How a Lady Weds a Rogue fc-3

by Katharine Ashe

  “Don’t put my hands on you?” Driven by her hot, primed beauty, his other hand moved to his breeches fastenings. “Don’t give you this?” Upon every thrust of his finger the creamy swells of her breasts above her bodice jerked upward, a luscious pink aureole peeking out. Wyn bent and drew it into his mouth. “My Diantha.” He sucked the peak, bit, and she moaned, meeting his hand faster, and he had to be inside her.

  He grabbed her hips and dragged her under him, pressing her to his needy cock, kissing her neck, her throat, feasting upon her silken skin, the luxury of her breasts. She pushed at his chest with one palm, grabbing him closer with her other, her hand sliding down his arm.

  “I said—”

  “You said more.” He must have her. Hands beneath her skirts, kissing her breasts then the curve of her waist, he descended, pushing quantities of silk and lace out of the way.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Having you in a stable.” He pressed her thighs open.

  She struggled to push her skirts down. “I told you I don’t want you to make love to me.”

  He grabbed her wrists. “Because you fear me getting you with child only?”

  Her breaths were fast, eyes wide and bleary with passion. “Y-Yes.”

  “Now tell me the truth.” He stroked across her femininity, her eyes closed upon a moan, and then he did what he’d wanted to do since he spent a night in a stable loft fantasizing about her.

  She was sweet, her scent, her texture, and exquisitely wet. He tasted her, drew her pleasure with his tongue and she gasped. But she allowed it, gripping straw in her slender hands. He used his lips, his teeth, until she called his name, but he wanted more. He could not take his fill. He sank his finger into her.

  “Oh, stop.” Her back arched, her knuckles white against the wall, eyes closed and head thrown back. “I want you to— I want— Unh!” She contracted against his tongue to a stuttering series of soft cries. Then again, harder, her groans deeper and breaths short until she was whimpering her pleasure like sobs. “I need you.”

  He moved up between her legs and brought himself against her. He bent and breathed her in, the satin of her curls brushing his cheek. “Ask me.”

  “Please!” She moved against him, her thighs clutching him close. “I will beg if you like.”

  “A lady need only ask once.” He thrust into her, again, and again, until he was fully embedded. She moaned, gripping his back with her hands, and, desperate for relief, he took her. The mattress of straw was a bed for the tight gift of her body she gave him. He lifted her hips and gave her pleasure until he could only thrust blindly, be inside her as deeply as she could take him, her decadent thighs spread, all of her open to him.

  “Wyn.” As she shuddered around him, he came. Beyond reason and control he filled her so deep that no one could ever again deny she belonged to him—not he, not she. And he uttered a curse, perhaps a prayer, that he could be a man worthy of this woman’s heart.

  Hauling air into his lungs, he bent his mouth to her neck, her breasts, the damp contour of her throat. She pressed her body to his, and he could not leave her yet. He was exhausted, and he was exactly where he wished to be.

  Eyes closed, she allowed him to caress her. “I did not know it could be done quite like that. With a man’s mouth,” she said between slowing breaths.

  “I bloody well hope you didn’t.”

  “A gentleman should never swear in the presence of a lady,” she murmured. “Rule Number Seven.”

  “When you speak of ‘a man’s’ mouth rather than mine in particular, naturally it concerns me.”

  Her lapis eyes opened. “No other man has touched me like you have. You know that.”

  “I do.” He brushed her lips, which were tender from his enjoyment of her, and her hand came up and around his jaw tentatively, then into his hair. Gently she explored the wound on his temple with light fingertips. There was no pain there now, only the pleasure of her caress.

  She drew away first. He stroked a damp curl back from her brow and her lashes dipped. But this quiet, sated woman was not all of her. Given her fight, their affinity would not last for long, and he must see her to a safe place now.

  He pulled back and fastened his breeches as she pushed her skirts over her legs and tucked her beautiful breasts back into her gown. The darkness surrounded them, the muffled silence of horses in a nearby stall, and the distant Watch calling the hour through the muting fog.

