“Oh, there are the gents.” Brandon dashed through the crowd.
Hawk turned and took Julianne’s hands. “At last we’re alone.”
“Not for long,” she said as her brother and Tessa approached.
Tristan kissed Julianne on the cheek. Then he clapped his hand on Hawk’s shoulder.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Hawk said.
Tessa’s lips twitched. “Men. I daresay she is the one who will take good care of you.”
“Duchess, I concede the point to you,” Hawk said.
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Save the pretty lies for when you’ll need them. Tonight’s a sure thing.”
Tessa swatted him with her fan. A cracking sound spelled doom for the ivory sticks. “You broke it,” Tessa cried.
Tristan grinned. “Allow me to make reparations.”
Julianne smiled as Tessa tugged her brother along the perimeter of the ballroom. Then Hester approached and eyed Hawk through her quizzing glass. “You could have taken her upstairs thirty minutes ago.”
Hawk winced. “Hester, please.”
“Go on now, while nobody’s paying attention,” his aunt said.
Hawk took Julianne’s arm and they left the ballroom. He took her upstairs and left her in the care of a maid. Then with the help of Tristan’s valet, Hawk undressed and donned a banyan robe. He sat on a chair, watching the clock, counting the minutes until he could go to her. He’d give her a half hour.
The connecting door opened. He stood and walked to the door. She fled into his arms and hugged him hard. Her hair was loose and flowing to her waist. He shut the door, lifted her in his arms, and took her to the bed where the covers were already turned down.
He tossed the prim night rail off the bed and started planting kisses at the top of her head and worked his way down to her feet. When he jiggled her toe, she laughed. He slid up her beautiful slim body, and she welcomed him with outstretched arms. Tonight would be slow, all for her.
She threaded her fingers in his hair as he suckled her breasts. He ran his tongue down her belly and slid his hands under her bottom. “Spread your legs for me,” he said.
When he flicked his tongue rapidly along her slick folds, she writhed beneath him. He slid two fingers inside her, and the sounds of moisture made his cock rock-hard. She was panting when he entered her. Then he pinned her wrists against the bed, because he’d remembered the glazed way she’d looked at him when he’d pinned her against his aunt’s sofa. Her swollen lips parted and he took that as an invitation for his tongue.
He slid his cock in and out so slowly he thought he’d go mad with the need to pump harder, but he wanted it to last a long, long time. He reached between them and rubbed her high along her slick folds, and a little feminine sound came out of her throat as she shattered. He could no longer hold back and thrust inside her faster and faster. When the throbbing ecstasy overcame him, she locked her legs around him.
He collapsed and then rolled to his side, still joined inside her. “I love you, Julianne. And I promise to say that to you every night before we go to bed and when we awake in the morning.”
“I love you, Marc.”
They slept for a while, and then he woke her by pulling her atop him. He pressed her forward so he could suck her nipples while she rode him. The sound of her throaty moans pleased him. She came with a little cry, and he wasn’t far behind.
He rolled them to their sides, and she grinned. “I can’t believe I snared you in the parson’s mousetrap.”
“I’ll get you for that,” he said. When he tickled her, she shrieked.
They tussled about the bed, laughing and teasing as they’d always done. He made love to her once more and knew he couldn’t have chosen a better wife.
Because she’d made him a better man.
Dear Reader,
My humble thanks to all who wrote to let me know how much you enjoyed many of the supporting characters in my debut historical romance, HOW TO MARRY A DUKE. Many of you have requested stories for these characters, and I’m thrilled that readers adore my fictional friends as much as I do.
I wanted to let you all know that Miss Amy Hardwick’s book, HOW TO RAVISH A RAKE, is coming soon. Amy starts out as a painfully shy wallflower in HOW TO MARRY A DUKE, but she is destined to undergo quite a transformation in her own story.
