Connie Mason & Mia Marlowe - [Royal Rakes 02]

by One NightWith a Rake

  I suspect I’d like that.

  She ought to say something. Do something.

  But that would mean breaking the spell, and who knew when a moment this perfect would ever come again? She couldn’t bear to leave the protected circle of Nathaniel’s arms.

  “Georgette,” he said softly, his deep bass resonating through her. The way he said her name gave her the shivers. It was as if he were making love to the syllables. Rolling the bits of her name over his tongue, tasting them, caressing them.

  What if he were to do that to the rest of her?

  Her chest constricted. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but she raised herself slightly, rocking up on her toes.

  “Forgive me,” he said huskily.

  She didn’t have time to wonder what he was asking forgiveness for. He closed the distance between their mouths and rational thought fled.

  A kiss doesn’t require forgiveness.

  It was exactly what she wanted. Needed.

  Not that it made any sense, of course. If she were thinking clearly, she really ought to bolt from the room. After all, she was all but promised to the Duke of Cambridge.

  But somehow, there was no other way to end her waltz with Nathaniel than this shared breath, this soft, moist joining of their mouths.

  So she didn’t protest when he lifted her off her feet and walked her toward the nearest damask-covered wall without breaking off their kiss. Languid and sensual, it still felt like part of the dance. He set her down with her back pressed to the wall. His body moved against hers ever so slightly, his hardness against her softness.

  The rhythm was hypnotic and somehow musical, as if the waltz were still going on in the way he rocked against her and she tilted into him. Their kiss deepened as she chased his tongue back into his blessed mouth.

  Forgive him, he’d said. For what? He’d given her back her confidence in the ballroom. She’d be able to face Mr. Gooch tomorrow with her head high and her feet in the correct positions at all times.

  Nathaniel had also taught her to kiss. At least she wouldn’t go to her wedding night completely ignorant. But if she lived to be one hundred, she’d never experience perfection to match his lips on hers.

  He’d waltzed with her. She knew now what it was like to feel a man’s body all tangled up with hers. She wouldn’t be surprised by the hollow, strangely pleasant ache it caused. She’d recognize it for what it was and learn to welcome the low drumbeat in her belly, the warmth that pooled between her thighs.

  It was as natural as breathing.

  It was “the way of a man with a maid” conveyed with more clarity than if her mother had bungled through an attempt to explain matters to her. And it was even more exciting than Madam Charpentier’s flowery, salacious descriptions of sexual congress.

  Not that what they were doing was anything remotely like actual sexual congress. If, as the courtesan’s memoirs declared, the kiss was an appetizer, this wicked bit of love play could properly be described as the first course.

  Nathaniel kissed her cheeks, her neck, and all along her jawline, leaving flutters of bliss in his wake. Then the wicked man took her earlobe between his lips and sucked.

  Oh, what a sinful zing of pleasure arced through her body. It was enough to make her forget she was a maiden. To forget she would eventually go to another man’s arms. To ignore the fact that he was bunching her skirts in his fist and her hem now hovered around her waist—

  “Nathaniel,” she said, surprised her voice still worked.

  “Mmmm?”

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved down along the edge of her bodice and let his lips hover over the peaks of her breasts. He took one into his mouth, though silk and muslin still separated them. Even so, that needy bit of her made her arch her back, the better to be suckled.

  The pleasant ache turned demanding. Tyrannical. She’d never wanted for anything in all her life, but she wanted now. Even though she was still a bit fuzzy on what it was exactly that would sooth that terrible ache, Nathaniel surely knew, and he’d be more than willing to give her ease.

  She’d thought herself worldly after mastering the kiss. Now she knew sensuality was an ocean. She’d barely dabbled her toes in the shallow end.

  His mouth was a drugging elixir. She couldn’t be bothered to care that he was leaving a damp spot on her bodice, so long as he kept suckling her nipple through the fabric. Then his hand moved between their bodies and cupped her sex.

