Breaking the Rake's Rules

by Bronwyn Scott

  Above the centre of the ship was the largest, fullest, gold moon Bryn had ever seen, hanging so close to the boat it looked as if the mainsail could pierce its rim. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper of awe. Kitt’s hands had moved to her waist, wrapping about her. It was hard to remember the quarrel and her disappointment in the wake of his touch. All she could remember were the reasons to like him, to want him. She could feel the beat of his heart, slow and steady against her back, life surging through him, through her. The night had become profound as she stared at the moon.

  Perhaps this was what she’d travelled across the world to see, to feel, these unbridled moments when nothing mattered but this oneness with herself, this primal thrill. There were no rules, no expectations, no past, only the present, only this moon, only this man and the knowledge that in this moment, nothing could hurt her except hesitation.

  ‘I can hardly believe this is the same one we see in London,’ Bryn breathed. She’d seen harvest moons, of course, and perhaps they rivalled this giant glowing orb in some way, but this was a moon nonpareil. ‘I want to touch it.’ She wanted to do more than touch it. She wanted to dance, wanted to shout her thrill to the skies, wanted to set aside her doubts. This was living life at its finest.

  She turned in Kitt’s arms, her own arms twining about his neck. ‘Thank you for not sending me back. Thank you for this.’ His hips were hard against hers where their bodies met, his need for her evident against her stomach.

  ‘Don’t ask me to play the gentleman, Bryn,’ Kitt growled, his voice husky as he wet his lips, his gaze a sapphire smoulder when it locked with hers in silent communication. If he kissed her tonight, there would be nothing to stop them. And afterwards, there would be nothing permanent, there would be no promises.

  ‘Understood,’ she whispered. Absolutely, and completely, understood. After all, it was really the only way she could have him and her promises, too.

  Her mouth lifted to his, opening eagerly to him, the fire beginning to ignite in her veins once more. She let it come, slow and steady like a flame running along a fuse. These long kisses were a well-worn trail now. She knew the taste of him, the feel of him, but passion’s edge was no less keen for the familiarity. Tonight, they would get to the other side of those kisses, they would take the trail further than they’d ever been, perhaps even depart from it altogether.

  Her body was primed for the adventure; heat gathered low in her belly, the place between her legs pleasantly damp in anticipation. Kitt danced her backwards to a large crate, lifting her to its lid. His hand ran warm and firm up her leg, pushing her skirts up until he palmed her mons. ‘No pantalettes, again? Tsk-tsk, my naughty girl,’ Kitt murmured between kisses, kneading her mound with a stroke that matched the motions of his mouth.

  This was a new fire he stirred in her, a slow burn that grew until she ached with it. His hand pressed downward, finding a sensitive spot and she moaned at the sharp, sweet stab of unexpected pleasure. ‘Do that again,’ came her breathless request.

  ‘Like that, do you?’ Kitt’s teeth pulled at the soft flesh of her lip, his hand pressing once more.

  ‘Ohhh!’ This time the cry was one of anguished pleasure. She was sure now once more was clearly not going to be enough. Bryn arched against him, her body clamouring for more, for surely, instinct told her, there must be more. This new pleasure was merely a prelude to grander things as his kisses had been a prelude to this.

  ‘If it’s more you’re wanting, you’ll have to brace yourself.’ Kitt’s eyes smouldered, two coals mirroring the fire raging in her. She wanted more and he wanted to give it to her. He lifted her arms and she watched him loop them through a skein of rope hanging above her head. Kitt gave a satisfied tug. ‘Do you know what I mean to do?’

  Bryn shook her head, the ache in her obliterating all ability to speak. She didn’t much care what it was only that it filled her, only that it satisfied the throbbing pulse at her core. He knelt between her legs, his hot eyes locked on hers from his crouch. ‘I mean to give you pleasure, Bryn.’

