The Passionate Love of a Rake (5 page)

“Should we not talk first?”

“I didn’t invite you here to talk. Your chance to talk was at the ball. You didn’t take it,” he whispered harshly against her mouth before claiming another kiss. His fingers slid her gown from her shoulders. With her arms hanging limp at her sides, it kept on going and dropped into a pool at her feet.

She wore no corset. But then he’d realised that before, when his hand had touched her back and he’d felt the slight, feminine muscle play about her spine. He would lay his hands beneath her while they made love to feel the curve and flex of her slender form as he drove himself inside her. Lord, she aroused him.

He felt her fingers pull the buttons of his evening coat, shaking.

He smiled against her lips, and, stepping back, took over the task, undoing his coat and shrugging it off before tossing it over the arm of the closest chair. When his fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, her gaze lifted and met his once more, pupils wide and glimmering with desire. Once he was stripped of his waistcoat, too, she stepped forward and touched his arms, her fingers running across his shirt.

Of course, in his youth, his muscles had not been so defined.

She began untying his cravat.

Yet again, she was too slow for his liking, and he took over the task, itching to be free of his clothes and have her delicate skin against his.

She did not appear skilled in undressing men, but then she was nervous, and that probably explained it.

When his neckcloth was loose, that was thrown to the chair, too. He gripped her waist and pulled her hips to his, kissing her as he pressed against her stomach. Her lips trembled a little beneath his, but her fingers began pulling his shirt from his waistband, brushing his skin beneath it.

God
he could lay her down now and take her through the slit of her drawers. But he would not. He wanted this to last. He wanted the contact of flesh against flesh.

“Jane,” he said on a sigh into her mouth as her fingers lifted his shirt. He took it off while her eyes and her fingertips skimmed over his skin, exploring every contour of his midriff and his chest, pausing to brush over his nipples before sliding to his shoulders.

“You’re magnificent,” she whispered as he tossed his shirt aside, her eyes shining.

She kissed him.

Robert laughed into her mouth, and Jane slid her fingers from his cheek into his hair. She was being naïve again. But she didn’t care. Everything he did was turning her bones to liquid.

His fingers gripped her ribs below her breasts.

She was intensely aware of every move he made. He kissed like a master. It bore no resemblance to the stumbling kisses they’d shared in their youth.

This was her beloved Robert, but Robert was a changed man.

Drugged by his kisses, she didn’t care.

Her mouth open wide beneath his; she let him plunder.

The warmth of his palms heated her breasts again, and she ached for him to take her in his mouth as he’d done before. He did not. Instead, his fingers drifted downward, caught the fabric of her chemise, then drew it up.

She lifted her arms and let him strip it off.

He threw it aside.

A sharp rush of desire spun from her stomach and pooled between her legs as his head lowered and his hands lifted her breasts.

When he dropped to his knees, she felt something inside her drop with him, a sharp, sudden spasm of beautiful pain. She felt like a goddess with Robert on his knees before her, savouring her, while her fingers sifted through his dark brown hair.

An ache burned like fire beneath her skin. She had never imagined it would be like this.

“Jane,” he whispered as he glanced up and met her gaze, his voice reverential. But then he was kissing her again, his lips pressing against her stomach as his fingertips tugged loose the ribbon of her drawers. The garment fell away. It left her naked, bar her stockings and shoes.

She shivered as his lips drifted lower, pressing against the curve of her pelvic bone while his fingers slid up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh above her garter.

Her leg muscles jolted, surprised by the progression.

But then his touch was within her. “Oh.” Her exclamation was half shock, half bliss. She clutched his hair, holding on against the sensual storm he invoked.

She felt so gauche and inept. This was Robert’s art – love play, sex – and she hadn’t a clue how to take part. He was a master. She was a novice. Yet she was learning, oh how she was learning.

His mouth touched her there, too, and her whole body jolted at the shock of his intimacy. She felt herself redden with embarrassment.
This
was what he’d meant in the carriage. He’d not spoken of the taste of her mouth. He’d spoken of her taste
there
.

