The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,94

you are still heartbroken, I know. Let’s go to bed, shall we? You slept as poorly in your brother’s coach as I did.”

She could say no without offending him, could claim a need to think, or to draft her first letter to her daughter. Rothhaven would considerately leave her in peace and finish his much-needed nap in the big bed in the other room.

But Stephen’s words repeated in her head: You keep yourself to yourself.…And where had that landed her? Painting in her bare feet and hiding from the world. Simply touching Rothhaven, talking to him, hearing his voice, brought her comfort.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said, turning her face into his shoulder. “I am more upset than I have ever been. I don’t want to lose her just as I’ve found her, Rothhaven. I cannot.”

He rose and drew Constance to her feet. “Dwell on the positive aspects of the situation for now. She won’t leave for weeks, she is a wonderful girl, she wants to know you better, and we have many resources. You are tired and have had an overwhelming morning. Come to bed.”

Constance went into the bedroom hand in hand with Rothhaven, and he undressed her as she let fatigue and sheer shock steal over her. She had met her daughter. Her lovely, delightful, stubborn, outspoken daughter. She could lose that daughter without ever seeing her again, and that was unbearable.

When Rothhaven had Constance down to her shift, he gave her a gentle push toward the steps beside the bed.

“You will join me?” Closeness with him, the man who knew her secrets, who shared her burdens, had become imperative.

“Not until I’m wearing less than you are, but yes.”

Rothhaven peeled his shirt over his head, stepped out of his breeches, and neatly folded his clothing on the clothes press. Constance had seen him all but unclothed before, but this mundane display was more dear. She would see him like this often, moving around a bedroom in the altogether, preparing for sleep. His hair was tousled, his eyes ringed with fatigue, and yet, he was a splendid specimen—lean, muscular, well proportioned, and hers to love.

“Come to bed,” she said, holding up the blankets.

Rothhaven climbed in beside her and spooned himself around her. He was mildly aroused, which Constance considered normal when a mostly healthy man contemplated sharing a bed with his lover. She drifted off on the thought that this was the tonic she needed.

Rothhaven’s arms around her, his company, his warmth. The challenge of Ivy’s situation was daunting, and it might never be happily resolved, but at least Constance would not face that pain alone.

You appear to have lost your shift, my dear.

Robert was unable to offer that observation aloud because Constance was kissing him. He’d awakened to find her straddling his lap, her breasts a feminine benediction against his chest.

“I didn’t want to impose,” he whispered, when she paused to nuzzle his ear. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You bother me. You bother me without ceasing.” She switched to his other ear. “I dreamed I was bothering you right back and awakened full of ideas.”

“This isn’t why I suggested we nap.” Though Robert’s masculine accoutrements thought Constance had lit upon the best idea in the whole world.

“We napped. Now I’m suggesting we move on to other agreeable activities.” She rocked her hips, and agreeable became the most spectacular understatement in the language.

“Again, please.”

She was a fiend, eventually sliding to his side to fondle him in ways that sent reason flying out the window. Her hand was an instrument of naughty, delightful inspiration, and her mouth…

“I’ll spend,” Robert whispered, eyes closed, hands fisted in the sheets. “If you don’t cease this instant…”

She licked him slowly, like a favorite ice on a hot day, then desisted, only to straddle him again and sink down over his arousal on a single, sure glide of her hips.

“A moment,” Robert rasped. “Please allow me a moment.”

Constance folded onto his chest, her breath fanning across his shoulder. “I love being this close to you. Love touching you wherever I please.”

“And I love touching you.” Rejoiced in it, in fact. “For years I dreaded every tactile interaction with another person. You touch me, and I am saturated in pleasure.”

She kissed his cheek. “Do you still own that awful place?”

“Gave it to a charity.”

“Drat. I would have loved to help you burn it down.” She began to move, igniting an altogether different sort of fire, and words became impossible. She raised herself