Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (21 page)

Louisa’s wild squeal ended as a muffled croak.

Her face turned an unattractive shade of crimson as she tore at Fortesque’s blocking fingers.

Finally he let her go. “A thousand apologies, m’dear, but it wouldn’t do to have you screaming and then bring the whole
ton
down upon us. Next thing I’d have to offer marriage. Quite a beauty and all that, m’dear, but marriage ain’t in my line.” Sir Reginald watched with interest as Louisa’s crimson mouth opened and closed while she struggled with her fury. “Glad that’s all settled. Shall we go now?”

“Settled?” his companion hissed. “I wouldn’t go
anywhere
with you, you monstrously idiotic, sap-skulled—”

Sir Reginald was spared any further vitriol by the arrival of the Duke of Wellington, two glasses in hand. The general’s aquiline features took on an even harsher cast when he saw the pair staring at him from the conservatory entrance.

He offered a curt nod, oblivious to Louisa Landringham’s furtive efforts to straighten the feathers upon her forehead, twitch down her skirts, and clamp a dazzling smile on her face. But his attention was all for the woman he had left standing beside a dwarf palm.

The woman who seemed somehow to have disappeared.

Chessy was just on the verge of pulling free when Morland’s low curse came at her ear.

A current of warm air brushed her shoulder. She felt him move closer. “Wouldn’t advise it,” he whispered. “It would make the devil of a scandal if we were seen here like
this.”

Suddenly she was very conscious of the hands cupping her shoulders, of the hard wall of muscle at her back. Breathless, she tried to pull away, only to feel Morland’s fingers tighten.

Uncertainly, she stared at the trio in the doorway. She was too new to London ways to know if what Morland said was true.

Louisa Landringham inched closer to Wellington. Soon the three were engaged in conversation and showed no sign of leaving.

The devil take all of them! What was she to do now?

She caught her lip in her teeth, tugging irritably. Surely there must be some other plan of escape. A door at the far side of the conservatory, perhaps?

She froze as Morland’s breath swept her neck. His head fell as he inhaled the scent of the gardenia in her hair.

Of all the cheek! Did the rogue think he could sway her by a mere touch?—

And then Chessy felt the slow, hot glide of his lips along her neck. Waves of sensation chased through her stomach. She blinked dizzily. Morland’s teeth gently scored her earlobe.

She swallowed sharply. She had to reach out to balance herself by clutching the potted palm at her side. “
What
do you think you’re—” But her whispered protest was cut short by the rough-soft slide of his tongue inching into the tender heart of her ear.

Suddenly she was breathless and the night was hot and sweet with desire. Blindly her eyes fixed on the three people chatting amiably in the doorway while her world fell away into ashes around her. All that was left was the exquisite sweep of Morland’s tongue feathering over her hungry skin. Then the tantalizing rhythm of his fingers as they slid down her bare arms and anchored her waist.

She fought for sanity, fought to ignore the pleasure that burned to life with each knowing movement of his fingers. But caught in the darkness against him, Chessy could feel the hard wall of her defenses crumble brick by brick.

Choking back a low protest, she tried to jerk free. In the process a twig of the palm she was clutching snapped in two.

Instantly the trio at the door turned, peering into the shadows.

“Never thought to worry about snipers at a London fete.” Though the duke smiled, his eyes were sharp.

“It can be naught but mice, Your Grace,” Louisa tittered. “The place is positively littered with them.” She smiled up at him. “But you were describing Waterloo.” She gave an exquisite shiver. “It sounds quite frightful. How lucky we were to have such a strong, decisive man as yourself in charge.”

The beautiful Louisa knew perfectly well the value of a quarter-hour seen in the Great Man’s company. Her social prestige, already significant, would soar higher with every minute. And when they left the conservatory, she meant to be sure that the Iron Duke had her arm in his, and that everyone saw it.

Nor did she discount the possibility of a discreet
affaire
with the harsh-faced hero of Waterloo. Yes, it might prove vastly amusing. After all, he had been away campaigning for months. Denied the pleasures of a woman’s body, he would be deliciously
potent
in her bed…

She licked her lips delicately and offered the duke a fawning smile. At the same time she contrived to brush her hips ever so gently against his thigh.

 Chessy noticed none of this. Her world was reduced to the heated texture of Morland’s strong hands.

So this is what it feels like,
she thought dimly.
To want and be wanted.
Sweet heaven, she was dying of sensation.

And it was the most glorious feeling she had ever known…

Morland’s lips closed over the pulse point at her neck. Unconsciously her head fell back against his shoulder. He made a low sound that might have been groan or curse. His hands climbed upward, slid beneath her heavy gold necklace, and gently cupped her breasts.

