Lady and the Rake

by Anders, Annabelle

Would it happen again? She wanted it to. “You are leaving then?” She’d already asked him that… before. The thought of not seeing him again caused a stabbing in her heart.

  He turned so that he was sitting on the floor, his back to the settee, and then arranged her on his lap. “Do you want me to?”

  Why would he ask her this?

  “Eight days remain before the house party is over,” she said almost to herself. He was holding her like a child now. She walked her fingers up his chest. But then she could not contain her answer. She had decided she was not going to be strictly proper henceforth. “I want—We….”

  “I will stay for you.” His lips found hers. Softly, tenderly. “I will make love to you in all manner of fashion.” He tasted her slowly. “Right side up.” He ran his tongue along her teeth. “Upside down.” He bit at her lip. “Sideways and every other way, if that is what you wish.”

  She nodded, her heart already racing again. But they would have no misunderstandings. “And afterward, you must leave.” He must go ahead with all of the plans he’d made, and she would have no expectations. “You will sail the seas and learn about the world so that you can come back and make changes to your own.”

  He drew back to stare into her eyes. How had she ever compared George’s eyes to his? But for the color, they were not alike at all. Sebastian’s were filled with strength and honor… and excitement for all that the future held for a handsome young man like himself.

  “And you shall return to London and do whatever it is that you please because you are no longer going to concern yourself with doing all that is proper.

  She nodded.

  “And I will write to you, Maggie. Because it is not proper but also because I want to share the world with you—you deserve a little adventure.”

  “I would like that very much.” And she would. It would allow her to hold on to him in a very small way. “Perhaps I will fly in one of those balloon contraptions.” She exhaled as his lips trailed down her neck. She would return to London and perhaps hire a painting master to teach her. Or she would do something more useful. She could help at one of the foundling homes. Leaning back, feeling his even deep breaths, she relaxed into him.

  “You will stay eight more days.”

  “I will.” His voice rumbled beneath her. She nuzzled her face against his shirt and just as she closed her eyes, angry pounding sounded on the door, causing both of them to jump.

  A pause, and then more violent pounding, making the door shake. “Who’s in there?” Hugh demanded from the other side.

  Sebastian grinned at her, almost as though he found the notion of being discovered hilariously entertaining. She scowled and slapped at his arms so she could escape his embrace. He helped her to stand, however, and then handed her a handkerchief as he scrambled to his feet.

  If it wouldn’t be so horrifying, it would almost be amusing to see her brother’s expression upon discovering his very proper and dignified sister in flagrante delicto. The door pounded again. Most definitely not amusing. “Open up at once.”

  Sebastian fumbled with the fasteners she’d undone earlier and then went to adjusting his cravat.

  “It’s just me! I… er… fell asleep,” she called out. Margaret smoothed her skirts but then reached out a hand when her knees nearly buckled beneath her. She felt weak from the drink, the vigor of their lovemaking, or perhaps both.

  Sebastian caught her before she could fall. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “But why would you tell him that?” His voice was half laughter, half hiss. “He’s going to want to kill me!”

  “Oh.” Margaret realized her mistake immediately. But it was no matter, she had a plan. “Follow me.”

  A few rooms in this old manor had been designed with secret passages between them, and of course, the study was one of them. Sebastian followed her to where she pushed at the molding. The wainscoting in the shape of a small door sprang open. “Take the first right and then follow to the end. Make sure no one is in the library when you come out.” She bit her lip to keep from giggling, What would Penelope’s guests say if Lord Rockingham were to appear from inside the wall?

  He ducked down but then poked his head out again and grasped her by the shoulders. “I will come to you tonight.”

  “My maid would hear us. I will come to you. Do not,” she commanded sternly, “change rooms with anyone.” And then she lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips against his.

  He leaned forward, allowing his mouth to linger on hers.

  “Margaret, are you unwell?” Hugh’s shout carried through the outer door and across the room.

