Revenge Wears Rubies

by Renee Bernard

  “There is a young lady who has come to call,” Bradley replied. “I’d have insisted on turning her round, but she . . . She was quite polite.” It was a lame explanation, but Galen suddenly had an inkling of an idea of exactly who could put Bradley into such a flushed state of imbalance.

  Polite? She’s charmed his befuddled stockings off and Bradley of all people is about to melt into a puddle! If it were one of Ashe’s women, my first word of it would be the screeching noise outside when Bradley shoved her into the refuse piles on the street. . . .

  But what the hell is Haley Moreland doing here at this time of night?

  “Show her up, Bradley. And then by all means, go to bed.”

  Bradley radiated disapproval but hurried to fetch the “polite young lady” from the foyer where he’d asked her to wait. One did not leave a lady of genteel breeding to stand on a darkened stoop at such an unheard of hour, and Galen could hear him muttering as he went to carry out his duties.

  He’ll put arsenic in my tea in her defense, I think. Incredible! Well, no worries, Bradley, I’ve already resolved to let the lamb go untouched. Michael is right, and it’s not as if—

  His resolution not to take things any further was instantly forgotten. Haley appeared in the doorway, still wearing her ball gown, and he almost swore under his breath at how stunningly beautiful she was, so calm with those remarkable eyes reflecting back the glow of the fire.

  “It is . . . late for a social call, Miss Moreland.”

  She nodded and reached up to slowly remove a single gilt hairpin. “Is it?” She dropped the ornament to the carpeted floor and took a step toward him.

  “Won’t your family be looking for you?”

  She shook her head, and then another silver flower followed to tumble at her feet. “My father would sleep through a round of cannonade this evening, and I have the feeling that Aunt Alice wouldn’t alert anyone, even if she did bother to check my room.”

  “What a forward-thinking woman, your aunt.” He exhaled, mesmerized as yet another glittering tiny pin fell and her mahogany hair began to cascade slowly over her shoulder. “And your servants? Won’t they talk?”

  As she reached up again, she innocently arched her back and he was treated to the remarkable silhouette of her breasts lifted up, accenting the lines of her figure. Two more flowers fell, and the rest of her curls fell in a silky curtain down her back, to her waist. “Our roles are reversed, Mr. Hawke. I thought it was usually the woman who presented obstacles and objections?”

  After all his scheming, Galen knew he was conquered.

  “Miss Moreland? If you came to command me to exile to the ends of the earth, you—”

  “I came to . . . finish what we started.”

  He froze, wanting to absolutely ensure that he hadn’t somehow misunderstood. “Don’t—torment me. This isn’t a simple game, Miss Moreland. What happened in that garden . . . you’ve already risked your reputation and your engagement. Coming here, alone, at this hour, I don’t think you realize what you’re doing. And I’m not—I’m not going to make a single promise of restraint if you so much as take one more step.”

  “Mr. Hawke—”

  “Be sure.”

  “You are an unconventional person, Mr. Hawke. And I . . .” She pulled out the last of the silver flowers from behind one of her ears, dropping it slowly on the carpet at his feet. “I cannot seem to remember convention when you are near.”

  He stared at the shiny little ornament for a moment, his heart racing at the prospect of her actions. “A mutual problem we share, Miss Moreland.”

  She reached up again, with unsteady fingers, to push her hair back from her face. “I have spent too many years being practical, Mr. Hawke. Too many years trying to be something I suspect I never was. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I am . . . clumsy at this.”

  She took a single step forward.

  His eyes locked onto her face, amazed at the serene calm on her delicate features despite the shy trembling of her hands. She was the embodiment of grace, and he felt like a pagan about to kneel and beg her for every sensual favor that a goddess could grant. “Consider yourself forgiven.”

  He lifted her into his arms in one swift movement that elicited a small squeak of surprise from her as she lost her satin shoes in the process, and he carried her against his chest directly out of the library and out into the hall toward the stairs.

  “I . . . I could walk,” she offered shyly, her arms gripping his neck and shoulders for balance.

