With a quick look down the thankfully deserted hallway, he grasped her wrist and dragged her into the room. “No more wenches. You, my lovely bluestocking, are more than enough for this lifetime.”
Turning, she rested against the door, the taper on the bedside table throwing a golden glow over a space that held his scent so firmly she felt a quiver run through her. Bluestocking. How odd. How enchanting. “Kit Bainbridge, if I tell you I love you more than I imagined possible, that I don’t want to be without you for another moment, that you are the most incredible man I’ve ever met, can I have a modest token of appreciation before the wedding? Our wedding.” She pressed her lips together, holding back her smile as he absorbed her adoring confession. “A kiss, perhaps. Like the one in the study earlier today. That little thing you did, when you nibbled on my bottom lip. Heavenly.”
“I think I can arrange that,” he whispered and reached, tugging her mobcap from her head and dropping it to the floor. Removed one hairpin at a time until her chignon collapsed over her shoulders in a golden shroud. “Your hair is divine. Never restrain it. Beautiful things should be able to follow their own will.” He filled his hand with the strands, trailing his fingers up the nape of her neck and bringing her against his hard body.
She caught his shoulders and swayed, melting into him. His skin was warm beneath her questing fingers, a smattering of hair on his chest, a mottled scar on his shoulder.
Tipping her head high, he captured her lips beneath his and circled her, once, twice, like they waltzed across a ballroom. He breathed into her mouth, used his tongue to engage and attack, unleashing her rabid hunger. Bowing into him, she threaded her arms around his neck and put every part of her lonely soul into the kiss, without hesitation or fear. Within moments, they were lost.
Obliterated, shattered.
When her hip bumped the bed, he halted, a fierce exhalation racing from his lips, his dazed eyes meeting hers. “Will that suffice? For the token of appreciation?”
Gazing at him, she searched her heart for what she wanted.
Not what society expected or what anyone would advise her to do. She searched for what she, Raine Mowbray, wanted. Obedience be damned, she thought. Presenting her back, she swept her hair over one shoulder, bowed her head. She could feel his moist breath against her neck as he leaned in but didn’t touch. Her awareness of another human being had never been this potent, desire connecting them as if the emotion held its own lifeforce.
“Undress me, Kit,” she whispered with a teasing look thrown back at him.
“Are you sure?” His pupils flared, a flood of dark black. “We have time. Thousands of nights.”
She closed her eyes as the screwdriver slipped from her hand to the carpet. “I love you. And I want our life, the ‘we’ you spoke of, to start right now.”
Goosebumps exploded along her arms as he went to work on her practical gown fit for summer servitude and nothing more, loosening the tie at her neck, releasing the hook and eyelets at her waist. The material drooped, and Christian swept his hand around her hips, pulling her back against his aroused body as his lips fell to her neck. Teeth nipping, tongue soothing, her muffled sigh expressed her arousal, her impatience.
“A slim form such as yours does not need a corset,” he said into the curve of her shoulder.
She turned in his arms, letting her dress puddle at her feet. “Just how well do you know women’s apparel, Kit Bainbridge?”
He cupped her cheek, tilted her face up. “I can’t recall anyone before you. You’re all I desire. My heart, my soul. There’s no one else. Really, there never has been.”
He was skilled, even if she wished he wasn’t, removing her frayed petticoat and chemise while kissing the very life from her, until she stood before him in a pool of spent clothing, longing forging a persuasive path from her inflamed mind to her tingling toes. When she shivered and made to cross her hands over her chest, he held her arms by her side. “Oh, no. You are breathtaking, more beautiful than I’d dreamed, and I’ve spent many nights dreaming, Raine. But let’s level the playing field, I agree. Where you go, I follow.” Stepping back, his fingers went to the fall of his breeches, unbuttoning as her heart raced. He wore no drawers, and when he flicked open the final button and kicked aside the garment, there wasn’t a stitch of cotton or linen between them.
She hadn’t known what to imagine, but he was the beautiful one. Lithe and lean, his skin golden, a body in ideal balance. Her gaze traveled below his waist. A prolonged breath escaped through her teeth as he took himself in hand and stroked, slowly, his eyes locked on hers.