  “Go.” She pushed down on Sebastian’s shoulders. He ducked, came out again, kissed her one last time, and then disappeared into the wall.

  Margaret assured herself the door had closed all the way, smoothed her gown, and then strolled to where her brother continued banging against the wood. Feigning a yawn, she turned the lock and the door came flying open.

  Hugh glanced around and then down at her with narrowed eyes.

  She yawned again, this one surprisingly genuine. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I had to get away from everyone. I drank some sherry and drifted off.”

  Her brother walked farther into the room toward the hearth and then turned to her with raised brows. Ah, yes. Sebastian had been drinking port. Not one glass but two sat unfinished on the low mahogany table.

  “Oh, you won’t need this.” Penelope arrived at the open doorway, holding up a key. When she caught sight of Margaret, she added, “We were worried.”

  “No need.” Margaret smiled at both of them in an attempt to be reassuring and strode toward the door. “Has dinner been served already? I’m absolutely famished!”

  “Margaret.” Hugh grasped her arm before she could get away from the two of them. She turned and glanced over her shoulder. He’d gone from looking suspicious to concerned. “Are you heartbroken? I did not think you would be, but I realize that women are inclined to change their minds about these things.” He squeezed her arm. “Are you?”

  “No, I am not. I am disappointed with him. But I am far more disappointed in myself.” Her words came out sounding strong. It was the truth. Although she had never had great expectations of George in the first place, she’d thought to have a child with him—a family. She’d thought to do so without putting the needs of a child first. And that was the worst of it. Yes. She was most disappointed with herself.

  Hugh nodded. “And the ring? It is still missing?”

  At this, she winced. Although George had turned out to be a scoundrel of the worst kind, she was not at all keen on losing a ring that had been passed down in his family for generations. “I will keep looking, but yes. Will he make a stink of it, do you think?

  Of course, he would make a stink of it. Especially if he had pockets to let.

  Hugh clenched his jaw. “He can try.”

  “He’d better not or he’ll find himself in court!” Penelope snapped vehemently. In hindsight, Margaret realized that Penelope had not really liked George from the outset.

  Hugh released her. “Order a meal to your room, Margaret. It’s probably best that Kirkley isn’t given the opportunity to speak with you about it. Get some rest. He and Rockingham are leaving at sunup, and we can begin to put all of this behind us.”

  Margaret nodded. Would Sebastian change his mind? George was his family, after all. And she was merely his… mistress. Despite her newfound bravery, unease crept over her.

  She met her brother’s eyes gratefully. “I appreciate your support in all of this.” Hugh was being wonderful about all of it, really. “And, Penelope, I’m sorry that all of this has ruined your party.”

  Penelope smiled. “This party shall be remembered throughout the ages.” She laughed. “Do not apologize to me.”

  “You are my sister.” Hugh’s voice caught, surprisingly. He’d comforted her after their mother’s death, but aside from that, he and Margaret had not normally been af
fectionate with one another. And yet, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I only want you to be happy.”

  Was she going to be happy? She was going to experience pleasure; she was certain of that. But what of after? After he left?

  She pushed the thought away and lifted her chin. “I will be, Hugh.” She forced a determined smile. “I will be.”

  Returning to her chamber, Margaret found that Esther had ordered a bath drawn and light fare delivered to her room. After the evening’s vigorous activities in the study, soaking in a hot tub sounded heavenly.

  He’d asked if she would be coming to his room later that night and she had said she would. A thrill of anticipation tore through her. The sherry had lent her a boldness she didn’t think she would have had otherwise, but she was not sorry. She was curious and excited about what lay ahead that night.

  He’d held her afterward, as though he cared. But they did care for one another. They were friends. And now lovers.

  She had never considered herself to be a lover before. He must have had numerous other lovers before her, despite his youth.

  He had once been married!

