Never Love a Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  “No, I don’t think it was. You’ll have to make it up to me for quite some time.” She raked him with a thoroughly seductive stare. “Starting right now.”

  Desire pulsed through him. He moved toward the bed, coming around the side to where her wrist was bound. “What are you saying?”

  “That I want you. I want to marry you. I want a future with you.” She notched up her chin. “And I’m not leaving until you agree.”

  He smiled then, admiring her ingenuity and persistence. But was their love enough?

  “Lydia.” He forced himself to turn from her tempting curves and stare at the wall. “None of this changes who I am or what I’ve done. Society thinks me a crazed degenerate. I’ll never be accepted the way you want to be, and what’s more, I don’t want that.”

  “I know.” Her voice was soft, small. “I never should have expected you to. I think I spent too long under Aunt Margaret’s tutelage. I lost sight of what was really important, if I ever really knew. And maybe I didn’t before I met you. Being with you was the only happiness I have ever known. I’ll take you any way I can get you—reprobate, lunatic, scoundrel.”

  He snapped his gaze back to hers. She was staring at him with those dark, seductive eyes and he felt like he could see all the way to her heart. A heart she was offering him if he only had the courage to accept it.

  Fear froze him in place and blurred his vision. If he opened himself to her, let her inside . . . it was all he had left. He didn’t know if he could risk it.

  She pushed up from the bed, and with her free hand, stroked his ruined cheek. “I love you, Jason. Every damaged, mad, and lonely piece of you.”

  The fear curdled in his gut, sparking a bead of nausea. “What if I am mad like my mother—”

  Her touch grew firmer, cradling his face with warmth and security. “You aren’t. Together, we will keep the demons at bay. Your mother didn’t have a partner, a soul mate, someone who would fight for her. You do.”

  His vision came back into focus and fixed on her heart-wrenchingly beautiful face. Happiness was so close . . .

  “Let go with me, Jason,” she coaxed, her fingers stroking his scar, “be with me.”

  He closed his eyes and slowly fell forward, his mouth finding hers as he crushed her into the bed. Her lips were soft, inviting. They opened against his and kissed him with aching tenderness.

  He did as she asked and let go, not because he couldn’t withstand the tumult inside of himself, but because he wanted to give and take and share this moment with her. He slanted his head and intensified the kiss, opening his mouth and plunging his tongue into her heat. She answered him with fiery need, her hand curving around the back of his neck and holding him down to her.

  Beneath him, her body was warm and soft. The mounds of her breasts pressed into his chest, making him realize he was wearing far too many clothes. He cupped the side of her neck and broke his mouth from hers. Her lips were red and moist, her cheeks flushed. Beautiful. He nipped at her lips and kissed her neck, unable to keep from trying to devour her whole.

  “I don’t suppose you could untie my hand?” she asked breathlessly. “I can’t really feel anything beyond my wrist.”

  He smiled as he sat back and worked the thong free. “For prolonged restraint, it’s best to leave your hand flat when bound.” He took her hand down and gently massaged the extremity as he laid it down on the bed beside her head. “Like this. And, I’d move you to the center of my bed.” He scooted her to the middle of the wide mattress, keeping his hand on hers so that her arm was extended. He kneeled beside her as he reached over and took her other hand. “Then I’d bind this hand in the same fashion.” He stretched the arm flat so that she was spread eagled, at least on the top half.

  She gazed up at him with eyes that had darkened to the color of soot. “And my legs?” she asked with a gravelly voice that was equally shaded.

  “The same.” His cock throbbed almost painfully as he envisioned her thus. Some day he would do that to her, and he would give her a pleasure she had never known. But not tonight. Tonight he had other plans. First, he needed to dispose of his clothing.

  He stood up, and she frowned. “Easy, love,” he said. “I’m just joining you in my natural state.”

  Her eyes slitted as he removed his coat. “I was going to offer to help, but I think I’d rather watch.”

