Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (29 page)

And twelve until she could be certain he was out of danger.

Chessy closed her eyes. Though she was exhausted, she went over her calculations about meridian lines and needle sizes one more time.

~ ~ ~

 “Won’ t have any damned laudanum.” Morland’s voice was thick, slurred from sleep. “Won’t bloody
take
it, I tell you!”

“Of course you won’t have any laudanum,” Chessy said soothingly. “There’s not a trace of laudanum in this.”

It was a lie, of course, but he needed to rest.

“No? Then
you
drink the bloody stuff.”

He’d woken just as surly as Chessy had predicted. For the last ten minutes he had been twisting restlessly, refusing the herbal drink she’d offered.

“Tongue’s … on fire. Skin feels like … it’s going to leap up and do a bloody dance. What the devil did you give me?”

“Something that saved your life, you ungrateful brute. And you’ll drink this too!” Seeing that he was still unconvinced, Chessy gave an angry sigh and downed half of the drink herself, then held the rest out to Morland.

He studied it warily. “You … promise? No laudanum?”

Despite the prick of her conscience, Chessy nodded firmly.

Morland took the glass and drained it.

“You see? That wasn’t at all painful.”

The Englishman merely scowled. “Take me for a bloody fool? Think I don’t know laudanum when I taste it?” But his voice was growing more slurred. “Bloody little … liar.” His eyes closed. “Wonderful, treacherous liar.” He reached out and slid his fingers deep into her hair. “Kiss me, liar. Now while I’m too damned weak to do anything about it…”

Chessy laughed at the sheer outrageousness of the order. It was the sulkiness, the low, slurred timbre of his voice and the pain it concealed that made her comply.

She brushed his collarbone with her lips.

When he sighed and moved his fingers idly in her hair, she bent closer, tracing his jaw and tasting her way lightly up to his mouth. By the time their lips met she was restless and more than a little drugged herself.

Drugged with the taste of him. With the sight of his hard, bronze body.

“Why di’n’ you … answer?” It was a slurred whisper.

“Answer what?”

“My letters. Wrote you. Why … no answers?”

Chessy paled. “We’ll … discuss it tomorrow.”

“Now,” he said sulkily. “Why, Chessy?”

“You have to rest. That … well, that can wait.”

“T’morrow? Promise?”

“Yes. Now go to sleep.”

“T’morrow,” Morland repeated. His hand slid beneath her jacket. Sighing, he explored her warmth until he found her satiny breast. He cupped the already hardening nub between his thumb and forefinger. “Promise me?”

“A-absolutely.” The word came out high and squeaky. She swallowed. “Now just—just go to s-sleep, my lord.”

Morland’s long fingers tightened. Protectively. Tenderly. “Sleepy…”

Chessy heard his breath slow, felt his body relax. Carefully she reached out and slid his hand from her breast. She couldn’t leave it there, of course. That would be out of the question. It was utterly wrong.

It was blissfully right.

It made her uncomfortable.

It made her sigh with pleasure.

Besides, she didn’t want him to touch her.

She wanted him to do nothing else.

Chessy scowled, wishing she hadn’t drunk quite so much of the drug-laced tea to make her point to Morland. With a sigh she curled up on the day bed. Dimly she realized her vision was blurring.

She closed her eyes and dreamed then, vivid dreams of silver seas, of fish that jumped into her open hands. Of treasure ships and pine-dark isles. Of blood oaths and shared vows.

Of all the beautiful things that might have been, but never could.

~ ~ ~

Sunlight framed the curtained window when Chessy opened her eyes. Disoriented, she clutched at the crisp, lavender-scented bed linens.
Where was she?

Tony…

She knelt beside him and listened. His breathing was low and rhythmic. When she touched his forehead, she knew that the fevers were gone.

Without warning his eye cracked open. “C’m’ere.” He patted the bed. “With me. Bloody day bed can’t be comf’able.”

It wasn’t. She hadn’t slept well and her back ached with the strain of inserting the needles and rotating them for long intervals.

But she shook her head and tried to pull free when he caught her wrist.

“Sit… here.”

Seeing that he was growing agitated, Chessy finally complied.

“Is it t’morrow yet?”

“No,” Chessy lied.

“Then I’ll wait for my answers, Cricket. But until then …” His hands tightened, tugging her down until she sprawled across his warm, naked chest.

At the movement her black silk jacket gaped open. One creamy breast spilled free.

Chessy gasped and moved to tug the garment closed. But Morland caught her wrist and held her still. His eyes smoldered darkly as he stared at the lush ivory curve. “No—don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Let me look at you. Only look…while you kiss me.”

His fingers trembled against the pulse that danced at her wrist. A haze of sweat dotted his brow. Chessy realized she’d have to comply, until he settled back into sleep. She couldn’t risk a relapse.

“Insufferable man,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks burn as his eyes roamed over her, shot with fever and a dark male hunger. Already he was recovering. And it was far too fast for her safety.

Her skin grew flushed, tingling beneath his heated scrutiny.

“Kiss me, Chessy.”

“No,” she said weakly.

“Otherwise, I’ll get up. Got … work to do after all…”

“You can’t. You nearly
died
!” Seeing the feverish determination in his eyes, she sighed.