“Chessy…” He drew a ragged breath. Her gown revealed too much of her by half. He wouldn’t have Fortesque and Atherton and a dozen other libertines leering at her beautiful body.

In that moment Morland knew a raw wave of possessiveness, yet with it came aching tenderness. He hungered to feel her hair slide like black silk through his fingers. He yearned to see her shiver when he eased that infuriating dress down and bared her creamy skin.

Had he been even halfway sane then, the depth of his possessiveness would have sobered him instantly. But in that moment, as the warm, sweet air enfolded them, rich with the scent of gardenias and orange blossoms, Anthony Morland found that touching Francesca Cameron was the
only
thing left in the whole bloody world that made the slightest bit of sense.

His eyes were dark with passion when he drew her against him. Almost unaware of what he was doing, Morland slid his fingers inside her bodice.

 A low moan escaped her lips. He nibbled at her mouth, extracting another exquisite whimper that fed his desire, seared his blood.

Something blocked his fingers. He swore silently, but heated nights in many beds had given him a great deal of expertise. By his third try, he’d freed the offending obstacle.

Chessy’s warm breasts spilled lush and full into his hands, freed from her loosened gown. Morland shivered at the weight of her, at the soft thrust of her nipples against his fingers.

Stunned, he gazed down, and his hands trembled. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it in her racing pulse, in the nipples that hardened against his fingers. He had a sudden image of her moaning while she wrapped her white thighs around him in passion.

“T-Tony. Oh, please…”

It was the break in her voice that finally stopped him. He felt the confusion, the wild uncertainty that underlaid her passion.

Damn it, what was he doing?

He looked down at his hands, shaking visibly. Beneath them her nipples rose like dusky buds against her ivory skin.

As he watched, her dress slipped a fraction lower.

What was he doing? Was he mad as well as a scoundrel?

She was an innocent, and he would be her undoing. She trusted him and he repaid her thus.

His breath came raw and jerky. He felt the warmth of her head, where it rested against his shoulder. He felt the softness of her hips, a torment against the heat of his aroused sex.

Most of all he felt her innocence and her vulnerability.

He forced back a curse. And then he did the only thing possible, the same thing he had done ten years before.

He let her go.

Chessy heard the muffled oath as if from a great distance.

Slowly her head lifted from his shoulder. With a shiver she opened her eyes, registering the potted plants around her, the dusky scent of flowers and damp earth. And the fact that his hands were no longer touching her.

The fashionable trio still blocked the conservatory doorway. Somewhere from the far wing came the distant strains of a waltz.

The world labored on.

Only
she,
it seemed, had been struck in her tracks, frozen in time.

She pressed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. Behind her Morland’s thighs locked. He caught a ragged breath and gripped her shoulders. “Damn it Chessy. I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered hoarsely.

White-faced, Chessy looked down. Her bodice was pooled, revealing hot, aroused skin. She caught back a broken sound of pain.

Fool! You’ve fallen right back into his arms. With a sigh and a smile you let him do whatever he wanted with you!

Pain and betrayal slammed into her like a fist. “Take your hands from me,” she rasped. “Otherwise you will shortly find them broken.”

The man at her back frowned. His hands did not leave her silken skin.

Dimly Chessy registered that Wellington and his two admirers had finally quit the room. She drew a long, angry breath. “I shall give you until the count of five.”

“Chessy, don’t. Not this way. Let me explain.”

“One. T-two. Three…”

Tensely Morland pulled her around to face him. “This solves nothing,” he said. “You’re angry, of course.
Rightly
so. But we can’t just—”

“It is too late,” Chessy hissed.
“Five.”
Her hands captured his forearm. Morland didn’t know about her martial arts training, of course. All that had begun after he left.

Sometimes she suspected that her father had encouraged her training as a means to distract her from the pain of her first experience of love. She had never been able to hide her feelings from her father, of course, though she had put a vast amount of effort into the attempt.

The thought of all the tears she’d shed and all the innocent, girlish dreams she’d spun only made Chessy more furious.

Morland’s forearm was strong, well-muscled. From the illicit glimpse of him that she’d had in Germaine’s bedroom, Chessy knew that he was in excellent physical condition.

He had to exercise regularly. But no matter his strength, he would be no match for her. One quick twist, and his bone would be dislocated.

 She spun about, her eyes a haze of fury. “Are you
quite
finished?”

Morland’s mouth set in a hard line. “Not nearly, my dear.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her tug furiously at her dress. “Stop twitching, damn it! Let me do that.”

He spun her around, jerked the damask up over her shoulders, and shoved the buttons closed at her back.

“What experienced f-fingers you have, my lord.”