The Passionate Love of a Rake (31 page)

“Robert!” she screamed his name again as he kept moving.

“Do not do it!” It was the last thing he heard as he went out the door without his hat, his gloves, or his greatcoat.

~

Jane knelt on the drawing room window seat, her brow against the window pane. It had been raining for an hour, a light drizzle which clouded the view and traced its path in little rivers down the pane of glass. She’d been watching the street since the door had slammed shut behind Robert three hours earlier, praying he’d gone to Edward and hoping Edward had persuaded Robert against anything rash. Traffic came and went on the street outside, others’ lives continuing as normal while hers fell apart once more.

She had known how this would end. She should have been stronger. She should have stayed away from Robert. Yet she couldn’t think of losing him now.

A man of Robert’s build entered the square in the far corner with a long stride. Her fingers touched the windowpane.

It was him.

Jane pushed herself off the seat and ran to the hall, racing to the front door to pull it open before any of the footmen. She did not wait for him, but ran outside, down the steps into the street, and threw herself into Robert’s arms as he came along the pavement.

Her satin house slippers were soaked in a puddle, but she didn’t care.

“Jane, we are in the street,” he chided in a deep burr. He was soaked through.

She let him go and took his hand, smiling at him. He smiled in return, closed-lipped, and let her lead him up the steps.

Inside, she began unbuttoning his morning coat.

“I am not an invalid,” he whispered. “I can manage.”

“I know, but you’re all wet, and I am so glad you’re home.” She hugged him again and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

He kissed hers in return, but then his hands settled on her waist and pushed her away. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She nodded her agreement as he slipped off his wet morning coat. She was very willing to escape their audience – Jenkins and two footmen.

“You did not do it, did you?” she asked, following him as he walked upstairs.

He did not reply.

She looked back at Jenkins, who held Robert’s wet coat. “Send for some tea. Lord Barrington will need something to warm him.”

When she entered the drawing room behind him, she shut the door and leaned back against it. “You did not, did you?”

“Did not what?” he queried, facing her.

He stood beside the hearth, warming his hands. His brown eyes asked the question, too.

“Call Joshua out. Where have you been? Did Edward persuade you against it?”

He came towards her then, amusement suddenly in his eyes, and when he reached her, he said, “No, Jane, I have neither called Sutton out, nor spoken to Edward.” His fingers settled on her shoulder and began toying with a lock of her hair.

“Then where were you?”

His gaze dropped to her lips. Her hands pressed against his damp waistcoat to stop him from leaning forward. He was in an odd mood, and she was suddenly angry with him.

“Robert!”

“In Hyde Park.”

“In Hyde Park? So now everyone knows we are at odds and Joshua has even more fuel for his rumours.”

“I have been walking off my temper.”

She wished he’d simply talked it out with her. He was her sanctuary. She wanted to be his.

“Are we at odds?” he questioned, his voice sullen and his eyes brooding.

“You walked out. All I wished you to do was speak to me. I did not cause your anger.”

His gaze was heavy on hers and uncommunicative, and his fingers let go of her hair and fell from her shoulder.

One of his eyebrows arched before he turned and walked back to the hearth. He leaned one hand on the mantel and reached the other towards the fire. “A man has a right to vent his spleen, Jane. I just wish there was an end to this muddle.”

She saw his shoulders shudder. He was cold. Compassion swept through her.

A knock struck the door, and a maid called, “Tea, my Lady, my Lord.”

“Bring it in,” Jane answered without taking her eyes off her husband. He did not turn.

She remembered that day at the ruins, when his anger had been addressed at her.

Once the maid had set down the tray, Jane dismissed her. The girl bobbed a curtsy and left, shutting the door behind her.

Looking at Robert, Jane asked, “What do we do now?”

He did not turn. “Who knows? I have no idea. It seems he has the power to do whatever he likes while I play his bloody fool.”

“I’m sorry.” A sharp pain raced from her heart into her breast. Joshua was attacking Robert because he’d helped her. She felt guilty.

