Читать книгу A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 14

Tired! Hah! Charlie hadn’t felt less tired in his life.

Used to awakening in the smallest hours of the night, he always kept the candles alight to ward off the hated sensation of suffocation brought on by total darkness.

At home, when it got really bad, he’d go for a ride. His servants were used to his odd ways. But here, there would be questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

He rarely had trouble falling asleep. Only when the dreams started did he feel the need for escape. Tonight was different. He tossed off the brandy he had poured. It added to the heat in his blood, increased the thud of his heart.

Desire for Merry.

An urgent pressing lust.

Never had he felt like this about a woman. Naked, with the fire almost dead, he didn’t feel the least bit cold. The vaguest thought of the woman had his blood running hot, had him rousing.

She’d certainly taken him by surprise this afternoon, asking him to pretend to be her betrothed. God, he’d like to pretend to be her husband.

His shaft jerked with pleasure at the thought. He could bring himself to release. A youth’s trick, something he’d given up long ago in favour of control. If a man couldn’t control his own base urges, what hope did he have of controlling his life? Or his bloody dreams?

He got up and strode to the window, thrusting back heavy brocade curtains glinting with gold bullion knots and twists. The cold permeating through the casement seared his overheated skin. He breathed in the smell of old wood and frost on the windowpane.

He placed his palm on the glass and thawed the ice.

The world outside looked ghostly. Snow glittered where the moon cast its path. Here and there, dark patches ruined the purity. A thaw well under way. Tomorrow he would leave.

Drive away from temptation.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his erection subsided, chilled by the cold air, or the thought of departure.

It didn’t matter which.

Sure he would now sleep, he let the curtain fall and returned to the bed. The candles had hours of life left. They would last until dawn.

Stretched out on top of the covers, he closed his eyes, kept his mind deliberately blank and breathed deeply.

A sound by the door.

A mere whisper of noise. His gut clenched.

Nothing. It was his mind playing tricks. He forced himself to ignore it, the way he had ignored far worse indignities after Waterloo. He would sleep. He must.

He resisted the urge to toss and turn. Forced his limbs to remain quiet and once more emptied his mind.

More rustling.

The bed sank in one corner.

Heart drumming, he shot upright, staring wide-eyed at the foot of his bed.

Merry? ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘I beg your pardon.’ God damn it, he was naked. He flipped the edge of the counterpane over his hips.

Her gaze remained on his face, but she must have seen, when she walked in, that he was stark naked. Once more, blood headed for his groin. Damn the woman. ‘What did you want?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

That made two of them. ‘So you thought you’d wake me to share in your lack of rest. Hand me my robe.’ It lay beside her across the foot of the bed.

She bit her lip and handed it to him. ‘I’m sorry.’ She slid off the bed and walked to the hearth, looking down at the fire, while he pulled the banyan around him.

She spun around as he finished tying the knot. ‘I did not intend to disturb you.’

Disturb. Hah! He couldn’t be more pleased. Or at least one part of him couldn’t. The rest of him wasn’t so sure. He waved off her apology. ‘How can I be of service?’ A bad choice of words. The low thrum in his blood had become a steady pounding beat. He could smell her, the scent of lavender and soap, and a woman fresh from her bed. He wanted to carry her to his. He wanted to lay her down amid his sheets. He wanted all she would give. But only if she gave it freely.

She looked at him, her head tilted on one side, her full lips parted. Lips he longed to take with his own. He clenched his jaw.

‘I came to apologise,’ she said and pressed those full lips together as if trying to decide what to say next. She clasped her hands at her waist. The firelight behind her shone through the flimsy nightgown and wrap. Outlined in the faint glow, her legs were long and slender, the dark triangle at their apex more imagined than seen. Black as night to match her hair, no doubt, and a delightful contrast to her pale skin.

His teeth ground together. He picked up a candle. ‘Let me escort you back to your room.’

She backed away, thankfully into the shadows beside the hearth. She looked nervous. ‘You cannot deny the attraction between us.’

