Lord of the Rakes (12 page)

A bright burning spiked through the pleasure and Caroline gasped. Philip froze, and his eyes flew open wide. They held like that for an instant, staring at each other, balanced on the knife point of pleasure and pain. “Slowly, Caroline,” he gasped. “Slowly, my dear. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“No! Now!” Caroline locked her calves around him. She didn’t want him to go slowly. She did not want him to pull away. She would not permit it. She would die if he pulled away before her body could understand what he did to her.

Caroline gritted her teeth, and with all the strength she could muster, she thrust her hips upward, impaling herself on him. Philip gasped and trembled. Her sheath clenched around him, struggling to adjust to his presence and his girth. Philip groaned, but issued no more unreasonable commands. He let his arms buckle until he rested on his elbows, and his cock had slid that much farther into her.

“Yes!” Her hips began to move, and with each movement, pain receded and pleasure returned. “Yes, this is what I want.”

“Who am I . . . who am I to deny my lady?” he breathed, and he, too, began to move.

It was slow at first. Caroline felt him trying to be gentle, but she did not want that either. She matched him, motion for motion. She had no words to describe the sensation. She had gone past such trivial things. She only wanted this to continue—the feeling of him inside her, the hard press of his chest against her breasts, the friction of her breasts against his skin. She could fly again, soar again, crest again, if only he didn’t stop.

And she did. Once more, the timeless space of pure bliss enveloped her whole body, and she did soar, bright and free and perfect as summer sunlight. When she fell once more to herself, Philip was there, flushed and intense as he shared that instant of pleasure.

Then he groaned and rolled away, drawing himself out of her and pressing down hard against her hip, crying out wordlessly as he shuddered, and she knew he was lost to his own climax. She held him close, rubbing her body against his, urging him onward as he had urged her, until at last his body stilled, and he fell against her, desire and strength both spent.

I
t took an unconscionably long time for Philip to roll over and wrap the bed clothes around himself and Caroline, bundling her close to him. She wriggled lazily in the crook of his arm, making herself comfortable. Her eyes had already fallen closed.

“Rest now, Caroline,” Philip murmured. “Lovely Caroline. You sleep now.”

Because if you don’t,
he added silently to himself,
I might just die of you.

She’d taken everything he had to give, drained every last drop of passion from him. And this was only her first time. Philip let his head flop back on the pillow, amused, amazed, and, if he dared to admit it, a little afraid. What would he do if she fought off sleep and lifted her body up over him, aroused and demanding more?

But she didn’t. Caroline’s breathing slowly deepened, and her body relaxed against him. Philip drew her closer, allowing himself to enjoy simply holding her soft body. He tucked the coverlet a little more firmly around her shoulder. Neglected, the fire had sunk low in the hearth and a chill crept into the room. He did not want it to discomfort her.

He’d been rougher than he’d intended. He’d meant to make Caroline’s first experience easy, as well as pleasing. But it simply was not in this lady’s nature to take things easily. When she’d thrust up against him, determined to take him entirely into her, he’d been too startled to resist. And after that . . .

After that was little more than a blur of lust and pleasure. He wound one chestnut lock around his finger. The dim lamplight played across it, bringing out the gold and red that mingled with its rich brown hue. She had a thousand colors hidden in her hair, and it was soft as silk and smelled of lemon and jasmine. He was quite certain he’d never seen hair so beautiful.

Everything about Caroline seemed calculated to drive him out of his mind: her smooth skin, the generous, supple curves that disguised her strength of body, her sensitive, entirely gorgeous breasts. This was no mere curious girl beside him. Lady Caroline Delamarre was a deeply passionate and sensual woman. Philip wasn’t sure whether to curse other men for neglecting her needs, or buy the male population in general a round of drinks for leaving this astonishing woman to him. She’d enveloped him in her heat and fought to pull him closer. She’d commanded with her entire body that he fuck her harder and he’d been unable to resist. In point of fact, every last bit of gentlemanly restraint he possessed had absolutely evaporated.

Caroline stirred in his arms, rubbing her breasts pleasantly against his side. Much to Philip’s surprise, his organ stirred. A startled chuckle rose in him.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered. She stirred again in her dreams, her fingers rippling against his chest. Philip let his hand drift down Caroline’s back. Her derriere curved beautifully beneath his palm, as if made for him to caress. She let out a sigh and snuggled closer, pressing her damp thighs against him. His palm circled restlessly as he relived the delightful greed with which she had welcomed him. All the while, he urged himself to patience. Judging by the eagerness of her response, and the willingness she’d shown to enter into lover’s games, Caroline would be willing to admit other encounters on other nights. Properly instructing her in the arts of desire could be the work of long, attentive, delightful weeks, perhaps even months. Philip felt a smile forming at this idea. He’d already begun teaching her the habits of obedience. Next time, he would be able to take control more overtly.