“It is not your fault,” he answered, though his voice was unconvincing. It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, too.

She went to him and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his damp waistcoat at his back, desperately seeking to impart to him how much he meant to her.

He straightened, tension ebbing from his body as one forearm lay over hers.

They stood like that for a moment in silence before he turned and embraced her, kissing her hair and whispering, “God, Jane, remind me why this is worth it.”

With tears in her eyes, she lifted her mouth to his, and his broad hand encompassed the back of her head. The kiss was searing, hard, and passionate. A coil of desire swirled through her stomach and slipped between her legs. She thought of the ruins, of how he’d lost his tight control and made love with ruthless need.

“Come to bed,” she whispered. “Ease your anger through me, Robert.” He’d always helped her. She could do this one thing to help him.

Both his hands settled on her buttocks and sharply pulled her pelvis to his as his brown eyes glittered with a dark heat, but his words refused her offer, even though his body was already saying yes. “No, Jane. I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t got a grip on this yet.”

“You won’t hurt me. You wouldn’t. I know you couldn’t, Robert.” Her lips brushed his, urging him to accept, but he held back and did not deepen it, yet she felt his muscles shiver with restraint.

She met his gaze again.

He didn’t speak.

She began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat as his heavy-lidded gaze watched.

Her fingers pressed over his rigid stomach. His shirt was wet, too, and his skin was cold. He shivered.

“You need to get these wet things off.” She looked up to his eyes, and began tracing his waistcoat from his shoulders.

He sighed, but she could see he was not thinking of being wet and cold.

Turning away, he took off his waistcoat.

“Robert,” she whispered, when he turned back to her, lifting her arms about his neck as his hands settled on her waist. She shivered, but it was not from the damp seeping from his shirt into her dress.

She loved this man. She always had. They had made a mess of the past, and it haunted them today, but they had each other now, despite it.

“Do you know how much I love you?” his voice rasped from his throat, a desperate hunger in his tone. “I’m sorry I’ve let him anger me. I know it is not your fault, Jane.”

But he’d laid some blame on her. She heard it in his voice, yet, how could she be angry at him for that? She had involved him. She’d accepted his offer of marriage. She could blame him, too, if she wished. He’d left her alone all those years ago to be trapped in the Sutton’s net, but she did not, not anymore, not now that she knew he’d carried his own pain all these years.

“I love you, too,” she answered, her fingers against his cheek. She pressed her lips to his.

His floodgate broke, the passion in him overflowing, and she hung on as it swept her away. He was such a physical, elemental person. All his emotion pressed into activity. Sex had become his armour and shield, she had seen it as a weapon. It was not; it was his retreat. He’d escaped from her loss with others, and now, she wished him to become used to losing himself in her. She wanted so much to be his solace, to become his shield.

Her fingers ran through his silky hair, and a strange thought struck her. How would things have been between them if they’d married when he was nineteen? Not like this. He was not so strong and passionate in character then. They’d have had a marriage like his parents, staid and quiet. He’d have made love with placid adoration, not this fire. She liked his fire. She could not imagine life with him without it. She admitted to herself, she loved the new Robert more deeply than she had loved the old. Her previous love had not been so all-consuming. It was an odd feeling to think that something good had come from the separation they’d endured and the life he’d lived in between.

Breaking their kiss, he dragged a deep breath into his already heaving lungs. “Do you know how right you are for me?” His fingers caressed her thighs, working up her gown.

“Here?” She hesitated, reaching to stop his hands.

“
Here. Now
,” he answered, meeting her gaze, the residue of his anger glinting as a visible challenge in his eyes.

“There is no lock on the door.”

A wicked, rakish smile caught up his lips before he lowered his head and began brushing her neck with kisses while his damp hair caressed her cheek. “I dare you.”

Riotous, delicious anticipation danced through her. She was not afraid, not with him. He made her want to take the risk.

He lifted his head and gave her his predatory, wolfish smile – the rogue.

