The Unrepentant Rake Read online

  ‘You’re very lovely,’ he said. ‘And no, I don’t say that to every woman I meet.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but you needn’t feed me compliments, and the longer we dilly-dally out here, the more likely we’ll be caught. I repeat: what do you want?’

  He opened his mouth to demand his due, but what came out was, ‘A kiss.’

  Her mouth dropped open. Her brows drew together. ‘That’s all?’

  No, that wasn’t all. He wanted a whole night of kisses. He wanted to kiss every inch of her delectable body, and wanted her lips all over him as well. He started to say so, but this time not a word came out of his mouth.

  ‘One paltry kiss?’ She sounded offended.

  He pulled himself together. ‘My kisses are never paltry,’ Simon said.

  He tasted vaguely of brandy and overpoweringly of desire. Why had he only asked for one kiss? A few moments earlier, she could have sworn he meant to well-nigh ravish her, then and there. By rights she should be thankful, but instead she felt cheated. She put her arms around his neck and leaned into him, fully intending to make the most of this one and only kiss.

  Oh. She’d been kissed before, but nothing like this.

  He was a tease, was Simon Carling. He nipped at her lips, dabbed with his tongue, coaxed her open and then withdrew. She found herself smiling against his mouth, parrying the thrusts of his tongue with overtures of her own. He’d shown his admiration of her breasts, so she pressed herself more closely against his chest. He tightened his arms about her and deepened the kiss. She gave a little moan and twined herself even nearer, giving in to the insistent exploration of his tongue. He ran one hand into her hair, while the other feathered her spine. Heat built within her and grew, curled through her belly, sent a glow to the ends of her fingers and down to the tips of her toes.

  Nothing paltry about this kiss.

  When at last he broke it, they were both breathing hard. ‘Good Lord,’ Beatrix said. ‘I’ve never been so hot in my life.’

  Simon laughed, pulling her against him so she couldn’t mistake the hard length of his erection pressing on her belly. ‘And that was just a kiss.’ Gently, he squeezed her derriere.

  One other man had tried that, and she’d boxed his ears. This was different, almost frighteningly so. A gently-bred virgin should shy away in shock, or so she’d been told. She’d never understood why said virgin should be shocked one day, then married the next and delighted by exactly the same display of desire in her new husband. If she felt any shock now, it was at the swift building of desire within herself. She wanted more, and more, and more.

  Simon let her go and stepped away. She barely prevented herself from whimpering.

  ‘Thank you.’ His lips twisted ruefully. ‘What a tragedy we can’t do more.’

  Why not? she wanted to say. But she couldn’t throw herself at him, so she gathered her composure about her. ‘Thank you. You not only saved me, but kissing you cured my headache, too.’

  By what Simon had heard, a headache was the most common excuse a wife gave for spurning her husband’s advances. Miss March seemed to be the exception to this rule. She made his senses come gloriously live, and just as he’d expected, she’d wanted more. What a damned shame he couldn’t oblige her.

  Why not? His unprecedented reluctance puzzled him. He didn’t make a practice of seducing virgins, but this one was more than willing. He’d never refused himself such an indulgence before.

  She broke into his thoughts. ‘How am I to get indoors? You must know which door is unlocked.’

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to let her go just yet.

  ‘Come now,’ she said. ‘Showing me which door to use isn’t worth anywhere near as much as saving me from deathly peril. It’s a pity, seeing as you kiss so very well, but you’ll have to demand something less.’

  Inspiration struck. ‘I want answers. Truthful ones. What were you doing that you would give absolutely anything—’ He grinned down at her. ‘To avoid getting caught.’

  It was her turn to hesitate. ‘Very well, I’ll tell you, but on the way to the door.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘The kitchen.’ He took her hand, and they moved softly along the lawn close by the house.

  ‘Eudora stole a precious family reliquary from me,’ she said. ‘I was searching for it. It’s been two months now and I’ve searched every chance I’ve had, but without the slightest luck.’

  ‘What kind of reliquary?’

  ‘A tiny silver box on a chain. It contains St. Davnet’s toe bone.’

