If You Give a Rake a Ruby

by Shana Galen

  “You should sleep. You must be exhausted.”

  She opened her eyes. “We’ll both sleep. After.”

  He shook his head. “You know I never sleep.”

  She straightened, clasping her arms around her knees. “Why is that? Are you afraid of your dreams?” The fire in the fireplace flickered, making his face appear all shadows and hard planes. His black clothing was severe and unrelieved against the backdrop of the bright jewel tones in her bedchamber. Behind him, beads on amethyst-, emerald-, and opal-colored pillows glittered like cat’s eyes.

  “They are not pleasant. How are your ribs? Do they still pain you?”

  She touched her side and realized she could hardly feel the injury any more. “My ribs are much better, but you are changing the subject. We’re speaking of you. What happened tonight outside the bank? You seemed to go away for a few moments, and when you returned, even I was frightened.”

  Warrick ceased pacing. “I apologize. My behavior was unforgivable.”

  “Hardly.” She reached for her towel, stepped out of the tub, and began to dry off. “I can forgive quite a lot. And, really, there’s nothing to forgive. I only wanted to understand.”

  When he didn’t speak, she glanced at him. His eyes were so dark with desire, she almost dropped the towel. “Could you hand me my dressing gown?” she asked. Anne had left the ruby silk gown draped on the end of her bed.

  “I could, but it would obstruct my view.”

  “I promise to take it off again, slowly, when we’re done talking. But, for the moment, I want your complete attention on our conversation.”

  “I make it a policy never to argue with a naked woman.” He handed her the gown, and she slipped it on, cinching the sash in the front.

  She took his hands, pulled him to the bed, and sat while he stood before her. “Tell me,” she said quietly. “Whatever it is, it won’t change my opinion of you. You already know my secrets. If you do want to marry me, you have to share some of yours.”

  He raised a brow. “So you were listening at the door.”

  “You will have to do better than that to divert this conversation.”

  With a sigh, he sat beside her. His thigh was solid and warm against hers, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “My doctor has called my condition soldier’s neurosis. I feel like some sort of hysterical woman when I speak of it in those terms, but I don’t have any others.”

  “And what is soldier’s neurosis?”

  “Basically I cannot seem to escape the war. At times my mind goes back to it, and the images are so real, I feel as though I am there again. I can hear the cannons, I feel the ground tremble beneath my feet, I smell the blood and the overturned earth, I see the mangled bodies of the men I knew. I search. I crawl over bodies because I’m searching for something or someone.” His voice caught, and she reached over and took his hand again. “Don’t ask me to describe it any further. It is not something I want you to imagine. It’s too horrific.”

  “And this is why you cannot sleep? Your dreams bring you back to those horrors?”

  “At times they do, but almost anything can trigger an episode. That boy tonight—something about him reminded me of… another boy. Before I knew it, I was back on the field, reliving it all.”

  “And when I spoke to you, you thought I was one of the soldiers?”

  “No.” He turned to her, took her by the shoulders. “You brought me out of it. Your voice helped me to return to reality.”

  “Is there anything to be done for this neurosis? Any treatment?”

  Warrick gave a bitter laugh. “Time heals all wounds is the advice I received.”

  “I’m certain that’s true, but I think we can do better than that.” She reached for her sash and unfastened the knot.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Taking your mind off war and battles and death. When I’m done, you won’t be able to think at all.” She released the sash and allowed the gown to sliver open.

  “Fallon, you should rest. You’re tired.”

  “We’re both going to rest.” She bared one shoulder. “Later.”

  “I…”

  She bared the other.

  “If you’re going to argue, you should do so quickly. I’ll be naked soon, and you know your policy concerning nude women.” The gown slipped farther until it rested precariously just above her nipples. They were hard, and the silky material chafed and rubbed.

  “I find,” Warrick said, drawing the garment down slowly so that her breasts were bared to him, “the policy also applies to half-nude women.” He brushed the back of his hand over one breast, and before Fallon could forget her intention to seduce him, she stood and allowed the gown to pool at her feet. Warrick let out a low groan. “I could not resist you, even if I wanted to.” His warm hand stroked the curve of her waist. “You are exquisite.”

  She smiled. She had been complimented thousands of times in her role as a courtesan, but she had never believed a single statement. But she could see Warrick meant every word. She was far from exquisite. She looked like every other woman, and she had her flaws. She was short, and her legs were not at all long and slender. But Warrick didn’t see any of that. He looked at her as though she were perfection personified.

  She could have loved him for that alone. And perhaps his insistence that she was somehow special, even though he knew she was as common as any other person they should pass on the street, was the reason she had fallen in love with him. But it was not the reason she loved him. In Warrick she saw the contrasting qualities of strength and vulnerability. He could support her, buoy her, protect her. But he needed her too. He needed her to help him forget all he had seen and done. No one had ever needed her before, and after years of being told she was worthless and then more years of being an ornament for a ballroom, Fallon yearned to be needed.

