Along Came a Rogue

by Anna Harrington

  “Yes,” she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him, gladly willing to do whatever he commanded.

  Grey made quick work of unfastening his trousers, then freed himself from the tight fabric and yanked her skirt up high around her waist and out of his way. She’d aroused him to the breaking point, and he needed to possess her. Now.

  His hands slipped beneath her to grasp her bare buttocks, and with a soft growl, he yanked her toward him, impaling her on his cock in one swift thrust. He smothered her cry of surprise with his mouth and thrilled at the shudder of wanton pleasure that sped through her at having him inside her, steel-hard and primed to please her.

  “Shh,” he warned. His teeth nipped at her earlobe as he rocked her gently against him, grinding his hips up against hers until she’d taken his large cock completely inside her and was fully seated over him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she panted breathlessly, and her body trembled in hot anticipation of the climax to come, one he gleefully looked forward to giving her. “They’ll hear you outside.”

  She eased away from him just far enough to look into his eyes as his hands squeezed her buttocks, cupping her in his palms as he raised and lowered her, sliding her tight warmth smoothly up and down his length. Good Lord, how glorious she felt! How wonderfully slick and sweet. How unbelievably luscious with all those little muscles inside her clenching tightly around him. And he knew she enjoyed it, too, because she couldn’t stop the soft mewling sounds that escaped her.

  “Ride me, brat.” He pulled her legs up onto the seat on either side of him so that she could balance on her knees over him, then tilted his hips straight up into hers. “Ride me hard.”

  As he’d commanded, she moved against him, thrusting and retreating as she galloped over him. The sensation was exquisite. He groaned as she leaned back, dug her fingers into his shoulders for leverage, and pumped him hard and fast with her body, as if his cock were a wicked toy created solely for her to take whatever wanton pleasures she desired. Her hips bucked ferociously over his as she drove toward her release.

  “Grey!” A helpless shudder raced through her.

  Her body gripped down hard around his cock as she tossed back her head and arched her back. The catch of her breath, the quivering of her thighs against his hips as her tight warmth flexed around him—

  His arms grasped around her like steel bands as his mouth clamped hard over hers to swallow the helpless cry as she climaxed. Growling his need, he thrust into her from beneath, his hands at her hips keeping her tight against him, then he exploded inside her with so much intensity that a second cry tore from her lips. She collapsed against him, utterly spent.

  He held her there with his arms clasped tightly around her and his limp cock still inside her. Her hot sex quivered tantalizingly around him with each residual wave of pleasure that pulsed through her. He didn’t want to move, preferring to keep her perched right there over him on his lap the way he’d wanted to have her since she so boldly taunted him in the carriage about kissing her. He hadn’t lied to her. He’d not stopped with a taste. Sweet Lucifer, what a meal he’d made of her!

  “Grey?” she asked softly.

  “Hmm?”

  “I win.”

  Laughing, he buried his face against her neck. He’d never been happier in his life than he was at that moment.

  The little minx had changed him. For the first time, he found himself enjoying not just a woman’s body but also the woman herself. All of her. And he had no idea how he’d be able to let her go once they reached London, when she returned to her family and he left for Spain.

  Chapter Eight

  Emily paused in the doorway of the inn where they’d stopped for the night. Fellow travelers gathered inside around tables and on the tall-backed settles pulled up close to the massive stone hearth. The room smelled of smoke and ale, but its stone walls were freshly whitewashed, its floors clean, and its lamps brightly lit. Her stomach fluttered as she took it all in. Clean, well lit, safe…and Grey, once again, all to herself.

  She sighed. Heaven.

  After they had spent themselves in each other’s arms in that wonderfully wicked new game she hoped they’d play again tomorrow, Grey rode for the rest of the afternoon on top of the rig, taking turns at the reins. The silence was just fine with her. It gave her time to finish her sketch of him, to smooth the lines lovingly with her fingertips, and replay in her mind every delicious kiss and caress he’d given her. He didn’t mind that she was with child, desiring her despite that, and he seemed to like it when she took the initiative to please him. So tonight she planned on showing him all the various ways she could do just that.

