Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (6 page)

She knew she should get up off her knees, but his hands remained on her shoulders, the thumbs tracing the line of her collarbones through the wool of her wrap. She did not want him to stop.

‘I—I do not know what came over me.’

‘Curiosity, perhaps?’ His smile grew and she felt her bones begin to melt.

‘It…it is the snow,’ she stammered. ‘And the wine. I am not normally so…wanton. What must you think of me?’

He skimmed one hand down her arm and even through the soft woollen sleeve her skin tingled beneath his touch.

‘I think you are adorable.’ He lifted her hand and began to kiss each of her fingers.

‘Wh-what are you doing?’

‘Trying to decide,’ he murmured, between slow, deliberate kisses, ‘if I most want to make love to
you here on the rug in front of the fire, or in my bed, between silken sheets.’

The images conjured by his soft words made her tremble. If she had not already been kneeling, she thought she must have collapsed on the rug in a damp heap of desire and anticipation.

‘Im-impossible,’ she stammered. ‘You will do neither of those things.’

‘No?’ He raised his eyes from the contemplation of her fingers, and what was left of her insides liquefied. ‘It was
you
who kissed
me
. And you yourself questioned whether we were wasting this opportunity.’

She swallowed and ran her tongue nervously over her lips.

‘Are…are you joking me, Sir Lawrence?’ The look in his eyes told her he was in deadly earnest.

‘One night,’ he whispered. ‘After that we will go back to our separate worlds and need never meet again. What do you say?’

It was the edge of a precipice. He was still holding her hand, his thumb rubbing gently across the soft inner side of her wrist and sending arrows of heat through her body. They were still kneeling, and so close that she would only have to lean forwards a little to be in his arms.

Rose searched his eyes. Behind the intense blue was a shadow of sadness.

I could dispel that
, she thought.
I could make him happy, at least for a while.

‘No.’ Gently she disengaged her hands. ‘I am very sorry if I led you to think—’

‘You did, but I shall get over it.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘“Since there’s no help for it, come, let us kiss and part,”’ he quoted, smiling.

Her throat swelled. Tears burned her eyes as he pulled her to her feet.

‘Oh,
please
do not say such things to me!’

‘Do you not like Drayton?’

‘Too much!’ She blinked. ‘It—it has been a long day. I should retire now.’

He released her, and with another mumbled apology she ran out of the room.

Damnation!

Lawrence stared at the closed door. She had rejected him.

And quite right, too
, argued the voice in his head.
She is too respectable for you, despite that unsolicited kiss.
But he had thought, for a while, that she might just count the world well lost. She had certainly considered it. He sighed. Such a heady mix of innocence and honesty. She had begged him to ignore her. How much better if he could have done so! Indeed, he had intended to keep his distance, until the moment he had taken her hands. The mere touch of her skin and all his honourable resolutions had fled. All he knew was that he wanted her in his arms. In his bed.

He had not felt such desire for months, possibly years. He was happy enough to attend the constant round of parties and balls that filled the London social calendar and was willing to indulge any of the ladies who threw themselves in his way in a little flirtation. Mostly it was
no more than that, but he had only to escort a lady to her home for the gossips to claim she was his mistress. He had stopped trying to correct them, but the lies and intrigue of town life had begun to pall—society would be aghast if they knew how many nights he spent alone. He collected a glass of wine and threw himself down in a chair. Another lonely night would be nothing new. The rattling of the window reminded him of the weather. Pray heaven it did not snow again—he needed Rose out of the house. He was only flesh and blood, after all, and she was too damned desirable.

Rose shut and locked the door of the guest chamber. The room was warm and she sank down in front of the peat fire. What had she done? To kiss a rake, and so wantonly; she might as well have begged him to take her! It was to Sir Lawrence’s credit that he had let her go so easily.

But you didn’t want him to let you go.

