Artfully Wicked ('Pon Rep' Regency Rogues Book 1)

by Virginia Taylor

  “But surely you are against the freedom of the press?” Sudbury lifted his eyebrows.

  “I’m against the press using me to poke the noses of the parliament, but I have no control over that.”

  “The other day ... apparently you have the ladies in the palm of your hand.”

  Langsdene made a sound that resembled a snort. “Not even one of ‘em, Sudbury.”

  “You have a very neat little ladybird in keeping, though,” Sudbury said, continuing to be a bore.

  “No longer. She grew too expensive.”

  “Did she really drop to her knees for a set of diamonds?”

  Langsdene heaved a sigh. “She hounded me near to death, old chap, but it made an adequate parting gift.” He couldn’t count the number of times he had needed to explain the unexplainable, his irritating lampooning in the newspaper.

  Fortunately, the conversation moved to the cellaring of the port. He managed a yawn. Danton took the hint and rose to his feet, wishing everyone a sound sleep. “You are welcome to continue without me, gentlemen, but Lady Mary will have my head if I am not ready to arise early for a spot of shooting before breakfast.”

  “I will bid you all a good night, too, gentlemen.” Langsdene moved to the doorway of the drawing room, watching as the others came to their feet. In dribs and drabs, all wandered toward their respective rooms, only the senior Mr. Sudbury following him to the older part of the house, a relief when Langsdene hoped to be bedroom-swapping during the night.

  Barlow awaited him and quickly dealt with his undressing. Although he donned a nightshirt beneath his dressing robe, as soon as his man left, Langsdene removed the dashed thing. Nothing looked more ridiculous than a male in a nightshirt haunting the halls of a country house. Wearing a long robe at least made him appear to be half dressed. He blew out his night candle and waited sprawled on his bed until he heard the last servant leave the hallway. In the silence of the night, he lay on his back, his hand behind his neck as a night owl began to hoot. The wind scattered a rush of leaves across his window. As soon as he assumed the coast would be clear, he planned to tap on Winsome’s door.

  While he was drumming his fingers on the coverlet, his door handle lifted. Winsome flitted in. “Are you awake?” she whispered as she moved closer to the four-poster.

  “I was about to come to you.” He sat up.

  “I thought it would be better this way.”

  He lifted to one elbow, amused by her daring. “Did you, now?”

  “I was afraid I would go to sleep and you would hammer on my door and awaken everyone.” She laughed quietly and perched on the side of the bed, her face soft in the moonlight.

  He dragged her down into his arms. She lay half on top of him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her lips close to his. Her breath gently warmed his cheek. The fabric of her dressing robe settled across his thighs. Raising his head, he took her mouth with his, starting with delicate kisses and then losing himself in the taste of her.

  Her fingers wound into his hair. His landed on her buttocks, and he shifted her beneath him while she gave him kiss for kiss. He maneuvered himself between her legs and rose above her. Nothing separated them but the fabric of her robe. The expression of sensuous enjoyment on her face caused his breath to halt for a moment. A heightened awareness prickled throughout his body. This woman trusted him with her precious virginity. She was inexperienced in the arts of love, and yet he had never wanted a woman more.

  His skin heated and his heart began to thud. He had found this woman when he had lost all hope of falling in love. Joining with her would be an experience like no other, not because she’d had no man but him, but because he cared so deeply for her. With love involved, he needed to make sure of her pleasure.

  She pushed his hair back from his face with one hand while her legs lifted and wound about his hips. A fire lit inside him. His settled his cock against her belly, thick and urgent. A stark need to enter her overcame him but, breathing hard, he retained his control. In his experience, a woman who was tupped too soon would shove off a man as soon as he finished. Women were slower to rouse and slower to finish, which gave a man more time for pleasuring.

  He managed to catch back his breath and place kisses under her jaw and along her neck. Although his body clamored to take her, he needed to make sure she was fully aroused. “I would like to remove your dressing robe,” he said in a voice that came out husky. “I want to see you in the moonlight.”

