Ready Set Rogue

by Manda Collins

  And before his wife could ask any impertinent questions about their reasons for the visit, Ivy slipped her hand into Quill’s arm and stepped back out into the street, where a glance at the sky was enough to tell her that the fine weather they’d enjoyed earlier had changed. Now a dark cloud hung low on the horizon and looked to be headed back the way they’d come.

  “Damn it,” Quill said under his breath. “I knew I should have sent the coachman ahead to wait here in the village for us. The weather here is apt to change at the drop of a hat. Which I well know.”

  “I’m sure if we hurry we can make it back to Beauchamp House before the storm,” Ivy said, not necessarily believing her words but not wishing to wait it out in the village when she wanted to get back to the manor so that she could reread Lady Celeste’s letter to see if there were any clues she might have missed.

  To her relief, Quill seemed to agree with her. “Let’s get started then before it overtakes us.”

  * * *

  They’d only got to the edge of the village, both of them walking briskly in an effort to outrun the coming storm, when Quill heard a carriage rumbling toward them.

  There was plenty of room for it to pass, thanks to the width of the carriageway at that point, but nevertheless, he said, “Perhaps we should move to the side to let him by.”

  Lost in thought, Ivy gave a start but allowed him to guide her to the roadside. When she glanced behind them, however, her eyes grew wide. And when Quill looked back, he saw that rather than taking advantage of the area they’d ceded to him, the driver of the cart was barreling toward them.

  Without thinking, he threw himself against her, just before the horses followed by the careening vehicle sped past where they’d just been standing.

  “What on earth?” Ivy gasped from beneath him, her breath coming in gasps as she tried to regain her composure. “Were his horses out of control?”

  His own breath in short supply, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Turning to look down at her, he realized he was sprawled on top of her, and scrambled to his feet. Taking advantage of the moment, he gave her a hand up. They busied themselves in brushing off their clothes, and Quill retrieved his hat from where it had fallen in the grass a few feet away.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at her at last and seeing that she seemed more annoyed than hurt.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a frown. “But I’d like to know why that man just tried to run us over.”

  “I didn’t recognize him,” Quill said with a frown as he looked in the direction where the cart had sped off. “It was very likely just some tradesman in a hurry to reach his next stop.”

  “Well, I’ve lived in Oxford my whole life,” she said, still frowning, “and it is far more congested than this village, and I’ve never once been in danger of being trampled by a runaway cart.”

  Realizing she was likely far more upset by the incident than she let on, Quill refrained from minimizing her reaction. Instead, he calmly tucked her arm into his elbow and started them off in the direction of home.

  “I fear we’d best discuss this as we walk, for it looks as if this storm is about to be upon us,” he said. It was a measure of how unsettled she was that she had allowed him to lead her without so much as a murmur of protest.

  Despite their best efforts, the storm did, in fact, overtake them about halfway back to Beauchamp House, pelting them with a deluge of wind and rain.

  “Now is not the time for missishness,” he said to Ivy, who despite her shivering, was attempting to accept the shelter of his coat without touching him. “You won’t give a hang about your reputation when you’re dying of the ague in your solitary bed,” he snapped, pulling her roughly against him even as they hurried along the path.

  “I’m not…” she began to protest, then, perhaps thinking better of it, stopped herself. “Fine,” she muttered in a voice he strained to hear over the sound of the rain, “but don’t blame me if we’re spotted and someone forces us into a betrothal.”

  Quill could think of worse things than to find himself leg-shackled to a curvaceous beauty with a sharp tongue, but wisely chose to keep his own counsel on the matter. Now was not the time to raise her ire. If his memory served, there was an empty cottage up ahead used by shepherds moving their flocks, which though likely to offend his companion’s sensibilities, was at the very least dry and, if they were lucky, boasted a fireplace.

  “This way,” he said, unabashedly holding her against him as he led her down a side path toward the cottage, which he spotted—thank god—just as he began to think his memory had deceived him with a remembered mirage.