Now, you may be wondering whom I would pair with this gentle flower of a lady, and I’m afraid to say that it is not a man Amy admires. In fact, she disapproves of his dissolute lifestyle. The gentleman who will bedevil her is none other than William Darcett, younger brother of the Earl of Hawkfield (a.k.a. Hawk). Will is such a notorious rake that the scandal sheets have dubbed him Devil Darcett.
The devil is the last man Amy wants to encounter, but circumstances conspire against her. A case of mistaken identity leads to a rather embarrassing moment for Amy, but she’s determined to evade him. There’s just one little problem: Devil Darcett has no intention of letting her escape.
For a sneak peek, just flip the page!
Cheers!
How to Ravish a Rake
London, 1818
You are not a spinster, and I will not let you marry that stuffy vicar,” Georgette said.
Amy Hardwick drew in a steadying breath as she and her friend Lady Georgette Danforth minced about the Beresford’s loud ballroom. “Mr. Crawford is sensible, not stuffy, and he has not proposed.”
“Only because I snatched you away from certain doom,” Georgette grumbled as she twirled a blond curl around her finger. “I saw the disapproval in his expression just before we left Hampshire.”
“He was disappointed that I would be away all of the spring season,” Amy said.
The day before she’d journeyed with Georgette and her family to London, Mr. Frederick Crawford had asked her if they had an “understanding.” Amy had bitten her lip and looked at the ground, hesitating to make a commitment. He’d taken her arm and said he was glad she’d agreed. They were both practical people and well suited. For a moment, she’d wanted to reproach him for his presumption, but she’d swallowed the words. After five previous seasons, she could not afford to be anything but realistic about her marriage prospects.
Georgette halted beside a pillar. “Amy, I believe he means to propose. Will your parents try to persuade you to accept him?”
“They would never force me to marry anyone.” But the day she’d told her mother that Georgette had invited her to spend the season with her in London, her mother had frowned. And then she’d asked Amy if she thought it wise to leave “just now.” Her mother’s question had left no doubt that her parents worried about her future. She’d known then that they held hopes Mr. Crawford would offer marriage.
Afterward, Amy had nearly sent her regrets to Georgette, but something inside her had rebelled. She would not give up the chance to see her friend based upon an understanding, one she’d never even agreed upon. But there was something else she wanted—for herself. One last chance to kick up her heels, because this, her last season, would be her only opportunity.
Of course, she’d never dared to flirt and tease the young men like the other belles. She wished she could be as glib as Georgette and match wits with the gentlemen. But in a large gathering, she always found herself tongue-tied and overwhelmed. This year she swore would be different.
“Amy, your gown is stunning!”
She looked up in surprise to find Sally, Suzanne, Beatrice, and Priscilla approaching quickly. When they admired her white crepe gown over a satin slip, she thanked them.
“You must tell us who your dressmaker is,” Priscilla said. “I simply must have something equally lovely.”
“I agree,” Suzanne said. “Your gown is bound to be all the rage.”
“I love the emerald ribbons that flow all the way down the back of the gown,” Sally said. “The pink rosebuds are a lovely touch as well. Whoever designed this gown is brilliant.”
Georgette gave Amy a speaking look. “Will you tell or shall I?”
Heat crept into Amy’s face, but she’d vowed to overcome her timidity. “I confess I drew the design and asked a local dressmaker to make it up for me.” She did not tell them that she’d asked the dressmaker to make over her old gowns in order to keep the expense of another season to a minimum. While her father would have given her anything, she’d not wanted to burden her parents when this was her sixth season, and gowns in the first stare of fashion were costly.
The other ladies exclaimed over her talent and begged her to design gowns for them. Georgette told them all to call later in the week to discuss Amy’s designs. Within moments, a crowd of matrons and single belles gathered round to inspect Amy’s gown. When Hester, Lady Rutledge, joined them, she declared Amy the fashion darling of the ton.
Georgette’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled at Amy. “I knew you would be popular this year,” she murmured.
