2Rakehell

by Debra Glass

“Drop it.”

  The lemon silk slithered down her body as she released it. She lowered her gaze, making her even more endearingly coy. His cock stirred. Dear God, had he turned into a complete and utter mooncalf? Over his wife?

  “Do you wish to take me again?” Her velvety voice caressed him but he also detected a certain trepidation.

  He turned, pushed in the drawer and retrieved a silk banyan from the wardrobe before he closed the doors. Shrugging it on he strode toward her. “Yes. Very much,” he admitted. “But you are doubtless…tender, are you not?”

  She nodded.

  “Ring for someone to draw you a bath.”

  Her gaze flicked to her robe on the floor and then back to his eyes. A shard of pride pierced him. She was learning the dynamic between them very well. Very well indeed.

  He stooped and picked the garment up. “You may cover yourself when the servants are about,” he said, stepping behind her to slip the fabric over her arms.

  “Thank you,” she murmured before she crossed her room to tug the bellpull.

  Moments later, Primrose’s maid appeared. Not meeting the servant’s eyes, Primrose instructed her to draw a hot bath. Obviously struggling not to appear surprised at both of them in dishabille, the maid muttered her acquiescence, bobbed a curtsy and then hurried out of the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Adam stepped behind Primrose and drew her back to his chest. Sliding his hands into the opening of her dressing gown, he caressed the satiny skin of her belly and the fullness of her breasts. She sighed as she rested against him.

  “You should not be ashamed,” he whispered into her hair. “Look them in the eye. Make it known you are their superior in every way.”

  “But—”

  One hand closed over a breast. His other caught her chin and lifted it so that her head fell back on his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “You serve only me, Primrose. As far as everyone else in this house is concerned you are their queen. Do you understand?”

  When she didn’t respond immediately, he kneaded her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a little moan. She writhed when he gave the taut bud a firm pinch. “Do you?”

  “I do,” she squeaked.

  He turned her to face him and his own sense of unworthiness threatened to choke him. Admiration shone in her eyes. Fueling it were equal measures of lust and adoration he knew in his stone-cold heart he didn’t—nor would he ever—deserve.

  He was a liar. A fraud. He should confess his questionable birth to her before she conceived his child. “Primrose…” he began.

  Her earnest gaze found his.

  His lips parted and his eyes flicked to her lips. Why did she look so damn kissable when he needed so urgently to unburden himself of the deception that defined his miserable existence?

  “Primrose,” he muttered again as he gave in and bent to claim her lips.

  A gasp from the other side of the room halted him just as his mouth brushed his wife’s. Straightening, he growled and shot the maid an icy stare.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” she said, curtsying low, gaze cast to the floor. “My lady’s bath is ready. Shall I—”

  “Leave us,” Adam said tersely.

  Once she’d disappeared Adam brushed the silk dressing gown away from Primrose’s shoulders, exposing her delectable flesh once more. “That’s much better,” he said, admiring her soft curves.

  She shrugged free of the garment and inhaled deeply, causing her distended nipples to rise, her breasts to swell with her breath.

  “Come,” he told her, lacing his fingers with hers and leading her toward the bath.

  * * * * *

  Primrose’s pulse rampaged as Adam gathered her hair and wound it into a loose bun. No man had ever so much as touched her hair save him and she found it strangely—erotically—exciting. That he even knew how to pin it so it wouldn’t fall made her wonder how many times he’d done this before.

  A lone candle softly illuminated the small room. Outside the windows the last vestiges of daylight clung in a tenuous purple haze to the horizon.

  The scent of lavender rose with the steam from the gleaming copper tub that stood on a low pedestal in the middle of the black-and-white-tiled floor. In spite of the discomfiture of being bathed by her husband she looked forward to sinking into the deep tub and soothing her sore muscles—as well as all those other places that ached.

