One Night with a Rake (Regency Rakes) (5 page)

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Nathaniel whispered.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Then she looked back up at him, indecision plain on her face.

It shouldn’t be this easy to seduce her. By rights, he ought to have to scale a castle wall or slay a dragon for her, even if it was an imaginary one as he had done back when they were children. Of course, then it had always been Anne’s gauzy kerchief he’d tried to win as a favor in their games, not a kiss.

Why had he never noticed the way Georgette’s eyes seemed to change color, going from a soft greenish-gray to the almost opalescent slate they were now?
A
trick
of
light?
he wondered. Or was it just that her pupils had widened enough to darken the whole?

“No.” She dropped her gaze, dark lashes settling on her cheeks in sooty crescents. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Oh, my lady, you took far too long to answer.” He leaned closer, stopping only about an inch from her mouth. “You shall have to pay a penalty now.”

He wasn’t sure whether he closed the distance between their lips or if she moved toward him, but suddenly his mouth was on hers again.

Lud, she was so sweet. Soft and pliant.

Warm, wet, and tasting just slightly of plum tart the Yorkingham cook had served at luncheon, Georgette’s lips were a revelation. There was a tender give and take in their kiss, a bending he hadn’t expected from an upright miss like her. She tilted her head a bit and parted her lips in silent invitation. He slipped in his tongue for a leisurely exploration of her mouth.

The little minx sucked it.

Then she made a soft, needy noise that went straight to his groin. He ached to hear her make that sound again, to make her beg before he gave her ease.

When he pressed himself against her, she rocked against him a little.

Sweet
Jezebel!

How could she rail against sin and then indulge in it with so little encouragement? This was one virgin who would take to his decadent bed games with enthusiasm.

She nipped his bottom lip and the shock of it made his rock-hard cock pulse once. He drew back in surprise.

“Where did you learn that?”

Her eyes flared wide. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No, you did it very right.” He kissed his way along her jawline and she tipped up her chin to give him easier access to her neck. He narrowly resisted giving her a love bite on that tender skin. “But where did you learn how to do it?”

“I read about it.”

“Really. Where?”

“Well, I told you I was teaching Mercy to read and…” She seemed distracted by his mouth and stopped speaking long enough to kiss him again, long and deeply, as if she couldn’t help herself. When she came up for air, she continued as if her sentence had only suffered an elongated comma. “And she was bored by Mother’s books on horticulture and couldn’t concentrate, so I asked my friend, Lady Constance Shipley, for something that might be more to Mercy’s tastes.”

“What books would those be?”

Georgette’s cheeks pinked to the color of cherry blossoms. “Just one book, actually. It’s not a book so much as a journal, you see. It’s the memoirs of a courtesan. I thought Mme. Charpentier was exaggerating when she explained that a kiss serves the same function as an appetizer.”

Nate laughed. “In the feast of love, that’s exactly what it is.” Georgette’s kisses had certainly made him hungry for more. “What else does this Mme. Charpentier have to say?”

She swallowed hard. “I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Suddenly Georgette ducked under his arm and escaped from the corner. She put a hand to her hair and smoothed back a light brown lock that had escaped the loose bun at her nape, studiously avoiding looking at him.

“So.” She cleared her throat noisily. “What do you intend to do with the brothel you’ve acquired?”

Just like that, she’d turned from a delightful wanton back into the crusading prig. Before he could answer, the library door swung open and the Yorkingham steward, Mr. Humphrey, stood framed in the opening. With his sagging jowls and perpetually sad eyes, Humphrey reminded Nate of a blooded hound who’d run his quarry to ground.

“Lady Georgette, Lord Winthrop has come calling again and is awaiting your pleasure in the parlor,” Mr. Humphrey said. “Your lady mother is there already and is expecting you forthwith. Shall I send for tea?”

“Yes, do,” Georgette said. Then she turned to Nate. “Forgive me, Lord Nathaniel, but I’m certain you understand. One doesn’t make the royal duke’s emissary wait.”

Without a pause for his reply, she scurried from the room, a becoming cherry pink flush on her cheeks and the scent of violets in her wake.

“Will you be wanting tea here in the library as well, my lord?” Humphrey said, a pointed reminder that Nate was
not
invited to take his refreshments in the parlor with Lord Winthrop, Lady Yorkingham, and the daughter of the house.

“No, Humphrey, no tea. But I wouldn’t say no to whatever sort of whisky you might have.”

The steward raised his brows but refrained from comment as he went to do Nate’s bidding.

Let
Humphrey
think
what
he
will.

Georgette had just kissed him with all the flair and thoroughness of an accomplished courtesan. Then she skittered away like a green girl. It would take more than a couple fingers of spirits to untangle the puzzle of this unexpectedly complicated miss.

***

“Thank you, dear lady,” Lord Winthrop said to Georgette’s mother as she handed him a steaming cup of Earl Grey. The aging noble took a sip and then made short work of three finger sandwiches without pausing for a breath.

Small
wonder
he
spills
out
of
the
Sheraton
chair
on
both
sides
, Georgette thought uncharitably.

“Now to the business nature of this social call.” Lord Winthrop brushed a few sandwich crumbs from his lapel. “I am empowered to suggest that His Highness should like to see the Lady Georgette in a social setting. A musical evening, perhaps? Does the young lady play?”

Georgette cringed inwardly. Her attempt at the piano was a legendary disaster. After years of lessons, she was finally allowed to stop when Humphrey reluctantly asked, on behalf of the staff, that they be given time off during her practice period so they wouldn’t be subjected to her painful scales.

“My daughter only plays for intimate family gatherings,” her mother said smoothly.

Or
whenever
Father
wishes
to
torture
someone
, Georgette added silently.