  With a light push, she toppled Warrick so he fell back onto her large bed. She loved the look of him—those broad shoulders, the beginnings of a beard darkening his face and making him look somewhat dangerous, the intensity in his gold-flecked eyes. She wanted to take him then and there. But this was about helping him to forget. She wanted his mind filled with images other than those of war and battle. She turned, bent, and pulled his boots off, first one foot and then the other.

  “Oh, good God.” His voice sounded tight and barely leashed. When the second boot dropped to the floor, he sat, spun her around, and kissed her. “Bend over like that again, my love,” he whispered.

  “Not yet.” She separated them using two fingers and then pulled off his coat and his shirt and opened the fall of his trousers. “You are ready.” She pulled him up and slid his trousers off, running her hands along his muscular thighs and cupping his bottom. He jerked, and she leaned forward and kissed his flat abdomen.

  “You are killing me. I do not have this much restraint.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” She pushed him back to a sitting position, admiring the way the firelight burnished his skin. “Later, when you fall asleep, this is what I want you to see.” She lifted her hands and caressed her shoulders, imagining her own hands were his. She slid down her body until she reached her breasts then cupped and stroked them. She watched his eyes grow impossibly dark and his breathing grow labored as she circled her nipples with her fingers. She was aching for him now.

  Her hands slid down over the curve of her stomach, tracing the swell of her hips, then brushing her thighs. Slowly she inched toward the juncture of her thighs until one hand rested there, parting her folds.

  Warrick seemed to sway as she dipped one finger inside. She was wet for him, growing more aroused when she saw his hands grip the bed, his knuckles white. She moaned, imagining her finger was him, imagining herself pinned beneath him as he took her unmercifully. She closed her eyes, allowed her head to fall back, and moved her hand faster. Ju
st as she neared climax, Warrick grabbed her wrist.

  She opened heavy lids and smiled at him.

  “You’re not going over without me.”

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered, kissing him. His mouth was eager against hers, and his hands slid up and down her body, making her shiver. He strayed closer and closer to her core as his tongue played with hers, and she knew if he touched her there, she would come apart in seconds. She broke the kiss and moved to his neck, kissing him tenderly and working her way down his chest. She took time to explore that part of him, tracing the hard muscles with her tongue, running her fingers over the smattering of hair. He had scars here and there, and she lovingly kissed each one, imagining some day she would know the story behind each.

  She moved her body down his, rubbing her breasts against him as she neared his abdomen. There she took her time exploring. His hands were gripping her shoulders, and she knew he was barely holding on. With a smile, she flicked her tongue out, tasting the head of his erection.

  “Fallon!” He tried to sit, but she took him in her mouth before he could pull her away. She looked up at him, her eyes teasing him, and saw he was watching her raptly. She moved up and down the length of him, loving the feel of him, the taste of him. She could have brought this to an end right then, but she wanted him inside her. If she was selfish, then so be it.

  “Lie back on the pillows,” she instructed, and they both moved fully onto the bed. Slowly, she straddled him, taking him inside her inch by inch. His hands clenched her hips almost painfully, but when he finally filled her to the hilt, she could think of nothing but the way he felt. She rocked, pleasure swirling and building within her as she moved. She arched her back and took him hard and fast. Her hips pistoned, and she cried out as she shattered. She was sinking against his chest when he flipped her over.

  Her eyes snapped open as he pinned her wrists to the bed with one hand. “We’re not done.”

  She looked down. “You are not done.” She licked her lips. “Come here.”

  “No. It’s my turn.”

  She shook her head. Her body was boneless and limp. He couldn’t possibly… and then his mouth was on her breasts, sucking and licking, and she found her hips arching and the tension once again building.

  “You like that.”

  “I like everything you do to me.” She tried to touch him, but he held her wrists to the bed.

  “I’m in charge now,” he said, swirling his tongue around her erect nipple. She would have fought any other man who dared to restrain her, who had the audacity to tell her he was taking control. But she found herself surrendering to Warrick, strangely thrilled that she was his captive, in his power. His hand traced her ribs and her belly delicately and then one knee nudged her legs apart. His hand parted her, and he gazed at her for a long time. She tried to close her legs, but his hand wedged them open. She was completely revealed, and the way he was looking at her made her breath come fast and hard.

  “Take me,” she pleaded, arching toward him.

  “Not yet.” His finger slid over her, and she caught her breath. She all but cried when he slid two fingers into her.

  “You are so wet.”

  “For you.” Her hips bucked as his thumb circled her, sending bolts of pleasure through her. She rocked her hips against him, her body straining for release, just as he withdrew his hand. “No!”

  Now she fought him, her arms straining against his hold. But he was merciless, pinning her to the bed. “Shall I tease you with my tongue or thrust into you, hard and fast?”

  “Hard and fast,” she begged. “Make me come.”

  “Oh, I will.” He released her hands, and she rejoiced that she could finally wrest control back, but then his head dipped between her legs, and she found all she could do was to fist her hands in his hair as his tongue teased her unmercifully. She was screaming for release when he finally entered her, filling her so completely that she all but wept.

  “Hard. Fast,” she begged, and for once he abandoned his tenderness and complied. He drove into her, and with each thrust she screamed his name. Waves of pleasure crashed over her again and again and again, each one slamming into her and rendering her weak and wanting more. Finally, finally, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders and drove into her. She watched his face as he came.

