The Rake to Ruin Her

by Julia Justiss

  Then, for the second consecutive month, she’d missed her courses that were usually regular enough to set a clock by. Much as she tried to resist the conclusion, she knew she must be with child.

  After the first flurry of panic, she’d come to a calm acceptance. Unfair as it seemed to have succumbed after only one interlude, if she had conceived, no amount of wishing otherwise could undo the condition. Instead, knowing the time she had left to work the stud might be even more limited than she’d imagined, she’d pledged to devote all her flagging energy and effort towards training horses for next year’s sale and beginning the breeding process with her new acquisitions.

  She’d written to Max from Ireland, once she’d been fairly sure about her condition. She’d debated telling him her suspicions, but ended by not doing so. If he chose to come back to Denby, she’d tell him then, but she didn’t want the fact that she might be carrying his heir to force his hand, if he preferred not to return.

  Sadness whispered through her. She could hardly blame him if he didn’t come back. She’d already given him her blessing to conduct a life apart from her, in the London that was as dear and familiar to him as the barns and fields of Denby Lodge were to her.

  Why should he visit a horse farm, when he had important work in the city...and his cares could be eased by some beautiful Cyprian skilled in the arts of pleasing a man?

  She’d thought surely when she returned from Ireland, she would be able to shake off her melancholy, that beginning to work the new horses would revive her energy and enthusiasm.

  But for the first time in memory, returning to Denby Lodge hadn’t filled her with excitement and unmuted joy. Instead, as she rode about the estate today, she’d found herself thinking about Max.

  The wide sweep of meadow by the river reminded her of the day they’d picnicked there, him regaling her with stories about incidents from the Congress of Vienna. Reining in near the dense wood across from the manor brought back the afternoon they’d stopped there, walking the horses while she answered his questions about managing timber. In her desire to show him all her favourite places, she’d somehow managed to imprint his presence all over Denby land.

  Now, everywhere she looked, she saw Max.

  Perhaps it was because she carried his child. Now that she’d got beyond her initial terror, she was fiercely protective of the baby. Max Ransleigh was like the prince who visits the peasant girl in a fable: fascinating, exciting, larger than life, but a figure who would touch her life only briefly. All-too-ordinary horseman’s daughter Caro Denby would never hold him here with her agricultural pursuits, but if she survived the birth of his child, she would have something of him to treasure always.

  She put a protective hand over the slight round of her belly. And if he did, for some reason, return?

  She couldn’t expect him ever to spend much time at Denby, especially since he’d emphatically stated he had no desire to be a father. Sorrow filled her at all he had missed, having so distant a relationship with his own sire. Oh, that he might discover through their child the depth and richness of the love she’d known with her father!

  But if he should come back, she’d made up her mind that, for as long as he remained at Denby, she would cast aside all inhibitions and do everything in her power to seduce him as often as possible. She’d revel in exploring the potent desire that drew them together, until he left for London again or her thickening body made her no longer attractive to him.

  If he came back... Sighing, she released the rail and walked towards the groom who held out the new mare’s lead.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Caro was schooling one of the new mares in the paddock when she noticed someone at the bend of the lane walking toward the stables from the direction of the manor. Concentrating on her task, at first she paid little attention, until a familiar something about the stance and gait of the approaching figure seized her attention.

  It couldn’t be...yet she was almost certain the man walking down her lane was Max.

  Disbelief turned to surprise and then an upsurge of excitement as the gentleman drew nearer and she identified him with certainty.

  Why he had returned, she had no idea, but, dropping the mare’s lead, she ran to the fence and scrambled through it. ‘Max!’ she cried, sprinting toward him. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘Did you miss me, then?’ he asked, studying her face as he halted before her.

  Too happy to dissemble, she said, ‘More than I ever believed possible.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, grinning. ‘Why don’t you show me how much?’

  Caro threw her arms around his neck and pulled his face down, her lips assaulting his with two months of pent-up hunger. He opened to her, kissing her back just as fervently, until they were both breathless.

  Finally, Max broke the kiss. ‘Now, that’s what I call a welcome! But I’m all-over dirt from riding; let me get back to the house and make myself presentable. Perhaps we could have tea? There’s so much we have to discuss.’

  ‘I should like that. Just give me some time to turn over the rest of today’s training to Newman.’

  ‘Shall I meet you in the salon in an hour?’

  ‘Yes, an hour.’

  He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I’ll see you again soon, then.’

  Her heart thudding in her chest with anticipation, Caro watched him walk with long, confident strides back down the lane to the manor, unwilling to let go of the sight of him until the curve of the lane took him from view. Joy filled her heart and mind to overflowing, washing away, at least for the present, all the fears, disappointments and worries that had plagued her.

  He had come back. Whatever happened after, she would have him for tea and dinner and through the night.

  Recognising the immensity of the joy and gratitude suffusing her at seeing him again, she finally had to admit another truth she’d long suspected, but had avoided acknowledging. Despite her counsel and caution and knowledge of the dire consequences, she’d fallen in love with her husband.

  Just as it was too late to avoid the power of the Curse, there was little she could do now to protect her heart. Though she knew he was fond of her, he would probably never return the intensity of the affection she felt for him. But though he might not love her, she was certain she could seduce him into making love to her.

