The Rogue's Seduction

by Georgina Devon

  Only later, as the late morning sun entered the room where they lay covered in sweat, their legs joined, did she come back to sanity. Now that he no longer made love to her.

  Never had she experienced such a total and complete surfeit of physical desire. Just knowing that he could bring her such an experience again, in moments, made her desire him once more.

  Her shame was tenfold. The anger she had felt upon first awakening and realising that he had somehow broken into her room resurfaced. Only this time it was aimed at herself for her weakness, but she lashed out at him for what he had done to her and for what she had begged him to do.

  ‘You are a rutting beast.’

  The warmth that had heated his eyes turned to the sharp coldness of obsidian. ‘And you are better?’

  His mocking question infuriated her more. ‘Get out.’

  With lithe grace that took no note of his nudity, he rose from the bed and gathered his clothing. He gave her not a backward glance.

  In spite of her anger and her need to have him gone, she watched him hungrily. Their passion had been white hot, with no time to savour one another. Now she drank her fill of his tall, broad-shouldered form, his lean well-muscled hips. His legs were shaped so that many a woman would sigh at the sight of them.

  The only mar to his physical beauty was a series of scars criss-crossing his back. At some time he had been badly whipped. Probably while he was in the army.

  The urge to go to him and run her fingers in soothing strokes over the scars was nearly irresistible. Only the knowledge that such action would end in more lovemaking stopped her.

  He pulled the chair from beneath the doorknob and disappeared into his room. She felt cold and alone. No satisfaction accompanied her privacy.

  She rolled to her side and curled into a tight ball. If she squeezed herself hard enough and long enough, she might find comfort or, lacking that, the strength she needed to resist him. He had vowed to make her desire him above all else, and she already did so. Now she had to keep that from him.

  Knocking, knocking, knocking. In her dream she knocked on Perth’s door, demanding that he let her in. Her need for him was something she could not resist.

  Knocking…

  Lillith roused. This time she came instantly awake. Someone knocked on the door from the hallway. It had to be Fitch.

  She pushed up in bed. Instantly, the aches from her morning activity assailed her. She was long unaccustomed to the acts she and Perth had performed.

  The sheets twisted around her naked body. Her torn nightgown lay on the floor like a discarded rag. And her ankle began to throb.

  ‘Come back later,’ she managed to get out through a throat that felt swollen and sore. ‘I do not feel well.’

  The knocking stopped. ‘I will be back, my lady, with some food and a posset.’

  ‘Thank you, Fitch, but there is no need. I just need rest.’ Exhaustion ate at her, brought about by physical exhaustion and mental dismay.

  ‘His lordship will not agree, my lady.’

  ‘His lordship can go—’ to hell, she finished in her mind.

  There was no answer so she assumed Fitch had left. She collapsed back on to the pillows. She needed Perth’s concoction for her ankle, a cup of strong hot tea and another bath. She needed the moon.

  She forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed. The cane was propped against the wall where she had left it after climbing into bed the night before. She gripped the golden handle and gingerly lowered herself to the floor. The pain that shot up her ankle was like a slap across the face. If she had been even slightly dazed from exhaustion, she was now very much aware.

  The curtains billowed into the room, the breeze from outside filling them like a ship’s sails. She had closed the window before going to sleep.

  She hobbled to the window and looked out. A large, old oak tree grew up the side of the house, its branches reaching close enough that an agile man could gain entrance to her room. So that was how Perth had entered. Tonight she would make sure and latch the window so that it could not be opened from the outside.

  If she did not get away before then.

  Moving more steadily, but no less painfully, she returned to the bed and used the cane to hook up the torn nightgown. With a snarl, she wadded it into a tight ball and stuffed it into a drawer that was filled with silk stockings and ribbon-encrusted chemises. Last night she had marvelled at all the gowns for bed, each one as gossamer as a butterfly’s wing. She had wondered if Perth intended to keep her captive long enough to wear each of them. Now she wondered if one would even last a night if he gained access to her room.

  A shiver of desire coursed through her. She deliberately stepped on her bad foot. The excruciating agony sent all thought of the Earl and what he might do from her mind. Biting her lip, she collapsed on to the bed. That had been a very stupid thing to do.

  She fought back tears.

  If only she had married him. Things would not be like this. But that was not what had happened. Long ago she had schooled herself not to look back. It only brought regret.

  A knock heralded Fitch’s return.

  Lillith took a deep breath and pulled on the dressing gown that also lay near the bed. She was naked underneath, but there was no helping that. The way she felt right now, she could not dress herself.

  ‘Just a minute,’ she managed. Getting to the door was torture. Her abused ankle screamed at her. Before she moved the chair and unlocked the door, she asked, ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. The Earl has gone for a ride. He will not be back for some time.’

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  But not until she had taken the whisky and laudanum mix and had several strong cups of tea did she relax. Fitch brought her food and she ate. He brought hot water and she washed. He found a gown she could don without help and she did so.

  The situation tempted her anger to resurface. It would be so easy to become furious again, but it would accomplish nothing. She had to heal and she had to get away from Perth before he stole all her strength from her.