  Wyn watched her. “How did you make him do it?”

  Her lashes flickered, but her fingers continued picking straw from her wrinkled skirts.

  “How did you convince Eads to take you there?”

  She pushed to her feet on the uneven ground and shook out her skirts. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?”

  Her head shot up, eyes alight. “Thank you, Diantha, for saving my life. For caring enough about my brandy-swilling hide that you risked yours despite—despite the fact that I lied to you. Again.” Her voice cracked.

  “Thank you.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Goddamn it, thank you. Is that what you wish to hear?”

  She pulled out of his hold and went from the stall. He followed, her every motion in the dark so natural, so unconsciously beautiful even in her haste, that it stole his anger. She bent to retrieve her cloak and bonnet from the floor and the shape of her body made him breathless. He could not watch her enough.

  “What did Lord Eads intend to do to the duke?” Her voice quavered, but he could hear the purpose in it, her bravery.

  “I don’t know.” He touched her shoulder.

  She whirled around, eyes glittering, a tear staining her cheek. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want this.” She backed away, clutching her cloak before her. “Why didn’t you simply tell me you did not wish to marry me? Why did you have to take to the bottle again? Were you afraid that I would not release you from your obligation? That I would beg for your attention?” Pain clouded her eyes. “Well then, Mr. Yale, you don’t know me well after all. So I suppose you won’t know this unless I tell you: I don’t need you. Mr. H is still eager for my hand. Even if I do come to be with child from this—this—”

  “Truth?” He stepped close again and Diantha’s throat caught, cutting off her words. He was very tall, his wide shoulders and chest in clinging linen intimidating, and the line of his delicious mouth severe. His arm wrapped about her waist and he trapped her jaw in his palm so that she was forced to look up at him. “This truth?” He was beautiful, anger sparking in his silver gaze that moved across her features as though he meant to memorize her.

  “This is not truth,” she whispered. She forced her arms to hang at her sides, not to cling to him as she wished. “I hate the feelings inside me now.” Inadequacy. Hurt. Need so profound it made her ache.

  “You will marry me, Diantha.” His throat constricted in a rough swallow. “Marry me.”

  She pushed against his chest, her insides swimming in confusion. “You pretended you had been with a prostitute so I would refuse your offer only this morning, and now you are insisting that I marry you?” She broke free of his embrace. “You are insane.”

  His fingers scraped through his hair around to the back of his neck. “Yes, I am insane when it comes to you. I nearly did take to the bottle again last night in a desperate attempt to put you off.”

  “Nearly?”

  “Do you know what would have happened to you if we had not bested the duke’s guards? Did Eads warn you, or did you go off half-cocked on a rescue mission once again, heedless of the consequences?”

  “I have never been heedless of any consequences,” she shot back. “Ever. And I did this to help you!”

  “I don’t need that kind of help from you!”

  She couldn’t breathe. “You were not drunk last night or this morning? You pretended it so that I would refuse you?”

  “Yes.”

  She hadn’t thought she could hurt more, but she had been wrong. “You are a beast.”

&
nbsp; “I did it to protect you from Yarmouth, who threatened to harm you because of his grudge against me.”

  Diantha’s heart slammed over.

  Wyn’s voice lowered. “I knew that if I told you of his threats you would invent some reckless plan to save me, which you did anyway despite my charade, because you are tenacious beyond reason. But my pretense was a mistake far beyond that. And part of me hoped, I think, that you would see through it. But you are not to blame, and for it I beg your forgiveness.”

  He had done it all to protect her? He had thrown himself into the hands of a villain so that she would be safe? And now he was begging for her forgiveness?

  Diantha’s heart pounded, her thoughts staggering. She had forced him into rescuing her time and again. He had never failed her and still would not, even if it continued hurting him, over and over. He would insist upon wedding her though she only caused him trouble. Wayward, foolish, unbiddable. Everything she had tried to do for him had bound him more tightly to her though he had never wanted it.

