Page 85 of A Translation of Desire
“I suppose if it is over, it makes no sense to reveal any more details about Hawley’s work with the British Secret Service. It will be our secret. Our night that we played with spies.”
He snorted. “I would gladly have not had such a night.”
They sat quietly, and eventually, he moved her feet to each side of him before propelling her onto his lap. “Rose, you have no idea how happy I am that you are here.”
She lifted a brow. “In this bathtub or this massive opulent house?”
“Alive,” he said.
“I’m fine, Augustus.”
He nodded. There was so much he had to say to her—Augustus wanted more from her. Hell, he wanted forever with her. Yet, he knew it was a big ask and didn’t want to rush her after all the dramatic events that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. Christ. She’d almost lost her life. He didn’t need to act like a besotted fool.
“I can’t believe this is your home. When we are together sometimes, I forget you are a duke.”
Dread filled him because even though Augustus wanted Rose, her words hinted at why he’d tried so long to deny his feelings for her. Being a duke or a duchess came with responsibilities that most couldn’t imagine.
Could he foist that on Rose? This woman who did as she pleased, who was smarter than most people he knew, and who lived life like it was an adventure. Truthfully, before her, his life was very structured and scheduled.
“It can be tedious, but it is an honor.”
They sat quietly, and Augustus suspected she was pondering how different they were from each other. He asked, “You truly don’t think you could adapt to being a lady?”
“Could you live in a tent at a field site?”
Neither of them answered. Augustus found himself grateful that he didn’t confess all his feelings. As if all their thoughts were too much, Rose bowed into him, sitting astride on his lap. She pressed her lips to his, exploring his mouth hungrily.
He groaned and instinctively arched his cock against her most feminine spot. Their tongues swirled against each other, giving and taking. Augustus pulled away. “Rose, you’ve been through an ordeal—”
“Don’t tell me why we shouldn’t. There are so many reasons beyond me recovering from my kidnapping. For now, let’s not think. Just take me to bed, Augustus.”
There was no denying her. He couldn’t. “As you wish.”
Chapter Thirty
If sitting withAugustus in the tub had felt too intimate, standing in the bedchamber while he gently wiped her form down with a cloth made her want things that, before arriving in London, she couldn’t have even imagined. Rose wanted to be in this man’s life, not for a moment but forever. The thought disconcerted her. Was she going mad? Perhaps it was all the turmoil that had taken place messing with her mind.
He dried himself and pulled her towards the bed. “You, Rose Calvert, are, I think, my greatest weakness.”
A breathless giggle escaped her. “I doubt that.”
He ran his hand down her side, making her tremble in anticipation. She gasped and he leaned into her so his lips brushed her ear. “You are all I think about these days.”
She turned her head so her mouth met his. The kiss was soft and full of tenderness. Her core clenched.
He whispered, “You are never far from my thoughts no matter what I’m doing. I can be sitting anywhere, and I will find myself imagining being between your thighs, filling you as deeply as I can.”
Rose sucked in a breath at his words. Pressing her legs together as the ache in her core intensified. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they tumbled onto the bed. They were a mixture of limbs, desire, and a deeper emotion that Rose was trying desperately not to focus on. His lips were on hers, and he cupped her chin, deepening the kiss.
The force of it left her breathless. Finally, she pulled away gasping. Rose regarded him with a furrowed brow. He stared back at her, intently. “I almost lost you.”
The words were filled with so much more meaning than one should ever say to someone they were having an interlude with. Augustus cared about her. No matter how much they didn’t go well together, he cared as much as she did. She touched his face. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”
He brushed his mouth across hers before running his lips down her throat. The ache in her lower region throbbed as his body slid down her form. His head dipped down, and he teased the tip of one of her breasts. She arched up to his mouth, bucking against him.
“These breasts torment me,” he whispered against her skin.
The warmth in her body increased. “They are not very large.”
