The Rake's Enticing Proposal

by Lara Temple

  The arched corridor led to a smaller courtyard garden and she went to sit on a stone bench tucked under a vine-covered bower. The music from the orchestra dimmed as her dance drew to an end and the reverberating drums from beyond the walls took its place, layered with a plaintive faraway ululation. Tears burned in her eyes and she closed them, listening to the clash of drums and violins as the orchestra began to play a waltz.

  ‘I do wish to.’

  She opened her eyes slowly.

  ‘Dance with you,’ Chase elucidated. The only light was a pair of oil lanterns at the entrance to the corridor and it outlined his breadth, but gave her no clue to his expression. He bent and took her hand. ‘Come. I will try not to ruin this any more than I already have.’

  ‘You don’t have to dance with me out of duty, Chase.’

  ‘I never do. Which is why I very rarely dance. Come.’

  She moved towards the corridor, but he stopped her by placing his hand on her waist.

  ‘Here. I claim my dance here.’

  She didn’t bother arguing. The music was faint, but the rhythm of the waltz slid gently along the marble floor, mixing with the rumble of the music beyond the palace walls and with the sweet scent of the tiny white flowers on the vines that covered the bower above them. She looked up from the sinuous folds of his cravat to meet his hooded gaze and didn’t even try to resist the familiar rush of heat that struck through her.

  It was always like this.

  It was not merely that he and his brother were by far the most impressive men at the ball. She’d noticed she was not the only one to think so—she had seen the glances he received from many of the women—some furtive, some lingering.

  For once he was dressed with strict propriety in dark evening wear and a shirt and cravat of immaculate white. He looked magnificent and as far out of her reach as the moon and stars.

  She realised with a further fall of her spirit that he hadn’t even remarked on her dress. She had so hoped to at least elicit a compliment; well aware this was as good as she was ever likely to look. But he’d barely noticed her new plumage. She was such a fool. Her hopes to impress Chase with her meagre charms were as ludicrous as an ant trying to kick a bear.

  He hadn’t appeared aware of much, in fact. All evening he seemed caught in his own world and she wondered again at the hostility he’d shown earlier that day. It simply was not characteristic of Chase and finally her own hurt fell away under a surge of worry.

  ‘I know something is wrong, Chase. Are you still worried about Sam?’

  His lips parted on an indrawn breath that was as peculiar as the rest and she tightened her hold on his hand. But he shook his head.

  ‘No. Not as much now we are here. But you should be angry at me for being an imbecile, not providing me with excuses for being so, Ellie.’

  ‘If it was merely you being an imbecile I wouldn’t. But something is wrong, isn’t it? Are you worried what you will find in Qetara?’

  His smile was brief, but finally she saw the return of the affection she’d so depended on at Huxley, but he shook his head.

  ‘I don’t want to think about that now. Or about anything else the moment. Just dance.’

  ‘But this is a waltz. I never learned how to waltz,’ she said with a spurt of panic, pushing back a little, but his arms tightened.

  ‘One day I shall teach you. But you don’t need to know how to waltz to move to the music. Like this. Just close your eyes and try not to think. I know that’s a challenge for you, if not a complete impossibility, but try.’

  He pulled her closer and she closed her eyes as commanded. Like a curtain falling, she became aware of a whole different world in the darkness. Above all of his body—even where his arm wasn’t around her and his hand holding hers he was so close his warmth was an entity in itself. It was like floating in a warm bath; she wanted to sink into him, luxuriate in being encompassed by him. She sighed at the wonder of it, at the brush of satin against her skin, at the breeze sliding under her skirts and over her heated cheeks and neck.

  When he spoke his breath was warm against her temple.

  ‘Do you hear those drums? They are called darbukas and that sound above them, that’s an oud, like a lyre. Someone is getting married.’

  His voice sank into a reverberation of its own and their dance became little more than a gentle swaying as they listened.

  ‘But the singer sounds so mournful,’ she whispered.

  ‘She is singing for the end of one life and the beginning of another. There is a sadness to that, too.’

  ‘I wish I could see such a wedding.’

  ‘One day you will. I will take you.’

  She didn’t respond to the lie. This moment was all that mattered because this was borrowed time. Soon he would continue in his life, free of all fetters, and she in hers.

  Without thinking she leaned her cheek on his shoulder and his arm brought her still closer until her body pressed the length of his, his other hand cupping her head against him, his fingers moving with the same seductive rhythm on her hair. He felt so solid, all around her, enveloping her in the strength of his body. The fabric of his coat was soft under her cheek, but she wanted to feel him closer. She did not care that this was not done.

  The vibration of drums reached through the floor and the beat of his pulse was against her cheek, fast and sharp. Even the skirts of her dress felt alive, sending shivers of sensation through her as they brushed against her legs. Every pent-up frustration and memory of his touch, his kiss, tumbled over the ramparts of her defences and entered the dance, tangling inside her like the twisting souls in medieval paintings. The world was vibrating with tension and life and nothing mattered but the moment, the inexplicable combination of fire and comfort she felt nowhere else. She was a world away from Ellie, from Eleanor, from everything that fettered her. She was alive.