“Anything else has always struck Lord Yorkingham as unnecessarily pushing oneself forward,” Lady Yorkingham continued.

Oh, well done, Mother. Only, be careful. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

Georgette hid her smile behind a napkin. She honestly didn’t know why her presence was required at these little meetings with Lord Winthrop. She was hardly ever expected to speak on her own behalf.

“Then a ball, perhaps.” The aging lord lifted a wiry gray brow at Georgette. Then he blew on his tea to cool it. “You do dance, do you not?”

Since he’d addressed her directly, Georgette was allowed to answer, but she was saved from reply by her mother.

“Of course she does,” Lady Yorkingham said. “Her dance master assures me that our Georgette is quite a graceful dancer.”

Who’s always afraid she’s going to fall on her face.
Her mother might not want her to speak more than necessary, lest she say something off-putting, but no one could stop her from thinking as loudly as she pleased.

“Dancing well is a mark in Lady Georgette’s favor,” Winthrop said. “The country loved Princess Charlotte for her gaiety and vivacity. His Royal Highness, the Duke of Cambridge, is anxious to present the populace with a princess who will win their hearts as his niece did. It would help matters considerably if his future consort did not possess two left feet.”

A
virgin
womb
and
a
dowry
that
would
sink
a
galleon
is
evidently
insufficient
inducement
for
the
duke. Apparently, I’m also to perform like a trained monkey
.

Georgette buried her nose in her teacup and prayed she’d be able to keep those rebellious thoughts from slipping out of her mouth.

“Then I think a ball will do nicely to present our dear daughter and the duke to Society as a couple.” Lady Yorkingham took a sip of her own brew and Georgette could practically see the wheels turning in her inventive brain.

Her mother was a splendid hostess who delighted in dreaming up themed entertainments. The ton still rhapsodized over the Venetian Carnival ball Lady Yorkingham had presided over the year before Anne died. Acrobats had descended from the ceiling on long golden cords. Blue silk “canals” flowed over the polished hardwood, leading guests from one room to the next. Refreshments were wheeled in on gondola-shaped tables, and the footmen were decked out as harlequins. Georgette didn’t know how her mother could top that, but undoubtedly, Lady Yorkingham would try.

“Excellent,” Lord Winthrop said. “His Highness could see his way clear to attend, providing the date was a fortnight hence.”

“Oh! So soon?” Shock registered on her mother’s face for a moment, but then she recovered. “I rather thought after Princess Charlotte’s untimely demise, the royal family would not wish to be seen engaging in public social pursuits until the Season begins in earnest.”

Neatly
deflected
. Georgette knew her mother was aghast at the thought of planning and giving a ball opulent enough to be attended by a royal in the space of two measly weeks.

Georgette was doing a little deflecting of her own, trying to keep her attention on the conversation at hand. Every other minute her mind wandered back to Nathaniel and his kisses. The liquid heat of those wicked moments made her “nethers” tingle afresh with remembered warmth.

She ought to feel chagrined about letting the kiss happen, but the feel of his mouth on hers was such an
interesting
experience. Much more like Mme. Charpentier’s memoirs than her mother’s cryptic advice. Since Mme. Charpentier had been so accurate in her description of a kiss and its effects, Georgette decided there were definitely some other journal entries that deserved a second reading. It would certainly be safer than allowing Nathaniel to show her more about the “pleasures of love” firsthand.

But
much
less
fun.

“Of course, the royal family is still grieving Princess Charlotte, even though they’ve put off official mourning,” Lord Winthrop said. “I’m sure you’re aware that the succession is in question and until one of the royal dukes presents King George with a grandchild, niceties like full mourning must, of necessity, give way to practicalities.”

Like
getting
me
with
child
as
quickly
as
possible
after
the
vows
are
spoken.

Lord Winthrop raised a lorgnette, a throwback to the previous generation, and gave Georgette an unhurried perusal through the lens. She resisted the urge to squirm under the man’s intense scrutiny.

I
wonder
that
he
doesn’t ask to check my teeth for soundness.

She also wondered about her wedding night. Would the royal duke bite her like the stallion bit the mare or kiss her into submission like Nathaniel could?

“The royal duke undoubtedly has many pressing matters clamoring for his time,” Lady Yorkingham said carefully. “Surely two weeks is too little notice for an event to be included in his schedule.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be correct, but I’m certain you understand the need for haste. The Duke of Cambridge has many demands upon him, but rest assured, His Highness will give the match with Lady Georgette his full consideration. May I tell the Duke of Cambridge that he should expect to attend a ball here in a fortnight?”

Lord Winthrop lowered the lorgnette, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. “If he’s pleased with your daughter, who knows? The ball might serve as celebration of a betrothal to be followed shortly by a royal wedding.”

What
if
I’m not pleased with the Duke of Cambridge
?
The words danced on Georgette’s tongue, but she wisely kept them pirouetting there. She sometimes suspected if she thought things hard enough, the words might appear in bubbles over her head like the cartoons in the tabloids.

“I’m certain our Georgette will find favor in his eyes.” Lady Yorkingham smiled brightly at Winthrop. She’d been a celebrated beauty in her day and still retained the high-cheeked loveliness that didn’t fade. “My daughter is every inch a princess already.”

Georgette thought that was doing it a bit too brown. Evidently, Lord Winthrop did too, because he gave a noncommittal grunt.

“We shall leave that to His Highness to decide, but I am authorized to tell you that the duke is highly gratified with the reports he’s received concerning the Lady Georgette to date.”

Which
probably
means
my
dowry
is
sized
to
suit
.

Lord Winthrop began to make leaving noises, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat in preparation for hauling his bulk into an upright position. Georgette rose when he did. She dipped in the correct curtsy and followed her mother as Lady Yorkingham swanned across the parlor to see Lord Winthrop out.