“Are you certain you’ll fit?”
“Trust me, love, we were made for each other.” Smiling, he gave her a gentle push that sent her across the feather mattress, where he then flooded over her. His serene patience evaporated the moment his skin met hers, his hands roaming as his lips reclaimed.
It was an assault, sure, steady, relentless.
Hunger, reckless passion.
Desperation.
With a hoarse murmur, she gripped his hip, his shoulder, nails scraping his back, hardly knowing how she’d come to be squeezed into this molten, quivering mass of flesh, not one whit of intent beyond a maddening race for pleasure. His hand cupped her breast, thumb sweeping her nipple, circling, and sweeping again. Her back arched off the mattress, and she let out a frayed sound, interrupting a kiss she could no longer sustain.
“Duly noted,” he murmured and tugged the peaked nub between his lips, biting lightly until she felt the hard pinch in her fingertips, the soles of her feet, the backs of her knees. Her rough moan shattered the stillness, her hands falling from him to twist in the counterpane, her body curving into his touch. A sharp gust ripped in the open window and swept her, cooling skin reheated moments later. Stunned, she lay there as he kissed one breast and palmed the other, switched, then switched again, until she could absorb nothing but their gulping, ragged breaths, walled inside a house of pleasure.
“Your heartbeat is racing beneath my lips. I’m crazy for the feel of you.” He shifted his hips with a groan, his cock settling against her warm folds, a natural, flawless fit. They moved together, creating a rhythm he echoed with his tongue when he captured her mouth beneath his.
Awash in sensation, her fingers rose to tangle in his hair as she begged for more.
He snaked his hand between their bodies, palming her thigh, delving between her legs. He queried lightly, gently, sliding a finger inside her, a leisurely effort that left her trembling, strung tight, expectant. Wanting. This was nothing like what she’d done to herself on those solitary nights in her bed, her knowledge of her body slight but her yearning fierce.
It was as if he knew her better than she knew herself.
Knew exactly where to touch her, how to touch her.
“There. More, oh, Kit,” she whispered against his shoulder as he inserted another finger, biting his skin to emphasize her plea. “There.”
When she went to touch him, feel his rigid length for the first time, he lifted her arm high over her head, stretching her body out like one of his chains beneath him. “My bluestocking arrives, wild and greedy. I would love to have your hands on me, but if that happens now, I’ll come in seconds.” Rising over her, he braced his weight on his forearm, never releasing his hold on her, below the waist or above. “Look at me, love.”
When she did, she found his gaze stunned, brow moist, cheeks glowing, lips parted—truthfully looking as devastated as she felt. “What?” she murmured, lost, trying to catch what she’d missed. “Why did you stop?”
He grinned, laughed softly, looking so boyishly handsome her heart stuttered. “I love you, Raine, with everything inside me, and I’ll thank God every day for sending you to me again. I just wanted you to know before I took you.” Astonishing admission released to the night, he positioned his body and slid inside her, just enough. Not nearly enough. The feeling of fullness was astounding, frightening…magnificent.
He caught her
thigh, angling her leg over his hip and stroked, taking calm possession until they were locked, hip to hip. Tunneling his arm beneath her, he set a fundamental rhythm, a cadence neither reckless nor rushed. An elegant tempo of slick skin, seeking hands, broken, uneven kisses. Half-breaths and fractured moans. She answered his earnest questions—is this okay, does it hurt—his aroused murmurs a bottomless tremor in her ear. And he followed her instructions—faster, deeper, there—with almost perfect devotion.
She moved against him, drove him, drove herself, with confidence born of instinct.
Any pain was fleeting, minor, and after a few moments, nonexistent. The world constricted to his frantic directions, his clutching hold, his weight, the salty taste of his skin. The tart scent of them riding the air, the sheets, their bodies.
