Connie Mason & Mia Marlowe - [Royal Rakes 02]

by One NightWith a Rake

  Except for the constant patter of rain against the windows, silence continued to reign. She exhaled in relief.

  The problem with the courtesan’s advice was that there was a gentleman available. And even though Nathaniel had been on his best behavior of late, she imagined he was still more than willing to “give her ease.”

  What would he do if I turned up unannounced in his chamber? she wondered as she climbed out of bed and went to retrieve the little journal. She picked it up and closed it gently, feeling guilty about the cracked spine. Georgette secreted it back in the drawer that held her unmentionables where it belonged, but she didn’t return immediately to her bed where she belonged.

  According to chimes of the long case clock in the parlor below, it was a quarter past one. No one could possibly be about. Georgette knew every creaking floorboard between her chamber and Nathaniel’s and could easily avoid detection.

  There’d be no need to even light a candle. All her life, she’d divided her time between Yorkingham House and the family’s country estate. She could navigate the labyrinthine halls with her eyes closed.

  Or even asleep.

  If someone were to stumble upon her on her way to Nathaniel’s room, she could feign sleepwalking. A few months earlier, she’d read Edgar Huntley by Charles Brockden Brown. It was a rather ghastly American tale of a man who sleepwalked through an entire murder investigation. But the whole point was that a body might do any number of unlikely things while totally unaware of it.

  Even let someone shag me.

  No, no one would believe her so simple.

  Then why are you thinking about it, ninny?

  Georgette climbed back into bed. She blew out the candle and pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Under the linens, one of her hands wandered to her “nethers.” She was all achy and swollen and damp. That sensitive bit of her was so warm, she wondered if it were possible for only part of her to have a fever while the rest of her was perfectly healthy.

  No, it’s no fever. It’s simply a case of wanting what I shouldn’t.

  And there might be a way to relieve herself without going to Nathaniel. But even if she was willing to “take matters into her own hands,” she wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly. Madam Charpentier could probably give her a few hints, but if memory served, the next part of the journal was uncharacteristically coy and dripping with euphemisms.

  Lightning illuminated her room for a heart-stopping second, followed almost immediately by a thunderous boom. Then the rain began to fall with more insistence, a steady tattoo of wet rhythm slapping the windowpanes. Like most winter showers, she expected it to ease up in a few minutes, but this storm raged and sulked and raged again. It reminded her of a spoiled two-year-old working itself into a frenzy.

  Well, the weather isn’t the only thing that’s worked up.

  The restless ache wouldn’t let her sleep, let alone sleepwalk. Finally, she tossed back the linens and sought her wrapper.

  A different sort of book, that’s what she needed. Something about drains or ditches or the inherent difficulties in transporting silk from the Japans. She’d be satisfied with anything so long as it was dry as dust and had no mention of body parts and their delightful uses.

  Well, not satisfied, she amended. She suspected only Nathaniel could do that. But if she could be bored to sleep by one of her father’s dusty tomes, it would do.

  Georgette slipped out of her room, not even bothering to toe on her slippers, unconcerned about being caught wandering the halls now. After all, she was headed to the library, not a gentleman’s bedchamber. She purposefully stepped down on the third from the top step on the staircase.

  Let someone hear that creak. She didn’t care. Her conscience was clear.

  Her feet hesitated at the landing where she might turn down the long corridor that led to the guest wing.

  “Oh, don’t be so stupid,” she muttered. If she could sleepwalk, she could “sleeptalk” too, she reasoned in case anyone should hear her as she continued down the grand curving staircase. Not that she needed to hide behind that sort of subterfuge. She was going to the library, not a gentleman’s chamber.

  Going to Nathaniel’s room in the dead of night would be monumentally stupid. And dangerous.

  And wildly exciting, a dark part of her heart added.

  She tamped down that wicked urge and continued padding toward the library. The marble underfoot was cool, but she needed that. It was bracing. Like a dash of cold water on her cheeks on a morning when she found it difficult to awaken completely.

