How to Ravish a Rake

by Vicky Dreiling

  “Have you by any chance seen Amy?” she asked.

  “No, not for some time,” he said. “We have two missing guests?”

  “I’m sure it is a coincidence,” Georgette said.

  “Probably,” he said in a gruff tone.

  She felt awful, because she really did have tender feelings for him. “Beau, I’m sorry. Please be patient with me.”

  Beau looked grim as he met her gaze. “You complain that everyone makes decisions for you, but you have made a decision.”

  She knit her brows. “I don’t understand.”

  “You decided that I could not propose and that we must wait to marry,” he said. “And I have no say at all.”

  “I think we had better bang on the door,” Amy said.

  He’d lit the candle branch, set it on the floor, and removed his gloves. Then he bent and looked at the keyhole. “Give me one of your hair pins.”

  “Do you actually know how to pick a lock?” She would not put anything past him.

  “No, but considering the circumstances, I thought I’d try. Please lend me a hair pin.”

  She removed her long gloves and held them in one hand. When she pulled out a pin, a lock fell over her breast.

  He eyed her hair. “It’s long.”

  She held out the pin. When he took it, his fingers brushed her skin. She drew in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation.

  The candlelight cast shadows over his face. He stood still as a statue, but his breathing sounded a bit faster.

  His silence disturbed her. “The lock,” she said.

  “Right.” There was a rough timbre to his voice. The moment stretched out. Then he turned away and bent to examine the keyhole again.

  Relieved, she inhaled and exhaled slowly. She tried to convince herself that it was only a momentary, accidental touch, but she’d never felt anything like it before. Then again, there was no one quite like the devil.

  He pushed the pin inside the keyhole and worked on the lock. As he poked and prodded, she grew increasingly anxious. “Try not to bend the pin.”

  A huff escaped him. “I’ll help you put your hair to rights after I unlock the door.”

  She scoffed. “You? A lady’s maid?”

  “It’s not as if you have another choice.”

  She tapped her toe. “Let me know when you tire of your labors. Then I’ll bang on the door.”

  “Only the butler has the key,” he said. “He is probably at his station in the foyer.”

  “Yes, but surely a servant will come round if we pound on the door repeatedly. We can ask him to alert the butler.”

  “If they hear us,” he said. “The lock is our best hope.”

  “Really, that pin will not release the lock.”

  “Your faith in me is overwhelming.” After a few minutes, he made a frustrated sound, stood, and took off his coat. Then he laid it on the floor, kneeled, and poked the pin inside the lock again.

  She leaned against the wall and watched him. At one point he rolled up his sleeves and looked back at her. “Would you mind holding the candle branch for me?”

  “Not at all.” After she approached, he handed it to her. “Hold the light close, so I can see.”

  The candlelight illuminated a dusting of black hair on his forearms and the bulge of muscle in his upper arms. “You are very fit for a rake.” The moment the words popped out, she wished she’d kept silent.

  “I fence, box, and ride,” he said. “I grew accustomed to daily physical activity while traveling.” He pulled the pin out. “It’s mangled. Give me another.”

  “My hair will be in ruins, and you’ll never get that door open with a pin.” Did he not understand that others would take one look at her disheveled hair and conclude the worst?

  “Let me try,” he said. “We’ll fix your hair afterward.”

  “If I knock on the door, it may alert someone.”

  “You can try,” he said. He wasn’t sure they should be found alone. Someone, probably one of his female relatives, might get the idea to make them marry.

  Miss Hardwick set the candle branch on the floor and banged on the door.

  Will retrieved his coat. “Let’s look on the bright side,” he said. “Chances are they’ll run out of wine or sherry and send for the butler to open the door.”

  She knocked again.

  “You’ll bruise your knuckles,” he said, reclaiming the candle branch. “We might as well enjoy a bottle of one of Boswood’s finest wines while we wait.”

  “Getting foxed will certainly help.”