  The effect was like heat lightning crackling over her skin, sparking with pleasure. Georgette sucked a quick breath over her teeth. Never in all her life had she imagined anyone would touch her there.

  My “nethers,” for pity’s sake. She had never known what to call that part of herself and decided Mercy’s word was as good as anything.

  And she’d never known that a touch there would be so shattering.

  She felt achy and swollen. When one of his fingers slipped through the slit in the crotch of her pantalets, she realized she was wet too.

  Slippery as moss in a well, if the way his fingers glided through her hidden valley was any indication.

  He grazed an extra sensitive spot and pleasure radiated in waves from the slick folds between her legs. But the ache didn’t abate one whit. If anything, it throbbed all the harder.

  Her knees started to buckle and she might have gone down if not for the way Nathaniel held her. She’d never felt so out of control, as if she were spiraling into a maelstrom with no way out.

  This has to stop.

  With supreme effort, she cupped his cheeks and pushed him away from her breast.

  He lifted his head and met her gaze. His eyes had gone dark, the pupils enlarged so that his irises were simply rings of cobalt around black wells. His breathing was as ragged as hers. He still held her “nethers” in his hand.

  She wasn’t thinking very clearly, but something niggled at her brain. He’d asked her forgiveness just before they kissed. It occurred to her that he’d known exactly what he was about to do to her.

  Well, he would, wouldn’t he, him being an accomplished rake and all?

  It was like the Eden story, only reversed. This time Adam opened Eve’s eyes.

  “Nate.” She couldn’t manage more for another three breaths. She struggled with the ache and finally subdued it. “I…forgive…you.”

  That made him straighten to his full height, his expression as stricken as if she’d slapped him. Clarity flooded back into her mind and with it fresh resolve. She needed to end this.

  Quickly.

  “Now I understand why those poor girls in Covent Garden fall into that life.” Georgette gently pushed his hand away and ruffled her skirts till the hem fell to the floor. She still felt exposed as she exhaled shakily. “Please don’t do that to me again.”

  Georgette eased around him. Somehow, she walked across the wide open dance floor toward the door. Her insides clamored for her to look behind her at Nate, but she didn’t dare. If she did, she might run back to him and tell him she was a goose. She didn’t mean a word of it and if he’d be pleased to continue to diddle her silly, she’d count it as a personal favor.

  She paused when her hand closed over the crystal doorknob. Without turning around, she said, “I know you are a guest in my parents’ house, but you are not my guest. Stay far away from me.”

  Just because she forgave him for giving her a forbidden taste of carnal knowledge, it didn’t mean she had to hang around the tree waiting for him to tempt her with another bite of the apple.

  ***

  Gasping, Reuben Darling rolled onto his back. Hundreds of times, he’d imagined what it would be like to take Mercy Atwood to bed. To strip off her clothes and make her his, finally and completely.

  His wildest dreams hadn’t come within spitting distance of the real thing.

  “Oooh, that was nice,” she cooed.

  “Nice? It was bloody incredible!”

  She propped herself up on
one elbow and grinned down at him. “Ye have a ways to go before ye hit ‘bloody incredible,’ but ‘nice’ isn’t a bad place to start, Mr. Darling. I suspect ye’re going to learn quicker than I thought.”

  Some of the golden glow of his heart-pounding release faded a bit and not only because she’d classed their coupling as merely “nice.” He was more upset because she was back to calling him “Mr. Darling.”

  He’d liked it when she called him “Reuben.” In fact, she’d practically sang “Reuben” while her tight little insides fisted around him and her limbs bucked in release. He’d worked around the hard shell of disdain Mercy used to keep folk at arm’s length. He thought he was finally getting close to her. Hearing “Mr. Darling” drop from her lips now was like taking ten steps backward. “What was wrong with it?”

  “Sure ye want to know?” She ran her tongue across her upper teeth and smiled like a cat who’d just licked away the incriminating evidence of stolen cream. The sheet drooped just enough to bare one of her lovely breasts, its rosy nipple still a tight bud.

