If You Give a Rake a Ruby

by Shana Galen

  “Daisy!” Warrick put his arm about her waist and hustled her toward the door. “We can discuss it later.”

  When she was gone, he turned back to the room and surveyed the rose-infested chamber. He knew Daisy had a peephole into the public room, and that would be perfect for Fallon to use to observe her father. But she also needed somewhere to hide if something went wrong or Bayley demanded a more private place to talk. “This armoire might be the thing,” he said, crossing the room and opening the door. It was full of—what else?—roses, but he liberated them, making space for Fallon.

  She watched him quietly, and he wasn’t certain he liked the thoughtful expression on her face. “What are you thinking about?” It was a dangerous question to ask a woman. He should know as he had two sisters and two sisters by marriage.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, really.”

  He didn’t believe that, but he was smart enough to let it go. Finally, a woman who didn’t need to share her every thought and feeling.

  “I’m not offended by Daisy’s remarks, if that’s what you think.”

  Or perhaps she did want to share.

  “She means well,” he said, checking the time on his pocket watch. He still had several hours in which to survey the layout of the brothel and make last-minute adjustments to his plan.

  “I know, and I do play the role of a courtesan. It’s not as if I’m a lady.”

  Warrick set down a vase of flowers and took Fallon by the shoulders. “You’re more of a lady than most of the so-called ladies of the ton. You’re kind, intelligent, fearless.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I’m not fearless. Kind and intelligent and—don’t forget—fascinating, I will give you, but not fearless.”

  “And what are you afraid of?”

  “My father,” she said softly. “I don’t know how I’ll feel seeing him after all of these years. I thought he was dead. I thought I was alone in the world.” She shrugged. “But now I don’t know what to think.”

  “There’s nothing to think, Fallon. You don’t owe him anything, and you’re better off without him.”

  “I know.”

  “And?”

  She glanced up at him, those dark eyes full of unshed tears. He knew she’d never let him see her weep, and somehow that made the knife in his gut dig even deeper. “He’s my father,” she whispered. “No matter what he’s done or who he is, he will always be my father.”

  Warrick let out a slow sigh. He felt the same way about his father. The man was an ass who’d disowned him because he hadn’t followed Society’s dictates for what the third son of an earl should do with his life, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love his father and miss him.

  That didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about what he could do to mend their relationship. Even if Lady Edith was out of the question, there must be something. There must be some way his father could forgive him for Edward.

  “And this is not what we should be thinking about right now,” Fallon said. “You have plans to make, I’m sure. And after tonight, you’ll have your answers and we won’t have to hide in your town house or creep about in dusty tunnels.”

  He wanted to believe this meant there was some future for them, but he knew Fallon too well. What she meant was that after tonight their relationship was over.

  “And so I won’t see you again.” Warrick made it a statement.

  “Why would you? We live in different worlds. You have your mother and Lady Edith.” She waved a hand and moved away from him. “And I have… I have to find some way to repair the damage you did to my reputation at Alvanley’s ball.”

  “Is that all you care about?” he asked, his voice harsher than he wanted, but he was angry now.

  “My reputation is my life. I keep my standing only by being highly sought after. If anyone can have me, I might as well be out on the streets like Daisy was.”

  “And you’ve never wanted anything else?”

  She blinked at him. “As in marriage or children? Those things aren’t for me.”

  “Goddamn it, Fallon. It doesn’t even matter, does it?” He was stalking toward her now, backing her up against a wall.

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  “That I love you.”

  “You say that now.” She put a hand out to stop him from coming nearer. “But what does it really mean? You want me for your mistress? How do you think Lady Edith would feel about that?”

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to marry Lady Edith.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her to him.

  “Your mother seems to think otherwise.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a child. I’m a man. I make my own decisions, and I’m going to marry you.”

  She stared at him. “No, you’re not.”

  He pushed her back against the wall. “The hell I’m not. You’re mine, Fallon, and I’m going to have you, one way or another.”

  She sputtered a protest, but he took her mouth with his, cutting her words off. He didn’t really care what she had to say at the moment. What did he have to do to prove he was in love with her? To prove he didn’t care what his mother thought? To prove nothing but the two of them mattered?

  Her mouth moved against his and her arms went around his neck. Someday he would have her forever, but that day was not today. Presently, he would have to content himself with this moment. Right now, it would have to be enough.

  Fourteen

  Fallon expected him to be rough. She liked rough. She wanted rough. But Warrick wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. She was learning he was contrary in that way.

  His mouth met hers in the slowest, most mesmerizing kiss she had ever experienced. Like a glass of spirits, the kiss fired a hot trail of tingling heat from her lips to her belly. His mouth moved slowly over hers, taking, then pulling away. She had to reach for him, capture his mouth with hers, until the teasing left her so frustrated, she wrapped her hands in his hair and held him firm against her.

  Finally, he obliged her by kissing her deeply and passionately. She couldn’t think when he kissed her this way. Couldn’t remember her own name, much less what she wanted. She only knew she wanted more, more of this and more of him.