The clenching of his groin anticipated what might come next, but at what price? ‘I won’t change my mind, Merry, whatever coin you use.’

She flinched. A mere flicker of an eyelash, a minute tightening of her jaw. He’d hurt her. He wanted to apologise and grant her wish. He couldn’t. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to convince Father to let Robert return. One misstep and all would be ruined.

Yet she did not retire in defeat. It wasn’t in her to give up. Her gaze did not shift away. Instead her bright blue eyes held his gaze boldly. She licked her top lip, leaving it moist and pink. It held his attention as she spoke again.

‘It has nothing to do with’ she gestured vaguely with one hand ‘that. No one would believe you would offer for me anyway.’

Truth was a bitter brew. He wished she wasn’t right. But if she wasn’t here to convince him to follow her plan, then why had she come after her coolness this evening? A bubble of something light and airy restricted his breathing. Hope. Damn it. When he should really be turning her around and sending her out of the door, he nodded for her to go on.

‘I enjoyed our kiss today. I would like to repeat the experience.’

His groin gave a pulse of approval. Why not, indeed? The urge to say yes filled his throat.

He walked to the window, before the words left his mouth. Before he did something he’d regret. ‘You are a beautiful woman. I cannot deny I find you alluring, but I no longer believe the impression you gave me on my first night here. Or my conclusion this morning that you might be an abbess.’

She gasped.

He turned with a smile. ‘Finding two very bold females in my bedroom this morning led me astray.’

A small smile of acknowledgement touched her lips. ‘I see how it might happen.’

He forced himself to say the next words. ‘I certainly recognise the spark of attraction between us, it was there from the first, but you are unmarried and therefore out of bounds. I’m sorry.’

Hades. How utterly priggish he sounded. But it was the right thing to do.

Her fingers played with the tie at her waist.

Bloody hell, if she didn’t take him at his word and leave he’d have that small knot untied and the whisper of silk covering her form puddled at her feet.

Randy bastard.

She glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes. ‘You are indeed a gentleman. But we are both adults, are we not? Both experienced in the ways of the world and capable of making our own decisions. Why should we not have one night of pleasure before you leave?’

He strode to face her toe to toe. She didn’t flinch. Her gaze didn’t drop from his as he held her chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her face up, bringing her lovely mouth within reach of his own.

He wanted her.

More than he wanted to give her aid, he wanted her in his bed. Had wanted her since the moment she gazed at him on the road.

And here she was offering herself to him. Not a virgin, the kind of woman he must marry, but a bold sensual woman who knew what she wanted.

A groan rose in his throat. He forced it to silence. Closed his eyes briefly against the urges riding him hard and forced himself to speak. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her body swaying towards him, her lavender perfume rising like incense to his senses, sweet and heavy.

He bent his head and claimed her mouth.

Merry sank into his embrace, clutched at the front of his robe with desperate fingers in case she collapsed to the floor on legs weak with relief.

She let her senses drift on the pleasure of his kiss, the lovely feel of his body hard against hers, the intruding thigh between her legs, the large hands roaming her body at will.

Ever since he had caressed her feet in the billiard room, her body had been on fire, her mind a senseless mess of conflicting and confusing thoughts. She wanted this, even if she was beyond the pale to him except in this most basic of passions.

Tonight she would have her desires fulfilled and out of the way, so she could plan how next to proceed without regret for what might have been.

His tongue licked her lips and pressed against the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, tasted brandy smoky on her tongue.

Her breasts felt heavy and full, the place between her thighs moist and tingling; she tilted her hips, increasing the pressure of his thigh and was rewarded by his brief indrawn breath.

She uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his robe and slipped them beneath, to run her hands over his broad expanse of chest.

She’d seen much of him in the billiard room and again as he lay naked on his bed with his eyes closed.

She’d been surprised but grateful for the candles’ revealing light. His body was gorgeous, his male member thick and large; she could feel it now pressing against her lower abdomen as his hand brushed up from the indentation at her waist to cover her breast.