When he walked into Mrs. Gladwell’s ball, he had been close to dreading the season. Now, he might look forward to a summer filled with Caroline’s passion, where he could feast on her beautiful eyes, her exquisite body, her quick wit and her sparkling laugh. A most enjoyable summer could be followed by a sweet, crisp autumn of Caroline driving him to the brink of his passion, inventiveness, and ability.

His fleeting worry that he might not be able to bring her additional satisfaction vanished. If he woke her now, if he teased her again, made her laugh and made her kiss him, he’d be rock hard in no time. All he’d need to do was reach his other hand down and play with her pretty breast. He could slip a finger between those wet curls and tease that wonderfully responsive flesh of hers. She’d wake to desire first, and then to him. Her face would flush pink and that lovely, determined mouth would part for his tongue . . .

Philip clenched his jaw around an oath and settled back, very carefully, onto the pillows. He stared at the velvet canopy overhead and reminded himself sternly that she’d just used herself—and him if he was to admit the truth—hard, especially for a first time. She’d be sore. She’d be shy. But even knowing that, Philip was also aware that if he woke Caroline now, he’d never be able to resist her, or himself.

A thread of worry filtered through Philip’s rising lust. When Caroline did wake, would she be sorry for what she had done? What if she opened her eyes not to desire, but to the wish she had not given in. He had been through such mornings. Admittedly, most had occurred when he was still a youth, fresh to town. Back then, he’d a purse full of his father’s gold and a boy’s enthusiasms filling his head, and his body. Still, they’d been hellish enough to leave a lasting impression. He’d quickly learned to steer clear of such girls and women as might change their minds come daylight. Just as he’d learned to spot the women who granted ready access to their bodies but then demanded the man pay with an episode of name calling and histrionic weeping in the hopes of forcing a marriage proposal.

It was not as bad for him as for some. He was a scorpion, a second son, and would never come to the title. Not while Owen lived, anyway, and his brother was all but mummifying himself in his attics. He’d live to be a hundred at the rate he was going. Not that their father showed any signs of shuffling off this mortal coil either. Chair bound the man might be, but the Marquis of Innsbrook remained as strong as he was sour, and that was very strong indeed.

Not that Philip believed for one minute that Caroline planned to try to wring a marriage proposal from him. As far as he was able to discern—before she had driven him entirely out of his wits—she had been as intent on pleasure as he himself. But why? A woman such as she should have been well married and surrounded by three or four children by now. What kept her from that?

And what on earth was making him think of Caroline being married to some other man?

Philip was still mulling over that question as he drifted at last into an uneasy doze.

C
aroline’s eyes fluttered open to the first light of a gray dawn filtering through the curtains. She was sprawled slantwise across the bed. She was also alone. Panic seized her and she shoved herself into a sitting position, scrabbling at the sheets.

“Gently, Caroline,” said Philip. “I’m right here.”

Caroline pushed her hair out of her eyes. Philip sat in the armchair beside the hearth. He’d pulled his small clothes back on, but nothing else. He must have built up the fire, because it blazed cheerfully. The kettle hung from the hob, and he had the tea set out on the table.

“Do you take sugar?” he asked as he filled the first cup.

Caroline pushed her hair back again. “You made tea.”

“I confess I did. It’s not very good, but it is hot. And you haven’t told me if you take sugar.”

“Yes. Please.” She was fully awake now, but her mind seemed to be having difficulty catching up with events. She was aware she was in the guest bedroom of her house, and that she had just experienced a night of intense physical passion. But she could not seem to make sense of the fact that the man she had done so much with—Philip Montcalm, Lord of the Rakes—was now engaged in the simple, domestic act of making her tea.

He dug a lump from the mostly empty bowl with his fingers and dropped it into her cup. “I found some biscuits,” he went on, producing a plain, round tin. “I’m not sure how long they’ve been here, but they’ll be better than nothing.” He bit into one of the pale disks and made a face. “Marginally better, at any rate.”

He laid a pair of biscuits and a spoon onto the saucer and carried the cup over to the bed. “Good morning, Caroline.” He bowed as he handed her the tea, which, conveniently brought his face close to hers. So close in fact that when she reached for the cup, he was able to kiss her.

“Good morning, Philip.” She took the cup. His kiss was warm and easy. It made no hidden demands, and offered nothing but a gentle greeting. It warmed her and eased the confusion of her disordered thoughts

Philip fixed his own tea, adding three sugar lumps, she noted. The action required that he put his back to her. Dressed as he was only in his smalls, the sight was novel, and distracting. Caroline’s heart pounded uneasily at the base of her throat, reminding her it was still in working order after last night’s . . . exertions.