  For however long he remained at Denby, she intended to fully enjoy his presence...and his touch.

  Calling out for Newman, she hurried into the barn.

  * * *

  After reviewing the training schedule in record time, Caro raced back to her chamber and had Dulcie help her into her most attractive gown, scandalising the maid by leaving off her undergarments. One good thing about increasing, she thought as she regarded her reflection critically in the glass—her breasts looked even more voluptuous than usual.

  She hoped he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off them.

  When the maid finally finished, she nearly ran down the stairs to the parlour. She slipped quietly in, feasting her eyes upon Max, who stood facing the hearth. ‘Hello again, Max,’ she said, walking toward him. ‘Welcome home.’

  ‘Hello, Caro,’ he said, and pivoted to face her. To her satisfaction, after greeting her, his eyes dropped immediately to her neckline. The thought of his eyes—and soon, his lips—lingering there made her nipples tighten and sent a spiral of desire through her. My dear Max, she thought, excited anticipation filling her, you’re about to get a welcome I hope you will never forget.

  * * *

  Caro was even lovelier than he remembered, Max thought as his wife poured tea. She wore that gown of soft green he liked so much—not the least because it showed off her figure to perfection. Indeed, that taunting glimpse of her full breasts in that scandalously low-cut gown—he must remember to have her order a dozen more just like it—had his mouth watering and his whole body throbbing with desire.

  He tried to summon enough wit to ask her about the sale and her trip to Ireland, and
to respond to her questions about Vienna. But having not availed himself of the delights offered there, all he could think of was how long he would have to wait before he could coax Caro up to bed and begin leading her down all the many paths to delight.

  ‘How goes Colonel Brandon’s quest to find you a post?’ she asked as she handed him a cup. ‘I imagine you talked with him in London before returning here.’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t stop in London,’ he replied, seating himself beside her on the sofa. After two months away, he’d been too impatient to see Caro again. ‘Now that the sale has concluded, I thought perhaps I could wait for news here.’

  ‘Of course you can, as long as you like.’ She looked down at her teacup, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m...so sorry about what happened before you left. As I told you in my letter—’

  ‘Apology accepted, Caro. You don’t need to explain. I would have preferred knowing the whole truth at the beginning, but there was no deception; you made your preferences plain from the first. I was the one who wilfully misunderstood.’

  She looked up, a film of tears in her eyes. ‘I should have made myself tell you the whole. After I had not I...I wasn’t sure you’d ever forgive me enough to come back.’

  ‘I had to come back. I missed my wife.’

  She smiled tremulously. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. You did say you missed me, too, didn’t you?’

  Nodding, she put down her cup. ‘And promised to show you how much. Shall I do so again?’ she asked, a hot glow in her eyes that sent an answering blaze of heat through him.

  ‘By all means,’ he replied, setting aside his own cup, his fingers trembling with eagerness.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again, then placed little nibbling bites over his chin and lips.

  He responded avidly, opening his mouth to her. Another blast of desire roared through him when he felt her hands under his coat, tugging at the buttons of his waistcoat, scratching aside the linen of his shirt to find bare skin beneath. With her fingertips, she kneaded and massaged the muscles of his chest, all the while licking his lips, sucking and nipping at his tongue.

  Dizzy, his pulse hammering in his temples, Max could scarcely catch his breath. Though he finally broke the kiss, he clamped his hands over hers to trap them under his shirt, craving the feel of them against his bare skin. ‘I love the way you welcome me, dear wife,’ he said unsteadily, ‘but if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to wait until dinner, much less tonight, without trying to woo you into bed.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait, either,’ she said, taking his hands and moving them down to her breasts. ‘Touch me, please. Oh, I’ve burned for your touch!’

  ‘And I’ve burned to touch you,’ he murmured. With Caro so eager—and himself beyond eager—the idea of waiting hours, through dinner and conversation and the tea tray, was simply unacceptable. But he didn’t wish to ruin what was promising to be a spectacular reunion by having some footman or housemaid stumble into the parlour and discover her sitting on his lap with her bosom bared and her skirts about her waist.

  Mind made up, he leapt up from the couch.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Caro gasped, dismay on her face.

  ‘Nowhere, sweeting,’ he said, smiling at her distress. ‘And neither are you.’ Striding over to the hearth, he snatched the key from its place on the mantel, swiftly locked the door and returned to the sofa. Dropping the key beside his cup, he said, ‘And where were we, wife?’

  ‘Ah, my clever husband,’ she said, raising her smoky gaze to his. ‘We were right—’ she placed his hands over her breasts ‘—here.’

  ‘I love here,’ he murmured before leaning to take her mouth hungrily while he cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over the prominent nipples. With a little cry, she yanked down her bodice and suddenly his hands were filled with warm, bare flesh. She must have left off both chemise and stays, he realised, before turning his attention to laving and sucking first one nipple, then the other.

