Lord of the Rakes (27 page)

Hope flared dangerously bright. What if it was true? Secrets could be uncovered. Riddles could be solved. If there was some way to solve this, she might be able to mend the breach between herself and Jarrett. Then . . . oh, then . . .

“No,” said Caroline, more to that painful, burgeoning hope than to Philip. “Impossible. I have to leave. As long as I stay in London, Jarrett might . . . he might take me back.”

Philip said nothing. He laid the handkerchief in her lap and stood, and walked across to the windows. The day outside was clouded over. It looked like it would rain again.

“I think your brother is very lucky he is in the country,” said Philip without turning around.

“But you do understand—”

“No, I don’t.” He turned around, and the fury of his expression startled her. “I don’t understand treating you like a prisoner for a crime no greater than wishing for some normal life and society. I don’t understand lying to you about what is rightfully yours. You should not have to run, Caroline. You should be able to live as you choose.”

“It’s easy for a man to say such things. The world sees things rather differently for women.”

She saw he wanted to argue that as well, but there was no point. It was the truth, and nothing could be done.

“What did your man—Mr. Upton, was it?—have to say about how matters stand?”

So, she told him about her meeting, and about Mr. Upton’s idea for buying a new parcel of land. As she spoke, Philip turned toward the papers. He picked up one and scanned it, and then looked to the map. He put down the first paper and picked up a second. He set that one down as well, and frowned.

“Do you know,” he murmured, “for the first time in my life, I’m wishing I was
my
brother.”

“Your brother?”

He nodded. “I’m the second son, remember? This”—he made a sweeping gesture above the stacks of documents—“is money and land management and improvements. That’s estate work in a nutshell. Owen’s very good at estate work.” He paused. “Odd. I’d never really thought of it until now, but I suppose I owe my allowance to that.”

“You do?”

He nodded, and stared at the papers for another long moment. At last, he seemed to reach a decision. “My father’s chair bound,” Philip said, without looking at her. “Has been since I was an infant. It was a hunting accident. His horse fell while he was trying to clear a fence, and rolled over on top of him before he could get out of the way. Crushed his hips. The doctors always said he was lucky to be alive at all. Not that . . .” He stopped. “That’s not a sentiment my father ever agreed with,” he added softly.

“Why?”

“A man can’t be a cripple. Not and be a real man.” Now Philip turned toward her, and whatever he saw in her face, it caused him to raise his brows, not in his mocking, aristocratic way, but in genuine surprise. “You don’t agree?”

“In our village, there are several men who came back crippled from Waterloo. I know things are very hard for them, but no one would dream of saying they were not real men.”

“Well, a battlefield injury is different. This was an accident. Afterward, he could not ride, or shoot, or even hold his liquor like he should, or . . .” He stopped, but Caroline knew what he meant.

“Father more sons?” she suggested.

“Just so.”

“Strange,” she murmured. “I think your father and my mother would have understood each other. Both were kept away from what they loved in life for reasons they could not control.”

He turned toward her and their eyes met. This was not the laughing, charming Lord of the Rakes. Confusion clouded his brow. This was a man treading an uncertain path, picking his way carefully, but gratefully, toward some unseen destination. This, she felt certain, was closer to the true Philip Montcalm than she had been yet. Understanding made her long to climb to her feet. She wanted to take him into her arms, and feel his around her. She wanted him to whisper in her ear that she was his destination, and that he would stay with her always.

Because she had done it. Between one night and the next, perhaps between one heartbeat and another, she had fallen in love with Philip Montcalm.

C
aroline raised her eyes to him, and Philip felt his heart swell. He had never felt so present in a single moment as he did standing there with her gazing on him. At the same time he had never felt so helpless. It was as if all the world had fallen away from beneath his feet, and now he had nowhere to stand.

“Caroline.” He breathed her name. He went to her. He could not even feel the carpet beneath his feet. He put his arms around her and gathered her to him. “Oh, Caroline.”

His mouth found hers, and the kiss was surprisingly gentle, and yet it seared a path straight to the center of him. His fingers brushed her hair, ever so lightly, as he moved his lips against hers. She was so sweet, so sad. He would kiss away all that sadness. He would ease her heart and soul with his body. He would give her everything. Anything. He could never say that. She could never know it, but he would give it all the same.

He pulled her closer. His hands moved lightly over her, not seeking to arouse, not yet. He just wanted to comfort her, to soothe her and bring her close. Arousal would come later. Soon. But not yet.

It was Caroline who broke the kiss. Her eyes were painfully uncertain as she looked up at him.

“I . . . I’m not sure.”

“You need to relax, Caroline.” He smoothed her curls back from her forehead. “You need rest. I can give that to you, if you’ll let me.” But under those words he felt he was trying to say something else, something he didn’t yet understand.

