A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (15 page)

He kissed her again and bore her down, onto her back. Now she did curl her legs around his hips, aware of how wicked she was being. His hands cupped her face, then smoothed down her neck and shoulders easing her flat on the table. With tender but efficient care, he pulled her bodice down more, baring more of her breasts.

Celia sucked in her breath as he touched her nipple with his tongue. Oh, heavens. His hands, his mouth…oh, heavens. She was already warm and wet by the time his hand slipped between her legs, through the slit in her pantalets. He made love to her breasts with his mouth, and with his fingers he drove her to the point of delirium until she was shaking and gasping for air.

On trembling arms she pushed herself up and reached for him. He gave a harsh groan as she brushed one hand down the front of his trousers. “Celia, I can’t make love to you on a table.”

“On the sofa, then,” she murmured, kissing his jaw and stroking him through the fabric.

His groan turned into a strained chuckle. “Temptress.”

“Don’t tease me,” Celia whispered, still stroking. Her pulse seemed to beat strongest between her legs. Her entire body throbbed with hunger for him. Kicking off her slipper, she rubbed her foot along the back of his calf.

He just laughed under his breath, kissing her softly as he pushed up more of her skirt. Celia had to brace her toes on the floor for balance as he moved between her thighs and unfastened his trousers. He took her hand in his and drew it down between them, wrapping her fingers along his naked length. Celia whimpered as he exhaled sharply, and she guided him to where she wanted him so badly.

Anthony pressed inside her slowly. Celia went still, hardly breathing as his flesh filled hers. It had been so long since she had made love to a man, and her every muscle felt drawn so tight she thought she might snap. When he paused, deep within her, Celia let out her breath in a drawn-out, shuddering sigh of pure bliss.

He nudged up her chin, brushing his mouth against hers. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he began to move. She rocked against him, meeting his thrusts as best she could, beginning to shake. He was so gentle yet so expert, as if he had studied her body for years and knew just what to do. She wrapped her arms around his chest and threw back her head as he moved in her again and again, his hands moving over her, his lips touching here, there, and everywhere, whispering endearments she barely heard, until the ecstasy finally consumed Celia and she sobbed out her joy.

Anthony held her until she quieted. Just to hold her was a pleasure; to hold himself inside her as she convulsed in climax was heaven. She rolled her head forward, laying it against his shoulder. He rested his cheek against her golden curls, a little disheveled now, and breathed deeply of the glorious scent of lemons.

Celia shifted her weight after a few moments and slipped. She fell against him, grabbing at his arms and gasping a little laugh. Anthony realized he had perched her on the edge of a high table where her feet could barely touch the floor. He should let her go. He even started to pull back, easing his arms away from her. Her grip tightened, and she turned up her face, murmuring a protest in a drowsy, seductive voice. Anthony couldn’t resist her when she used that voice, so instead of helping her down and stepping away from her, he wrapped his arms back around her and lifted.

Celia gasped, then giggled, clinging to him with arms and legs. She kissed him on the mouth again as he carried her across the room and sat with a great thump on the sofa. There she relaxed again, astride his lap, draping herself over him and letting her skirts bunch up around her knees.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there. Anthony just stroked her back, plucking up a loose curl from time to time and winding it around his finger. He knew they had to talk, but the feel of her on top of him, in his arms, was just too distracting. He had kept his control and not spent himself inside her, but this…this contented, easy companionship stole away his discipline. He didn’t want to do anything but sit here with her for the rest of the night—for the rest of the foreseeable future, perhaps. He rested his head against the sofa back and let his eyes fall closed, holding her against his heart. He would have to plant a grove immediately, for he didn’t know how he could do without the scent of lemons from now on.

Dimly, Anthony became aware of sound—voices. Not just any voice, but David Reece’s voice. Laughter, and other voices. In the corridor, very nearby. He opened his eyes. What were the odds, he thought with a spark of black humor. He’d been an utter monk until the last hour and had been left mostly alone, even shunned at times. The voices grew louder, closer. He said a swift, urgent prayer that they would continue down the corridor, past the library, away from him and Celia and their highly compromising situation. He squeezed her tighter in his arms, as much hoping they could escape by being silent and still as to cling to her a few moments more, in case they didn’t. The steps were too close; Celia’s dress was half-undone, and his jacket and waistcoat were somewhere on the floor. There wasn’t time to compose themselves in any event.

The library door swung open, and light seeped into the room. “You’re a bloody fool, Norwood, to take that bet,” boomed David’s voice into the quiet. “If Her Grace says it’s so, it must be so. But I’ll be glad to take your money, once we…” He stopped abruptly, and a collective intake of air sounded behind him.

Anthony let his head fall back against the sofa again. He should have known his luck wouldn’t hold.

“Celia?” said David, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Slowly she sat up. Anthony let his arms fall away from her, and his hands landed on her thighs, bared beside his. As discreetly as he could he pulled her rucked-up skirt over her knees. He raised his eyes at the same moment she did. For a moment they shared a heated gaze, and then she looked away.

