The Passionate Love of a Rake (24 page)

With a deep growl, he moved, rolling over and tipping her back on to the soft bed.

His body covered hers, and she held him close as he’d held her, while her lips brushed his cheek and his brow.

He nipped at her neck, using his teeth.

Her heart thundered.

“Are you well?” His breath caressed her shoulder. Then he lifted a little. His brown eyes were matte now. One of his fingers traced the contours of her face then slipped over her shoulder and breast.

She nodded, suddenly tired and overwhelmed by a flood of emotion as her senses returned to earth.

He rolled off her then pulled the sheet up over them. He kissed her hair as her head pillowed on his shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “you cannot imagine how much I love you. It is beyond any explanation.”

“If it is how much I love you, I can,” she answered, her eyelids already falling.

When she woke, the candle had burned down to a short wax-encrusted stub, and Robert was kissing her shoulder as his fingers slid across her stomach.

He said nothing, but just held her gaze as he pressed her back on the bed, parted her legs and began loving her again.

This was Lord Barrington, the London rakehell, administering his art. She knew it, but it was wonderful. She did not fight it. She was too tired and too blissfully relaxed.

His intense gaze held hers, burning into her, and like his eyes, the emotion in his touch was raw with need.

This claiming was an unadorned expression of lust, but it was bestowed in
love.
She could see and feel the depth of it.

Afterwards, he held her tight as she lay on his chest, and she fell asleep again as he stroked her hair.

The next time she woke, she was lying on her stomach, and his fingers were running over her back in tender exploration. She stretched luxuriously, extending her body, intensely relaxed, and opened her eyes. The room was light.

She should not be in his bed.

His lips touched her shoulder, and she sensed him smile as his fingers traced the curve of her spine down to her bottom.

“Robert!” she laughed, lifting to her elbows as his fingers slipped lower. “We need to get up.”

“Who says? It is time to get up when
I
say so, sweetheart. I’m not letting you go until I’ve had my fill. You’ve made me wait long enough for this, Jane.” He moved, grasping a pillow, before urging her to lift her stomach. Then he slid the pillow beneath her.

“What
are
you doing?”

“Showing you another way to make love,” he stated bluntly as he knelt behind her. His fingers explored again, as though her body fascinated him, and she sensed him watching what he did. Then his fingers gripped and parted her thighs.

Her legs became braced open by the pressure of his when he came down over her and into her all at once. She was held wide for him and utterly in his thrall.

The wretch, he knew what he was doing, forcing her to let him have all the control.

“Does this feel good?” he asked against her ear after a moment, his weight pressing her into the bed.

“Yes, it feels good,” she answered as she felt the magic swirl through her.

“How good?” he urged in a vocal caress.

“Very good,” she answered as she became a little breathless. “
Robert
.”

His fingers were still playing as he moved.

“Do you love me, darling?” he urged in her ear again, holding her body and mind hostage. She longed for a ransom to escape the earth; he could quicken the feeling in her so easily.

“I love you very much, Robert! I do. Very much!” she cried out as a wave washed high, but he changed his pattern so it broke in ripples and not a rush, teasing her. The rogue.

“Robert!”

Oh, he was mean when he wished to be. He was playing with her.

His undulation possessed every element of her thoughts. The London rake, the Earl of Barrington, was busy binding a spell about her.

“Do you like it this way?” he whispered again. “Is it truly good?”

“
Yes
.” It felt good. He felt good, and wicked, and the sensation was all-consuming as he pressed her legs painfully wider.

A whimper escaped her lips. She had not intended it to. But the sound was pleading.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he echoed.

It was not wicked. It was cruel.

Her breath came to the pattern of his movement as her fingernails sank into the pillow.

“Yes, darling?” His low voice filled the air.

“Yes, Robert,” she answered, half screaming as she longed to break or escape. She wanted to say stop. She wanted to grip his hips and stop him, but the feelings inside her were beautiful and terrible all at once, and the beautiful element longed for it to continue, to get faster and harder, but he did not change his torturous pace. Her body bowed to better receive him.

“Do you want it a little more vigorous?” he asked in a low voice. She could hear him almost laughing. “Say it, Jane, if you do.”

She gripped the pillow harder and clenched her teeth, feeling every muscle in her body tense in battle against the distracting, glorious discomfort of his possession, but she only endured a little longer. “Robert, please!”