  He’d told her that he had loved his wife and mourned her death. Margaret curled her feet beneath her where she sat and waited as the footmen began carrying in the heated buckets of water. Not one glanced at her as they trudged through the room. She noticed a streak of black on one of the men’s faces. They had carried the buckets up from the kitchens.

  Who filled their baths? They lived at Land’s End and she’d only glimpsed their quarters once or twice. Years ago, before her marriage. Had they been updated since? They had been dark and sparse, from what she could remember.

  A maidservant from the kitchen followed them in, carrying a tray that looked far too heavy for one small woman. “Tea, and bread and cheese, My Lady.” She set all of it on the table.

  “What is your name?” Margaret asked.

  “Lizette, My Lady. Can I bring you anything else?” The maid had wide blue eyes, but Margaret couldn’t tell the color of her hair as it was all tucked beneath her cap.

  “Thank you, Lizette. This will be fine,” Margaret murmured. She had always appreciated the servants at her beck and call but she had not considered their lives—their personhood. She could make excuses for herself, because, yes, it was what she’d been taught by her mother but…

  Lizette backed out of the room and then held the door as the manservants exited. Once the door was closed, Esther stepped out from behind the screen with Margaret’s dressing gown draped over one arm.

  Esther had only been with her since last summer. She was not at all similar to Margaret’s first lady’s maid, Agatha. Agatha had been close to Margaret in age and had served as her lady’s maid for over a decade. She’d been a confidante, a friend, even. Unfortunately, when Agatha’s mother had grown ill, she’d been forced to leave Margaret’s employ. That had been shortly after Lawrence passed away and Margaret hadn’t had the heart to hire anyone new after that. She’d instead presumed upon the occasional housemaid up until she’d taken up residence in her townhouse in Mayfair.

  Esther was older than Margaret. She was kind and quiet though. Guilt pricked her as Esther unlaced her gown. She had never made any attempt at all to come to know the woman.

  Esther’s hands moved at Margaret’s waist and Margaret gasped. Her skin felt tender there.

  “You are injured, My Lady?”

  “Ah, no,” Margaret answered. And then she exhaled.

  Esther peeled away the dress and seemed to be examining the marks left on her waist. “When you’ve finished bathing, I’ll make a lavender poultice for these. If you’d like.”

  He’d gripped her there, from behind. Margaret glanced over her shoulder into the mirror and felt herself blushing. Red marks, in the shape of a man’s hands showed visibly on her hips.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Esther met her eyes in the mirror. She had very kind eyes. She would not give away Margaret’s secret. “Let’s get you into the tub.”

  Margaret dipped low and allowed the hot water to envelope her. She wasn’t used to such drama in her life. Tragedy—now that, she could deal with. She’d grown used to coping with loss that dragged one through sadness until hope pierced its way inside.

  Fluctuations between ecstasy, guilt, and fear, however, posed an entirely different challenge.

  Until this house party, she had considered herself a strong and wise woman. Oh, how ironic! She had been a coward and a fool. She had thought she’d been proper and dignified. She’d thought she was a good friend, a humble woman—a woman of high morals. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up. She had only to twist in one way or the other and twinges of discomfort reminded her she was anything but.

  “Margaret?” The door to her chamber closed with a solid thud.

  “In here, Penelope.”

  Her sister-in-law’s face peered around the screen. “I know you told Hugh you were going to be fine, but I wanted to check on you again, anyhow. You seemed… different.” And then her eyes flew open wide. “Love bites!”

  Margaret reached up to cover herself instinctively. “What?”

  And then a slow smile spread across Penelope’s pale face. “You sent him through the passageway. You were not alone in the study.”

  Esther dropped a washcloth onto Margaret’s neck and shoulder before tilting her mistress’ head backward to gently pour warm water into her hair.

  “You are mistaken.” Margaret covered her face with the washcloth, her first inclination to hide any other marks that Penelope might see. But this was Penelope—her friend—her sister. So, instead, she removed the washcloth and shrugged. “I couldn’t very well allow Hugh to find us together.”