  “It is over now, Diantha, and you must marry me.”

  She could not bear to do this to him. “But don’t you see why I cannot? Don’t you see anything?”

  “No, apparently.” His chest rose on a hard breath. “I barely even know the words I’m speaking. When I am with you, thinking of you, I don’t actually think. For God’s sake, I just made love to you three hundred yards from the house in which I was held prisoner today—in a stable, with my boots on. Fifteen years of perfecting every move I make thrown to the dogs the instant I see you. It is like nothing I have known before.”

  “Do you think I don’t regret that it has gone this way as well? That I ever asked you to help me?” She strapped her arms about her middle. “And it is worse even than you know, because it was all for nothing. My mother is not in Calais but London. Tracy took me to see her tonight, but . . . I didn’t care.” The truth of it spiraled through her. The old cruelty no longer imprisoned her. “I didn’t want to see her any longer. I didn’t need to.” She only needed him.

  “Diantha.” He came forward and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her and she loved his kisses and his embrace and him. She loved him so much it hurt. She loved everything about him except how she forced him to be a man he was not. But she lifted her lips to him and allowed him to kiss her because this would be the last time. The last kiss. It astounded her that—even briefly—she had ever dreamed another ending to this story. He was her hero and he always would be, but she was not the heroine he deserved.

  “Forgive my anger,” he whispered huskily against the corner of her lips. His silvery eyes sought hers, a crease between them. “I have no regrets. None.”

  The stable door creaked open. Wyn pressed her into shadow and touched his fingertips to her lips.

  A shuffling gait accompanied lamplight wobbling through the doorway, and a wrinkled face came into view, a bridle slung over a shoulder. He lifted the lamp and his brows went up.

  Wyn bowed. “Our thanks for the use of the stall, my good man.” He tipped an imaginary hat, grasped Diantha’s hand and pulled her outside. But behind them she left her heart in pieces on the soft-scented straw.

  Chapter 30

  “Where does your family believe you are tonight?”

  “Lady Emily Vale’s house.”

  He said nothing more, but clasped her hand tightly in his as they walked. In the muted hush of fog they found a street and, by sound alone it seemed, he identified a passing hackney coach. He bundled her inside, then jumped onto the box with the driver. The ride was long and slow and when he opened the door and offered his hand to assist her, she climbed stiffly out onto the street before Lady Emily’s house.

  A footman ushered them to a parlor and Lady Emily appeared.

  “Miss Lucas.” She came forward with a smile, candlelight glinting off her gold-rimmed spectacles and silvery-blond hair, but otherwise a study in sobriety from her dark blue gown to the ubiquitous book in her hand. “And Mr. Yale.” She nodded without any show of pleasure.

  “Good evening, Lady Cleopatra.” He bowed.

  “No ‘Lady.’ Only Cleopatra. She was a queen, you cretin.”

  “As ever, I stand humbled in the light of your brilliance.”

  Diantha couldn’t bear it. “Cleopatra—”

  Emily touched her on the arm. “No, Miss Lucas. You shan’t be required to explain to me why the two of you have appeared in my house in the middle of the night looking like you have walked across half of London. I want Mr. Yale to have the honor.”

  “I am certain you do,” he replied. “But you will be denied that pleasure.” He moved toward the door. Then he turned, his slight smile quirked to one side. “You understand this brings us even.”

  “Finally.” Lady Emily’s smile was barely discernable. “I do wonder, though, that after nearly four years making me wait to repay you, you expect so little of me.”

  “You mistake it, my lady.” His gaze came to Diantha. He bowed. “Good night, Miss Lucas.” He departed.

  Diantha stared at the door, remembering Emily’s story about how years ago Wyn had helped her in a difficult situation, not because of gain for himself but because it was in his nature to do so.

  But she knew it was more than that. She knew about his mother, and she had read his great-aunt’s rules.

  “You mustn’t think ill of him,” she said softly. “He did not wish me to return home in this unkempt state. He does not wish my family to know the trouble I have been in.” She turned to her hostess. “I should write to my brother now, if I may.”

