To Tempt a Rake

by Cara Elliott

  The twisted grimace and soundless scream as he dropped to the ground.

  “It was an accident, Kate. The brute forced your hand and suffered the consequences.” Marco steadied her trembling shoulders. “You did the right thing, cara, the honorable thing, in rushing to help the woman. Sometimes it is necessary to take a life in order to defend another person or a noble principle.”

  A connection seemed to form between them, drawing them closer together. “Please hold me. Just for a little longer,” whispered Kate. “I—I don’t want to be alone.”

  His lips brushed against her cheek. “I won’t leave you.”

  The husky murmur sent a shiver through her, a spark of ice-hot fire that left her limp with longing. She had never surrendered herself completely. Her only affair—the short-lived dalliance with the handsome American naval officer—had been more out of curiosity than any heartfelt passion. Marco ignited far more complex feelings, far more burning needs. His body seemed branded on hers, every hard, lean muscle scorched on her flesh.

  Fire sparked deep in her core.

  She sensed that Marco was a kindred spirit. Like her, he seemed to dwell in a strange sliver of twilight, a netherworld of sun and shadow. They both had a darkness deep within, a secret place locked to all others. Marco immersed himself in dissolute pleasures, but Kate had a feeling that some private pain was driving him to the brink of despair. He was a good man, an honorable man, though he refused to admit it.

  Secrets and suffering. Yet another bond between them.

  A bond of friendship—no, more than friendship. She feared she was falling in love with him.

  Looking up, she saw him watching her intently, a tangle of dark, silky hair falling over his brow. His half-hidden eyes had a dangerous glitter, like pirate gold beckoning from beneath the waves.

  Tantalizing. Tempting her to steal a touch.

  Kate lifted a hand and traced the line of his jaw. Love was, of course, not a word he would ever say. Nor would she. For a brief, beautiful moment their bodies would couple and then they would come apart.

  She would have to be satisfied with that.

  “Strega,” he said in a sin-soft voice. “I fear you are a wild sea witch come to drown me in desire.” His head was framed in the skylight overhead. The glass shimmered in the pale light as wispy clouds floated over the moon, weaving silvery threads in the black velvet sky.

  Kate boldly brought his hand to her breast. “I seem to be sinking in the same spell. The ocean currents are a force too powerful to tame.”

  His gaze began to burn with a smoky, seductive fire. “Be careful what you start,” he rasped. “You’ve already experienced the fact that I’m not a gentleman. I won’t stop, even if you tell me to.”

  Kate didn’t believe that, but it didn’t matter. She had no intention of begging him to stop. In answer, she lifted herself on tiptoes and ran her tongue along the curl of his lower lip.

  “Then it’s a good thing that I’m not a lady.”

  His mouth quivered and then opened to suck her into a lush, liquid kiss. He tasted of hot spice and raw need, and as his teeth nipped her sensitive flesh, her breath melted to a moan.

  Marco was right—there was nothing gentlemanly about his embrace. It was ruthless, ravaging, and the fierceness of his passion sent a lick of fire curling between her legs.

  Oh, she was wicked to ache for his intimate touch. Yet somehow it felt so exquisitely right. Arching into his body, she pressed herself up against the hard ridge of his arousal.

  A rough growl resonated deep in his throat.

  Slipping her hand inside the placket of his shirt, Kate skimmed her palm over his chest, reveling in the masculine textures of coarse curling hair and smooth muscle. Marco tensed as her thumb stroked over the flat nub of his nipple with a slow, circling touch.

  “Dio Madre.” Releasing her mouth, he trailed a line of lapping kisses to the soft, sensitive spot below her ear.

  She shuddered as his warm, moist breath tickled her flesh, teasing a trail to the throbbing pulse point of her neck. A purr of pure pleasure escaped her lips.

  “Cara—Kate.” His voice was a little unsteady, Italian and English tangling together in a heated rush of murmured words.

  She felt a rush of intoxicating power that she could affect his self-control. The feeling of naked femininity bubbled through her like costly champagne. Emboldened, she brought her palm down to the front of his trousers and traced the steely shape of his arousal, feeling its pulsing heat straining to break free of the finespun wool.

