.

“Besides,” he whispered against her lips, “we have so much to do together, you and I. A whole world to change.” The words caught her breath. “You are the only one I trust to watch my back.”

“Well, it is
almost
my favorite part to look at,” she whispered.

Lynch smiled. “And there is my wicked Mrs. Marberry. I do believe I have one last request though… Something I would like to ask of you in exchange for the ring.”

“Anything,” she promised, smiling at this amazing man: her future, her hope, her heart…

“Keep the mask,” he breathed, and leaned down to kiss her again.

In case you missed it, check out an
excerpt from Bec McMaster’s debut

Kiss of Steel

Now available from Sourcebooks Casablanca

Honoria pushed the door open and whisked inside. And stopped dead in her tracks—

Blade spun on his heel at her shocked gasp, swiftly wrapping a towel around his hips. It wasn’t quite big enough and gaped over one heavily muscled thigh as he tucked the end into itself at his waist. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her, then he scowled.

She couldn’t stop herself from staring. Acres and acres of wide, muscled chest. The barbaric band of tattoo around his left arm and down his ribs. An arrow of hair trailing from his navel down into the edge of the towel. And the tented suggestion of what that towel was hiding, proving that Blade didn’t find this intrusion entirely disagreeable.

Honoria turned away quickly. This wasn’t what she’d planned at all, but how could she go about her revenge when he was practically naked?

“Well,” he drawled. “I guess you ain’t ’ere to tuck me in.”

“Of course not,” she threw over her shoulder. She caught a distracting glimpse of him in the mirror and turned her burning face back to the wall. “You know exactly why I’m here. Put some clothes on. This is indecent.”

“I ain’t the one as just barged into a gent’s rooms without knockin’.”

The sound of the towel hitting the floor made her mouth go dry. Oh, my goodness. He was naked. And her mind’s eye was most enthusiastic about supplying her with a vision of what that might look like.

It would be very easy to confirm whether her vision was accurate.
Don’t you dare
, she told herself.

“I’m afraid you’ve got me at a loss,” he replied, leisurely moving around behind her. Sheets rustled and then she heard the unmistakable sound of leather sliding over skin.

“Are you decent?”

“Rarely,” he said, with an ironic drawl.

“Are you clothed?”

“Aye.”

He was going to play games with her. Her fists clenched and she turned to look him in the eye. At the edges of her peripheral vision, she could just see him tugging the leather breeches into place, but she didn’t dare look lower.

“I need those diaries,” she said firmly. “This isn’t a game. You know how important they are to me.”

“The diaries, eh?” He feigned surprise. “You’re ’ere to fetch your diaries. I thought you took ’em ’ome last night.”

“You swapped them while I was getting dressed! I opened the bag and found
The
Scarlet
Letter
and
The
Taming
of
the
Shrew
—no doubt you had a good laugh at that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a steady look. The muscles in his forearms bunched.

“Aye. I were so desperate for your company that I stole your precious diaries. What’s in ’em that’s so important, Honor?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Then you ain’t gettin’ ’em back.”

The ring on her finger seemed to burn. “Yes, I am.” She started toward him.

“You goin’ to turn me up sweet, luv? I got news for you—I’m tired o’ playin’ games.” He took a step forward and glared down at her. “And you already owe me a kiss which you ain’t paid.”

He was in her space again, using his size and height to intimidate. A little flutter started, low in her stomach. “I thought you didn’t want me to kiss you unless I wanted it too.”

“Maybe I changed me mind.”

A little flick of her fingernail opened the toxin-smothered needle. The thought of kissing him did horrible things to her willpower—and her knees—but it would also get her close enough to render him at her mercy. Honoria tilted her chin up and stared him directly in the eyes.

Go
ahead, you bleeder. Force a kiss and it shall be the last thing you’re capable of doing for some time
.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, and his voice was low and husky when he said, “Is that a dare I see in your eyes?” He took another step closer, so close that her skirts brushed against his legs.

“I can’t stop you,” she said. “But I promise you shall regret this.”

Blade reached up and slowly, slowly stroked her cheek, his gaze following the path of his fingers. They dipped over the lush pillow of her top lip. Tasted the wetness of her mouth. And then lingered at the center of her lower lip. She was shivering by the time he’d finished.

“Aye,” Blade murmured, his lips curving in a satisfied little smile. “A bleedin’ martyr till the end. I think not.”

He stepped away, giving her his back. Honoria’s jaw dropped as he turned and held up his shirt as though examining whether it suited him for the day or not.

“I beg your pardon?”

Blade knelt on the edge of the bed, with its rumpled sheets and mounded red cushions. His leather breeches molded faithfully to the lean curve of his buttocks, revealing a healthy amount of muscled thigh. He reached for his daggers, the thick black ink of his tattoo riding up over his ribs.

Her mouth went dry.

“You ’eard me.” He straightened and slung the belt around his waist, pulling the buckle tight. Only then did he look up at her, with that mocking little smile playing over his lips, as though he knew precisely what was going through her mind at the moment. “If you think I’m goin’ to steal a kiss just so as you can cry protest, you can think again. You want me, then you’re goin’ to ’ave to make the move yourself.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Aye. That’s why your scent changed. You smell all plump and lush, my little dove. I knows when a woman’s got ’er eyes on a man. One of the advantages o’ bein’ a blue blood.” He held his arms out, displaying his magnificent body to full effect. “Do you want to touch me? Is that what’s got your heart poundin’ in your ears and your breath thick in your throat?” A little smile touched his lips. “I’ll let you, you know. You can run those pretty little fingers
all
over me if you want. Or that sweet little mouth, if you’d prefer.” He took a step closer. “Do you want a taste o’ me, Honor? Do you want to lick the sweat from me body, taste the salt o’ me skin?”

He leaned closer, looming over her. It was only then that she realized she’d backed up against the wall, her gaze locked to his wicked mouth and all of the sinful things it was saying.

“I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want to taste you,” she whispered and shut her eyes. It was no good. She could still see him, that lean body caging her in, the muscles in his arms rippling as he pressed both hands flat against the wall on either side of her hips.