The Rogue's Proposal

by Jennifer Haymore

  To spend one’s life thinking you were the son of a duke, only to discover at twenty-seven that not only are you not, but that you’re illegitimate as well. Your father is a stranger. You have siblings who are strangers. The siblings you thought you had are only half the relations you believed they were. The name you believed was yours for your whole life no longer applies.

  She couldn’t imagine what that felt like.

  “Are…are you sure?” she stammered.

  He closed his eyes in a long blink. His jaw firmed. “Yes. The proof is incontrovertible.”

  “And your brothers, Mark and Theo? Are they Lord Stanley’s as well?”

  “No.” His voice sounded thick, as if he were speaking through syrup. “They are the illegitimate sons of the old duke and one of his mistresses. Stanley possessed proof of that as well. So…my two younger brothers? We have no blood in common. They’re not really my brothers at all. Trent and Sam, my two older brothers, are both half brothers on my mother’s side, and my sister—no one knows for certain what her origins are. Stanley raised some questions regarding her legitimacy as well.”

  “All this in an attempt to force the Duke of Trent to marry his daughter.”

  “Yes,” Luke said simply. “The man is a conniving bastard.”

  And this was the man he’d just learned was his true father. Emma leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  He inhaled shakily. “So you see, I’ve been lying to you about who I truly am. My entire existence is a lie. My identity as the son and legitimate brother of the Duke of Trent—as his heir—is false. I’m nothing but a bastard pretending to be someone he is not.”

  Emma squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. For a long moment, they sat in silence. Not moving, not speaking.

  Luke was still Luke. He was still the man Emma admired and desired, who drove her to distraction in so many ways. Nothing had changed about any of that. All that had changed was her understanding of him. Now she had further insight into the depths of him.

  Emma dragged her eyes open. “You said this could change what we have between us. But I don’t understand how.”

  Luke’s lips pressed together in a flat line. He gazed at her. “I don’t belong in the position I was raised to believe I occupied. I’m a charlatan. And I’m inherently evil. Spawned in sin.”

  She blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I deserve nothing of what I have. I receive an allowance from the ducal estate, but do I even deserve that? No, I don’t. I’m a bastard’s bastard. I should have nothing, but I have lived such a life of leisure I can’t survive without taking the money of a dead man I have no legitimate ties to.”

  “Your brother wouldn’t agree!”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “You seem to know so much about Trent.”

  “From you. You’ve told me about the duke. I know you and he don’t often agree, but I can tell you care for him. It is obvious he cares for you, too. I doubt he gives a damn about this stupid discovery.”

  “Oh, he gives a damn,” Luke said softly. Turning away from her, he pushed a rough hand through his hair.

  Emma ground her teeth. Luke had taken this discovery of his paternity as some kind of proof that he was a lesser man, an undeserving man.

  “You foolish man.”

  Luke blinked at her. She struggled to move toward him, trying not to move her foot too much. She took his neck and pulled him to her. She kissed his lips, then pressed her cheek to his stubble-roughened one. He hadn’t yet shaved this morning.

  “Don’t let this destroy you, Luke. It doesn’t change who you are.”

  “Doesn’t it?” His voice was rough with emotion.

  “No.” She kissed his lips again, hard. “No.” Her lips pushed against his. “This changes nothing of how I feel for you. Nothing of what I think about you. It changes nothing of what’s inside you. Here.” She pressed her palm against his heart.

  He gripped her shoulders. His blue eyes shone at her, two bright sapphires. “Every time someone calls me ‘my lord,’ it is a lie. I’m not who you thought I was.”

  “Yes. You are. You’re exactly who I thought you are. You’re the man I want. The man I need. Right now.”

  She fumbled with the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up, feeling the twinge in her ankle but not giving a damn.

  “I need you,” she whispered, peppering kisses over his face. She pulled away for a second to jerk her nightgown over her head. Then it was off and she was naked, and Luke’s hands were fumbling over her, touching her waist, her stomach, her breasts.

