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

by Jenn LeBlanc

  The large mattress had been removed, and a grand four-poster bed that matched the walls was centered on the left, flanked by a wardrobe and dressing table. The bed was covered with a large, colorful counterpane and soft, oversized pillows that looked as though they were made of the remnants of the velvet panels that had once hung on the walls.

  He walked over to a polished brass wall sconce and lifted the glass cover, striking a match against the base and lighting it.

  “You’ve had gas run?”

  “Yes, it was one of the projects I wanted to have completed while we were away. Argand gas lamps now light the main rooms. They also ran water to the bathing rooms and main suites,” he said, very pleased with the results. The update should have been done decades ago, but the dukedom hadn’t the money to make such extensive upgrades.

  “So would the duchess’ room be attached to the duke’s room?”

  “Of course.” He turned the water on to run a bath and took her hand, pulling her toward the windows. “I had all the window boxes removed. Shaw said you preferred well-lit rooms, so we decided there was no need for them. The furniture was custom built for you,” he added as he ran a hand over the settee and matching chairs. “There are pockets in all the dust ruffles, for you to keep your books from the floor.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Is that why Shaw was asking me all those random questions in London?”

  “Oh, there was nothing random about the questions,” Gideon said. “Do you know how difficult it was to convince the woodworkers to forgo a deep stain on all the wood?” He shook his head.

  Gideon led her back the length of the room then paused. He looked down at her as he reached up to a piece of molding and twisted it.

  She heard a sturdy click within the wall and the panel popped open. He pulled her through the short passageway and pushed on the wall at the other end. They entered his bedchamber, right next to his rather large bed. She sighed as she looked around the room. “It’s rather like my room, only much larger.”

  “You mean it is rather like the main guest suite, don’t you? My duchess will not live in a room so far from mine. In fact, my wife will share my bed every night,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

  She breathed deeply, taking in the scent of his room, infused with sandalwood and salt.

  “Ferry!” he called out as he released her, and Ferry was there like a breath.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Please see to the bath I have drawn in my lady’s chamber.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Ferry walked to the tunnel behind them and pulled the panel closed.

  Francine explored his chamber. It was the epitome of what she would consider masculine: dark wood, deep colors, thick fabrics, and scant ornamentation. Beautiful in its simplicity. She found the small table next to the main entry and ran a finger across it with a quiet laugh.

  “What?” he asked as he walked up behind her.

  “Well, I believe this would be the table I stubbed my toe on,” she said with a blush.

  “You stubbed your toe? When woul— Oh.” He gave her quite the grandest smile she had ever seen.

  “Did you have this room redecorated as well?”

  “No, I wanted to wait for you before redecorating our bedchamber.”

  She drew in a sharp breath at the words.

  He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him.

  “Gideon?”

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “Why is there a bed in the other room if we are to share a bedroom?”

  He grinned brightly. “Are you unhappy with the appointments in your chamber?”

  She shook her head as he smiled teasingly.

  “Well, my lady, we aren’t yet wed, and though we have shared much together, we will need to continue to have separate bedchambers until our wedding night.”

  “For propriety’s sake?”

  “For propriety’s sake. However, with our rooms being ever so discreetly joined, if we were to—”

  “Share a bed?”

  “Yes, share a bed. No one would be the—”

  “Wiser?” When she finished his sentence again, he drew her up, kissing her eyelashes, her cheekbones, her earlobes, and her chin. Then he kissed her lips, drawing her moans into his mouth.

  His night beard gently chafed her skin, making her flush. Her breathing hitched and he touched the reddened skin.

  “Gideon?”

  “Yes, Francine?”

  “Would you— Would you mind helping me with my bath? I’m not familiar with the pipes, and I fear I may do something wrong.”

  “Of course, my love,” he answered as he kissed her, pushing her backward through the passageway to her room.