  “In fact Sir Tracy sent a message to you here not a quarter hour ago. I was only now composing a note to accompany it to Lady Savege’s house.” Emily drew Diantha’s arm through her own. “Come. Let us acquire you a bath and a fresh nightrail. While Clarice brushes out your curls you will read your brother’s letter and reply to him if you wish.”

  “I beg your pardon, and am grateful for your help. I had told Serena that I was coming here tonight.”

  “How wonderfully convenient. My note will indicate that we are so enamored of each other’s company that neither of us could bear for you to leave before morning.” She drew Diantha toward the door. “But, Miss Lucas, regardless of the adventure you have had this evening, I must insist on one matter.”

  “Of course.”

  “If you speak a word about that vainglorious quiz in my house, I will be obliged to make you sleep in the coal scuttle.”

  Diantha could not help but smile. “Vainglorious? He wears black coats, and I have only once seen him in a colored waistcoat.”

  “Alas, the coal scuttle it will be for you.” They ascended the stair. “I admit to being disappointed, as I had gotten used to thinking you somewhat sensible. But some ladies, I understand, will lodge their affections in the most astounding quarters.”

  Upon returning home in the morning, Diantha had no desire to hear more of her brother’s chastisements; his letter the previous night had been full of them and he indicated he would call upon her early. Instead she requested the company of a footman and walked to Teresa’s house.

  “Have you seen Lord Eads again since the ball, T?”

  “No.” Teresa drew silk thread through a square of linen, her movements precise. “But when I do, I shall do what I must to make him marry me.”

  Diantha doubted Lord Eads would return to society. He had only been at the ball because of Wyn. She stared dully at the rainy day, then took a breath and turned back to her friend.

  “I called this morning, T, because I have something I must tell you.”

  Teresa set down her work. “I knew it the moment you entered. Something is amiss.” She moved to the sofa beside Diantha.

  “I love a gentleman. Mr. Yale. Perhaps you saw him at the ball, so gorgeously elegant except when I have caused him not to be. But even then—tousled, fevered, unshaven, even furious—he is perfect.”

  “Furious?” Teresa’s eyes were wide. “Unshaven?” He
r pretty red lips gaped. “Diantha!”

  “He has compromised me and believes he must now marry me. But I am ruining his life and cannot accept him because I want what is best for him. That is what love should be, and I wish to love like that now.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Teresa surrounded Diantha’s hands warmly. “I daresay.”

  They sat like that for a moment while Teresa leaned into her shoulder in comfort. Finally she said, “Di, could you perhaps explain that part about him compromising you?”

  Diantha laughed, and it felt wretched. “He was my last willful transgression. I must now cease behaving recklessly and instead be a lady of whom my family can be proud.”

  “Don’t you think they would be proud if you married a fine gentleman like Mr. Yale, especially given that . . .”

  “Given that I gave my maidenhood to him? No. Tracy has forbidden me to marry him. In any case, it doesn’t matter that I am ruined.”

  “You always said it wouldn’t matter,” Teresa said very quietly.

  “T, could you try to be happy for me, at least for turning over a new leaf?”

  Teresa sighed. “I rather liked the old you. This new Diantha may not be to my tastes.” She squeezed her hand. “But I daresay I will love you no matter how tiresomely proper you become.” She stroked the back of Diantha’s hand. “You know, Mr. Yale is likely to be unhappy with your decision not to allow him to be honorable to you. He is bound to call on you.”

  “That is the trouble. He is bound to.” She stared at her hands. “I mustn’t be at home when he calls.”

  “He may call again until he sees you.”

  “Then I must leave London.” Diantha stood, within her heart new purpose seeking to push aside the heavy grief. “I will make a new plan.”

  “A new plan? Oh, no, Di—”

  “You are brilliant, T.” She squeezed her friend’s hands. “This plan will take me far from London and if he calls on me and tries to convince me to marry him again, I will not be here to succumb.”