  “There’s a world of difference between a glass or two of wine and getting foxed.” He handed her the hair pin. “You can fume and fuss all you want,” he said. “I’m planning to take advantage of the situation.” He set the candle branch on the table and searched until he found a corkscrew. “Excellent. Now what should I have? Madeira or port?”

  She followed him. “Madeira.”

  He lifted his brows in a comical manner. “You plan to unbend?”

  “One glass won’t hurt.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll drink the rest.”

  “Notice I expressed no surprise whatsoever,” she said.

  He selected a bottle, inserted the corkscrew, and pulled it out with a pop. He looked round. “No glasses. We’ll just have to drink out of the bottle.”

  “That’s disgusting,” she said.

  He lifted it to his lips. “Ah,” he said. “Excellent vintage. My compliments to Boswood.”

  She took the bottle and sipped out of it. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  He laughed. “I’ll keep your disgusting secret.”

  “Ha-ha.” She drank again. “Is that a chair by those barrels?”

  He walked past the barrels and lifted the chair. When he returned with it, he sat and patted his thigh. “We’ll share.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You actually think I will sit on your lap?”

  “We’ve only the one chair,” he said.

  “If you were a gentleman, you would offer me the chair, not your lap.”

  “But I’m the devil. Be a sweetheart and bring the bottle.”

  She marched over to him and held the bottle over his head. “I swear I’ll drench you if you don’t get up.”

  He stood and made a leg. “Your chair, Mademoiselle.”

  When she sat, he walked past the barrels again and returned with another chair.

  “You lied.”

  A wicked chuckle escaped him. “You dashed my fondest hopes.”

  She snorted and sipped from the bottle.

  He rummaged in his waistcoat pocket for his watch and walked over to the table to consult the time by the candlelight. “It’s midnight. I’ll leave the watch here. Remind me to retrieve it when we’re rescued.”

  “I don’t know how long the party will last,” she said.

  He knew it might last another two or three hours, but he said nothing.

  When he returned to the chair, she took another sip of wine and handed him the bottle.

  He took a drink. “Why were you crying earlier?”

  She said nothing.

  “Did someone wound you?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  “You were crying because someone was nice to you?” He sounded incredulous.

  “No. I wounded my friends.”

  “I find that difficult to believe. Julianne said you’re very kind.”

  She released a long sigh. “I mistreated them.”

  “What happened?” he said, his voice rumbling. “Truly, it can’t be that bad.”

  Oh, yes it is,” she said, her voice quavering.

  He took a drink. “Since I’m the expert on badness, maybe I should be the judge.”

  She huffed, unable to believe she was actually speaking to him about it. No doubt the wine had loosened her tongue.

  “If you tell me, I might be able to help. It’s hard for you to be impartial.”

  She looked at her lap, ashamed of what
she’d done. “I ignored friends that I’ve known since my come-out. I didn’t want anyone to associate me with the wallflowers again.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m ashamed.”

  He handed her a handkerchief. “It’s understandable,” he said. “We are judged by the company we keep, especially in the ton.”

  “I should have risen above it,” she said. “The worst part is that they welcomed me despite the horrible way I treated them.”

  “It’s not irreparable. Since they still consider you a friend, you have the opportunity to right the wrong. Introduce them to your other friends.”

  “They’re acquainted with them, but I need to make the effort to bring them together and ease the way.” She looked at him. His face was in shadows, and she couldn’t see his expression. “You are the last person I would expect to give good advice. Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what happened the last time we met.” Of course, she didn’t know he’d meant to compromise her to gain her fortune. He still felt like a rat for his dishonorable plans. Tonight, it seemed worse, because she’d let down her guard and exposed her vulnerability.

  “I thought about forgiving you for my own sake,” she said. “Holding grudges is poisonous. Now I think I will forgive you because there is kindness in you.”

  He took another drink. “Make no mistake. I have very little to recommend me.”