The thought shocked her, but honesty compelled her to acknowledge it. Ever since she had arrived at Knightscote she had felt the tug of attraction. It was not just that he was wickedly handsome, it was the smile in his blue eyes, the way he made her laugh. She had not felt so alive since those early years with Harry, when he had courted her so assiduously. Her thoughts moved on from there to the marriage bed. Since Harry’s death she had never craved another man’s touch, until now. It was loneliness. She wrapped her arms about herself and inched even closer to the fire. That was the true reason for her restless state. She was lonely.

And she had read loneliness in Sir Lawrence’s eyes, too. He had forsaken the world this Christmas to mourn his lost love. Rose’s heart went out to him. He might be a rake, but he was sincerely grieving.

So why not comfort each other?

Rose shook off the insidious thought. It would not do, she was betrothed and she was a mother, although that life seemed a world away. She took off the wrap and slipped between the sheets. The bed was cold. She toyed with the idea of going downstairs in search of a warming pan, but abandoned it. She might see Sir Lawrence and then her noble resolve would crumble. It had been hard enough to walk out of the drawing room.

She shifted restlessly in the bed. Her body was on fire, aching for a man’s touch, but not just any man. With a tiny cry of frustration she turned over.

‘A rake makes the devil of a husband. You should know that by now.’

But her agitated mind would not be appeased. She was not looking for a husband, only a little comfort. An escape from her loneliness. A sweet memory to keep in her heart when she returned to her real world. Rose pummelled her pillow and lay down again, pulling the covers up to her cheek. She pictured Sir Lawrence in the drawing room, her stomach clenching as she imagined him smiling at her, felt again his gentle touch.

One night, then we need never meet again…

Lawrence remained in the drawing room, staring into the fire while the house grew silent around him. Evans would be snoring in his bed behind the kitchen, sleep
ing off the effects of the flagon of cider Lawrence had spotted on the floor beside his chair. Rose, too, would be asleep by now. The occasional creaking of the boards he put down to the wind, which was howling around the house.

He had risen to throw another log on the fire when he heard the rasp of the door hinges. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the gloom.

‘I thought…about what you said.’ Rose moved across the room. She had left off the enveloping wrap, and the diaphanous folds of the nightgown glistened in the candlelight, outlining every curve of her body—she appeared to float towards him. ‘One night. Then we will go our separate ways.’

Lawrence still could not believe it was not a dream, until he reached out and felt her warm flesh beneath his hands.

‘You are quite sure about this?’

A smile trembled on her lips.

‘Quite sure.’

As he dragged her into his arms Rose tilted her face up, inviting his kiss. His mouth ground over hers, savage, possessive, and her mind reeled, but with excitement, not alarm. She threw her arms around his neck, her lips parting to allow his tongue to search her mouth, flickering and teasing. She leaned into him, revelling in the feel of his hard, aroused body pressing against her. There was too much cloth between them. She unwound her arms from around Lawrence’s neck and began to unbutton his waistcoat. It was shed without a break in
their deep, passionate kisses and she moved on to those tight buckskins.

Breathing heavily, Lawrence broke away, but only long enough to divest himself of his clothes. At last he stood before her, naked and golden in the firelight, his body as muscled and perfect as any Greek statue.

‘Rose?’

She raised her eyes to his and slowly gathered up the gossamer folds of the nightgown, lifting them in one smooth movement. As the fine silk whispered over her head she heard another sigh, almost a groan, from Lawrence. Before the nightgown had left her hands and fluttered to the floor he had his arms around her, pulling her to him. He lowered her gently down onto the thick rug where the heat from the fire enveloped them. Her arms were still above her head and he reached out to catch her wrists, imprisoning them with one hand while the other explored her breasts. She writhed beneath his touch, uttering a little moan of pleasure when his circling fingers were replaced by his mouth. He gently teased and nibbled and sucked until she was gasping for breath, but even then he did not stop, but added to her exquisite torment by trailing his free hand down over the soft plain of her stomach, his fingers delving onwards, circling and stroking until her legs parted and her hips tilted invitingly. The long fingers continued to devastating effect; she groaned and twisted, pushed against his hand, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure burst over her. As the ecstatic spasms ceased Lawrence folded her in his arms and held her close.