  She felt his fingers on her as they parted the lips of her private flesh, then came the press of his mouth, the decadent flick of his tongue over the place where the pleasure had started and she was lost. Bryn sagged against her rope bonds, letting them take her weight, her eyes closed as she let the ecstasy of his wicked caress wash over her. She lost herself in the sensations, each one building upon the other until the pleasure could not be separated from the ache, until her body vibrated with it, warning her the end was near, and it was, falling upon her swiftly in an intense, shattering wave as she arched hard into Kitt’s mouth.

  She was boneless afterwards. She let Kitt untie the rope, let Kitt rub her wrists where the rough hemp had chafed, let Kitt wrap an arm about her and draw her close as they sat on the crate. ‘So that was pleasure, real pleasure?’ Bryn mused drowsily, her head lolling against Kitt’s shoulder.

  ‘Aye, it’s a form of it, an uncompromising form of it anyway.’

  Bryn wanted to protest. There’d been nothing uncompromising about it, nothing held back, everything physically, emotionally exposed, for her at least. But she knew what he meant. The act left her untouched in the ways that mattered to the Church and to society. A chivalrous pleasure indeed. She smiled against his shoulder. ‘You said you wouldn’t play the gentleman.’

  ‘Do you know a lot of gentlemen who do that?’ Kitt’s voice contained a trace of humour. He was playing with her again in that bold way of his.

  ‘No,’ she said quietly. She knew intuitively there would never be a comparison for the roguish Kitt Sherard, who did not hesitate to pleasure a woman beneath a full moon, yet took care not to let the pleasure leave her spoiled. It made for an odd juxtaposition. What did that say about him? Rake or gentleman? Heaven knew what it said about her. Ladies did not enjoy being tied up by rough ropes and pleasured even more roughly.

  Kitt rose suddenly, dislodging her from his very comfortable shoulder. When she was slow to rise, he bent down and scooped her up in his arms. ‘Off to bed with you. We have an island to find in the morning.’

  ‘What about you?’ The fog of pleasure had lifted and she was starting to think more clearly. It occurred to her belatedly that he had not had his own release, or rather that she had not provided him any satisfaction in return. Robin had taught her that much at least in theory, if not in practice.

  ‘It’s a hammock for me. I’ll bunk with the crew.’ Kitt gave the door to his cabin a gentle kick and pivoted inside, careful not to bang her legs against the frame. He dumped her on the bed quite unceremoniously, making it clear there would not be another romantic overture.

  Bryn raised up on her elbows. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She let her eyes rest meaningfully on his trousers where they pulled at his hips, a certain sign the evening had not been complete for one of them. She remembered the feel of him, the hard length of him the day she’d held him on the rock.

  Kitt’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll take care of it. I think you’ve had enough pleasure for one night.’

  But just for one night, she thought as Kitt shut the door behind him. She sank back against her pillow with a sigh. Satisfaction now would lead to craving later. How could she not want more? Kitt had shown her pleasure existed. It had been so entirely different than what she’d experienced with any of her London bucks and their chaste kisses.

  Bryn blushed guiltily in the dark. Should she even compare? Did a lady do such a thing as measure lovers against one another’s performance? Love was supposed to transcend such crass consideration. But they hadn’t loved her. They’d wanted her name, her fortune, the prestige of being connected to the Rutherfords. Kitt wanted nothing more than the moment. Could she settle for that? Would the pleasures of the moment be enough?

  Bryn stared at the ceiling in the dark, letting the rhythm of the boat rock her towards sleep, r
ock her towards dreams of Kitt Sherard with his blue eyes, his flirtatious ways, his dares, his bold conversation, his unique way of looking at the world. A cynic’s way, to be sure, but there was independence and strength, too. He was his own man, he answered to his own code. It was an intoxicating way to live.

  He was daring her even now to follow him down that path. For her own sake, not his. This was not because he wanted a partner on that journey. She had no illusions there. Kitt Sherard was too wild. The woman who attempted to tame him would lose him. She could run wild alongside him for a while, but that was all. He’d made it clear tonight he would not share his past. There was a limit to what he was willing to give, a sure sign he had something unpleasant to hide. Perhaps even something criminal. Such a supposition made sense. Why else would he try too hard to be the impossible; a man from nowhere, unless there was something terrible to hide?