  As if reading her mind, he came up behind her. “Will this place do?”

  She nodded. A barn and a pile of hay would have served as long as Grey was with her.

  “And it’s safe. Whoever set fire to Snowden couldn’t have followed us here.” He squeezed her elbow to reassure her. “You can rest easy tonight.”

  Her lips twitched as she stifled a smile. Resting was the last thing she wanted to do tonight.

  “Let’s get settled, shall we?” He took her arm and led her across the room to the bar.

  Her heart raced with anticipation. There was nothing sexual about what he’d said, not even an innuendo, yet a shiver raced through her at the tantalizing thought of settling in for the night. With him.

  Grey reached for the quill to sign the register and nodded curtly at the bald innkeeper, who finished wiping down the bar and tossed the towel over his stocky shoulder. “We’ll need stalls for the horses and two private rooms for the night, preferably on opposite ends of the hall.”

  At that, Emily’s heart somersaulted, and a faint blush heated her cheeks. Oh yes, they were definitely settling in for the night.

  “Upstairs to the right.” The innkeeper slid two keys across the bar to Grey. “Payment in advance. Have your driver speak with the stable manager outside regarding your team.”

  Grey nodded and handed over enough money to cover the bill. “And a bucket of hot water in the room for the lady, both tonight and in the morning.”

  “Aye, sir. And will you and your wife be needin’ anything else?”

  And at that, Emily’s heart stopped completely. Your wife. The innkeeper thought they were married, that she and Grey were—oh no.

  Or…oh yes? Was it so wrong for the man to think they were married, especially after they’d been intimate, both with their bodies and their secrets? With the affectionate way she was certain she looked at Grey even now and how Grey kept her so possessively close by his side, could she fault anyone for making that assumption when they’d just strolled inside together at sunset?

  It meant nothing, she told herself. Just a mistake on the innkeeper’s part.

  Still, Grey didn’t correct him, and Emily found herself not wanting him to. A small part of her thrilled at the possibility that Grey might finally think of her as someone other than Thomas’s little sister, as something more than a friend. And her heart wished with all its might that he could somehow find a way to delay his departure to Spain so he could remain with her in London through the rest of her pregnancy, to be with her when her baby was born…if not beyond.

  And for goodness’ sake, what harm was there in wondering what it might have been like to have Grey for a husband, for him to be the father of her baby? What sin was she committing to let anyone assume that tonight he truly did belong to her? Surely, even fate couldn’t fault her for wanting that.

  “We have everything we need,” Grey answered with an indecipherable glance at Emily.

  Mumbling his thanks to the innkeeper, he tossed the second key to Hedley and gestured him outside toward the stable yard to tend to the team. He placed his hand against the small of her back and steered her toward the dining room and the hot meal waiting within.

  He lowered his mouth to her ear. “It meant nothing.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” She feigned ignorance, although the sinking p
inch in her stomach told her exactly what he’d meant.

  “A man and woman traveling together—he doesn’t want trouble, so he turns a blind eye and addresses everyone as if they’re wed.”

  Her throat tightened as foolish embarrassment swelled inside her, yet she forced her face to remain blank so he wouldn’t see the pain squeezing her chest. “Well, it’s good to know that the innkeeper will help keep my reputation intact.”

  “Not just yours. This inn is on the route to Gretna Green. He makes a fine pound off Scottish weddings, I’ll bet.”

  Even though she felt the heat of his gaze slide sideways onto her, she kept her eyes straight ahead and nodded, unable to look at him.

  Oh, she was such a fool! While she had been wondering what it would be like to truly be his, Grey had been thinking only of the economics of elopement. She’d gone and done exactly what he’d warned her not to do—she’d confused sex with affection, wanting more from him than just his body.

  “I see.” She allowed herself to blink just once. Very hard.

  He stopped, his hands on her shoulders turning her to face him. He puzzled down at her. “You see what, exactly?”

