His to Hold (Regency Scoundrels Book 1) (6 page)

Her father had done the unthinkable—he had relented and allowed her grandfather to have his way. She didn’t know if her grandfather had intimidated her father as he’d been strong and virile at the time, or if her papa just didn’t want her in his way anymore…either way, he’d told her to go with her grandfather with his blessings.

She had lived such a happy life with her grandfather, cousin and aunt. If only he had lived a little longer…if only he had left all of his money to Raleigh.

If only. She sighed. 

Elizabeth’s thoughts were jolted back to the present when she felt the soft pad of Rafe’s hand caress the side of her cheek. The tip of his finger brushed her plump lips. She could feel him coming down to meet her lips.

Concentrating on remaining motionless, she eagerly awaited his first kiss. Every fiber in her being strained, and she wished with all of her might that he would just kiss her. His lips brushed hers ever so slightly, making a pleasant shudder course through her. She blinked her eyelids open, and stared him squarely in the eyes. His eyes widened to monumental proportions, and he quickly broke the kiss. Feeling cheated, she formed her lips into a pout.

His weight still rested on the bed, and he had an arm draped on either side of her. His heat was pressing in on her, and since she was such a highly intuitive creature, she could feel him in front of her, beside her, and all around her.

His powerful presence engulfed the room. Yet she was not intimidated in the slightest. She waited patiently for him to lower his lips to hers once more.

She was hungry for his kiss, and hungry for his touch. This was why she couldn’t marry Raleigh, cousin or not, he didn’t ignite her passions the way that Rafe or her mystery man could.

She had believed that no one could compare to the man that she had met at Lady Belmont’s Masquerade Ball, but now that she had met Rafe she wasn’t so certain. He bewitched, bewildered, and bothered her to no end.

Rafe by-passed her lips, and lowered his mouth to nuzzle her neck instead. She writhed beneath him, as pleasure rolled through her. All that he needed to do was touch her to elicit the most beautiful sensations that she had ever felt.

She raised her arms to wrap them around him, and pull him close. He kissed the swell of her breasts, and was about to investigate further, when she raised her hand to caress the side of his stubbly face.

“Oh, Rafe!” she murmured. He jerked away from her, and sat up, panting heavily. Somehow she had broken the spell, just by murmuring his name. A mixed look of anger, and agony flashed across his face.

“I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me.” She watched as he raked his hands through his sun kissed tousled hair. He looked like he had been to hell and back. “I promised that I would leave you alone this night. And contrary to what you believe, I am a man of my word.” He stood up, and moved toward the door.

Before she knew what was happening to her, she spoke from her heart.

“Stay with me!” Her words came out sounding like a desperate plea. He halted, stood motionless, for the barest of seconds, and ever so slowly turned around to gaze intently at her.

“Is that truly what you desire?” he asked. His eyes twinkled, and she felt her heart flip-flop.

She was a full-grown woman. She knew what she wanted, and what she didn’t want. And right now, she wanted Captain Rafe Morgan.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured breathlessly.

In a flash, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and threw it across the cabin. He walked toward her as if he was the God of Seduction himself.

Mallory knew that he’d regret whatever passed between them in the morning. And yet, he wanted to take her sweet body into his arms, and treat her like a queen until morning. But he couldn’t. On the night of the masquerade, they had both been swept away by the romanticism of the night, and he had stupidly decided that he could play with her affections.

At that point in time, he had been a selfish little bastard, hell bent on revenge, and not caring how he had to go about gaining it. His father’s death still weighing heavily on him, and he had been struggling to come to terms with the responsibilities thrust upon him. He had been so terribly angry, and he had been willing to ruin Elizabeth and set her loose to the wolves that would eat her alive for such a transgression, and then, then, he’d thought about his own sisters and how terribly protective he was of them, and had been ready to stop what they started, even before they were discovered by Lady Beaconsfield’s friends.

Even if he hadn’t been bent on revenge, he’d been cocky and arrogant when it came to pretty young ladies, and well, honestly, Elizabeth had been the prettiest in the room, even with her fairy mask covering the top part of her face. It helped that she was Geoffrey Woodward’s daughter. The bastard had taken everything from him.

She had melted in his arms, and when he had suggested they go out to the maze, to as he had put it, become closer, she had eagerly agreed. He had been the wolf, and she had been the lost little lamb. He hadn’t wanted the life he had been given. He had been completely happy with being the second son, and having the life of that being a British Naval Officer afforded him, and yet his brother’s death at Trafalgar had changed everything for him, and his father’s weakness for the gambling hells had only sealed his fate.

He had inherited a bankrupted legacy…and now, now, he had to make Geoffrey pay. Making Elizabeth his wife was the only possible way to accomplish that objective. For some unknown reason, that selfish little shit actually seemed to care a little about Elizabeth, and as she was his only weakness, that was how he had to strike out at him.  