  His crack of laughter rang in the night. ‘Big toe or little toe?’

  ‘Hush!’ she whispered. ‘It’s not funny. It has been in my family, passed down through the female line, for over a thousand years, and it ensures family harmony. I must get it back. Not only will I be in complete disgrace if I don’t, but I shall have the greatest difficulty finding another employer after I leave here.’

  ‘Why should possessing the reliquary make a difference?’

  ‘Because as long as I have it, my aunt and uncle will feel obliged to help me get references and a new situation.’

  ‘And if you don’t have it?’

  ‘They will try to force me to marry.’

  ‘You don’t wish to marry?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I can’t think of anything worse.’

  He’d felt rather like that until recently, but he’d never heard a woman express the same sentiment. ‘I thought all women wanted to marry.’

  ‘So do my aunt and uncle,’ Miss March said, ‘but the reliquary has forced them to let me have my way until now.’

  This made no sense at all. ‘Thus maintaining family harmony?’ he ventured.

  ‘Precisely,’ she said.

  ‘Fascinating,’ Simon drawled. This was all quite ridiculous, but evidently Miss March believed it. ‘So…why not just ask Eudora to give it back?’

  ‘Because she will deny that she has it, and I can’t prove otherwise. She’s extremely stubborn, and as long as she believes it will help her, she’ll never let it go.’ Miss March sighed. ‘It’s my own fault. Not only did I let her see it, but I mentioned family harmony and love in the same sentence. I think she believes it will bring her true love, but since she took it, things have only gotten worse. This evening, she was near despair.’

  ‘I’ll tell Conk to propose to her, or else,’ Simon said. ‘That will take care of it.’

  ‘No, it won’t, because Lady Ottersby has decided Mr. Conk isn’t good enough for Eudora. Her ambition grows week by week. Lord Ottersby used to talk some sense into her, but lately he’s too lazy to argue.’

  ‘Maybe the toe bone won’t let him.’ Simon hooted with laughter again.

  ‘Shush!’ Miss March said, and stopped short. She stared at him, eyes wide in the moonlit garden. ‘That’s it! Why didn’t I think of that before?’

  ‘Think of what?’ Lord, she was lovely—a wild, delicious creature of the night. He squeezed her hand, swinging it gently back and forth. Would he be able to control himself if he stole another kiss?

  Clearly, her mind was elsewhere; that sparkle in her eyes had nothing to do with kisses. ‘How clever of you! The reliquary is bringing harmony to Eudora’s family, or perhaps I should say it’s trying to. But because none of them get along well or even try, the best it can do is make everyone give in to the most difficult member.’

  ‘Lady Ottersby,’ provided Simon obligingly. If it kept her out here talking to him, he didn’t mind discussing this utter moonshine.

  ‘That’s why Lord Ottersby no longer takes an interest in his daughters, and why Helena and Louisa are more obedient than before. Eudora tried to hold out, but tonight she gave in and promised to try to attract you.’ She glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare persecute her. She was in tears at the prospect. She’s afraid of you.’

  ‘Dear me,’ Simon said, reflecting that there must be some way to put Eudora’s fear to good use. He was about to say so when high above them a window lit up.
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br />   ‘Oh, no, that’s my chamber!’ Miss March whispered. ‘They’ve gone looking for me, though I can’t imagine why. I’m not a nursemaid.’ She let go of his hand and scurried round the corner toward the kitchen.

  Simon took careful note of the room’s location before following her. ‘Maybe Conk should abduct Eudora.’ He snorted. ‘Not likely.’

  ‘No, that sounds more like your style.’ She detoured into the kitchen garden.

  ‘Shall I abduct you, Miss March? I can promise you a splendid time.’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ she said with her usual composure, picking a leaf here, a sprig there. ‘Even if I get the reliquary back, it won’t protect me from the consequences of such behaviour.’ She picked one more sprig before hurrying toward the kitchen. ‘I’ll tell them I came down to brew a tisane for Louisa. By the way, Lady Ottersby has forbidden me to speak to you, so I doubt we’ll talk again.’

  Damn it, he hadn’t finished asking questions.