The change was instantaneous. She wished she could see him. She could imagine his face now, set with concentration, his eyes dark and intense, watching his work as he determinedly drove her towards heaven.

She realised she was shouting out with every stroke. She hadn’t even known.

“Ah!”

“Yes.”

When she crossed the gate, he did not stop, and she lay there, semi-conscious and delirious, and let him have his way.

His weight lifted off her suddenly, and his hands pulled her up.

He concluded their lovemaking kneeling on his haunches with her kneeling astride his lap, impaled and only half-aware of what he did as he bit her shoulder and adored her in his own way. His end came on a harsh cry, as though he’d fought it and hadn’t wished to give in even then. Afterwards, his fingers swept her hair forward over her shoulder while his other hand splayed on her stomach and held her steady.

She leaned her head back on his left shoulder as he kissed her right. “You are mad, Robert Marlow,” she said to the air.

“I am starved,” he answered. “I have waited years for this, for you, Jane. You will forgive me, surely, for being a glutton now. I’ve slept with no women since you came to my room in London. What I am, Jane, is famished.”

She slipped from his grip and turned to the edge of the bed, looking back. “Well, I am going. You cannot keep me here all day.”

He moved to grab her, but she slid off the bed and snatched up her clothes.

“I can,” he growled, following her.

Her hand lifted to hold him back. “We have to go to the church, Robert.”

“Church?” He sat back on the bed. “Hell. I’d forgotten.”

“I had not.” Picking up his shirt and breeches, she tossed them at him. “Besides, I do not want Meg spreading rumours below-stairs if I’m absent.”

Robert laughed. “Just because we did not see the servants last night, my love, does not mean they did not see us. They have a way of merging into nothingness so they are never seen. They were there. They know our secret already.”

“
Robert
.” The idea horrified her. He stood, naked and gloriously beautiful, his hand held out to her. She stepped back. “I am going.”

“I would put some clothes on first though, darling.” He laughed again as his eyes perused her naked body with a lustful gleam.

“You are wicked, Robert Marlow,” she threw at him as she put aside her dress and began slipping on her chemise. “I am surprised you even dare set foot on holy ground.” She carried on dressing, but when her dress dropped into place, Jane remembered leaving her stockings in the boat among the cushions.

Jane’s fingers shook as she turned to face him. “I left my stockings outside.”

Bless her. She was precious,
and his
. He wished to stand on a hill and yell it to the sunrise.
Jane is mine! She’s only ever been mine!

He smiled. “They are in the pocket of my coat.” He moved to fetch them. His heart felt so damned tender as it thumped steadily in his chest. He felt like a virgin himself. This was new to him, too. Making love to a woman he
loved
.

She smiled back at him when he gave them to her, and once she’d put them on, he secured the buttons at her back. Then he embraced her firmly. “I promise I’ll let you go,” he whispered, but he just needed to hold her one more time before he did.

She hugged him, too, and they stood there for a moment before he kissed the crown of her head then pulled away. She took a deep breath.

“You’re crying?” he said, his hand at her waist. “Why?”

She smiled, though her eyes still glittered. He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, but more overflowed. Had he been too rough or too insistent? Should he have let her rest?

“I’m just happy,” she said on a sob.

“Happy?” he echoed, laughing roughly. He kissed her brow. “People don’t cry when they’re happy, sweetheart.”

“They do.” She pressed a kiss over the stubble on his jaw. He held her tight again and let her cry, and felt like crying, too, though he was not a man who did. It was relief and joy and disbelief he felt –
and love
–
a hundred tons of love
.

His hands slid down her arms and gripped hers. “Come along then, sweetheart, you need to go.”

He began walking backward, leading her towards the door as he held her gaze. Her emerald eyes were shining, but they were no longer welling with tears.

“I would like to make you lose control,” she said as they reached the door. “You never quite let go, do you? I’d like to do to you what you do to me.”

Jane.
No other woman had ever compared. They’d all taken, not given. Not that he’d cared. He’d had his pleasure, but God, he knew that to be a shallow feeling now.

“Believe me, Jane, you are quite capable of knocking me senseless.” Red spots bloomed on her cheeks. Was she still unsure of him? “I’ve adored you since we were children, Jane, I’ve never stopped. You need only turn your gaze away and I am lost. You will stay here, won’t you? With me?”