Philip came to sit on the bed beside her, his back against the bolsters and his legs stretched out under the sheets.

“Your health, my lady.” He raised his cup to her.

Caroline blushed and raised hers in return. They clinked the rims and she took a thirsty swallow. He was right. The tea wasn’t very good, being far too strong and harsh. But it was hot, and restorative. Philip watched her over the brim of his own cup as she drank.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Caroline took another careful sip of tea. She was sore. She had been chafed raw in new and indelicate places. All manner of internal muscles seemed to be protesting that they had been ill used during the night.

But she had not been ill used. She had been aroused, invigorated, and thoroughly satisfied. Philip had shown her delights she never imagined. If she was uncomfortable this morning, her body also seemed to be producing a pleasant prickling sensation that ran from her thighs to her throat every time she looked at Philip. It made her restless, and she was sure if it went on too long, those sweet aches and urges he had satisfied last night would all reassert themselves.

For now, however, it was good to just look at him. She liked the way the pale morning light caught in his hair and made faint shadows across his arms and chest. She liked to see the edge of his hip just above the sheets, which naturally drew her eyes across the wrinkled linen to the point where it covered his thighs. She was no expert, but Philip’s member seemed to be awake as well under there. The idea made her smile. If she had harbored any last doubts about what they had done, the fact of that reflexive smile erased them.

“I am well,” she told him. “I know that sounds flat but—”

“No.” Philip reached out and brushed her tumbled curls from her shoulder. “It sounds just right.”

“And . . . and you?”

“I find I am vastly content,” he answered. “For now, at any rate.”

His gaze was wandering as he spoke, down her shoulders and arms, and across the sheet she had wrapped around her breasts. Caroline felt herself beginning to blush. There was so much promise and provocation in his bold regard. Without saying a word, he reminded her of how wonderful it had felt to press her body against his and how she had reveled in the touch of his knowing hands.

He was watching her blush and remember, and she had nowhere to hide from him. Philip set his cup on the bedside table and leaned forward to kiss her. His mouth was warm from the tea and unspoken promises. She leaned into that kiss with a sigh. Kissing Philip had become quite natural, and she enjoyed the way their mouths moved together. There was no insistence in this moment, no urgency, just a kind of quiet pleasure that warmed her in ways and places the tea never could.

It seemed to her Philip broke that sweet kiss all too soon. He cupped the back of her head in his hand, and she gazed into his eyes. She saw something in there that she had neglected to notice the night before, or that he had kept hidden. Something wistful and tired, and far too old for a man not yet thirty.

“What is driving you, Lady Caroline?” he whispered. “What brings you here to me?”

“You think I’m driven?”

“Yes, and hard.” He touched her temple. It was a gesture of slow wonder, as if he did not completely understand his own words. “I see it in your eyes.”

“Then perhaps you should not look so hard,” said Caroline irritably. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Never mind it.” Philip smiled, but she saw how that smile was pushing the other thoughts back and away. It was as if he donned a mask for her. That idea tied a knot of worry under her heart. “There are other things we should discuss. Like the fact your servants will be awake soon.” He combed his fingers through her hair, fanning it out across her bare back. “I should go.”

No,
whispered a voice from deep inside her.
No, not yet. Please.

“It’s all right.” She took hold of his hand and pressed it against her shoulder. She wanted him to keep touching her. She could not let him go. “Mrs. Ferriday, my housekeeper, she knows. She won’t be shocked to find you here.”

“Ah, but the world will be shocked if I’m seen leaving your door.” Philip disengaged his hand from under hers. “Society allows affairs, my dear, at least among the sufficiently wealthy and titled. You and I, I think, meet that bar. But.” He held up one finger as she opened her mouth to interrupt. “Discretion is required. Your reputation will hang on this.”

“I have no reputation,” Caroline muttered, surprised at how petulant she sounded, even to herself. “None I care about.”

“Your friend does, though, and you would not wish to wound her.”

Caroline turned her face away. “Yes. I should have remembered. Of course.” What was the matter with her? Caroline pushed at her hair again. Why was she being so unreasonable? Last night, Philip had driven her past the boundaries of all sense. Now it seemed that sense was going to be a long time in returning.

“Have I said something wrong?” asked Philip.

“No.” She shook her head, but she did not look at him. “You are quite correct and I am being selfish. I just . . . I did not want this to be over so soon.”

She felt the warmth and weight of Philip’s hands on both her shoulders. The mattress shifted behind her. She felt the heat of his body, of his breath, as he pulled her back against him.

