Dropping her corset on the floor, he leaned down to launch a battery of kisses over her naked flesh. She caught his head and tilted it up so she could kiss him.
He needed no second invitation. Her fingers snagged in his hair as his tongue met and massaged hers. She loved how tousled his hair was—it made him seem more human, more fragile, more…real.
Flames of desire licked at her belly as he moaned softly and drove their kiss deeper. After a long, stirring assault, he withdrew and smiled down at her, catching his breath.
Then the onslaught began all over again. His knowing hands traced her curves, his skilled tongue wove the sensuous spell of a master seducer. She barely noticed when she was relieved of her chemise, leaving her totally naked, completely open to the heat of his body and his expert touch.
His hand brushed over an exposed nipple, and the resonance sang through her, building the flames of desire to a fierce heat. She groaned and ran her hands over the cascading muscles of his torso, down to the waistband of his breeches. He sucked in a hissing breath, and she quickly withdrew, wondering what she’d done wrong.
“No, sweetheart, don’t be alarmed. The only sounds you hear are those of pleasure,” he assured her.
Encouraged, she explored his chest again, exulting in the rippled furrows of his honed stomach. One of his hands toyed lazily with her breast, while the other kept the full weight of his body from crushing her.
The feel of him was intoxicating, the smooth skin like velvet over the hard muscle of his rib cage. He was powerfully, overwhelmingly, enticingly male.
She gasped in shock as his head went down to lave warm, wet heat over one aching nipple. His teeth clamped gently over its erect peak and tugged. Her fingers clawed at his back as arousal surged through her. He began to suck, and she was washed away by a storm surge of delight that left her breathless.
Moments later, he raised his head and looked into her eyes, wicked triumph written on his face, but there was also vulnerability in their heated depths. He was clearly pleased with the effect he was having on her, yet beneath his proud mastery lay an uncertainty she’d never expected to find in such a man. How could such a skilled practitioner be subject to doubts?
The vulnerability vanished in a flashing smile as he reached across to fondle her other breast. Less gently now, he squeezed the pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger, then tugged at it, sending lightning bolts of sensation flashing down to her very core while darts of pleasure tingled between her thighs.
Unable to speak, she squeezed her legs together and found the pressure pleasing. She looked up at him and knew that he knew, and she blushed.
He grinned—a primitive, feral grin. “No need to blush, my darling. There’s no place for modesty in bed. Here, we’re on another level, where the rules between men and women are very different. In fact, there are no rules at all, no borders, no boundaries other than between what feels exquisite and what does not.”
A dark cloud briefly covered the sun of her pleasure. Rafe’s knowledge was a stark reminder this was definitely not the first time he’d been with a woman. How many had there been before her? Doubtless, a fair few. After all, he was the Earl of Beckport, a wealthy peer. That, coupled with his rugged good looks, would make him a magnet for women. No doubt, he’d had plenty of opportunity to practice the art of seduction.
She really should be trying harder to resist him, before she lost her virtue entirely.
But his impassioned kiss, the delightful abrasion of his cheek, and the soft sweep of his hair against her face dispelled her thoughts of rebellion and withdrawal. She might not be able to resist him now, but she’d learn fast, she silently vowed, and one day she would have him begging…
He broke the kiss and eased back onto an elbow while his free hand stroked her cheek and brushed her hair back from her brow. “Did that arrogant boy ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he murmured. Before she could reply, he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to think about him. I hate him for finding you before I did. I’m jealous of the kisses he stole from you.”
Jealous? That sounded promising. Maybe she was a cut above her predecessors, after all.
She suddenly noticed he was unbuttoning the front flap of his breeches. Was he going to undress completely? Heavens! This, she needed to see.
Taking her hand, he brought it to rest between their stomachs. “Don’t be shy,” he urged. “You need to know what you’ve done to me.”
He guided her hand lower, until it brushed against his engorged member, sending shivers of amazement flooding through her. As he withdrew his hand to stroke her breasts again, she touched his erection, stunned at the sheer hardness of the shaft, thrilled by the softness of the taut skin and the heat that pulsed through him.
She stroked him, and a bone-deep shudder shook his sturdy frame. “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes!”
So, she had found her power. Sooner than she might have imagined.
Fascinated, she stroked the unbelievably silky flesh of him, the creases and throbbing veins. She grasped him and gave an experimental squeeze.
He made a choking noise and pulled her hand away. “No more, my love, I beg you. You’re too good at touching me. You push me almost beyond bearing. Give me a moment to recover, and I’ll gift you payment in kind.”
Enthralled, she waited, her whole body thrumming with excitement and desire.
He reached down and thrust two fingers deep inside her, and she almost fainted with shock.
“No, wait,” he murmured in her ear as she tried to wriggle free of him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Trust me.”
His fingers had slid so easily into the mysterious core of her femininity, she knew she must be wet down there. But how?
His thumb connected with a secret nub beneath the folds of her flesh, and he rubbed it gently. Her heart ceased to beat.