  When she reached the library, a knife-thin streak of light showed beneath the door.

  Georgette pushed the door open slowly, taking care not to let the hinges creak.

  Lit by a single candle, she found Nathaniel stretched across the banquette in her favorite alcove. He was wearing a black silk banyan and like Georgette, his feet were bare. Ankles crossed, enough of his long legs showed to convince Georgette that he wore nothing beneath the loose robe. One of his arms was tucked up, serving as a pillow for his head, and a book was propped on his chest. He turned a page.

  “Come in, Georgette.”

  He hadn’t glanced her way, but this time she realized he knew it was her because he’d caught a whiff of her fragrance again. For tuppence, she thought she ought to abandon violet water and take up something spicy and heavy to throw him off his game.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here.” She advanced cautiously into the room.

  “And I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.”

  “I wasn’t looking for you,” she said quickly. “Just so you know.”

  He rose and walked toward her. “Then this is merely happy chance.”

  “Fate,” she ventured.

  His smile carved a dimple in one of his cheeks. It was the sort of smile Lady Yorkingham ought to have warned her about if her mother had been the sort who was in the habit of offering any worthwhile advice.

  After she’d recovered from scarlet fever, her family physician had warned Georgette that she might suffer from lingering palpitations due to her illness.

  She’d never felt any. Until now.

  She glanced at the bookshelves but couldn’t force her feet to move toward them. “I’m only here to find a book.”

  The banyan dipped to a low vee over his chest, and a dusting of ash brown hair peeped out. What would it feel like? Her fingers itched to touch it.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.

  “I couldn’t either.”

  His brows drew together in a quick frown. “Are you troubled by something?”

  You, danced on her tongue. But if she admitted it, she’d have to explain that she couldn’t sleep because her body was craving him with ravenous intensity. She shook her head instead.

  He continued to look at her as if he might somehow penetrate to the deepest wrinkle of her soul. It wouldn’t do for him to realize how she’d been longing for him.

  She had to put some distance between them, so she swept past him and sat down in the center of the banquette. “Are you troubled by something?”

  “Yes,” he said simply as he came to sit beside her, far too close for her comfort. He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the warmth of his thigh near hers. “Yes, I’m definitely troubled. Tell me, have you ever made a bargain with the devil, Georgette?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Good. Don’t. He’s a wily fellow.” Nathaniel leaned forward, knees on his elbows. “The black-hearted imp will dangle something you want to coerce you into agreeing with his plan. Then in the midst of things, you’ll discover that what you really want is actually something very different.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I hope you never do.”

  Silence stretched between them. Not the companionable silence Georgette imagined would fill the evening of a contented couple. Not the prickly, accusing silence she sensed jabbing back and forth between her paren
ts.

  This silence simmered like a pot about to boil.

  Nameless wanting hovered around them. It crackled in the air. Georgette breathed it in with shallow gulps. She didn’t dare draw a deep lungful lest the rampant neediness rush in and consume her.

  Georgette laced her fingers together to keep from reaching over and smoothing his hair down where it curled behind his ear. She ached to plant a kiss there, just at his hairline, to taste him, all salty and male…

  She gave herself an imaginary swat on the nose. Somehow, she had to fill that potent silence with something or she’d end up throwing herself into his arms.

  Another low roll of thunder filled it for a moment but didn’t lessen the sense that someone was lacing her stays too tight and something was about to pop. Which was patently ridiculous because she wasn’t wearing any stays.

  Oh, my word, I’m all but naked under my wrapper and night shift. She gave herself a mental shake. Well, of course I am. Everyone is always naked under their clothes. Georgette, you are turning into a complete goose.

  “Mercy tells me that Vesta is doing well.” It was a weak salvo, but it broke the tension that was building by the smallest of degrees.