Amy kept smiling and nodding while the crowd kept growing. As others squeezed closer and spoke louder, the cacophony of voices rang in her ears. She found it impossible to say a word when so many spoke all at once. Eventually, she could bear no more and turned to Georgette. “Please excuse me,” she said. “I will return directly.”
“Shall I come with you?” she asked.
Amy shook her head. “I only need a few moments of air,” she said in an undertone.
“Very well,” Georgette said. “I will look for your return.”
Amy left the ballroom, meaning to go upstairs to the retiring room. But on the opposite side of the landing, a familiar-looking gentleman with dark, wavy hair stood whispering to a lady with rouged cheeks. With a wicked chuckle, the man leaned back against the railing. Amy nearly swallowed her tongue upon recognizing Mr. William Darcett.
Determined to evade him, she hurried downstairs. That man had tormented her last spring when she’d attended her friend Julianne’s wedding. He’d taken to calling her “Red” because of her carrot-colored hair and had followed her about for his own amusement. Since then, she’d heard rumors that he’d raked his way across the Continent. He was a typical, dissolute younger son, with no ambition but to wench and gamble. The scandal sheets had even called him Devil Darcett.
Devil Darcett was the last man she wanted to encounter this evening.
At the bottom of the stairs, she turned right and treaded along an unlit, deserted corridor, hoping to find her way out to the back garden. But a slightly-ajar door to a dark room beckoned her. She looked left and right, but no one was about. Promising herself she would stay only a few moments, she slipped inside, closed the door, and waited for her eyes to adjust. Although the objects in the shrouded room remained indistinct, she could make out tall shelves along one wall. No doubt this was Lord Beresford’s library. Upon seeing a sofa, she padded across the plush carpet and settled onto the cushion. Eventually the tension in her limbs eased a bit.
Perhaps she’d overreacted. After all, the devil had found an unscrupulous strumpet to entertain him. Of course, she needn’t have worried at all if she’d stayed with her friends in the ballroom. She ought to have forced herself to remain. But no matter how hard she tried, she simply could not bear too much stimulation. She often spent hours in her room, because she needed to be alone in order to think.
Now at last she had a moment to contemplate her earlier conversation with Georgette. Though she typically shared almost everything with her bosom friend, there were things she’d not told her about Frederick.
At first, Amy had not realized that the young vicar’s interest in her amounted to anything more than friendly regard. He’d approved when he’d seen her taking food baskets to the sick and elderly in the village, and he’d called her thoughtful when he found her setting flowers on the graves at the churchyard. Soon after, he’d begun calling on her father regularly. Then one day, he’d asked her to walk with him. Somehow, without her quite realizing the significance, he’d made a habit of calling and taking her for walks. One thing had led to another until he’d spoken of the understanding.
Frederick was a good man, a devout man, who had devoted himself to the church. Marriage to him would secure her future. Deep down, she felt marrying for that reason alone was wrong, and she knew Georgette would disapprove. Yet, Frederick had never spoken of tender feelings for her. Instead, he’d clearly stated they were practical people and were well suited.
The problem was she didn’t want to marry for practical reasons. Truthfully, she still yearned for the girlish dream of marrying for love, and it was so horribly foolish of her. With the exception of her participation in the Duke of Shelbourne’s courtship two years ago, no gentleman had ever expressed interest in her, until Frederick had come along.
She had to think of her parents and their concerns about her future. If something happened to them, she would be in a precarious position, for she had no other living relatives. She tried to persuade herself that she could be content with such a marriage. At least she could look forward to having her own home and children. But all was contingent upon an understanding becoming an engagement—one that, ironically, she didn’t want.
What she secretly wanted was to shed her wallflower reputation at long last. Then why was she in a dark library hiding from a rake who had probably forgotten her very existence? With a deep inhalation, she told herself to march back upstairs to that ballroom posthaste and mingle with all the other guests. She might be plain, but others had complimented her gown. Though she would never be beautiful, she could be elegant.
