Perhaps in an effort to distract him, Regan boldly reached for his frock coat. With a determined expression on her face, she sat up on her knees and pushed and divested him of his coat and waistcoat. Dare swallowed his grin when Regan gazed at his chest as if in a daze. He loved that the sight of his body affected her this way. He became harder just at the thought.
Dare tossed aside his cravat and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. “Help me,” he said hoarsely, and lust coiled like heavy smoke in his gut as Regan complied. He felt her fingernails scrape against his back as she pulled his shirt over his head.
“Your turn,” he said, gently easing Regan onto her back. “No, no … do not cover yourself.” Dare cupped her breasts through the thin linen of her chemise. Her plump nipples stabbed his palms at his interest.
Unwilling to wait a second longer, Dare seized the front of the undergarment and tore the delicate fabric in two, leaving her bare and open to him.
“Dare!” she exclaimed as he nibbled his way down from her tempting breasts to her navel. His hand groped for the drawstrings of her drawers, and tugged until the knotted bow unraveled.
He groaned as her hipbone was uncovered. “You are so lovely,” he murmured, kissing the hollow next to the bone. “I plan to taste every inch of you.”
“Every inch?” Regan echoed, bemused.
Dare shot her a heated glance before he moved lower. Ignoring her weak protests, he parted the intimate folds between her thighs and laved the tender moist flesh within.
“Dear heavens!” she gasped. Regan tried to wiggle away from his bold carnal kiss, but Dare held her hips and pulled her closer.
He teased the delicate nubbin with the tip of his tongue. Regan trembled and writhed under his sensual ministrations. He throbbed painfully within his trousers, but Dare ignored the demands of his body. He was too enthralled with the notion of giving Regan her first taste of pleasure.
Dare grazed her hipbone with his teeth. “Has anyone kissed you thusly?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
“N-nooo!”
Emboldened by the wetness coating her womanly folds, he rubbed the swollen nubbin with his fingers. Regan moaned, her hips moving restlessly.
“It almost hurts,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.
Dare groaned as his fingers stroked the entrance of her sheath. Her answering arousal deepened his penetration. The pain that Regan was feeling had nothing to do with her virginity. “Let me ease you,” he said, his throat tight from his self-denial.
Rolling off her, Dare unfastened the two buttons near his left hip and quickly freed himself, his cock springing free. The air did little to cool his ardor. He shoved his trousers down until he could kick the garment free from his legs.
Seeing Regan’s wide-eyed expression, Dare decided haste was kinder than letting her fret over the size of him. He crawled up her body and fitted himself between her legs. With his hand, Dare guided his rigid length until the swollen head began to push inside her tight sheath.
“Do you feel how your body is responding to mine?” he asked, pushing into her with slow abbreviated strokes that he was certain were likely to kill him.
“Yes,” she replied, releasing the breath that she had been holding as she took him into her body.
As he pushed farther into her welcoming heat, sweat beaded on his brow when the head of his cock met the resistance of her maidenhead. Regan bit her lower lip and arched her spine against the growing discomfort. Her movements unintentionally pushed him deeper.
“Regan,” he said, begging her to understand that he was fighting instinct and was at the mercy of his own needs. Withdrawing slightly, he surged inside her, claiming her completely.
Regan gasped at his invasion. Her fingernails were digging into his shoulders, but he barely felt it. Their gazes met in a lengthy silence.
“You will damn me if you demand that I stop.”
A ghost of smile teased Regan’s lips. “And here I thought we were already damned.”
Dare groaned and buried his face against her breast. “This is not the moment to make me laugh, Regan.”
Then he began to move and Regan ceased to think.
The pace he set was languid and tortuous. The liquid glide of his cock within her tight sheath was almost his undoing. He nuzzled her breast, then laved the swollen peak with his tongue.