  She gave a small shrug, hoping the simple physical movement could somehow force back the stinging heat behind her eyes. She saw it clearly now, the different ways they lived their lives and the very different goals they had for their futures. That he wanted adventure and intrigue, while she wanted nothing more daring than to be an artist. That he was perfectly content as a rake and a bachelor, while she wanted the chance again for a loving husband and a family, despite her past. That he wanted freedom, and she wanted…him.

  “How very different we are,” she whispered simply.

  The quiet words hung in the air between them. For a moment, neither of them moved, neither spoke. Then his eyes narrowed with cold accusation, and his hands fell away from her. His jaw worked hard.

  “How do you mean?” he demanded.

  She shook her head, knowing she could never make him understand. “That you’re who you are, and I’m—”

  “That you’re a lady, and I’m a rogue,” he bit out in a voice so low and cutting it stabbed through her. “I warned you about that, if you’ll remember.”

  “I didn’t mean that!” Her heart thudded painfully in her chest with sudden panic. Oh God, she was losing him already— “No! I would never think that.”

  Mindless of the crowded room around her, she reached a hand for him. But he stepped back, leaving her to grasp at empty air.

  Her hand fell to her side. As she stared at him, knowing he could see the tears glistening in her eyes yet helpless to prevent them, the words rested on her lips to tell him how much he meant to her, how desperate she was to keep tonight from being the last time she would be alone with him.

  And if she did tell him? If she admitted that she loved him, that perhaps she’d always loved him, then he would know exactly how she felt, and…Nothing.

  Nothing would change. She would still be a duke’s widowed daughter who might very well be carrying a future marquess, and he would still be a rake and spy. He would never be willing to love her the way she wanted, not when his true love was the War Office.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized in a strangled voice, somehow finding the inner strength to retreat from him. “I didn’t—” She inhaled a jerky breath and shook her head. “I am suddenly not hungry. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He blew out a muttered curse and reached for her hand. “Brat, I’m sorry. Please listen—”

  “Lady Emily!”

  Emily startled at the shriek of her name across the common room. An older woman in a hunter-green traveling costume and matching hat, complete with billowing ostrich feathers and ermine stole, stood up from one of the tables. She waved a handkerchief excitedly in the air to capture her attention.

  “Lady Emily—that is you, is it not?”

  Emily cringed. No, please, God, no! Not her, not now! But it was too late for prayers, and dread curled inside her stomach. Of all the places to be recognized, of all the people to spot her…

  Fate had no mercy, apparently. Not even for love.

  Lady Gantry was one of the most gossip-mongering women in the ton, and to cut her in any way would be to foolishly risk the woman’s sharp-tongued wrath across the drawing rooms of London. Steeling herself, Emily forced a smile and bobbed a shallow curtsy as the insufferable woman quickly approached.

  “Baroness,” she said tightly, “how unexpected to see you…and here, of all places.”

  “Why, Lady Emily, it is you!” The woman squeezed both of Emily’s hands, completely oblivious to her distress and the way her watery eyes glanced heart-wrenchingly at Grey. “I knew it! I said as much to my George and his dear wife, Alice, when you walked inside. I said, ‘There is Emily Matteson! There can be no doubt of it.’ And, indeed, there was not!”

  Her temples throbbed already at the woman’s grating voice and at Grey’s fixed gaze, which never left her face, as if wanting to gauge her reaction to meeting the baroness with him at her side. “You have been well, I hope?” she forced herself to ask.

  At that moment, Emily couldn’t have cared less how the gossipy old hen was doing, or her son George, a former classmate of Thomas’s at Eton, who crossed the room toward them much more slowly than had his mother. A demure and plain woman held on to his arm.

  “Oh yes, quite well,” Lady Gantry chirped, “now that my George has wed. We expect an heir before next summer, don’t we, George?”

  Her son answered weakly in the affirmative and looked away, as if bored already with the conversation. His bride’s cheeks pinked delicately with embarrassment.

  “Congratulations.” Emily dropped another shallow curtsy to the pair.