  She lay back, pulling him over her. She reached down to his falls. His arousal grew as she touched him there, and a whimper of anticipation escaped her throat.

  “Emma,” he groaned. “God, Emma.” And then he took command, strong and powerful, like he always did. A deep shudder began at her core and traveled outward through her limbs. She wiggled against him, yearning, wanting. She’d wanted him last night—she’d pined for him—but now her need had grown. Her need eclipsed rational thought. She yanked his trousers over his hips, and he kicked them away. She wrapped her arms around him, over his shirt.

  “Need you,” she whispered. “I need you. Please. Please.”

  With one heavy push, he was deep, deep inside her. She gasped as her body took him in. And she looked up at him. His wild blue eyes gazed down at her.

  “More, Luke. Give me more of you.”

  With a low groan, he began to move in powerful, heavy thrusts. He bent down and took her mouth, sweeping his tongue in with each plunge of his body into hers. One hand went to her breast, squeezing.

  And that quickly, her body tightened. His kiss, his touch, his presence inside her, all of it combined to make the pleasure nearly unbearable. Her body tautened from head to toe. She felt like a violin string, with Luke the virtuoso playing her until she vibrated with pleasure.

  He tasted like salt and man, with a hint of coffee from their breakfast. He was hard and warm. Each thrust that entered her body seemed to go impossibly deep, and he pushed so far inside her, she was certain he touched her very soul.

  She came so hard black spots crowded her vision. Her body pulsed and shuddered. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She grabbed his shirt for dear life.

  But Luke was over her, protecting her. As pleasure rolled in thundering waves through her, she knew he’d keep her safe.

  Slowly, she emerged back into the world, panting, her heart galloping. He was breathing hard, too, each exhalation a harsh rasp that blew strands of hair from her face. His thumb moved over her too-sensitive nipple, and she squirmed. The wetness from her orgasm made her slick and hot between her legs, and he glided into her now, still so deep and so hard she felt him to her core.

  He didn’t stop. He was relentless, his body moving through hers like this was where he belonged and he had no intention of ever leaving. In minutes, Emma’s body began that sweet rise to her peak once again. The orgasm came sharp and hard, and as she came down from it, she whimpered, boneless and replete beneath his onslaught. Seconds later, he pulled out. Reaching down, he circled his fingers around himself, and she felt the warm splash of his seed as he released onto her stomach with a low groan.

  He dropped onto her, heavy but not too heavy, because he kept much of his weight on his arms and knees, and she wrapped her arms tight around him, reveling in the feel of his masculine, powerful body on top of hers. Her face was in line with the curve of his shoulder to his neck, and she kissed him tenderly there as he panted into her hair.

  Minutes later, when both their breathing had calmed somewhat, he raised his head slowly, as if it weighed a ton.

  “Did you mean it?” he asked, and the expression on his face was so young and so vulnerable, a lump rose in her throat. “Am I the man you thought I was? The man you want?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice husky and firm. “I swear to God and on the lives of everyone I hold dear, I meant it. I meant every word.”
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br />   His eyes closed and he lowered his head again. But his lips pressed to her hair and his arm tucked itself between the bed and her body, hugging her to him.

  “You’re an angel,” he said softly.

  “No, Luke, I’m not. I’m just a woman who cares for you.”

  And…who just might be falling in love with you, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  They drove at a brutal pace for four days, changing horses often, hiring a new pair of postilions to drive the horses every day. The weather wasn’t ideal, but Emma and Luke were in a closed carriage now, and rain didn’t have as great of an effect on their travel.

  From Belford to Darlington that first day, then Doncaster the second. On the third day, they became more intimately acquainted with the interior of their post chaise. Emma was leaning on Luke’s shoulder, half asleep, and his hand was on her thigh. Slowly, it began creeping upward. With every inch, Emma’s awareness rose. She reciprocated by touching his thigh, too. When they reached each other’s upper thigh, Emma looked up, and their lips met in a long, languorous kiss.