  “Fallon,” he groaned, and the sound of her name on his lips sent her over. The pleasure seemed to crash through her for hours. Her body took and took until at last they both lay still, legs and arms wrapped around one another, both wet with perspiration, and too sated to even think of moving.

  His arm tightened around her, and she turned her head to kiss his temple. His eyes were closed and his breathing heavy.

  “You’re safe with me,” she whispered. “I won’t let you go. Now, sleep.”

  And he did.

  Twenty

  Warrick woke slowly, listening to the unfamiliar sounds around him. There was the distant chime of church bells, the raised voice of a nanny calling to a small child, and the hushed murmurs of servants somewhere nearby. Even closer was the sound of someone breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and his gaze fell on Fallon. Her hair was spread on the pillow beside him, and she had one arm flung carelessly above her head. Her dark lashes brushed against a cheek still red from his beard, and her swollen mouth was slightly parted.

  She looked completely at peace, and Warrick realized, with a shock, that until a moment ago, he had also been at peace. He could not remember the last time he had slept so soundly or so dreamlessly.

  He looked at Fallon again. This was her doing. She was good for him. She brought him back from that raging whirlpool of memory that continually reached out greedy hands to suck him in. He’d seen men go mad because they could not put the horrors of war behind them. At times he feared he was destined for that path himself, but Fallon gave him new hope. She was an anchor he could reach for when the whirlpool threatened.

  She didn’t trust him, of course. She didn’t believe him when he said he would marry her. And why should she? He supposed men lied to her all the time, and he had been trained in the art of lying. But he had been nothing if not honest with her.

  There was no doubt marrying her would be a sacrifice. His family would never again receive him. He would never mend the split with his father. They would be ostracized from good Society—not that Warrick gave a damn. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had stepped foot in his parents’ town house, not to mention the country house. They had cut him off long ago when he refused to leave the Foreign Office to take some ridiculous position as a vicar. Warrick couldn’t think of any service he was less suited for than the clergy, and when he’d been promoted and become one of the Diamonds in the Rough, he knew he had found his true calling. He and the other three diamonds had been instrumental in stopping Napoleon’s relentless siege of the Continent. They, along with others, had been able to provide Wellington the information he needed to win at Waterloo.

  Warrick couldn’t regret his decision to become a spy, even if it meant his father was ashamed of him. Some things were more important than the Earl of Winthorpe’s approval, though his father doubtlessly disagreed. Warrick looked at Fallon again. His family would not welcome her with open arms. Fortunately, he and Fallon had a day to prepare before the ball, and he would prepare by paying his mother a visit and convincing her to allow him a look at the guest list. Perhaps a name or two might stand out.

  He glanced at the window and judged it still early. His mother would not even be receiving callers yet. Hell, he didn’t even know if it was her day to receive calls, and he didn’t really care. He did care that he would have to leave Fallon behind. If he wanted to see that list, it wouldn’t serve to annoy his mother. But sooner or later she would have to accept he was in love with Fallon.

  As though hearing his thoughts, she stirred beside him. He rolled onto his side and stroked he
r cheek, trailing down to her shoulder then her arm. Her mouth turned up in a lazy smile, and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Did you sleep?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep and perhaps something more.

  “I did, thanks in no small part to you.”

  “I was happy to oblige.”

  His hand moved to her hip, caressing the silky skin there. She stretched and threw one leg over his hip. “I could sleep for another twelve hours.”

  His hand trailed to her bottom. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I’m afraid you’re rather distracting.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment, and beg your forgiveness because I cannot seem to resist you.”

  He kissed her lips, pulling her bottom closer so she cupped his hard erection.

  “Mmm, I don’t want you to resist me.” She kissed him back, a lazy lingering kiss that fired his blood. Her hands wandered over his back, down his sides, and came to rest on his hips. Her teasing fingers left him breathless as she inched closer and closer to his erection. Finally, when he was about to groan, she took him in her warm hand and stroked.

  “Fallon.” He buried his face in her neck, letting the sweet scent of jasmine wrap around him. He nibbled her neck, felt her shiver, then she guided him to her core. She was warm and wet, impossibly inviting. He wanted to wake up like this every morning. He rocked inside her gently, allowing their passions to build. There was no hurry, no frenzy. He wanted to savor every second with her—her every sigh, her every response.

  Finally, he rolled on top of her, and she smiled up at him, her eyes still cloudy with sleep and also with passion. She wrapped her legs around him, and he moved inside her, so slowly he thought he would go mad. The climax built and built until he could not stop it from crashing over him. He felt her tighten around him, and she sighed a soft, “Yes,” before she crashed too.

  He pulled her into his arms, held her until her breathing grew deep, and she slept. And then he left her.

  ***

  The park in the center of Berkeley Square was flooded with sunshine and the twitter of birds. Daffodils swayed in the light breeze that whipped his great coat, and that same breeze brought to his ears the tinkle of voices from the nearby patrons enjoying Gunther’s ices.