She slipped her hand over his lips, but he simply kissed her palm, this caress not playful, bringing a needy sound from her that shocked them both.
Drawing her fingers to cup his cheek, he leaned in until his lips grazed hers. “I didn’t have the courage to stumble down the marble staircase at Tavistock House and introduce myself to the girl on the veranda. So I’ll do that now. Christian Emory Bainbridge, pleased to make your acquaintance. Now that that’s over, will you please marry me?” Then he slanted his head, his lips covering hers, taking possession, branding her as she’d branded him on a lonely night ten years ago.
Tunneling her fingers in his hair, she gave the strands a tug, her nails gently scraping his scalp. Touched her tongue to his and shyly began an erotic dance. Stepping between her legs, fitting himself as close to her as he could while standing, he murmured an approving hum that mixed with another of those enchanting sounds she freed when she liked what he was doing.
He would enjoy learning what she desired. Needed. Loved. What made her heart race, her skin flush. Like his watches, he’d study her until he could disassemble the unique pieces of her to find the glorious, perfect fit.
He’d spend a lifetime making sure happiness and pleasure were never far from reach.
Predictably, the door opened as they were losing themselves in each other, sending Raine stumbling into Christian. Penny peered around the open space, one brow rising, a trick he’d perfected in his chipped mirror until he had it down, only putting in the effort because women appreciated it and invited him into their beds that much quicker.
Penny took them in with a flat smile, snorting as Raine danced away from Christian.
She straightened her sad mobcap, smoothed her dress, and tugged on her apron before throwing up her hands in mortification and slithering through the doorway without a backward glance.
Penny shoved Christian back a step when he tried to follow. “Get a grip on yourself, man. I don’t know what’s happening in that usually gifted brain of yours, but if you don’t want to ruin her position in this household, ruin your relationship with Devon, you should let your able manservant assist with this scandalous post-encounter as you look like you’ve been dipped in something sticky and are not yet dry. And she looked about the same.”
Christian muttered an oath and yanked his hand through his hair. “I asked her again, much better this proposal, romantic even, and then there you were, barreling in.” He brought his knuckle to his mouth, winced. “Cut my lip on her tooth when she bumped into me. Your timing is impeccable, Mister Pennington, utterly impeccable.”
“At your service, sire.” Penny gave Christian’s cravat a rectifying yank. “You didn’t allow for much time between proposals. A tad desperate, isn’t it?” He yawned, stretched his shoulders like he’d just woken from a nap. “You think she’ll accept?”
Slapping Penny’s hand away, he growled, “How should I know?”
His valet’s brow rose, that odious trick again. “You couldn’t tell from the kiss? My, you are losing your touch.” He released a sardonic smile and leaned lazily against the doorjamb. “At least marriage means I won’t have to deliver any more necklaces to departing mistresses. No joy in that task. Remember that crazy countess who pulled the pistol on me? Can only be thankful she had no idea how to use it.” He crossed the room and collapsed in the chair Raine had recently vacated, gave the air a little sniff as if it still smelled of feminine delight. “I’ve had enough of enraged women to last a lifetime. For my sake, I’m hoping the bluestocking says yes.”
Christian strode to the window, braced his forearm on the ledge, and let his mind sink into their kiss. They’d been entangled, the scent of her storming his mind, the touch and taste of her devastating his body. His soul. When her eyes had opened for one brief moment and caught his, he’d seen something authentic and profound shimmering in their golden depths.
Christian gazed across the duke’s sloping lawn, clouds the color of pewter releasing scant light, the evergreens and hedges coated in a blustery mist. “She’s going to say yes.”
“Again, let’s hope,” Penny murmured in a drowsy voice, “after you’ve made a cake of yourself. Twice.”
“She loves me, too.” A little. I think.