  Fortunately, she didn’t question his diversion, and when she saw the weather-beaten shack, she cried out with relief.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see an abandoned cottage in all my life,” she said as she pulled out of the shelter of his arms and began to remove her ruined hat.

  Not pausing to reflect on how strangely bereft he felt at their separation, Quill removed his greatcoat and handed it to her. “Take off your pelisse and put this on while I start the fire. There should be some blankets in that chest. The shepherds generally keep a few things in these cottages for those nights when they’re forced to remain here.”

  Relief swept through him when she did as she was told. He would never forgive himself his foolishness at getting her into this predicament if she caught her death of a cold. And a missish refusal to get out of her wet things would have risked just that. But Ivy was more sensible than that, thank god.

  Confident that she was on her way to drying off, and aware that his blood was still up thanks to the near miss on the road, he knelt before the fireplace and concentrated on lighting the kindling and logs left there by the cottage’s last occupant.

  “How did you know about this place?” Ivy asked from behind him. “I didn’t see it on our way into the village.”

  “I remembered waiting out rain storms here when I was a lad,” Quill said, brushing his hands off on his breeches before standing. “I’m surprised it’s still … here.” When he’d turned it was to see that not only had Ivy removed her soaked outer garment, but she was seated on the little cot unlacing her boots, which revealed an impressive pair of bestockinged calves. Fortunately, she was too intent on her task to notice his hot gaze.

  Or maybe she was too cold to care.

  Despite his suddenly desperate wish to watch as she unrolled those stockings, Quill turned his back on her unconsciously seductive actions and began to remove his soggy coat. Once that was off, he set to work on his own boots, which he feared were beyond hope. He never traveled without extra pairs, but it almost made him weep to see Hoby’s handiwork so utterly demolished.

  “It’s lucky you remembered it, else I know I would have crumbled in a heap on the side of the path,” she said with some relief. “I can endure many things, but cold and wet is my Achilles’ heel. I could withstand the heat of the desert or the tropical forests described by travelers to the southern regions of America without incident, I think. But unrelenting rain and cold I simply cannot abide.”

  “How unfortunate that you should be born in England, then,” Quill said with a laugh. “For I do not think you could find a colder, wetter climate if you tried.”

  “I’m just lucky that way, I suppose,” she said with an answering note of amusement.

  Her laugh did something to him, Quill realized. Touched some part of him that admired her indefatigable spirit. Despite her discomfort and distress at being drenched, she was in possession of the sort of temperament that did not allow the petty annoyances of life to dampen her spirit. He could not think of a single other lady of his acquaintance who would meet such a situation with such equanimity.

  “If you wish,” he said over his shoulder, “you may remove your gown and wrap up in one of the blankets…”

  He trailed off as he saw that she was already in the process of doing just that. He swallowed at t
he sight of her breasts outlined by the wet fabric as she tried to reach behind to unbutton her gown.

  “I am trying to do just that, but I’m afraid this gown requires the assistance of another pair of hands.” In another woman he might have suspected her of flirtation, but there was a sort of shy diffidence in the way she spoke that told him she was not trying to be coy. It was a refreshing change from the cynical seductions he was used to in London.

  But when he looked up, their eyes caught, and he muttered a curse. She might be an innocent, but she had a wellspring of natural sensuality that just might do him in.

  Completely unaware of the direction of his thoughts, she asked, “Would you mind helping me?”

  He was crossing toward her before she even finished speaking, and when he moved to stand behind her, he was almost jealous of the wisps of damp hair that kissed the nape of her neck. “Move your hands,” he said thickly, unable to say more in case he’d tell her what he was truly thinking.

  As he bent his head a little to see the buttons, Quill was assailed by the scent of woman mixed with rosewater rising from her warm skin. He fumbled a little as he set his fingers working against the fastenings, unable to resist dragging a little against the smooth skin of her back as one by one he pulled the bindings free. It was near impossible for him to breathe as he watched inch after inch of her gown part to reveal first the almost transparent fabric of her chemise, then neatly threaded laces of corset below.