  He ignored her, unwilling to admit that he didn’t trust himself to release her—that he didn’t trust himself to do anything beyond carting her delectable person into his bedroom and burying himself inside of her until he couldn’t think anymore.

  He practically kicked open the door to his bedroom, and had a small measure of satisfaction when it slammed shut behind him by way of sheer momentum. Her eyes had grown a little wary from his brooding silence and the speed of her arrival in this inner sanctum of his life, and Galen reminded himself that there was nothing to be gained in a hurry that couldn’t be enjoyed even more at a slower pace.

  He kissed her, a thorough, tender exploration that lay claim even as he carried her toward the giant four-poster bed that dominated one end of the chamber. As her posterior settled against the pillows, he lifted his head to allow her to realize exactly where she’d landed.

  Her eyelashes fluttered open and she bit her lower lip. “I’m . . .”

  “Second thoughts?” he asked, praying she didn’t realize that he was probably not capable at this point of letting her go.

  She smiled, a vision looking up at him with the most innocent and potent invitation in her eyes. “You have never kissed me indoors before, Mr. Hawke.”

  He smiled as well, a flood of relief robbing him of some of his tension. “And was there a remarkable difference?”

  She shook her head. “Only a lack of a breeze, or inclement weather . . .”

  “I’m hurt you would have noticed such a thing, Miss Moreland,” he teased, lowering his lips back toward hers. “I shall have to try a little harder to distract you.”

  He kissed her again, this time lingering over the silky confines of her mouth, while his fingers began to trail down over her body, assessing the layers of feminine clothing and seeking to find ways to reach the sweet flesh underneath. Unlike in the garden, he had no desire to work around women’s fashion but burned to see her without a single stitch on her body and to feel every inch of her against him.

  He found the tie of her laced bodice beneath her hair and pulled the curls back to kiss the base of her neck there, between her shoulder blades, wetting her skin with his tongue and then deliberately blowing against it to send a shiver down her spine. Galen loosened the bow, and then in a trick as old as London itself, he simply ran his fingers across and under the laces to free their hold just enough to let him slide out the cording as he pleased.

  At last, he pulled back to bring her forward onto her knees, allowing him to gently tug the bodice off her shoulders and remove her arms so that he could lift the gown up over her head in an easy sweeping maneuver so that it lightly landed at the foot of the bed.

  The undergown followed suit, and he surveyed the delightful puzzle of stays and petticoats, crinoline and underpinnings that now faced him. Haley was clearly trying not to laugh but openly enjoying his efforts since they were highlighted by shocking caresses and fiery kisses. “I could . . . do this myself.”

  He grunted, playfully sliding a hand up her outer thigh to follow the firm curve of her bottom. “Such independence, Miss Moreland! You’re spoiling my concentration.”

  She laughed, but the soft peals ended quickly when he pushed her down against the bed and made quick and efficient work of her undergarments until she was breathlessly left with nothing but her semitransparent cotton chemise and her stockings.

  Galen surveyed her for a moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as the last layer teased him, opaquely draping acr
oss the curves of her body, hinting at the triangular shadow of curls between her legs and the darker tips of her nipples. He caught the first hint of the scent of her arousal, and his cock tightened almost to the point of pain. Galen started to unbutton his shirt and then his fingers slowed as he realized that her courage had faltered slightly and her eyes were tightly closed.

  “Do you intend to keep your eyes closed the entire time, Miss Moreland?”

  “Haley.”

  “Pardon me?” he asked softly, smiling at the quick, witty workings of her mind, even under such circumstances.

  “It’s English law. If we’re discussing whether it’s proper to look or not . . . you have to use my Christian name.” She spoke with her eyes still shut tight, until Galen laughed and the sound of it made them flutter open in curiosity. “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Hawke?”

  “No, Haley.”

  “Oh,” she sighed. “That sounded so much better than I’d expected.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My name. I like the sound of my name when you say it.”