“So, it’s love. Couldn’t go for one of those advantageous but loveless marriages, could you? Not your style, I suppose.” The grunt his valet released sounded resigned and mournful. “Well, well, well, you’ve let yourself be caught, my friend. This should prove enlightening. To me, in any case. Ways I can avoid the trap.”
“I want to be caught,” Christian whispered too low for Penny to hear, realizing it was the sincerest statement he’d ever uttered.
He wanted, for the first time, to own and be owned. Wanted to give Raine everything she’d dreamed of while securing his dream.
For the girl on the veranda to finally be his.
* * *
Raine dashed down the hallway, embarrassed, overjoyed, panicked. Her body blazed like one of the kitchen’s ovens, throwing off heat until she feared anyone close to her would feel it. She skidded to a halt before she entered the main hall, Mrs. Webster’s smooth voice gliding from the pantry. The scent of baking bread and roasted meat joined the dusty air rolling in the open gallery windows, though when she lifted her hand to her nose, all Raine could smell on her skin was Kit. Sandalwood and the faint scent of bergamot that must be in the soap he washed his hair with. She’d had her hand tangled in the dark strands, her lips open beneath his, their legs entwined like holly circling an elm trunk.
It had been, for one electrifying moment, what she imagined lovemaking was like.
Except, they’d been standing up.
Her face flamed, turning what she knew was an unbecoming shade of pink. Dear heaven, the man could kiss, quickly finding the way to unlock her passion. And, somehow, she’d seemed to know just how to follow along, his ragged sound of pleasure the most sensual thing she’d ever heard in her life. It had been natural, touching him, body melting against his, hands clutching to bring him closer.
When it had been impossible to get closer.
I love him. I do. I love Christian Emory Bainbridge.
Now, what to do about it?
Raine was riddled with uncertainty, debating between telling the adorable man yes or hiding until he’d repaired all the duke’s timepieces and retreated to London when Charlotte Webster, Lady Ann’s personal maid, stepped from the pantry. Newly married to Phillip, the cook’s son, Charlotte glowed like a lit candle rested inside her, her pleasant personality. She had a devilish wit that came out in only the loveliest of ways, no cuts involved, which in Raine’s experience was rare.
Charlotte would understand her dilemma; her marriage to Phillip was a love-match.
“Raine, dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Charlotte wiped her hands on the cloth she held and tilted her head in consideration. “Are you unwell?”
Raine knocked the frilled edge of her cap from her eyes, wondering if she looked like she’d been ravished. She felt like she had. “Do you have time for a walk? Through the gardens, perhaps? The flowers are in bloom and quite lovely.” She tangled her hands in her apron and groaned. “I have a question. A concern. About a man. A vexing, tempting, wonderful man. I’m confused and excited and, oh, so many things!”
Charlotte’s green eyes widened, and she choked back a laugh. “How could I say no when this sounds like it will be the most entertaining conversation of my day? I’d rather talk about men than new gowns. And I’m not due to assist Lady Ann and the modiste for another hour.”
“Likely a very entertaining conversation,” Raine muttered and turned down the main hall, heading to the servant’s entrance at the rear of the house. Kit, as a guest of the duke, would use the main entrance. She used the rear. This difference in their lives was what she’d been trying to tell him, to no avail. He didn’t seem to care, and she wondered if she should.
But what woman didn’t want to be an asset
to her husband?
She couldn’t see what she had to offer when he had so much already.
The morning was a warm one for Yorkshire, the somber sky casting dappled light across the path they took over the lawn. In the distance, she could see the bridge she’d traversed last night, falling in love by the time she arrived on the other side. When they reached the gardens, Raine inhaled the scent of lilacs and hibiscus, bees and butterflies flitting around her. She didn’t have a green thumb like her father, although she’d spent many a day with him in Tavistock’s gardens, listening to his advice about how to make his beloved plants flourish. Usually, the thought of family brought a stinging sense of loneliness, but instead, now, she imagined Kit beside her—and felt empowered.