Regan threaded her fingers through his hair and moaned. Dare drew hard on the nipple before he released it. He stretched and claimed her lips. Her tongue teased his. In a nimble move, she curled her tongue around his and coaxed him to deepen their kiss. Dare cupped her buttocks, driving his strokes deeper at her boldness.
She exhaled sharply as his mouth moved to her neck. Dare gave her a not-so-gentle bite. Regan was trembling and panting with the need Dare had created within her that only he could assuage.
He would not fail her.
Lost in the feeling of Regan’s body beneath his, and her heady scent in his nostrils, Dare’s measured strokes soon became more intense and powerful. Clutching him tightly, Regan cried out and stiffened as each thrust brought her closer and closer to the edge. And then Dare flung her right over it. Her cries of pleasure rang in his ears. He drove into the heart of her, and clenched his teeth against the roar of his own release as his hot seed filled her.
With a final shudder, he collapsed on top of Regan. He felt a deep satisfaction seep through him when he felt her soft embrace pull him even closer.
* * *
Regan loved the feel of Dare’s weight on top of her and fullness of his thick manhood still inside her. “Dare?” She stroked his back. “Did I hurt you?” she asked when he did not respond.
Dare groaned and used his arms to lift himself from her. “I should be asking you that question.” He carefully withdrew from her body and reached for his trousers. Rolling over onto his back, he used the garment to cover himself.
“I am very well.” Regan told herself that she was not disappointed that she had not gotten a proper look at him.
He reached over and stroked her cheek. “You do not have to lie,” he said gently. “Although I tried to ease your pain, there must have been some discomfort.”
“Some,” she admitted. “Though there were certain parts of our lovemaking that were very nice.” It seemed too wanton to lie on her brother’s rug naked, so she sat up and reached for her discarded dress.
Dare smiled, his earlier humor resurfacing. “When I have recovered, I would be honored to discuss your favorite parts at length.” His gaze traveled down the length of her body before returning to her eyes. His smile widened. “Or mayhap later. The hour is late, and you are too sore for what I have in mind.”
Regan frowned. “I do not believe I am sore.”
“Indeed?”
Dare settled the matter by rolling onto his side and slipping his hand under her makeshift covering. She flinched as his fingers touched her intimately, tenderly.
Regan sighed and accepted her defeat gracefully. “I am a little sore.”
“Hmm…” He sat up. “We should get dressed.”
It was such a mundane task after everything she had experienced this evening. Regan watched, admiring Dare’s body as he pulled on his trousers. She sighed, staring at her own clothing. Her chemise was ruined. Since she was going straight to her bedchamber, Regan eschewed her undergarments and donned her dress.
Dare pulled his shirt down over his abdomen. He glanced down at the pile of Regan’s undergarments on the floor. He quirked his right eyebrow but refrained from commenting. “Allow me to help you,” Dare said quietly.
Regan offered him her back. “Only fasten a few so I can remove it on my own.”
He kissed the nape of her neck. “A sensible notion. However, if I had my way—”
“I believe you already have, my lord,” she quipped, and was rewarded with a low chuckle.
“I wish I could join you in your bedchamber.” Dare turned her until they were facing each other. “I was too
rough the first time. You deserve a soft bed so I can make love to you properly.”
“Nonsense. Everything was perfect.”
He gave her an endearing lopsided grin that always seemed to melt her heart. “You are not much of a judge, fair Regan, being that this is your first time.”
Regan leaned forward as Dare lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss was sweet and reverent; an unspoken apology for his frenzied lovemaking.
She moaned against his lips. “Come up to my bedchamber.”
Dare rested his forehead against hers. Then he shook his head and stepped away from her. “I need you to be sensible.” He gathered up her undergarments and pushed them into her hands. “Clearly, I am not capable of the task where you are concerned.”
The small admission from Dare cheered Regan immeasurably. “We could tarry longer in the library! I have become quite found of this room.”