  The heat in his eyes surged, and he knelt on the bed next to her. “Is it so easy to please you? Is that possible, Haley?”

  “I’m afraid so. Were you . . . hoping for more demands?”

  He shook his head. “I was about to stop hoping at all. But let’s readdress this business about closing your eyes. I have an idea.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why don’t you undress me yourself? Then you can open or close them as you wish and control the pace. But you will have your hands to help you make the decision . . . whether or not to peek.”

  “That seems like a—wicked suggestion.”

  But he could see the light of excitement in her gaze, the appeal of the proposition impossible for her to ignore. He slid off of the bed to make it easier, making a quick and subtle business of removing his shoes and stockings first, refusing to allow her first intimate impression of him as being stark naked with a rampant erection wearing his white stockings.

  “Come to me, Haley.”

  She moved closer to the edge of the bed, kneeling to face him as an equal, and he waited until she reached out to splay the long, soft blades of her hand against his heartbeat. For long seconds, they remained there and he allowed her to drink in the desire of his eyes until she was finally emboldened to slide a hand up to remove his cravat and slide her hand inside his collar, just below his throat.

  “Your skin is hot.” She spoke softly, her eyes falling to the small well at his throat to watch the pulse there as it jumped at her words while her fingers skimmed the small triangle of smooth flesh she’d discovered.

  “Buttons, Haley, I beg you,” he whispered back. “I’m not sure my wicked suggestion will hold if you don’t move a little faster.”

  Despite a flash of mischief in her eyes, she obeyed him and her fingers began the powerful ritual that released each button in turn. She lingered in the small thatch of thick, soft hair on his chest, absorbing the texture with a smile, then tracing its path downward with each fastening she released. But he noticed that the grace of her fingers deteriorated as she approached his stomach, no doubt her nerves getting the better of her. Galen took mercy and guided her hands and pulled his shirt out of his pants to try to ease her past her hesitations.

  She reveled in an exploration of his chest, delicately trailing her fingers over each indentation and rise as if memorizing his body before she pushed the shirt back off of his shoulders and slid it effortlessly from his arms. Her cheeks colored, but she relentlessly began to trail her fingernails lightly across the muscles of his shoulders and his stomach, rocketing pleasure through him. When her palms grazed the sensitive crests of his nipples, his entire body stiffened in reaction.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not even close.” He kissed her, drawing out her tongue to tease and taste her, inciting her to move faster. “Your touch gives me great pleasure.”

  Her hands had come to rest on the rippled plane of his stomach, and Galen watched her consider her virginal strategy at how best to proceed. In the meantime, his own hands began to mirror the movements she’d made, and Galen decided that while he’d allowed for a game so that she could undress him at her leisure, he’d never said one word about keeping his hands at his sides.

  He pressed his palms over the hardened peaks that beckoned him to touch, and he was rewarded by a sweet gasp and an involuntary shudder that pushed the round orbs against him harder, as if they, too, wished to protest the indolent speed of the proceedings.

  “Y-you’re distracting me, Galen!”

  “I’m sure that was my intent.”

  She tried to ignore his words and the electrical arc between his touch and her body’s core, sure her wits were already scrambling to take in this new world of sensual delights. She could feel his every twitch and reaction as she continued her venture of learning his body. The slow movement of her fingers transmitted the heat of his flesh to hers, and when she added the lightest drag of her fingernails to the game, it set off a catch in his breathing and made his heartbeat increase. Haley marveled at her new power to affect him with the softest pressure of her hands. Like their first kiss, she didn’t want to rush, wanting nothing more than a languid foray into this new world—for even more than a simple kiss, this exchange held far more meaning.

  But her own body was fighting her, fueled by the taste of bliss he’d given her in Bellham’s garden, and she could feel her thighs getting slick in anticipation. Haley trembled, but not with fear. She felt like a horse straining at the slips, eager to be off and finally know true freedom—to give herself up to this delicious and dangerous path, into his hands, yielding her innocence and entering into an intimacy that should have, by rights, been only her husband’s privilege. But she wanted Galen, and no other—and there was no turning back.

