by Darcy Burke
Except she did feel like talking—just not to her sister. Anne wanted to say many things…to Rafe. She’d held the conversation several times in her head.
Stop. Sleep.
She closed her eyes more tightly and willed her body to relax. This shouldn’t be difficult. She was exhausted.
Clearing her mind, she focused on the weight of her limbs, the softness of the bed, the scent of lavender from her pillow. Yes, this was better. She was so tired…
The sudden press of a hand over her mouth and the weight of a large, warm body against her back filled her with a desperate panic. She tried to breathe but couldn’t. Terror streaked through her veins as her eyes flew open.
“Shh. It’s me.” Rafe’s voice was soft and deep beside her ear, sending a shiver of longing down her spine. Her fear receded and was instantly replaced with an equally strong emotion—lust.
“Will you be quiet, or do I have to tie something around your mouth so you’ll listen to me? Nod if you’ll be quiet.”
She nodded, and he eased her to her back. Keeping his hand against her mouth, he threw his leg over her and straddled her thighs. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from moaning. She was an absolute wanton. After he’d lied to her, she wanted him more than ever.
He slid his hand down her neck and kept his palm pressed against the base of her throat. He wasn’t wearing gloves, so his flesh was bare against hers above the edge of her night rail.
Anne gulped air, her chest moving rapidly as her lungs filled and emptied. She stared up at him, her eyes wide so she could drink in the shadowed planes of his face, only partially illuminated by the moonlight.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand moving down between her breasts over her heart. His pinky finger stretched over her right breast. Her nipple tingled, aching for his touch.
“How did you steal into my room?”
He gave her a lopsided smile that would have made her sigh. But that was before. As aroused as she currently was, as much as she wanted him physically, she was still angry.
“I’m a thief, remember? I’m quite good at stealing into places I shouldn’t be, though I haven’t done so in quite some time.”
“Yes, I remember. It seems, however, you forgot to tell me.” She kept her hands at her sides, but considered pushing him off her. Except she doubted she’d be able to. “Do you plan to sit on me all night?”
“No, just while I explain.”
“I’m still angry with you.”
“I can tell. You’ve every right to be.” He pulled his hand from her, and her body rose slightly off the bed, following the appendage as a disappointing cold washed over her. “I’m so sorry, Anne.”
“I want to be angry.”
“Do you want to rail at me? I would only ask that you not wake the household. Unless you want company. I would prefer to suffer your verbal flaying in private. Or would you rather have an audience?”
“No.” Nor did she want to castigate him. “Damn you.” She pushed at his chest.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms on either side of her head. “Yes. I am and have been quite damned.”
He had. More than anyone should have to endure. Gritting her teeth, she glared up at him. “I still love you.”
His breath caught, and his teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Good, because I love you too.”
Anne gasped just before he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips commanded hers as he pinned her to the bed. Holding her fast, he plundered her mouth, each lick of his tongue and graze of his teeth igniting a new fire of longing inside her. She arched up, wanting more, and moaned with need.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed along her jaw and down her neck. Hot, frenzied kisses that ravaged her flesh.
“God, I want you in every way,” he rasped. He held her wrists as his mouth descended, finding its way to her nipple where he licked and sucked her through the thin lawn of her night rail.
Anne whimpered as she rose off the mattress and pushed herself into him. “Please.”
He growled against her and released her hands. Cupping her breast, he pulled at the top of her chemise, making a small tear in the fabric just before he latched onto her.
She cast her head back, squeezing her eyes closed and giving herself over to the mad sensation of his lips and tongue. He plucked her other nipple over and over, drawing louder and louder moans from her throat.
His hand skimmed down her abdomen, and he pushed up the night rail. When his hand slipped between her legs and found her sex, she opened her eyes and pushed at him. “No.”
He stopped abruptly, lifting his head. “No?”
“You said I could be on top this time.”
His frame gently sagged with relief. “I did.”
“You are wearing all your clothes.”
“I am.” He rolled to his back. “In the interest of expediency, you need only unbutton my fall and remove my cock. That’s the only part of me that really matters at the moment.”
“That is highly debatable.” Anne sat up and went to work removing his boots, dropping first one then the other to the floor. “I like many parts of you. All of them, actually. My only complaint is that I haven’t spent nearly enough time exploring them.” She pulled his stockings off next.
“I would beg of you that you don’t take that time right now. I am, ah, quite desperate.” His voice was low and dark, and perhaps even on the edge of breaking.
“Are you?” She straddled his knees and cupped him through his breeches and smallclothes. “Yes, I’d say you are.” She flicked one button open while continuing to cradle his shaft through his clothing.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the bedclothes at his sides. “Anne. Please.”
She released another button as she rubbed her hand along his length. “I think I’m enjoying this. Aren’t you?”
“No. Yes.” He threw his head back. “Yes.”
She quickly popped open the remaining buttons on that side of his fall and slipped her hand inside his breeches. “No smallclothes?”
“I don’t always wear them.” He sounded strained, as if he were being tortured.
