From the Rakes and Rouges

by The Wrong Door (lit)

  "The other way by all means," she said, immediately resuming the brightly flirtatious mood she had demonstrated at the start of their walk. "How am I to make you fall in love with me if we are distracted with company? How are you to make me fall in love with you?"

  "This direction it is, then," he said, turning them to their right. "I would have accused you of abject cowardice if you had made the other choice, you know."

  "Yes, I know," she said. "Are you in love with me yet, Alistair? I am not in love with you though a few hours of our twenty-four have already passed. My impression of you as a successful rake is fast dwindling. You had better reassure me."

  He chuckled and tucked her arm more firmly through his.

  She was actually enjoying herself, Caroline realized in some surprise as they turned away from the direction the group was taking and struck out along the empty beach. Even the thought that she should not be going off alone with him unchaperoned did not worry her. After all, he was supposed to be her betrothed or her soon-to-be betrothed anyway. She had told Royston evasively just before luncheon that yes, indeed Viscount Lyndon had made her an offer but that they had not settled the matter definitely yet. They were to go walking during the afternoon. The implication had been that they were to settle matters then.

  She was enjoying herself. There was something wonderfully freeing about being able to spend time with a man without having to wonder if he was trying to think of some way to get rid of her. And to be able to talk on any subject that came to mind because she was not trying to impress him or make any particularly favorable impression on him. They had talked about things she had hardly dared even to think about before—like the pleasure a man and a woman might derive from being in bed together, for instance. Gracious heaven.

  And it was fun to be able to flirt without being accused of being fast. It was all for a wager. She was expected to flirt. He would think her a poor creature if she did not. And definitely it was fun to flirt with him. With Viscount Lyndon. Alistair. It was rather like something from a dream. This time yesterday she had been studiously ignoring him because she had been feeling the power of his attractions so strongly.

  "Where did you think you were last night?" she asked.

  He looked at her sidelong, his eyelids drooping over his eyes. "In heaven," he said.

  "For shame," she said, checking the laughter that was bubbling up inside her. "Such carnal pleasures would not be appropriate in heaven."

  "Then perhaps it is as well," he said, "that my behavior thus far in life makes it likely that I am bound for the other place. A heaven without the pleasures of sex would be a dull place."

  She should be outraged. She was not, and she was enjoying the freedom of not having to pretend that she was. "Where did you think you were?" she asked again.

  "Never mind," he said. "That would be telling. Suffice it to say that taking the wrong turnings or opening the wrong doors or climbing into the wrong beds can definitely have their compensations. Though I could wish that this particular compensation had lasted longer."

  "No," she said. "That is nonsense. I was asleep most of the time. Besides, I know nothing."

  "I believe, Caroline," he said, again with that sideways glance, "that you are fishing for a compliment."

  She was. She wanted to know why he had wanted it to last longer. She wanted to know what her attractions had been. But even her newfound boldness would not allow her to ask the questions aloud.

  "You were warm and soft and shapely and inviting," he said. "And responsive in a languid, highly alluring sort of way."

  "And yet," she said, "you thought I was someone else. Is she like that too?"

  "Let me just say," he said, "that I was pleasantly surprised."

  She was pleased. Ridiculously so. She wanted to fish further, but there were limits to her immodesty and she had reached them.

  "Are you going to her tonight?" she asked.

  "Heaven forbid," he said. "I might find myself in bed with the birthday lady herself—your Great-Aunt Sabrina."

  Caroline exploded into mirth. The mental picture his words had painted was just too tickling to be resisted.

  "Exactly," he said. "It does not bear thinking of, does it?" He chuckled and then threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  They looked at each other and were off into peals of mirth again until he released her arm, took her hand in his, and laced his fingers with hers.

  "Caroline," he said, "you are a shocking young lady. How could you have found that idea funny?"

  She laughed again for answer. Walking hand in hand with a man, especially with their fingers laced, seemed far more intimate than walking arm in arm. His hand felt very large and strong.

  "How did you like London and the Season?" he asked.

  "Oh, very well," she said, "though all the entertainments can be very tedious, especially the balls. One feels all the necessity of appearing to enjoy oneself when one is without a partner and to be quite bored when one is not. I always felt the perverse urge to do the opposite."

  "And shock the ton, Caroline?" he said. "I hope you never gave in to temptation."

  "Under normal circumstances," she said, "I behave with the utmost decorum. I always do what is expected of me. That is why you have never noticed me." If someone would just present her with a pair of scissors, she thought, she would gladly cut out her tongue. What a foolishly revealing thing to say.

  "Yes," he said, "that would have been part of the reason. The other is that even if you had behaved unconventionally you would still have been one of the virtuous women, Caroline. I tend not to notice virtuous women."

  "Because they are dull?" she said.

  "Because I cannot take them to bed without marrying them first," he said.

  "Ah, yes, of course," she said. "So I am not to feel slighted that you did not notice me? I am not to feel forever unlovely and unattractive because the notable rake, Viscount Lyndon, never once allowed his eyes to alight on me? How reassuring."