“Oh, very well, you insufferable man.” Closing her eyes, she bent forward to give him the kiss he’d demanded.

Her lips skimmed his brow.

“Call that … a kiss?”

Chessy planted another kiss just at the edge of his mouth. But he twisted and pulled her down until her hair spilled over them in a shining black cascade.

Morland sighed, opening his lips to taste her. Letting her taste him in turn. And then his fingers closed over the aching point of her breast.

Chessy shuddered and tried to pull free. “S-stop that you reprobate! I never said—”

Frowning, she stared down, realizing that his grip had loosened. There was no resistance at all in his fingers now.

And no wonder. The wretched man was sound asleep!

~ ~ ~

Chessy had just finished her next needling when she heard Whitby’s low cough at the door. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I’ve brought you some dinner.”

She hadn’t even thought about eating. But her stomach gave a lurch when Whitby entered with a covered tray that carried a mouth-watering array of aromas.

“Mrs. Harris insisted you eat. She’s made you pigeon pie and asparagus in lime sauce.” The butler put down the dishes and turned to stare worriedly at the earl. “He’s still so pale.”

“He’ll be fine, Whitby. If only I can keep him calm enough to rest.”

The old servant shook his head. “He was never one for coddling. Even when he was a child he wouldn’t—” The butler broke off and turned to straighten Chessy’s dinner tray. “Well, miss, if that will be all.”

Chessy frowned at Whitby. “Even as a child he wouldn’t do what?”

Whitby hesitated. “Many is the time I saw him dig in his heels for a fight. And all too often it was over some bit of mischief that hellion twin of his had devised. Not that young Tony would ever pass the blame. Yes, his twin brother Andrew was always very good at seeing that someone
else
took the blame for his own misbehaviors.”

“Twin?”

“He died last year.” Whitby shook his head again. “A very bad business—if you’ll excuse my saying so, miss. And there was his lordship, barely recovered from…”

“From?” Chessy prompted.

“From the wounds he took over in Spain.” Whitby’s face turned hard. “You wouldn’t have recognized him, miss. He’d lost half his weight, it seemed. And pale, so pale.”

Chessy took a sharp breath.

“I beg your pardon, miss. I would never have spoken of it, except that seeing him like this brings back all the memories. He was months getting well, you see. Not that he ever
did
get well. No, I’m of the belief that his leg never set right. And the sawbones who tended to him—” Whitby snorted. “I suppose they did what they could. It was a battlefield, after all.”

Chessy’s fingers dug into the velvet quilt. “The pain—I never knew.”

“No one knew. He never speaks of it. Even now, he refuses anything that hints at coddling. Bloody stubborn he is.” Whitby’s voice fell. “Lord bless him. He is an honorable man.”

He turned them, his face returning to its usual impassive lines. “You
will
be staying, won’t you?” Chessy couldn’t mistake the hopeful note in his voice.

She told herself she had to go, that Whitby could take care of Tony now. She told herself that it wasn’t
safe
for her to remain.

But somehow that didn’t change her answer. She gave a long sigh and nodded. “I expect I shall, Whitby. I’ll need more boiled water. And some tea, too, if you could manage it. I’m—I’m afraid it’s going to be a
very
long night.”

As Chessy had feared, the Earl of Morland slept neither long nor well. Barely an hour later, he began to mutter and twist restlessly in his sleep.

“Damn it, not there, Wilkins! Too close—can’t you see them?”

Chessy started at the hoarse cry. “Tony?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. His legs twisted, caught in the sheets. “Must—stop ‘em. Third battalion’s too damned close.”

Suddenly Chessy felt him stiffen. He groaned and threw his arm to one side, catching her across the waist.

The dreams.
Dear heaven, she’d forgotten all about his nightmares.

The hands at her waist tightened. His breathing quickened and turned harsh. Chessy shoved at his chest, trying to push him back down, but he fought her, cursing, his hands like iron. Breathless, she fell back, trapped by his fever-driven fingers. In the struggle her jacket billowed open. Taut tendon met supple, curving breast.

Morland froze. “Chessy?” His voice was low, slurred. She wondered if he was even aware that he spoke.

“I’m here.” She stroked the hair from his face. “Trying to sleep. But you make a wretched sort of patient, I’m afraid.”

His hard fingers moved in search of warmth and softness, and Chessy gasped.

Not that it meant
anything
, she told herself. The man was half asleep, after all. It was only an animal urge to seek solace and warmth in a time of stress.

But none of those explanations made Chessy feel those strong fingers any less. None of them made her breath come easier or held the spiraling heat from her stomach—or lower, where it pooled in maddening waves.

Her pulse began to pound. She couldn’t let him continue this way.

Why not? Sweet heaven. Why not just once?

It was wrong, she knew. He wasn’t even conscious of what he was doing. But no matter how reason protested, her body told her it was right to feel this way, right to want this from him.

Yes—just
once
. Tomorrow she could be gone. Or even dead, Chessy thought grimly.

His hand spanned her waist. “Cricket.” It was a ragged sound—a statement of recognition, of discovery and raw desire. “Am I dreaming or—is that really … you?”

“Not unless we’re both dreaming. Both mad—which likely we are.”