Sliding her hand along the warm ridge of his cock, she moved her other hand lower, cupping his balls through his clothing. “Is this painful, Rafe?”
“In the very best way. Faster. Please.”
“You said I get to control things this time. So I think I’ll go as fast as I like. I think you deserve a bit of torment, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He moved his hands to her thighs, his fingers digging into her. His eyes opened and found hers in the near darkness. “Do your will. I am yours.”
She unbuttoned the other side and drew the flap down, exposing him. He was so hard, so hot. Heat pulsed in her sex. She suddenly felt as tortured as he looked.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered.
“Take off your gown. Now.”
Reluctant to release him, she removed the garment quickly and immediately clasped him again, moving her hand along his length. She realized he wasn’t wearing a coat. Just a waistcoat. And a cravat that had to be annoying. Without slowing her strokes, she reached up and pulled the knot free.
He squeezed her thighs. “Straddle my hips.”
She moved up and gasped as her sex covered his. His hips rose, and she rolled with him.
He reached between them, putting his hand over hers. “Rise up, just a bit.”
Following his command, she lifted slightly, and he positioned himself at her opening. “Slide down and take me,” he rasped.
She slowly lowered herself, and he filled her with his flesh. She let go of his cock. He did the same as she came down completely.
This was different from the first time. She felt him in a completely new, deeper way. Sensation rocked through her, coaxing her hips to move.
He gripped her hips tightly. “Yes. Like that. Ride me.”
Ride. She splayed her palms on his chest and adjusted herself unt
il she found the perfect angle. Moaning, she began to move, gradually finding a rhythm that stroked the most wonderful spot inside her. And if she pitched forward just a bit more, he rubbed against her clitoris and…
Anne cried out as pleasure began to build inside her. He moved one hand to her breast, pulling and teasing her nipple. The resulting sensations were overpowering. She began to shake, her body pushing her to move faster, to take him deeper.
He pulled her down and suckled her breast, his hand tangling in the ends of her hair grazing her arm. Falling back, he groaned. “Yes, Anne. Ride. Harder. Faster.”
Her muscles began to clench as her release floated just beyond reach. His hand moved between them and stroked her clitoris. It was all she needed to find that elusive rapture.
She cried out as her body split asunder. He clasped her hips and drove up into her relentlessly. She was practically senseless, her body a quivering vessel for his release.
He started to shout but immediately muffled his voice, throwing his arm over his mouth. Anne pitched forward, her limbs limp. He caught her against his chest and cupped the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair. Digging his fingers into her scalp, he kissed her, claiming her again, as if she had any doubt that he owned her body and soul.
His kiss gentled, his thumb tracing the edge of her ear as he murmured her name over and over into her mouth. She sighed into him and rolled to the bed. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”
Pushing herself up on her elbow she unbuttoned his waistcoat. His chest moved slightly faster than normal as his breathing regulated. She opened the waistcoat and pressed her hand beneath the garment against his shirt.
She felt something wet. “What’s—” Investigating the dampness, she shot straight up, gasping. “Is that blood?”
He lazily opened his eyes and blinked, lifting his head slightly off the pillow. “That? Oh, yes.” His lips spread in a satisfied grin as his lids drifted closed once more. “Last night, I was stabbed.”
Chapter 16
Anne leapt out of the bed and lit the candle on the side table. Holding it over him, she stared down at the slowly spreading dark red stain. “Why on earth were you stabbed?”
“Knife fight. You should have seen my opponent. He fared much worse.”
Blowing out an agitated breath, Anne set the candle down and went to fetch the pitcher of water, basin, and a cloth.
She poured the water into the basin and wet the cloth. “You’re going to bleed all over my bed.”
“Damn, you’re right.” He opened his eyes again—finally—and sat up. “It’s not that bad.” He looked down and winced. “It really isn’t, I promise.”
“Take off your waistcoat and give me your shirt.” She put her hand out as he divested himself of the garments. The waistcoat went onto the floor, and he delivered the shirt into her grasp. “This is probably ruined.”
“I’d ruin a thousand of them if it meant I could have tonight. With you.”
A flush of heat raced through her as he scooted closer to the edge of the bed. She gently pressed the damp cloth on the cut, dabbing up the blood. Pulling the cloth back to find a clean area, she pressed down on him again, drawing a soft gasp from his lips.
“Do you need stitches?” she asked.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“You asked me. Why would you think I’d know?”
She looked at the many scars marking his chest, shoulders, and arms until settling on the scar cutting through his chin and lower lip. “This was not your first knife fight.”
“No.”
“Why?” She held the cloth against his wound and with her other hand, ran her thumb over a scar on his left shoulder, then another on the front of his upper arm. That one was long, maybe four inches.
“When I was young, it was how we gained respect and exerted our dominance. Proving your strength was critical to survival. Not just for me, but for Selina. Before I sent her away to school.”
“You sent her away.”
He nodded. “She would have been raped and forced into prostitution if I didn’t.”