Her tawny eyes searched his for a moment. He noticed how the sunlight caught the green and golden flecks in their depths and made the dark ring surrounding the iris all the more dramatic. Her eyes would never cease to bewitch him. Not if he lived to be a hundred. They would always be the most beautiful, the most perfect, the most precious. Yet, looking at those magnificent eyes in this moment, he was aware he was afraid.

Caroline leaned in to kiss him again, and his mouth found hers with a feeling of profound relief. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him as if it was the only way he could prove to himself he was really there. His member swelled eagerly, and for a moment he resented its intrusion. He felt his body to be a crude, almost barbaric thing, not in keeping with the tenderness he wanted to impart to the woman in his arms.

Still kissing her, still delighting in the sweet warmth of her mouth, he backed them up, slowly, carefully, as if leading her in a dance, until he felt the sofa brush his thigh, and he was able to sink down with her. He rested her against the pillows and the crook of his arm. He kissed her cheek, her brow, her throat. He laced the fingers of her hand between his, and just held it, nothing more.

Time was meaningless. There was only Caroline’s skin beneath his mouth as he gifted her with the most gentle kisses in his power. But slowly, he became aware that she had begun to stir. She shifted, finding his mouth with her own again, opening to him, touching his lips and teeth with her tongue. Her hand tangled in his hair, bringing him closer to her so her tongue could reach more deeply and stroke his own.

Her urgency was his signal. Still moving slowly, he brought his hands around her ribs, running them up to cup the undersides of her breasts, gently pressing their mounds together and dropping his kisses to the soft flesh that overflowed her neckline. He turned her, still stroking, still kissing. He would not leave off touching her for a single instant. He undid her dress, easing the fabric away from her skin, which was more beautiful, softer and more lush than silk could ever be. He relished the work of undressing her, of feeling her living warmth and hearing her sounds of pleasure as he peeled away the layers of fabric and boning that kept her confined. None of it was needed now. He would free her.

When she was finally naked, she turned and stretched her arms up, displaying her entire body to him, reserving nothing. She let her head fall back and sighed once more, sweetly, happily, inviting him to indulge himself in her.

Yes, yes, this!
his whole body screamed.
This, and this, and this, forever and for always.

He began with her breasts. Her breasts were perfection, heavy and soft and full, adorned with her exquisite sensitive buds. He laved and he nipped and swirled his tongue around them. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she panted, the tension in her rising. Her skin almost burned his palms as he plumped her breasts, pressing them together until he could suck both her nipples at once. He had the power to give her such pleasure, and he would use it. He would drive every other thought, every single fear, from her.

Her hands were working at his clothes. She was trying to undress him. Philip groaned, torn between the desire to be naked against her and the knowledge that it would kill him to stop touching her even for an instant. Somehow, between the two of them, they did what was necessary, and his clothing joined hers on the floor. His member pulsed, its pain and pleasure keeping time with the frenzied beating of his heart as he tried to gather her to him and stretch out on the sofa at the same time.

He was too fast, or she was too eager. Whichever it was, they toppled to the floor.

Caroline shrieked, and he froze with her straddling him, and unaccountably, he felt himself blush for haste, and need. Their eyes met, and she laughed. Not a girlish giggle, oh, no, none of that for Caroline. It was a full, wonderful laugh, and he joined in and it was made all the better because she pressed her hands against his belly, and her laughter made her hips writhe across his.

Yes, this, this, this.
The thoughts pounded through his blood as he seized her, pressing her thighs against him. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing. He pulled her down, crushed her against him so he could feed on her mouth. He gave himself free rein to explore the whole of her back, to part the halves of her derriere and stroke her there, although she stiffened at first. She relaxed soon as he pressed and touched, showing her how very sensitive she was there. Every movement pressed her against him. Every movement made him harder, stronger. She slid her hand between them, wrapping her clever fingers around his shaft. He moaned at the delightful pressure and she laughed, and broke his embrace, rearing back over him.

“Can it be like this?” she asked, nudging herself forward so her curls pressed against the underside of his shaft. “With me . . . here?” She was using her hands to press him against her, rubbing herself with his shaft like it was a toy.

“Oh, yes,” he moaned. “Oh, God, yes!”

“Show me,” she panted, pumping him once, twice, hard, the way she knew he liked. “Show me how.”

Fortunately, his body knew what to do, because his mind was beyond any kind of thought. He gripped her more firmly, lifting her, bringing her forward. She got the idea, and rose onto her knees, slowly, running his tip down her folds, guiding him to her. He was panting when she seated him inside her. He was gritting his teeth to keep from begging. Her eyes were open, she was watching him.

Slowly, not looking away even for an instant, she lowered herself fully onto him. Philip shouted, wordless, mindless, lost entirely in the sight, the sensation, of this woman, this siren, this goddess, so deliberately taking him into herself. He fit exactly, and she clenched herself around him, the only touch she could offer more explosive than that of her greedy mouth.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Oh, yes, Caroline.”