  God, she knew exactly what to say to entice his desire to burn even hotter. For that, he’d give her a show. Divested of his coat, he sat on the bed to remove his boots—he never bothered with evening attire for his vice parties—and stockings. Then he got up and turned toward her, his fingers working at his cravat. Slowly, he loosened it and pulled it free. Playfully—God, when had he ever been that?—he tossed it onto the flat plane of her alabaster stomach.

  She picked it up and held it to her lips. He nearly groaned with want.

  Returning to disrobing, he stripped off his waistcoat with more impatience than he’d removed the cravat. He tossed it to the floor and then pulled his shirt from his breeches.

  Her gaze was glued to his torso, her lips parted in anticipation. He went slowly, methodically drawing the linen over his head so that his flesh was bared inch by inch.

  In the brief moment that the shirt blocked his vision as he pulled it over his head, she’d gotten to her knees in front of him on the edge of the bed. Her eyes found his. “I got tired of watching.”

  “Tired? You looked rather engaged, to me.”

  Her gaze dropped to his chest and her hands splayed over his pectoral muscles. “Jason,” she breathed. “You are . . . spectacular.” Her fingers dug into his flesh and her mouth descended on him, her lips pressing eager kisses along his sternum.

  Giving up on his demonstration, he pulled his breeches open with frantic tugs, loosening one of the buttons in the process. Hastily, he shoved the garment down his legs, bending at the waist and then capturing her mouth in a kiss as he kicked the breeches aside.

  Her hands wound around his neck and pulled him down as she backed across the bed. He moved on top of her, pressing her into the mattress, his body fitting against hers with absolute perfection.

  Their previous times together had been mind-numbingly good, but this was different. There was nothing between them, and it wasn’t just the absence of clothing. They were in a new place, ready to trust each other and look to a future. This needn’t be a hurried coupling or the potential last time.

  The thought was altogether humbling.

  And he wanted to remember this night for as long as he lived. He settled his hips against hers, and she widened her legs so that he was nestled between her thighs. The heat of her core beckoned his aching cock, but not quite yet.

  Wanting to taste her, he licked and kissed a path to her breasts, cradling and massaging each one as he laved and sucked their exquisite softness. Her soft moans filled his bedchamber, and he was infinitely glad no other woman had ever shared this space with him.

  She coaxed him with words, murmuring “yes” over and over, and with action as she tangled her fingers in the hair at his nape and arched her breasts up. He drew a nipple deep into his mouth and tongued the sweet tip. Her head fell back, and her legs opened further.

  He moved his mouth down the slope of her belly, licking her soft flesh while he continued to tweak her breasts. Then he moved one hand down between her thighs and delved into her moist heat. She gasped as he gently pushed his finger inside of her. Her hips rotated against the mattress, and he rubbed his thumb against her clitoris. She jerked then, and he sensed her climax building.

  He marveled at her lack of inhibition and rejoiced in her delight. He’d never had a lover who wasn’t practiced and . . . professional. Lydia was innocent and generous, and he longed to make every moment good—no, spectacular—for her.

  He moved further down, laving kisses along her hipbone and then across to her mound. He pressed down on her nub as he licked along her soft folds. She cried out his name and her thighs clenched
. He braced his palms against her flesh and held her open while he tongued her.

  She tasted spicy and sweet, and the musky scent of her womanhood mixed with the hyacinth fragrance she used. Her hips arced up and then back in a circular motion as her orgasm gathered.

  Keeping a hand braced on one of her thighs, he used the other to pump into her softness, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth to bring her world crashing down. He slid in and out of her as he sucked on her nub. She grew wetter, hotter, her hips moved faster. He stroked faster, suckled harder. Then she cried out, and her muscles tensed as she came.

  He rose up on his knees and gazed down at the beauty of Lydia in the throes of her orgasm and then buried himself deep inside of her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  WAVE AFTER wave of pleasure threatened to sweep Lydia away. She had no idea where she ended, had no sense of space at all, but then he thrust inside of her and she knew precisely where she was—and it was the only place she wanted to be.