  “Who is it? Not Mr. Kirkley. I know you better. But who is it? Not a servant.” Penelope placed a finger on her chin as she contemplated the list of single gentlemen guests. “Lord Rockingham.”

  If Margaret wasn’t already flushed from the hot water, she would have blushed crimson from the root of her hair to the toes on her feet. She nodded. “But you cannot say anything.”

  Penelope drew up a chair and lowered herself onto it while Esther rinsed the suds out of Margaret’s hair. “I positively hate you for having such glorious hair.”

  Penelope’s hair was a delightful sunny auburn. “I envy yours.”

  “I wondered on a few occasions but… I am so happy for you! How, though? When?”

  “He is helping me search for the ring.” Margaret rose behind the towel that Esther held up for her and stepped out of the tub. “I don’t want to make any more trouble for you and Hugh. Lord Rockingham has been helping me look for it.”

  “Is that what it’s called these days? Looking for the ring?” But Penelope only laughed and then pretended to appear innocent. “And that’s a wonderful excuse for Rockingham to remain rather than depart with Mr. Kirkley tomorrow morning, if I say so myself. He is staying, isn’t he? I think you would look far less like the cat that got the canary if he was leaving.”

  Margaret exhaled loudly and slipped her arms into her dressing gown. “It is a good idea, isn’t it? But you cannot tell my brother! So help me, Penelope, if you do, I will never speak to you again. Hugh is already beside himself with mistrust of Sebastian’s family—"

  “Sebastian, now, is it?”

  “I’m not joking. It would be a disaster. Do you want Hugh to challenge Rockingham to a duel?” Because although the practice was outlawed, her brother could be just that stubborn sometimes.

  At last, she seemed to have Penelope’s serious attention. “Actually, I would not,” she admitted. “Very well.” She reached over to take something off of the nearby vanity and handed it to Margaret. The bottle of perfume she’d brought to her before. “Don’t forget to put some between your breasts.” She backed toward the doorway. “And good luck with, ah, what did you call it? Oh, yes… finding the ring.”

  “Penelope?” Margaret stopped her.
/>   Penelope merely tilted her head in question.

  “Which room… er… did Lord Rockingham end up in?” She would not, under no circumstances, whatsoever, mistakenly enter the wrong chamber.

  Penelope laughed. “The north southerly-facing Spanish room.”

  “You are certain?”

  “One hundred percent.” And with a rather large grin, Penelope stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

  Well then. One less thing for Margaret to worry over.

  22

  The Proper Chamber

  “You came.” Sebastian pulled Margaret into the room and into his arms at the same time he closed the door behind her. As his lips slammed against hers, she found herself melting but at the same time coming to life all over again. This was why she was here.

  This man.

  “Damn, woman, you took long enough,” he muttered against her lips as he dragged her to the large bed in the center of the room.

  “I had to have a bath.” She tilted her head back. “Penelope visited my chamber.”

  His lips traveled down her throat. “Hush. I’m still imagining you in the bath, all warm and wet and naked.”

  Speaking of naked… Margaret slid her hands inside of his dressing gown. She’d touched his skin like this that first night but not since. She pushed the silk banyan off his shoulders at the same time he maneuvered her gown over her head. Skin against skin.

  Better than the most luxurious silk bedding.

  She’d had ideas, and he’d even told her that he would make love to her in all manner of position and method, but she had not been certain until he’d touched her again.

  Laying together on the mattress now, he slowed their kiss and pulled back. “What do you want, Margaret? Tell me what you want.”

  The question surprised her. She had already, hadn’t she? “You.”

  She stared up at his face, admiring his features in the glow of the candlelight, and he grinned, looking youthful but beautiful and oh, so sensual.

  “Yes.” His hand trailed along the line of her hip. “But tell me more specifically.”