The Rake Enraptured Read online

  "Days may be too much."

  He gave a small huff of amusement. "Challenge yourself."

  "For what prize?"

  "Let us find out."

  His hands went to hers, and urged them down and outward. The heavy brocade dress slid away, and she stood in stays, shift and petticoats.

  He stopped her arms from lifting in an instinctive cross over her chest. "No, don't hide from me. Your body is a wonder to me. Won't you let me see it?"

  "You have seen so many. Much lovelier than mine, I'm certain."

  "Not one lovelier than yours. No other held you inside it."

  "Oh." She eased a little, and he stepped forward and put his arms around her in a gentle clasp, a mixture of comfort and opportunity as his fingers went to work on the ties of her stays behind her back. She drew in a deep breath of him, of snowy fresh air from his coat and linen beneath it, pomade from his hair and fresh sweat from their ride. He smelled extraordinarily good to her, in a way that made her stomach clench.

  Nervousness rose in her again as petticoats suddenly slid free to bunch on the floor, but he did not release her and so she still felt hidden within the folds of his clothing. He pulled pins from her hair one at a time, then unraveled the laboriously woven knot of braids and spread her hair out over her shoulders, another refuge.

  "Undress me?" he asked her.

  "I don't know how."

  "Then I may have to stay clothed. This is an extraordinarily fashionable coat. I'll be da- ah . . . very surprised if I can get out of it alone."

  "Where is that valet when you need him?"

  He quaked against her. "I prefer him absent, at this precise moment."

  "What? Squeamish? Do you prefer privacy, then? You surprise me."

  "Julia!"

  "I only thought a man who has enjoyed the . . . events . . . to which you can lay claim, must have no need for solitude."

  "I can tell you categorically that what goes on with my lady wife falls into another category entirely. Furthermore I blame that correspondent of yours. A young woman should not know of such things."

  "No? Such hypocrisy, when the young men are actually doing those things right, left and center."

  "I did not do them right, left and center."

  "How did you like to arrange them, then?"

  "Julia!"

  "What?"

  "A little decorum, if you please. I'd like to worship you properly, without all this-"

  "Sorry. I am sorry. You're right." But it was hard to keep the thought of all those other women out of her head, when he must surely look at her and find her lacking. Her discomfort found vent in attempted humor. She was spoiling this, when she wanted it to be something to treasure between them. "I'm sorry."

  She reached up to remove his greatcoat, in a spirit of compliance, sent it to join her petticoats piled on the floor around their feet, but stayed very close to him so he could not examine the slender figure he had unclothed. Never had she felt more conscious of her thinness, so far from the delight of dimpled elbows and knees.

  It was his turn to wait patiently as she circled him, more comfortable behind his back.

  "You may have to kneel," she told him, and he went down on one knee and spread his arms a little, ready to shrug out of his very elegant wedding clothes. She took hold of the collar with both hands and carefully eased it once, then again, he shifting within it to help her. She had to take it by the sleeves, one then the other, then by the collar again. Working in fractions of an inch until finally the thing came free, she breathed a sigh of relief when it was off. "What a dreadful garment."

  "I wore it only for you."

  "I am most appreciative, but you need not exert yourself so much on my behalf."

  "That's a relief. I am not the most fashionable man, I admit, and after several hours trussed up like that I remember why. It feels dashed good to do this again." He lifted his arms above his head, and she admired the magnificent shape of him in his shirtsleeves, the broad shoulders and lean muscularity. As he lowered her arms again she stepped forward to put her hand on the appealing place where his neck disappeared inside the collar of his shirt.

  He went very still. His neck was warm.

  "You don't look as dissipated as one might expect."

  "I have not been, for a good six months and more," he said, tilting his head to look up at her where she stood behind his shoulder. She moved to hide her small breasts from his sight but he kept his eyes fixed on her face. "I've been mostly on horseback, riding up and down fields and inspecting drainage ditches and crofts and culverts and copses and all manner of pieces of the landscape."