A light tap at the door froze her. As the door creaked open, she cringed. To her utter horror, a man walked inside and shut the door.
“Alicia, you’re here,” he said.
Oh, dear God. She knew that voice. It was the devil himself. He’d come here for an assignation—and found the wrong woman! As he walked forward, Amy held her breath. She thought of telling him he’d mistaken her identity but worried he would recognize her voice. If he knew, he would mock her, the same way he’d done last spring.
He stopped at her feet. “Why so silent? Is this a new game?”
She shook her head, hoping he would go away.
When he sat beside her, she tried to rise, but he caught her arm.
At her gasp, he chuckled. “Come now, you promised me a treat, and I’m famished.”
Before she could utter a single protest, he cupped her cheek and trailed his lips lightly over her mouth. No man had ever kissed her, but she’d expected a rake like him to ravish her lips. Then he drew his tongue over the seam of her mouth. Her lips parted involuntarily, and then he swept his tongue inside. Shock kept her still, but as he slid in and withdrew repeatedly, she lost the ability to think of anything beyond the intimacy of his invasion.
When he lifted his lips momentarily, she inhaled. The scent of him curled inside her like a dangerous elixir, one that curbed her ability to listen to the voice of reason. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, and she felt strangely possessed by him. Or was it merely lust muddling her brain? Whatever it was, she couldn’t find the strength to tell him he mustn’t kiss her in this wicked manner—or at all, for that matter. Unfortunately, the wanton she’d never known existed inside her kept saying, Yes, yes, yes.
“You taste so sweet,” he said against her mouth. Then he trailed damp kisses down her neck. He cupped her breast, plumping it up. She knew she ought to slap his hand away, but he pulled the fabric of her bodice down, exposing her naked flesh. When his mouth covered her nipple, her breathing shattered. As he suckled her, the most indescribable pleasure flowed through her veins. She was lost to the devil, lost in pleasure beyond her imagination, lost to everything but his sinful touches and kisses.
His hand swept over her skirt. When she realized he was bunching it upward and exposing her legs, fear brought her to her senses. She clamped her hand over his, knowing she must stop him.
He let go of the fabric, and she pulled her bodice up again. Though it was dark, she knew he was staring at her. He must have deduced that she wasn’t the hussy he’d
meant to meet in the library. When she stood, he rose with her. She was tall, but he was half a head taller, and for reasons that made no sense, that intimidated her.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she took one step back, meaning to escape.
A quick rap sounded at the door. She spun around and covered her mouth.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the sofa. Then he put his finger to his lips as she crouched beside him. Her legs trembled, but she mustn’t move or her rustling skirts would give away their hiding place.
The door creaked open again. “Will? Are you in here?”
Amy squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for deliverance. If they were discovered alone in the dark, she would be ruined.
Footsteps padded across the carpet. “That sorry rake,” the woman muttered. “I’ll make him pay.” Her skirts swished as her footsteps retreated. Then mercifully the door slammed.
He rose and offered his hand. She took it gratefully, because her legs felt a bit wobbly.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
She shook her head.
He squeezed her hand. “Tell me.”
“You do not want to know,” she whispered. Then she fled the library, closed the door behind her, and scurried toward the stairs. The entire time she prayed he would not follow her.
Upon reaching the ballroom doors, she paused to catch her breath. Then she smoothed her skirt and patted the curls by her ears. She wet her lips, hoping she didn’t look as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed by a rake. But she had, and a terrible realization filled her with shame.
She’d betrayed Frederick.
What a lark!
Will stood behind the sofa, bemused at the thought that he’d had an assignation with an unknown woman. After his heated encounter with the silent lady, he knew three things about her. She was tall, had long legs, and did not want him to know her name.
Something about her seemed familiar, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Of course, he’d realized early on that she wasn’t Alicia, who would have babbled nonstop—until he kissed her.
How to Seduce a Scoundrel Page 33