  This was not new to her. She had known this all along. Men who climbed trellises and all that. This was where her promises collided with her father’s. Enjoying Kitt for the moment was not the new start her father had envisioned. He’d envisaged remaking London for her, finding her a nice gentleman like Selby, setting up a house and starting a family of her own just as she would have in England, only now it would be somewhere warmer where they could escape memories of death and fading life.

  What happened when fathers and daughters disagreed on their destinies? It wasn’t as if this was a choice between Kitt and her father. For one, Kitt wasn’t offering. For another, it was bigger than that. This was a choice between living the life she wanted for herself and the life her father wanted for her. It was a lot to think about, especially when she wasn’t entirely sure what sort of life she wanted for herself, only that it wasn’t raising James Selby’s children under his mother’s watchful eye.

  Kitt, on the other hand, would have beautiful, wild children and no mother-in-law. The thought came out of nowhere and it made her laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Being with Kitt wasn’t about the future and it certainly wasn’t about a pattern-card future. It was rather ironic that she was envisioning a traditional future with a non-traditional man. Still, one could not dispute the fact that it was a pleasant image to fall to sleep by even if it was a most improbable one.

  * * *

  Kitt had more than one image to fall asleep by as he lay in his hammock among the snores of his crew. Bryn continued to surprise him with the depths of her tenacity, her devotion. He’d known tenacious women before. Women were usually tenacious when they wanted something. It was a selfish tenacity at best, something that bordered on being spoiled. But Bryn’s tenacity was of a purer sort. She was tenacious on behalf of others. This current task was proof enough. She was driven by devotion to her father, even though it placed her at considerable risk.

  That kind of devotion was unique. Everyone had families, but not all chose to dedicate themselves to those families. Growing up, he’d been surprised to learn his family was the anomaly. His parents were the unusual ones who had not shuffled their twin boys off to the nursery without a second thought until they were old enough to be shuffled off to boarding school.

  True devotion, because of its rarity, stood out. The Drydens had it. It was what had appealed to him most about Ren. Bryn had it, too. He’d seen it in her eyes at the gala dinner. She’d been proud of her father. For all her cool demeanour and clever words, she had a soft side. She would love deeply, intensely when she decided to. The recipient of that love would be a lucky man. But she would not give it idly. There was a reserve about her that he recognised and understood all too well, in part because he possessed it himself. It was one thing to play at physical pleasure, it was another to attach any deep emotion to it for the sole reason that while devotion was rare, it was also quite expensive. He knew what devotion had cost him. What had it or what would it cost Bryn?

  Tonight had pushed things to that most dangerous edge, the edge he was always so careful to avoid. They skated close to the two things he avoided: his past and emotionally driven pleasure.

  Even now, with time and space between himself and the pleasure he’d given her, his body demanded its own release, insisted upon it, the image of Bryn claiming hers fresh in his memory.

  Kitt’s hand slid along the hard length of his cock. She’d been magnificent; a wild creature come to life, sprung from her cage. He’d nearly come undone when she’d whispered those three heady words against his mouth, ‘Do that again.’ He’d gone one better and done more, knowing exactly what she wanted, what she needed. She’d leaned into the ropes, eyes shut, letting the fantasy take her and in doing so, becoming a fantasy herself, bucking against his hand, crying out her pleasure, pleasure he provided.

  His hand began to pump in harder, shorter jerks. There was a manly intoxication in being able to bring a woman to completion so thoroughly. That Bryn Rutherford trusted him to provide her that completion created a whole other level of intoxication. It created complications, too, because, damn it, it wasn’t going to be enough. They were physically explosive together. He knew they wouldn’t stop with the pleasure tonight. She’d already offered more, offered to be a partner in that pleasure. The male in him would take that offer. He couldn’t resist her.