  His groan grew louder. Rougher. Hooking a finger in her bodice, Marco pulled it down, exposed a breast. He bent his head, the rasp of his stubbled cheek in contrast to the wet velvet heat of his mouth closing over her. A flick of his tongue sent a jolt of fire spiraling through her belly.

  “Marco,” Kate whispered in wonder as sweet sensation played over and over her nipple. Biting back a louder cry, she twisted hard against his hips.

  He looked up for just a moment with a sensuous smile. “Lentemente, bella.”

  Slowly. Slowly. He resumed his unhurried caresses, laving, suckling her peaked flesh to a point of rosy fire. As he kissed her, his hands leisurely explored the curve of her back, the contour of her hips, the shape of her derriere.

  Kate couldn’t still her impatience. The need to join herself with him was growing unbearable. She wanted him filling the void inside her, sharing his strength—and his weakness. Both of them had aching, empty places. Perhaps for a fleeting interlude they could make each other whole.

  “Oh, please,” she gasped. “Prego.”

  A low laugh thrummed against her skin. But as he fisted her skirts, a tremor betrayed that his own self-control was fast unraveling. Fabric frothed over her knees and his long, lithe hands lifted her up to a seat on the statue.

  The marble was cool against her legs, and it took an instant for her feverish brain to realize that her perch was an oversized penis. Kate knew she should be aghast at her position, but in truth it was madly, wantonly erotic.

  A dream beyond her wildest fantasy.

  “Sei belissimo.” Marco’s fingers were like silk gliding up the inside of her thighs. “You are so beautiful.”

  And he was an ancient Roman god come to life. Chiseled perfection, thrumming with passion.

  He untied her drawers and pulled them off. “Spread your legs, Kate.”

  She gasped as he skimmed through her damp curls and parted her feminine folds. A fingertip found her hidden pearl.

  “Belissimo,” he repeated, his touch teasing, tantalizing. His voice sounded fuzzy. All she could hear was the surge of desire pounding in her ears, like the surf of an azure ocean washing over a tropical shore.

  Her hand found the fastening of his trousers and quickly freed it, allowing his shaft to spring free. She curled her fingers around his length, and the feel of him—steel and velvet—took her breath away.

  Marco murmured something—she knew not what. All rational thought dissolved in a moan as he eased closer and positioned himself at the entrance to her passage.

  He nudged in a fraction, parting the honeyed flesh.

  “Yes.” Her need was beyond words. “Yes.”

  With a hoarse groan, Marco thrust deep into her, burying himself to the hilt.

  Her body clenched.

  He moved slowly, gently at first, allowing her passage to adjust to him. Then, unleashing his restraint, he quickened his tempo, filling her with hard, powerful strokes.

  Kate felt the muscles of his back harden, and quickly matched his rhythm. The tension was mounting inside her, too. Seeking release, she arched her body, riding the crest of the wave higher and higher. Marco surged into her, and suddenly a shower of stars was washing over her.

  Covering her mouth with his, Marco muffled her cry of climax. Dio Madre. The taste was unbearably sweet—spice and sunshine overpowered every last vestige of dissolute darkness from his soul. He felt innocent. An illusion, of course, but for the moment
it filled him with joy. With hope.

  With…

  Lust. That’s all it was—a primal animal attraction. There was no room in a rake’s heart for any softer sentiment.

  Kate bit his lip as she bucked beneath his body. Driving deeper, Marco lost himself in the last shivering waves of her pleasure. Her warmth flooded through him, like fire-kissed honey. A shudder spasmed through him, and his own liquid essence spilled into her.

  Hell, he had meant to withdraw, but…

  A dog’s agitated bark shattered the sultry stillness of the gallery. The sound was close.

  Too close, cursed Marco.

  Boots thudded on the stone tiles.

  He froze, their bodies still joined together, and pressed a palm over Kate’s mouth.

  The door latch rattled. “Just as I suspected. It’s locked. The only key is here on my ring.” Tappan’s voice betrayed a note of irritation. “Damnation, silence the bloody hound and take him back to the kennels. He must have scented a fox or a badger.”