Mallory often wondered how one man’s life could change so drastically in an instant. He still remembered the fateful day that had brought him to his knees, and had changed his life forever.

His brother Malcolm had been the Captain of the
HMS Victory
, but his ship had not claimed victory at Trafalgar. They had instead gone down with all hands. Mallory had been forced to carry on with the battle while watching his brother’s ship burn in the distance. He had prayed to God over and over again that his brother would be spared. But deep in his heart, he knew that as Captain, Malcolm would not be coming back to serve him with his cheeky smile.

Heartbroken, Mallory had returned to West Sussex, only to find that his father had taken ill. He would recover from that fever, but he would never again be the same man. Fearing for his health, his mother had taken the entire family to London, to see if the merriment of the Season would uplift his spirits. Unfortunately, that was where Morgan St. Martin’s troubles began, and ended.

The gaming hells were so easy to get to there, and his father had always been such a weak man when it came to such things, weak though he was, he had no talent like Elizabeth possessed, and luck had not been on his side. He could not win against the professionals that the gambling houses employed, and no one had ever seen Geoffrey Woodward coming. Some said he had amassed his impressive financial empire by his winnings at the gaming tables, and from what he’d done to Mallory’s father, he could believe that. He’d also heard that the Woodward played in quite an unorthodox manner, and that one had to be extremely clever to combat such shrewd tactics.

Morgan St. Martin had quickly become known as a gamester of White’s, and had become terribly addicted. One fateful night, he had lost his entire fortune to Woodward. Fortunately, he had never placed their ancestral castle in the pot, or if he had, they would have had nowhere to turn.

Ashamed, and realizing that he had damned them all, his father had again become sick and this time, this time he would not regain his health.

He died a few days after the British claimed their final victory against Boney, and his mother had finally gotten word to him about the death, and had detailed to him in her missive, why his father had perished.

Incensed, with the unfairness of it all, he had started to plot his plans for revenge against Woodward, and had determined fairly shortly that it would be best taken by moving against Woodward’s queen, and that was Elizabeth, for she was his greatest treasure.

He had returned to England during the Season of 1816, and had used the money he made through his privateering days to pay for his Season and that of his sisters, those who were of age anyway.

Mallory had rented a modest townhouse for them in London, and for one blissful season his family had gone back to the days of old, pretending that they had not been ruined and that they still could live the way they had before their father’s death.

They had attended all of the balls that Elizabeth had been invited to, but it took him a while to finally enact upon his plans of ruination for the fair little lady. He hadn’t planned on her being so vulnerable…so easy to woo and win…and maybe it was because she had that same look of hopelessness in her eyes that he sometimes saw staring at him when he looked in a mirror, but he had been unable to go through with making her a pariah of the ton.

He couldn’t hurt her…he’d known that even as she submitted to him in the maze and offered him her body, heart and soul. He’d known he could never accept her without her being his wife. He’d realized in that startling instant, something he should have known all along. The children were not responsible for the sins of their parents.

He had returned to the High Seas as a man for hire so to speak, and had given his official contacts back in England notice that should they ever need him for any sort of mission, he would serve them as he had done during the war.

He’d taken upon himself to intercept all of Woodward’s ships, and take what they were hauling for himself. He’d killed many a slave trader, and freed many slaves as a result. Slowly, he was rebuilding the fortune that his father had gambled away, but having Elizabeth and her fortunes would help him immensely, it would restore his family to the grand life they had once lived, and take away all of his mother’s sorrows and worries.

His legacy would be secure then. He would never have to worry about handing down to his heirs, the agony of an empty title. 

When he’d met Ethan in a pub in London, the man had given him the same counsel he’d already given himself. He advised him against seeking retribution against Woodward directly. He advised him that Elizabeth was still the best way, but that they had to go about it in a different manner…they had to take her away from her son of a bitch of a father, and make her Mallory’s wedded wife.

He was happy that he’d decided against ruining Elizabeth. Besides, ruining her and leaving her, was not in his nature as a gentleman. On the other hand, ruining and marrying her, was in his nature. He knew deep in his heart, he needn’t feel so guilty, yet why did he?

He would never mistreat Elizabeth. And it wasn’t as if he were the only one gaining through their alliance. She would be gaining a title, and the respect of many. Why the St. Martin’s held a place at the Royal Court for centuries. They were a politically savvy family, and had made it through years of turbulence and change, without having to sacrifice too much. His father’s forebears had possessed a keen intellect, and way of maneuvering through turbulent times that Morgan St. Martin had obviously lacked.

If Woodward thought that he could destroy such a legacy with his petty attempts to strike back at him, then he was sorely mistaken.

He stared over at Elizabeth, eagerly awaiting him. He wanted to cover her body with his mouth, and take her to the peak of ecstasy. He felt himself readying for the seduction, and yet, his mind battled against his body.

