duchy of Dunwoody—along with his father’s ward. His beloved Rosebud, whose devotion he’d so stupidly risked through the king’s disfavor and his own selfishness.
Propelled by a powerful blast of desperation, he fell down on his knees before her, joined his hands as if in prayer, and lowered his head. “Please, dearest, I can endure aught but your excommunication.”
A seed of hope germinated in his heart when she stroked his hair. Please let the gesture signify her heart was softening toward him.
“Do you truly mean that, husband?”
Lifting his gaze to her bewitching eyes, he said, “I do indeed. Most sincerely. Beat me, humiliate me, and make me your slave, if you would. But, I beseech you, do not shut me out with mute indifference.”
She offered him a pacifying smile and brushed an errant strand of hair from his face. “Very well. I shall not punish you through silence. But know I fully intend to extract my pound of flesh in ways meant to afford you the least pleasure possible.”
Lathed by relief, he sprang to his feet and planted what he meant to be a swift, sweet kiss on her lips. Clearly, she had other ideas, for the next thing he knew, her arms were locked round his neck and their tongues were engaged in a passionate pas de deux .
As the kiss deepened, so did his regrets. Why had he agreed to the threesome? To salve his jealousy? To bolster his ego? To soothe his self-loathing? To reduce his feelings of impotence over the position he’d put her in with the king? Or, like some beasts, had he simply run wild for too long to be tamed? He could not comprehend his own reasons, let alone defend them. He only knew he’d not done what he’d done to give her pain.
He loved her with all his heart and soul. The way he’d loved his mother. Yet, once again, he’d allowed selfishness and thoughtlessness to hurt someone he cared about and endanger his own felicity.
What the devil was wrong with him?
A tug on his hair brought him back to the chamber, where Maggie regarded him with a disapproving scowl. The kiss had ended, but he’d been too lost in thought to feel her pull away.
He offered her a conciliatory smile. “What is the matter, dearest? Why did you pull my hair? Why do you look so cross? Have I done something to further displease you?”
“Have you lost your taste for my kisses already?” Her frown deepened and her eyes blazed. “Or do you find my lips lacking when compared to Lord Hardwick’s?”
He flinched at the accusation. He had kissed Lord Hardwick because the courtesan asked him to, and he’d never been one to back down from a dare. Nor, when in his cups, was he particular about where he stuck his cock. A nod being as good as a wink to a blind horse and all. When sober, however, he much preferred the virtues of the fairer sex to his own.
“I assure you, such is not the case,” he said in all sincerity. “Your kisses are the sweetest ever I have tasted.”
“So you claim,” she returned, nose in the air. “Though I cannot help but wonder if your warnings about Hugh are not a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”
“I give you my vow,” he said, growing desperate. “I vastly prefer female flesh. Your flesh, that is to say.”
She appeared unconvinced—and not a little missish. “Is there a word for persons who take equal pleasure from intimate relations with both sexes?”
“There is, as it happens.” Her implication annoyed him, as he did not consider himself bi-sexual. “But, rest assured, ’tis not a name I apply to myself.”
“No? Well, I get to differ, having seen evidence to the contrary with my own two eyes.”
“What you witnessed was more drunken lark than force of habit, I promise you.”
“Was it? Forgive me if I am unwilling to take the word of a notorious libertine as final proof.”
With a bruised ego and a sigh of resignation, he withdrew from her and went to lie upon the bed. Clasping his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and
Propelled by a powerful blast of desperation, he fell down on his knees before her, joined his hands as if in prayer, and lowered his head. “Please, dearest, I can endure aught but your excommunication.”
A seed of hope germinated in his heart when she stroked his hair. Please let the gesture signify her heart was softening toward him.
“Do you truly mean that, husband?”
Lifting his gaze to her bewitching eyes, he said, “I do indeed. Most sincerely. Beat me, humiliate me, and make me your slave, if you would. But, I beseech you, do not shut me out with mute indifference.”
She offered him a pacifying smile and brushed an errant strand of hair from his face. “Very well. I shall not punish you through silence. But know I fully intend to extract my pound of flesh in ways meant to afford you the least pleasure possible.”
Lathed by relief, he sprang to his feet and planted what he meant to be a swift, sweet kiss on her lips. Clearly, she had other ideas, for the next thing he knew, her arms were locked round his neck and their tongues were engaged in a passionate pas de deux .
As the kiss deepened, so did his regrets. Why had he agreed to the threesome? To salve his jealousy? To bolster his ego? To soothe his self-loathing? To reduce his feelings of impotence over the position he’d put her in with the king? Or, like some beasts, had he simply run wild for too long to be tamed? He could not comprehend his own reasons, let alone defend them. He only knew he’d not done what he’d done to give her pain.
He loved her with all his heart and soul. The way he’d loved his mother. Yet, once again, he’d allowed selfishness and thoughtlessness to hurt someone he cared about and endanger his own felicity.
What the devil was wrong with him?
A tug on his hair brought him back to the chamber, where Maggie regarded him with a disapproving scowl. The kiss had ended, but he’d been too lost in thought to feel her pull away.
He offered her a conciliatory smile. “What is the matter, dearest? Why did you pull my hair? Why do you look so cross? Have I done something to further displease you?”
“Have you lost your taste for my kisses already?” Her frown deepened and her eyes blazed. “Or do you find my lips lacking when compared to Lord Hardwick’s?”
He flinched at the accusation. He had kissed Lord Hardwick because the courtesan asked him to, and he’d never been one to back down from a dare. Nor, when in his cups, was he particular about where he stuck his cock. A nod being as good as a wink to a blind horse and all. When sober, however, he much preferred the virtues of the fairer sex to his own.
“I assure you, such is not the case,” he said in all sincerity. “Your kisses are the sweetest ever I have tasted.”
“So you claim,” she returned, nose in the air. “Though I cannot help but wonder if your warnings about Hugh are not a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”
“I give you my vow,” he said, growing desperate. “I vastly prefer female flesh. Your flesh, that is to say.”
She appeared unconvinced—and not a little missish. “Is there a word for persons who take equal pleasure from intimate relations with both sexes?”
“There is, as it happens.” Her implication annoyed him, as he did not consider himself bi-sexual. “But, rest assured, ’tis not a name I apply to myself.”
“No? Well, I get to differ, having seen evidence to the contrary with my own two eyes.”
“What you witnessed was more drunken lark than force of habit, I promise you.”
“Was it? Forgive me if I am unwilling to take the word of a notorious libertine as final proof.”
With a bruised ego and a sigh of resignation, he withdrew from her and went to lie upon the bed. Clasping his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and
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