Lord of the Rakes (15 page)

T
his is a terrible idea.

Caroline might imagine some mystical connection composed of energy, awareness, and desire between herself and Philip Montcalm, but she still knew next to nothing of the man’s character. Despite this, every fiber of her body urged her to walk more quickly down the empty hall, to open the door Philip had indicated and slip inside before she was seen.

She had a single instant to take in the lightly furnished sitting room, and Philip, who stood smiling in welcome beside a marble-topped table and a single candle. She had time enough to draw in one breath.

Then Philip snuffed out the candle. Caroline was plunged into darkness. She froze in place, her heart beating frantically.

“Where are you, Philip?” she breathed. Her ears and eyes strained against the sudden, complete darkness.

“Oh, I am right here,” he answered, so close she jumped. She heard him chuckle. Behind her. How had he gotten behind her, so quickly, and so quietly?

He laughed again, as if sensing her bewilderment. Then she did hear movement—the low, distinct sound of a lock being turned.

“Now you are trapped,” said Philip. “Trapped here, with me, in the dark. You are wholly in my power. Your only hope of freedom is to obey.”

“This is not the conduct of a gentleman to a lady,” she said. She could just barely feel him behind her, warm, tense, and so carefully controlled. She thought about stepping back and reaching for him. But there might be consequences. Melting delight surged through her core at that thought.

“Ah, but what choice do I have? How else may I hold you, knowing how willful and elusive you are?” replied Philip. “And knowing how very much I desire you.”

Caroline knew those words were all one with the game. Philip meant to flatter, but his low, heated tone sent a wave of delight through her. She liked the idea that he wanted her so much he could not wait. She liked it far more than was probably good for either of them.

“Face the wall,” he commanded in a voice both soft and severe. “Spread your hands out.”

“But where is the wall?” Caroline answered pertly. “I am quite blind, you know.”

“You think you can play games with me, miss? The only games here are mine.”

He seized her wrists, raising her arms high. She felt his hot breath against her cheek, and the warmth of his body at her back. She felt the strength of his grip, and wicked excitement raced through her. His breathing was harsh and ragged as he spread her arms wide and pressed her gloved palms against the wall.

“Now, miss, you will stay as I have placed you.” He dragged his palms up her arms, slowly, sensuously.

“But may I at least know why I am a prisoner?” She attempted a meek tone, but she did not feel at all meek. She felt alive. Each nerve ending blazed with energy and strained to feel even the slightest touch.

“You are a prisoner because you are a wicked temptress.” His lips brushed her ear as he breathed the last word. “You have always been wicked.”

His hands were on her shoulders now, gliding down her back and around her sides to cup her breasts. She groaned, and leaned in against his hands that knew just where to touch, to stroke, and to pinch, just a little, just enough to sharpen the pleasure.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”

“Yes, what?” His fingertips found her nipples through all the layers of silk and cambric. Her knees buckled from the force of feeling as he rolled them between his fingertips, and it was only because she was leaning against the wall that she didn’t fall.

“Yes, master.”

“And you are wicked?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t have said anything else. If she agreed, he would surely decide to undress her. He must undress her. If she did not feel his bare skin against her, she would drown in her need. “Yes, I am wicked.”

“Tell me.” His hands were on her back again, and she felt him working her tapes and hooks with his clever, patient fingers.
Oh, yes, please. Faster.
“Tell me when you first realized how very wicked you are.”

She groaned. Would he never leave off these games! She did not want them. She wanted him—his body against hers, inside hers. Now, at once. But his hands stilled.

“Only obedience,” he reminded her. “Only obedience brings what you desire.”

Desperation took hold of Caroline. She wanted to turn, to lunge at him, perhaps even strike him, anything to make him give her what she so craved. But he was caressing her again. He’d loosened her dress at the back. She could feel the cool air against her skin, the sweet glide of the satin against her shoulders as he pushed it open. He was reminding her with each caress of all the pleasure that was in his power to give.

“I was fifteen,” Caroline said, the words coming out almost as a moan. “I was out walking in the woods on our property when I heard boys laughing and water splashing. I knew they were swimming in the lake, and I knew I should turn around.”

“Why should you?”

“Because they would be naked.” The words came out as a sigh as he stroked the curve of her waist and her back, right above the swell of her derriere. “A good girl must not see naked young men.”

“But you didn’t turn back?” He was working at her stays now, undoing the laces.

“No. I crept on, keeping behind the trees and the bracken. Out of sight.”

“And you saw them?”

“There were three of them. Sons of the laborers who’d come to help with the haymaking. They were splashing in the lake, laughing, having fun. They had no idea I was there. They climbed out of the water and lay on the grass. They were . . . they were all naked.”

“And you watched them? These naked young men?”

“Yes. They looked so beautiful lying there in the sunshine, I couldn’t help it.”

He was handling her, moving her arms so he could slip her sleeves off. She relaxed in his touch, letting him do what he would, trusting him and letting herself delight in each small touch.

“What did you do then?” He was bending down, lifting first one leg of hers, then the other, making her step out of her satin dress.

“They took their clothes and went away eventually,” she said. “But I was so hot, and the water was cool-looking, and I wanted . . . I wanted . . .”

She heard more cloth rustling. Philip’s warmth vanished for a moment, but soon returned. He was right behind her once more, and he was raising the hem of her chemise, slowly, inch by patient inch.

“What did you want? What did your wicked self want?” Her thighs were bare now and his hands closed over the globes of her derriere. “You should know I like this,” he whispered. He leaned close, kneading her, pressing her forward so her breasts rubbed the cold, rough wall as he worked her. He was closer yet, his hands gliding around her hips. Now she felt his erection against her. Finally! He pressed against her buttocks. He pulled her close, rubbing her, up and down, in a relentless rhythm.