Charlotte crossed to a marble bench surrounded by a riot of colorful blooms, stretched her arms over her head and sighed. “I love summer. My favorite season.” She patted the empty spot next to her. “Come tell me about this tempting, vexing, wonderful man. I admit I can’t wait to hear the story. A certain groom has taken quite a fancy to you if gossip is accurate.”
Raine settled beside Charlotte, plucked a daisy from its stem, and twirled it between her fingers. She hoped Charlotte wouldn’t be irritated to learn the man she wanted to discuss wasn’t Nash Cartwright. “How did you know? With Phillip? That it was love?”
Charlotte clicked her tongue against her teeth, selected her own daisy, and lifted it to her nose. “He’s called me Lottie since we were little, but there was this shift, and the next time that nickname rolled from his lips, my world expanded. I felt a glow. Like I was lifted from my slippers. It suddenly occurred to me that we weren’t simply friends anymore.” She dusted the petals against her palm. “And there was an impressive kiss. That, too.”
Raine laughed and gave her daisy a spin. “Ah, a blinding kiss. That sounds about right.”
“He was funny and charming, a bit naughty. Handsome. Frankly, he was everything. When I knew he loved me, too…” She shrugged, a dreamy tilt curving her lips. “There was no question.”
“So you can just know,” Raine whispered. “In an instant.”
Charlotte nodded. “Sometimes, yes, of course. However, Phillip and I took years to get around to it. We aren’t a perfect example.”
“It’s complicated. This man I speak of”—Raine laid the flower on her apron and glanced into Charlotte’s eyes, then back at her worn slippers—“he’s not a servant. It won’t advance his life, his career, his holdings in any of the ways another marriage, to someone more appropriate, wealthy or highborn, would. But he doesn’t care about that, and I’m not sure I should care so very much.”
“Does Mister Bainbridge love you? Do you love him? I think these are the questions you should ask yourself. That you should consider above any other. Not if he’s listed in Debrett’s Peerage or needs funds for his watchmaking business, which I can assure you, from what I know, he does not.”
Raine’s heart dropped to her knees. She swiveled on the bench, marble snagging her dress. “How did you know?”
Charlotte chewed on her lip, her smile when it broke through positively wicked. “You crossed the main hall yesterday on your way to the kitchens. You were reading a book and almost walked into a wall. Mister Bainbridge was at the front door with Lord Jonathan, and his gaze followed you until you were lost from sight. His expression…” She fanned her cheeks and trailed the daisy across them. “His expression was a study in dazzled befuddlement. He had to shake himself out of a stupor as if he’d had a sudden rush of blood to the head.” She pointed her flower at Raine, shrugged a slim shoulder. “He’s been here before, and certainly, there have been rumors in the scandal sheets, men will be men, but he’s always seemed lonely to me. Remote, without anyone except that scamp of a valet, Mister Pennington, by his side. So, my dear Miss Mowbray, what you can offer, if he loves you, is you. Not funds or property or a silly title, but you. And you are the only you he’ll ever be lucky enough to find.”
Raine watched a ladybug crawl along the bench and, with a flicker of its wings, drift from sight. The anguish in Kit’s voice when he spoke of having no one after his family died whispered through her mind. Even with the wenches and the watches, she suspected he was lonely. In a way only someone just as lonely could understand. “Will the duke be incensed if I agree to marry Mister Bainbridge and move to London? He did go to such trouble to secure my future and get me away from Tavistock House.”
Charlotte giggled and threw her arm around Raine’s shoulder, sending their daisies tumbling to the grass. “He’s a romantic! Do you see the way he looks at the duchess when she doesn’t know he’s looking? He’ll be extremely happy for you. Just think, we can have another wedding in the chapel! This is the most glorious year ever!”
Abigail Frank and Rex Ableman had gotten married in the estate’s chapel just after Raine arrived at Hartland Abbey, and Charlotte and Phillip had married there one month ago.