  Luke lifted her from the carriage seat, then settled her to a position on her knees in front of him.

  “Loosen my falls,” he commanded, his voice husky and laced with erotic promise.

  She glanced toward one of the windows. The curtains on both sides of the carriage were open, letting the sunlight cast golden rays inside.

  He quirked a brow. “Do you want me to close the curtains?”

  She almost said yes, but then she caught herself. There was something wickedly intoxicating about the idea that someone might see whatever it was they were about to do. A farmer at the side of the road might chance to look up at the passing post chaise and see Emma and Luke in the throes of passion.

  Her heart quickened at the thought. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why the idea was so arousing, but it was.

  On her knees in front of Luke, the movement of the carriage rumbling under her shins, she looked up at him and slowly shook her head no.

  His lips curved. “Good,” he said. “Now loosen my falls.”

  She did as she was told, her body trembling in anticipation.

  He was hard already, and she wondered if it was the kiss or the open windows that had aroused him. Perhaps both.

  With deliberate slowness, she unbuttoned his falls, allowing her fingertips to skim over his length whenever they came near it. Then she opened his trousers.

  The largeness of his arousal never failed to astound her.

  She stroked a finger down his length. He shuddered, and she looked up at him. She wanted—needed—his instruction.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “Grip me in your hands,” he murmured. “Gently at first, then tighter.”

  She touched him in a loose grip, lightly circling her fingers around him. His skin was so soft here, over the steely hardness of his length.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Tighter now, and slide your fingers over it like this.”

  He moved his hands over hers, showing her how to stroke him in an up-and-down movement. His eyes fluttered closed. “Oh, yes. That’s so good. Just like that.”

  She wanted to kiss him. So she did, running her lips over his blunt head and stroking back and forth. His salty taste was more pronounced here.

  They’d done so many wicked things together, but this was so deliciously naughty, her breaths quickened and her pulse galloped.

  He released a low growl as her lips pushed over the fleshy tip of him, and the sound encouraged her. She licked him, following the path of her hands with her tongue as she moved up and down over his long, thick length.

  His fingers dove into her hair. Vaguely, she heard her pins clattering to the floor of the carriage, and she smiled. Luke loved her hair, loved digging his hands into it.

  The coil of her braid came loose, and he anchored his fingers tight against her scalp. “That’s so good, Em. Now wrap that pretty little mouth around me.”

  She opened and took him inside her mouth, going down as far as she could before pulling up, licking his shaft as she moved over it, using her lips for pressure. Now, her lips followed the path of her fisted fingers over him, up and down, her tongue swirling around him, paying special attention to the blunt head of him, because whenever she licked him there, his fingers tightened in her hair.

  Arousal flushed through her. She pressed her thighs together to combat the building need at their apex. Her body wanted this, wanted him to press this steely, hot organ deep inside her. Hard and fast, like he always did. It wanted that deep, intense friction only Luke could provide.

  She began to whimper over him, feeling like she was going to squirm out of her very skin.

  “Yes. That’s so damn good. Keep making those noises. They feel so good.”

  He had begun to move into her mouth, thrusting deep, using the fingers wrapped in her hair to push her over him. She wanted to take him all, swallow him down. He was so hard and hot and delicious. Whenever she took him in especially deep, he groaned in appreciation.

  “Yes. God, yes,” he murmured, thrusting into her mouth. As she worked her mouth and hand over him, he grew impossibly harder, impossibly longer. She could almost feel the pulse of blood and heat through his shaft. Her body was on fire—hot, needy, and wanting, so open and ready for his invasion.

  His fingers grew so tight in her hair it almost hurt. His hips moved, and all she needed to do was give over to his direction. She relaxed, letting him thrust into her mouth, letting him direct her with his hands cupping her head and tangled in her hair.

  She loved this—being locked against him like this, him controlling her every movement.