  He took her hand and held it as she stepped into the water. He kneeled as she sat. This tender side of him surprised her and she couldn’t sort out the riot of emotions roiling inside her. She hardly knew him but she suddenly wanted to know everything. His likes, his dislikes. His fears. His hopes.

  “Lie back,” he said, taking up a cake of soap.

  “I can manage,” she began but he interrupted.

  His eyes darkened but the slight upturn of one corner of his mouth eased her trepidation. “Lie back, pet.”

  She reclined against the sloped back of the tub and closed her eyes as he gently trailed the soap over every inch of her skin. It felt so good it must surely be sinful. Opening her eyes, she watched the flickering light from the single candle soften the hard lines of his aquiline nose, his firm jaw and those gemstone-hard eyes. “I admit I’ve never experienced this sort of day before,” she said.

  “I daresay the distraction of your body compels me to spend many more days like this.”

  Her stomach tightened at the idea of it.

  “Tomorrow, however, will be different, my dear. As will each day following.” His gaze played with hers as he slid the soap between her legs.

  She parted her thighs, giving him greater access. “Different?”

  “I will push you, take you higher until you can tolerate no more.”

  She stared. What did he mean? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “And when you have reached your limit you will have a coming out very unlike your debutante debut.”

  “C-coming out?”

  “At my club.”

  Her breath slammed to a halt. “Club?”

  He put the soap back in its dish before he stood and held his hand open for her. She rose, still holding his gaze, still waiting on him to clarify, as he wrapped her in a towel.

  “Club?” she asked again.

  “You will learn more about the club later, darling. But now you must dress and tend to your affairs as we discussed.” He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep well, pet. After breakfast, come to my room.”

  * * * * *

  Primrose’s clothes felt irritatingly tight and confining as she hurried down the corridor to check on Thorley.

  Even after Adam had bathed her and helped her dress she’d been reluctant to leave his side. Images of the things they’d done together played and replayed through her head, stoking her desire.

  This all-consuming need confused her, left her reeling in its wake. He confused her.

  At times forceful and then in stark contrast, heartbreakingly tender. She couldn’t sort it out.

  Lost in thought, she turned the corner and ran into the hard wall of a chest. Two big hands clamped down on her arms.

  “Well, cousin,” Viscount Lashwood greeted. His wide-set, pale-gray eyes glistened with knowing. The haughty purse of his lips drew into a sneer. A shock of his wavy, straw-colored hair threatened to steal across his high forehead as he looked down at her.

  He was too close. Too threatening. She’d felt a certain amount of trepidation in her husband’s arms but Benedict’s overbearing proximity made her want to shrink.

  Heat flooded Primrose’s cheeks. Doubtless gossip that she’d spent the entire day in bed with her husband had circulated through the house.

  “My, don’t you look fetching.” His leering grin widened. Neither his hands nor his eyes relinquished their uncompromising grasp.

  She shrugged but his fingers tightened menacingly, conflicting with his easy smile. “W-what brings you to Scarborough Hall?”
r />   One eyebrow lifted. “To visit my dear uncle of course,” he said, his tone mocking.

  Primrose cleared her throat and made a second attempt to free herself, but suddenly her back was against the wall and Benedict’s body countered hers in all the wrong places.

  A rough breath left her lungs. “Release me,” she said, her words but a hiss.

  He leaned close and breathed in the scent of her. “Lavender.” He drew in another breath, his eyes closing briefly as he did. “You’ve very recently bathed. A bath in the middle of the afternoon? Primrose, you surprise me.” His words slithered over her like a silky snake’s belly, an omen of danger—of far darker things than Adam even seemed capable.

  Heat flared in her neck and she feared she might faint. “Release me,” she said through clenched teeth, trying in earnest to escape the prison of his arms.

  She was no match for his brute strength. Still, he pretended to be in the dark. “Now why, I wonder, would you bathe in the late afternoon? Could it be your wayward husband has returned?”

  Her gaze clashed with his and she struggled not to shrivel under its sharklike iciness.