  She opened her eyes and watched him as he moved in and out of her. Her body quivered with the aftershocks of her climax, or maybe it was still going on. She had no idea. She only knew how good she felt, how incredible this man was.

  He slowed his pace, gliding forward and pulling back with slow, penetrating strokes. Every sensation was focused where their bodies were joined. She clasped his hips, urging him to move a bit faster, to increase the friction to that achingly blissful degree.

  But he only gave her a half smile, his gaze locking on hers as he continued his maddeningly measured assault.

  “Jason,” she pleaded, coming up off the bed.

  He only pressed her back down, going with her and sealing his mouth over hers. “Shhh. We’ve always had to hurry. I don’t want to. Not this time.”

  She tasted a salty musk on his tongue and realized, shockingly, it was the taste of herself.

  She must have reacted because he pulled his head up and smiled down at her. “Does that bother you?”

  Even more shockingly, it didn’t. She shook her head and pulled him down for a longer, deeper kiss.

  His hands cradled her head as he leisurely drew on her lips and mouth. Gradually, he moved more swiftly, coming in and out of her with more rapid pulses. She wound her legs around his hips and urged him to move even faster.

  He sat back again and slowed the pace once more. She groaned, but then his finger stroked that sensitive spot between their bodies and ecstasy washed over her. He splayed his hand over her hip and pumped into her with joyous precision, each thrust bringing her to a new plateau of pleasure.

  He fell forward once more, his mouth covering her breast. His tongue was hot as he licked her nipple and then sucked at her tortured flesh. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Every part of her felt hyper-sensitive. She was utterly captive to his touch.

  She’d closed her eyes at some point, but then his thumb stroked her bottom lip and she opened her lids to see him above her. His mouth still wore the faint smile he’d sustained this entire time. She’d never seen him so . . . happy.

  “Are you ready now?” he asked softly.

  “I’ve been ready for quite some time in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  His hips rotated against hers, his cock moving deeper into her and withdrawing so quickly as to leave her feeling completely bereft. His lips spread into a grin. “I noticed. But don’t tell me you haven’t been enjoying every moment. I won’t believe you.” With each word he drove in and out of her and now he picked up speed, thrusting into her with a delicious force that made her cast her head back against the bed and squeeze her eyes shut as she came apart around him.

  He shouted as he buried himself deep into her core. She clasped his back, drawing him down on top of her and relishing his heat and strength. He was spectacular, and he was hers.

  Minutes later, she trailed her fingers through his hair, tracing shapes in the dark locks, enjoying the press of his big body atop hers. He lifted his head and looked at her. The smile was gone, but now there was a sense of wonder in his gaze that made her feel shy.

  “What?” she said, her hand stilling against his head.

  He shifted to her side, his body leaving hers. But he drew her to turn so they faced each other. “You are far more than I ever dreamed.”

  She knew precisely how he felt. She snuggled against his chest, splaying her hand against his warm flesh. “I’m so glad I don’t have to go anywhere. Would it be terribly scandalous if I stayed the night and snuck home at dawn?”

  Instead of laughter, which she fully expected to hear, he drew away from her with a muttered curse. He bounded from the bed and began to dress.

  She frowned as she sat up. “Where are you going?”

  He flashed her a smile that put her at ease, but didn’t satisfy her curiosity. “I have a party going on downstairs.”

  She moved to the edge of the bed. “Surely they don’t need you to play host. Don’t forget, I know what goes on down there—and up here—and I doubt you’ll be missed.”

  “I’m expecting Ethan.”

  “Really? May I come with you?” she asked, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. “Scot can fetch me a mask—”

  “No.” He didn’t look at her as he continued his hurried toilet.

  “Why not?” She stood up anyway and plucked her chemise from the floor where she’d left it.

  He pulled his boots on. “Because Bow Street is here, and they’ll be arresting him. I don’t want you around that.”