  She saw that Ferry had lit the argand lamps throughout her chamber and cracked the windows, stirring the flames in the lamps, and the sheer panels, creating a dreamlike vision before her. She breathed deeply of the warm, scented bath water and looked up at Gideon.

  “Lavender and rain,” he whispered, tickling her ear with his warm breath.

  He undressed her slowly, removing her gloves by pinching gently at the fingertips, then sliding them slowly from her hands. He unbuttoned her soft muslin dress, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of blue. Then her corset, her chemise, slippers, stockings, and drawers.

  She stood before him, completely naked but for the blush that raced wickedly across her figure from head to toe, infusing her body with heat. This time she didn’t hide herself.

  He left her hair piled on top of her head and pulled her toward the bath, sitting on the edge as she stepped over.

  Her pink-kissed mouth dropped open in a sigh as she sank her toes into the warm water. She sat back in the large bath, examining the bars of soap and fancy glass bottles of oils on the edge. I had all of these wonderful things in my apartment, but never the time. She stretched and soothed her travel-wearied muscles, sore from the journey home. Home. This is my home. She smiled and there were no doubts, no regrets, and no harried thoughts about waking from a dream or being transported back to her small furnished apartment in Denver. She was home; out of all the many rooms where she had spent wakeful nights, this was the first place she had ever truly belonged.

  She looked up at him through her half-lidded eyes, silently imploring him to join her, but he merely sat on the edge, watching her move under the water. She had become accustomed to being attended during her bath, but this was different and so much more exciting. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” she said bravely.

  Gideon cleared his throat, feeling it tighten. “Ferry is waiting in my suite.” He watched her deliberate movements, his words suddenly catching as his mouth went dry. But I would like nothing more than to stay right here and watch. “I am in desperate need of a proper shave since I refused him this morning at the inn,” he explained, never taking his eyes off her figure.

  Her lower lip jutted out to tease him. The pout caught him off-guard and he moaned deep within his chest.

  “Bring me the razor,” she said.

  He sobered and looked at her. “Have you any experience shaving a man?” he asked with a touch of poorly veiled trepidation.

  “Tell Ferry I require a sharp razor.”

  She shifted under the water, creating ripples of movement on the surface, each miniscule tide hitting the side of the tub where he rested, hypnotizing him, and just like that he was transfixed.

  She giggled at his hundred-yard stare and the small sound roused him slightly.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  He stood and walked awkwardly to his suite without a word, returning a few minutes later while shaking his head. “He refused to give up my usual shaving kit,” he said as he approached the bath. “He sent an older one that he packs when we are away from Eildon, and I had to promise that he would be allowed to shave me before supper.” He stopped a safe distance from the bath.

  “So I can keep this razor?” she asked as she held her hand out.

  He shrugged and s
et it on the edge of the bath before she trapped his gaze. He was once again transfixed, his bright green eyes roving over her body.

  “Did he sharpen it for me?”

  Gideon nodded, his eyes wide as the new moon. “What exactly are you going to do?” he asked in a hushed voice, his mouth gone dry again.

  She pulled the straight razor from the kit, carefully opening the blade.

  “You don’t seem to understand how particular my valet is,” he started, trying to clear his throat. “You realize, of course, the ideas running through his head. The last time he came up against you, you demanded he remove your corset after requesting he retrieve some of my clothing for you to wear.” The last bit of his sentence broke off as she gestured invitingly toward the bathtub.

  She was smiling at the memory. “We simply cannot afford to lose him. You should increase his wages to ensure his compliance.”

  “After that particular incident I had to double them,” Gideon said with a wide smile, relaxing a bit as he took the last step toward the bathtub and sat down on the edge.

  Francine lifted one leg out of the water, placing her foot high on his leg, near his hip. He started to protest, but as her toes moved against him the sensation made him more accepting.