  At the kitchen door, she turned. ‘Thank you again, and goodbye.’ She blew him a kiss and was gone.

  The instant Beatrix left Mr. Carling, her headache returned, so she drank some of the tisane herself. But she couldn’t sleep, what with worrying how to get the reliquary back and remembering Mr. Carling’s kiss. Mostly the kiss. Why hadn’t he lived up to his reputation and taken her?

  A soft tap came on her door. She got out of bed to open it. Mr. Carling stood there in stocking feet, looking strangely uneasy. She beckoned him in, but in a burst of nerves retreated to the bed. He shut the door softly behind him.

  She sat against the headboard hugging her knees, feeling not at all like a cynical lady with two London seasons and three years of governessing behind her, but rather like a very nervous innocent. Her heart began to thud.

  He crossed the room like a prowling tiger, but instead of pouncing, he set his candle on her bedside table and settled one buttock on the edge of her bed. ‘I came to ask the rest of my questions.’

  Her heart slowed a little. ‘How many answers do you expect for guiding me to the kitchen door?’ She didn’t want to deal with nosy questions. ‘You’ve already had plenty.’

  ‘I thought you would say that. These answers will be in exchange for an idea.’

  ‘What idea?’

  ‘A very good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you after you answer my questions.’

  ‘That’s preposterous. Why should I care about your idea?’

  ‘Trust me, you will.’ He cocked his head, watching her in the candlelight. ‘It will be to our mutual benefit.’

  She rubbed her forehead. ‘Unless your idea involves kissing away my headache again, I’m not interested. In fact, I have a far better notion. For each answer I give, you must pay with a kiss.’

  ‘My dear girl.’ His voice was a dark, dangerous caress. ‘You are playing with fire.’

  ‘What an accurate description,’ she said, suddenly breathless. ‘I do feel rather hot again.’

  ‘Can this be the same Miss March who rebuked me only a few hours ago? What about imminent dismissal and utter ruin?’

  ‘I’ve already been dismissed. I’m to leave the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘What a pity,’ he drawled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I spoke my mind.’ She’d managed so well up till now, in spite of wanting to talk back to Lady Ottersby at least a dozen times a day. Anxiety washed over her. What if she didn’t find the reliquary in time?

  One thing was certain—she would never get a chance like this again. ‘You owe me a kiss, or maybe two.’

  He moved closer, large, male, and overwhelming. Her heart hiccupped and sped up. He put out a hand and traced her parted lips, lingering at one corner. His fingers moved on, coming to rest firmly around the back of her neck. He leaned into her, his other hand on the coverlet beside her thigh. His mouth brushed hers. ‘You only answered half my question. What about utter ruin?’

  ‘I can keep a secret if you can,’ Beatrix whispered. She laid her hand over his large, strong one and opened her lips to his.

  Oh. This was no teasing kiss, but the claim of a marauder. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, plundering her, giving no quarter. She clung to him and gave in, until abruptly he drew away, leaving her both bereft and overwhelmed. Shocked, even, because more than one man, including the one she’d almost married, had attempted to jam his tongue into her mouth, and she’d felt invaded.

  Not this time. She wanted to succumb. To be conquered. To beg Simon Carling to take whatever he wanted and more.

  ‘You’re a virgin.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?’

  She wasn’t a child! She was a full-grown woman, and she needed this. ‘Of course!’ she retorted, although she wondered if perhaps she didn’t. Technically, she knew what went on, and she’d provided her own pleasure often enough, but…this was disconcertingly different.

  But she mustn’t appear disconcerted, so she put up her chin. ‘You owe me another kiss.’

  He hesitated. The suspense was going to drive her mad. She shifted, and his eyes shot immediately to the movement of her breasts beneath her nightdress, then slowly returned to meet hers.

  Perhaps she had more control over the situation than she’d thought. She folded her hands under her breasts, pushing them up, then let them settle again. He watched as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She hoped she wasn’t pleading with hers. She swallowed. He planted a swift, hard kiss on her lips and stood.

  She suppressed a whimper. ‘That wasn’t enough of a kiss.’ She sounded pettish to her own ears. ‘It doesn’t count.’ Actually, it had been a very stimulating kiss, but she ached for more.