  "Actually," he said, "if I had allowed my eyes to do any such thing, Caroline, I might have found myself behaving atypically. I might have found myself in pursuit of a virtuous woman. You are extremely lovely, as I am sure your glass must tell you every time you glance into it."

  "Oh, well done." She turned her head to look up into his face, allowing her eyes to sparkle, though it was not difficult. The compliment really had pleased her. "Are you now making a concerted effort to woo me? To make me fall in love with you? You came perilously close to scoring a hit that time. Perilous for me, that is."

  His eyes smiled at her. "And your enthusiasm," he said, "is doing the like for me, Caroline. It is time for each of us to redouble our efforts and our guard, I believe."

  He stopped walking in order to look back over his shoulder. She did the same so that their heads almost touched. There must be almost half a mile of beach between them and the others already. They were clustered about the bathing huts, probably trying to decide whether any of them was going to be brave enough to test the water.

  "You tasted particularly enticing last night," the viscount said, turning his head partway. She did the same so that they were gazing into each other's eyes, only inches apart. "I wonder if you taste the same this afternoon."

  She could not believe the words that came from her mouth. They seemed not to have passed through her brain for approval first. "There is an easy way of finding out," she said.

  "And so there is." He had taken her free hand in his and laced his fingers with that too. He took the half step that separated them. "Maybe I should take it."

  "Yes." She could feel his thighs warm and hard against hers. Her breasts were pressed against his coat. She had to bend her head back in order to look up at him. And she had not been mistaken. There really had been the smell of him on her pillow last night. An elusive smell—soap, cologne, leather, all three, none of the three. A heady masculine smell. She closed her eyes.

  His lips were slightly parted when they m
et hers. They were warm and exploring. She allowed her own to relax beneath them instead of clamping them into a tight line as she had done with the two gentlemen who had been permitted to kiss her on previous occasions. She willed him to touch her with his tongue again and he did, running it lightly along her upper lip and back along the lower until she felt a sharp stabbing of sensation in her breasts. She wanted his tongue in her mouth so that she could discover if she found it disgusting, as she had not the night before when she had been half asleep. But he made no move to put it there.

  "Mmm," she heard someone say. It was a feminine voice and could only have been her own.

  "Mmm, indeed." His forehead and nose were against hers and he was gazing down at her mouth.

  She felt foolish. "Well?" she asked. "Do I taste the same?"

  "Last night," he said, "you tasted of bed and sleep. This afternoon you taste of sunshine and sea and beach. And both times of woman."

  He was so much more experienced at this sort of thing than she was. Even the pitch and tone of his voice—

  "Oh, dear," she said, drawing back her head so that she could look into his face without going cross-eyed. And her voice again acted independently of her brain. "I think we should build a sand castle."

  He had the most attractive grin of any man she had ever seen, she decided. Of course, with those teeth and those eyes and the all-over beauty, it was not surprising. She wished she had not said anything so stupid. Whatever had possessed her?

  "Or something," she added lamely.

  "What a delightful idea," he said. "But we have nothing with which to dig except our hands. Are you willing to get sand beneath your fingernails?"

  "Yes," she said. "There is no greater fun than being all over sand." Or at least there had not been when she was twelve years old or less. But she was twenty-three and he was thirty. How ridiculous he must think her.

  He set an arm about her waist and started walking again. She had little choice but to wrap her dangling arm about his waist. "A little farther along," he said, "where the sand looks softer. But you do not play fair, Caroline. I am used to a different kind of flirtation. I am not sure that my heart is proof against this."

  Which was clearly the most stupid thing either of them had said all day.

  He had thought of a digging instrument while they walked and when they stopped, presented her with his quizzing glass with a bow and a flourish. She looked at it dubiously.

  "The rim is somewhat blunt," he said, "but it may help."

  "It may never be usable as a quizzing glass again, though," she said. "But then perhaps that is just as well. There is nothing more unmannerly, I believe, than quizzing ladies through a glass."

  "But it can be marvelously revealing, Caroline," he said. "And marvelously intimidating too. There is nothing better calculated to discourage ambitious mamas than a quizzing glass and a haughty stance."

  She set the glass down on the sand while she removed her bonnet. "I would not imagine," she said, "that there are many ambitious mamas for you to repel any longer."

  "Hm, nasty," he said. "You would be surprised, Caroline. A title and fortune and prospects cover over a multitude of sins."

  He took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. And they set to the task of transforming one particularly flat and featureless area of beach into a formidable castle strong enough to withstand the attack of the tide. They worked together for fifteen minutes in near silence until he sat down to remove his Hessians and his stockings.

  "There is no point in ruining them as well as a perfectly serviceable quizzing glass," he said when Caroline paused in her work to watch him. "Besides, I remember from some nameless outing in childhood that there is nothing more delectable than the feel of sand between the toes."

  "Oh," she said with a sigh, "I have been trying to ignore similar memories." And off came her shoes and her stockings. Some of the pins had come out of her hair so that it looked like an untidy and glorious auburn halo about her head.