All her senses focused on the exquisite sensation he was creating, his thumb gently massaging and teasing that special spot while his fingers moved in and out of the slick well of her femininity. Such an intense feeling, she could hardly cope with it. The fires began to spread from her core all over her body, consuming her, drenching her with desire, making her lift her hips and push at his hand, hungry for more pressure, hungry for more delight.
She bucked and writhed uncontrollably as a climax of sensation swamped over her. She cried out, jabbing her hands into Rafe’s hair. He’d taken her to a place so close to paradise she could barely comprehend what was happening. In a blast of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, her body exploded and she flew, suspended in a torrent of bliss.
At last, she fell back, panting, onto the rumpled sheets.
Rafe pulled her into his arms and held her until the shuddering stopped, whispering words of comfort and love into her ear. As her senses gradually returned, he said, “You should probably go, before you are missed.”
“No.” She mewed her disappointment. She felt too deliciously lazy and satisfied to worry about such mundane things. Her body felt as if it had been through a rite of purification—free, cleansed, more aware of itself than it had ever been before. Now her body knew how to wield its power, and how to accept its pleasure.
She would never feel the same again. This rite of passage had taken her to a level beyond womanhood.
And…it had also brought her to total ruin.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rafe woke to a dim light filtering through the shutters and discovered he had a headache. His next discovery was that he wasn’t alone. Charlotte’s familiar lavender scent, combined with the smell of warm, feminine skin, teased and tempted his nostrils. Beyond the shutters, he could hear the rapid burbling of a bird, and hoped, like Juliet in Shakespeare’s play, it was the nightingale and not the lark. Alas, it was the dim gray light of morning, not dusk, and the pair of them had been left to fall asleep undisturbed.
Which meant Charlotte faced social ruin.
Well, there was no alternative. He’d have to make her his wife, and the sooner, the
better.
If she’d have him.
His headache was forgotten as he looked at her. They were tucked up together like spoons in a drawer, his body hooked around the curve of her back, one hand tucked presumptuously beneath her naked breast. Not daring to move lest he wake her, his mind revisited the events of the previous day.
Well, he was still alive, but no thanks to his own survival instincts. The angel who slumbered in his arms had saved him from a horrible fate. Even if his attackers stopped him from suffocating, torture was all he could have expected at the end of their journey. How much would he have been able to endure? More than most, he hoped. He was tough and used to pain.
Where would they have taken him? Why hadn’t they disarmed him before putting him on that horse?
Amateurs.
Charlotte sighed in her sleep and wriggled backward into his embrace, making him groan softly as desire flickered to life between his loins. She fitted into him so perfectly, one might almost imagine a benevolent God had designed it thus. He edged away from her to spare himself the torment—the cruel instruments of his enemies would have been preferable to such a torture of temptation, and it was taking all his willpower to ensure her honor remained intact—in fact, if not in the eyes of Society.
He tried to remember the last time he’d wanted any woman more, and couldn’t. He wanted Charlotte—body, heart, and soul. She was an extraordinary woman—beautiful, clever, resourceful, and would make him the perfect wife.
Assuming she had no more dark secrets that could compromise either him or his mission…
His heart constricted. She was worth the risk. And if he made sure to please her, he hoped she’d retain that aura of sweetness that made her so utterly adorable.
As if detecting the intensity of his thoughts, she stirred, rolled over, and woke up. She gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, then gasped in horror and scrabbled about frantically for her clothes. “Oh my stars! What’s the time? I never meant to fall asleep.”
“Nor did I, my love,” he said, kissing her. “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re a ruined woman now. Well, almost. I’ll complete the ruination as soon as possible, but only after a solution to our present problem has been found.”
She shot up in bed, dragging the sheet up to cover herself.
He kissed her again. “Don’t worry. I promise you, I’ll make this right.”
He reached for his tinderbox and lit a candle. Holding the flickering light above the bed, he smiled down at her dazed expression and tousled hair.
“I know your mother will be seriously displeased,” he said, “but I fear the only solution is for you to marry me.”
He kept his voice light, although his heart was pounding. A great deal hung on her answer.
Her gaze focused, and her eyes widened. “Marry you?” she said with a gasp.
Watching the play of emotions across her face, he forgot to breathe. All his attention was on her, searching for her answer in her eyes. Hesitation was acceptable, wasn’t it? It didn’t necessarily presage a refusal.
Or did it?
“Rafe, you’ve just narrowly escaped death. You must be in an excitable state of mind at present, and I beg you, don’t say anything you might later regret.”
“My offer is genuine,” he said, edging closer. “I believe I’ve even mentioned the possibility before this.” He saw her breath catch as her gaze dropped to his bare chest. Damn—he hadn’t meant to distract her with his nakedness.
She said huskily, “I think we should get dressed. Such discussions are too weighty to be had in our present state.”
“On the contrary,” he replied. “I can’t think of a better circumstance for the brokering of a marriage.”
Her gaze drifted up to his mouth, and her lips parted. The urge to kiss her properly, and repeat the delights of last night, was almost overwhelming. But he didn’t think it was usual to do such a thing right in the middle of a proposal.
“Are you going to give me an answer?” he asked, praying it would be the one he sought. Suddenly, nothing in the world mattered more. Not his mission, his title, his wealth, or his reputation. A future without Charlotte by his side was not a future he wanted to inhabit.