  "I see."

  "Perhaps," he said in the same casual tone, "you might come to untie my cravat and unbutton my waistcoat."

  "I'm sure you can do those by yourself."

  "Did you not promise, only hours ago, to be a very obedient wife?"

  "I did, but you know that is just for form's sake. You do not expect it of me."

  "Do I not?"

  "No one could, who knows me well."

  "And here I thought you so utterly virtuous, a woman of rules."

  "Certainly. Yet I am careful about who makes those rules."

  "I see. And your husband does not qualify?"

  "Not my husband, no."

  "I am betrayed." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Here I took you on under certain conditions, and now I find the conditions have changed. This will never do."

  "Let me console you."

  "How do you plan to do that?"

  "I will help with your cravat and waistcoat."

  "That might be some small consolation. No, you can't stand there to do it. You will have to stand in front of me. It is cheating to stay where I can't see you."

  "You are mistaken. There are no such rules."

  "Which rules are there?"

  "I may do the task from wherever I can reach," she said, bending further over his shoulder to puzzle at his cravat.

  Suddenly he twisted, wrapped one arm around her waist and tipped her towards him, catching her before she could hit the ground. She gasped, looking up at him, naked sitting on his knee, cradled in his arms.

  "You'll find you can reach much better from here." He was smug for a short moment, then distracted as he looked down at her body. "Though perhaps the best option of all is here," he stood and carried her to the bed, "where we can both reach much better." He laid her down on it then stripped off shirt and cravat with feverish haste, buttons flying. A moment later he paused, staring down at his boots. "Damn."

  "What is it?"

  "Oh, beg your pardon, but I've no idea where the boot jack is. Ah well. There's no helping it."

  He leaned forward and kissed her ruthlessly, stealing her breath. Her hands came up to flutter about his shoulders, wide and lean and hard as they were. And hot. All of him was hot as he lay down full length, half on her, the weight of him pressing her down into the soft feather mattress.

  "Wait," she gasped, and he lifted his head for a moment. "Your boots. You can't leave them on."

  "You won't even notice. I promise."

  "I shall. Of course I shall."

  "Nonsense. Wait and see."

  "Colin!"

  "Julia!" he mimicked her merrily, then kissed her again. A moment later and she had forgotten the topic, forgotten everything but him, here so close. Her hands were on his bare chest and he said, "Yes," and "God, Julia," and then his hands cupped her breasts and the sensation of his thumbs circling her nipples was transcendent. She arched her back, pushing into his hands and as he rolled those hard-furled buds between fingers and thumb she cried out wordlessly.

  His mouth was on her neck, sucking at her soft flesh, but as she writhed he moved further down her body to replace fingers with lips, his free hand sliding down her flank then beneath her to lift her bottom and grind her against him.

  Her head fell back, neck muscles weakened beyond recall by pleasure, and she wrapped her thighs around his hips as on t
he horse, her body remembering the feeling as she sought to regain it. And there it was, the hard pressure against her center and such a hunger in her to move against him, with him. She bucked and writhed, and he gathered her up and kissed her hungrily, devoured her almost, and she him, fingers urgently gripping and squeezing, straining to be close and ever closer.

  "Julia," he groaned, and all humor was gone now. His voice sounded like raw need and there was nothing so riveting and purely magic as the sight of him wild and reckless and so far from the cool, well-practiced Lothario she had first met. He was here and hers and she was so glad of it in the hot molten core of her being, seething with want.

  "Colin. Please. Now. Please."

  "No. You need longer than this. It has to be good."

  "It's good. Please."

  Then his hands were there between her thighs, fingers parting the soft folds of her as they had that long ago night, so smooth and slick, unbearably teasing. She moaned and pushed closer.

  He slid a single finger inside her, and groaned again, a guttural sound like anguish.

  "Tight, Julia. Very tight," he said, and the words were both warning and prayer. "You're very small. We must go slow."