“Behave!” Dare delivered a playful swat on her backside and nudged her toward the door. “We cannot linger. If Frost finds us together, he will probably castrate me, and send you to a nunnery until you are eighty.”
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Regan was certain that nothing could ruin her buoyant mood. Dressed in a gray bombazine round dress with a white-and-yellow twisted band of satin fabric adorning the bodice, she felt very much the lady of the house.
Seated across from Dare in the morning room, she glanced at her brother’s empty chair and wondered at Frost’s tardiness. Despite the late hours that her brother kept, he was usually the first to come downstairs.
Dare gave her a not-so-subtle nudge under the table. “Stop it.”
Regan swallowed the small portion of poached egg she had been savoring. “Stop what exactly?” she politely inquired.
Although she had been tempted to kiss Dare when she entered the morning room, Regan had resisted such a display in front of the staff. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it … and about last night.
Dare waited until the footman stepped out of the room before he replied. He gestured vaguely in her direction. “You look like a lady who was thoroughly ravished by her lover.”
Regan looked down at the dress she had selected this morning and frowned. “There is nothing wrong with my attire.”
She quietly conceded that the gray bombazine dress did not suit her coloring or her temperament. However, she had chosen it after much deliberation. It was staid, practical, and respectable. No one, including Frost, would ever guess the wicked things she and Dare had done in the library.
Dare leaned forward so his voice would not carry beyond the table. “I don’t mean your clothes. I am referring to your expression. You look too damn happy, Regan.”
Regan brought her hand up to her mouth in an attempt to smother her laughter. “Too happy,” she reiterated. “Honestly, Dare, that is hardly a criminal offense.”
“Frost is not a fool,” he said sternly. “Your skin gleams like pearls from the Orient, the gold flecks in your blue eyes glimmer like stars, and you move like a lady aware of her body.”
Regan privately acknowledged that she was very aware of certain parts of her body. Dare was a large man, and he left a most delicious impression on a lady.
“Why, that is almost poetic. Have you ever immortalized your passion for a lady with a verse or two?” Regan asked, brightening at the prospect of Dare composing poetry on her behalf.
Dare put down his coffee. “Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his neck as if it pained him.
Regan suspected Dare would snarl at her if she tried to comfort him, so she picked up her fork and resumed eating her breakfast. “Forget about the poetry,” she said magnanimously. “I have the works of Byron, Bowles, and Coleridge to flatter my romantic heart.”
“Stay away from poets, my dear sister,” Frost said as he entered the room with his butler following in his wake. The wrinkled condition of his coat revealed that he was just returning from his evening. “Clever bounders, the lot of them.”
Regan glanced at Dare. With his gaze on the morning paper, he did not seem inclined to offer an opinion on the subject. “Now you are teasing me.”
“On the contrary.” Frost kissed her cheek as he passed, and sat down in the chair beside her. “You would not believe the number of foolish chits who succumb upon hearing that romantic drivel.”
Although her brother’s insult was not directed at her, Regan felt her cheeks grow warm. She had just been teasing Dare about immortalizing their passionate encounter in a few lines of verse.
“So you do not whisper sweet flattery in your lover’s ear, brother?”
“Regan.”
The warning came from Dare.
Frost was amused by her question. “No words are needed when I am with a lady.” He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I have other uses for my hands and nimble tongue.”
Dare glared at his friend. “Show some respect, Frost. Regan is your sister, not one of Madame Venna’s girls.”
Regan almost choked on the piece of poached egg in her mouth as she recalled how Dare had used his mouth and hands on her. He had tumbled her with the ease and skill that her brother was boasting about.
Untroubled by his friend’s scolding, Frost picked up his buttered toast and slathered it with blackberry jam. “You surprise me, Dare. I thought a certain lady would have taken the starch out of your—”
“Pray excuse me.” Regan abruptly rose from her chair, cracking her knee against the leg of the table.