“What makes you think this is over, Caroline?” Philip embraced her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. It was a provocative reminder of how quickly he could render her helpless, and how much she wanted him to do exactly that. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and let him kiss her brow, and her mouth. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve only just begun.”

Longing rose and stretched through her. She turned in Philip’s arms, thrilled to find his mouth close enough to kiss. She took her time about it, exploring his lips, sliding her tongue along the edge of his, all the while delighting in her new, sensual skills. She felt him shift beneath the sheets, and she pulled him closer.

“Wicked, tempting woman.” He murmured the words against her mouth. “I see that I have allowed you too much freedom. When next we meet, I shall have to take you in hand. Firmly.”

“Yes, please,” she whispered. Which made him laugh. Somehow that laughter was more reassuring than any words could have been, and Caroline was able to let him go. With one last, light brush of his lips against hers, Philip got to his feet and started gathering up his things.

Caroline pushed herself back against the bolsters and watched. “We’ve ruined your clothing,” she remarked as he shook out his breeches. “You’ll look a fright.”

He chuckled. “Which is a much less serious affair for a gentleman than a lady. I’ll be fine.”

Meaning, at least in part, that his reputation would not be tarnished if he was caught making his way through the streets at this hour. A portion of Caroline’s thoughts tried to wince, but she suppressed them ruthlessly as she watched Philip fasten his breeches and reclaim his rumpled shirt. One did not become Lord of the Rakes without a knowledge of town at all hours, and since that title and his experience were among the reasons she’d sought out Philip Montcalm, she could hardly resent them now.

But that did lead her to another question, one for which she found she very much wanted an answer.

“Why me?”

Philip yanked his shirt down over his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why me? You could have chosen any woman you wanted.” And probably had on other nights.

“Perhaps you’re the only one who asked.”

“I doubt that extremely.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her cheek on them. “You have a reputation, you know, as do the widows and cultured wives of London.”

For a long moment Philip busied himself with pulling on his waistcoat and checking to see that his watch was still in his pocket, and well wound. “This is, you are aware, one of those awkward questions. It’s rather like asking a man ‘do you like this hat?’”

“Nonetheless, I am asking and I shall be most disappointed if you fail to answer.”

“And as I mean to make it my business never to disappoint you in any matter, I suppose I shall have to.” Philip sat on the bed at Caroline’s feet. “I could say my mind was made up the moment I saw you. Your magnificent eyes, and this lovely, provocative mouth.” He ran his thumb along her lower lip. The small gesture sent a fresh, warm thread of desire running through her blood. “But that was just the beginning. Then came your so very intriguing note, which fired my curiosity, as you knew it would.” He threaded his fingers into her hair and tugged, very gently. “But what decided me was the moment you—with a completely straight face, may one add—marched up to that half-naked, outraged vixen and stopped her from attacking her would-be lover. That was when I knew you were like no woman I’d ever met before, and I determined to follow you wherever you led.”

“You think you are following me?”

“Oh, yes, Caroline, as far as you will let me.” His voice had taken on that serious tone again. Disquiet settled in Caroline’s breast. She was responsible for her decisions regarding their affair, and he was acknowledging it. She should be grateful. She’d spent too many years being treated as a piece of property to be hoarded or disposed of at the owner’s whim. But if she was the one leading them, it would be for her to decide when their journey would end. One day, soon, she would have to tell this man good-bye.

Why on earth should that idea leave her so cold? She had to leave London. It was not safe for her to stay, for a whole world of reasons that began and ended with Jarrett brooding on her escape back in Keenesford Hall. Fiona’s wedding was the only thing that had kept her here even this long.

“Now it is your turn.” Philip ducked his head to try to catch her gaze, which she had dropped away from his without even realizing it. “Why was I honored with your choice? You could have had any man in that room.”

Caroline felt her cheeks warm in a fit of modesty that was truly surprising, all things considered. “You exaggerate.”

“I assure you, I do not. I overheard any number of plans being laid for a siege against the magnificent new woman with her beautiful amber silks and bold eyes.”

“And money?” she added as Lewis Banbridge’s face made an unwelcome appearance before her mind’s eye.

“Come now, you cannot blame the beaux for considering that, when the belles do the same.”

“Well, we are all of us trained to it from birth, are we not? Money, family, and rank come first. Heart’s desire comes a distant fourth, if at all.” She knew she sounded bitter as she spoke, but Philip did not seem at all perturbed.

“As you say. So, again, I ask, why me?”

Caroline turned her face away, searching for some bantering words among the folds of the bed curtains and the rumpled sheets. But there were none. “I am afraid my reason is not amusing, nor does it reflect well on my character.”