One Night with a Rake (Regency Rakes) (8 page)

“Beau-ti-ful-four! There-you-go-four,” Nate called out as he and Georgette moved through the intricate steps. Simple counting had become boring in short order, and after his particularly untuneful attempt at humming an appropriate melody in common time, he’d settled on rhythmic encouragement to keep their steps synchronized.

It had the added benefit of making Georgette laugh at intervals. Her nose was still a little red from her earlier tears, but her eyes were brighter now. Nathaniel had never been tempted to hit a woman before, but if he were Lord Yorkingham, he’d have taken his wife over his knee and paddled her bum before he let her crush his daughter’s spirit as Lady Yorkingham had crushed Georgette’s at the dining table.

“One-more-turn-four,” Georgette said, giving him a bit of a break as the set of figures came to a close and she settled into a deep curtsy. “Now-we’re-done-four.”

“Done for? Oh, I hope not.”

She laughed and the joyful sound broke over his heart like a sunrise. Then her expression turned serious.

“This helps tremendously. Now I’ll be able to face Mr. Gooch tomorrow. Thank you, Nathaniel.”

“My pleasure, milady.” He swept an old-fashioned bow. “Now, enough country dances. Do you know how to waltz?”

Her eyes went round. “Of course not. I’ve never even seen it danced, but I’ve heard it’s positively indecent.”

He silently conceded the point. The waltz made a man and a woman move in tandem, their bodies as close as the man dared and the woman allowed. There was no doubt about it. There was something undeniably sensual about dipping and turning together to a languid three-quarter-time melody.

“Indecent or not, the Prince Regent is mad about the waltz,” Nathaniel said. “He introduced it to his court over a year ago.”

“I read the notices at the time.” She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “‘Obscene’ was one of the nicer things the
Times
had to say about it.”

“The press will come around so long as the dance remains a favorite at court. They always do. In the end, the royals can do no wrong.”

As
opposed
to
me
, he thought wryly.

“Imagine how pleased your mother will be when you surprise her and the Duke of Cambridge with a waltz,” he said.

Her worried frown was back.

Nate despised himself for stooping to that level of extortion, but he wanted so desperately to hold her, it was beginning to border on a sickness. She’d been skittish around him since he took those liberties in the hackney. Teaching her the waltz was the only way he could be sure she’d allow him to touch her again.

Finally, she sighed. “Very well. Teach me.”

***

Reuben knew the rich were different. It was more than the cut of their clothes or their fancy educated talk. Everything they did seemed to shimmer with elegance. Like the way Lady Georgette and Lord Nathaniel were moving together around the room, for instance. Every step in time bespoke quality.

Even though the dance did look a bit like doin’ the unmentionable deed with their clothes on. Still, if the nobility did it, it must be all right.

“I never seen that dance before,” he whispered to Mercy. The pair of them had sneaked up to the little balcony usually reserved for the string quartet that played when Yorkingham House hosted a ball or soirée. The curtained balcony offered a perfect spot to watch the couple below with no danger of being caught hovering near the open doorways.

“It’s the waltz,” Mercy whispered. “But they’re doing it a good bit slower than usual.”

With each pass around the room, the space between Lady Georgette and the gentleman shrank until Reuben could see no daylight between them at all.

“Is he holding my lady a good bit closer than he ought as well?”

Mercy nodded, holding a slim finger over his lips to shush him.

“Thought so,” Reuben said, bending so he could whisper into Mercy’s little shell of an ear. He decided the need to keep quiet was a good thing if it meant she let him put his lips so close to her tender earlobe. “Should we stop them?”

She shrugged. “It’s just a dance. Her ladyship’s not complaining.”

Judging from the soft, doe-eyed expression on Lady Georgette’s face, she wasn’t likely to complain in the near future either.

Reuben and Mercy watched in silence for a few more minutes. The light scent of violets with a musky undertone teased Reuben’s nostrils.

“Have you been into milady’s perfume?”

Mercy’s gaze jerked toward him at that. If she’d been a cat, her back would have been fully arched. “She knows about it. She told me to help myself, so she did. Don’t ye be thinkin’ I’ve got sticky fingers.”

“I wouldn’t think that,” Reuben said. “I was only thinking how nice you smell.”

“Oh.” The cat’s back settled a bit. Mercy turned away to peer down at the dancers. “Thank you, Reuben,” she whispered. “Er, you smell nice too.”

“Me? I don’t wear no scent.”

Something inside him leaped up in joy. It was the first time she’d ever called him by his Christian name. He was usually “Mr. Darling” to her.

Unless it was “lummock” or “moron” or some other nickname that folks might consider an insult. He knew she was teasing when she did that.

He hoped she was teasing.

One of her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “Must just be you I’m smelling, then.”

As they stood there side by side, he was achingly aware that her hand was brushing against his. Not so close as to be considered actually touching, but near enough to tease the dusting of hair on the back of his hand. He bit the inside of his cheek to contain himself.

Then Mercy nearly surprised the breeches off him. She slipped her fingers into his hand.

“Ye know what they say about dancing, don’t ye?” she whispered without looking at him.

He shook his head, then realized she couldn’t have seen that gesture since she was still peering through the slit in the thick velvet curtains. “What do they say?”

She slanted a sly gaze at him. “That it’s all about using music as an excuse so folk can do upright what they’re thinking about doin’ lying down.”

Lying
down?
Reuben swallowed hard. All his muscles tensed up hard, too. Yes, indeed, hard described him just about everywhere.

Mercy looked up at him, her eyes enormous in the dimness. “I haven’t danced with a man in a while.” She ran her little tongue over her bottom lip. “A long while.”

Reuben’s groin ached as he slipped a hand along the curve of her waist. “I don’t see as how we could do a reel here in this little space, but I collect we might manage that waltz thing if we take really small steps.”