She let go a long sigh of pleasure and a satisfied sound of male approval rumbled in his chest.

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Her fingers splayed across the warm silken skin of his chest, felt the roughness of hair and the puckered skin of his scar.

She longed to touch it with her tongue, taste it with her lips, but right now his mouth was taking her senses to new heights of arousal. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

He groaned and swept her up in his arms, breaking the kiss. She looked up into his face.

‘My bed or yours?’ he asked.

‘Yours.’ She laughed. ‘It is closer.’

‘A sensible woman indeed,’ he murmured, his dark eyes hazy with passion and glinting with amusement.

He was so bloody handsome. It wasn’t fair.

But he was hers for now. And she would make the most of the one night he’d granted.

He frowned.

Had he sensed her regrets?

She smiled and licked her lips. ‘What now, you great gormless statue?’

At that he threw back his head and laughed out loud. He strode for the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, and gazed into her face. ‘Did I tell you how much I adore that tongue of yours?’

‘For what it says?’ she asked, fluttering her lashes. ‘Or what it can do?’

‘Hades,’ he muttered under his breath and swooped down for a kiss. Their mouths melded, blissfully fitting together. Her thoughts scattered as he plundered her mouth and she clasped her hands around the back of his neck, holding him tight, as she devoured the slick silkiness of his tongue in her mouth. She sucked.

He stilled.

Had she been too bold? Gone too far? Would he think her completely wanton? Her heart beat hard against her chest as he broke the kiss. She let her hands fall away as he drew back, his low-lidded gaze sweeping her body, his lips curving in a sensual smile of approval. ‘You are a feast for the senses.’

The words struck a chord low in her belly. Flutters tormented her feminine core. What was he waiting for? Suddenly shy, she twisted her fingers in the curls falling over her shoulder, staring at the strong column of throat emerging from his robe, at the rise of his angular cheekbones. In daylight they made his face look hard and stern, but now they made him look like a fallen angel.

Her angel. For one night. A yearning she did not expect pulled at her heart. Such yearning had no place in her life. She pushed it away and opened her arms to him.

He untied the cord at his hips, and discarded his robe in one easy movement. The scar across his chest gleamed white in the candlelight. It crossed sculpted muscle and striated ribs, missed his navel by an inch where it sliced a path across a stomach ridged with tight muscle to come to rest at his hipbone.

And below, the evidence of his desire, the engorged member jutting from wiry black curls, a dark tip. Proud and very male.

She sucked in a breath and raised her gaze to his face. His expression was dark, harsh and full of seduction.

She reached up and traced a finger down the scar’s length, from just above his left nipple to his right hip, where the skin jumped beneath her touch.

‘Ticklish?’ she asked.

Mischief gleamed in his dark eyes. ‘If so, be prepared for repayment in kind.’

Her skin tingled as his hot gaze seared every inch of her body. In a moment of weakness, a slight edge of fear that this dark angel would steal more than she was prepared to give, she covered herself, her breasts, her groin.

His brows lowered. ‘Unlike you to be shy, sweet Merry.’

What could she say? She hid behind rough words, yet none came to her tongue. She felt weak with yearning.

‘Will you stand there all night looking, then?’ Perhaps not completely undone. She brought her arms up, stretched like a cat, feeling the peaks of her breasts against the soft muslin of her nightgown.

He grinned. ‘Ah, sweet tormenting witch.’ Leaning over her, a hand each side of her head, he brought one knee up on to the bed, a tall man, with no need for the step. He nudged his knee between hers, a gentle insistent pressure of warm skin and hard bone.

No going back. She opened her thighs. Gave him room. Gave him leave. Her breath left her in a rush of anticipation.

Half-on, half-off the bed, he hung over her, his dark eyes searching hers, seeking assurance? Permission? She raised her hands, cupped his cheeks, felt the roughness of beard and drew him down.

Blissful kisses rained from his lips, a touch on her mouth, her chin, her cheekbone, her eyelids, between her brows. Each kiss fired heat low between her legs, her body ached to feel him within her, her breasts longed for his touch and all the while featherlight kisses seared her face.