  ‘Nor does your answer,’ he said. ‘You may think you told the truth, but that was another lie.’ She began to protest, but he shushed her. ‘Far be it from me to disappoint a lady. What’s your first name?’

  ‘Beatrix.’

  ‘That’s too much of a mouthful for lovemaking. Bea, perhaps. Or Trixie? I like that. It suits you.’

  Yes, it did, but Trixie was the girl who’d had those two seasons and the disastrous engagement, while Beatrix was the woman who’d become a governess to avoid being ruled by a rigid, overbearing man.

  She longed to be carefree Trixie again, if only for a night.

  He shrugged out of his coat and removed his stockings. ‘Move over and lie down.’

  She obeyed, and he climbed in beside her, looming close, smelling intoxicatingly male. He propped himself on one elbow, lifted a lock of hair that had escaped her nighttime plait, and twirled it around his finger. ‘What shall I ask now?’

  Damn it, she’d had enough of questions; she wanted to get on with it.

  He dropped the curl of hair and gently rubbed her forehead. ‘When you leave, where will you go?’

  She hesitated. ‘To my aunt and uncle until I find another position.’ She eyed his firm, eloquent lips, anticipating another kiss, wondering what it would be like this time.

  ‘Now, why do I sense an untruth? Who are your aunt and uncle? Where do they live?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Curiosity, my sweet.’

  The last thing she needed was for this rake to come calling at her uncle’s house. ‘I daresay, but I shan’t answer.’

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, and then, when she would have protested, planted more kisses, one after another, at the corner of her eye, below her ear, and on her throat. His fingers brushed her breasts through the nightdress. Her nipples grew hard and extraordinarily sensitive as he toyed with them. ‘Quite rightly,’ he said, and began to undo the little buttons of her bodice, one by one. ‘I can find out about your relatives easily enough. Tell me, then… Why did you hesitate before saying you would go to them?’

  Again she hesitated, and his hand ceased its tantalizing work. She sighed. ‘I was wishing I could stop in London first to visit some friends, but I daren’t.’

  He opened her bodice, bared
one breast, and put his mouth to it. She moaned with surprise and pleasure, her body arching toward him of its own volition.

  When he pulled his mouth away, she whispered, ‘The other one. Please.’

  His lips quirked up; slowly, he bared the other breast to the cool night air. His mouth hovered; his hot breath tormented her nipple. ‘Why won’t you visit your friends?’

  ‘Because they are the wrong sort of people for a governess to know.’ She couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. Her stuffy fiancé had forbidden her to see them. Her friends might not be respectable, but they were lively and entertaining. She missed them terribly. ‘Enough questions.’ She cupped her neglected breast in one hand and thrust it toward his mouth.

  He growled low in his throat and devoured the proffered breast. She gazed through half-closed eyes at the movement of his mouth on her, at his tongue licking from one breast to another, suckling over and over, until she moaned and writhed.

  He pulled away. Her breasts felt swollen, tingling. She’d never paid much attention to them before. ‘They look…happy, don’t they?’

  He sat up, tugged his shirt out of his breeches, and raised one brow.

  ‘My breasts.’ She blushed.

  By God, she was superb. He drank in the beauty of her breasts, so blatantly wanton, so responsive to his ministrations.

  So fresh and untouched. He should tuck in his shirt and leave.

  But he was a villain and couldn’t resist. Such sensual glory shouldn’t be disguised as a governess. Whatever the future held for her, he would give her a feast of pleasure now.

  He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. ‘I intend to make every inch of you happy,’ he promised, reveling in the widening of her eyes and the way her tongue flicked out nervously to lick her lips. Surely giving her the ultimate in pleasure justified his behaviour. Dimly, he realized he’d never felt a need to justify himself before. He must be turning responsible in spite of himself.

  All this folly about the reliquary made no sense. He lay beside her again. Ordinarily, he would go straight for the hem of her nightdress, but something made him wait. He busied himself with undoing her plaited hair and spreading it about her shoulders. ‘If you don’t have the reliquary, what will your aunt and uncle do?’