Although she was well aware that nothing had happened between Dare and Mrs. Randall, she was in no mood to listen to the lies he would utter to satisfy her brother’s curiosity. The reminder that Dare had been attracted to the widow made her angry enough to clench her teeth.
Regan forced her mouth to relax into a pleasant smile. “I will leave you and Dare to continue your enlightening discussion in private.”
Her brother sighed with feigned remorse. “A pity. I hope you are not leaving on my account.”
It was apparent to her that Frost wanted her to leave the room. The questions he was bound to ask Dare about his evening were not meant for a lady’s ears. What was left of her buoyant spirits evaporated as her thoughts drifted back to the beautiful widow.
“Not at all,” Regan said coolly. “Gentlemen.”
Frost’s turquoise-blue eyes narrowed on Dare as soon as Regan departed from the morning room. “Where, or more to the point, who did you spend your evening with?”
Dare did not even blink as he lied. “No one.”
“And what of Mrs. Randall?”
Dare picked up his cup of coffee and sipped. It had grown cold, but he drank it anyway. “It is unlike you to pry, Frost.”
“I have my reasons.”
Dare shrugged, deciding that it was safer to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I escorted Mrs. Randall home, but declined her invitation to share a brandy with her.”
Something akin to relief flashed across his friend’s face. “Then what did you do?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just answer the question, Dare.”
“I returned to the town house, and retired early.” In his mind, he saw himself lowering Regan to the floor of the library. The frantic fumbling with buttons and tapes, and the desperate need to bury himself inside her. “Why all the questions?”
“I just came from the Golden Stag.”
The Golden Stag was a particularly dangerous gaming hell that attracted the criminal class. Anyone with a hefty purse was welcome, and there were many ways of losing a fortune that had nothing to do with the cards or dice. The unsavory hell was a favorite among daring young noblemen who thought that they were invincible.
Or Frost.
Dare pushed away his cup of coffee. “Tell me that you did not enter that place alone.”
Frost grinned at him and picked up a knife. Dare silently conceded that his friend was fully capable of defending himself against cutthroats. “No lectures. I hear
enough of them from Sin and Reign. Besides, the hell or the reasons why I was there are not important. I heard some distressing news that may interest you.”
Perplexed, Dare braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. For Frost, rumors and gossip could be as useful as gold. Last year, it was while patronizing the Golden Stag that his friend learned Lord Ravenshaw had planned to marry off his sister to Lord Mackney. The dowry from the marriage would have gone to settle the man’s debts.
Reign had not taken the news very well, since he had had his eye on Lady Sophia for some time. Instead of throttling Ravenshaw, their friend stole the lady from under the earl’s nose and promptly married her by special license.
“What news?”
“Mrs. Randall is dead.”
Chapter Eighteen
The news of Mrs. Randall’s death spread through London like a wildfire. Regan had learned of the widow’s death when she, Thea, and Nina had called on Sin’s wife, Juliana. The marchioness had not been alone in the drawing room. Reign’s wife, Sophia, was present with her infant daughter, Lily Grace. The Rainecourts had recently arrived in town to join their friends.
From the window, Regan watched Sin and Reign fence in the Sinclairs’ back gardens. Stripped down to their white shirts, both gentlemen were fine specimens of masculinity. Regan would have called Thea and Nina to the window if the gentlemen’s wives had not been present. To do so would have been rude.
“I cannot fathom it,” Regan said, shaking her head. Like everyone else in town, the women had been discussing the murder. “I saw Mrs. Randall last evening at Lord and Lady Trussell’s ball.”
Although she carefully omitted that the widow had quit the ballroom with Dare, there had been too many witnesses for that fact to be overlooked for long.
Dare. Was he aware of Mrs. Randall’s death?
Regan stilled as she recalled her exchange with her brother that morning. Of course, Frost had known that Mrs. Randall had been murdered. It explained why he had been eager for her to leave the morning room. He had wanted to be the one to break the news to Dare.
After Dark with a Scoundrel Page 12