She shut her eyes and just felt, letting him touch and taste.

The ache inside was growing, rising in intensity. It was too excruciating to bear this slow caress.

“This is torment,” she whispered.

He looked up.

Her fingers gripped his scalp, her fingernails sinking into his skin.

“Give it up, then,” he drawled in a deep heavy burr, his dark eyes sparkling. “Let it happen, Jane.”

Let it happen? Let what happen?

Oh, Robert, what are you doing? she wanted to scream as she felt heat race across her skin.

He was laughing internally. She could see it in his eyes as they twinkled up at her, laughing at her naïvety. God knows what expression was on her face.

Then his hand took one of hers from his hair, and he pressed a kiss into her palm before letting it go. It was the sweetest gesture, but only a pause in the momentum of his onslaught, though the heat of his kiss continued to burn in her hand.

The crescendo was rising again. She gripped his hair.

Let it happen? What!

“Oh! Robert!” Her voice broke on a sharp, desperate cry, and her nails dug into his scalp. She felt as though she shattered, reeling into a wave of what could only be described as ecstasy. It tore through her senses, swirling into her limbs like a high tide in between the rocks. The muscles in her legs quaked, and she felt weak when it passed. But this must have been what he’d spoken of, because he seemed to know she could no longer stand. He laid her down, the rug beneath her.

“Robert? I … ” She could find no words.

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t brought her here to talk.

His fingers were working a charm over her again, and his kiss did the same to her mouth.

It
was coming again.

Her hips pressed upward with an instinct of their own.

She lost her breath as the fire broke out on her skin. Her hands gripped his shoulders and merely held on. He had complete control. She had no power at all.

“Oh, Robert.” She slipped into a deep pool of pleasure once more. She wanted to feel their joining, to be complete. Her fingers searched for the buttons of his flap.

“Wait. Let’s get into bed,” he whispered, giving her a lazy, heated smile.

Into bed.
Anticipation ripped through her as he took her hand and helped her rise. Walking backward, he pulled her towards the bed. She recalled holding his hand when they were younger, running or walking through the woods.

He bent to lift the covers and threw them back. The sheet beneath was dotted with heads of dried lavender, and the scent lifted into the air.

She suddenly felt intensely cold, and her arm covered her breasts as she pulled her hand free of his. How could she have been such a fool? This was not about her – the flowers, the candles, the bed. He’d planned to seduce Lady Baxter tonight. All this was for Lady Baxter.

Reality came crashing back in. All
she
was to him was another female body. Of course he knew how to make her feel good. He’d done this hundreds of times before, with numerous women. She could not do it, do this, and know it meant nothing to him.

How could she have thought she could?

She met his gaze and stepped back. “I cannot.” Then she turned away to collect her clothes, shaking. She felt so foolish.

“Jane? What the hell is this?” His voice was irate and impatient.

Oh yes, she remembered his anger, his instinct to judge and blame, and the cruel accusations he could cast. He’d yelled and railed at her when she’d told him she was promised to the Duke of Sutton. That was the last time she’d seen Robert.

Her clothes clutched against her chest, she held a hand out to ward him off as he stepped forward. “Robert, I, I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I cannot.”

He stilled, staring at her, and she could see he was seething. God knew what he thought of her after this.

She moved to touch his arm. “Robert, I just—”

He knocked her hand aside. “Do not bother, Jane. I have no desire to hear more of your excuses. I heard enough years ago. You obviously take great pleasure in turning me down. What was this, a game? No, do not answer that. I don’t care.”

With that, he spun away and strode towards the door, growling as he went.

His anger was in every taut muscle as he moved.

“I’ll stir Jenkins from his bed and have him call for the carriage. If you are lucky, he may have not yet retired.”

“Robert! Wait! I can walk.”