  “You have a wonderful, large family,” she said. “I envy you. I always wanted brothers and sisters.”

  “You must have cousins, aunts, and uncles.”

  “My cousins are much older than me.” She sighed. “I was something of a surprise to my parents. I came along late in their marriage. They called me their little miracle.”

  He sipped the wine and handed her the bottle. “Why didn’t your parents come to London?”

  “They don’t care for the city, the way I do. So I told them not to bother. Then Georgette asked me to join her for the Season, and I accepted.” She took a sip.

  “Where is your home?” he asked.

  “Malmesbury, in the county of Wiltshire.”

  “Ah, the Cotswolds.” He envisioned an aging couple sleeping soundly in their nightcaps, unaware that their little miracle was presently trapped alone with a notorious rakehell. Bloody hell.

  He finished the bottle and took it to the table. “Would you like more wine? I could open another bottle.”

  “Why not? I’m feeling a little giddy.”

  “Miss Hardwick, are you foxed?”

  She laughed. “I should not laugh. We’re stuck here.”

  “Oh, we’ll be discovered sooner or later.” He thought she’d had more than enough wine tonight. The subject of wine reminded him that he needed to bring up a sensitive subject. “This is rather indelicate, but we drank a lot of wine. I saw a dry chamber pot in the adjoining workroom.”

  “Oh, I’ll wait,” she said, her voice squeaking.

  He sighed. “It might be a while before we’re discovered. Please, go first.”

  She took the candle branch and hurried past him with her head bowed. He would explore the workroom after she returned. He hoped to find something for them to sleep on, though he couldn’t imagine locating anything that would cushion the hard floor.

  When she returned, he noticed she was shivering and draped his coat over her shoulders. “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He went to relieve himself. Then he investigated the straw in the open wine crates, but there wasn’t enough for a makeshift bed. The straw would have proved dashed uncomfortable, but now he wondered how they would manage to sleep at all.

  Will returned with the candle branch and consulted his watch. He winced. It was three o’clock in the morning. He would try one last effort to keep them from having to spend the night in this cold cellar. He turned to her. “I think we should try to call out for help.”

  “Yes, I agree.” She followed him to the door. “You would think Lady Boswood would have missed us.”

  They all had probably noticed them missing, and he wasn’t sure what the consequences would be. Lady Boswood had undoubtedly checked with the butler and upstairs maids about their disappearance, but no one would think to inquire with the cook or scullery maids.

  When they reached the door, he squatted down. “Help, we’re locked in!”

  He tried again. “Help!”

  Will called out several more times. There was no response. They’d missed their opportunity for escape when the butler had come to the door earlier. Of course, they had wanted to avoid discovery and had not counted on the butler locking them inside. With a weary sigh, he rose and dusted off his knees.

  “You’re giving up?” she said.

  He looked at her. “I’m sorry, but no one is about.”

  She lifted her skirts, ran to the door, and banged her fists on it again. When he tried to pull her away, she fought him. “Release me!”

  “If anyone is around, your caterwauling will bring them running.”

  “I hope so, you brute.”

  He took her hand and dragged her along with him. “Now, now, you’ll make me blush with all your compliments to my person.”

  “I despise you even more.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I was rather hoping I could turn you up sweet.”

  “You—you—”

  He halted. “Hush. Like it or not, we’re stuck here. There is insufficient straw to make a rudimentary bed, we have no fire, and the temperature is dropping. We’re both exhausted, and the chill will only get worse as the night progresses. I propose we share our body heat.”

  “What?” She looked incensed.

  He cupped her cheek. “Your nose is red and your cheek is cold, and to be perfectly honest, I’m more than a little chilled in my shirtsleeves.” He sighed. “If you will allow it, I’ll sit up, and you can lie on me for warmth. Then I’ll cover us both with my coat.”

  She nodded and bowed her head.