Anne swallowed. She couldn’t imagine such a life. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen. She was eleven. I’d saved enough by then to pay for her school, and I kept moving up in the ranks. By then, I was running one of Partridge’s receiver shops.”
“What’s that?”
“A place where we fenced stolen goods. The gangs of thieves would steal the items, and I would sell them. I ran several of them by the time I was sixteen. Partridge trusted me. He liked me.”
“Who is Partridge?”
Rafe’s features hardened. “Was. He was the man who purchased me and Selina from our ‘uncle’—the man who kidnapped us from Stonehaven. He was a footman there, and his sister was our nurse.”
Anne fought against the tide of emotion welling up within her. Lifting the cloth, she studied the gash. Perhaps two inches wide with neat edges, the damage didn’t look great, especially since the bleeding had stopped. “You need a bandage.”
She started to turn, but he gripped her upper arm. His eyes were dark and intense, the fiery orange spot burning with promise. “It will be fine. For now.” He took the cloth from her fingers and scooted toward the center of the bed before adjusting the pillows and settling back against the headboard. “Sit with me.”
Anne climbed onto the bed and sat next to him. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“You are the loveliest nursemaid.” He put his arm around her and draped the cloth over his cut.
“Why did you get into a knife fight last night?”
He exhaled, his fingertips stroking her arm. “After the dinner, I found myself going to the only place I truly know, the only place where I belong. Or used to, anyway.”
She angled her head so she could see his face. “The men there fight with knives like the children do?”
“Mostly for money, but also for the other reasons I mentioned before. I thought it would make me feel…not better, but more like myself.”
“And did it?”
He shook his head.
She traced the scar on his chin, starting at the base and slowly moving up to his lip. “And this was from a fight?”
“A particularly fierce one. I was seventeen. The other lad wanted to kill me.”
She tensed, lowering her hand to his chest. “Did you—”
“No, but Partridge had it done. He didn’t want anyone to question my authority again. That was the last time I fought, until last night.”
“That you managed to survive your childhood is astonishing.” Anne’s throat tightened. “Not only that, but look at what you’ve built, what you’ve become. And I don’t mean an earl. Even if you weren’t going to be ennobled, you’ve accomplished so much. You seem destined to be great.”
“It never felt like that. Every day was a struggle.”
“Even the days with your wife?” she asked softly. When he stiffened in response, she blurted, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you about her.”
He pulled the cloth away from his chest and tossed it to the side of the bed. “I’m glad you did. I won’t keep anything from you. Not anymore.” He turned, and she lifted her head from his shoulder. “What I wanted more than anything was a family. I lost my parents, I missed my sister. By the time I was twenty, I was smart enough to recognize that Partridge and the other men in his employ were not a family. Still, it was the most secure I’d ever been, and at that time, Selina was lost to me. She’d left the boarding school to take a position as a governess.” His eyes briefly closed, but not before she saw the flash of pain in their depths.
She didn’t want to interrupt, so she waited for him to continue. In the meantime, she skimmed her fingertips across the varied slopes of his muscled chest.
“When I was twenty-five, I fell in love with Eliza. She was the daughter of a cobbler. Dark-haired and so full of vibrancy and laughter, she was everything
I dreamed. Her father didn’t like me, but she believed he would come around. I wanted to earn his approval, and not just for her, but for me. I craved her family, that sense of belonging that had eluded me my entire life.”
His words curled around her heart and made her love for him expand. Emotion cinched her throat, and she flattened her palm against him. Perhaps the heat of his flesh would warm the chill inside her.
“I planned to leave Partridge’s employ. To do that, I reinvented myself as the Vicar, a moneylender in Blackfriars.”
At the mention of that name, a tremor passed through her. She wanted to ask how he’d become acquainted with Gilbert, but again, she wouldn’t interrupt.
“Partridge didn’t like that I left.” Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I was his best officer, you see. He gave me an ultimatum: return to his employment or he’d ruin my life. I thought he meant my new business endeavors. In addition to lending money, I also owned my own receiver shops—and the bookshop in Paternoster Row. And I was making other investments, looking to the future, because by then I had a wife, and soon I would have a child.” His voice cracked.
Anne cupped his neck, stroking her thumb along the underside of his jaw. “I’m so sorry.” She assumed he was going to tell her that Eliza had died in childbirth.
He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. “This is where I may lose you—and I won’t blame you for it. Every time I told you I wasn’t worthy or that you could never know everything about me, this is what I was referring to. It isn’t just that I was married or my wife died. Or even that Partridge killed her—and our unborn child.”
Rafe’s body went completely rigid. Anne held her breath, desperate for him to continue and yet terrified by what he might say next.
“It’s that I killed him in retribution. I stole into one of his flash-houses where he was, and I cut his throat open, just as he’d done to Eliza.”
Anne clapped her hand over her mouth lest the sob gathering in her chest escape. After everything he’d endured, to suffer the loss of the family he was building was unimaginable. It was no wonder he held himself apart, that he’d tried to keep her at arm’s length.