“I should get back to my room. Meg will—”

“She will know anyway, Jane. I’m sorry, but your dress is creased beyond repair. You’ll not hide it from your maid. If you wish, though, I’ll tell my valet, to tamp the gossip down. He’ll silence any talk. Shall I ask him to order a bath drawn for you, too?”

She blushed. “What hour is it?”

“Seven,” he answered, having already looked. “Only the servants will know, and anyone who says a word against you, Jane, will have a scolding from Mrs. Barclay.”

Jane sighed. Perhaps he should not have mentioned the housekeeper knowing, too. He was used to disposing of lovers. He was not used to wishing they could stay, but watching them go.

He kissed her one last time. “I love you, Jane,” he whispered as he pulled back and let go of her hands.

Her fingers swept his fringe off his brow and her eyes held his, deep wells of green. “I love you, too, Robert.”

He wished they could forget the christening. He felt like he was losing her again. “Run along and pamper yourself,” he whispered. “I will see you in a couple of hours.”

She nodded, then opened the door and left. His heart thumped with a strange feeling of doubt. It disturbed his previous jubilation. But it was a foolish fear. She’d marry him now. Why would she not? She’d hung on to her virginity all these years, and now she’d chosen him to give it to. He’d not spoken of marriage, but it must surely be in her head.

A good six hours later, Robert stood by the font of the small village church, in the presence of his buried ancestors. Jane stood beside Ellen, holding Robbie, who was wriggling as always. Ellen’s youngest sister and her husband, the Duke and Duchess of Bradford, stood with them, next to Edward. Together, they repeated the priest’s words to renounce evil and reject sin, expressing beliefs on behalf of the child.

Robert’s eyes turned habitually to Jane, as they’d been doing all morning. He smiled at the blush painting her cheeks, knowing she was remembering her last sin. The one he’d no intention of repenting and every intention of repeating. She was right. He should not be standing in a church.

She, however, was the perfect image of innocence today, which she had been until last night. She could not meet his gaze without turning crimson, and when he tried to speak to her or include her in a conversation, she stuttered some comment then excused herself, colouring up.

A wondrous thought struck as he watched her holding Robbie. His child could be busy forming itself inside her. He’d never released inside a woman before. He’d done so four times last night. Something clenched firmly about his heart, like a fist, gripping it. He would propose again later. He’d been considering how and where.

His heart thumped steadily again.

He remembered her accusation that he always stayed in control. She was right about that, too. Sex for him had never been just escape. It had been seeking. Now that he’d found what he sought, he didn’t know if he was capable of ever fully letting go. His instinct never to trust was too ingrained.
But perhaps with Jane.
Memories slipped in of last night, and the awe of it lay heavy.

Robbie’s bright eyes held hers for a moment, and his chubby little fingers gripped her short sleeve.

Robert would never tire of looking at her. His heart was full. He’d love to see their child in her arms. He hoped.

The vicar took the child from Jane, held Robbie over the font, and poured the water over his head. Robbie scowled and wailed. When Robert looked up, Ellen’s gaze was not fixed on her son though. It was on him.

He smiled, silently telling her to mind her own business.

She’d questioned him this morning, before Jane had come down, about where they’d disappeared to the night before. Ellen had told him everyone had noticed. The implication was he’d been imprudent and risked Jane’s reputation. He’d lifted his eyebrows and told Ellen, “You may think you rule my life, but you do not, and I might hold you in my affections, but I am not to be chastened by my brother’s wife.”

To which she’d answered  …  “I have been chastising you for years and you have never routed me before.”

His sharp answer as he’d walked away was …  “Perhaps you are no longer so high in the order of my life.”

Not for the world would he disconcert Jane further by letting her know his guests suspected. Nor would he acknowledge their speculation. This was private and personal. He would not even discuss it with Ellen. He wished only to shut out the world and return to his youth, when his orbit had been Jane.

Edward took Robbie from the vicar, and Ellen looked at her squalling son. Robert turned his gaze back to Jane to find her watching him. Her eyes darted away. A day ago, this event, the baptism, had been something precious he’d looked forward to. Now he longed for it to be over so he could spend some time alone with her.

He walked back to the house a few paces behind her, while John, at his side, asked for Robert’s opinion on a horse he could take back to Eton. Edward had agreed to John keeping one in stables there. At least their discussion on breeds and what to look for distracted Robert’s Jane-focused brain.

“Sayle!” Robert stopped and looked back at the same time as his nephew. It was the Duke of Pembroke, John’s grandfather, who’d called. He was the only one who used John’s courtesy title.