  She’d been waiting for this dance all her life. For this man, for this place, this moment.

  She was at home and in heaven all at once.

  She raised her head, rising on tiptoe, her mouth a breath away from his throat, absorbing the scent of musk and soap and that essence that was just him. She hoped she would remember that scent until she died.

  He stopped, frozen, but didn’t push her away and so she touched her lips to the taut sinew of his neck, only her breath shifting her against him, filling her lungs, filling every inch of her. The music swirled on around them—drums and violins, lyres and a lone flute, but as distant as a receding storm.

  She moved slowly, finding the heat of his pulse and then, because it was the most natural thing in the world, she tasted it.

  It wasn’t at all strange that he swept her up with something between a cry and growl and they were suddenly deep in the shadow of the vines, her back against the pedestal of some pagan god, her thighs pressing hard against his waist, one hand splayed on her behind and the other deep into her hair, his fingers taut against her scalp as his mouth found hers.

  Oh, God, I’m coming undone. I will never come back from this.

  She sank into him, trying to pull him closer, her hands sliding under his coat to fist and tug at his shirt, her fingertips finally finding flesh.

  It was so right she couldn’t stop the whimpers pouring through her in the rhythm of her blood. She could feel their echo inside him, the way he gasped her name against her mouth as her hands worked their way higher.

  This was how it was meant to be, flesh on flesh, his mouth drinking, tasting its way from her lips to her neck and downwards, brushing over the swell of her breasts, the faint roughness of his jaw a beautiful contrast to the firm pressure of his lips. His breath was ragged, slipping under the silk of her bodice and the constricting tautness of her stays, his fingers already easing away the shoulder of her gown when the sways of music were joined by series of mournful yowls beyond the high walls.


  Chase shuddered and froze, holding her still half-raised against the cold marble statue, his breath as shallow and uneven as hers.

  ‘What is that?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing. Just jackals. They roam the graveyards. God, I must be mad. We can’t do this. Not here. Anyone could come by.’

  He lowered her gently, pressing her head to his chest before moving away, his hands shaking as he dragged them through his already dishevelled hair.

  ‘I will return you to the others before I do something even more unforgivable. Tomorrow we will talk.’

  Talk.

  She didn’t want to talk. Talk meant dragging back the common sense that for a brief, ecstatic moment, she’d managed to forget all about. Talk meant he would tell her this perfect bliss was wrong, a mistake. What had he called it? Unforgivable.

  How could something so perfect, that made her heart soar like the doves that rose in waves when they drove through the streets of Cairo, be unforgivable?

  She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to howl like the jackals.

  ‘Why must people always talk?’ she moaned and, absurdly, he laughed.

  ‘Blast you, Ellie. Why can you never say what one expects?’

  He took a step back towards her, but a not-so-subtle cough from the archway stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘May I go tell Olivia and Sam I have found the missing members of our party?’ Lucas enquired politely with a very direct look at his brother. ‘I hate to disturb your tête-à-tête, but Mallory has been enquiring for you, Miss Walsh. Apparently, you have promised him a dance and he is a far more resolute fellow than he appears. I’ll send Livvy to you in the ladies’ withdrawing area,’ he added quietly as he led her through the arches. ‘You might wish for a moment to...compose yourself before you face the world.’

  Ellie flushed in embarrassment as she allowed herself to be led away, resisting the urge to look back. She touched the trailing strands of hair lying on her shoulders, but Lord Sinclair’s smile was sympathetic rather than condemning.

  ‘I am impressed you have made my brother act so far out of character. That is always a good sign. He is too used to arranging the world to his will.’

  ‘Out of character?’ She could not keep the incredulity from her voice.

  ‘Completely out of character, my dear Miss Walsh. Ah, Livvy, just in time to stop me from saying something I oughtn’t. Enjoy your dance with Mallory and then I think we had all best retire for the night. We must be up at dawn to begin our journey to Qetara.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Still cursing my soul because I offered Mallory a place on the dahabiya?’ Lucas asked as he leaned on the dahabiya’s railing by Chase’s side.

  Chase didn’t turn from his contemplation of the dark-teal water slipping past and the women filling pitchers of water from the banks of the river while children played between the reeds.

  He’d always found these trip soothing, just watching the shifting landscape as they wound up the Nile, but it wasn’t exerting its magic now. It certainly wasn’t distracting him from what was happening by the table on the other side of the long deck where Ellie and Olivia sat reading and Sam sketched while Mallory hovered above them.

  Or from the memory of the kiss as Jasperot’s ball.

  Nothing succeeded in distracting him from that for long. It was worst at night—in the dark, listening to the lapping of the water against the wooden boat and knowing she was asleep in her own narrow cabin just a few yards away, so present he could almost imagine if he reached out he would find the soft curve of her waist and she would make that soft sound in her throat as he pulled her towards him and finally do something about this damned fever that wasn’t like any fever he knew. It just climbed and climbed like that idiot Sisyphus pushing a boulder uphill.