  "Now!"

  "No. Trust me. Only this."

  "Ah, Colin," she wailed.

  "I know. I know, sweetheart. Very soon. Only give me this moment. Give it to me. Come now. Let go." He murmured nonsense to her, and she closed her eyes and gripped him hard and forgot he was watching her, forgot the room and the bed and anything but the mad center of sensation that was her own body, fevered and yearning. His mouth on her breast and his fingers on her, inside her, so deft in secret knowledge and the energy of it crackled through her, lifted and burned her up until consciousness was a mote, and then nothing, and there was only bliss.

  "Sweetheart, open your eyes."

  She could not move. Ecstasy held her in its grip.

  "Look at me."

  Then he was there, above her, that beautiful face looking down at her, eyes half-closed as if in pain, hair rumpled and mouth open as he breathed swiftly. He was between her thighs, and his body pressed hard on her. Too hard, with a burning pressure. It hurt. Her eyes widened at the pain and he stopped, gripping his lower lip savagely between his teeth.

  The world stilled.

  "Colin?"

  He closed his eyes. Opened them again, found her and tried to smile. "Sweetheart?"

  "That hurts."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Can you stop?"

  "Yes. Yes, I can stop." He withdrew, his head dropping to her shoulder, and the pain was gone as if it had never been. He was shaking.

  "Colin?" He was silent. "Is something wrong?"

  "In a manner of speaking." His voice was very odd.

  "What is it?"

  "What is it? Only that I want you too damned much," he said, and laughed a bitter laugh that broke in the middle. His breath was humid on her neck. "Give me a moment."

  "Are you- Is that it?"

  "No. No that is most emphatically not it. But sweetheart, you can't expect to look at me with those eyes and tell me you hurt and ask me to stop and have me just ignore you- Ah, damn it."

  "Then- What? What am I supposed to do?"

  "You were doing perfectly well. There's nothing the matter with you. Only that it is meant to hurt you and I am meant to forge on regardless." He rolled far enough to one side to examine her with a single eye, and sighed harshly. "I find I don't have it in me."

  "I am intact?"

  "You are."

  "Well." She considered this. "That's hardly satisfactory."

  He gave a harsh bark of laughter. "You don't say."

  "So don't stop. Just . . . forge on. I told you I was going to make a mess of things. I'm sorry."

  "Oh no, sweetheart, don't say that." He rolled back to cup her face in his palms, and gave her a rueful smile. "Don't even think it. Nothing is messed up. Trust me. The whole point of marrying is exclusive right to do this to each other again and again for our lifetimes. We'll perfect it. There's just this one time when it hurts you. I thought I was ready."

  "Well I'm ready. Try again."

  "No, the plan is to have you transported with joy, and then . . . forge on."

  "You're welcome to do that again. I don't mind at all."

  "Ah. That sounds feasible. We're agreed." He kissed her, friendly and playful, his lips softly sucking at hers and she put her hand on his cheek and felt the broadness of his bones there, so different from hers; drove her hand into his hair and enjoyed the thick strands between her fingers.

  "Ah, sweet," he sighed. "I can't tell you how good it is to have you here, mine and alone and your body under me. Too good. Too good for words. I want to make it so right for you and yet all I want is to be inside you."

  "Is it not usually like this?"

  "God, no. It's never mattered like this to me. You make me a boy again, hasty and rushing."

  "I like it."

  "But I think you will like the other even more. Let me show you."

  His hand was gentler on her, smoothing down her flanks, over her hips and thighs in slow, savoring strokes. His mouth, when it came to her breast, tongued her nipple with a soft, subtle glide. It was sublime. It was calculated to arouse her. Her body was entranced. And yet . . .

  "I like the other more," she said.

  Wordlessly he shifted over her, his weight on his elbows, and dropped a line of kisses over her belly and lower, so she blushed furiously and put her hands out to push him away. He did not allow her to, only captured them and held them firm as he dropped his mouth to her most tender flesh.