  “Good luck would be more appropriate, I daresay,” Lady Gantry mumbled, shooting her daughter-in-law a peevish glance, but the woman never lifted her eyes from the floor to see it. “How is your family, my dear? I saw Her Grace just last month at Lady St. James’s garden party. And now, to run into you, and at a posting inn, no less—what a coincidence! Why, wherever are you traveling?”

  Emily swallowed hard, feeling like a caged bird at the Tower Menagerie under Grey’s unwavering attention. “My brother was injured. I’m traveling to London to see him.”

  “Oh yes.” Lady Gantry shook her head, clucking her tongue sympathetically. “Such tragic news! Shocked us all. After all, if such a thing could happen to him, then how safe are any of us? But we were all so pleased to hear that Chesney survived.”

  “Not nearly as pleased as Chesney, I’m sure,” Grey muttered acerbically, unable to keep his silence.

  Emily gave him a pleading look to behave himself, biting her bottom lip anxiously. Lady Gantry and her son looked at him then and blinked in unison, as if they’d just now realized that he existed.

  Apparently finding him lacking or uninteresting, or both, George turned back to his wife, who still had not raised her bashful eyes from the floor.

  But the baroness smiled broadly and extended her hand. “You must be Lady Emily’s husband. I had heard she married—”

  “He’s not my husband,” Emily interjected quickly. Realizing how emphatically she denied the woman’s wrong assumption and unwittingly drew Lady Gantry’s puzzled curiosity, she added in explanation, “Mr. Crenshaw passed away five months ago.”

  “Oh.” A perplexed expression flitted across the baroness’s face as she unabashedly studied Grey, then swung her eyes to note Emily’s lack of proper mourning attire. With a stab of rueful dread, Emily wondered if she’d just made a mistake. A terrible mistake. “I am sorely aggrieved to hear that,” Lady Gantry purred, in a voice that told Emily she wasn’t sad at all at the news. “My condolences.”

  The baroness’s gaze settled knowingly on Grey, her lips curving upward in private amusement, as if she’d just caught the proverbial fox in the henhouse. Then her eyes slid back to Emily, and her smile grew chillingly deeper. She arched a brow, waiti
ng to be introduced.

  Oh God, what the woman must think of the two of them! But with no choice, Emily cleared her throat and introduced them. “Lady Gantry, may I present Major Nathaniel Grey?” she spilled out in a flood. “Major Grey is a longtime family friend. He served with my brother in Spain and is now one of Lord Bathurst’s most trusted men at the War Office. My family sent him to escort me safely from Yorkshire to be at my brother’s side while he recovers.”

  As the rapid—and well-overdone—explanation fell from her lips for why she would be alone at an inn with one of London’s most notorious rakes, Emily realized with horror that she was only digging herself deeper. She wasn’t alleviating Lady Gantry’s suspicions but furthering them.

  The baroness stiffened at Grey’s name. Her eyes narrowed sharply, clearly recognizing his rakish reputation if not his face, and she snatched away her hand before he could take it.

  Oh God…“Major Grey,” Emily forced out despite the tightening knot of panic in her throat, “may I introduce Baroness Gantry?”

  With a cool and knowing smile, Grey bowed politely. Then the blasted devil sent the baroness his most rakish, most wickedly wolfish grin. “My lady, a pleasure indeed.”

  Emily shot him an appalled look of chastisement, which he wholly ignored. He was her escort, truly sent by her family to fetch her, and she couldn’t have asked for a better guard to deliver her safely to them. But heavens! Why did the man have to feed into the gossip that was certain to come by behaving like…well, himself.

  With a haughty sniff at his reputation, Lady Gantry turned her back to him completely.

  Emily stared, her eyes narrowing to slits. The nerve of the woman! She’d never before witnessed so rude a cut, and her heart ached with embarrassment for him. Was this what his life was like in London, being subjected to such open disdain? Was this why he preferred to lurk on the fringes of society rather than try to become a true part of it?

  Doubt hit her like a slap—is that what he thought of her now after their conversation from moments before, that she was no better than snooty, judgmental women like Lady Gantry?