A Rogue to Ruin (The Untouchables: The Pretenders Book 3)

by Darcy Burke

  “Will you really visit her?” He sipped his coffee.

  “I want to. You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Perhaps you’ll bring me,” she said with a flirtatious smile.

  He shook his head. “If you are trying to entice me to continue our acquaintance—”

  She leaned forward, her eyes glowing. “Is it working?”

  “Yes.” The word slipped between his lips before he could stop it. He leaned slightly forward too.

  “I have a room upstairs,” she said rather breathlessly.

  “How on earth…” He couldn’t even finish the thought, let alone the question.

  “It’s under my name, Mr. Dazzle.”

  Rafe stifled a sharp laugh. “You didn’t really use that name.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I did. And now I’m going up to that room. If you would care to meet me, it’s on the second floor in the back, facing Paul’s Alley.”

  “Your capability is terrifying.”

  “Is it?” She arched a blonde brow as she rose. “Or is it exciting?” She waggled both brows before going to the back corridor where the stairs were located.

  How in the hell had she done this? How did she know where to go? Had she come yesterday and made the arrangements? She was terrifyingly exciting.

  And he had no idea what he was going to do about her.

  Chapter 8

  By the time Anne reached the room upstairs, she was shaking. After she closed the door, she strode into the center of the small room and took a deep breath.

  Would he come?

  She honestly had no idea. She would give him a quarter hour to decide before going back downstairs in defeat.

  In the meantime, she surveyed the room, which she’d visited the day before. The flowers she’d brought were still on the table in front of the window, as was the bottle of madeira and the two glasses. There were two chairs at the table and a short chaise angled near the narrow hearth. The largest piece of furniture was the bed. She’d specifically asked for a room with a wide, comfortable bed. And she’d made sure the linens were of good quality and clean. They were, thankfully, both.

  Anne removed her hat and gloves and set them on the nightstand next to one side of the bed. Should she take off her boots? What if he didn’t come? Perhaps she should wait.

  She checked the timepiece she’d tucked into her coat pocket that morning. Barely five minutes.

  Pleased that she’d at least stopped shaking, she went to the window and craned her neck to try to see down the alley to Paternoster Row. She could just make out a sliver of the pavement and street. The crowd had not lessened.

  She loved it. There was an energy and boisterousness here that didn’t exist in Mayfair. She wondered if Rafe had grown up nearby and hoped he would one day tell her.

  He owned a bookshop! And helped children in need. What else didn’t she know about him? She hated that there seemed to be so much, but of course there was. He’d lived much more than she had, and that would have been true even if he weren’t ten years older. His experience was much different, broader and, from what she’d learned today, harsher.

  That was part of the darkness inside him too—along with his wife. A hollow pain spread through her chest when she thought of how much losing her had to have hurt him. He’d said he loved her very much. Perhaps he loved her still. And why wouldn’t he? Though she was gone, she was clearly not forgotten.

  Anne bent her head to smell the roses on the table. A knock on the door startled her so that she dipped her nose into the petals. “Goodness!” she breathed, putting her hand on the back of one of the chairs to right herself.

  He was here. She hurried across the room and stopped short of throwing open the door. “Rafe?” What if it wasn’t him?

  “Open the door, Anne.”

  She did so, and he stalked inside. She closed the door behind him.

  “You didn’t even lock it.” He sounded cross. “Does it have a lock?”

  “Yes.” She set it and faced him. “Better?”

  “You should not have been up here without the door locked.”

  “You’re an—” No, he wasn’t angry. He was befuddled as he’d been the other day when she’d visited him.

  He is here.

  She kept the smile that threatened at bay. This wasn’t victory—not yet. But it was a start. “I should have locked the door. I’m afraid I’m a bit…excited.”

  He swept his hat off and wiped his hand over his brow. Muttering something, he went to the table and looked at the roses. “This is a very bad idea.”

  “I like roses.” She knew he wasn’t talking about the roses. “I brought them yesterday so the room would smell nice.”

  “You brought them…” He set his hat on the table and spun to face her. “You planned this quite thoroughly.” At her nod, he started toward her, moving slowly, like an animal on the prowl.

  “A seduction, then?” he asked softly.

  A shiver danced along her spine. “I was hoping so, but I’m afraid I’m not well versed in the matter.”

  “You’re not well versed. So you are somewhat versed?” He stopped just in front of her. “Anne, are you a virgin?”

  Her mouth went dry, and she couldn’t speak. So she nodded.

  “And you shall remain one.”

  Disappointment curled through her. “Then why did you come upstairs?”

  “Because you gave me no choice. Was I to remain down there hoping you would eventually return? And what if something happened while you were up here?” His eyes glittered dangerously as he moved closer until they nearly touched. “Did you really think I was going to come up here and shag you?”

  “I was hoping—”

  “Yes, I know that. But hoping and knowing are not the same thing. I’ve told you repeatedly that I am not someone you should want. I am not a gentleman.”

  “You are an earl, as it happens.”

  “I wasn’t raised one, and the sooner you realize that and accept I will never be the man you want, the better.”

