regardless of her words.
‘Why do you weep?’ he ventured. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know the answer.
Rosamund tucked away the pouch of threads, swiping at the tears. A pained expression came over her face as she gathered her composure. Then she took his hands in hers, swallowing hard. ‘Because my mother told me I am to be married to Alan de Courcy. And I would rather be married to a man like you. Someone who understands me.’ She lifted her gaze to his, and in her green eyes, he saw the yearning.
In that moment, time seemed to stop moving. He understood that he was not worthy of her, but he needed to show her how much she meant to him. This exquisite woman was so far beyond his reach, but he could not deny the need to touch her. He touched the edge of her cheek with his knuckle, and she covered his hand with her own.
‘I want the kiss you promised.’ His voice came out ragged, and he wanted to lose himself in that mouth, to show her how much he wanted her.
Rosamund pressed her lips to his hand, kissing it softly. With a wry smile, he remarked, ‘That isn’t where I wanted you to kiss me, Rosamund.’
Her expression held amusement, and she lifted her face to his. Her lips were soft, moulding against his. Rosamund wound her arms around his neck, and he was careful to keep her safely balanced upon the wide tree branch. He couldn’t get enough of her, and the kiss turned wilder, hotter. Warrick felt the primal needs rising, and he moved her so that her back was against the tree trunk. He straddled the branch and brought her close so that her legs were around his waist. Then he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, nestling their bodies close.
And yet, it wasn’t close enough.
She let out a gasp when he slid his tongue inside her mouth. Though she was an innocent, she pressed her hips close so that the ridge of his arousal lay between her legs.
Her eyes widened, and Rosamund pulled back a moment. Her lips were swollen, and she framed his face with her hands. Then she traced a path down to his shoulders. ‘I know I should not kiss you like this. But it doesn’t feel wrong.’
She moved against him, and he could imagine the sweet wetness between her legs. He wanted to touch her intimately, to move her skirts aside and bury himself within her depths. It took an act of the greatest concentration not to move.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked. His tone balanced on the razor edge of unfulfilled desire. Did she understand what she was doing to him when she moved against him? He tried to hold her with one arm, to keep her still.
Rosamund shook her head. ‘I feel as if you are the only man in the world for me. And it breaks my heart to know that my father chose differently.’
She closed her eyes, and he saw the shadow of pain. Though he wasn’t surprised at the betrothal, it was her response that startled him. She genuinely appeared upset.
He held her close, breathing in the scent of this woman. Nothing in the world would please him more than to have Rosamund de Beaufort at his side. He would have slain a thousand demons if it meant awakening beside her each day.
But he lacked everything her father wanted. He was not the heir, and though he was of noble birth, his wealth paled beside a man like Alan de Courcy.
Her green eyes held dismay, but he leaned in and kissed her. ‘I would want nothing more than to marry you, Rosamund.’
But both of them knew it was impossible.
He tasted the salt of her tears, and she kissed him as if she never wanted it to end. The embrace shifted until he couldn’t stop his own response. He needed to be closer to this woman, and he pulled her onto his lap with her legs around him. She let out a soft moan, trembling in his arms.
‘Warrick,’ she whispered. And then she moved herself against him, mimicking the sexual act. She let out a soft gasp, and her fingers dug into his arms.
He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his body’s needs. This was about her, about pleasuring this woman and stealing a forbidden moment.
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