Page 72 of Too Scot to Handle
“Anwen hasn’t the confidence to hold aspirations in your direction, Winthrop. I suggested to her the other day that Lord Colin might do for her. He and Anwen already have a familial relationship, and they share that unfortunate red hair.”
Win sent her a peevish look. “You pushed her at Lord Colin?”
“I wouldn’t say pushed. A woman in Anwen’s position—without airs and graces, without a title, without much beauty—can’t be choosy.” A woman with those attributes could be choosy—lovely notion. “She wasn’t singing his praises, mind you. I think the appropriate term would be, she is considering settling. Women do, I suppose some men must as well.”
“Do we ever. Miss Anwen doesn’t have to marry a damned presuming Scot. I can preserve her from that sorry fate.”
“Very noble of you, though a bit of courtship might be called for. Anwen’s uncle is a duke, and so is Lord Colin’s brother.”
“Why do you think I’ve bothered to maintain my place on the orphanage board? Why do you think I’ll spend half the card party doting on her? I’ll take her driving a few times, steal a kiss, go down on bended knee, the whole bit. Least I can do for my future wife. Besides, Lord Colin’s brother is only a Scottish duke and they hardly count.”
Except in the order or precedence, where any duke counted for rather a lot. “You’ll steal from Lord Colin a chance to marry as well as his brother did. Very clever of you, Winthrop.”
Win brought the horses to a halt before the house. “There is that. Can’t be helped, if the lady prefers the better offer.” He smiled beatifically, bringing out every aspect of his handsome visage—blue eyes, perfect teeth, and the aristocratic bone structure Rosalyn saw echoed in her own mirror.
“Go carefully,” Rosalyn said as a footman emerged from the house. “I would hate to see anything bad happen to my favorite brother, and Lord Colin has foiled your schemes before.”
“Fool me once,” Win said as the footman aided Rosalyn to alight. “I’m off to the clubs. See you at supper.”
How his mood had improved for contemplating holy matrimony—and revenge.
Rosalyn passed the hatbox to the footman and shooed him into the house. “Wellington will be at the card party, Winthrop. If you can manage it, I’d like a chance to play against him.”
“I’ve been kept away from the details, sister dear. You be careful. His Grace can be quite competitive.”
Rosalyn twiddled her fingers at her brother. “So can I. Until supper.” She sashayed up the walk while Win rattled off in his fine equipage, though she spared a prayer for dear Winthrop and his friends.
They were commoners for the most part, and excessive debt could land any one of them in the sponging houses. Fortunately, Rosalyn’s papa would never allow such a fate to befall her, one of the many benefits of being an earl’s well-cared-for daughter.
* * *
In the leafy privacy of the conservatory, Anwen wrapped her arms around Colin and rejoiced.
This was right. This ultimate intimacy was what came next when two people were in love, committed to each other, and desired each other deeply.
And yet, Anwen hadn’t a clue how to go on.
“Does this work like the other times?” she asked, scooting closer to the man on his knees before her. “You bring me rainbows first?”
Colin had other names for the pleasure he brought her, names in French, Gaelic, and naughty cant, but Anwen’s description was as close as she could come in English to naming the experience.
“Ye’ll have rainbows today,” he said, tracing his finger over the swell of her bodice, “and we go on as we please. Perhaps you have a suggestion.”
The fit with Colin on his knees before the low sofa was comfortable, provided a lady was willing to spread her knees.
Anwen unknotted Colin’s cravat and used it to tug him closer. “Don’t be nervous. Megan told me it gets better with practice. If my practices with you get any better, I will expire of bliss.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Thank you for those reassurances. I’d rather neither one of us expired just yet.”
Anwen was nervous, and clearly Colin knew it. The warmth in his gaze, the way he scooped her closer, said she needn’t be. He’d bring her rainbows, sunrises, and joys without number simply because she’d asked him to.
When she might have started babbling, he kissed her. This kiss was different, both carnal and solemn, an odd combination that unsettled Anwen’s insides. She worked at unbuttoning Colin’s shirt, though one or two buttons might have got the worst of her haste.
“Ye’ll not be rushing this,” he said, untying the bow at the top of her bodice. “We’ll make a race of it if ye like some other day, but I want this time to savor you.”
Anwen had worn two shifts rather than jumps or stays, and both shifts tied at the front. Colin eased both bows open but made no move to touch her breasts. Instead, he wrapped a hand around each ankle, and nudged her skirts up with a caress to her calves.
The quiet became profound, as if the very trees were keeping silent in honor of the moment. Cloth whispered against skin as Colin kissed Anwen’s shoulder, and a feeling close to panic gripped her.