  She breathed out. “Undo my sash and I will be able to oblige you.”

  He moved aside and watched while she shrugged off the silken covering. Her long lithe body had curves that defied description, and breasts tipped with small erect nipples. He lowered his head and tasted each in turn, enjoying her edgy reaction when she dug her fingers into his biceps, almost threatening to push him away, almost begging him to stay.

  “Are you planning to make love to me dressed in your robe?” Her voice had lost her normal amused tone. She sounded breathless.

  “I could,” he said, teasingly. “I have a front opening.”

  “Don’t be unfair.” Her palms slid to the ridge of his hips. “I have never seen a naked man other than in paintings or sculptures. Remove your covering at once, dearest John.” When he moved, she slowly sat up, watching him, her eyelids a sensuous covering for her eyes. “My, you are a very beautiful man.” Her breath stretched out. “Your body is breathtaking. I wish you would pose for me.”

  “Like this?” He palmed his large enthusiastic appendage.

  “Oh, yes, please. I could make you famous.” She drew in a breath and stilled. “Without your face, of course.”

  “Would you offer the drawing to the Tate?”

  “More likely a magazine for interested women.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “We’re all interested. But I don’t have an outlet for salacious drawings.”

  He smiled in the darkness and lay down with her again, taking her into his arms. By concentrating on her needs rather than his, he managed to kiss her in places that she begged to have kissed, and caress her until his hands knew her shape. When her skin heated, her breaths became urgent, and her fingers gripped his back, he took her, easing in and out until she begged him not to stop. He pulled out a little so that he could find her pearl and heighten the pleasure for him, and most of all, for her.

  All his control shattered when she bucked and cried out. Without a doubt, he had brought her to completion. And now she could be easy about marrying him.

  CHAPTER 13

  Winsome watched John sleep. With his face relaxed, he bore a great resemblance to the young man whose attentions she had craved long ago. He was, indeed, beautiful, from his strong boned face to his powerful body, but his thick lashes imparted him with a softness that would have surprised a great many people. She gathered up her robe, dressed, and silently left his room. Although she may have wished the night never to end, she had no intention of causing a scandal.

  By day, she was friendly toward him, though her mirror showed another face, one softer around the mouth with larger sparking eyes. By night she continued learn more about her body and his, desperately enjoying what little she could have of him. She would have loved to languish in his arms the whole night long, but that would never be her role.

  By the end of the six-day stay, she could barely cope with the thought of being parted from him. Her body throbbed in places she didn’t know existed. Her mind tumbled around the ways in which they could secretly meet, all the time knowing inside that to continue the relationship would be impossible. No matter how much she desired him, she could never shame her family by becoming his mistress.

  He toyed with her hand in the coach on the way home. Every now and then, he kissed her knuckles, or a single finger, or her palm. His touch was warm and confident. When her eyes grew moist at the thought of losing him, she took her hand back and curled her fingers around the places his lips had touched, wishing she could keep his kisses forever
. But kisses, like thoughts, could not be contained.

  She stared out the window. The closer racking of the buildings indicated that the carriage had entered the city mile. She cleared her throat, which appeared to have swollen with emotion. “The level of debauchery in a country houses has now risen a few notches. I’m glad that I had the chance to participate. Thanks to you, John, I had a perfect week.” Her chest could barely contain the ache as she glanced at his very dear face.

  His forehead momentarily creased. “If anyone should be thanked it would be you, my perfect bed partner.”

  She placed a frozen hand on his upper arm, and forced a laugh that she hoped sounded politely regretful. “Although we’ve been pretending to ourselves, we know this relationship can’t continue. I can’t lie to my parents and I can’t live a life of subterfuge. We will have some wonderful memories, though, we surely will.” She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  He kissed her hand again. “We shall have a lifetime of this. You don’t have to live in my pocket but—”

  “I have to get back to my real life,” she said, hoping her voice expressed nothing other than polite regret. “I’m sure you don’t wish to keep sneaking around with me in the city. It isn’t so hard to do when you are with strangers, but friends and family will soon notice if I keep disappearing.”

