by Tracy Sumner
“Finn, oh, Finn,” she murmured, dropping her head to his thigh as the explosions rocked her body. Wave after wave, pulsing, pounding. Blinding. Until she was boneless, her muscles lax and uncooperative, her carnal task forgotten.
With what sounded like laughter, he took control, pulling her atop him. She gazed down at him, skin tingling, dots spotting her vision. “Where am I?” she asked and braced her hands on his chest with a hitching exhalation.
He smiled wickedly, cupped the nape of her neck, and brought her lips to his. She felt him move into position and with one gentle push, thrust inside. Settling his hands on her hips, he helped her establish the rhythm. It felt much different than having his weight atop her. Amazingly different. In control different. With an empowered sigh, she released him from the kiss, rose high, and moved with him. Rode him with long strokes, a languid rhythm, until he was close to leaving her, then back. Again and again.
She felt wanton, animalistic, bared to her soul. Mindless, dazed, frenetic. There’d been no way to anticipate how this sensual, intimate act would bond them.
“Now,” he urged and slipped his hand between them, touched her once, lightly, and she knew nothing but astounding pleasure. Closing her eyes, she let him lead her as body and mind parted. Colors burst behind her eyelids, her sensitive skin stung. With a wanton moan, she collapsed, and he rolled her over without missing a beat, his thrusts frantic, his lips, his hands, his teeth, all over her.
He whispered a harsh string of French as he shuddered, his arms closing around her. Falling to his side, he brought her with him, kissing her cheek, her shoulder, her collarbone. After a delayed moment filled with only their terse breaths permeating the room, he reached to tuck the destroyed sheet around her, smooth the hair from her face. Such a thoughtful, compassionate man. Even when she opened her mouth to speak, and he rejected her with an outstretched hand. A tender, tolerant, exhausted gesture. “Sleep,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Food.” He yawned and hauled her closer. “Once you’ve decided.”
She tugged at his chest hair. “Oh, I’ve already decided.”
He blinked, the one eye not swallowed by the pillow sliding open. “You have?”
“Finley Michel Laurent Alexander, I think it would be best if I make an honest man of you.” She gestured to the disturbed bedchamber. “Seeing as you can’t keep your hands off me. And seeing as I love you more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Finn’s smile was beatific. “One less thing to worry about in the grand scheme. Except for your expulsion from society, which I’m warning you, will be severe.”
She closed her eyes and took him in, his scent heaven, his touch everything. He wouldn’t believe how little she cared about being expelled from a group she’d never admired in the first place. “I’ll like living on the outside edge. It’s the finest place to be. Not too close to the sun.”
“The glorious middle,” he murmured, sounding sleepy again. “We shall muddle along. We have support. A viscount who touches objects and sees the past, and a duke who starts indiscriminate fires with his blazing fingertips.”
“Ashcroft,” she breathed, “I forgot all about him.”
A choked laugh escaped Finn at her admission. “Good. Though he’s offered to throw us a magnificent celebration complete with pyrotechnics because he’s known to fancy them, playing the rejected suitor to the hilt, of course. The women will swarm him. And Julian”—Finn snorted softly—“believes wholeheartedly in love. A romantic if there ever was one. He’ll be blinded by excitement over our marriage. You’ll be joining the League in an even greater capacity than he’d hoped. Blocker extraordinaire and sister-in-law.”
He rose to his elbow, leaning over her, his smile dimming. “There is one thing I must ask for. Or two rather. You see, I have a modest estate just down the road from Harbingdon that Piper gifted me on my twenty-first birthday. Brook Cottage. A gift to her when Julian stupidly thought they’d never marry. It’s quite lovely. And easily protected. There’s a small conservatory, a stable. Enough chambers for Belle and Simon, who’s as much a son to me as my own could ever be—”
“Yes,” she whispered and brushed the hair she’d trimmed when they were falling in love from his face. Cupping his jaw, she felt his pulse jolt beneath her thumb. “They should live with us. Since my brother’s passing, I haven’t had a family, Finn. Charles was all I ever had. I want one with you. With Humphrey, Piper, Julian. Belle and Simon and Lucien. I want the League. I want to find my place.”
