Wicked Wager (11 page)

She squeezed shut her eyes. ‘A judicious combination of threat and inducement served to do the trick.'

‘Well,
I
shall start with inducement.' Suddenly Lord Peregrine's breath was tickling her ear as he gently wrapped his arms about her. The warmth of the contact seeped through her as she rested her head against his chest, revelling in the rare sense of sanctuary as he murmured, ‘Your betrothed has certainly sought to profit from you before you're even married. Do you love him so much that you'd so willingly sacrifice your safety?'

Or my reputation?
she thought with despair, replying with resignation as she buried her face in his striped waistcoat, ‘As I said, a judicious combination of threat and inducement works wonders when one has little in the way of bargaining power.' Celeste did not resist as his hands stroked her cheeks before trailing down her throat, sliding beneath her fichu to explore the sensitive skin above her décolletage. The human touch he offered so soon after she'd revealed the terror of that night was cathartic, laced though it was with danger.

‘And of course I know the rest of the story, my dear,' he murmured, as he continued to caress her with gentle fingertips. ‘My sister chose an inopportune time to pay a highly inappropriate visit and she found you divesting yourself of your petticoats to help Carstairs and so jumped to her own conclusions.'

‘That is the truth of it, my lord,' Celeste whispered, nuzzling closer against him as she twined her arms about his neck, to deepen the contact.

This moment would be the pinnacle of all she'd ever enjoy; she realised that in the dark recesses of her brain as she only half consciously tried to draw from him all the sensations her affection-starved body craved. ‘You sought me out to punish me for destroying your sister's happiness, as you believed it, but I have told you the truth.'

Whether he believed her or not, she'd never know, but she could enjoy this. In a darkened room in an artist's studio she'd be safe from straying too far from the boundaries of what was acceptable. But for now they had the privacy to indulge in the kissing and fondling she was all to ready to throw herself into, body and soul.

In days she'd become Lady Ogilvy, after which her life stretched into the barren unknown. She'd be living in a country she had no desire even to visit, away from all that seemed safe and that had sustained her until now. Allowing Lord Peregrine the liberty to kiss her and stroke her in the darkness would not trouble her conscience, while he'd be only too happy to be given such licence.

‘I could never reconcile the impression I gained of you with the hardened jezebel my sister—and others—would have you painted.' She heard the suggestion of humour in his voice. ‘And I would never have asked the question of a hardened jezebel, but I would ask it of you, sweet Celeste …'

She opened her eyes and her heart flowered to see him staring down at her with such desire. ‘May I kiss you?' He moved his head closer. ‘I thought the precaution of asking wise, in view of the repercussions last time I attempted such liberties.'

Celeste blinked open her eyes. ‘I promise I won't slap you this time, my lord.' With a smile she primed her lip with her tongue. ‘It's true; before, I felt you were indeed taking liberties, but this time I very much want you to kiss me.'

His smile was so full of tender humour she nearly dragged his head down to begin the kissing herself.

Instead, closing her eyes with a shiver, she surrendered to the sweet touch of his lips bearing down on hers with gentle and growing urgency. Her heart was free of guilt and her body ready to receive the love and desire Lord Peregrine was ready to communicate.

Even when his hand strayed to her décolletage, slipping beneath her tight bodice, she did not withdraw. She was hungry for the physical, revelling in the spears of sensation that shot from the point of his touch to somewhere in the pit of her roiling belly. Her breathing quickened, sudden short, sharp breaths leaving her starved of air and something just out of reach that she could not articulate.

It was forbidden, fascinating, all-consuming and it may be the only opportunity she'd have in her lifetime to experience the desires of body and heart.

‘Ah, my lord, but you do exquisite things to me,' she murmured, shifting slightly to accommodate his change of tactics.

A moment before Lord Peregrine had been toying with her nipple. Now suddenly he swooped, pushing her left breast out of its confines and taking it into his hot, greedy mouth.