  She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. The look of ecstasy on his face made her own body clench.

  “Em…going to come…”

  She released a long, shuddering whimper. He thrust into her mouth. And then he stilled, locking her there against him, his shaft pulsing under her lips and tongue and fingers. And the salty fluid of his release spilled onto the back of her tongue. She swallowed, took more, and swallowed again.

  Every muscle in his body seemed to go limp, and so did she. She slowly pulled her mouth off him, then spread small, wet kisses over his relaxing shaft.

  She lay against him until she felt his hands on her, pulling her back up to the carriage seat. Sitting beside him once more, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him to her in a wet, erotic kiss. She knew he tasted himself on her, and she squirmed—teased and pleasured by that fact.

  * * *

  That third night of travel in the post chaise, after she’d given him pleasure and straddled him on the carriage seat and found her own release, they stopped in Stilton. As the sun began its descent behind a heavy layer of clouds on the fourth day, they reached the tollgate at Hyde Park Corner.

  London. They had finally arrived.

  It was a cool evening, the dull gray skies heavy with the promise of more rain as the post chaise stopped at the front of Luke’s town house in Cavendish Square. Emma knew this area to some extent—before last year, her father had owned a house near Bedford Square, less than a mile away.

  She gazed up at the narrow façade of Luke’s house, a three-story structure of whitewashed brick. They hadn’t discussed her staying here. It was the only obvious choice, she supposed, since they both knew there was nowhere else for her to go. Yet it seemed a huge step, to sleep with Luke in his home.

  His hand closed over hers, warm and large. “What do you think?” he murmured.

  “It’s lovely.”

  It was. Stately but not overly opulent. It suited a single gentleman of Luke’s pedigree—or, she supposed, of his false pedigree.

  They alighted from the carriage, and Luke gave instructions to the postilions while Emma leaned on her cane and studied her surroundings. The gardens lay on one side of the street, a large, round splash of green in the midst of the city. Tight rows of buildings—mostly houses—lined the
square. Luke’s house was in the center of one row, with nothing significant about it to set it apart from the others.

  The front door of Luke’s house opened, and a man appeared at the threshold. He wore black pantaloons and a coat with a black stock at his neck. He wasn’t tall or short, old or young. His hair wasn’t quite black but not brown either. Receding at the top, it hung straight over his ears, and he had no trace of the sideburns that had recently come into fashion.

  His gaze flicked impassively over Emma, then landed on Luke. He stood silently, keeping his gaze on Luke, until Luke was finished speaking to the postilions. The two uncommonly small-statured men went to the rear of the carriage to unload the luggage while Luke joined Emma.

  He took her hand. Such a public display of affection, in such a public place. He probably knew half the people who resided in the square. She was certain more than half of them knew him. Luke wasn’t only the Duke of Trent’s brother, but he also had a reputation about Town, and this—his home—was certainly where that reputation was rooted.

  So him holding her hand…it was surprising. But she was glad for it. It reassured her to be touching him right now.

  He tugged her toward the door, and they mounted the few steps that led to it, Emma limping slightly although her ankle was improving daily. The man standing there bowed. “My lord,” he said without inflection.

  “Baldwin,” Luke said in return. He turned to Emma. “Em, this is Baldwin, my one and only servant. Baldwin, this is Mrs. Curtis. You shall treat her as you would me, as your employer and your superior in all things.”

  Emma blinked at Luke. Goodness! But Baldwin’s face remained completely expressionless. “Yes, my lord. Good afternoon, Mrs. Curtis.”

  She nodded and smiled at him. He stepped aside as Luke led her inside. They entered a small receiving room tiled in black and white marble with a flight of stairs directly in front of them. Luke pulled her through the entryway and to the right of the stairs, speaking over his shoulder to the servant. “Hire a cook tomorrow, will you? I’ll be taking most of my meals here indefinitely, and I wouldn’t want you overcome by the work.”