The storm outside had died down, and the ship was now nearly calm in the water. But as the storm had gradually faded away outside, it had begun to burn fiercely inside.

He undid the first few buttons on his shirt, and sat down on the bed so that his body pressed up against hers. He frowned, when he noticed the trust shimmering in her eyes. Swallowing thickly, he reached for one of her hands. She sat up, and he finally noticed the signs of exhaustion that lined her features.

He brought her hand up, and gently kissed it. Unwilling to release it, he clasped it even tighter. He could not make love to her this night. Why, she seemed quite fagged. When he finally claimed her as his own, he wanted her wide awake, and fully aware of everything that passed between them.

As if she could sense his thoughts, her eyes flared with something resembling anger. Impulsively, he pulled her to him, and held her against his chest. He had to confess and tell her everything. She grew limp in his arms, and snuggled in even deeper.

Trustingly, she wrapped herself around him. A few minutes passed in complete silence, while he gently caressed her back. Moving his hands upward, he removed the pins from her hair. He was not prepared for the shining glory that cascaded down her back.

Her hair felt like silk, and weighed like velvet. Its sheen nearly took his breath away. He tenderly stroked his fingers through the mass of loose curls. They weren’t ringlets, and yet there was no doubting that her hair was curly.

He heard a faint moan and lost himself in the tranquil moment. For here and now, his world was tilting toward perfection. He would marry Elizabeth. Now, more than ever, there was no doubt in his mind. And even if he found out tomorrow that she was as penniless as he, he would still vie for her hand. She was the greatest treasure of all. He smiled when he heard her even breathing. At least she was not angered with him, or frightened of him.

He kissed the crown of her head, and then exerted all of his self-control, to keep from moving downward. Oh, how he wanted to spend the night with her, not remaining, would be the hardest battle he claimed victory over.

He pulled away from her, and cradled her in his arms. Intent on pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth, he was surprised at the strength of his resolve, to leave her in peace. He gazed down at her, and smiled wistfully.

She had succumbed to dreamland. And he could only pray that she dreamt of him, for one day soon, he would be the only man she would ever think of.

*****

Elizabeth drifted toward paradise. She reached out, straining her fingertips toward the man that was dressed as a Fairy Prince. Another dancer collided with her, and sent her hurtling into the crowd that lined the dance floor. She could not find him. He was lost in amongst the faces that now seemed to blur together.

Hot tears streamed down her face, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her gloved hand. She tried to step forward, and slammed into a hard man’s body. She bounced off him, and nearly fell to her backside, when he stretched out a steadying hand. The man now wore a Pirate’s costume. Her breath caught in her throat, as her eyes roamed up his body.

His tight black breeches clung to his muscular legs. A bright red sash was tied at his waist, and he was wearing a loose silk white shirt. He wore no cravat, for such restrictions would seem out of place for such a wild and free spirit.

But as her eyes brushed against his face, she felt her blood run cold. He was none other than her own Rafe Morgan. His blue eyes sparkled merrily, and the chandelier above them, glowed down upon him, creating a mystifying halo around his sun kissed crown.

He was no angel. He was her kidnapper. He could not be trusted, no matter how much her heart might be inclined to do so. She stepped away from him, but felt his fingers dig into her flesh.

“Release me!” she cried, struggling wildly against him. But it was of no use, his strength was considerable, and deep down, she found she didn’t even want to escape. She stood transfixed, as he guided her closer to him. Then he leaned down, and swooped upon her mouth. His lips consumed hers, and she tasted heaven in his kiss.

Her eyes flew open, and she stared wildly around her cabin onboard
The Valiant
. Her limbs were sore from the odd position in which she had been lying. She let out a horrified gasp, when she realized whose broadly muscled chest she was cuddled up against.

Her eyes dropped down to her clothing, and she breathed out a small breath of relief when she found that she still wore her traveling dress from the day before. She wet her dry lips, and tried to imagine being back at
Her Ladyship’s Kindness
immersed in her canopied bed, snuggled beneath the gloriously soft bedclothes. But of course, before she would have fallen into bed, she would have had a luxurious hot bath scented with lavender.

She moaned, when Rafe’s hand slipped, to fall over her one heaving breast. She nipped down on her lower lip, and held her breath to keep from making any noise or movement. She was stiff from being in such a state, and she desperately wanted to stretch. She didn’t feel as if she were in danger, but she didn’t know how he would react, if he awoke to find her so near to him, and therefore so accessible.

He murmured in his sleep, as he glided toward the waking world. She could not hold the large breath that she had sucked in much longer. She let out the captured breath, and ruffled the wavy blond hair that curled around his face. Oh, how she wanted to bury her hands in his hair, and drop her lips to his forehead.