  Her fingers dipped below the line of his waist, and at the realization of the size of his anatomy, outlined by the cloth and pressed against the buttons, she bit her lower lip and hesitated.

  “Haley, a man can die from this kind of torment,” he noted in a sage growl that made her smile.

  “Then let’s see if we can save your life,” she whispered back, and he gasped in ragged shock at her words. But her eyes were on the buttons as she gently tugged to unfasten his breeches and began to free him at last. His sex was so large, the head of him was pushing up at the very waist of his pants, and Haley marveled at her first glimpse of the dark purple head of it, like a plum. When the buttons gave way, his cock sprang forward, heavy and hot into her hands, jutting proudly, so taut and rampant from a nest of black curls that she forgot her intentions to close her eyes at this critical moment.

  Haley had seen male statues, Greek ideals of male beauty, and not always with the modest fig leaf placed “just so”—but nothing of cold white marble had prepared her for the sight of Galen’s male prowess. Rigid and virile, with every breath his cock bobbed and pulsed, a living part of him in a colorful display that demanded admiration. Velvet soft skin in a darker hue was stretched over a thick molten steel core, and Haley knew its purpose. She forgot her maidenly shyness and openly stared, her own inner muscles clenching in desire, hungry to consume and hold this part of him inside of her. . . . Her hand reached up to trail from the outside of his thigh, working up the courage to touch what her eyes were devouring. Curiosity was making her more and more eager for experience—but the sheer size of him made her wonder at the practical logistics.

  Perhaps it doesn’t actually go all the way inside . . . or . . .

  Haley looked up at him shyly, instantly aware that he was reading her thoughts.

  He slid his trousers the rest of the way down, kicking them off with a practiced grace, and Haley held still and took in the view of her own Adonis, naked and unashamed. His untamed curls were pushed back from his face as he returned to the bed, and his emerald green eyes glittered in the lamplight. Long muscular lines and smooth skin were highlighted on
ly by a black swirl of hair on his chest and the thatch around his sex, and Haley admired the lean shape of his thighs and calves and even the tight swell of his bottom. There wasn’t an ounce of softness on his body, and she marveled at how different he seemed, and yet, how some part of her recognized and joyfully welcomed every difference.

  Galen’s desire insisted that the time for maidenly hesitation and leisurely study had drawn to an end. He returned to the bed, a panther on a merciless prowl, eager to feast on his delectable prey. Haley sighed at his first touch, and he lifted her up by her arms to kiss her in an assault that indicated the last of the civilized world melting away from his reach. He lifted her into his arms to taste her mouth, pressing her body against his, and pushed her back onto the bed.

  The barrier of her chemise added to the sweet friction but also tantalized him as his cock sought the molten notch between her thighs and her hard little nipples pushed against his chest in searing points that begged him to take all he wanted.

  And God help him, he wanted all of her.

  He lifted off of her with a groan, hating to end the kiss and lose the heat of her body against his, but his impatience with the chemise brooked no more delays. He pulled it up over her head and flung it off the bed onto the floor. Galen leaned back, kneeling above her, and was sure that no man had ever been faced with such a vision.

  Her hair was fanned out beneath her head, trailing off the edge of the bed in mahogany soft curls, and she was looking up at him with such innocent lust, such unpracticed wanton that he almost spent himself. She was completely bared for him and put up no resistance as he untied the ribbons of her garter and peeled off her stockings to press open her thighs and allow him to survey the spoils of his conquest.

  He drank it all in, surveying the bounty of Miss Haley Moreland sprawled across his bed. Her narrow ankles and curved calves, dimpled knees and pillow- soft thighs, willowy figure with its pert apple-sized breasts and tight little coral nipples thickened and hard from arousal just beckoning a man to taste and suckle pure ecstasy. But he stared for an extra moment at the sweet sight of her sex; ripe pink flushing to red, her thick soft lips were already slick, and he watched as a trail of clear honey dripped from her, coating the glistening flesh underneath her dark brown curls.