“You’re wicked,” she whispered as his eyes baited her, denying cowardice, but he said nothing, did nothing, just waited on her decision.

A sigh escaped her lips, and his eyes glowed with self-congratulation, the inky pupils flaring, making the dark brown about them only a narrow rim.

He did not wait for words. His mouth came down on hers, hungry and urgent, as his fingers continued to work up her dress.

“Undo my flap,” he said as he lifted her and backed her up against the wall, his dark gaze burning into her.

Her fingers shook as she did, while his clutched her bare thighs. Once he was free, she gripped his shoulders, very aware of the unlocked door.

“Stop thinking. Just feel,” he urged on a growl as he pressed into her and brushed a kiss on the corner of her open mouth. “I love you,” he added in a deep, heavy, burr, as though the words were a creed.

“I love you, too.”

“I won’t live without you.”

“You need not.” She gripped his shoulders tighter. Had he thought he’d lost her? She must cease saying she’d go back or she wished she had not come. He needed her. She
was
his solace, just as she wished to be.

After a while, she had no choice but to let go of thought, because the storm of his desire ripped it away. This was no careful charm. It was rough enslavement. It was as it had been at the ruins, artless and ruthless. But it was different now. This time, he was not angry with her. This time, she relished every element of his primal assault and revelled in the free rein he allowed himself with her, repaying him with the surrender of her soul.

“I needed this, Jane. I need you,” he said once she was breathless and panting and dazed. He lowered her legs to the floor then turned her and urged her to kneel.

On the floor? In the daylight? With an unlocked door?
How much further could he push her boundaries?

She obeyed, kneeling on all fours. He filled her with a low growl. This was primitive pleasure. He was losing himself in physical expression and losing her with him.

She knew he was doing this for himself, not her. What she gained from it was only consequence.
Wicked man.

His tempo shifted and became sharper and more forceful, coarse, quick strikes.

Her fingers and toes curled and gripped against the hardwood floor as his clasped her hair and shoulder, holding her still to meet his thrusts.

She was simply sensation, and she felt herself flood, time and again. Then his hands suddenly clamped about her hips, and, with three swift hard strokes, he reached his own conclusion.

When his breathing grew steadier, his fingers braced her stomach, and he pulled her upright to kneel on his lap as he dropped back on to his haunches. Her head rested back on to his shoulder, and her limbs shook as he pressed a kiss on her neck. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry I was angry.” His voice was husky.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand, Robert.” She slipped free of his hold and turned, wanting to see his face and look into his eyes. “Do you feel better?”

“I feel better, yes, but at what cost?”

“At no cost. You have not hurt me.”

“No?” His eyes searched hers. “I was not too rough? I have not given you a dislike of me?”

Her fingers swept the damp lock of hair from his brow.

“I love
you,
Robert,
you,
faults and foibles and all. Passion and anger are a part of you; I do not expect you to be perfect. You allowed me to be angry the other day. I’ll understand when you are. Just never shut me out.”

He smiled, and his fingers came up to brush her cheek. “I’ll try. But I’ve spent too many years seeking to be good enough for you. I am afraid of losing you.”

She hugged him firmly. “You are good enough for me. I never stopped loving you, Robert, not in all the years we were apart.”

The weight of his palm lay on her back, and her cheek pressed against his wet shirt.

“The first night I saw you in London, the reason I went home with you was to escape Joshua. He’d attacked me at the ball. That day in the bookshop, he was in the street. I called you back to avoid him. And I saw him watching the house after you’d taken me home. I turned to you all those times for comfort and escape.” She pulled away, and his hand rested at her waist as she knelt, facing him. “Now that we are in this together, should we not comfort each other? You can lose control with me, Robert.”

His lips pressed against her forehead and he hugged her.

“I wish I could turn back time,” he spoke to the air above them. “I wish I had not left you alone in that glade.”

“You were young, Robert. We both were. Too young to deal with what happened. Let us just think about now and discard that pain.”