  As if she sensed his hesitation, she said quietly, “That’s good enough. I think my gown bore the brunt of it.”

  The danger of the temptation she posed suddenly making its way into his brain, Quill pulled his hands back as if they’d been licked by flames. “I’ll go have a look at the fire,” he said pointedly as he turned his back to her and placed one hand against the wall beside the stone fireplace and gazed down into the actual flames below.

  Perhaps it would have been safer for them both if they’d pressed on to Beauchamp House, he reflected as he tried not to listen to the rustling of her clothes as she slipped out of them. It had been years since he’d felt the sort of uncontrolled desire that held him in its grip now. It was impossible to forget every luscious detail of her. From the smooth skin of her bare back to the flush in her cheeks.

  He’d also been cursed with a healthy imagination when it came to his carnal desires, which now unhelpfully flooded his mind with all the delicious ways in which two adults could put a rainy afternoon in close quarters to good use.

  “You may turn around now,” Ivy said finally, after several fraught minutes of him trying to think of everything but the woman undressing just feet away from him, and failing miserably.

  When he turned, he saw that the thick wool blanket that covered her was about as unflattering a garment as it could be. But even that did nothing to quell the effect of her loveliness on him.

  “You may sit beside me if you like,” she said tentatively, her green eyes perhaps seeing more of his discomfort than he was comfortable with. “There’s no other chair here, and it would be ridiculous for you to sit on the floor when there is a perfectly good seat here.”

  His expression must have shown his skepticism as he looked pointedly at the empty place beside her on the small bed.

  “Do not be missish, my lord,” she said, echoing his own words to her as they huddled beneath his greatcoat. “We are both sensible creatures. I can sit beside you without unleashing my base passions on you and offending your delicate sensibilities.”

  Despite his misgivings, Quill bit back a laugh. “I believe that is supposed to be my line,” he said with a grin. “You must think me a poor figure of a man if you think I will collapse in a fit of the vapors.” As he spoke, he walked the few steps to the other side of the cottage and lowered himself gingerly to the cot beside her.

  “Hardly that,” she said holding her blanket at the neck while extending her other hand toward the heat of the fire. “You looked so serious, I thought to relieve the tension a bit, that’s all.”

  “You use humor like that frequently, don’t you?” he asked, unfastening the diamond stick pin from where it nestled in the now-crumpled folds of his cravat.

  Before she could respond, he said, “Let’s use this to hold that,” holding up the pin.

  Nodding, she shifted a little to face him, lifting her chin so that he could duck his head and see what he was doing as he stabbed the pin through the thick blanket. Pulling back a little, he looked up to find her green gaze lingering on his mouth. And unable to stop himself, he gave in to the temptation that had dogged him ever since they set out together that morning.

  Pulling her against him, he covered Ivy’s mouth with his own, and kissed her.

  Chapter 14

  Ivy wasn’t sure when the moment changed. Perhaps when he leaned in so close that she could feel the warmth of his body and smell the clean scent of his cologne mixed with something intoxicatingly male. Or maybe it was when he looked up at her from beneath his impossibly long lashes and their eyes met just before he glanced at her lips.

  She wasn’t sure because instinct made her close her eyes just before he brought his mouth up to press against hers.

  And she was flooded with nothing but sensation.

  His lips were soft. Softer than seemed possible. But more seductive than the most eloquent of Sappho’s lyrics.

  And when she kissed him back, opened her mouth and leaned into him, Quill took full advantage of the invitation, stroking into her in a tangle of tongues that was more carnal than she’d imagined a kiss could be. He pulled her closer, and Ivy slid her arms up over his chest and into the silky hair at his nape. The press of her breasts against the hard wall of his chest combined with the heat of their mouths was almost her undoing, and she moaned a little as he nipped at her lower lip. She’d been kissed before, of course.