  “Let us find the spot with the least amount of draft.” He took her hand. “Do you need to relieve yourself again?”

  Her face crumpled.

  “I don’t mean to be impertinent. I’m trying to make us both as comfortable as possible under unsatisfactory conditions.”

  She handed him the coat, took the candle branch, and scurried to the workroom. He paced to keep warm. When she returned, he led her to one of the chairs and placed his coat over her. “I’ll be right back.”

  He strode off to take care of his own bodily needs. Afterward, he untied his cravat and removed the neck cloth. He chafed his arms as he strode back to her. She wiped her face with her glove and turned away. He crouched beside her. “Amy, I’ll keep you warm and safe tonight.”

  She sniffed. “I didn’t give you leave to call me by my Christian name.”

  “You may call me Will—it’s short for William.”

  “They will try to m-make us m-marry, w-won’t they?”

  Reality was sinking in for her, but he saw no reason to belabor the point. “It’s cold, and your teeth are chattering. Come,” he said, helping her out of the chair.

  He left his neck cloth on the chair and led her to a corner. When he sat against the wall, he held his arms out to her. She gingerly crawled onto his lap. He draped his coat over them and pressed her head to his shoulder. When she wiped her eyes again, he kissed her forehead. “Try to sleep.”

  “I don’t think I can,” she whispered.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Not so much anymore, but you are hard all over,” she said.

  He chuckled, and his breath frosted in the air. “And you are soft all over.”

  She looked at him. He kissed her cold cheek and caught a faint whiff of rose-scented soap lingering on her skin. Their mouths were only inches apart. The tension between them drew out and tightened like an invisible rope. He tried to convince himself that kissing her would count as a survival measure, but of course, he just wanted to taste her.

  “St
op me if you mean to do so,” he whispered.

  Her breathing grew faster, but she said nothing.

  “On the count of three,” he said.

  Oh, dear God, I don’t think I can deny him.

  “One,” he said, his voice rumbling.

  He is a devil and cannot be trusted.

  “Two.”

  You’re ruined already.

  “Three,” he said in a rough tone.

  Kiss me before I lose my courage.

  He trailed his lips lightly over her mouth. The kiss was butterfly gentle and fleeting. No man had ever kissed her before. She wanted to savor the sensation as he lifted his lips, but it was only a momentary pause before he kissed her again. The sound of his lips meeting hers mesmerized her. He applied a little more pressure and reached round her, pulling her closer until her breasts were nestled against his rock-hard chest. There was something very exhilarating about being in a man’s arms.

  Of course, she must stop him, and she meant to do so, but he drew his tongue over the seam of her mouth. Her lips parted involuntarily, and then he swept his tongue inside. Shock kept her still, but as he slid his tongue inside and withdrew repeatedly, she lost the ability to think of anything beyond his intimate invasion.

  Only the devil would kiss like this.

  When he lifted his lips, she inhaled. The masculine scent of him curled inside her, curbing her ability to listen to the voice of reason. Once again, he covered her lips, only this time, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. She felt strangely possessed by him. Or was it merely the wine muddling her brain? Whatever it was, she couldn’t find the strength to tell him he mustn’t kiss her in this wicked manner. Unfortunately, the wanton inside her kept saying, Yes, yes, yes.

  “I can taste the wine on your tongue,” he said in a low rumble that made her breath hitch. Then his tongue filled her mouth. He slowly withdrew part of the way, and then he repeated the pattern again. And again. And again. She felt boneless, slightly lethargic, and curiously excited at the same time. Truly, he must be a devil to know tricks to make her forget everything but his wet, intimate kisses.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I love the scent of your skin.” Then he trailed damp kisses down her neck and sucked on her throat where her pulse beat. He licked her there, startling her. She had no time to think, for he traced his tongue along the low neckline of her gown. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he outlined the tops of her breasts. When he dipped his tongue in the hollow between her breasts and cupped them, she drew in a shattered breath.