Delight sparkled in her eyes. Her whole body was flushed with excitement and enjoyment. She wriggled playfully on top of him and the sensation almost had him spending himself right there.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now?” he growled. “Now we ride.”

He slapped both hands against her bottom and laughed when she shrieked. His lust roared through him. He was a lion, he was a barbarian, and he gloried in it. He grabbed her hips ruthlessly and lifted her up, and slammed her down, just as his hips rose to meet her. The jolt made her breasts bounce and her moan. He did it again, and again. For a moment she was able to hold his gaze, gasping, startled by the power of the rough friction. But soon the wild rhythm of it caught her and swept her away. She let him move them, let him thrust himself into her over and again. She groaned and cupped her breasts in her hands, pinching her own nipples, maybe not even aware of what she did, just mindlessly seeking her pleasure.

Oh, I’ll give you this, and more, and more, and more.

He shifted his hands around to her derriere again, pushing her down and forward so her pelvis tipped to separating its halves.

“Touch yourself!” he ordered, digging his fingers into her from behind.

She groaned. She might have said yes. He didn’t care. For all his strength, he was starving. Sensual craving filled him, and it could only be satisfied by what he saw, by her hand dipping into her folds and rubbing, and rubbing, making her clench herself even more tightly around him.

His finger found what it was looking for, the tight hole of her anus. He pressed, and pressed, and breached.

“What!” her eyes flew open.

“Yes,” he growled. He freed one hand from her bottom and clamped it over her hand where it rubbed her folds. He kept her stroking herself, not letting the pleasure fade for one moment. “I told you. This, too.”

He pressed her between his hands, grinding upward with his hips. He pressed her nub. He rocked her, pressing his finger deeper into her. She struggled, and yielded and struggled, uncertain whether she could surrender to this pleasure, but not saying no, not pulling away. He would stop, he would stop even now if she asked, even when he felt her tighten so beautifully around him. But she did not ask. She yielded, understood that this, too, was good, that it was allowed.

“Yes.” She rocked against him. “Yes, Philip!”

That was all it took. He was lost to himself. There was only her body, her heat, her motion. There was only this pleasure, this fire between them. It filled him and surrounded him, lifted him up, and even as it tore him to shreds, even as he heard himself shout from the force of what took him, he only wanted more, and knew he would want it forever.

 • • • 

It was a long time before Caroline could move. Which was probably just as well, because it allowed her some little extra time cradled against Philip, experiencing the odd, but not unpleasant sensation, of him growing soft inside her, before she had to let her gaze rove the sitting room, and groan.

Their clothing was a wrinkled pile of cloth underneath them. At some point, they must have banged into the table, because the teapot and one of the cups lay on the carpet, almost invisible under a drift of legal papers.

“Don’t worry about it.” Philip cupped her head and turned her gaze back to him. “Stay here.”

He wasn’t even smiling. He was just gazing at her, and she could not refuse.

“All right.” She lay back down and sighed as she snuggled against him. His body was hard and angled beneath her curves, and yet she was entirely comfortable sprawled across him. Her hair had come undone sometime during their glorious ride, and he was occupying himself in teasing out her curls so they fanned across her shoulders.

“I love your hair,” he murmured.

“I thought it was my derriere you loved.”

“That, too.” He smacked her with his free hand, which made her jiggle against him, and made her laugh.

“We’ll have to move eventually,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Flood, fire, act of Parliament.” Her fingertip circled his flat nipple idly.

“Fine.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “If any of those things should occur, we’ll move.”

She laughed and kissed his shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I needed you.”

He swallowed, and murmured something. She felt him tense, and warning threaded through her mind.

“What did you say?” She pushed herself up so she could see his face more clearly.

She watched him considering whether to lie, and then decide not to. “I only wish I had more to give you.”

He was trying to sit up, and Caroline rolled aside to give him room. “I don’t understand.”

Philip looked down at his spent member where it lay against his thigh, and smirked. “This is all I have, Caroline.” He gestured impatiently at it.

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true. This body, a little laughter, the games, desire. There’s nothing else. I used to think that was freedom.” He drew his knees up so he could rest his elbows against them and stared angrily across the disordered room. “But now . . . now I don’t know.”

“But your body is not all you give me!” Caroline snapped, angry that he could think so little of himself. “Your being here, listening to me and not turning away even though I’ve given you every reason to. You have no idea how important this is!”

He turned his brooding gaze toward her for a long moment, and she knew he was trying to discover if she meant what she said. Her anger redoubled. Did he think she would say such things if she did
not
mean them?

“But it’s not enough, is it?” he said. “It’s not what you really need.” She was about to dispute this, but some thought seemed to strike Philip. The force of it drained all the darkness from his expression, leaving only wonder behind.