Robert sensed his nephew stiffen and knew John was afraid he’d done something wrong. Pembroke had spent many deluded years believing he could control his grandson because the boy was his heir.

“Sayle!” Pembroke called again as John waited for his grandfather to catch up.

Robert waited, too, unwilling to leave the boy to the mercy of a tyrant.

“Grandfather,” John stated before bowing deeply as the Duke approached.

“Your Grace.” Robert joined his nephew’s welcome, but only bent slightly.

“How fare you, boy? I have hardly seen you for months. You must come and spend some time with us soon.”

“I am well, Your Grace. I said to Mama I shall spend the last week before I return to Eton with you, if that is suitable for you, sir?”

“It shall not suffice. One must not be miserly with one’s duties, Sayle.”

Robert had never heard the Duke say a good word to his heir. There was no encouragement, no recognition of any achievement –
no affection
.

“You will return with me today, Sayle. The Duke of Sutton’s widow is not fit company for a boy your age.”

Robert felt the words wind him like a punch in his stomach. What the hell did Pembroke know of Jane? Robert had not heard a single rumour of her in town and even if he had, he was in a position now to deny them all, and he would not let Pembroke insult his future wife.

“Your Grace, with respect, the Dowager Duchess of Sutton is a close family friend.”

Pembroke’s measured gaze settled on Robert, clearly questioning his morals.

“Go on ahead, John,” Robert directed his nephew.

John met Robert’s gaze with a look of doubt, then glanced at his grandfather for consent.

Pembroke nodded, and once the lad was ahead, Robert said, hands clasped firmly behind his back, “I think, sir, you should cease listening to rumour.”

“And I think, Barrington, you should leave your paramours in London and keep them well away from Sayle.” The Duke’s bitter words burned with disdain, and Robert felt his anger flare.

“Her Grace is not that, sir, yet I hope she will soon agree to be my wife, and I shall not hear unfounded, ridiculous rumours repeated in my presence, nor in my house.”

“Who said I speak rumour? I have seen her behaviour with my own eyes, Barrington. She has loose morals, and I shall not have her near Sayle. If you marry that woman, he shall not visit here again.”

The urge was to ask Pembroke what he thought he’d seen, but Robert
knew
she’d been untouched until last night.

“You may order as you wish, Your Grace, yet John shall come. Edward is your grandson’s guardian. You can neither dictate to Sayle, nor to me. Regardless of what you believe you have seen, I can assure you, you are wrong. The Dowager Duchess of Sutton is of excellent character, and if you, sir, dare to defile it, I shall have you thrown off my estate, and you will not be welcome here again.”

Robert lifted his hand as he saw Pembroke about to protest. “I would not, Your Grace, unless you intend to spoil this day for your daughter. I shall have you removed if you dare say one more word.”

Visibly infuriated, Pembroke shouted forward to his wife then quickened his step. No doubt, he would leave after luncheon. Robert pitied the Duchess, the only person left under Pembroke’s influence.

“What was that about?” Edward said, catching up.

“How you put up with such a father-in-law, I shall never know,” Robert answered.

“I do just that, put up with him, but you know Ellen wishes to see her mother and will not have John cut off from her father. John is to inherit, after all.”

“In my opinion, it would be a blessing if John
were
cut off from Pembroke. He had the audacity to insult Jane. Some nonsense about her moral stature.”

Edward’s hand gripped Robert’s shoulder. “If he is using last night as an example—”

Robert shrugged it off. “He is not, and mind your tongue.”

“Then perhaps you should be a little more discreet. You disappeared from a small gathering with her, Robert. Do you think us all blind?”

Robert sighed. It was true, of course. “Were comments made?” Jane would be mortified.

“Our guests are friends and family. They are too polite for that, but they wondered over your whereabouts, and I am sure they are capable of drawing the same conclusion as Ellen and I. Still, at least, I assume you have won Jane over?”

Robert smiled. He could not hide his joy.

“I knew it. You did, you devil. You had better make an honest woman of her or I shall call you out. She is as good as a sister to me.”

“I will ask her when everyone’s gone. That celebration is too personal.”

“She is not leaving then? She said she was returning to London.”

Robert smiled at his brother, convinced. “She’ll not leave.”