“I see,” said David dazedly, then his voice filled with anger. He set down his lamp with a clank on a nearby table. “Out, the lot of you.”

Anthony caught bits and pieces of the murmurs as David’s companions filtered out of the room. “No shock, really…Hamilton’s as wicked as they come…Not so grief-stricken any longer…Fine legs on that filly…”

“Celia, repair yourself,” snapped David. “Hamilton…”

Silently Celia climbed to her feet. Anthony exhaled as her soft, warm weight lifted off him. She turned her back to her brother, straightening her clothing in silence. Anthony gave David a long look as he retrieved his waistcoat and put his own appearance to rights. His friend’s mouth was a thin line, his eyes black with fury. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side. “Give me one reason,” said David in a low, ominous voice. “One reason why I ought not to break your neck right now.”

Anthony finished buttoning his waistcoat. “The presence of a lady.”

David’s expression didn’t change. “Celia, go upstairs.”

“No,” she said, turning to face him. She sounded fairly composed, although Anthony noticed her fingers shook the tiniest bit as she smoothed her skirts into place.

“Go,” he repeated.

“No, I won’t.” She glared at her brother. “Why should I be sent to my room like a child for doing something I know you’ve done many, many times, David?”

David’s mouth flapped open and closed, like a landed fish’s, and a look of horror flashed across his face. “You shouldn’t—that’s not the same—Celia!”

“I’m not twelve anymore, David,” she flung back at him. “Did you think I was deaf to all those stories about you? You’re a complete hypocrite if you upbraid me now.” Her brother turned a shade of dull red. Anthony wasn’t certain if it was fury or embarrassment, but he wasn’t foolish enough to call attention to himself by asking, not when Celia was handling things rather well herself.

“And why is David upbraiding you?” asked a new voice. Anthony exhaled a silent sigh. The duke had arrived. He straightened his shoulders and thought about how best to defend himself, or if he should even attempt it.

Celia swung around to her other brother, just closing the door behind him. His face was set in grave lines, and Anthony was quite sure Exeter knew just what David and his friends had interrupted. “Marcus, this is none of your concern,” she said.

His eyebrow quirked. “Indeed. Then perhaps you can tell me how I ought to react when half my houseguests are in the hall saying my sister spread her legs for a scoundrel?”

Celia clamped her lips together, looking wildly annoyed. “You should throw them out of the house.”

“Ah. And then?”

For the first time her composure faltered. She glanced at David, then back to the duke. “And you should not tell Mama.”

“I don’t believe I shall have to; someone else will be glad to do it.”

Even as he said it, the dowager duchess’s voice could be heard in the hallway, raised and anxious. A moment later she burst through the door behind the duke. “Celia—where is Celia?” she asked breathlessly, pressing one hand to her bosom. Her eyes landed on her daughter before anyone could answer, and then skipped to Anthony in his shirtsleeves. Even in the dim light, everyone could see the flush on Rosalind’s skin. “What have you done?” she cried.

“Mama, calm yourself,” said Celia firmly.

“Calm myself?” Her voice rose. “When that—that scoundrel has defiled my daughter?”

“Rosalind,” said the duke in clear warning as Celia gasped. The duchess whirled on him.

“Marcus, surely you won’t allow this—this fortune hunter to seduce and ruin your sister!”

“Mama, no,” Celia said.

Exeter’s eyes moved past his stepmother to Anthony again. “Not everything is in my control.”

“Surely this is!” She stormed across the room to seize her daughter’s arm and pulled, sending Celia stumbling. “Stay away from my daughter!”

“Mama! Stop!” cried Celia.

“Rosalind,” said the duke again.

“I didn’t—” Anthony began, appalled that anyone would think he was after Celia’s fortune. Of that, at least, he was innocent. Only that, perhaps.

“Didn’t?” David exclaimed. “You’re a liar now, too?” Before Anthony realized what he intended, David’s fist crashed into his jaw.

Undefended, it was a stunning blow. His head snapped around, his teeth rattled together, and he lost his balance, stumbling to the floor.

“David, stop it!” Celia shrieked, trying to wrest free of her mother.

“Get up,” David growled at him. “Take your whipping like a man, Hamilton.”

“Quiet!” Exeter’s voice cracked like a whip. “Rosalind, compose yourself. David, enough.” The dowager duchess pressed one hand to her mouth. She released Celia, who wormed between her brothers to lean over Anthony anxiously. Over her shoulder, he could see David Reece still glaring at him, but his fists lowered to his sides. Cautiously Anthony climbed to his feet, touching his jaw gingerly.

“It’s all right,” he said to her, very quietly. Celia’s expression eased and she gave a small nod. The duke lowered his upraised hand as the room settled into quiet.

“Lest we all rush into misapprehension and make things worse than they need be, let us strive for some semblance of sensibility. David, clear the hallway. Rosalind, I am certain you will wish to reassure our guests there is no scandal brewing.” Rosalind’s tear-filled eyes darted past him to where Celia still stood with Anthony, but she nodded, drawing herself stiffly erect and walking out of the room with David, who had also plastered a grimly congenial expression on his face.