He stopped dead and laughed. It was a horrible, heartless, mocking sound. Then he looked back, and his glare hit her like a blow. It was callous and accusing. He turned, then, and crossed the room with long strides, advancing so fast, she instinctually backed away.

“Jane,” he barked to stop her as he neared. Then his eyes dropped to look at her left hand a moment before his fingers gripped it.

It was then before her face, with his finger pressing beneath hers, which still bore Hector’s obscenely large, emerald betrothal ring.

“You think you would make it home safely with this on your finger? No, Jane. I will get you a carriage. No one has ever accused me of being inconsiderate. Perhaps that is why you think you can be so cruel to me? Perhaps you believe the rest of us are as heartless as you?” As he glared at her, one eyebrow tilted as though waiting for some response, and his lips twisted in a sneer.

What could she say? This was beyond an apology. It was not about what had happened just now. It was about what had happened between them years before, and she wouldn’t apologise for what had not been her fault.

She lifted her chin and held his gaze, unflinching, just as she had faced Joshua earlier, determined not to bow or bend. She had done enough of that in her life.

He turned away, growling again, then launched into a stream of what she knew must be obscenities, but not in English. He grabbed his shirt before storming from the room.

Her heart hammered as she rushed to dress. Why had she thought she could do this? It did not take her much to find the answer. It was because Joshua had made her angry. That was a part of it. She’d wanted to spite him, yes, but mostly because it was Robert. She would not have even considered it with any other man. But he wasn’t
her
Robert. She didn’t know this man. He was a stranger in so many ways. Not the youth who’d loved her, but a man who’d mastered seduction and sex, and played with sensual feeling solely to use and discard women.

Tears in her eyes, her fingers shaking, she struggled to secure the buttons of her dress. She’d made a mess of things again. She’d never be like Violet. Perhaps she ought to just stop trying to emulate her friend.

“Let me do it,” he barked from across the room, his sudden reappearance making her jump, but his temper seemed to have cooled a little, at least.

Her hands dropped as he crossed the space between them, and her eyes lifted to his face.

His hair fell forward on his brow as his head bent, and he looked at her buttons. They were secure in a moment.

He’d roughly tucked his shirt into his breeches while he’d been away, and now, his back to her, he picked up his evening coat. He did not put on his neckcloth or his waistcoat and left his evening coat undone. He looked back at her.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

His arm lifted as if to encourage her forward, and it somewhat surrounded her as she passed him, but he did not touch her. They left the room in silence, and when they reached the hall, she saw the butler below. He also looked as though he’d dressed quickly, and he frowned when he passed her cloak to Robert.

She stood still as Robert slipped it on her shoulders, but she could not stop herself from shaking. She made no comment, knowing if she did, the only thing that would erupt would be tears.

Robert did not speak, either, but once her cloak was on, his hand touched her back and slipped to her waist. It only made her wish to cry more.

They left the house and faced his groom, who held the carriage door open, struggling to hide a yawn.

Robert gripped her elbow when she climbed the step, then followed her in.

They sat on opposite sides in the furthest corners as they’d done before.

Once the door had slammed shut, Robert knocked on the roof, and the carriage stirred sharply forward.

She stared out the window again as they raced across town through the dark streets, never looking at Robert.

When they reached Violet’s a short time later, Robert shifted quickly, rising, opening the door, and kicking the step down himself before the groom was even on the pavement.

She accepted Robert’s hand to descend. There was nothing intimate in his touch now. It seemed cold, and she felt bereft of him.

He let go the moment her feet touched the pavement.

She wished she could thank him for sharing with her the things he’d done. It had felt good in the moment. He’d been gentle and kind, despite her desertion. But, instead, she fought against the lump in her throat, held back her tears and ran up the steps to Violet’s front door, expecting him to go.

He did not. He followed her up and stood beside her again.

“Do you have a key?”

She shook her head.

He sighed before lifting the knocker with a resigned air.

It seemed ages before there was any sound. Then, finally, she heard footsteps.