  Even in the civilised light of day with everyone buzzing around them like fruit flies it took an increasingly conscious effort not to snarl at everyone and everything that approached her. It was ridiculous and pathetic, but it had him by the throat like a mystical possession.

  He wished he’d made an utter fool of himself at the ball and compromised her and then they would be betrothed and this would all be behind him already. She would be his and that was that. Then he wouldn’t have to listen to all the voices inside him that told him he wasn’t right for her, that her life should follow a very different path from any he could offer her. That he had to tread carefully and consider whether this was truly what he wanted, to set himself up for failure and her for disappointment...

  He wished they could go back to Huxley’s study so he could just suffer alone with her. He’d been confused then, too, but more comfortable than he would have imagined possible. Just being with her. If he could go back, stop time until he was absolutely certain...

  You will never be absolutely certain, said a snide voice inside him and sank its talons into his boots. He glanced down at Inky, who had abandoned Olivia and come to test her claws on him. Her round eyes stared up at him mournfully, as if she hadn’t just spent the whole morning being petted and fed by everyone.

  ‘Apparently it’s your turn to pay tribute to this spoilt spawn of Bastet.’ Lucas grinned as Lucas detached claw from leather. ‘Did you have to bring Inky with you from the Hall?’

  ‘She didn’t give us much choice. She jumped into the carriage and on to Sam’s lap as if it was obvious she was part of the journey and Sam didn’t have the heart to put her out.’

  ‘And you didn’t have the courage to put her out.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you standing firm when Inky’s determined to get between you and Olivia.’

  ‘Point taken. At least Livvy was happy to see her. Besides, Inky might put in a good word with the local gods for you. By your morose mood since we boarded, you need a stroke of divine intervention.’

  ‘It hardly matters,’ Chase answered, turning back to the water slipping by beneath them. ‘These past three days have only confirmed my point.’

  ‘I must be more than usually dense, because I am missing that point.’

  ‘That he is perfect for her.’

  ‘Mallory? I admit I don’t know her well, but if that young woman prefers Mallory to you, she is not only far less intelligent than she appears, but also an excellent actress. I don’t see anything between them that would hint at the mutual combustion you two engaged in at Jasperot’s.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I know I can make her lust for me. I even know she likes me. But I don’t know if that is enough to compensate for what I cannot offer her.’

  ‘You will have to be clearer. I’m having a hard time thinking of something you lack.’

  Chase laughed again.

  ‘Don’t be an ass.’

  ‘I take that back. You lack a strong dose of good sense. If she had wanted Mallory, she could have had him in her pocket by now. Now, would you stop thinking about what you think is right for her and concentrate on what is right for you?’

  ‘But...’

  Lucas slapped the railing.

  ‘If I was this annoying when I first fell in love with Olivia, it’s a wonder she agreed to wed me. Do you know what your problem is, Chase? You think too much. Stop thinking!’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Lucas met his rueful smile with one of his own.

  ‘This is not good for the family reputation, you know. Two Sinclairs felled in a single year. I meant what I said. She is not a child, she is a mature woman and you are on occasion a sensible man. Do what mature, sensible people do and talk to her.’

  ‘Like you talked to Olivia.’

  Lucas grinned.

  ‘You have the benefit of learning from my mistakes. But let me tell you, if she prefers Mallory over you, she’s a fool.’

  ‘Or a very wise woman. I’m hardly husband material. I don’t even have a home.’

 
‘One doesn’t have a home. One creates it. I may have inherited houses before I married Olivia, but we’re only creating a home now. This hot and sticky desert is as much a home to me at the moment as Sinclair Hall ever was. Of all of us I never thought you would be the coward. When you thought something was right, you acted.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with cowardice and I am acting.’

  ‘No, you are arranging matters for others. Not for yourself. Ellie might not be a young miss, but you have a lot more experience than her. In all the years I’ve never seen you lust after a woman you can’t in conscience bed. The Chase I know would have put a continent between himself and such a challenge and laughed it off until it went its merry way and you went your merry way in another woman’s arms. The last thing I would wager you would do was secure her on the same ship for a long voyage. Unless you were finally considering taking the plunge and wanted to make absolutely certain this isn’t a passing whim.’

  ‘I told you why I brought her. I needed help with Sam and she needed help saving her family. It was a sensible solution.’

  ‘I will ignore the insult to my intelligence by trying to sell me the same nonsense you sold her and Sam. For heaven’s sake, Chase. If you believe you are right for her—’

  ‘I don’t,’ Chase interrupted and Lucas fell silent.

  ‘Then perhaps she’s not right for you,’ Lucas finally said gruffly.

  ‘You don’t understand. Her life is one long struggle to reach stable ground. The only stability I could offer is monetary. I don’t want to find myself tied to someone who is fated to realise I cannot provide what they really need. We’ve been there before, you and I, and I’m damned if I’m going there again for someone who isn’t already tied to me. I’m not being selfless here, Lucas. I’m being as selfish as any hell-bound Sinclair was before me. I don’t want the responsibility. I don’t want to witness the inevitable death of whatever friendship and respect she has for me. I just don’t want any of this.’