How to Ravish a Rake

by Vicky Dreiling

  “The duration is a fortnight, starting today,” he said.

  “Four weeks,” she countered.

  “Three,” he said. “That’s my final offer.”

  “Very well,” she said. “What are the terms?”

  “If I win you over with my courtship, you agree to stay abed with me and do my every bidding for an entire week.” He ran his finger over her bottom lip. “Every bidding.”

  Her face heated. “What do you mean by winning me over?”

  “You’ll succumb to my touch and beg me to make love to you.”

  “Ha! You might as well cede defeat now, because that will never happen.”

  “I can show you pleasures you’ve never dreamed existed,” he said.

  She’d managed to resist the devil’s temptation for the most part and figured she had the advantage. “In order to win in this courtship, you must prove that you’ve mended your wicked ways.”

  “What?” he said in an outraged voice.

  “Those are my terms. It will not be a real courtship if you’re spending the bulk of your time engaged in vice and depravity.” She regarded him with a smug expression. “You should know I will have spies to ensure that you do not cheat.” She had no idea how she would procure spies, but she’d figure it out.

  “Me, cheat? Oh, that’s a low accusation.”

  “I’m only giving you fair warning,” she said. “And if you fail to meet the terms, I win three more weeks of courtship.”

  “You assume I’ll fail, but I won’t.”

  “You’ll have to prove it to me,” she said.

  “You drive a hard bargain, wife, but I will agree to the terms on one condition.”

  She regarded him suspiciously. “What condition?”

  “Kisses are allowed,” he said.

  She liked kissing him. “Agreed.”

  “All sorts of kisses,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Define all sorts of kisses.”

  His low, wicked laughter called to the wanton inside her, but she must resist.

  He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I can kiss you anywhere.”

  “We must remain clothed.”

  He took her hands and kissed her wrists. “Clothing includes nightgowns and shifts as well,” he said, “and we can touch.”

  “Agreed, but we must keep our clothing on.” He would be limited by her clothing. Wouldn’t he?

  He smiled. “Very well. But there is one other condition.”

  “You’re making it too complicated.”

  “There is nothing complicated about admiring my own bride. I may not touch you when you’re completely naked, but I can look.”

  She gasped. “No.”

  “Yes,” he said. “The advantage will be yours, because I’ll be frustrated.” He paused and added, “You’re allowed to look at me naked, so long as you don’t touch.”

  Her face flamed. “You mean to trick me. I know it.”

  “Tricks are allowed,” he said. “My strategy will be to seduce you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I might ravish you.”

  “My wicked wife, do you know how to ravish a rake?” he said, his voice rumbling.

  “I may lack experience, but I’m clever enough to figure it out.”

  He flopped back on the blanket. “Take me, I’m yours.”

  She burst out laughing.

  He beckoned her with his fingers. “Come lie next to me. I want to kiss you.”

  “You’re already failing at courtship,” she said. “The idea is to woo me, not demand kisses.”

  He turned on his side, picked a dandelion from the grass and started plucking the lance-shaped petals. “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.” He grinned at her. “How am I doing so far?”

  “So far, you have managed to charm me.”

  “That’s a good start.” He discarded the dandelion and crawled over to her. “Now can I have a kiss?”

  “You will have to wait until tonight.”

  “Please,” he said. “Just once more.”

  She almost said yes, but he apparently liked challenges. And she liked having the upper hand. Amy glanced at him from the corner of her eye and said, “Tonight.”

  They dined on lobster, among other courses, that evening. He’d seated her next to his place at the head of the table and told her stories of his mischievous exploits at Eton. Apparently, he’d befriended Fordham and Bellingham there.

  “I met Bellingham only briefly,” Amy said, “but he seems a very intense gentleman.”

  “He was a devil-may-care fellow until he lost all his family to consumption four years ago.”

  Amy gasped. “Oh, how awful.”

  “I worried about him. The traveling helped.” Will looked at her. “It was a different world altogether, and what you leave behind sort of fades. I don’t know if that makes sense or not.”

  She nodded. “I think I can understand on a lesser scale. The spring season is such a fanciful whirl, and every year when it ends, I feel a little disappointed upon returning home where the pace is so much slower. Eventually one adjusts again.” She looked at him. “It must be far more pronounced with different languages and new sights to see all the time.”

  “You do comprehend,” he said. “Bell needed to focus his attention away from England and the tragedy. Otherwise, I fear he might have gone mad.”

  “You are a good friend to him,” Amy said.

  “Well, I had my own reasons for leaving England,” he said.

  She meant to ask him what he meant, but the desserts arrived.

  Will grinned. “Pistachio ices.”

  After the footman left, Will spooned up the confection. “Open for me.”

  “I’m not an infant who needs to be fed,” Amy said.

  “No, you’re all woman,” he said. “Now open for me.”

  She let him spoon the ice into her mouth. Then he captured her lips in a decadent tongue kiss. Her head was spinning from the combination of the cold confection and the warmth of his mouth.