  “You don’t mind me getting you a little wet, do you?” she asked in a sultry voice. Not waiting for a response, she lifted the razor. “Don’t move,” Francine warned as she pointed the sharp edge of the razor at him. “I haven’t ever used one of these before, but considering they’ve shaved a great many faces over the years, I should be able to manage.” Then, with the greatest care, she began to shave her leg. With each pass she smoothed her skin with some of the oil-infused water from the bath, letting it run over her velvety leg.

  He didn’t move an inch. Every stroke she made affected him greatly. His mouth watered, his skin flushed, his jaw clenched, the hair on his neck stood on end. He could barely breathe, and his hands held on to the edge of the tub to quell the dizziness that threatened to overtake him. Gideon stared intently as she ministered to that long leg.

  The gaslights glistened off the water as she passed over the pale flesh with the razor, giving the impression of flames dancing across her wet skin. Her sweet sighs escaped her lips at the trickle of the water over her newly shaven leg. She exhaled one last time, resting her head back on the edge of the bath, moving her leg slowly in and out of the water, breaking the surface tension. The rivulets streamed down her leg, only to drip back to the water’s surface to create more ripples. She glanced up at Gideon to find his face pale and shocked.

  “I don’t— I…I don’t understand,” he stammered. “I never— Where did you—”

  “Gideon.” She raised her leg out of the bath and placed it across his dampened lap while sinking back into the water. “Touch me,” she said in a throaty, seductive voice.

  He pulled his hands from the edge of the bath and reached for her. The idea of attending her bath was arousing enough, but a woman using a razor was so foreign to him that he wasn’t sure what to think or do.

  He laid one finger on her leg, testing the skin as though it might burn. She bent her knee, moving her leg to fill his palms with the soft silkiness, drawing a deep guttural moan from his chest.

  “So soft,” he whispered. His smile grew as he remained transfixed on the length of her leg. He smoothed his palms over it tenderly, relishing the feel of her skin against his sturdy, calloused hand.

  Francine was taken by his awestruck perusal. Her powerful duke was lost, speechless and befuddled. She smiled at the thought that she had tamed this important, beautiful, and incredible man. And beyond that, she’d shocked him, awakened something in him nobody knew existed.

  He drew in a breath and nudged her leg back into the water as he reached for the other. She turned her body to rest on her hip. He shifted at the edge, pulling his knee up as she laid her warm wet leg across his, her foot resting at the joint of his hip. He reached for the razor in her hand, willing her to trust him.

  She complied, forcing herself to hold perfectly still as he lifted her leg from his lap and wrapped his long fingers around her ankle. He pointed the razor at her. “Don’t move. I haven’t ever used one of these myself, but as they’ve done the job on my face hundreds of times it can’t be all that difficult.” He winked as she giggled, then started shaving in cautious, lingering strokes. He set his mind to the chore, replicating her gestures, alternately drawing the blade across her skin then rinsing her leg with the bath water, letting it run the length of her, causing her skin to flush.

  His actions drew roused sighs from her parted lips, each stroke soothing her nerves as he deftly completed his task. When he finished, he lowered her leg back to his and released her ankle, letting her foot lay against his strengthening arousal as he closed the blade with a deep exhalation and set the razor aside. He caressed the smooth leg, running his fingers up and down its length.

  She sat up in the bath and drained the water, then rinsed and refilled the tub. She reached for his neck cloth, her movements opening her body under the water for his hungry gaze. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more of this tease. His hands moved to grip the tub again, and she reached for his waistcoat and shirt, undoing them and pressing them open across his chest. The water from her hands streamed the length of his torso, soaking the fabric of his waistband. His stomach tightened.

  His breath came faster, matching the rhythm of her pulse, and she grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him into the bath on top of her with a great splash amid her wild laughter. The dousing soaked the floor and sobered him. He rose to his knees between her outstretched legs, giving her an admonishing glare. He inspected her, open like the petals of an iris before him, her breasts rippling the water as she giggled.