  Half an hour later, hot, sticky, and sandy, the viscount sat back on his heels to view their creation. He could not recall an hour he had enjoyed more. Which was a strange and absurd admission to make. Caroline was on her knees, one cheek almost resting on the sand as she worked with a delicate finger at the arch of a gateway. One lock of hair trailed in the sand. Her derrière was nicely and invitingly elevated. He could have reached out and patted it, but did not. She was clearly enjoying herself as much as he had been doing.

  They had been telling each other, between bouts of quiet concentration, about their childhood. He had remembered incidents and escapades that he had not thought of for years.

  He spread his coat on the sand and lay back on it, one arm behind his head, watching her lazily. He had set himself to win a wager. He had twenty-four hours in which to make the woman admit that she had fallen in love with him. And yet he was wasting at least one of those hours building a sand castle with her and exchanging stories of childhood. He must be losing his touch.

  But he liked her. He could not remember liking a woman for years. Not to the extent of seeing her as a person anyway and enjoying merely talking and laughing with her. And building a sand castle with her. He pictured himself suggesting such an afternoon's entertainment to Lady Plumtree and chuckled aloud.

  Caroline turned her head and lifted herself onto her hands and knees. "I am glad I afford you some amusement," she said. "Lazy workers will not be tolerated, you know. They will be dismissed without reference."

  "Does that mean I will never be allowed to work again?" he asked. "Do say yes."

  She sat back on her heels and admired their handiwork. "It is rather splendid, is it not?" she said.

  "It is indefensible," he said. "There is no moat."

  She sighed. "Should we dig one?"

  "Then we would need a drawbridge," he said. "Besides, Caroline, it is built of sand. Sand castles are impregnable only in dreams."

  She swished her hands together in a vain attempt to remove all the sand. "But it is a lovely dream castle, is it not?" she said. "Think of all the glorious knights who would ride in and out of my gateway."

  "And all the lovely ladies on my battlements," he said stretching out one hand toward her.

  She set her own in it and gazed down at him. "Was this a silly idea?" she asked. "Do you think me very foolish? Have you been unutterably bored?"

  He considered. "No to all three," he said. "Come here."

  " 'Here' being the sand beside you?" she said.

  "Yes." He tightened his grip on her hand and smiled up at her. She looked remarkably untidy and sandy. She looked delicious.

  "It would be very improper," she said.

  "Yes." He grinned.

  She withdrew her hand from his, got to her feet, and then very deliberately sat beside him and lay down, her head on his coat. "I always loved lying down outdoors on a warm day," she said. "Especially on a beach. Watching the clouds, feeling the sun, listening to the waves breaking, and smelling the salt air. But it was never allowed a great deal. Ladies just do not appear with sun-reddened faces, it seems."

  He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her. "There," he said. "I'll shade you from the sun and the ignominy of a red face."

  He was back in his own area of expertise, of course. It would be the easiest thing in the world now to win his wager. He smiled at her and she looked warily back.

  "This is very improper," she said.

  "Yes." He lowered his head and rubbed his nose against hers. "You may very well have to marry me after all, Caroline."

  "No," she said.

  "What if I tell you tomorrow morning that I have fallen in love with you?" he asked. "And what if you tell me the same thing?"

  "But neither of us will," she said, "because we are both on our honor to speak the truth."

  Gad, but she was damnably pretty. Even when she was disheveled and sandy. He lowered his head and kissed her, preparing himself as he usually did to lose himself in t
he pleasure of an embrace even if it was one that could not be taken to its logical conclusion. But he lifted his head again after just a few moments and looked down at her.

  The earth would move, she had said. They would hear the music of the spheres together, he had said. If two persons made love instead of just two bodies, that was. If the pleasures of a man and a woman were combined and shared. If they were aware of each other as they gave and took pleasure. What would it be like? he had wondered then. What would it be like? he wondered now.

  He lowered his head again, opening his mouth over hers, licking her lips until they parted, exploring his way slowly inside. And he thought of the child she had been, much adored as the only girl in the family of men, strictly trained and educated by a much-loved governess. He thought of her in mourning for a couple of years as her girlhood slipped past. He thought of her refusing two offers of marriage just recently because she wanted to both love and be loved by the man she would marry. He thought of her wanting children. He thought of her building their sand castle with energy and enthusiasm.

  Caroline. He tested the name in his mind. She was Caroline.

  She had her arms about his neck. She was sucking tentatively on his tongue and turning to set her breasts against his chest. He lifted his head and looked down at her again. She was gazing back with luminous eyes. What you began to do to me last night, she had said, is probably very pleasurable, is it not? She had never experienced that pleasure. He could give it to her. All of it. Or enough of it to leave him free when she made her admission the next morning.

  He could make her love him. And she would be honest enough to admit it. But he would still be in no danger. She would not marry him unless he could say the same. And so he would leave her hurt. Twenty-three-years old and as far from achieving her dream as ever. And with a bruised heart.

  He lay down beside her and stared up at the clouds.