  Marco heard a sharp slap, followed by a low snarl. “Yes, m’lord.” The retreating steps quickly faded away.

  “Let us hope it was not some larger predator.” It was the stranger who spoke up.

  “I tell you, there is no cause for alarm,” Tappan assured him. “Everyone, including the Foreign Office, thinks that I’ve left for Vienna. Our secret is quite safe.”

  There was a fraction of a pause. “What if the missing plant is noticed by the duke? Are you not worried that its disappearance might cause suspicion to fall on you?”

  “No,” replied Tappan. “The duke’s expertise is English wildflowers. He knows nothing about esoteric plants. Miss Woodbridge might be a problem, but even if she noticed its absence, she’s hardly in a position to raise the alarm.” He gave a low laugh. “I tell you, the plan is a perfectly constructed puzzle—no one is capable of putting all the complex pieces together.”

  The stranger gave a grunt.

  “As for the poison itself, I shall take pains to appear at another venue on the night that you plan to use it. Is the Carousel still scheduled to take place at the Spanish Riding School?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, come, no need to be coy,” said Tappan. “It is in both of our interests for me to be fully informed. The chances of anyone connecting me to the death are minuscule, and I should like to keep them that way.”

  “Very well,” came the curt reply. “The answer is yes.”

  “Oh, excellent. And what a delicious irony. The victim will succumb to the prick of a blade while watching a faux medieval joust.”

  “Quiet,” snarled the stranger.

  “Don’t look so grim,” replied Tappan. “Rest assured that the poison leaves no trace. Everyone will assume the fellow died of natural causes. Then, with the throne empty, you should have no problem controlling your country’s delegation.”

  “My God,” whispered Kate, her eyes widening. “They are planning to kill a king.”

  Nodding, Marco drew a taut breath and held it in his lungs.

  “I trust that you are as diabolically clever as you claim to be,” said the stranger. “If all goes as you say, my countrymen and I will have other work for you.”

  “I look forward to a long—and profitable—partnership,” answered Tappan. “My price for this was high, but I am sure you will find the result well worth the cost.”

  “Let us hope so.”

  “You won’t be disappointed.” Leather scraped over stone as Tappan stepped down from the terraced walkway. “Shall we go back and finish our brandy? My carriage will be ready to leave in a quarter hour.”

  Marco waited several minutes more before easing himself away from Kate. Swiftly, silently, they fixed their disheveled clothing. Relieved that she appeared in no mood to talk, he retrieved the knife from the floor and signaled her to follow him to the door. A turn of the lever released the lock and allowed it to swing open.

  They slipped out and made their way over the garden wall and back to the woodland path leading to the duke’s estate.

  Leaves crackled underfoot as they skirted the lake, echoing his own conflicted emotions. He had done his duty for Lynsley—that was not in question. Yet he couldn’t help feeling that somehow he had taken shameless advantage of Kate in a moment of vulnerability. Danger was like a drug—it did strange things to the mind.

  He knew that all too well. But did she?

  “Kate,” he said hesitantly. “I… that is, we—”

  “We need to act on Tappan’s treachery, and quickly,” she cut in decisively. “Alessandra has hinted that you occasionally work with Lord Lynsley. Have you any idea how to contact him?”

  “Yes. I’ve a way to send a message, in case of emergency,” he replied. “It’s just a short ride away.”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble sneaking into the stables at this hour.” She deliberately avoided his eye. “There is a side entrance by the water troughs that is used by the grooms—”

  “Thank you, but I’m familiar with the layout of the stables.”

  “Very professional.” Kate quickened her pace as they reached the outer fringe of lawn. “I suspected that you were exaggerating your dissolute depravity.”

  “Kate,” he began again. “What happened between us—”

  “What happened between us is irrelevant at the moment,” she interrupted. “We have far more important issues to deal with than personal ones.” Her skirts swished around her exposed legs. “Good heavens, Ghiradelli. I am not some simpering innocent, about to sink into a swoon over sacrificing her virtue—again, I might add.”