  Francine leaned forward and peeled off his shirt and waistcoat, kissing a stray ribbon of water at his navel before throwing the clothes to the tiled floor. She moved to his trousers, where the water had pulled the fabric tight against the contours of his body.

  He stood in the bathtub, removing his soggy shoes and tossing them down on top of the other wet clothes that puddled on the floor.

  She shifted to her knees and peeled his trousers down his taut, muscular legs, forcing them inside out as her breath came up against his naked arousal, making his lungs seize. She could almost hear his heart rioting inside his ribcage, pounding as she inspected the gleaming, wet erection poised in front of her. She could see the fluttering heartbeat that suffused it, making it grow.

  He was transfixed like a moth to a flame, trying to hold his position as close as possible to the heat. Let’s see if I can shatter his composure. Mesmerized, she leaned in, placing a gentle kiss at the crease where the silken shaft rose to meet the head.

  His jaw opened then clenched, and he held as still as Michelangelo’s muse as he looked down at her. Spurred on by his supplication, she gave a slow lick along the crease with the very tip of her tongue, then kissed her way down the base, wrapping her hands around his hips. She placed her palms in the half-moon indents in the sides of his buttocks while his breathing grew more and more audible, his impassioned groans meeting her attentions.

  He grabbed Francine’s shoulders, digging his fingers into her flesh. He was torn. He wanted to hold her in place, but his need to possess her overpowered his want. He pulled her up from the bath and drew her mouth to his for a bruising kiss. His hands moved to the back of her head to hold it steady as he massaged the edge of her jaw with his thumbs, teasing her mouth open wider. He delved into the offering, tasting, licking, and exploring her.

  He kicked his feet free of his sodden trousers then stepped from the bath, lifting her with him, forgoing the plush towel that waited. He kissed and stroked her wet body, rushing toward the bed.

  She tripped in his hurry and he pulled her up, wrapping her legs about his waist as they tumbled to the mattress. He smoothed his hands over her wet legs as he shifted her beneath him, feeling the softness rushing against him, amaz
ed at how supple and smooth she felt as she encircled his hips and drew him to her.

  He was pliable, and she moved him, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. They created heat together, his hair-dusted skin caressing her silky legs.

  She rolled him to his back with a leg on each side of his waist. As they lay on the bed he yielded to her, allowing her to roam his body, exploring him with her fingers, her tongue, her lips. Without ever coming together fully, they discovered each other, testing the limits of their patience and arousal. His breath was heavy and full as she teased him.

  He tried to caress her, but she pushed his hands away with a warning glance. His mouth dropped open and he groaned.

  She released her hair, letting it drift over his skin like a silken curtain. She used her fingers to measure every length, every girth, every nook and cranny of his flesh as she crawled over and around him. “Francine.” She tested the feel of her nipples and lips against his bare chest, grazing his night bearded jaw and mouth, traveling back down his carved torso and stopping at his arousal.

  He tried to catch parts of her with his mouth as they passed across his face, groaning at his failures. “Francine, I can’t take—” He cried out, his eyes clenched tightly against the inundation of his senses as she kissed, touched, and tasted all off him. “Francine— Oh God, Francine,” he grumbled as she wriggled, hovering over him.

  He twisted below her and she gently reminded him to stay put, holding down his wrists with her hands. His hips thrust involuntarily as she leaned into him, matching her body to his, testing him with her hands, her mouth, and her breasts.

  “Francine,” he roared, his passion unleashed. He pulled her tight against him, her hair spreading across them like a shiny web. His chest heaved, his muscles tensed uncontrollably, and he was spent.

  She watched the strain in his features wash away as she rose above him. He reached up and brushed his lips against hers, then kissed her with all the passion of a man undone before letting his head fall back to the pillow. She lay upon him, the burning heat sealed between them, and moved her hands over his exposed skin. She looked up to his relaxed features and rested her head on his chest, savoring the minute adjustments they made as they fit curves into valleys, slowly stretching cramped muscles, moving closer and tighter together.