She tried to tell him what was happening inside her, the creeping sensation of being swept away on a roaring tide, but the tremors racking her made speech challenging and rational thought impossible. But he understood, reaching between them, a final, prolonged touch between her legs all it took to unleash her climax. An endless release that drew reason and breath from her until she was boneless, floating on a sea of twisted silk bedding, helpless to do anything but allow passion to take her.
His answering groan and thrust deep, deep inside her confirmed he’d reached this wondrous place, too.
They gasped and clung, lips touching, chests heaving, brow to brow, cheek to cheek. He tried to say something but finally shook his head and collapsed to his side, bringing her with him. Wordlessly, he tucked her against his body. She opened her mouth, feeling she must say something, but he shook his head again and whisked his finger across her lips. Not yet.
Before she could take another breath, her solicitous, remarkable intended tumbled into an exhausted sleep.
She could only sigh, laugh, and join him, her heart lighter than a butterfly’s wings.
* * *
She wasn’t alone.
The panicked realization ripped through Raine’s mind before she remembered. Blinking, she rose to her elbow, her hair a flaxen shroud falling over the man whose shoulder she’d been using as a pillow. Christian’s breathing was even, his lids fluttering with dreams she hoped she inhabited. She looked to the window, determined it to be an hour or so before dawn. She’d need to leave him soon, creep back to the attic, and pretend she’d been there all night.
Instead of what she’d been doing, which was planning her future.
Raine dropped her cheek to her hand, allowing herself a moment to watch him. Record every inch of him as she’d been too occupied during the night to do. The sheet was tangled about his long legs and drawn judiciously to his trim waist. His belly rose and fell with his breaths. She trailed a finger up his chest, traced a crescent scar on his neck, marveled at eyelashes that looked like the tips had been dipped in amber.
He wasn’t perfect. He had a temper. He was impulsive. Even a little arrogant. But he was also generous. Considerate. Shy, unbelievably. And so talented he made her proud when she’d no reason to claim the sentiment.
He was a sincere man in a society of impersonators.
And he was hers.
“Your scrutiny is lighting me up like you pressed a glowing ember against my skin,” he whispered and rolled over her, their bodies settling flawlessly into place. “I’m a watchmaker without a timepiece. How long do we have?” He gazed to the window, chewed his bottom lip in deliberation. “I have an appointment with Devon at nine, the courtesy of informing him of our upcoming nuptials before any bit of nonsense about us is repeated. In light of your father not being here for me to ask. Though once we return to London, it’s my first task.”
Her heart squeezed. Love was a powerful drug, indeed. “We have ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”
He nodded, the keen glow in his eyes sending a serrated pulse through her. “I’ll make it work.”
“We’ll see,” she said as he dipped his head to nibble on a sensitive spot beneath her jaw. Both times during the night had taken longer, much longer.
“Oh, love, just watch me.” His hand swept low, his fingers, his tongue, his teeth following just behind, turning her world upside down. “And you know what they say. Third time’s a charm.”
So, she did. And it was.
Chapter 7
Christian was rarely nervous.
However, the Duke of Devon’s regard across the breakfast table was unflinching, rather like Christian had felt upon being summoned to the headmaster’s office at Harrow. Which, due to his tenacious nature, had occurred often.
After escorting Raine to her attic chamber without incident just before dawn, he’d taken a stroll around the estate, nerves snapping, pulse drumming. Nervousness was allowed; it wasn’t every day a man publicly professed his love and intention to marry the woman of his dreams. Across the sloping lawn, over the bridge, and past the spot where he and Raine had shared the first of what would surely be many arguments, he’d considered his future and his extreme good fortune.
He was, after all, gaining a passionate wife.
And passionate women didn’t always do what their men wanted them to.
When the sun had risen high enough in a vivid blue sky to designate it appropriate, he’d gone in search of James Hampton, the fourth Duke of Devon. Surprisingly, Christian was directed to the breakfast room, where His Grace, an early riser unlike most of the useless fops in the ton according to the footman, was having tea while reviewing an ironed edition of The Times.
