She could see his full, red lips inches from her own, close enough for her to reach out and touch them. He did not pull away as she ran her finger back and forth, but then he suddenly captured her finger in his mouth, holding it firmly between his white teeth as he began to lick it. Rose was mesmerized by the warmth of his lips and was disappointed when he stopped. But he was pulling her against him.
“You are beautiful,” he said softly.
She could feel every inch of him, from his hips to his chin. He lowered one hand and splayed it across her behind, snugging her even tighter against him until she could be in no doubt as to the hardness of his member beneath the material of his breeches.
“I want you, Rose Barrington,” he breathed against her ear. “I want to hold you; possess you. I want to merge every inch of your body with mine.”
“I want to touch you, too,” she murmured. "I want to touch every part of your body as I want you to touch every part of mine.”
“You are a vixen,” he said against her mouth as he slaked his lips across hers.
Then they were both laughing and touching, and he was saying “I want you,” louder and louder until it was almost a scream, and then suddenly it was a scream, but it was no longer Will; it was Ernest, and he was right on top of her shouting in her ear, "I want you. I want you,” clawing at her breasts and her buttocks. Rose reared back across the bed, trying to escape him, but he came after her, on hands and knees.
“You cannot escape me, Rose Barrington,” he was shouting. “I am your husband. You must submit to me. You will.”
Rose screamed and kicked out at him with her foot, but he caught it, and then he was pulling her back. "I will have all of you, just as my brother did. But I am not the weak sop he was. I am a man, and you will service me as I demand.” She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he pulled her closer. His hands were under her nightgown, on the upper part of her thigh and rising higher, groping at the most private part of her.
“Let me go,” she ordered, but he was not listening. For an inept man, his grip was strong, far too strong, as he brought his body over hers and flattened her back against the mattress.
“When you agreed to marry me, you agreed to this,” he leered in her face, his wiry hair standing up all over his head, his pock-marked expression twisted into an ugly sneer. “You will find me a most demanding lover, madam.” His fingers were stabbing between her legs as his other hand grabbed one of her breasts through the fabric of her gown and squeezed so hard she cried out.
“Help,” she said in her head, but the word did not escape her lips. That one word was rolling around and around in her head as he pawed at her body, along with one other. “Will! Help! Will! Help me!” She felt a wetness on her cheeks and realized she was crying. She closed her eyes tightly against the tears. She would not give Ernest that satisfaction.
As he clawed frantically at her, she heard a hammering near her head. The hammering grew louder, and she could not work out what it was. It sounded as if someone was hammering on the headboard. The weight of Ernest's body on her was suffocating.
“Rose!”
She heard Mary calling her name.
Rose shook her head from side to side on the pillow, trying to focus on Mary’s voice and block out the feeling of Ernest’s hands on her. Then suddenly, she felt the weight of his body lifting from her limbs. Mary was coming to rescue her. Thank god.
“Mary,” she shouted loudly. "Help me!”
She opened her eyes then and suddenly realized she was alone in the room. Ernest was gone, but her heart was still banging in her chest, and the hammering noise was still reverberating around her bedchamber.
“Rose!" She heard Mary's voice again, much louder now, and she realized the hammering noise was footsteps on the wooden hallway outside her door. She leaped from the bed. Why was Mary here? Something must have happened to Jacob or the children. There was no other reason why Mary would have come today, of all days, and at this hour. It was barely light outside.
She grabbed her robe and pulled her door wide as she dragged it around her. Mary was standing on the threshold, red in the face from running, finding it difficult to catch her breath as she braced herself against the doorframe. An equally out-of-breath Jennings was coming up behind her.
“Mary? What is it? Who is hurt? Tell me!”
Mary was gasping so hard that Rose thought she was crying, but then she realized she was not crying but laughing.
“Mary. Tell me.” Rose pleaded.
Her sister looked up, finally able to speak, with a massive smile on her face. “The wedding's off," she half-shouted.
CHAPTERELEVEN
“What? What do you mean? How would you know that?”
Rose’s gaze swung to Jennings but he seemed just as astounded as she did.
“Jacob,” Mary gasped. “He rode all the way from London to tell me. Ernest had an accident. He was drunk, and he fell. He is seriously hurt.”
“Why did no one tell me this before?” Rose demanded. How could they have left her thinking she had to go through with this terrible arrangement right until the very last minute?
“It only happened last night. He was at White’s. Jacob was there with a client, and he saw it all. The Duke was drunk, and there was an altercation. Someone swung at him, and he landed on a table. He was in a bad shapewhen they took him away."