“Nobody need know what we’ve done,” she said. “I can still get back home before they all wake up. I left a note with Mama to say I might visit with Thea, so if I could get Thea to cover for me—”
Oh no. She wasn’t going to wriggle off the hook that easily!
“In a village as small as this one,” he said, “such a falsehood could easily be exposed in a single conversation. Then we’d both be shamed. I don’t want that for you. I advise you accept me,” he added softly, “or the consequences will be dire.”
A frown furrowed her brow. “Are you threatening me, Rafe?” she asked.
He held up a hand. “Not at all. I’m just warning you. The consequences of a refusal would be devastating for me, in particular.”
“Worse than for me?”
He held her gaze. Her hazel eyes sparked with the beginnings of anger, so he laid a hand against her cheek, pressed his thumb to the corner of her mouth, and said quietly, “Indeed. Because if you refuse me, you’ll break my heart.”
The anger died, and her lips parted in surprise. He watched as realization dawned in her eyes. To eradicate any further doubt, he said simply, “I love you, Charlotte.”
Denial crept over her face.
How could she not believe him? He’d never said those words to anybody before, and with Charlotte, he’d been so sure of his ground. Despite her history, she’d been brought up a genteel young lady. Surely, she wouldn’t have let him do all those things to her last night if she didn’t have some feeling for him?
He wasn’t so arrogant as to assume she loved him back, but he’d hoped, in time, he could change her mind.
“Charlotte?”
Her expression altered. Treating him to a lop-sided smile, she said, “Well, given your admission, Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, I shall give your offer positive consideration.”
Before he could decide how to interpret her words, there was a sudden eruption of noise from outside, followed by a loud cursing, and a bang.
Then the door burst open.
And Justin Jessop filled the doorway like a furious avenging angel.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rafe’s first instinct was to leap out of bed and wrap his fingers around the young man’s throat. But he’d expose Charlotte by doing so.
Instead, regardless of his own nakedness, he shifted to place his body in front of her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded coldly. A red-faced Paynter seized the invader from behind and twisted Jessop’s arm up behind him. “Sorry, sir, for the intrusion. I tried to stop him.”
Rafe glared at Jessop. “If you would be kind enough to give me time to dress, I will gladly speak with you. Outside.”
Jessop burst out, “You black-hearted villain! You’ve ruined Charlotte. I demand satisfaction for her honor!”
“You’re hardly in any position to do so,” Rafe replied, “since you once set out to do exactly the same thing. Pray, step outside.”
“No! I demand satisfaction!” By an impressive maneuver—which must have almost dislocated his shoulder—Jessop broke free of his captor and lunged forward.
Rafe was up in a trice, his fist itching to make contact with the young man’s chin. Instead, he caught him about the throat, shoved him against the wall, and lifted him clear off the ground. “Tempting as it would be to draw your cork,” he grated out, “I won’t shed blood in the presence of a lady. Simmer down, sirrah.” Not forgetting the naked, mortified female in the bed behind him, he strove to keep his tone firm but cool.
Jessop’s eyes were watering, and he made a pitiful choking sound.
Fearful of distressing Charlotte further, Rafe dropped his prisoner and inclined his head toward the door. “Out.”
Jessop said, “You haven’t heard the last of this
, Seabourne.” Casting a disdainful eye over Rafe’s semi-aroused state, he adjusted his collar, squared his shoulders, and left the room, rapidly followed by Paynter.
Rafe locked the door and turned anxiously to Charlotte. She’d buried herself beneath the sheets, her body shaking with tears. Quite justifiably. Jessop had completely ruined their moment. How Rafe ached to tan the boy’s worthless hide!
He reached out to take her in his arms and comfort her.
An unladylike snort issued from the heap of bedclothes.
His hand froze in midair. She was…laughing? They’d just been through the most hideously embarrassing moment of his life, and she found it amusing?
He peeled back the sheets to admonish her, but a slender arm reached out and pulled him down for a kiss. He smiled as he submitted. She wasn’t just a minx, but a wanton, as well—something he might have secretly hoped for, but never dared to expect.
He would have liked to lie in bed with her all day—hell, all year—but things needed attending to. Summoning all his willpower, he disentangled himself and sat back.
She pushed herself up in bed, the thin sheet barely concealing her luscious breasts. Ruthlessly brushing aside memories of the silken skin and the delightfully aroused nipples he’d sampled last night, he took her hand.
He waited until her merriment subsided, then said, “That is not how I would have wished the magic of this morning to end.”
She chuckled, squeezing his hand. “You are so magnificent when you’re angry! Even though you were naked, you didn’t flinch. Poor Justin—his eyes nearly popped out of his head!”
Rafe stroked the back of her hand. “You know the fellow,” he said. “Who will he go to with this? Much as I’d like to marry you today, I’d prefer to do it properly. I don’t want you rushed into marriage by a blabbermouth with an ax to grind. You really ought to see Beckport House before you agree to marry me. You have a right to know what manner of place you’ll be mistress of.”
A Perilous Passion Page 21