  She stood on her toes and put her hands on his shoulders. “But you are the man I want. Right now. Why do we have to think of anything but this afternoon? We agreed we would spend this afternoon together, to regain the one we’d lost.”

  His brows arched. “You thought we were going to have sex that afternoon?”

  “No, and I was not sure we would today. As I said, I hoped.” She exhaled. “Will you at least kiss me once more before we go?”

  He stared at her, then glanced toward the bed. When he looked back at her, the orange in his right eye seemed brighter than ever. “Why do you want me?”

  “Because you’re kind, considerate, dashing, generous, and completely unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You treat me like an ordinary woman, not someone who suits your needs or your plans or a prize to be bartered or won.” She shook her head. “No, not an ordinary woman, but someone who is special to you. Someone you like and enjoy being with. Am I wrong?”

  He breathed an epithet. “No.” He dipped his head and claimed her mouth, his lips molding possessively over hers. His arms came around her, pulling her flush against him. The thrill of his kiss and his body pressed to hers crashed through her, quickening her pulse and heating her blood.

  She clasped his nape, her fingers digging into his thick hair. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she welcomed him, her body screaming for this and more.

  His hands slipped down to her backside, and he lifted her, one hand moving to her right thigh and curling her leg around his waist. She did the same with the other, and he moved, carrying her—toward the bed, if she remembered the room correctly.

  What was he doing? He said he didn’t want her. No, he hadn’t said that.

  He set her on the bed but didn’t move away. His pelvis was still pressed into hers. She could feel the ridge of his sex against hers. Breaking the kiss, he lifted his head as he pushed her coat from her shoulders and set it on the end of the b
ed.

  “I can’t give you anything beyond today, and you won’t ask me to.” He removed his coat and laid it at the head of the bed. “Understood?”

  She nodded, her mind and body careening with disbelief and want.

  He plucked at the buttons of her waistcoat, opening the garment, and he pulled the cravat from her neck, tossing it aside. Slipping his hand inside her shirt, he slowly traced his fingertips along her collarbone. The movement opened the shirt wider down the front. The V was quite deep, so much so that she’d pinned it closed over her breast. She reached between them and, removing the pin from the fabric, managed to stick it into the coat sitting to her right.

  His hand moved down, further separating the lawn of her shirt, opening the V. “You bound your breasts?” His fingers settled lightly against the fabric she’d used to flatten her chest.

  “You indicated they might be a problem.”

  A quick smile flashed across his mouth—so quickly, she might have thought she imagined it, except her body reacted, her insides turning to liquid and her sex fluttering. He lowered his head but didn’t kiss her mouth. Instead, his lips moved along her jaw as he pushed the waistcoat off her and tugged the shirt from her pantaloons.

  He kissed down her throat, his lips and tongue creating a delicious havoc that made her breathless. But it was the insistent press of him between her legs that made her gasp with want. A desperate need unfurled inside her. Something was just beyond her reach, and she wanted it more than anything.

  Then he was gone—not gone, but no longer kissing her. He swept the shirt up over her head. Anne felt a rush of cool air, but she didn’t care. She was plenty warm and heating further by the moment.

  “How does this come off?” His question was low and full of gravel as his hands skimmed over the fabric crushing her breasts.

  She’d tucked the tie underneath the bottom of the fabric and now pulled it free. “Here.” She unplucked the knot, and the binding loosened. Working as quickly as her quivering fingers would allow, she unwound the fabric from her torso.

  His breath caught when the binding fell from her grasp, exposing her to him completely. For a long moment, he was silent and still. She wondered if he would retreat now, but he cupped her face and kissed her, devouring her mouth in complete and delicious domination. His hand glided down her throat to her chest, his fingers skimming over the slope of her breast. He cupped her, drawing a low moan from her throat. When his fingers closed over her nipple, he triggered an answering pulse in her sex. She pushed against him, seeking that wonderful friction, and he responded, thrusting against her. She cried out into his mouth, still wanting something more.

  He pushed her back on the bed, which created distance between them. She whimpered, for she could no longer feel him, hard and wicked, between her legs. Distraction came in the form of his lips trailing down from her mouth to the hollow at the base of her throat to the crest of her breast as he held her.

  She thrust her fingers into his hair and clutched his shoulder—an anchor to the sensations that threatened to sweep her away. He kissed her gently, lips and tongue creating a mass of blinding pleasure until he latched onto her nipple and darkness descended completely. She clasped his head hard, holding him to her, vaguely aware that he was also working the buttons of her pantaloons.

  A moment later, as he moved his mouth to her other breast, his hand slipped against her sex. He pressed his fingers at the top, and her entire body jolted. She arched off the bed, her hips rising.

  His lips were suddenly against her ear as his fingers teased her flesh. “Do you know what’s going to happen?” he whispered.

  “Not entirely.” Her voice sounded completely separate from herself. She didn’t recognize it or the wanton she’d become, her hips moving wildly, her hands clutching at him, her body quivering with lust.

  “When I touch you here—your clitoris—it feels good, yes?” At her nod, he continued, his voice dark and seductive as he moved his finger over her with deft, increasingly faster strokes. “Good. I’m going to put my finger inside you. It’s not my cock, but it’s the best I can do for you. And I promise, it will be enough.” He licked the outer shell of her ear. “I’m going to fuck you with it, and you’re going to come. You’re going to let yourself go and feel. Do you understand?”