  One tawny eyebrow arched with diabolical amusement. “Ah but you should have married me, sweet Primrose. We would have shared many such tawdry days abed, you and I.”

  She blew out a sigh. “You are far too familiar, Benedict. Release me this instant or I shall—”

  “You’ll what?” He chuckled. “Tell my prodigal cous—”

  “Tell me what, Benedict?” Adam’s terse voice caused Benedict’s hands to fall away.

  He straightened and swept the errant lock of hair back into place.

  With her back still pressed against the wall Primrose hugged her arms, where his fingers had undoubtedly bruised her.

  Benedict’s disconcertion was only momentary. He turned his predatory reception on his cousin. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it. Lord Black in the flesh.”

  Confused, Primrose watched the uncomfortable exchange. Why would Benedict emphasize Adam’s title in such a scornful way?

  “How are they all over in Whitechapel, cousin?” Benedict continued to prod.

  “Is your business here quite finished?” To his credit Adam ignored the barb.

  “Hardly. Hamish invited me for supper.” Primrose sucked in a breath as Benedict turned his frosty gaze on her once more. “A pity you made an appearance when you did, Adam. I was so looking forward to your wife’s company. I’ve been beside myself with regret ever since you stole her right out from under me.”

  She flinched as he chucked her under the chin. “See you at dinner, sweeting?”

  She jerked and straightened to her full height, which still only resulted in bringing the top of her head to his chin. “I’ll be having supper with my husband. In his room. Who knows? I might even have cause for yet another bath.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Adam’s slight grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me I must see the earl’s well-being.”

  Pushing her skirt back, she stepped around him and hurried down the hallway. She couldn’t get away from Benedict fast enough. Oh why did he make her skin crawl so? He was not unlike Adam in his forcefulness so why did she find it so arousing when Adam reduced her to submission? She would have never surrendered to Benedict. Never!

  Willing her pulse to return to normal, she collected herself before she stole into Thorley’s room. He was awake and as soon as he saw her he began reaching for her.

  Irene darted out of her chair and offered him his tincture. “He’s been having a fit all day. Quite incoherent.”

  Primrose sat on the side of the bed and tried to take his hand but he grasped it desperately. “Is there something you need?”

  He mumbled, unable to form words. She wished she could understand, ease his suffering. It was a good thing she’d retrieved Adam when she did.

  “Did Lord Lashwood upset him?” she asked Irene.

  “No my lady. Not a ’tall.” Irene’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s been like this ever since his lordship visited this morning.”

  “I see,” Primrose said, her heart sinking. She’d hoped a reunion would ease both their consciences.

  It appeared to have had the opposite effect. But what could she do about it now? She didn’t want Adam to go away again. On the contrary she couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  Primrose hurried toward the dining room. She’d overslept and hated the thought of attracting attention with a late entrance despite the fact breakfast at Scarborough Hall had always been an informal event. Stopping at the entrance she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Dear cousin,” Benedict’s voice sang behind her.

  She jolted as he suddenly appeared beside her, stealthy as a cat.

  “My, aren’t you rising later than usual?” The lilting banter in his voice shattered her attempts at composure. “That extra rest has done wonders for you. You’re positively radiant.”

  The man was insufferable! Her fists clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms.

  His gaze raked her. “Exhausting isn’t it?” he whispered conspiratorially.

  She arched an eyebrow in question.

  He leaned closer. “A bird in the spanking hand is worth two in the bush.”

  Primrose gasped. “How—” She stopped before incriminating herself further. Her cheeks flamed, betraying her secret far more than words ever could. “I thought you’d gone.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, opening the door for her. “Why leave when there’s so much…amusement…here at Scarborough Hall?” With mock gallantry, he moved to the side to allow Primrose to enter the dining room.