When Robert quietly opened the door of Jane’s bedchamber later, it was almost one in the morning. The house had taken hours to settle, but the comments made by Ellen and Edward had made Robert more discreet. He’d not spoken to Jane all day, unwilling to draw any further speculation, and aware Pembroke was watching her. That had seemed to unsettle Jane enough. She’d spent most of the day silent, hiding amidst a crowd.

Robert shut the door carefully and whispered her name. The room was flooded with moonlight. She did not respond. She was in bed, and all he heard were her steady, slow breaths. She lay on her stomach, sleeping, naked in the heavy, humid air of the hot summer night.

He felt as though his heart stilled.

The single sheet covering her had slipped to the hollow of her back, and her dark hair splayed over the white cotton of the bed.

An owl hooted outside. Perhaps one of those they’d heard last night. She’d left the sash window a little down, but there was no draught. The night air was too dense with heat.

Robert let his silk dressing gown slide to the floor, lifted the sheet, lay beside her, and drew her close. She didn’t stir. He kissed her hair, his arms about her as he moulded his body to hers and breathed in her familiar scent. Then he drifted into sleep, content to just lie beside her.

~

Jane woke to the sound of lashing rain. She’d left the sash window down for air, but it had been so warm and heavy, there had been no draught. Now, though, a stiff breeze kicked the curtains, making them fly out like flags as she heard rain hammering hard against the windowpanes and pound on the dry ground outside. The drought had broken. She could smell the vegetation soaking it up. A deep rumble of thunder echoed outside.

She moved to sit up, but a weight lay across her stomach. An arm? She looked back.
Robert’s
. He lay behind her, with one arm about her and the other beneath the pillow. The cotton sheet fell slack across his hip. Jane sat upright and his arm slid down.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room. It was followed by a sharp growl of thunder which shook the house and made the window rattle in its mount. Robert sighed in his sleep and rolled to his back, his free arm lifting and lying above his head.

Another flash of lightning spiked a light over his features. Jane turned to face him and lay back down. She swept the lock of hair from his brow then her fingers followed his jaw. Robert. She’d thought he would seek her out at some point in the day for a private conversation. In the morning, he’d kept looking at her, but by the afternoon, he’d held back as though he did not wish to draw attention to her.

The Duke of Pembroke, Ellen’s father, had stared all day, too.

He had attended one of Hector’s house parties a few years ago. Hector had made much of it because Pembroke had a higher standing in the House of Lords. Hector had gloated and thought it a real coup to have such a man join his gaming soirées.

But Pembroke had not been happy when he’d discovered the perversity and viciousness Hector favoured for his games. Dog fighting was one of Hector’s preferred entertainments, as well as baiting.

She could still remember the Duke of Pembroke’s look of disdain for both the company and the entertainment.

He chose to leave when Hector began his favourite game: flaunting his pretty young wife and baiting his peers.

He’d liked to make her appear available, when, in truth, he’d never let it go that far.

Jane had rejoiced in the Duke’s desertion at the time, pleased Hector had lost in something.

She dare not contemplate what Pembroke thought of her now. His attention had been unnerving, although her mind had been occupied by other thoughts,
of
Robert
.

Casting the Duke of Pembroke from her mind, her fingers slipped beneath the sheet and explored the contours of Robert’s naked body.

Lightning flashed outside, and, this time, the crack of thunder rang instantaneously, as though the house itself had been hit. It was an angry storm, but its violence, the sound and smell of rain and the sweep of cold air through the open window, was stimulating. She felt alive.

She kissed Robert’s shoulder and felt the sinewy lines and furrows of his torso.

All day, she’d walked about in another world, half in the thrall of the sensual knowledge he’d taught her; her stomach and the place between her thighs whispering an ache which constantly told her she was no longer a virgin and she may, even now, be with child. A child? The thought made her heart ache.

The rain gained in intensity.

Jane felt the part of him which had invaded her last night, lying limp in repose. It stirred, changing in density, disproving his claims. He did not need to be in control. He could become aroused even while asleep.

Another flash of light illuminated the chamber, and the thunder came on the back of it.

Cool air caressed Jane’s skin as a sharp breeze swept through the window.

Growing bolder, Jane slid down the bed.

He’d used his mouth on her in London. It seemed only natural a woman could do the same for a man.

A groan left his throat, and his hip jerked.

She glanced at his face, but he’d not woken. She moved to kneel astride one of his legs and returned to her task to see how far he could go without control.

A deeper groan erupted from his throat, and the lightning flashed, followed a moment later by a clap of thunder.