Sinking to the bed with a sigh, he tucked her into the curve of his body. “Simon needs me, and I need him. I need Belle. I don’t know why, exactly, but I do. As much as I need you. And if not for you, I’d have never found her. The dreams make sense now.” He swallowed, the click of his throat echoing in the room. “With patience, some things in life do come full circle.”
“You love me,” she marveled, recalling he’d said it more than once while he moved inside her.
He hummed beneath his breath, his breathing slowing as he slipped into sleep. His voice was soft. “Tu m'aime.” You love me.
She did, with everything in her. Heart, mind, soul.
And she was never letting him go.
Because this rake was taken.
Epilogue
In a very charming part of the country…
* * *
Oxfordshire, Six Months Later
* * *
Snow battered the charming cottage by the brook, pristine white drifts edging past the windowpanes, the raging storm trapping the inhabitants inside. Victoria shifted her puzzle book into the firelight and bit into the treacle tart she’d baked earlier today. She’d fallen in love with the cozy manor with a fierceness and speed that surprised her, having never felt possessive of a dwelling, cherishing it like she would a member of her family. But cherish Brook Cottage she did.
After all, it was her first real home.
She was surrounded by all the things she loved, a faultless moment in time. Occasionally, she reflected with a warm curl in her belly, her happiness was near to overflowing.
She sat before the hearth, back against the brocade sofa, Finn asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling in a contented rhythm, one of his language texts still clutched in his hand. Simon lay half-on, half-off the sofa, his gentle snores the only sound in the parlor beyond the clack of Belle’s knitting needles. Her sister-in-law was a horrendous knitter, as the unusually-shaped hats and scarves she’d gifted everyone attested to, but she said it kept her hands and her mind occupied. Occupied from what, Victoria wasn’t sure but thought she might be able to guess.
Covering a smile behind her tart, she watched Belle glance toward the door with a troubled expression. Humphrey had gone out to secure more firewood and check with the sentries who patrolled the cottage, and despite what the two of them said when asked, which everyone had gotten around to asking in the past months, he and Belle sparked off each other like wood in a hearth. Hissing and spitting. One moment friends, the next enemies.
Passion moved slowly—or sometimes not at all. Victoria only hoped, if Belle was falling in love with the handsome, hulking, overly-compassionate-though-he-tried-to-hide-it man, she’d be courageous enough to fight for him. Humphrey, for his part, when he wasn’t trying to ignore her, treated Belle like she was breakable.
When love often demanded rough handling.
More a battle than a dance, at least in her experience. But, oh, those longing looks Humphrey threw in Belle’s direction, they smoldered.
“There’s the smile that makes me nervous.”
She turned to find her husband—husband, she repeated with an ecstatic internal giggle—blinking sleepily, his cheeks rosy from the fire. “I have no idea what you’re referring to. None of my smiles should make you nervous.”
He yawned, his lids drifting low. “I couldn’t sell that lie on a rookery street corner for a halfpenny. Would not wager one on it in the Blue Moon.”
She reached,
unable to keep from touching him, her fingers finding his and lacing tight. He returned the caress, drawing a slow, sensual circle on the inside of her wrist, a move that made her want to strip his clothing from his body and climb atop him.
“This is my favorite spot in the house,” he whispered for her ears only.
She felt her face heat. They’d made love here many times since moving into the cottage. Last night, in fact. She well knew it was his favorite spot. He said the firelight made her skin glow like he’d dusted it with amber.
His hand tightened around hers, a fast, agitated clench. “I had another dream. About Ashcroft. About the girl. I could almost see her face this time. She was surrounded by books, I think. They were annoyed with each other, nothing friendly about the interaction. It almost looked like Oxford’s library, though I can’t say I visited that often during my tenure.”