Celeste squeaked and held him tighter as he suckled her nipple. She felt the cord of connection between them grow tauter and her brain reel into the ether on a cloud of rapture as her body succumbed to unknown pleasures.

If only Lord Peregrine were her husband, then this and so much more would be sanctioned.

If only he were her husband?

If pigs could fly …

Miserably she dragged her mind back to reality.

There was as much likelihood of Lord Peregrine making her his wife as there was of Raphael loving her.

Chapter Eight

Sincerity was not an emotion with which Perry was much familiar or that, until now, he'd particularly esteemed. His relations with women had taught him that one never said what one really felt.

Now, with Miss Rosington responding to his overtures with all the enthusiasm that he might once have regarded as the hallmarks of an experienced jade, he could think only of how he might protect her and her innocence.

For this was enthusiasm born of innocence. She truly had not experienced the sensations he was delivering, and clearly with such success.

Xenia would say he'd been hoodwinked.

He didn't care, but nor did he believe it. He did, however, believe Miss Rosington's story.

Voices growing louder nearby suggested they would be wise to halt their lovemaking, though Peregrine was reluctant to relinquish Miss Rosington at the same time as he was careful to hold her away from the possibility of being recognised, should by some chance an intruder appear.

He caught her smile as he shifted her gently.

‘That was even nicer than I'd expected,' she whispered, straightening her fichu and ordering her hair. Her smile grew wistful. ‘It shall sustain me when I'm in my new island home.'

He was shocked by the jolt of alarm that speared him. ‘You are leaving London?' He'd not expected that.

She blinked, looking surprised. ‘You did not know? Raphael and I sail directly after we've said our vows. I don't know when or if I shall be back.'

The idea that he'd not see her again was suddenly untenable. Peregrine had fondly imagined many future such trysts, stolen moments when Celeste's new husband, whom she'd roundly declared she did not love, was otherwise occupied.

Now the thought of never seeing her again left him curiously bereft.

He leaned forward to cup her face, strange thoughts he'd never imagined entertaining chasing themselves around his brain. Call him a fool, but surely there came a time in a man's life when he'd be a fool to act counter to
every
instinct that screamed at him?

‘You can't leave.' He shook his head, not caring that the trappings of the careless philanderer he was so at pains to cultivate had well and truly fallen from his shoulders.
She was leaving the country? No, he could not let this be.
Contouring her face with his hands he looked deep into her eyes. ‘I had not realised your departure was set in stone. That it was so imminent.'

She dropped her gaze. ‘In a little over a week I set sail for Jamaica.'

‘There's not much time. Truly, Celeste, I cannot bear the thought that you shall be parted from me.'

Her smooth shoulders shrugged out of his grasp as she stepped back, shaking her head. ‘I am to be married, my lord. Much as it's true I …' she swallowed, clearly finding the words difficult to say, ‘desire to enjoy more of your attentions, I do have some honour. Raphael is to be my husband and I must submit to my duty towards him alone.'

‘Submit. What an ugly word.' Pulling her close once more, he rested his chin against the jaunty straw hat nestled in her coiffure, his thoughts in turmoil. She couldn't leave, just like that. It was not possible that his heart had been so engaged; that he, a grown man and a rake to boot, should be acting like a smitten schoolboy, unable to accept the departure or defection of his apparently one true love.

‘Celeste, I
can't
let you go.' It was true. The notion left him bereft. Ridiculously, surprisingly so. ‘And you've said you don't want to leave. What if I could offer you an alternative—'

‘I will not be your mistress, my lord!'

His mouth dropped open as she flung out of his embrace. Surely she must have seen this was the last thing he was proposing. But he was well and truly put in his place, and it took him a moment to reconcile the truth of what he felt in this moment with the manner in which he was publicly painted. It took him a moment to gather himself before he said with quiet intensity, ‘You believe that a man with a reputation such as I is incapable of making an honourable offer?'

She contemplated his words. Lord, but she had the face of an angel, he thought, with lips and limbs like Venus. Now, though, he really was acting like a mooncalf. He gave himself a mental shake so as to attend to what she was saying.