  "No."

  "Give it a moment," he urged her, his breath the most delicate tickle, and she squirmed higher up the bed. He did not relent, his mouth closing over the center of all sensation, and she collapsed. Ah, what it did to her to have his mouth on her there. There were no words for it. It was madness and fire.

  "Ah."

  "Shall I stop?"

  "Don't stop. Never stop."

  And he did not, only tormented her for long, heedless minutes as she murmured and sobbed quietly. He released her hands and slowly, languorously inserted a single finger inside her, gliding it back and forth within her with delicate finesse.

  Her orgasm was a slow rise to the boil. He took his time, now, and when that moment came and she shook and cried out he was there instantly at the entrance to her body and she put her hands on him and urged him closer, even when it hurt, when it burned. Then it was past, he was inside her, deep, so deep and hard and it was very peculiar but good. He shook against her, sought her gaze and held it with a kind of desperation and then his features softened, relaxed and there was peace and wonder in his eyes.

  He rolled to his back, taking her with him, still embedded in her, and she sprawled astride him and discovered to her chagrin he still had both trousers and boots on. Wicked man, and too correct in his assumptions.

  "My Julia," he sighed. "My Julia. My love. Know that someday I will make that perfect for you. And know there is nothing about this that is anything like I have ever known before."

  "Nothing?" she asked in a small voice.

  "Nothing."

  She lay with him, skin to skin, and wondered how she could ever find herself again, ever untangle herself from being lost in love of this man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "How is it you were not already married when we met?" he asked, one finger idly gathering up a long strand of her hair into a looping ringlet. She was tucked in to his side and the pale morning light of the winter sun lay across them both.

  "Circumstances. Lack of fortune, figure and face. You know how it is."

  "In all seriousness, I do not understand it."

  She sighed. This was not a story she wanted to share. "My grandmother paid for a season. I did not take, but that was in part because I did not take the matter seriously enough. I thought myself too young to marry, and did not exert myself to charm. I didn't m
eet anyone who entranced me. I entranced no one - or if I raised interest I soon ruined it. Too frank, too outspoken, too clever, said Grandmere. I was supposed to hide these things and do the work of finding a husband. I did not know it was to be my only season. She did not tell me. Perhaps even she did not realize it to begin with. Truly the money should never have been spent at all. She needed to keep it for herself. But perhaps she fixed all her hopes on me. We never spoke of it, afterward, but I blame myself. I should have guessed how things were."

  "How old were you?"

  "Eighteen."

  "That is very young, to expect great perception."

  "Perhaps. But I wish I had done better."

  "I do not. Otherwise you would be placidly married to some fellow somewhere, and I alone with only my decadence to comfort me."

  "I'm sure you would have coped."

  "I am not so certain." He took up her hand and began to stroke her fingers. "So you became a governess."

  "I needed to earn my keep. We were poor but our connections were good. Nobility - even French nobility - is still worth something. A little cachet and my own excellent scholarship. It was a natural choice."

  "My poor darling."

  "Oh, don't pity me. I was comfortable enough. I still had hope for the future."

  "Did you like your season? Would you enjoy being part of Society again?"

  "If I had some success, I daresay it would be very different. I loved the balls, the dancing. To meet so many people held its own thrill. Each evening seemed brimful with possibility. Yes, I liked it."

  "We shall make you a success, then."

  "I do not think I am made for that world. It does not like me very well."

  "That is only because it has not had a proper look at you. I shall fix that."

  "Will you?" She drew up the sheet that lay across her thigh, and spread it to cover them both. "I think you will find I am a sow's ear."

  "It amazes me you see yourself so unclearly."

  "It amazes me you look at me at all," she said, turning her face to him defiantly.

  He took her chin between finger and thumb. "It amazes me I can look away at all," he said, very soft.

  "I wish you would not say such things to me. I find I can almost believe you. You will break my heart."