To say His Grace’s glittering green gaze could cut glass as he waited for his watchmaker to get to the point would be apropos. Christian sipped his tea when he much preferred coffee and practiced his entry into the conversation. You see, Your Grace, ten years ago…
“Let me expedite the process as you’re about to splash tea on your waistcoat. You’ve come to alert me to the fact that Miss Mowbray will not be in my employ for any longer than it takes you to finish calibrating my clocks. Does that adequately summarize the situation?”
Christian’s cheeks stung, emotion flowing freely across his face an embarrassing predicament since he was a child. And then it occurred to him that someone in the house may have seen them sneaking through the halls this morning, fingers linked, faces aglow. “I don’t… that is to say, Miss Mowbray…”
The duke laughed, bringing his napkin to his lips to hide it. “You’ve not been caught if that’s your concern. And if it is, I’m heartily glad you’re making the expedient decision to offer for the girl.” He dusted his lips with the linen square and laughed again, truly the first time Christian had known the man to show such cheerfulness. Being a source of entertainment was starting to nip at his self-esteem as much as embarrassment had his cheeks. “Calm down, my man. Miss Mowbray spoke to someone in the household, a request for feminine advice, I believe. It traveled from there, quite swiftly, into my ears. I’m a fair taskmaster, Bainbridge, so my staff talks to me. I know it’s unheard of in some aristocratic families, but I prefer it to surviving on a bolster of fear and intimidation.”
Christian placed his cup on the saucer before he dribbled tea as the duke had predicted. “The particulars aren’t valuable to anyone but us, but I’ve loved her for ten years. This isn’t a chance occurrence for me, random temptation or some such. Happening upon her here, in your employ, is nothing short of a miracle. I’ll go to any length to secure her happiness. You have my word.”
A boy raced into the room and threw himself at the duke. “Father! You must come and see what I’ve built. It’s simply marvelous. Miss Daisy said it’s the best castle she’s ever seen!”
Devon ruffled his son’s hair and gifted him with a loving smile. “I’ll come straightaway, Nicholas. Just give me a moment to finish my discussion with Mister Bainbridge.”
Nicholas turned to Christian with an impish smile. “You’re the watchmaker.”
“I am indeed. I wasn’t much older than you when I started taking timepieces apart and putting them back together.”
He pulled a center wheel from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to the boy. Nicholas snatched it from Christian with a gasp of delight. Christian’s heart softened, thinking of a child with Raine’s golden eyes someday staring up at him. “I’m working on Philip Webster’s pocket watch this morning. If you come to your father’s study in one hour, if your governess allows it, I’ll show you exactly where it fits within the other parts. Maybe I’ll even, if you have a very steady hand, let you tighten a case screw.”
Nicholas traced his finger over the wheel. “I have a steady hand like no other. I’m a Devon.”
Christian grinned, charmed. “Well, then, you’ll be an ace at it right off.”
The duke gave his son a nudge. “Back to the nursery. Tell Miss Daisy one hour, in my study, for a watchmaking lesson. Thank Mister Bainbridge for the wheel.”
Nicholas bowed dutifully and offered his thanks before bolting from the room.
“You’re good with children,” Devon said with a speculative look in his eye.
Christian fiddled with his silverware, his gaze going to a dour landscape hanging on the wall behind the duke. “I want a family. As it is, I have none.”
The duke wiped at a smudge on the table, then placed his napkin in his lap. “I can speak with Vicar Rawley if you’d like to have the ceremony here. My chapel is exceedingly lovely if I do say so myself. We’ve recently hosted two weddings, and it didn’t take long to arrange either. Then, you can get started right away on that family you’re seeking.”
Christian blinked, stunned by the offer. He would have to speak to Raine, but he’d like nothing more than to secure her hand before they returned to London. “Is marriage easy?” he blurted out, having no idea this would fall from his lips.
The duke’s teacup and saucer rattled as he bumped them, glee splitting his cheeks. “Who told you that balderdash? Easy? What woman have you ever found to be easy? But the easy ones, my friend, are also boring. You want to avoid monotony at all costs. My duchess has never bored me a day in my life.”
Tempting the Scoundrel Page 7
