The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance)

by Jenn LeBlanc

  “Gideon, what if—”

  He cut her off with a strong, fervent kiss. Covering her body with his own, his hands rampaged over her dress, searching for the ties and buttons that bound her.

  He reached beneath her and sank his fingers into the button placket and, giving it a solid tug, he tore open the back of her dress, pulling it down from her shoulders. She was completely bared to him as he lifted up on his elbows with a sharp breath and gazed at her heaving breasts. “I like this dress,” he declared. “I really, really like this dress,” he added breathlessly.

  Her skin flushed pink and she giggled at his untoward demeanor. He bowed his head to one nipple, teasing it to ripeness with his mouth before blowing a gentle breeze across it, forcing the pale tip into a hard point and creating the epicenter of a wave that reached out in spirals to her nerves, wakening every one. She laced her fingers in his hair.

  Gideon pushed one strong thigh between her legs, but couldn’t force them apart because of the constraints of the sheath dress. He grumbled at the impediment and moved to her other nipple as he reached down, pulling the skirt up to her waist and smoothing his heavy palm across her exposed belly.

  He rose again to her face, kissing her lips till they pinked and swelled beneath his bruising mouth.

  She struggled for air and he broke the kiss.

  “Francine?” he questioned.

  She lifted her hands, fumbling as she undid his shirt to bare his muscled chest. His breath caught, sending ripples toward his center. She traced the lines of his ribs, remembering the first time they had come this far together. This time she was able to see where they led. She followed the twin creases that framed his hips and ducked below his waistband. This time he didn’t stop her. She felt for the fastenings inside the front of his trousers and her fingers brushed the crest of his arousal. This time he urged her on with a groan as he stiffened above her.

  “Did I— Did I hurt you?” she asked quietly, her brow knitted.

  He shook his head and lowered his face next to hers. “Touch me,” he whispered in her ear, tickling the edge with his tongue.

  She felt for the small clips inside the placket, trying to slow her breathing and steady her hands. She loosed them, spreading the front of his trousers wide, freeing his erection. Her eyes widened as she gazed from his manhood to his face and back.

  “Gideon,” she said nervously, her hands clutching the opened placket of his trousers.

  “No. God, no— Francine, don’t stop.”

  Brazenly she wrapped both hands around the silken shaft, amazed by the sensation of pure softness encasing unyielding hardness. She moved her hands, stroking.

  He groaned and shook, crying out with a rasping moan and she stopped, unsure of what she should be doing or, for that matter, what she should do next.

  He clenched his eyes momentarily then looked down at her. The sun passed through a thin cloud, adding shadow and light to the emotions that rolled across her face. The breeze rustled the leaves and the tall wildflowers and grasses whispered the secrets of the peacefully hidden meadow to the lovers as birds sang in the distance. They lay among the tall grasses, protected from the outside world by the wall of colorful wildflowers.

  He pulled her skirts up higher, spreading her legs with his knees as he pressed into her womanhood with his calloused hand, gently stroking the curls and dipping his finger into her warmth.

  Her breath escaped her lips in small exhalations. She was so wet, so warm, like a hot spring begging to be entered and enjoyed.

  “Francine. For whatever pain I cause you, I will make it up to you a thousandfold. This, I promise you.”

  She felt a panic rise and clutched his shoulders as he positioned himself.

  “Please don’t look away, Francine.”

  She gazed into his hooded eyes, seeing the green of his irises deepen in passion.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Yes, Gideon, only you,” she whispered. She watched intently as his face tensed and he advanced on her slowly. The pressure felt hopelessly tight and her body retreated involuntarily. She cried out and dug her heels into the ground,, trying to push away. He sensed her panic and held her steady.

  “Gentle, sweet. Gentle,” he said tenderly. He reached between their barely coupled bodies and massaged the little nub above her opening as just the tip of his manhood was enveloped by her folds.