Exeter turned back to them. Anthony almost preferred David’s white-hot fury to the duke’s cool, implacable command. At least he knew what to expect from David. The duke looked at him a long moment, and Anthony didn’t know if he should start apologizing, explaining, or writing his will. “Whatever you may have planned as a result of this evening, it would appear reconsideration is in order.” He waved his hand. “Sit.”

Anthony took the seat indicated. Celia sat on the sofa. The duke folded his arms and looked from one to the other. “Normally I would not intrude on what is surely a private matter, but privacy seems to have been tossed out the window this evening. What do you propose to do now?”

For a moment neither said anything. Anthony glanced at Celia from the corner of his eye. What was she thinking? he wondered, as she sat with her head down and her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The neckline of her gown was slightly askew; he could see the shadowed valley between her breasts, and he wanted her again so badly he felt like a complete cad at once. If only he had a clue to her feelings…

“Well?” asked Exeter. “Celia?” She bit her lip and said nothing. “Hamilton?”

“I could leave,” he said, leaning back in his chair even though his stomach felt twisted into a rock-hard knot. Might as well get it over with, since Celia didn’t appear to have any solution to offer. “Within the hour.”

She turned toward him with large, startled eyes, and he wondered if she were relieved he had suggested it so easily. She would suffer, no doubt, but more as an object of pity, for being seduced and ruined by the infamous Mr. Hamilton. People would whisper that he took advantage of her, that she was still vulnerable in her grief. But she would be free, and not tied to a man she didn’t want.

“No,” said Exeter. Anthony jerked his eyes back to him, instantly wary. Why not? he wanted to ask. Surely they all wanted him gone, especially after that scene…

“That will destroy Celia’s reputation,” continued Exeter in the same level tone. “I can’t allow it.”

“Marcus, I am not a child,” Celia burst out.

“I am not treating you like one.”

“Then you cannot make him stay and marry me!”

“I never said he must marry you, or that you must marry him,” pointed out the duke. “I merely said he won’t leave in the middle of the night like a thief afraid of being caught.” He walked across the room to stand in front of his sister. “But you must know this could cause a dreadful scandal.”

“But only about me,” she declared. “It wouldn’t disgrace the whole family.”

To Anthony’s surprise, the duke of Exeter laughed. “You would hardly be the first to disgrace the whole family, Celia. David did more than you could ever hope to achieve, and even I did my share. But I suggest you consider your own name and future as well as Mr. Hamilton’s. This is not merely your decision to make. Perhaps you need some time alone to discuss it.” He smiled at her once more in sympathy, then went to the door.

“And—and you will respect my decision?” Celia asked uncertainly.

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t I always?” Celia closed her mouth, looking nonplussed. Exeter gave Anthony a speaking glance and left.

The room was quiet for a long minute after he closed the door behind him.

“I am very sorry for that,” Celia said in a stilted voice.

“Don’t be.” Anthony sighed, feeling a little sick. Just this afternoon they had been friends; this evening they had been lovers. Now they could barely look at each other and had nothing to say to each other. What a fool, he berated himself. Hadn’t he told himself this would happen? “It was my fault—”

“Would everyone please stop trying to take all the blame?” she snapped, surging to her feet. “I am not an innocent victim!”

“I heard voices in the hall,” he said. “A moment before they came in. If I had acted—”

“Oh, who cares that they came in!” Celia pressed her hands to her temples and began pacing a very short path in front of the sofa. “It was my fault there was anything for them to see.” Anthony made a quiet sound of disbelief in his throat, and she whirled around to face him. “Do you disagree? Would you have been here if I hadn’t told you to meet me here? Would you have—” She stopped short. “But now what are we to do?”

That was the question. Anthony knew he had no right to answer it. If he didn’t marry her, everyone would whisper that she was just another widow of loose morals, open to propositions from anyone. If he did marry her, it wouldn’t be because she wanted him, but because they had been caught in an indiscretion. Either course would be like digging out a piece of his heart, day by day.

“My marriage wasn’t awful,” Celia said suddenly. “Bertie never struck me, or locked me up. He just—” Her voice broke. “He just didn’t love me.”

Anthony knew the words that would set her at ease—perhaps. Bertie had once said he loved her, too. But he couldn’t say it. He didn’t think she would believe it if he did. “That was his failing, not yours.”

She threw up one hand to stop him. “Don’t, Anthony. I don’t want pity and consolation. It was my choice to marry him. I—” She paused. “I chose badly. I thought I was in love, the sort of love poets describe, the romantic, foolish feeling.”

Anthony hesitated, uncertain what to do or say. She studied him a moment, a crease between her eyes. “I can’t do it again,” she said, almost to herself. “I can’t marry you just because of what happened tonight. I can’t marry you just because my brother will shoot you otherwise. There must be a
good
reason.”