Marriage isn't for everyone...
Marriage isn’t for everyone – right?
A LOVE TO REMEMBER Regency romance, book #7 in the Disgraced Lords series. Read. Feel. Fall in Love.
Rose Deverill, Duchess of Roxborough, had not always enjoyed sex. Sexual congress with her elderly husband—the man to whom her family had literally sold her—had been something to endure.
Then, as a young widow of one-and-twenty, she’d taken her first lover. Imagine her surprise. Her older brother’s friend, Viscount Tremain, had been a marvelous teacher who had introduced her to a world of desire and pleasure and she was forever grateful.
But on that same day she’d made a decision. She would never marry again. Marriage held few advantages for a woman.
As a widow, no one told her how to behave, what to wear, what to eat, what to drink, or where she could go. It was a glorious freedom. She had her son, money, and a title. She did not want for anything.
The ton of course did not understand her resolve, or why she would turn down so many eligible proposals. She was still young and beautiful. She needed a man to make her life complete.
But Rose had men—a different man whenever she wanted, in fact. She just didn’t have a husband. Which meant she did not have to put up with a man’s tantrums, his boring displays of jealousy, or worry that she might be left financially ruined by his profligate spending. When a man bored her, she simply sent him on his way. After all, none of them really mattered to her.
The reputation she had crafted and built over the five years of her widowhood—and the double standards of their society—ensured most men would never again look at her as a potential wife. Although she could not guarantee it. Having a title and money forgave many sins.
Now six-and-twenty, Rose could say that she still enjoyed pleasure, the giving and receiving of it—especially the receiving. Who wouldn’t? But she’d learned from her experience of many paramours that not every man was as considerate, or as skilled a lover, as her viscount.
To her consternation, she’d also come to realize that making love was far more fulfilling than simply experiencing pleasure. Lovemaking was the most sensual and exquisite experience a woman could have. It was like touching heaven, and Rose had only ever felt that touch at the hands of one man. And she knew she’d only ever feel that with one man.
Philip Flagstaff, the Earl of Cumberland.
The man who’d become her lover on that wet, stormy day they had buried his older brother. The one man who could perhaps get her to change her mind and marry—if he asked.