  She held the garment to her chest and gaped at him. “Arresting him? Whatever for?”

  “Theft. Murder. Maybe some other crimes.” He sounded utterly careless.

  Lydia quickly donned her chemise and grabbed his wrist. “You can’t let Bow Street arrest him.”

  Jason paused in buttoning his waistcoat. “He was responsible for the theft of your things. I will most certainly allow them to arrest him. It’s the reason I invited him to come tonight.”

  Her knees wobbled. “I can’t believe it of him.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “He approached me weeks ago—at the Whitmore Ball—and asked me to arrange a meeting between the two of you. And I taught him to waltz.”

  Jason simply stared at her. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “Because you were seeking revenge against him.” She cocked her head to the side, realizing that had somehow changed over the past few weeks. She suddenly wondered why he hadn’t told her about that. “Besides, it’s not as if you’ve kept me abreast of your relationship.”

  “You should have told me he approached you.” He pressed his lips together, appearing quite different from the man who’d been in bed with her moments before. “And where did you teach him to dance?”

  “At Audrey’s house.”

  “He involved Miss Cheswick in his schemes?” Jason sounded very annoyed.

  Lydia found her stockings and sat on the bed to don them. She adopted a defensive tone, feeling as though she needed to vindicate herself. “I would hardly call learning to waltz a ‘scheme,’ but asking her to help was my idea. She was more than happy to do so.”

  Jason shook his head as he finished buttoning his waistcoat. “He’s a criminal, Lydia. He has been for years. Bow Street has evidence he’s behind the robberies and that he was involved in Lady Aldridge’s death.”

  Lydia’s hands trembled. He couldn’t have been. Not when he’d been so charming. “There has to be an explanation. Have you tried to speak with him?”

  “Many times. He would never tell me what he was doing. He said he couldn’t trust me, that he couldn’t trust anyone.” He pressed his lips together until the flesh around his mouth and the length of his scar turned white. “I was a fool to believe his lies.”

  She recollected what Ethan had told her at the musicale when he’d asked her to teach him to waltz. “He didn’t choose to be a criminal—at least, it wasn’t his first choice. He was alone in
the world. You and your mother turned your backs on him.”

  Jason speared her with a furious stare. “Don’t defend him to me. I’m sorry for his lot, but we all have choices and he chose to target your house. Furthermore, he’s been lying to me for weeks.” His lip curled making him look particularly fearsome. “On second thought, I’m not sorry for him at all.”

  A knock on the door caught both of their attention. Jason helped Lydia into her gown, which took an agonizing few minutes. “Come,” he called when they were finished.

  Scot, followed quickly by North, stepped into the bedchamber. Their faces were pale and drawn. Or rather, Scot’s was. North’s was just pale.

  “What is it?” Jason sounded alarmed, but looking at his retainers, he ought to be. Lydia was.

  “One of the footmen—Kerr—has been found dead,” North informed him, his attention fixed on Jason as if Lydia wasn’t there.

  The blood leached from Jason’s face. “Hell. Where?”

  “Outside in the alley near the back wall. Dockley went to relieve his post and found him. His throat had been slit, my lord. And his livery was stripped from him.”

  Lydia clasped Jason’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Is Teague still in my office?” Jason asked.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Teague received a message and left awhile ago,” North said.

  Jason let go of Lydia’s hand as Scot came forward with his coat and helped him to don the garment. “Damn, did he say where he was going?”

  North shook his head once. “He did not, my lord.”

  “Did the other Runners leave with him?” Jason tugged his coat in place.

  North frowned. “I’m not certain.”

  “That’s all right, North. Send someone to Bow Street—even if Teague isn’t there, someone should be able to find him.” Jason turned to Scot. “Gather some footmen and try to find Ethan—he should have arrived by now. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  Both men nodded and took themselves off with alacrity.

  Jason turned to her and clasped her shoulders. “I don’t want you here when they take Ethan. I’ll send one of my footmen up to see you home.”