  “Warrick,” she murmured against his mouth and heard him growl softly in the back of his throat. He liked it when she used his name. “Warrick,” she said again.

  His hands, which had been planted on the wall just above her shoulders, reached for her. Through the silk of her gown, she felt the warmth of his touch on her waist. He gripped her hard, his fingers splayed and moving slowly upward.

  Yes. This was what she wanted. Her breasts were heavy and aching with need, her nipples hard and erect, waiting for his touch. But his hands seemed to inch at a maddeningly slow pace, while his tongue teased and twined with hers.

  “Touch me,” she demanded.

  His hands stopped their trek, and she could feel his light, careful touch against the bandages on her cracked rib. How could he remember to be so careful at a time like this? She didn’t care. She wanted him, and if she suffered for it later, then that was a small price to pay.

  His fingers gradually splayed, his thumbs reaching up to stroke the underside of her breasts. She shivered as pleasure zinged through her. She arched her back and sighed. “More.”

  His fingers brushed her nipples through the fabric of her dress once then twice, and she shivered in anticipation. But he continued to tease her with light caresses until her head was spinning with need. “Please,” she all but cried when his fingers circled her hard nubs oh-so-lightly. “Please.”

  And then she felt his hands on her skin, the rough calluses of his thumbs on the bodice of her gown as he yanked it down and freed her breasts. She broke their kiss and allowed her head to loll back as he touched her with his hands and his mouth. This was what she wanted. This was what she’d been
longing for.

  And when he took one of her nipples in his mouth, twirling his tongue around it then giving it a hard suck, she cried out in pain and pleasure. She was panting now, her whole body alive with sensation and need, a gnawing need that begged to be satisfied.

  “Take me,” she ordered, moving her hand between them. He was hard for her, and she opened the fall of his trousers so that he sprung warm and solid into her hand. She stroked him and was rewarded with a low growl. “Hike my skirts up and take me.”

  “Not yet.” His breath feathered against her cool skin, heating it and making her shiver. He suckled her again, and she bucked against him. She had never wanted a man so much. She had never needed one.

  And she had never known pleasure like this.

  One of his knees parted her legs and pushed against her, making her cry out. She was all but ready to explode from his slightest touch, and she pressed against him in frustration. “Now,” she all but sobbed. “Now. Please.”

  “Say the words, Fallon. Tell me what I want to hear.”

  She had to struggle to understand him, much less think what he could possibly want from her. And then she knew, and she stiffened. Yes, she wanted him, was ready to say anything to have him inside her, but she wasn’t in the habit of playing games. If she told him she was his, she would have to mean it. He wanted to marry her. The very thought was ridiculous. Absurd.

  And wildly romantic.

  A small firework of hope burst inside her. Perhaps he really did love her. Perhaps he really did want to marry her. It seemed impossible, and she would do nothing to fan the flame of that hope, but she couldn’t quite bear to extinguish it either.

  She wanted to hold on to that dream, treasure it, for just a little while. And perhaps if she kept the dream small, when Warrick extinguished it, the pain wouldn’t be so great.

  “Warrick—”

  “Say it, Fallon. Mean it.”

  “I’m yours,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”

  His mouth covered hers, and he pulled her hard against him. “Always.”

  “Always,” she echoed.

  He held her tightly, kissing her until she was dizzy and drugged from the pleasure. And then his fingers were on the flesh of her thigh, tracing a slow, burning path upward. When he finally reached the juncture of her thighs, she gripped his shoulders so hard, she feared she would hurt him. His arms slid around her, cupped her bottom, and lifted her. She felt his hard erection against her and welcomed it. When he thrust inside her, she cried out at the blinding pleasure. She had never known she could feel this way. Nothing before it could compare.

  He moved inside her, slowly, increasing his speed until she was pistoning with him, reaching for that elusive climax that seemed impossibly sweet. And when she found it, she cried his name and clutched him tightly, afraid if she let go, she would dissolve into a puddle of burgundy silk on the floor. She felt him swell and thrust, and then he too cried out. Lowering his forehead so that it rested on her shoulder, he fought to catch his breath. She knew the feeling. For some reason, she had the urge to comfort him, and she patted him on the back and kissed his cheek.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. “What just happened?”

  “You tell me. I’m not nearly the expert I pretend to be.”

  He smiled at her, a lopsided, satisfied smile.

  “Then it’s not like that for you all the time?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s never been like this with anyone else. And you?”

  “I can’t even remember anyone else before you.”

  “Good.” He lowered her gently to the floor, and she allowed her legs to fold beneath her so she sank to the ground. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

  “Are you well?” he asked, squatting beside her.

  “Fine. I just need a moment to…” Breathe? Recuperate? Stop falling in love? “Rest.”

  “I’ll help you to the couch. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine here.” Waving him away, she said, “Go and do what you must. I know you want to be ready.”

  He kissed her nose. “I’ll check on you in a moment.”