  Hamish and Adam rose as she stepped inside. Adam’s eyes were unreadable and she couldn’t sort out how he felt about her or his cousin’s presence. Or if the hateful bastard had regaled Benedict with the details of the things they’d done. Wasn’t that just like a man?

  Still, her stomach knotted when their eyes connected.

  “Good morning,” Fidelis chirped, twisting in her seat to welcome them. Her dark-brown, almost lashless eyes sparkled at the sight of Benedict. “I’m so glad you decided to stay with us for a few days.” She offered him her hand, which he courteously took, and when he bowed to kiss the back of it she giggled like a schoolgirl.

  Primrose hoped they didn’t notice the tension between Adam and her. It was taut as a bowstring about to snap and after that episode with Benedict there was no possible way she could appear dispassionate.

  As she scooped a ladleful of coddled eggs onto her plate, she realized she didn’t give a fig what Hamish and Fidelis thought. Benedict either for that matter. Hiding her true feelings from Adam however was imperative.

  She glanced at him as she mindlessly filled her plate with deviled fowl and dry hash. He’d returned to his seat and looked over the morning paper as he sipped a cup of coffee.

  He apparently had little trouble hiding his emotions—if he possessed any at all.

  She should give up on this scheme. He’d seen his father. She’d done her duty to the earl. She need not throw herself so shamefully at him only to be cast aside yet again.

  A servant stepped up to draw her chair out for her. Muttering her gratitude, she sat.

  “How long do you think you’ll be about?” Benedict asked from the sideboard, his question directed at Adam.

  Primrose’s breath froze as Adam’s gaze grazed hers before he turned toward his cousin. “As long as is necessary.”

  Benedict’s lips stretched into a dreadfully diabolical smile. “Oh I imagine if Primrose has any say in the matter it’ll be a while indeed.”

  “Indeed,” Adam muttered and turned back to his paper.

  Primrose’s heart sank but she hid the setback by shooting Benedict a nasty look. He sat back in his chair and smugly sipped his coffee.

  “Aren’t you feeling any better?” Fidelis asked, her forehead furrowing with concern. “You’re terribl
y pale.”

  Before she could answer Hamish blurted, “She must not be. She’s asked Grainger to look after things for a few days.”

  Again she looked to Adam but he remained mired in the news.

  Benedict chuckled softly as he took his seat.

  “Grainger?” Fidelis echoed, eyes widening. “Well you must be ill.” She turned to Benedict. “Primrose never lies abed. I daresay this house couldn’t run without her.”

  “You give me far too much credit,” Primrose said as she picked at her breakfast. Why had she filled her plate so full? She had no appetite.

  The conversation turned to the war between the Spanish and the Americans and though Primrose usually took an interest in politics, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Adam’s command for her to join him after breakfast.

  Thus far this morning he’d given her no indication he even recalled his request. He’d long since finished his meal but sat casually discussing the articles in the paper with Benedict and Hamish. Fidelis tried repeatedly to inject her uninformed opinion and was summarily ignored by all three men.

  Finally Primrose turned her fork upside down on her plate. A servant swept forward to take it.

  She stood and, summoning courage, cleared her throat. “My lord, would you care to join me in a visit to the earl?”

  He stood as did Hamish and Benedict, but his gaze barely met hers. “I’ll be along later.”

  Disappointment caused her toes to curl in her slippers but she refused to show it. Instead she flashed them all a smile. “Good day.” With a nod she hurried from the room.

  Breakfast had been every bit the horrendous affair she’d thought it would be. Benedict had known—he’d known—the things she’d allowed Adam to do to her. No gentleman would have ever let on. Then again Benedict was exactly that. No gentleman.

  Had Adam confided in Benedict?

  Trying to push her anger aside, she visited Thorley who was still abed and resting peacefully. Determining nothing had changed she went back to her chamber.

  Her traitorous body tingled and she growled in frustration. She should dismiss Grainger and attend to her duties. She shouldn’t act as if Adam would remember. She clenched her fists. She shouldn’t care if he remembered.