  “Mrs. Throckmorten is placing her with a florist,” Nate said. “She has a talent for flower arrangement, I’m told, and a good head for figures.”

  “That’s good.”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “And I understand all your rooms at the former House of Sirens are filled now,” Georgette said, desperate not to let the silence creep back in to beguile her.

  “They are,” Nate said. “Once word got around the neighborhood, two more women presented themselves to Mrs. Throckmorten and asked for help. One was a vicar’s daughter, if you can believe it.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.” It wasn’t simply that Georgette understood the allure of sin now. A young woman without means was easy prey for the likes of the Covent Garden madams. Once they snared a girl with debt, they all but owned her. “I assume her family wouldn’t take her back.”

  “Her family is gone, all taken in a cholera outbreak in their village. That’s why she came to London in the first place—to search for work.” Nathaniel dragged a hand over his face, as if he were weary to the bone. “Seems the girl is more educated than most. Mrs. Throckmorten thinks she might be able to place her as a governess eventually with a family of the middling sort.”

  “That’s wonderful, Nate. You’ve done a very good thing. Why don’t you seem pleased?”

  He studied his own long toes. “No matter what I do, the scales will never balance.”

  “Because of that deal with the devil, you mean?”

  He nodded.

  Her curiosity burned like a lit taper. “So what is it you’ve discovered you really want?”

  “You, Georgette.” He turned and put a hand to her cheek. “I want you.”

  Fifteen

  Her lips formed a soft “oh” and her eyes took on the hazy otherworldly quality of a Botticelli angel. Nate was willing to wager none of that artist’s models had smelled so intoxicating. Her unique scent wove itself around his insides and threatened to turn him into a kneeling supplicant. Anything to be near her, to breathe her in, to—

  She leaned over and blew out the candle. “I want you too, Nate.”

  With a low groan, Nathaniel gathered her into his arms. His mouth closed over hers. He’d been holding his breath, waiting for the answer to his unspoken question. This was too much to hope for. He didn’t deserve her.

  And she certainly didn’t deserve what he was about to do to her. She was meant to be royalty. He was about to steal more than her maidenhead. He was stealing a crown.

  He couldn’t let himself think about that. Especially not with the way she pressed her lips against his neck and then under his jaw. Gently, her mouth touched, featherlight, beneath his ear, and then softly in front of it where the knobby protrusion of cartilage met his cheek.

  “Whatever trouble you’re in with that devil of yours, it’s not your fault,” she whispered, then continued to plant soft kisses on his temple, first on one eye, then the other.

  He’d meant to ravish her, but instead he grew still beneath her tenderness.

  Her face hovered before his for a moment. Her long hair, which she’d neglected to braid for the night, trailed down on either side of her face, a fair, slightly curling nimbus. She was as disheveled an angel as he could wish. An angel he was bound to ruin.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Look at me, Nathaniel Colton.” She put both hands on his cheeks, willing him to open his eyes. When he looked at her, he feared she saw his soul, shimmering black. In her clear-eyed gaze, he saw her soul as well, radiating healing and a benediction for his tortured conscience.

  If she only knew.

  She pressed her lips gently against his. It was a kiss sweet enough to make cherubs weep.

  “It’s not your fault.” Georgette kissed him again, deeper this time, parting her lips slightly in invitation.

  He was quick to answer her, slipping his tongue in to explore her delectable mouth.

  Finally, she pulled away and to his utter surprise, she slipped off her wrapper and laid down on the banquette.

  His heart threatened to batter its way out of his rib cage.

  Nate lay down beside her, his body snugged next to hers. He kissed her slowly. If he was going to ruin her, the least he could do was make sure she enjoyed it.

  Then he released her lips and traced his fingertips from the part in her hair, along the edge of her brows, and past her temples. He buried his hand in her hair, holding her immobile. Lightning flashed outside, and in the brief moment of illumination, he caught a glimpse of Georgette. Her eyes were shining and her lips softly parted.

  It was a look of utter trust.