  There had been one overeager suitor who’d managed to maneuver her into an alcove during a local assembly, but that had been years ago, and she’d been more surprised than flattered since she suspected he was only using her to make another girl jealous. But she could hardly remember what it had felt like. Certainly it hadn’t filled her with the sort of breathless wonder that now threatened to overtake her completely.

  “May I kiss you, Aphrodite?” Quill asked, and she felt the low rumble of his voice all the way to her toes.

  “A bit late for asking permission, my lord,” she murmured against his mouth. “Does not lack of protest indicate consent?”

  He kissed a path down from her mouth over her chin, saying as he moved, “Not always. And I have a strong desire”—he sucked lightly in a spot beneath her ear—“to hear you say yes.”

  “Then, yes,” she said leaning back a little to give him more access to her collarbone. “Kiss me, Quill. Please.”

  Something relaxed in him. Ivy could feel it in the set of his shoulders as he moved against her. “Since you asked so nicely.” She felt his smile as he moved back up her body and took her mouth again, this time with a demanding hunger that called out to some unnamed yearning she hardly recognized as her own. She only knew that she had to get closer, press harder, open herself to his every unspoken request. Struggling against the rough wool of the blanket, she shrugged, the stickpin holding the neck together unfastening as it fell from her shoulders onto the bed behind her.

  The relief at feeling the skin of her chest and shoulders against the fabric of his shirt and waistcoat was almost palpable, and when his hand caressed her breast through the fabric of her stays, Ivy felt it in her core. The combination of the heat of their mouths and the stroke of his thumb over her hardened nipple was enough to make her jolt, and Quill pulled back a little from her mouth, whispering, “Easy, sweet. Easy.”

  And for reasons she could not say, she trusted him. Even as the ache his touch wrought made her move against him, seeking some relief in that restless place where only she had ever touched.

  As if sensing her need, Quill pressed her back to lie on the littl
e cot, taking a moment to glance down at her with eyes dark blue with desire just before he set his mouth over the tip of her breast beneath the thin fabric of her chemise. It was both pleasure and pain to feel the pull of his mouth on her, and when his hand slid slowly up her knee toward her aching center, it was only by biting her lip that she didn’t cry out for him to move faster. But she must have made some sort of sound because he huffed out a laugh and pulled back a little to use his teeth on her sensitive breast. “Soon enough, sweet Aphrodite.”

  But she couldn’t stop herself from lifting her hips in a silent plea for relief, and when he finally, finally stroked a finger over the bare flesh at the heart of her, Ivy’s gasp of pleasure was loud over the pounding of the rain outside.

  “I have to see you,” Quill muttered, all amusement gone from his voice. And without removing his hand from where he caressed her, he shifted to kneel between her bent legs. Ivy widened them so that when he lifted her chemise he could look his fill of her.

  She had no notion of why this man had managed to get past her defenses, but she had no wish to contemplate such things while she watched desire sharpen the lines of his austere face.

  Her clothes no longer in the way, he shrugged out of his coats, and Ivy inhaled a sharp gasp of anticipation. She watched breathlessly as he made quick work of his cravat, and in one fluid motion pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Unable to look away, she only had time for an appreciative glance at his naked chest before he leaned down and took her mouth again. The sensation of skin to skin was nearly her undoing.

  “Is this comfortable?” he asked after a moment, and she realized that she was clinging to him like a limpet, her hands skimming over the warm skin of his back almost without her knowing it.

  Unable to find her voice, Ivy nodded, but when he stroked a finger over the sensitive flesh between her legs, she gave a gasp of pleasure. And soon she was moving restlessly against him again, only this time she felt the added sensation of his hardness through the nankeen of his breeches. Rocking against him, she brought her calves up around his hips, and pulled him closer. He mimicked their movements with the hot thrust of his tongue into her mouth.