  He was grateful she insisted on leaving the candle burning. The other women he’d been with—and he could count them on the fingers of one hand—had been shy about being seen in the buff, so he’d had to use his imagination a lot. Mercy Atwood in the altogether was so much better to look upon than he could have ever imagined.

  “I want to know,” Reuben said. If there was a chance he could bed this little minx again, he’d suffer through her criticisms willingly enough. After all, she criticized nearly everything he did outside the bed. Why should he expect this to be any different? He laced his fingers behind his head. “Tell me.”

  “Let’s start with the good things first, shall we? Ye’re a tall, handsome man, but I was afeard ye mightn’t be what ye might call—oh, what was that word milady tried to teach me? Oh, yes, now I mind it. Proportional. That’s the word.” She slid a hand under the sheet and fondled his now flaccid member. “But fortunately for the both of us, ye’re blessed with a fine, big thing. You’re a very proportional fellow.”

  “Saints and demons, woman.” He grasped her wrist. It hadn’t even been two minutes yet since he pumped himself dry into her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No, just trying to see if ye’re still alive,” she said with a giggle.

  To his very great relief, he began to stiffen again under her touch.

  “There he is.” She lifted the sheet and blew a kiss to his swelling cock. Her smile was tinged with sweet wickedness. “As I hoped, quick on the ready as well.”

  She wiggled down under the covers.

  “What are you do—holy God!”

  She licked the full length of him and took the head into her hot little mouth.

  Reuben had heard of such things, but he never imagined he’d ever have a woman do it for him. Not without paying for her to, in any case. He’d have sworn there wasn’t another drop in him, but now he gritted his teeth to keep from spilling into her sweet mouth.

  Then he remembered men used to pay Mercy for this. He didn’t want her thinking he expected it. He reached under the covers and pulled her up for air before the pressure in his shaft reached the point of no return.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  Not like it? He’d never heard Mercy say anything so monumentally stupid but didn’t think she’d appreciate him pointing it out. After all, between the two of them, she was convinced she was the one with all the brains.

  “I like it fine. It’s better than fine. It’s…it’s…” He searched in vain for a word that was big enough, grand enough to let her know she made him feel like a god when she took him in and swirled her tongue over him. Finally, he gave up and blurted out, “I love you.”

  Mercy laughed. Not a chuckle. Not a musical giggle. It was a full-throated belly laugh. She clutched her pillow and buried her face in it, lest her laughter bring the whole house down on them.

  “What’s so funny?” He sat up in bed and folded his arms across his chest.

  “You, you big lummock.” She wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “First time a girl sucks yer thing and ye fancy yourself in love with her.”

  “What makes you think you’re the first?”

  “Aren’t I?”

  She was, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of telling her so.

  “Most girls don’t laugh at a fellow when he offers his heart,” he said testily.

  “But I don’t want yer heart, Reuben. Keep it for someone who deserves it.” She draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his neck. “I only want ye in my bed from time to time. Let’s just have fun together. I’ll teach ye everything I know. We’ll make it to ‘bloody incredible’ in no time.” She latched onto his earlobe and suckled it a bit. “Don’t ye think ye could like that fine?”

  Part of him certainly could. His eyes threatened to roll back in his head.

  But he really did love Mercy.

  He loved her wit and sparkle. He even loved her sharp tongue. He had feelings, he did. For all of her.

  And he wasn’t going to settle for less.

  “No, Mercy.” With regret, he hauled himself out of bed and began yanking on his clothes. He didn’t dare look anywhere but at his discarded boots, lest his resolve crumble. He balanced on one leg while he tugged on first one, then the other. “Not until you allow that I can teach you something too.”

  He heard the sheets rustle and couldn’t help but look up at her. She’d risen to her knees. The sheets were tucked up to her armpits so her nakedness was covered.