  When he was gone, she adjusted her gown and tried to repair the damage to her hair. The upsweep had actually fared well. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Warrick’s mouth on her mouth, his hands on her body, his gaze on her face when he’d told her she was his.

  You’re mine, Fallon.

  Men had tried to possess her before. Men had tried to own her and control her, and she’d easily turned them away. But Warrick didn’t want to own her. He wanted to love her. He wanted to marry her. She shook her head. How could a seasoned soldier be such a romantic? They could never marry. He deserved someone like this Lady Edith, who would make him proud and please his parents. Fallon was better off alone. It was safer that way.

  Fallon laughed bitterly. Perhaps Warrick wasn’t as romantic as she thought. Perhaps he was just brave, while she was afraid of losing her heart.

  It had happened once before, and she still winced from the pain the memory brought her. Frankie had been one of her father’s boys. That’s what her father had called them—his boys. He’d never so much as called her daughter, but then he didn’t have much use for her, even though she was as good a pickpocket as any of her father’s gang.

  Mostly Bayley’s Boys, that’s how they referred to themselves, ignored her or kicked her when she walked by. That was how her father and brother treated her, and they were used to following Arthur and Joseph’s lead, lest they get a smack or a punch. But Frankie was different. Frankie never kicked her, never spoke harshly to her, and often smiled at her when the others weren’t looking. Fallon had had precious little kindness in her life, and she would anticipate a smile from Frankie for days. When she received one, she felt as though she could run as fast as one of those fancy horses everyone bet on. Her heart and soul simply soared.

  And then one night she stumbled across Frankie in an alley near home. She was coming back from Bond Street, where she’d been picking pockets, and she was hurrying because she knew her father would be waiting to see her take. Frankie had stepped out and called, “Maggie.”

  She’d jumped at least a foot then put her hand to her heart when she saw who it was. “You’re like to scare me half to death,” she’d said.

  “I’m sorry.” He stepped out of the shadows, and there was that smile. It melted her inside, and she forgot where she’d been going, forgot she’d been in any hurry whatsoever.

  They’d talked for a few minutes. Fallon couldn’t remember what they’d discussed now. It had probably been something about her father’s latest scheme or the trouble one of the gang had gotten himself into, but Fallon remembered the feeling she’d had when she walked away.

  She felt happy. It wasn’t something she was used to, and she could hardly wipe the smile off her face when she finally reached home.

  Her father had done that for her, smacking her around for being late and chiding her for her small take, though she suspected it was more than any of the other boys had delivered. She’d gone to bed without dinner, but she hadn’t cared. The gnawing in her belly was replaced by the fullness of happiness. She’d dreamed of Frankie’s smile.

  She dreamed of Frankie. He had always been the most handsome of all her father’s boys. He had wavy brown hair that fell over his forehead in a curl, big brown eyes, and dimples in each cheek. He was tall and strong and always dressed well. When Bayley’s Boys walked the streets, the girls’ heads turned to watch Frankie go by.

  After that first meeting, Fallon and Frankie met every few days, furtive meetings and quick exchanges because both of them feared the consequences should her father ever see them together. But they hadn’t been afraid enough, at leas
t she hadn’t. The first time Frankie kissed her had been the best day of her life. She’d just turned fifteen, and she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than the feel of Frankie’s lips on hers.

  Except his promises. He promised they’d run away together. He promised he’d marry her. And one evening, after a series of long, breathless kisses, he’d told her he’d always love her.

  She’d lost her heart to him that day, and her virginity not long after.

  And then everything changed. Frankie no longer sought her out. He ignored her when they did see one another, and his smiles all but disappeared. She’d tried to talk to him when she saw him out on the street, but he’d told her to go home. And then one evening she saw him disappear down an alley with a two-bit whore, and she knew she’d been used.

  She knew she’d meant nothing more to him than that whore.

  Fallon had spent the better part of each night for a week sobbing silently into her dirty pillow. And then her father had taken her to meet Lucifer, and she knew she was doomed. She was going to be sold as a virgin, and she was no longer a virgin. It hadn’t seemed to matter so much before, when Frankie had been promising to run away with her, but by the time she met Lucifer, Fallon knew she would never get away.

  And she knew her father would kill her.

  But Warrick wasn’t Frankie. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old boy with one thing on his mind. Warrick wasn’t a handsome boy taking advantage of an inexperienced girl. Fallon was no girl, nor was she inexperienced. No one had ever made her feel like Warrick did. Many men had told her they loved her, of course, but she’d never been tempted to believe it. She’d always only played the part of the courtesan, never lived it. She preferred the role because it allowed her to keep a measure of independence most women didn’t have.

  Could she give up that independence to marry Warrick?

  Fallon clenched her hands, rose, and stalked the room. Why was she even thinking such ridiculous thoughts? Why was she even allowing such notions into her head? This was how one got hurt. She couldn’t allow herself to love Warrick, and she couldn’t believe they had any future.