  She felt a building of tension, a gathering of nerves. Every feeling she had came together deep inside her belly, pulsing stronger and stronger as he moved forward slowly and she came closer and closer to the edge. All of her anger, all of her worry, all of her pain and suffering collected, until her fingers and toes went numb, as though he meant to erase all of it and replace it with his touch.

  He moved his hips, stroking just outside her with the head of his arousal, methodically matching the cadence with his hand as they explored each other’s eyes.

  She was incomparably beautiful. Her eyes blazed like liquid fire, urging him on.

  A knot formed in his gut as he considered how he treasured her, how he feared the pain he was to bestow. He shut his eyes momentarily to clear his thoughts, then looked into hers again, feeling her body’s response to his heated ministrations. He tensed, willing himself to wait just one more moment.

  “Come off for me, Francine,” he breathed.

  She was marching toward an unseen cliff, the pressure building until it could not be held in abeyance any longer, and she cried out, her arms flying out to the flowered blanket beneath her. He grasped her hips with both hands and drove into her in one swift, powerful motion.

  He groaned from the pain of her unyielding flesh as he forced his way through the taut barrier. He felt her innocence tear around his intrusion at the onset of her climax. She writhed beneath him, trying to escape. The searing pain and impossible fullness melded with the pulsating rhythm of her ecstasy, and he could see the depths of her as her eyes opened wide and a tear escaped, rolling down her cheek as he held her steady.

  He paused and kissed it away, then dropped his head to her shoulder as her arms flew to his, urging him on. His hips, unrestrained, drove harder, deeper, feeling her body opening further. He was carried along on wave upon wave of her undulating passion as it threatened to crest and break around him again. He felt the circles of tension coursing around his manhood as he moved methodically within her, and she let out another impassioned cry. With one finishing thrust he cried out, his body convulsing as he arched up on his hands above her, his seed flooding her womb.

  The pulsing dissipated and he collapsed, breathing heavily as he caught her gaze. He moved one hand to his face, his fingers together pointing to his chin, then swept them in a circle, spreading his fingers wide as they passed his forehead. Beautiful.

  She smiled her broad smile, now infused with a sultry curiosity, and he pulled her to him as he rolled to his side, smiling like he never had before. She threw one leg over both of his, the feeling of his trousers on her bare skin sending tingling ripples coursing up her body.

  “Ah, Gideon,” she said breathlessly as she nestled into his chest.

  “I love you,” he said quietly.

  “And I you, Gideon,” she replied.

  Gideon stood, turning to fasten his trousers as she watched, then he pulled Francine carefully to her feet. He held her face between his strong hands. “How are you?”

  She felt something inside her had changed with their joining, something had shifted, and she tried to look up at him but couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

  “I’m…all right…I think.” She lifted the hem of her dress, inspecting the rusty stains at the edge. “A bit surprised. I mean, you are rather, uh. I’m not sure how… I don’t know that I can discuss this with you.” She pressed the side of her face into his chest.

  He lifted her chin with one finger, turning her face to his, waiting patiently for her to meet his eyes. He kissed her eyelids, sinking his hands into her silken hair as her arms wrapped ar
ound his waist and she leaned into him.

  She smiled, relaxing into his solid form. “Gideon, I expected the pain. I did not expect—the rest. You are… well. It felt very, um… full.” She bit her lower lip in uncertainty, waiting for his response. “Will it always be like this?” she asked.

  He urged her to look at him again, his expression guilty and penitent. “I am so sorry to have caused you this pain,” he whispered, his voice wavering. She was mesmerizing, a paradox that she was so brilliant and yet so innocent. This new facet of her personality, this shy wonderment, sobered him, enervated him.

  She reached up, placing her hands on his wrists and stroking his forearms as he held her neck.

  “No, Gideon, I am glad it was you to have caused it. Don’t apologize for that, I won’t allow it. Every emotion I have with that intensity should come from you, and only you.”

  He breathed in sharply and leveled a bruising kiss on her mouth, pushing his fingers into the tousled hair at the back of her neck, pulling her tightly toward him. He raised his head slightly, stroking her nape.