“Are you going to say yes?” Charlotte asked. “Tell me you are. I’ll help you plan, and we can have a dress made and…”
Raine smiled softly and ducked her head, Charlotte’s excited chatter flowing over her, the image of taking Kit’s hand in the enchanting Devon sanctuary too wonderful to imagine.
She only had to find the courage to seize her heart’s desire.
It was as simple as that.
Chapter 6
Hartland Abbey was tranquil, hushed, servants above and below stair asleep, duties complete. Kitchens cleaned, wicks extinguished, floors swept, beds turned, basins freshened. Raine tiptoed down the hallway, halting at Kit’s bedchamber door. It had been easy, a remark about the delivery of a letter that didn’t exist, to find out which room was his. She placed her hand on the walnut door as if she’d be able to feel his presence, then laughed at herself for such lovesick foolishness.
She stood there for a minute, perhaps two, the tick of a mantel clock Kit had likely recalibrated signaling the passing of time and her increasing cowardice.
“Damn and blast,” Raine whispered and tapped on the door. How hard was it to tell a man you loved him? Wanted to marry him. Live the rest of your days watching him fiddle with his timepieces. Translate his ridiculously intricate chronometer designs and have his undoubtedly gorgeous children.
She pressed her hand to her quivering belly.
Very hard, indeed.
The knob squealed, and the door inched open. Raine exhaled, then caught herself, and clamped her lips shut as Christian moved into view, perching his shoulder on the doorjamb with a look of surprise, pleasure, and finally, uncertainty. She took him in from head to toe. Heavens. Trousers hanging low on his lean hips. No shirt, no shoes, no stockings. A dusting of hair on his chest that trailed down and into his wrinkled waistband. His body was lean but layered with muscle. A body she wanted to press into service, to warm like clay with her hands and sculpt. Her skin flushed, a steady, unfamiliar pulse settling between her thighs.
She’d never seen a man in such an unclothed state—but she presumed from her response that she rather liked it.
He allowed the perusal, patient, relaxed, a wry smile turning his lips, that enchanting dimple denting his cheek. “Do I pass muster?” he murmured after a charged pause, rotating the tiny screwdriver he held in his hand.
She nodded to the tool. “Do you work at all hours?”
He glanced at her bare toes peeping from the hem of her dress with a raised brow. “It’s what I have, Miss Mowbray. It’s what I have.”
She flushed, not about to tell him she’d raced from her attic bedchamber to his door without stockings or slippers. “Are you going to send me away?” she asked because he seemed to be guarding the room.
In response, Christian trailed the pointed tip of the screwdriver from the end of her ring finger to her wrist. She sucked in a gasp, her hand flexing, her knees trembling beneath her skirt. “Are you going to marry me, Raine? Not to sound missish, but if you want this”—he nodded to the bedchamber—“you�
��re going to have to marry me to get it. My body, mind, and soul are yours if you’ll agree to take them. But I won’t ruin you. I won’t. And I can’t share any more of myself and wonder if I’ll get it back. I’m in too deep for that.” He swallowed hard, his sapphire eyes darting to the floor, and she knew with such sweet simplicity that her roguish, complicated, brilliant watchmaker was as delicate of heart as she. “You fear being beholden, but what if I were to tell you I would be wholly beholden as well? What if we are worth more than any promise you made to yourself?” His gaze lifted, his earnestness smoothing away her fear like a plane to rough wood. “I won’t own you in any way you don’t own me.”
Encouraged by his passionate focus, she wiggled the screwdriver from his grasp and trailed it along the line of hair on his chest, over his ribs, halting at his navel. He blew out a startled breath and whispered her name beneath it. Two could play this game, she thought. And she’d always loved games. “You’ve decided then?”
His muscles quivered beneath the cool metal. “In 1810, as a matter of fact.”
She laughed, freely, joyously, astonished by her boldness. “What about the wenches?”
Tempting the Scoundrel Page 6