  But not the nakedness in her face. Pointed chin atremble, eyes just this side of glittering with tears, she’d never looked so like a waif in the gutter.

  “What can ye teach me, Mr. Darling?”

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “That you deserve to be loved.”

  Reuben closed the door quietly behind him, but before the latch snicked, he could’ve sworn he heard a soft sob.

  Thirteen

  Sadie O’Toole perched on a high stool in the larder of his lordship’s hoity-toity kitchen. It was bad enough she’d been shooed around to the back side of his town house to be offered only grudging admittance by his kitchen help. Now His Nibs was keeping her waiting beneath the strings of garlic and cured hams. He’d have given more immediate attention to her if she’d been a boil on his backside.

  Well, boils could be a nasty surprise for a body what ignored ’em too long. She’d seen ’em turn septic, and if his lordship kept her waiting much longer, she was of a mind to do the same.

  The footman’s eyes had bugged out when Sadie presented one of the monogrammed cuff links as her calling card. She hated parting with it, but she had the other one stashed away safe and sound, all ready to be sent to where it would do the most damage should something unfortunate happen to her.

  She’d make sure His Nibs knew it before she left him this night, too.

  Sadie shook her head. She’d always been too softhearted where gentlemen were concerned. She held the winning hand. It was time she made her position perfectly clear. No point in leaving that sort of thing to chance.

  Finally, the footman reappeared in the kitchen and crooked a finger at her. “Come with me.”

  She hopped down off the high stool, expecting to be led up the stairs into the private parts of the grand house. She snickered at that thought.

  Private parts, indeed. The story of my life…

  But instead, the footman headed for the back door.

  “Wait a half a mo’, guv,” Sadie said. “I’m not leaving till I see his lordship. An’ ye doubt me, I’ll start caterwauling fit to bring down the house.”

  “There’d be no point. My lord isn’t here,” the fellow in deep burgundy livery said. “So if you are earnest in your desire to see him, you’d best come along. And quietly.”

  There was nothing else for it. She followed the footman out and climbed into the waiting
hansom. Sadie was only mildly surprised when the footman came with her.

  If this isn’t on the up-and-up, ’spect he means to see me out of this high-in-the-instep neighborhood for certain, Sadie thought grimly.

  The cab rattled over the same cobbled streets she’d slogged along on foot to reach St. James’s Square. Sadie sighed. At least she was traveling back to Covent Garden in style, and if the footman wasn’t the most talkative of companions, he was at least one of the finest-looking fellows she’d seen in a very long time.

  But His Nibs was going to regret trying to shuffle her to the side. It wasn’t in her nature to give up without a fight. She only needed someone with more money and power in her corner if she had any hope of getting her place back. Or something like her place.

  The cab finally stopped before a dingy-looking pub called The Hare and Hound. Its shuttered windows sent tiny spokes of light through the cracks, mere hints of the warmth and candlelight within.

  “His lordship is inside. Ask to be taken into the back room,” the footman said. “I’d advise you not to keep him waiting.”

  “Hmph!” She climbed out of the cab without a speck of help, either from the footman or the cabby.

  As if his lordship wasn’t the one who’d kept her waiting. Lord or lackey, all men were the same.

  Especially once you shuck ’em out of their clothes.

  Sadie should know. She’d been a whore for twenty years before his lordship finally came up with the chinks to help her open a house of pleasure. She’d been able to stop lifting her own tired skirts and live by skimming the income of those who still did.

  Not that His Nibs did it out of the kindness of his exceedingly tiny heart. She had the goods on him and no mistake. He couldn’t avoid giving her a leg up.

  And not the way he used to, either, she thought with a wry curl of her lip.

  Why did men with the smallest winkies always insist on the most awkward positions? At least, thank God, that part of her life was over. She didn’t spread her legs for anyone now unless it was her idea.

  But His Nibs had come through when she needed him to. Now he was going to help her again, if he knew what was good for him.