  “This should never again be painful, and if it is, you must tell me. But I can say that any discomfort you feel will lessen as your body becomes more accustomed to mine.”

  She nodded, blushing.

  Then he saw her delicate hands and the white bands covering her wrists. He unwrapped them cautiously. His eyes darkened at the angry red welts and he held both of her hands gingerly, turning them over. “He did this to you.”

  “Well, he tied me up, yes, but it was my struggle to free myself that actually did this.”

  He glanced into her eyes. “He did this to you,” he repeated in a voice that promised vengeance. He kneeled, reaching for her boots, and saw the bands on her ankles that covered more rope burns and cuts. He winced. “We should leave these loose.”

  She nodded and he shook his head, fighting a wave of fury. He needed to remain calm while he handled her.

  He stood and straightened her dress as best as he was able, examining the grass stains patterned across the back and smoothing his hands over her body before finally looking at her with a quiet laugh.

  “What?” she asked indignantly.

  “Well, the effect is complete. You look quite thoroughly ravished, sated… spent.” His voice lowered with each word. Then, standing before her, he pulled her into his arms. “Ruined,” he said in his deepest voice as she gasped and her knees buckled.

  “Oh, God, Gideon, what have you done to me?”

  “Quite the same thing you have done to me, I imagine, and something nobody else has ever done before, and only I will do again.” He gave her a victorious smile. “Though hopefully we will find better venues than gardens and fields, and…” He trailed off as he noticed her swift blush.

  He caressed her lips with his own, kissing her gently. “Unfortunately, it is time to go see a man about a contract.” She stiffened as he took her in his arms, then tried to sooth her sudden wariness. “Today is the day we finish this.”

  He turned toward Samson and mounted, then pulled her up across his lap in front of him, protecting her from the saddle as she rested on his strong thighs. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist as he sheltered her and steered Samson toward the manor.

  Hepplewort’s mother watched from the parlor window, trying to assess the situation. When the men came close enough, she called to the butler to attend her and went to the entry.

  Perry pushed Hepplewort again and the man faltered, falling up the steps as he went. “I believe you misplaced something,” Perry ground out, flanked by Smyth and Gentry. “We found this toad trespassing.”

  Hepplewort’s mother walked out of the manor behind the butler, her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed, her mouth set deeply in a scowl. “My son has done no such thing.” Her lips blanched as they pulled tight across her teeth. She peered down at him.

  Perry smiled charmingly.

  “Oh, my lady, I believe you’ll find that your son has done not only that, but he is also guilty of kidnapping, assault, and—” He paused, looking down at the earl. “—screaming like a little girl.” He grinned. “Not to mention that he got his nose broken by a woman. Not a crime, of course, but notable nonetheless.”

  His mother’s beady eyes bulged as Hepplewort hid his face in his hands.

  Gentry and Smyth laughed and Perry’s chest shook.

  She stared down at Perry, who glared back at her, daring her to speak.

  “Where is my son’s betrothed?” she asked sourly.

  “To my knowledge there is no such person,” Perry said, looking over his shoulder again. There he saw Gideon and Francine making their way toward the manor.

  The old woman followed his gaze. “Here she comes now, and you will find my son has acted well within the binds of his contract. You will leave her here. She belongs to me,” she said definitively.

  Perry bristled, but knew her rant would be short lived. “We shall see.”

  Hepplewort glanced up from his seat on the top step to see Francine pulled across Gideon’s lap on the horse and he stood, sputtering indignantly. “What the devil is he doing—”

  “Sit down,” Smyth and Gentry said in sturdy unison.

  Perry raised a brow at Hepplewort’s mother as Gideon came to a stop in front of the manor.

  He let Francine down carefully, then jumped from the bay and advanced on Hepplewort.

  Hepplewort skittered backward on the stair, bumping into the butler, who kicked at him with a grunt. Perry and Gentry reached for the angry duke, holding him back.

  Gideon broke free and Smyth moved to help, standing in front of him as the others held his arms. Gideon took a deep breath and turned.