  His rhythm surged a final time, his body reliving the feel of her coming against him, his own release following at last. Now he could sleep. There would be time to think about complications tomorrow.

  * * *

  Passemore woke him all too soon. ‘Captain, we’ve reached the co-ordinates! You’ll want to be on deck. Come and see.’

  Kitt rolled out of the hammock, pulling on his shirt and forgoing boots. This was it, the moment of truth. Sleep faded in the wake of urgency as he followed Passemore up the ladder to the deck. Someone handed him his spyglass. He surveyed the blue expanse, hoping against hope he was wrong, that James Selby had for once done something right. After a minute he collapsed his spyglass and let out a sigh. ‘Passemore, can you wake Miss Rutherford and have her come up?’

  He was going to have to tell her the news. The island wasn’t there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Kitt leaned on the rail beside her, the morning breeze in his hair as he looked out over the water. There was a grimness to his features she’d not seen before, yet one more side of this multi-faceted man. It was a deeper side, too, than the mischievous charmer he so readily displayed to the public. The ladies who vacillated between being charmed by his manners and dismayed by his boldness would hardly recognise the man beside her on the rail.

  ‘You can’t turn back now,’ Bryn answered slowly. She’d been weighing her options ever since he’d called her up on deck to show her the blue expanse where the island should have been. He would turn back though, for her sake. She’d not bargained on six days away from home and all it entailed. They both knew it.

  Kitt shrugged. ‘We can. We can tell your father the island isn’t there.’

  Bryn shook her head. She would not fail her father. ‘All that proves is Selby gave me the wrong co-ordinates. It doesn’t mean the island isn’t out there. You said so yourself. You think the co-ordinates direct us to a different island further out.’

  ‘I think there are other considerations besides Selby’s intelligence,’ Kitt said sternly. He would protect her from herself if nothing else. ‘Last night should have proven to you there is more at work than simply hunting down an island.’

  Bryn turned so that her back was against the rail. She could look him directly in the face from this position. Her suspicions were growing. ‘You’re trying very hard to get rid of me. You want me off this ship so badly you’re willing to sacrifice a day’s worth of travel.’ She paused, studying his features. ‘What did last night prove to you?’

  ‘To be honest? It proved to me I can’t protect you, not from me, not from what might be out there.’ Kitt gave a sweep of his ha
nd to indicate the ocean. ‘Who knows what we might find at the island?’

  And who knew how far they’d go the next time passion swept them away? But they did know. The next time there would be no holding back. He’d already warned her and she’d already decided what she wanted. ‘I can take care of myself, Kitt. Nothing will happen that I don’t want to happen.’

  His eyes told a different story. She had to remember he liked being in control, too. It wasn’t only up to her. But that wasn’t entirely it. The passion wasn’t the whole story. He wasn’t solely concerned about what lay between them. ‘You don’t think Selby mixed up the co-ordinates, do you?’ she supposed quietly, having to shield her face from the sun with her hand as she looked up at him.

  ‘No. I think there’s someone out there running their version of the Poyais swindle.’ Because he’d been there in some form or other. He was reliving his past through this. She could see that more clearly this morning than she’d seen it last night.

  If Kitt was right, her father was caught in the middle of it. Bryn’s heart sank. ‘We won’t know for sure until we reach the island.’ But the island was two long days away and patience had never been her strong suit. If she didn’t keep herself busy, she’d go mad in the interim with worry. She caught sight of Will Passemore climbing the ropes. ‘Do you think your first mate might have a spare pair of breeches and a shirt?’

  ‘Oh, no, you are not climbing around on anything,’ Kitt said quickly. ‘I don’t want to have to drag you out of the ocean.’

  ‘I don’t have to climb, but I have to do something. I can’t just sit in your cabin for two days waiting.’ When Kitt seemed reluctant, she pushed past him. ‘Fine, I’ll ask Mr Passemore myself.’