  When he lifted his mouth, his eyes held a sultry expression. He handed her the spoon, and she understood what he wanted. She spooned the dessert into his mouth as he caught the back of her head. She met his mouth and tentatively touched her tongue to his. He quickly became the aggressor. Excitement raced through her veins, and every instinct within her wanted more of his kisses, more of him.

  He stood and pulled her chair back. When she rose, he gazed into her eyes, mesmerizing her. He slid one finger featherlike all along her jaw, leaving a tingling sensation. Then he offered his arm. When she clasped his sleeve, her thoughts scattered. She was all too aware of the scent of his wool coat and the strength of his arm.

  “I want to change into something comfortable. May I come to your room in half an hour?” he asked. “I wish to begin courting you tonight.”

  She regarded him warily. “The rules apply.”

  “I will abide by them,” he said in a low voice that made her more than a little breathless. He knew exactly what he was doing, but she refused to let him win her over until he’d proven he was reformed.

  “What is this sly expression?” he asked as he led her up the stairs.

  “You have nothing to be suspicious about. I, too, intend to abide by the rules.”

  When he opened her door, she stepped through. He blew her a kiss and said, “May the best mate win.”

  Half an hour later, her maid, Anna, finished braiding Amy’s hair. After the maid left, Amy slipped on a white linen robe over her shift and reclined on the chaise longue with her sketchbook. The fire made the room just toasty enough for comfort. The mantel clock struck the hour. Her gaze flew up to it, and then the connecting door sighed open.

  She looked over her shoulder, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  He wore only a brown banyan robe over trousers and no shirt. Black hair liberally dusted his chest. He held a book. “May I join you?” he asked.

  “Yes, of c
ourse.” She felt a little embarrassed clothed only in her thin nightgown and robe. When she started to sit up, he shook his head and pressed her back. “There’s enough room for both of us.”

  “It will be a tight fit,” she said.

  He took her sketchbook and set it aside. “You can work tomorrow. It’s our wedding night.”

  She’d only wanted to keep occupied, so she wouldn’t be nervous, though there was no reason for it, given their wager.

  When he put his knee on the cushion, she had no choice but to move over.

  He lay beside her and grinned. “We’re perfectly snug.”

  Those were not words she’d expected from a rake. She looked at the book. “You intend to read to me?”

  He nodded. “It is a poem that I thought you might like.”

  She suspected some ridiculous trick, such as a naughty limerick, but she said nothing.

  He turned the pages. “Ah, here it is. ‘The Passionate Shepherd to His Love.’ ”

  “Christopher Marlowe,” she said.

  He kissed her lips quickly and then began to read.

  “ ‘Come live with me, and be my love; and we will all the pleasures prove…’ ”

  Amy listened to him read the familiar lines in his deep, distinctive voice, and she couldn’t help admiring her handsome husband. He had full lips and sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. But his eyes were the most arresting feature, because of his thick lashes and dark brows. She noticed a tiny scar by his right brow and wondered how he’d gotten the injury.

  His voice mesmerized her. She thought it rather sweet of him to choose the pastoral poem. Then again, she’d better not take any of his efforts to woo her seriously. He was determined to win this wager and admitted he intended to use trickery if necessary. No doubt he thought to lull her and then make his move. He probably planned to seduce her, but she would not let him.

  “ ‘Then live with me, and be my love,’ ” he said, closing the book.

  “You read very well,” she said.

  He set the book on the floor and clasped her hand. “Tell me about your childhood.”

  “You’re only asking because I insisted it must be part of the courtship for us to get to know each other.”

  “You’re my wife. I am curious about you.”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” she said.

  “You must have played with other children. What were your favorite games?”

  “I had a friend in the neighborhood named Susan. We played with my dolls.”

  When he smiled, his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “You pretended to be mothers.”

  “Yes. I had an imaginary husband named Laurence Lancelot.”

  When he laughed, she pushed on his shoulder to no avail. “I thought it an elegant name. Of course, he looked like a prince with golden hair. He also rode a white steed and carried a lance.”

  “Laurence Lancelot and his lance.” Will laughed. “Was it a long lance?”

  “Oh, very.”

  He guffawed.

  “What is so funny?” she said.

  “Nothing,” he said. “So did your imaginary Prince Laurence Lancelot kiss you?”

  “Oh, yes. I substituted a pillow for Laurence.”

  He smiled. “What else?”

  “He kneeled at my feet and regularly declared his undying love for me. Unfortunately, he was often called away to fight battles for the king. I wrote him love letters and asked my papa to post them.”

  “Let me guess. Your papa answered them.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I met your father. He clearly adores his little girl.”

  She bit her lip. “I didn’t realize how much I missed my parents until they came to London.”

  “I’ll take you to see them before autumn,” he said. “Who taught you to draw?”

  “I had a wonderful governess. She encouraged me to draw and paint with watercolors.”

  “She recognized your talent,” he said. “Even I, who know nothing about women’s fashions, can see that your creations are stunning. The night of Lady Beresford’s ball, I noticed the striking green ribbons on your gown when you walked inside. Everyone was watching you.”

  At first, she took pleasure in his compliment, but guilt quickly followed. She was deceiving him about the money she would earn from providing designs to Madame DuPont.