  “It took you a while to catch up,” Perry said, and Gideon smiled, shaking his brother’s hand. Perry laughed and embraced him, clapping him on the back. He then turned to Francine, who was keeping the back of her torn dress to the horse in a poor attempt to not look entirely disheveled.

  She smiled at Perry sweetly and he bowed. “My lady, my sister, the future Duchess of Roxleigh. It is so wonderful to see you again, even in this rumpled manner,” he said with a sly grin.

  She blushed deeply and glared at Gideon, who lifted his hands with a show of penitence. “I had to have an accomplice.”

  She blushed even deeper.

  Gideon moved to stand just behind her and placed a hand on her waist. He tried to refasten some of the buttons on her dress but only one had survived him. He shrugged, pulling her hair behind her shoulders and smoothing it down her back.

  She turned slightly and looked up at him, smiling. Then she turned on Hepplewort, thinking about his return to the manor. It must have been comical, really. A squat, corpulent, broken man hobbling toward his manor, flanked by three tall, handsome, stately men. It must have been the longest walk of shame on record. She laughed to herself, then saw that horrible woman staring down at her in judgment, and her eyes blazed. With a look of pure rage and hatred, Francine advanced on Heppleworth without warning.

  Gideon reached to grab her first but she was too fast for him. Perry and Gentry managed to catch her arms but her forward momentum drew her feet out from under her, and her foot caught Hepplewort hard in the jaw.

  His head snapped to the side and blood splattered across his mother’s skirt as he fell sideways on the stairs, quite thoroughly done in.

  Her temper flared again when the men released her arms and she pointed in his bloodied face. “You will never have me. You never did have me,” she screamed. “I was never yours, and I never will be.”

  Hepplewort flinched at the power of her voice. Then she turned on his mother.

  Gentry and Smyth looked to Gideon for instruction but he merely nodded, a large smile growing across his features. The woman tried to hide behind the butler, who appeared shocked and more than uncomfortable, and who also soon moved out of the way.

  “I am ruined,” Francine said, standing tall, holding her hands out wide for insp
ection, tilting her chin up. “From my forehead to my toes, thoroughly ravished. This man,” she said, gesturing at Gideon, “lay me down in your field, and he ruined me. He took my—my maidenhead, and claimed my body as his, and I allowed him.”

  Francine waited as the awful woman examined her. She knew her mouth was swollen, her hair tangled, and her dress was torn and covered with grass and other stains. Hepplewort’s mother merely grunted, and Francine spoke again. “My womb is for his children, my mouth is for his pleasure, my body is for his use alone,” she said proudly.

  The mother stepped back, cringing in disgust. The gentlemen shifted uncomfortably, looking around for something to inspect.

  “And,” Francine continued, “with any luck, I am already with his child.” She smiled as she turned toward Gideon.

  “So you see,” Gideon said, approaching Francine carefully, his mind reeling from her statements, “the contract your son had with Larrabee is void, unfulfilled. There is no way for him to claim her maidenhead, as I already have. And since I’ve ruined this woman, there is nothing left for me to do but marry her, make an honest woman of her, and hope that my heir is increasing safely within her even now.”

  Gideon shifted his gaze to the wrinkly woman. He wrapped one arm gently around Francine’s waist, his hand on her stomach as he leaned his temple to touch hers. He smiled up at Hepplewort’s mother, and she paled. Her features went slack and she fell to the ground like a sack of dirty laundry before anyone could move to catch her.

  Hepplewort looked up at the butler. “Well?”

  The butler picked up the crumpled woman and carried her inside.

  Francine whispered to Gideon and he stepped forward. “Francine had a lady’s maid here. Send her out.”

  Hepplewort sneered. “I think you have plundered my estate plenty for today.”

  Gideon let go of Francine and took another step toward the earl with a menacing growl.

  Hepplewort crawled backward, yelling through the door of the manor. “Blasted girl! Damnable chit! Come here!”

  The petite maid walked out of the manor, pale and terrified, looking from the face of one gentleman to the next. “Yes, milord?” she said with an obedient curtsey.