“I stripped off my dress.” Caroline pushed her hips backward, trying to fit him more tightly against her. His hips rubbed and circled lazily, taking his pleasure from her body and her words. “I plunged right into the water. It was so cold, I was gasping.”

“But you liked it.” His hands slipped forward. She held herself still. She didn’t dare move. If she moved, he might stop. His fingers combed through her damp curls, patting and fondling her. A sob escaped her. “You liked the glide of the water against your skin, between your legs. It was best between your legs.”

He cupped one palm around her as he spoke; the other he slid between her thighs, forcing her legs farther open.

“Yes. I lay on my back in the water, and felt the sun on my skin, and the water, and . . . and . . .”

Philip used his fingers to part her folds, to stroke her all the while pushing his hips forward until he found her entrance. She groaned and struggled to open herself for him. Philip’s answer to her struggle was a single, swift thrust. Caroline bit her lip against her cry of delight as he filled her.

“You touched yourself.” He pressed her forward until she was almost flat against the wall. One hand fondled her folds, the other her breasts. His touch was hard, as if now that he had seated itself inside her, his patience was at an end. But her body welcomed it all, the rough thrusting, the ungentle, inelegant caresses from his hands. She wanted all of it. Each thrust tightened the tangle of pleasure and madness inside her.

“Yes, yes, I touched myself.” She didn’t now. She braced herself against the wall with both hands, answering his hard, grinding movements with thrusts of her own. Her breasts strained against the light confinement of her loosened stays. The cambric of her chemise caressed her skin, adding to the brilliant profusion of sensations overwhelming her. But best of all were Philip’s relentless thrusts. He was driving her, teasing her, leading her, following her. She knew the destination. She knew it and wanted it, and so did he. “I rubbed myself, hard, harder!”

She couldn’t reach him. She was mad to reach him, but he denied it. She could only touch him with the wanton words he was drawing from her.

“And you came.” The rhythm of his hands against her folds and her breasts matched his thrusts, winding her core tight, and tighter yet. Nothing could possibly feel this good. She could not stand it, and yet it was still not enough. “You came hard, you came fast. You screamed, you screamed!”

“Yes!”

In one swift, almost brutal motion, he withdrew and whirled her around. He shoved her back against the wall and pressed himself on top of her, crushing her breasts against his shirt and pressing his throbbing member right against her mound, and his mouth over hers.

And she came. She screamed into his open mouth as the waves of pleasure shook her, slamming her hips against his, and he groaned against her as his own body took its last dose of pleasure from hers and released all his own in an ecstatic climax.

Slowly, his climax faded. Slowly, they slipped down the wall to fall together in an exhausted, sated heap.

 • • • 

It was a long, warm space of time before either of them could stand to move. Philip scooped Caroline easily into his arms, and she marveled again at his strength. He settled her onto a hard, slick sofa and himself next to her. He drew her close once more, warding off the chill of the fireless room with the warmth of his embrace. It was still pitch-black. She could see nothing. She could only feel him, and every touch was suffused with tenderness.

“Oh, my dear,” Philip breathed. “Oh, my very dear.”

“We should not have done this.”

“Probably not.” She felt him shrug. “I shall work on being sorry later.”

“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” muttered Caroline.

“I don’t see as I can help myself.” He ran a possessive hand across her hip. “I cannot be near you without putting at least something of myself out.”

It was a crude joke, but it made her smile all the same. Really, this man was turning her into something unrecognizable. It was not possible she had always been such a shameless wanton. And yet, and yet, she could not truly regret any of it.

“I’m glad you were here,” she murmured, only half aware she spoke aloud.

Philip wrapped his fingers around hers. “So am I.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her softly. Then he said, “Although I imagine your country beau feels differently.”

“Who . . . ? You don’t mean Mr. Banbridge. The man’s an oaf.”

She felt Philip get to his feet. She heard him say something she did not catch, but it sounded rather like “good.”

“Mr. Montcalm,” she exclaimed. “Are you jealous?”

“Seems quite out of character for the Lord of the Rakes, doesn’t it?” Philip opened the drapes, just enough to allow a sliver of the light to spill in from the street, but not enough for anyone outside to see them. “But when I saw him with you . . . all I could think of was how to get you away.”

She was quiet for a moment. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“How very strange it all is.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “Do you know, I spent a part of this afternoon writing you a letter.”

“I didn’t receive any letter.”

“I didn’t send it. It was to ask you about . . . Well, it doesn’t matter.” She didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to think about it. She had no business thinking about Philip and other women, let alone asking him for explanations.

No more business than he had in helping her fend off Lewis Banbridge.

Philip sighed. “I see. Well. We will be continuing this conversation,” he told her. “But, if you are to return to the concert before suspicions are raised, we need to get you dressed and tidied.” He fingered her tumbled curls. “I believe I may have disarranged your hair.”

Caroline took Philip’s hands and let him pull her to her feet. She could see him only as a silhouette, a mysterious dream figure of masculine beauty. But she knew him to be real. Wonderfully, disconcertingly real.

“If I was the suspicious sort,” Caroline said as Philip slipped her discarded gown over her head. “I might think you were making an excuse to see me again.”

Philip chuckled as he moved behind her to do up her tapes. “And if I was?” She was certain he was dressing her more slowly than necessary. She could not be angry, though. Every touch was a reminder of what they had done, of what he wanted to do again. “Would that displease you?”