  He touched her nose. “Are you afraid I will object to you designing gowns?”

  “I didn’t know how you would feel about it, but I won’t let it interfere with my household duties,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t care if it did,” he said. “I like having a fashionable wife.”

  Drat. Why did he have to be so nice about it? Now she felt even guiltier, but she mustn’t show it.

  He leaned over her, and her heart beat a bit faster. When he kissed her, she parted her lips slightly. He gently touched his tongue to hers, and when he retreated, he angled his head in the other direction, repeating the pattern. She dared to kiss him back. It was exhilarating to taste him and run her fingers through his silky hair.

  When he came up for air, his eyes were darker and a bit glazed. He took her hand and placed it on his hard chest. His heart was pounding. She gazed into his eyes. “Is this a trick?”

  “No. I’m still clothed, for the most part. Besides, you have to succumb to my touch in order for me to win.”

  “In that case…” She ran her hands over his muscular chest and abdomen. As she feathered her fingers over him, she noticed an arrow of dark hair just below his navel. Her gaze traveled to his trousers, and her eyes popped wide open. Good heavens, she could see a bulge in his trousers—a very large bulge.

  His eyes were closed, and his breathing grew faster.

  “Will? What are you doing?”

  “Trying very hard, pardon the pun, not to lose the wager.”

  “Oh.”

  He opened his eyes. “We could forget about the wager and the first two courses and move on to dessert.”

  “No, we will not forget the wager, and I know you’re not actually referring to food. The terms stand as agreed,” she said.

  He stood and helped her to rise. Then he pulled her braid over her shoulder and untied the ribbon.

  “My hair will tangle when I sleep if I don’t keep it braided,” she said.

  He met her gaze. “I want to see it down.”

  How could she deny his request when he had agreed to court her? She reached to loosen the braid, but he caught her hand.

  “Let me.” He unraveled the strands slowly. When he finished, he combed his fingers through her hair. He arranged the heavy locks over her shoulders and brushed her breasts with his fingers.

  She caught her breath at the pleasurable sensation, drawing his attention.

  “I like that it’s red,” he said.

  She looked at him dubiously, but he continued to comb his fingers through her locks.

  “Promise me something,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Never cut it.”

  She recalled Lizzy telling her that gentlemen preferred long hair and decided she would grant his wish. “Very well.”

  “And one last request,” he said. “On the day we finally make love, I want you to brush your hair over my skin.”

  His seductive tone left her yearning for his touch, but she needed more from him than physical pleasure.

  He pulled her into his arms. When his hands slid to her bottom, he pressed her against him. She could feel the hard ridge of his sex against her stomach. Then he kissed her quickly. “I’d better leave,” he said. “I want you too much.”

  For a moment, her heart leaped, but the feeble hope died as she realized that for him, it was only about pleasure.

  He led her to the bed, where Anna had turned down the covers. When Amy climbed beneath them, he picked up the spare pillow. “You are not allowed to kiss Laurence.”

  She laughed.

  He kissed her cheek, snuffed the candles,
and opened the door.

  Temptation to call him back gripped her for a second, and then her good sense prevailed.

  “Good night,” he said.

  The door clicked shut.

  He’d made her smile over his silly jest about Laurence.

  She stared up at the unfamiliar canopy. Tonight, she’d sworn to be on her guard, and yet she’d fallen for his charms once again. He’d read her the pretty poem and beguiled her when he’d asked her never to cut her hair. At times, he’d seemed sincere, but she lacked the objectivity to discern between the charming rake and the man beneath the façade. The latter troubled her the most. Earlier today, he’d mentioned his family disapproved of his traveling, and then he’d distracted her. Perhaps she was making too much of it, but her instincts told her there was more to the story.

  She realized she’d ceded something to him already. He’d won another little corner of her heart, and it scared her. She mustn’t forget that he saw the courtship only as a game that he meant to win. He was a rake, through and through. If he won, he would lose interest quickly, and then he would likely betray her.

  Amy bit her lip. He was her husband, and she’d told him that she would do everything in her power to see to his comfort and happiness. But she mustn’t let herself fall in love with him, because he would surely break her heart.

  Twenty minutes later, Will washed and climbed into bed. He’d been hard as a rock and had done what all men did to relieve the lust when there was no willing partner available.

  He climbed into bed and clasped his hands beneath his head. This afternoon, she’d turned her face away when he’d told her that their marriage would not be the fairy tale she’d dreamed about. His damned conscience had pricked him. He’d agreed to court her, because it was their wedding day, and she’d looked so forlorn.

  I need to feel something for you, other than sheer terror that we may find ourselves utterly incompatible.

  Immediately afterward, he’d regretted his decision, because he’d known she wanted something from him that he wasn’t capable of giving. He’d proposed the wager, with the expectation she would refuse. She’d risen to the challenge and surprised him.

  He had the gnawing feeling that she’d played him like a pianoforte.

  Will had known what she wanted—a relationship based on tender feelings. There had been women in his past who had stated they wanted only a liaison, but at some point, they would start to cling. He’d always made a graceful exit and never looked back.