Victoria tensed, then made herself relax. The love of her life was like no man she’d ever encountered, and the danger surrounding him, surrounding her now that she was a part of their supernatural community, was something she had to learn to live with. Work with, grow with. This new, welcome life of hers was changing everything. “I’m sorry I can’t block those. Julian is trying to understand why my interference with one of your gifts only seems to make the other stronger.” She chewed her lip in thought, thrusting aside her angst. She couldn’t solve every challenge Finn faced, more the pity because she’d have given her life to protect him. “The dreams coming more often and more intensely.”
“Julian is an able taskmaster. He closets you away for hours a day pouring over that dusty chronology. You’re the League’s, his, newest pet project. He so wants to have a firm grasp of your gift; it is hard to deny him. He’s even recruited Agnes to help with the research, poor woman.” Finn lifted their joined hands to his lips and placed a delicate kiss on her palm, his tongue tracing a pulse point with calculated finesse. “I wish I was as interested in the occult when I simply want to live my life and lessen the damage. I want my children to be liberated from this burden. God willing, our talents skip a generation or leave our family completely. Find a way to solve that dilemma in those damned pages, and I’ll get excited about the process.”
Children. She desperately wanted Fig Alexander’s children. He was so good with Lucien, and Piper and Julian’s new baby, Emma.
As the jolt of awareness from Finn’s touch danced along her skin, she wondered, with a quick look around the room, what Belle would say if she dragged her husband from the parlor and didn’t return until morning. “Are you going to tell Ashcroft about the dreams?” she finally asked, her voice breathless, wanting, something her husband would notice. And hopefully, take delicious advantage of.
Finn rolled to his side to face her. Still, she found herself arrested by his beauty, his intelligence, his kindness. “I am. He’s coming for Christmas as I suppose we’re his only family, our delightfully mystical clan. Worse, I have to tell Julian. I’ve only delayed because once I do, we’ll be off on the chase. Who is she to Ashcroft? Why am I dreaming about her? What’s her bloody connection to the League?” He closed his eyes, his frown sending that adorable dent between his brows. “Truthfully, I’m exhausted by these campaigns. I want them to end.”
She leaned in to smooth her lips over his cheek. “Well, now, you have me to lean on. I’m quite strong, you know. Let your wife shoulder part of the burden. Make use of my willingness.”
Easing his hand behind her neck, he shifted her mouth to his to initiate a kiss. “Didn’t I embrace your willingness last night? And this morning?”
“Oh, bother, you two need to find a chamber,” Humphrey snapped as he entered the cottage on a rush of frigid air and swirling snow, jugging an armload of firewood, and awkwardly kicking the door shut. He’d escorted Belle home just as the storm began to rage, and he was none too happy to be stranded at Brook Cottage. Victoria had a sneaking suspicion being held hostage with Finn’s enchanting, quick-tempered sister was the reason for his pique. “Isn’t the honeymoon long over?”
“I’m trying to sleep,” Simon groused, curling his arm over his head, and turning his back on the room. He was, by all accounts, a typical, irritable adolescent. They never knew if he was talking to them or one of the recently-deceased people who inhabited his world. Although Victoria’s blocking seemed to keep the haunts at a slight distance. Peering in the windows of the cottage, according to Simon, which did send a vague scamper of unease along Victoria’s skin.
“Lune de miel, a marriage’s sweetness, can last for years. Or so I’ve been told,” Belle murmured with a clack of her knitting needles. “Such a romantic, Ollie. It inspires, truly.”
Humphrey dumped the firewood in the log holder and turned to her with a muttered oath everyone heard quite clearly. “We’ve discussed the nickname, missy. It’s Humphrey. I don’t go by Oliver, I never have. Who the hell even told you my first name, I’d love to know.” His hot gaze fell to Finn, one of only three people, before one of those three disclosed the secret, who’d known.