  She whimpered again in response, his words driving her desire to the very edge. She felt as if she might do what he said—come—right then.

  Slowly, he slid his finger inside her sheath. “Relax, my sweet,” he said softly against her before nipping her earlobe with his teeth.

  She sucked in air and clutched his neck before telling herself to do as he bade. Exhaling, she tried to go limp, but there was so much energy racing through her, so much need.

  He withdrew his finger, then teased her clitoris again. Her arousal climbed, her entire body reeling with desire. He latched onto her neck briefly, suckling her before moving down and doing the same at the top of her breast, but for longer. The sensation was rough but wonderful, and again she arched up, seeking more.

  He gave it to her, moving his finger in and out of her. His mouth moved lower still until he reclaimed her nipple, sucking and licking and using his teeth to tug gently on her flesh.

  She widened her legs—or tried to, but that brought her pantaloons up. He muttered something, then left her breast. He quickly stripped her boots off, then peeled her pantaloons from her legs.

  Then he was quiet, and the air was still.

  Anne opened her eyes to see him staring at her sex, his lips parted, his hand against her folds. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “Nothing is wrong. And maybe that’s—” He clenched his jaw. His gaze found hers, and she nearly gasped at the intensity in his eyes. “I don’t wish to frighten you.”

  “You could never.” How she wanted him. Loved him.

  “Don’t say that.”

  She had to strain to hear him. Rising up on her elbow, she reached for him. He pressed his hand against her, teasing her flesh once more.

  “Time for you to come for me, Mrs. Dazzling.” He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her while his finger, no, fingers, speared into her. “Let yourself go. Don’t think. Just feel.”

  His thumb worked over her clitoris, moving with rapid strokes that drove her body to move. She met his thrusts as he threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back. He kissed her jaw, her throat, the side of her neck, his hand moving over her and into her sex with merciless precision until she sensed what he’d told her.

  Sensation rushed through her as she barreled toward something. Her body tightened as pleasure sparked in her core. “Yes,” he rasped against her mouth. “Now.”

  Ecstasy tore through her. She held on to him so she wouldn’t spin away into an unforgiving darkness. He guided her through the blissful devastation, his movements slowing.

  She collapsed back upon the bed, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath. After several moments, she realized he was pulling her pantaloons back up over her. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head to look at him. In profile, his features were drawn, his jaw tight.

  “What’s wrong?” She sat up and reached for his hand.

  “I told you, nothing is wrong.”

  “You look troubled.”

  He stopped with her pantaloons and turned his face toward her. “Unlike you, I did not find my release, nor will I.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t even try to talk me into that. You’ve already done enough.”

  “I’ve done enough?” She found the cloth she’d used to bind her breasts and began to wind it around her torso, despite an almost overwhelming urge to burrow into the covers of the bed and demand he join her.

  “I should not have allowed you to talk me into this,” he said, fetching her boots and pushing them back onto her feet.

  “I have no regrets,” she said softly. “And all the gratitude in the world.” She tied the binding, though not as tightly as before.
Her breasts still tingled from his touch. Her entire body still thrummed. She didn’t want it to stop.

  He handed her the men’s shirt, and she put her hand on his. “Does it really have to just be today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He let go of the shirt, taking his hand from beneath hers, and walked away from the bed. “I told you why.”

  His wife.

  Anne pulled the shirt on and found the pin to hold the V closed over her breasts. After tucking the hem into her waistband, she drew on the waistcoat. “I’m not asking you to love me,” she said quietly. “I’m only asking to continue what we share. You enjoy being with me, don’t you?”

  He stood near the table, his back to her. “I do.”

  But he didn’t want to. He felt guilty because of the love he’d borne his wife.

  “I’m not asking you to stop loving her either. I would never do that. Nor would I ever wish to take her place.”

  “You could never.” He repeated the words she’d said to him earlier, but they carried an entirely different meaning, one that closed a door rather than opened one.

  When her waistcoat was buttoned, she slid off the bed and plucked up the cravat. A small mirror hung near the door. She went to it and tied the cloth around her neck. The knot was far simpler than what she’d done earlier, and frankly terrible, but it was the best she could manage at the moment.

  Her hair was an absolute disaster. On its best day, the locks did as they pleased, but today, with the certain thrashing she’d done on the bed, she looked as if a bird had plucked every curl free in an attempt to find the makings for a nest. “You could have just used my hair as the nest,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  She turned from the mirror to see he’d also pivoted and was now looking at her. “I was remarking on the state of my hair. It’s a good thing I’m merely trying to hide it under a hat.”

  Returning to the bed, she found the pins that had been dislodged and set about securing it back atop her head in the most severe style possible.

  He came to the bed and picked up his coat, drawing it on with ease. Pity, she liked looking at him in his shirtsleeves. His dark red waistcoat had stretched taught across his shoulder blades, accentuating the muscles beneath. She wanted to see them bare. She wanted to see all of him that way.