  Thrusting his conscience aside, he bent to kiss her again. But she turned her head shyly, so his lips grazed the corner of her mouth. He left a trail of moist kisses over her jawline, and down her neck, lingering in the soft hollow at the base of her throat. His lips hovered lightly at the lacy edge of her night shift.

  Her breathing hitched.

  His hand traced the same path his mouth traveled, lightly skimming the surface of her silky skin. Teasing and circling, he occasionally dipped beneath her shift to stroke the upward curve of her breasts. One tug on the lace bow at the center of her neckline was all it took. The knot gave like a cowardly sentry, surrendering without a fight.

  He found her mouth once more, as one by one he undid the tiny buttons that held her night shift closed. Slowly, his fingers grazed her breasts as he laid back each side of her shift, baring her upper body to the navel. Goose bumps rippled across her skin. Nate laid his head on her soft shoulder, sending his warm breath swirling over her exposed flesh.

  Her breasts rose and fell in little hitching breaths.

  He rose up and looked down at her. Her breasts were perfect, her nipples drawn up into hard knots. He planted a soft kiss on one. She quivered a little, as if in anticipation of where he’d touch, he’d kiss, he’d taste next.

  She inhaled sharply when his hand settled on her flat belly, his long fingers splayed as though claiming her. Slowly and smoothly, his hand traveled upward, over her navel and rib cage, and came to rest in the sweet valley between her breasts, his thumb cradled under one of them.

  Beneath his palm, Georgette’s heart hammered like a small, wild creature, freshly captured and terrified. He nuzzled one of her breasts, taking the nipple gently between his teeth. A tiny gasp escaped from her lips.

  “Georgette,” he said huskily. He stroked the underside of her breast with his thumb in small, unhurried circles. His conscience was back and bearing a hooked barb this time. It poked at his soul. “This is your last chance. Do you want me to stop?”

  Georgette bit her lip, but she didn’t make him wait long.

  “No. Don’t stop.”

  ***

  Nate kissed her again as his hand closed ov
er her breast, softly kneading and flicking her nipple with his thumb. Tiny jolts coursed through her with each thrum.

  His mouth left hers and began a trek downward, his teeth grazing her collarbone on their way to her breasts. His lips, wet and warm, traced a lazy figure eight around and between the taut mounds. Then his tongue brushed her nipples in a leisurely series of whorls and flicks.

  Georgette squirmed beneath him, her breathing ragged. She liked his mouth on her, but it only seemed to compound her problem. She still wasn’t sure what it was she needed him to do, but the need was so strong if he didn’t do it soon, she’d be reduced to pleading.

  “Please,” she heard herself gasp, as she instinctively arched her back to thrust her breasts upward to him. The pounding storm outside the house paled beside the one building inside her.

  Nate took her tender, swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked. Georgette moaned softly.

  “Oh, yes.”

  But with the ache in her breasts momentarily appeased, the pounding drumbeat began to build elsewhere. She was so empty. Then the heat began. It was as if a set of signal fires had been lit, one after another, till she was ready to burst into flames.

  Nate’s hardness pressed up against her thigh through the thin fabric of her night shift. His body rocked slowly, raking his full length against her. His arousal was fresh kindling for her fire. A throb from the small folds between her legs answered his slow knock.

  On top of the fire, now her whole world was growing wet and languid.

  Nate’s hand began to roam again, this time rucking up her shift and running his palm along her thigh, up over her abdomen, and down the other leg. Shivers of anticipation slid over her with each pass as his hand inched toward the inside of her thigh. Almost without her volition, her legs parted, but he avoided her triangle of soft brown curls. His long capable fingers danced ever closer, but never quite invaded her most sensitive, personal parts.

  She ached so. Never in all her life could she have imagined wanting someone to touch her there, of all places. She couldn’t even feel shame over it. The raw need was so strong it drove out all those smaller, more virtuous urges like modesty and restraint.