  Marco supposed that her cynicism should have put him more at ease. Instead, it only compounded his confusion. “You are right, of course. The threat to the peace conference must take precedence for now.” He caught her arm and spun her around to face him. A squall was blowing through and the first few raindrops began to slap against the ornamental plantings. In the awkward silence, they sounded loud as gunshots.

  “But we will discuss this,” added Marco in a low voice. “Of that you may be sure.”

  Her chin came up a fraction. “There really isn’t all that much to say. The interlude was pleasant.”

  “Pleasant?” he echoed.

  “Your reputation is well-deserved.” Kate reached up and slowly peeled his fingers from her arm. Beads of water clung to her lashes, dark as India ink in the murky shadows. Her hands were cold as ice. “Surely you don’t need to hear a paean to your sexual prowess.”

  “Not unless you would care to recite it somewhere warm and dry,” he said, using sarcasm to shield his uncertainty.

  “You have another assignation,” she retorted. “And you’d best hurry.” Pointing to one of the side paths, she added, “That’s a shortcut to the stables, in case your reconnaissance didn’t extend to the gardens.”

  He shifted his feet uncomfortably, loath to leave her alone. “You can make it to the manor house by yourself?”

  “Of course.” Kate turned away, a tangle of sodden hair hiding her expression. “I am a pirate captain’s daughter, remember? I am perfectly capable of navigating through stormy seas on my own.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Kate eased into her darkened room and quietly closed the door, hoping her muddied shoes hadn’t left a telltale trail of mud in the corridor. She didn’t bother lighting a candle to dispel the gloom. Outside, a gray, grainy dawn was hovering on the horizon. The coming day looked to be dreary, but she was too numb and exhausted to care.

  The night seemed so unreal. Flashing back to the moonlit sculptures, the shadowed play of light on the lewd stone and impassioned flesh, she couldn’t help feeling as if some dark narcotic had swirled up from the marble.

  Plopping down on her bed, she crossed her shivering arms and contemplated her rumpled garments. Sniff. Her nostrils crinkled. The scent of sex must be hanging like a dark cloud over her head, thick and noxious as a London fog. But instead of a putrid yellow, hers was likely a deprav
ed scarlet. Perhaps it was formed in the shape of an A.

  Sniff. This time the sharp inhale was to hold back the sting of tears.

  The door to the adjoining rooms opened a crack, admitting a flicker of candlelight. “Miss Kate?”

  “Yes.” She tried to sound composed, but barely recognized her own voice.

  Her maid took a long look, her knowing eyes slowly moving up from the bedraggled skirts to the skewed bodice to the tangle of snarled hair hanging limply over one shoulder.

  “I must look like a tupenny whore,” said Kate, essaying a note of humor. Only a slight tremor at the last word ruined the effect.

  Alice set down the light and enfolded her in a wordless hug.

  Kate bit at her lip, only to wince. The kiss-swollen flesh was still tender to the touch.

  “I shall order up a hot bath,” murmured her maid. “And a steaming pot of tea.”

  “It’s four in the morning,” pointed out Kate.

  “Your grandfather employs an army of servants. I won’t have any trouble enlisting a few to do my bidding.”

  Kate didn’t argue. The idea of a soothing soak suddenly seemed heavenly. “Bless you, Alice,” she murmured.

  “It’s not me that’s in need of divine intervention,” said Alice with a wry grimace. “But barring the appearance of a guardian angel, you’ll have to make do with your maid.”

  Working with her usual quiet efficiency, Alice marshaled her forces and soon had a tub set up behind the lacquered bathing screen.

  Stripping off her chilled garments, Kate lowered herself into the lavender-scented water with a blissful sigh.

  “I’ll see about the tea,” said Alice, tactfully withdrawing from the room.

  Taking up a bar of soap, Kate set to scrubbing away the mud, intent on submerging all thoughts about Marco and their lovemaking, at least for the moment.

  Hell, she was immersed in enough problems without worrying about that.

  Despite her resolve, her chin slipped down into the suds and a watery sigh escaped from her lips. Drawing her knees up, she hugged them to her chest. The water stirred, and for an instant she caught a reflection of her face.