‘Lovely, Merry,’ he murmured in a low growl at her ear. His tongue traced the swirls. Her skin thrilled and her insides shivered. Never had kisses felt so sweet, yet the brush of his lips promised so much more.

Panting, she tugged at his shoulders, wanting him closer, hard against her, his bulk weighing her down. She ached.

The strength in his shoulders resisted her feeble attempts to drag him on top of her. She raised herself up to press against him, feeling the prod of his erection against the softness of her belly, the press of his chest against her breasts. ‘Charlie,’ she moaned.

‘Yes, love?’

The amusement in his voice flared her temper. She struck at him with her fist and fell back against the pillows. She glared up at him. The muscles in his upper arms bulged with the effort of holding his weight. She shoved at his arm. ‘Don’t tease.’

Dark lashes swept down and rose again, revealing wicked laughter in their depths. His mouth curved in a smile so sensual her insides tightened beyond bearing. ‘What, Merry? Is this to be naught but a hurried encounter, a quick nibble, when I would savour the banquet before me?’

‘Sometimes,’ she whispered in sultry tones, ‘the table is cleared before you can taste.’

‘A threat, Merry? Are you playing the tease?’

The edge to his tone gave her pause. This was not a man she could manipulate. He liked to be the one in charge as much as she did. Mayhap more.

If she wanted him, she would have to take what he offered.

She clawed her fingers through the rough hair on his chest and tugged. His jaw flickered. Curving her lips in what she hoped was a smile as seductive as his own, she peeped up at him from beneath lowered lids. ‘This is a banquet for two, is it not?’ She lightly pinched his nipple between her fingernails.

His eyes glazed. His chest expanded on a quick breath. ‘It is.’ His voice sounded ragged.

‘Then I would taste, too.’ She let her hands wander over the smooth contour of his shoulders, felt the slight tremble deep in his bones as he held himself still, looking down at her face. Desire warmed his eyes, while restrained power tensed his jaw. Control.

A man with a will of iron.

Her fingers traced the contours of the arms bracketing her head against the pillows; her palms warmed to the heat of his blood beneath the satiny smoothness of his skin. A pulse beat in his strong neck, a hard beating throb that echoed in her own veins.

Once more she raised herself up, but not to take, to give. She licked along the artery. Blue blood for the son of a duke. She nuzzled against his neck, sweeping her tongue across the salty skin, sucking and nipping. His breathing roughened. Not so much in control as he would have her think.

She nibbled his earlobe and breathed into his ear.

He groaned and pressed closer, encouraging her tongue deep into the orifice. Controlling again. Demanding.

She pulled away.

‘Witch,’ he muttered. ‘Will you torment me?’

‘No more than you torment me,’ she whispered.

He took her mouth in a hungry plundering kiss.

Strength surrounded her, his body a wall she could see nothing beyond. It filled her vision, and her mind. He was powerful male. Beside him, she seemed feeble.

Vulnerable. Her heart picked up speed. Trickles of fear rose up from her belly. Her wanton yearnings had almost destroyed her once; she should not let it happen again. Even so, the kiss overwhelmed her senses, carried her upwards on currents of air, rising in twisting strands of pleasure and the pain of need.

A hand, large and firm, cupped her buttocks, caressed the curve. A finger dipped lightly into the crease. A titillating sensation through the fabric. She gasped into his mouth.

He squeezed and kneaded her bottom, while his erection pressed against her.

The teasing fingers travelled down her thigh to her knee. They bunched the gown, easing it upwards. Yes. Now they stroked the bare flesh above her knee, little circles travelling up her thigh, bringing her gown higher, while his kisses numbed her mind to all but his touch.

The fresh scent of his soap and the musk of male arousal dizzied her senses. The longing to submit to his greater will made her limbs languid and heavy. She was pliant in his arms, a shadow of herself. Overpowered by his skill.

His to mould and to shape. It felt lovely.