Always a Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch

Author:Suzanne Enoch [Enoch, Suzanne]
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2010-05-04T22:00:00+00:00

“You might have called at the front door for that.”

“If you don’t step back and let me in, the constabulary is going to come calling at your front door, wondering why there’s a very handsome dead man in your garden.”

Rosamund moved back quickly. Feeling a bit unsettled—after all, he’d expected to find her cowering and witless—Bram hauled himself up over her windowsill and stepped down into her bedchamber.

“Hello,” he said, brushing at the sleeve of his dark gray jacket.

Dropping the cricket bat with which she’d struck him, Rosamund abruptly threw herself forward. Faced with a female shoving herself into his chest, her hands clutching into his coat, and her face buried hard into his shoulder, Bram did the only thing that felt correct; he closed his arms around her.

“Rosamund, shh,” he breathed, lowering his face into her soft, ginger-colored hair.

He wasn’t very practiced at being comforting; hell, he could count on one finger the number of times he’d offered comfort. She lifted her face and began kissing the underside of his jaw, featherlight and filling him with longing.

“I’m attempting to be supportive and understanding,” he whispered, tilting his head, his eyes rolling back, as she continued nibbling at him. Good God.

“Everyone left, and you came to see me,” she murmured, her voice still unsteady. Her fingers lifted to pull at the knot in his cravat.

“This is not being comforting,” he tried, steeling every muscle in his body to keep from returning her caresses.

“This is the comfort I want,” Rosamund returned, pulling his cravat free and dropping it to the floor.

As her hands began tugging at the buttons of his waistcoat, Bram decided that he’d endured more than could be expected of any mortal man, and he lowered his head to take her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. Part of him wondered whether this was her way of gaining revenge against Cosgrove again, this time for whatever he’d done to make her retreat to her bedchamber. At the sensation of her hands unfastening the buttons of his trousers, he ceased caring what her motivations might be.

Bram pulled the pins from her hair, letting the ginger waves cascade down around his hands. “You are dressed a bit conservatively this evening,” he noted, reaching around her to loosen the top of her gown.

“It was intentional.”

He nearly said something about the more skin she covered up, the more interested he was in exposing it, but he stopped himself just in time. Bram Johns only said such things when he was bent on seduction. This chit already had her hand down his—“Good God,” he muttered, aloud this time, shifting as her slender fingers closed around his cock. “Don’t pull it off; it’s headed where you want it to be.”

“Apologies,” she whispered, removing her hand from his nether regions to shove his jacket and waistcoat onto the floor.

Pulling the shirt over his head himself, he turned her around and swiftly went to work on the remainder of her buttons. She was enclosed more tightly than a mummy, and he wanted at her.

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