—A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, Chapter Nine T he room was dim, shadowed, with rich red velvet draperies over the windows, hanging from the bedstead. The scent of wine, flowers, and woodsmoke lingered in the cool air. The only sounds were the crackling flames in the grate—and a man’s husky whisper. “Rosalind,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful. So glorious.” His kiss, light as a butterfly’s wings, moved down her throat, over her shoulder. His fingers drew her thin silk gown down her arms. Her limbs were heavy, flooded with a languid warmth. Rosalind leaned back on satin pillows, and opened her eyes to see Michael smiling lazily down at her… Rosalind sat straight up in bed, gasping. “It was a dream,” she whispered. “Just a silly dream.” But a silly dream that left her trembling. She rubbed her hands over her face, and pushed back the unruly curls that had escaped from her careful plait. It had felt so very real, that dream. Not just the sensations, but the emotions.