‘Your reputation as a rake is known throughout London, my lord. I heard of it long before I met you.'

‘A rake with scruples,' he muttered, feeling uncomfortable.

Her slow, spreading smile truly warmed his heart, and he knew with even greater certainty that he had to have her, if she could make him feel redemption was within reach under circumstances like this.

‘Raphael didn't trust me with you when he saw me go.' Her lovely mouth quirked. ‘I didn't want to meet you either when I knew how little I trusted myself.'

Her words caught him by surprise and he glanced over his shoulder, for a moment wondering if this were a trap and he were about to be emasculated by a furious Lord Ogilvy.

Half laughing, the wonderful girl opposite reached across the distance between them and gripped his wrists. ‘Raphael doesn't care about anything beyond my getting the locket. I'm not sure why it's so important, or if it's even just a test he's set me. But that was the entire purpose behind my coming, and my lord, for all your wonderful words, the truth is I can't see you again.' She looked so sad as she dropped his hands and took a step towards the light, her head bowed, as if she truly had the weight of the world to carry. Stopping at the threshold she smiled at him over her shoulder, ‘I don't expect you to give it to me, my lord, but you have no idea how much easier my life would be if I could deliver Harry's locket to Raphael.'

Unconsciously his hand was already closing around the item inside his coat pocket, while his mind was in turmoil. Was this really what everything was about? A tawdry ingot of gold that signified who knew what but meant nothing to Peregrine.

And everything … for without it he was of no interest to the woman he now knew he wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything.

Slowly he held it out, the disappointment in his breast spreading throughout his body and weighing him down. ‘The locket is yours, Miss Rosington …' He took a difficult breath. ‘With no conditions attached.'

She was surprised, her smile eager and laden with gratitude as she hurried back a few steps to take it. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to thank him, but he cut in, the words too important, too fuelled with urgency to be held back.

‘I do however have one request, Miss Rosington. Before you go I would like …' He stumbled over his words, knowing she already had her sights on the door and that within moments she'd be gone. Perhaps forever.

And he couldn't bear that.

‘Miss Rosington, my request is that I see you again, for the truth is I can't bear to let you go … like this.' He startled, possibly as surprised as she was. Reaching out to draw her gently back towards him, his heart rate quickened and his palms tingled with the fear of what her response might be to the most outrageous question he was ever likely to ask.

‘Go on, Lord Peregrine.'

He needed no further urging. The words that had tumbled about his brain just a second ago now formed coherence and a great sense of calm banished his turmoil.

Yes, this was the right thing … the one thing that was guaranteed to bring him happiness and a deep contentment during the years that stretched ahead. How could he have hesitated before now?

She was waiting expectantly and he wouldn't disappoint her.

Clearing his voice he said quietly, ‘Miss Rosington, I didn't realise until you told me you were leaving the country how much your departure would affect me. Quite frankly, I don't think I can bear the idea that I'll never see you again.' He considered her, a deep sense of pleasure seeping through him to watch her surprise turn to something he truly hoped was anticipation. His own anticipation threatened to swamp him and he struggled to keep his voice steady as he went on, ‘The only way that I can ensure that doesn't happen, Miss Rosington, is to make you a respectable offer.' Lord, but he hoped this was up to scratch. He'd never made a respectable offer to anyone before. Certainly he'd made roguish offers that had been roundly rejected and earned him a slap about the face. Those hadn't mattered.

But an offer that was sufficiently compelling and delivered with the right degree of gravitas was suddenly more important than any proposition he'd ever uttered.

He certainly had her attention and her expression filled him with hope. But he'd not finished.

‘My desire to secure my happiness with you is, I realise, more important than anything else in my life has ever been. Please, Miss Rosington, I'm asking if you'll marry me.'

A great joy began to overtake him as he contemplated the possibilities of a shared future with this lovely, innocent creature. She, too, was smiling at him like a veritable angel.