  Perth rode like the Wild Hunt chased him. And if regret and anger and passion made up the Hunt, then it did hound him.

  He had accomplished what he had set out to do. He had made her desire him, and he had made her beg for him. But that was no longer enough. He wanted more. He wanted everything she had to give. And then he wanted it to never end.

  He groaned. His body was in no condition to be riding. His desire was unquenchable and though she was not near, he reacted as though she lay naked in front of him.

  He laughed harshly, the sound mingling with the wind that tore at his hair and blew his coat out behind him. His gelding responded by running faster. A fence loomed ahead. They took the obstacle in one jump and continued their reckless, headstrong rush.

  Only once before had Perth ridden this passionately with such disregard for his or his mount’s safety. That had been ten years ago. He cursed himself for his weakness where she was concerned. But it did him no good.

  His desire for her rode him like he rode this horse, unrelenting and without thought for the consequences. He wanted her more than he had ten years before. Ten years before he had not made love to her, felt her surround him and take him inside her body. Ten years before he had lost his heart. Today he had lost his soul.

  He had to have her.

  He found her sitting on a bench in his garden. The fish pond was at her feet and rabbits hopped through the grass that surrounded her. Rose bushes shaded her, the last of their flowers scenting the air.

  Lillith watched him stride towards her. His hair was windblown and there was a wild glint in his dark eyes. The scar that ran the length of his right cheek stood out white and fierce.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, sitting beside her without asking permission.

  The narrow bench was barely large enough for both of them—it certainly provided no distance between them. Still, Lillith edged away until she was n
early unbalanced. It was not far enough. He radiated heat, and the smells of horse and the outdoors mingled with his cinnamon and musk.

  She looked away, focusing on the distance. ‘Who landscaped the grounds?’

  It was an inane question, but she dared not let him pick a topic of conversation. The dark hunger in his gaze told her all too well what he would pursue.

  ‘Capability Brown.’

  A curt answer. She waited for more, sensing that nothing would be forthcoming. She licked her lips and still did not look at him. ‘He achieved a fine result.’

  ‘I think so.’

  She sighed. ‘I think I will go in now. It is becoming hot.’ She took up the cane she had used to walk out here and levered herself to a standing position.

  ‘How is your ankle?’ he asked, standing with her.

  ‘Better,’ she answered as curtly as he had.

  ‘Look at me,’ he ordered, his voice low and demanding.

  ‘I think not,’ she said, wishing her voice did not sound so breathless.

  She tried to move around him, but he gripped her wrist. His free hand cupped her chin and before she could do anything, he angled her face so that she had to look at him or close her eyes. She looked at him.

  His gaze roved over her, devoured her with his intensity. She felt a flush rise up her bosom to her neck and mount her cheeks. Still, she would not relent before his onslaught and look away.

  ‘Once is not enough,’ he said, his voice low and raspy. ‘I have waited too long to let you go now.’

  She did not pretend to misunderstand him. ‘So, you intend to continue keeping me against my will. I had thought better of you now that you have got what you set out to get.’

  He flinched as though she had hit him. ‘That sharp tongue of yours. I like better what you did with it this morning.’

  The blush that had suffused her deepened, and once more she spoke to hurt. ‘A gentleman would not mention that.’

  His face whitened. ‘I am not a gentleman, as we both know too well.’

  Was there pain in his words? Looking at the hardness of his face, she thought she was mistaken.

  ‘What do you intend to do, then?’ she asked.

  He still held her wrist. His eyes still held her captive. ‘I intend to make love to you until we both can stand no more.’

  His bold statement hit her like a flood and filled every empty part of her body and heart with desire for him. Somehow she managed not to fall into his arms.

  She took a deep breath and shook herself as though trying to rid herself of a sensation too great to bear. ‘I am hungry. Fitch said he would have dinner ready by the time you returned from your ride.’

  His eyes narrowed and bitterness tinged his words. ‘Nothing I have said means a thing to you.’

  She glanced away from him and forced the lie to her lips. ‘Nothing.’

  He released her and she hobbled away, refusing to look back at him. If she did such a weak thing, he would know instantly that she had not spoken the truth.

  Fitch waited inside the French doors that opened into the library. He had lit a fire that took the chill out of the air. Books lined every wall and where the shelves did not go to the ceiling, portraits filled the spaces. Warm woods and rich reds made the room cozy.

  ‘If it pleases your ladyship, I shall serve dinner here. It is only a cold collation.’

  ‘That will be perfect,’ she said, making her way to one of the couches that flanked the fireplace. She sank deep into the burnt-red brocade cushions. ‘And tea, please.’

  Fitch drew himself up. ‘Of course, my lady.’

  She smiled. Her butler had much the same way about him. His dignity was every bit as great as any duke’s, and if the truth was told, the servant probably held himself more upright.

  Fitch was barely out of the room when Perth entered. ‘I take it that this is where we will be eating.’

  He did not wait for an answer but moved a large table so that it stood between the two couches. Next he pulled up a straight-backed leather wing chair and sat down. Silence fell.