Belle smiled but didn’t look up, the needles speaking for her. A formidable opponent for the gentle giant if Victoria had ever seen one.
“Don’t go getting ideas,” Finn whispered with a grin, though he tried to flatten his lips to hide it. “I don’t think Ollie is ever going to marry. And Belle…” He shrugged with another of those frowns pleating his brow. He worried about Belle finding her own life when she seemed content to mother every lost soul Julian dragged to Harbingdon until it was hard to remember when she wasn’t there to nurture, console, placate.
Victoria leaned to kiss Finn, willing to suffer Humphrey’s wrath.
Children with her beloved. Marriage for Belle and Humphrey.
She would pray for two Christmas miracles.
~ END ~
Thanks!
Thanks for reading The Rake is Taken.
I so appreciate it and hope you liked Finn and Victoria's love story! Ready to dive into Julian and Piper’s sizzling romance?
An excerpt from The Lady is Trouble follows.
* * *
Happy reading!
The Lady is Trouble
He’s a viscount with a dark past who yearns for the one woman he can’t have. She’s a psychic firebrand. Rebellious, spurned by society and determined to change his mind.
* * *
What’s a defiant woman to do when the man she’s meant for doesn’t believe in love?
* * *
After three years of waiting for Julian Alexander to realize they are destined to be together, Lady Piper Scott takes matters into her own hands. Because her gift as a healer has never done anything but distance her from the most principled man in England. A meaningless diversion as a medium, all done to gain a certain wandering viscount’s attention, backfires. As most endeavors have for a woman known in the ton as Scandalous Scott.
* * *
What’s a reluctant viscount to do when the woman he can’t have becomes the woman he can’t live without?
* * *
Julian Alexander, Lord Beauchamp, battled his way from the lowliest slum to assume his title. He carries not only a turbulent past, but a mystical psychic gift that separates him from society. Honorable to his core, he is committed to protecting a community of outcasts with abilities like his own. He has no time, no place, for love. Or repeatedly rescuing the most outrageous, beguiling woman he’s ever known. Even if she needs his protection most—and he desires her above all others.
* * *
Seduction, intrigue and desire lead to an explosive passion…
* * *
Julian vowed to shield Piper from the deadly foes seeking to possess her powerful gift. Although he needs her help in controlling his own, the mix could be deadly. Soon what was once a simple agreement to work together becomes enchantingly complex as they surrender to a timeless love…
Chapter 1
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.
~John Keats
London, 1865
Allowing the lady to lure him into her carriage had been a brilliant idea.
Julian Alexander stared at a spider crack in the ceiling of his Mayfair townhome and wondered when he might start to believe it. He could presume encountering a former lover outside Hatchards on an otherwise lonely evening was a fortuitous event if there weren’t the niggling—familiar—pinch of regret the moment his cock settled.
A faint sense of having erred, gone off the path, and into a twilight woodland where one could be easily lost.
As lost as he’d felt stepping into her dimly lit carriage.
Julian watched Marianne wrap herself in his silk dressing gown, her chatter lulling him into a state of satiated distraction. Only the first and third word of each sentence filtering through, he found the conversation definitively complete. Earl, garden, tryst, scandal. Titles and the men who held them occupied her undivided interest. Each day spent investigating a riddle that had no solution.
It was not, in fact, worth the attention she devoted to it.
In all fairness, Julian could not judge.
His mystical gift separated him from a normal existence and made the world he’d been born into at times unrecognizable. Out of a sense of duty, he played the part of the gentleman for the sole purpose of propping up the viscountcy, adhering to society’s rules while struggling to preserve his secrets and the secrets of those he protected. Of course, he tendered his title when it benefited himself or the League. But a barony would have profited as well and knocked him down a notch, perhaps enough to slip beneath the waves and be carried from view.