  While he suckled her, she moved her hands in a sensuous slide down his bare chest. When the constriction at his trouser front suddenly eased, he realised she was unbuttoning the flap. He felt cool air as she freed him; an instant later, the coolness was replaced by the warmth of her hand. His member leapt and he cried out as she gripped him lightly, stroked him, rubbed her thumb over the tip.

  ‘Not yet, or I’ll never last,’ he gasped. Gently plucking her hands away, he said, ‘First, let me show you how much I like being back.’

  ‘I give myself into your hands,’ she said, angling her head back upon the sofa cushions and arching her back, displaying her bare breasts to him. ‘What of these, my lord?’ She guided his hands under their ripe fullness. ‘Do you like these?’

  ‘I love them.’

  ‘Then show me...with a kiss.’

  Eagerly Max leaned forwards, cupping and caressing one breast, his thumb working the nipple, while he sucked the other into his mouth.

  He felt her nails bite into the skin of his back, through his shirt. ‘Ah, I like that, too,’ she panted.

  His mouth still at her breasts, he reached down with one hand, tugged up her skirts and slid his fingers beneath them. Grasping her leg, while he suckled her, he smoothed and caressed the back of her knee, the satin expanse of one thigh.

  Moaning, she let her legs fall apart, giving him the access he needed. While he lightly nipped first one nipple, then the other, he slowly moved his hand higher, to the velvety inside of her thighs. Teasing the tight curls apart, finding her moist and ready, he rubbed the nub at their centre.

  She gasped and bucked against his hand. Soothing her with a murmur, he pressed her back against the cushions and stroked her again, matching the rhythm of his fingers to that of his tongue against her nipple. Her breath sobbing in and out, she began moving her hips against his ministering hand.

  He followed her frantic motions, increasing the pace. Her breathing turned to short panting gasps, her nails cutting into the flesh of his neck. He slid one finger, then another, into her slick depths while massaging the tender nub above with his thumb. Seconds later, she reached her peak and came apart in his hands.

  For a few moments, she lay limp against the cushions. Then she opened dazed eyes and smiled at him.

  ‘That was amazing.’

  He felt like a strutting peacock, full of self-satisfied masculine pride at the compliment. ‘Thank you. I found it rather amazing, too.’

  ‘Did you? But I do think it was unfair of me to find pleasure, while you had none.’

  ‘Watching you is a pleasure.’

  ‘I should like to return the favour...if you will let me. Though I’m not perfectly sure just what to do, I expect you can guide me.’ She reached to slide a finger down his still-rigid length.

  Gasping as pleasure pulsed through him, he caught her hand. ‘I think you have a natural talent.’

  ‘And does that...not please you?’ she asked, her tone anxious.

  He wondered if she’d been told that wives were to lie still during their husbands’ efforts, enduring with silent decorum. ‘It pleases me immensely.’

  ‘Good. I was never brought up to behave like a decorous lady. And with you, I fear I can’t make myself behave like a lady at all. So won’t you let me please you...more?’ Extracting her fingers from his restraining hand, once again she traced his length.

  His manhood leapt beneath her stroking fingers and he gasped for breath. He’d wanted only to give her a taste of passion, intending to wait for the privacy of a bedchamber and the lazy uninterrupted hours of the night to show her more.

  But the exquisite feel of her stroking him, the idea of her exploring his body not in the dimness of a candle’s faint glow, but boldly, in the full light of day where he could see her every expression, was so enormously arousing he couldn’t make himself tell her to stop.

  ‘Do you like that?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said on a groan.

  ‘Goo
d,’ she said and kissed him. And as he had done for her, in rhythm to the stroking of her tongue within his mouth, she slid her hand up and down his length, fondling the taut sides and creamy tip, until he shattered in her hands as she had shattered in his.

  After a few moments, when strength returned to his boneless arms, he gathered her close. For a long quiet moment, they simply held each other.

  With her head cradled on his chest, listening to the sigh of her breathing as it steadied, Max felt a surge of new hope for the success of their union.

  Finally, he moved her back to arm’s length. ‘I’m afraid we must now tidy ourselves and prepare for dinner before the household is scandalised.’

  ‘Why should they be? We’re respectably married, and you’ve been gone a long time. A very long time.’

  Max thought of the many occasions when his father had been gone for months. But he couldn’t imagine his reserved mother or the rigidly formal earl enacting a scene at Swynford Court such as the one they’d just played out in this parlour, no matter how long his father had been absent.

  While he smiled at the very notion, Caro said, ‘I suppose we must tidy up. I’m afraid I’ve quite ruined your neckcloth.’

  ‘To say nothing of the silk of your bodice and skirts.’

  ‘I’ll order a tub. Will you come and help me bathe?’

  Despite their recent activity and his fatigue, desire stirred in him again. Was she inviting him to what he thought she was inviting him? Even if just to watch, he was ready.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’

  With a sigh, she levered away from him. She gave his spent member a loving stroke before doing up his trouser flap. While he in turn tried to restore her ruined bodice, she helped him tuck in his shirt and button his waistcoat.

  ‘There. We’re not quite respectable,’ she said, ‘but at least we are clothed.’ She linked her hand in his. ‘Walk with me, won’t you? It’s shameless of me, I suppose, but I can’t get enough of touching you. Does that displease you?’