  “I don’t intend to sneak around, my precious one. I plan to ask your father for your hand, today. You must know that. I would never have spent the week making love to you, if my intentions hadn’t been honorable.” He straightened.

  Her heart skipped a beat. For a single moment she allowed herself to imagine being married to a man like John, a gentleman in the true sense of the word. Aside from admiring his physicality, she enjoyed his intelligence and she appreciated his dry humor. In his arms, her ordinary spinster self became a wicked sensuous being.

  Although the impossible dream of being his wife tempted her, she had to face reality. If she married a man who admired honor above all, proven by his proposal, he would hate her forever if he ever found out she was the artist who had made him miserable for years with her wretched cartoons. “That’s sweet of you, John, but not necessary.”

  “Come, Win. Surely you don’t want me to think you were merely using my body?”

  “You can’t fault my taste.”

  “You’re not talking sense, my love. You may discover that you have to marry me.”

  She turned away. “Not unless anyone knows we have been lovers, and I don’t plan to say a word.”

  “You won’t be speechless if your belly starts to swell.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, John. Must you be so honorable? We would be miserable together.”

  He twisted his signet ring around his finger. “I want a child. If I find you are bearing mine, I will carry you off to the altar by force if necessary.” His gaze met hers.

  She tittered like a maiden aunt. The chance of her bearing a child was somewhere between impossible and improbable. “Carrying off a lady is not at all in your noble style. Smolder for a while if you wish, but please find a lovely young lady who can bear your children and run your household to perfection.” She folded her hands together to stop the trembling. “I have other plans.”

  “I suppose you mean your art.” He drew his mouth into a thin line, turning his ruby ring around again and again.

  “Of course. I’m far too selfish to give up my freedom. I’ve had my own way for years.”

  He stared directly at her, his middle finger and his thumb holding his ring in place. “I wish you would be honest with me.”

  The silence lingered. He hadn’t given up. If he persisted, she would. She wanted nothing more than to be with him forever, but for his mention of a child. Had he said anything other than that, she might have reconsidered. However, she had already taken too much from him. She couldn’t take the possibility of being a father away from him too. “The truth is, John, you are too stuffy for me.”

  His back stiffened. “Stuffy?”

  “Ten years ago you let me fondle you in a cupboard. Did I enjoy that? Yes. I thought it was great fun. But you made me feel soiled when you ignored me thereafter. You ran off to town and hid from me for years.” She added outrage to her tone.

  His eyebrows drew together. “Not deliberately, though I’ll admit my mind didn’t linger on the incident. For all I knew, yours didn’t either. Why would it? Young people touch each other. As long as no damage is done, I accept that as part of life. And because I was a normal callow young male, you now refuse to marry me?”

  Her heart cracked. Perfect John. Always so reasonable: always so truthful. And speaking to a woman who was neither reasonable nor truthful. Before she had a chance to ruin his life, she found a bland smile. “I never intended to marry you.”

  “What has this last week been about?”

  “Nothing as long term as marriage. I am perfectly content to be a spinster. The fact that I hadn’t taken a lover before you is purely incidental.”

  His fingers beat an impatient tattoo on his thigh. “So, I came along at the right moment, did I?”

  “For me, yes. I simply wanted to show you that if you hadn’t ignored me for all these years, that you might have missed something in your life.”

  “I am quite willing to admit that I did.”

  “But I didn’t want to keep you, John. I only wanted to teach you a lesson.”

  “Making love to you, my dear, is no punishment.”

  “That part was very pleasant. The punishment was otherwise.” She drew a deep breath, willing the glassiness of her eyes not to turn into tears. “I am the cartoonist you are searching for. I used you as my model for a vapid gentleman about town.”