‘Oh.’ She made her shuddering whisper into his shoulder. ‘I had forgotten.
Thank
you.’

A soft laugh shook him. She felt it reverberate against her cheek.

‘It was my pleasure.’

She struggled to sit up, smiling at him. She said, her voice warm and husky with passion, ‘And this is mine.’

Gently she pushed him onto his back, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and across his chest. The dark smattering of hair caught at her fingers as she trailed them around the hard nipples. He reached up and removed the clips from her curls, so that when he pulled away the confining ribbon, her hair cascaded down to rest upon his naked body. Rose moved her head, dragging the silky tresses across the taut muscles of his stomach. He arched his back, eyes closed. Rose climbed over him, leaning forwards to kiss the fine line of his throat while the tips of her breasts rubbed against his skin and he groaned louder, his hands reaching for her, easing her into position so that he could thrust into her. It was Rose’s turn to arch as she felt him inside her, sleek and hard. She moved against him, following the dictates of her body while his hands on her hips kept her firmly anchored over him. Excitement was building again, but this time it was centred on his pleasure. She held him deep and warm inside her, her body stroking and caressing until his grip tightened around her waist. He held her fast; she was powerless while he thrust into her hard and fast and she cried out, control swept away as he took her to new heights. One final thrust, a gasp, and they clung together until the last
wonderful tremor shuddered through their bodies and they collapsed, sated, to lie in each other’s arms before the dying embers.

Lawrence kissed her and carefully smoothed the damp tendrils of honey-brown hair back from her brow.

‘Well, madam, was it as you expected?’

‘Much, much better.’ She snuggled deeper into his arms, smiling.

‘And there’s more.’ He sat up and reached for his shirt. ‘Put this on.’

‘Why?’ Obediently she allowed him to throw it over her head. She pushed her arms into the voluminous sleeves while he stepped into his buckskins. She watched him throw on his flowered waistcoat, marvelling at the way it accentuated the firm muscles of his stomach and arms. He reached down to pull her to her feet.

‘I am taking you to bed, my love, but you will recall that the passages between here and the bedroom are unheated and I would not have you catch a chill.’

She could not resist reaching out and resting her hand against his naked chest.

‘Will you not feel the cold?’

‘No.’ He swept her up into his arms. ‘I shall have you next to my heart.’

He lowered his head to give her a fierce, savage kiss full of triumph and possession. Her body still glowing from their union, Rose wound her arms about his neck as he carried her to the bedroom.

A cold, rosy dawn illuminated the window. Rose stretched, feeling the warmth of Lawrence’s sleep
ing form against her back. Her body felt wonderfully full, satisfied, and she could not help smiling into the semi-darkness. Their lovemaking in the bedroom had been even better than that first, astonishing coupling in front of the fire. Lawrence had proved himself an expert lover—she should not have been surprised, given his reputation, but his gentleness and the way he had sought to put her pleasure before his own had been a revelation.

It would make parting all the more difficult.

Rose eased herself away from his sleeping form and out of the bed. The discarded shirt and breeches on the floor brought back memories that sent a delightful shiver down her spine, but it also reminded her that they had left several telltale garments strewn across the drawing room. She reached for Sir Lawrence’s brightly coloured dressing gown. She must go to her own room and dress. Then she could send Evans out to check on the state of the track.

When Lawrence awoke he was immediately aware of a feeling of well-being. The early-morning sun was pouring into the room, battering his eyelids. He did not want to open his eyes. He wanted to—

He turned over, but his hands found only cold empty sheets. Had he dreamed last night’s events? His body told him not.

Lawrence sat up, blinking. His clothes were still on the floor, but his banyan was gone. Quickly he grabbed his clothes and scrambled into them, buttoning his coat even as he made his way to the guest room. It was
empty. With a growing sense of unease he ran down the stairs to the drawing room.

Rose was standing by the window, fully dressed, her travelling cloak folded over a chair, gloves and bonnet resting neatly on the top. She turned as he came in, but the sunlight was behind her and he could not see her face.