  Outside a bird chirped. Inside the fire crackled and the mantle clock ticked. She looked everywhere but at Perth. Several books lay on the side table near her: Cicero, Scott and Byron.

  ‘Have you read these?’ she asked, attempting to ease the silent tension that engulfed them.

  He glanced at the books. ‘When I cannot sleep or the weather is too nasty to go out.’

  ‘I have read Scott and Byron,’ she replied.

  ‘Everyone has read them,’ he said. ‘Both are lionised.’

  Fitch returned with the food, putting an end to a conversation that was fast running out of steam. Perth thanked him and then waved him away.

  ‘I will serve Lady de Lisle and myself. Go do something you would enjoy.’

  Fitch looked at both of them then thought better of protesting. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  Perth quirked one dark brow. ‘I am not going to devour her.’

  ‘As you say, my lord.’

  Lillith studied the servant’s bland face. She wondered if he meant to be as impertinent as he sounded.

  ‘Be gone,’ Perth said.

  Fitch bowed himself out, but there was an air of defiance about him. He might have done as ordered, but Lillith sensed that the servant did not approve of what was going on.

  They ate in silence. The hunger she had felt earlier had long passed. Nerves always affected her thusly.

  Instead of ringing for Fitch when they were through, Perth cleared the table himself. He would not be gone long and Lillith decided to wait. If she went to her room, she did not doubt that he would follow. That was the last place she wanted to be with him.

  When he returned, he was scowling as though he had been through something unpleasant, but he made no mention of it and she did not ask. He sat down in the same chair and stared at the fire.

  ‘Do you play chess?’ he asked without looking at her.

  ‘Occasionally,’ she answered, gratified when he gave her an irritated look.

  ‘Will you play against me now?’ he asked, his tone mocking.

  ‘’Tis better than some games we might play,’ she said, striving to keep her own tone as cool as his.

  He rose and fetched a chessboard and a satinwood box that held marble pieces. She watched him set up the game. His long fingers moved with a sure deftness that brought back memories of them moving over her skin. The nails were clean and well kept, as was all of him. His skin was smooth yet without softness. He was not a dandy.

  When her body screamed to be touched as he touched the chess pieces, she forced her attention elsewhere. ’Twould do her no good to continue desiring him. There had to be more between them than their bodies.

  ‘You may start.’

  His deep voice startled her. She had been too intent on her emotions and had lost track of what he did.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she muttered, reaching for a pawn and moving it recklessly.

  He looked from the pawn to her face. ‘You must not play much.’

  Within three moves he had that pawn and a knight. Not long after he had two more pieces. She was going to lose without ever having given him a fight. Their chess was like their lovemaking. Her hackles rose at this idea. Somehow, some way, she had to resist him. He checkmated her easily.

  ‘I will play you another game,’ she said fiercely. This time she would concentrate and consider each move.

  He eyed her with surprise. ‘You want to be bested again? I have never taken you for a woman who likes to lose.’

  She sat up straighter and scowled at him. ‘I don’t. I intend to win the next game.’

  His smile was a lazy act that lent a slumberous slant to his eyes. The breath caught in her throat.

  Without a word, he set the pieces in order once more. This time she refused to watch him. She had no intention of being distracted.

  He rose and went to a side table where a decanter of liquor sat with two glasses. ‘Wou
ld you care for a drink?’

  ‘No,’ she said curtly, wrinkling her nose.

  He sauntered back to his seat. ‘’Tis just as well.’

  She glared at him. ‘For once you are right. My brother drinks enough for ten men, as did my father. I know what too much alcohol can do.’

  He saluted her with a finger to brow and took a sip. ‘We both know.’

  His words were a knife. Her face blanched and she looked down at the chessboard. Too much drinking and too much gambling had put her brother into the type of debt that had forced her to marry de Lisle in order to get a settlement to bail Mathias out of the River Tick. Perth was never going to let her forget that she had chosen another man over him and why. Never.

  She took a deep breath and moved her first piece.

  Two hours later she had him in check, but not mate. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his third glass. He studied the board.

  ‘You have improved vastly,’ he drawled. ‘Somehow I thought you might.’

  She gave him a tight, cool smile.

  ‘Still,’ he said softly, ‘I think that I win.’ He moved a piece. ‘Checkmate.’

  She frowned and her fists tightened. A low growl escaped her clenched teeth. ‘Drat. I did not see that.’

  He finished the drink and leaned back in his chair. ‘It is getting late.’

  His words and all that they implied sent a shiver up her spine. She looked at the French doors and was surprised to see that it was dusk outside. It would be dark soon.

  ‘Let us play cards,’ she said hastily. Anything to keep them in this room and away from their connecting bed chambers.

  A predatory grin slashed his face showing strong white teeth, teeth that could nip her skin with great tenderness or with tantalizing provocation. Her fingers went involuntarily to her throat where the breath seemed to be trapped.

  ‘A game of whist,’ he said, gathering the chess pieces and returning them to their box.

  She stared at his hands and then at nothing since everything about him roused her senses. ‘That would be fine.’