  His face turned as pale as his shirt collar. “Payback? But how very ignoble of you, my dear.”

  “Indeed. Unlike you, I have not a single noble bone in my body.”

  “And a very beautiful body at that. Never have I enjoyed a woman more. Unfortunately your willingness to use me and discard me, makes you no better than a common whore.”

  She moved back. His words had affected her like a slap in the face, which she well deserved. She used every ounce of emotion she could draw from his low opinion, to rearrange her face into a cool mask of indifference.

  Whether he smoldered in his own corner, she couldn’t say. She didn’t glance at him again.

  CHAPTER 14

  Numbed by Winsome’s rejection of him, Langsdene waited for her and her baggage to reach the front door of her parent’s house before leaving. A late afternoon shower blurred the windows of the carriage as the vehicle moved off. He slowly breathed out, leaned back into the leather cushioning, and dug his fingers into the top of his forehead. His swift retaliatory words—the deliberate lie that had been intended to remove her from his life forthwith—had emerged from the dark void inside him.

  He’d had no choice other than to lead Winsome to believe he hadn’t thought of her again after the incident in the cupboard. Why she would think that a randy young man would forget exposing himself to a quick-witted young lady, he couldn’t imagine. She could have destroyed his confidence in a moment had she glanced at his most precious possession and laughed. Instead, she had bolstered his youthful ego by not placing too much importance on anything other than the mechanics of the male body.

  He would have liked to be as adventurous as some of his school friends, but his father’s lectures about disease had sunk in. At that time, Langsdene had neither considered congress with a prostitute nor tupped a maid. Still hadn’t. A gentleman didn’t consider such a thing. When Winsome had noted his overly enthusiastic reaction to her derriere on his lap, he had tried to fake nonchalance, but the eventuality of a situation such as that, was not one for which he could prepare himself. At some time or other as a youth, he was bound to be embarrassed by his impressionable cock.

  Before Winsome had asked to touch his erection, he had seen her as a shy little miss with a wicked sense of humor. Her behavior in the cupboard pr
oved him wrong about her shyness. During their intimate entangling, she’d had a fit of the giggles, which had relaxed him into laughing with her. Her forthright questioning had set him at his ease. Unfortunately, the moment she handled him, he had proved what he already knew about handling—that he was likely to make a fool of himself. The only wonder of the moment was that he had managed not to spend. Had he, she would have been appalled. Because he hadn’t seen her again, she had decided he was far too stuffy for her to consider marrying. If she wanted to dwell on stuffiness, she herself had remained virginal until the age of twenty-seven. If he was stuffy, she was a righteous hypocrite.

  He sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring out the carriage window. His foot thrummed on the felt carpeting. While his head throbbed with the same beat, the carriage swayed around the corner of Green Park. The front of his house appeared and the vehicle pulled up outside the gray stone. The outrider opened the door and pulled down the steps. He hauled in a breath and leaped out. The front door opened before he managed to reach the top of the four stairs.

  “Did my lord enjoy his week in the country?” His butler, stern face relaxed, stood aside as Langsdene marched into the vast hallway.

  Langsdene refocused. “At least I found out who has been lampooning me for the past five years.” He handed the man his hat and gloves.

  “I imagine that is rather satisfying, if you don’t mind me saying, my lord. And now we need not be afraid of another pillorying.”

  “As to that, I have no idea.” Langsdene strode up the stairs to his room. Barlow awaited him, having left Danton’s house earlier so that Langsdene could be alone with Winsome. Better his man had been sitting with the driver for all the good that did Langsdene. He hadn’t even tried to kiss Winsome, apparently reading her mood better than he thought.

  The fool he had been no more than an hour ago had imagined that she was sentimentally gathering memories to store. Instead, she didn’t mean to start anything she couldn’t stop, while she plotted how to be rid of him.