Mercy made a low growl in the back of her throat. Then she dragged him out of the curtained balcony and into the narrow hall used only by the help. She didn’t stop there, pulling him behind her toward the back stairs.

“What about milady?” he asked.

“Milady’s fine. She’s a big girl,” Mercy said. “She can certainly manage a gentleman like Lord Nathaniel or I’m much mistook.”

Instead of heading down to the common room below stairs, Mercy began climbing the steps.

“We’re not going back to join the others?” Reuben asked.

“No.”

“Then where are we going?”

She stopped on the step above him, turned around, and cupped his cheeks with both hands. Then she kissed him, right on the mouth.

It was hard and quick, a resounding bass drum bang of a kiss. It reverberated through him, clear to the soles of his feet.

“Ye’re a fine figure of a man, Reuben Darling, and we’re going to my room,” she said simply. “Now don’t ye say another word. Or I might just change my mind.”

Reuben clamped his lips shut and purposed in his heart not to utter another sound, if his hope of heaven depended upon it.

He suspected it truly did.

The room swirled around Georgette in a soft blur. Nathaniel tried manfully to hum, but he was as poor at staying in the same key as she was at playing the pianoforte.

It didn’t matter. It seemed she could almost hear the tune he was attempting to hum played instead on shimmering strings.

The gentle swish of her skirts. The warm glide of muscles moving together. The heat of Nathaniel’s gaze as he looked down at her.

Georgette was no longer capable of coherent thought. All she could do was register impressions in disjointed images of the ballroom and their place in it. Her body was flush against Nathaniel’s as they turned and dipped in perfect concert.

She was born to waltz with this man.

And it didn’t feel at all lewd. It felt natural. Meant to be, somehow.

Wonderful.

Then the tempo slowed and Nathaniel raised her hand to signal a final underarm turn. She twirled slowly back into a close hold position as they came to a stop. Her skirts continued to turn for a moment, brushing against her pantalets in a silk-on-silk caress. Then the fabric swirled back into the stately column her modiste had meant for it to resemble.

Nathaniel didn’t move. He simply went on holding her with one arm around her waist and the other sheltering her hand against his chest. When he looked down at her, his gaze was strangely hungry. As if he’d like to start nibbling on her around the edges and not stop until he’d consumed her entirely.

I
suspect
I’d like that.

She ought to say something. Do something.

But that would mean breaking the spell, and who knew when a moment this perfect would ever come again? She couldn’t bear to leave the protected circle of Nathaniel’s arms.

“Georgette,” he said softly, his deep bass resonating through her. The way he said her name gave her the shivers. It was as if he were making love to the syllables. Rolling the bits of her name over his tongue, tasting them, caressing them.

What if he were to do that to the rest of her?

Her chest constricted. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but she raised herself slightly, rocking up on her toes.

“Forgive me,” he said huskily.

She didn’t have time to wonder what he was asking forgiveness for. He closed the distance between their mouths and rational thought fled.

A
kiss
doesn’t require forgiveness.

It was exactly what she wanted.
Needed
.

Not that it made any sense, of course. If she were thinking clearly, she really ought to bolt from the room. After all, she was all but promised to the Duke of Cambridge.

But somehow, there was no other way to end her waltz with Nathaniel than this shared breath, this soft, moist joining of their mouths.

So she didn’t protest when he lifted her off her feet and walked her toward the nearest damask-covered wall without breaking off their kiss. Languid and sensual, it still felt like part of the dance. He set her down with her back pressed to the wall. His body moved against hers ever so slightly, his hardness against her softness.

The rhythm was hypnotic and somehow musical, as if the waltz were still going on in the way he rocked against her and she tilted into him. Their kiss deepened as she chased his tongue back into his blessed mouth.

Forgive him, he’d said. For what? He’d given her back her confidence in the ballroom. She’d be able to face Mr. Gooch tomorrow with her head high and her feet in the correct positions at all times.

Nathaniel had also taught her to kiss. At least she wouldn’t go to her wedding night completely ignorant. But if she lived to be one hundred, she’d never experience perfection to match his lips on hers.

He’d waltzed with her. She knew now what it was like to feel a man’s body all tangled up with hers. She wouldn’t be surprised by the hollow, strangely pleasant ache it caused. She’d recognize it for what it was and learn to welcome the low drumbeat in her belly, the warmth that pooled between her thighs.

It was as natural as breathing.

It was “the way of a man with a maid” conveyed with more clarity than if her mother had bungled through an attempt to explain matters to her. And it was even more exciting than Madam Charpentier’s flowery, salacious descriptions of sexual congress.

Not that what they were doing was anything remotely like actual sexual congress. If, as the courtesan’s memoirs declared, the kiss was an appetizer, this wicked bit of love play could properly be described as the first course.

Nathaniel kissed her cheeks, her neck, and all along her jawline, leaving flutters of bliss in his wake. Then the wicked man took her earlobe between his lips and sucked.

Oh, what a sinful zing of pleasure arced through her body. It was enough to make her forget she was a maiden. To forget she would eventually go to another man’s arms. To ignore the fact that he was bunching her skirts in his fist and her hem now hovered around her waist—

“Nathaniel,” she said, surprised her voice still worked.

“Mmmm?”

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved down along the edge of her bodice and let his lips hover over the peaks of her breasts. He took one into his mouth, though silk and muslin still separated them. Even so, that needy bit of her made her arch her back, the better to be suckled.

The pleasant ache turned demanding. Tyrannical. She’d never wanted for anything in all her life, but she wanted now. Even though she was still a bit fuzzy on what it was exactly that would sooth that terrible ache, Nathaniel surely knew, and he’d be more than willing to give her ease.

She’d thought herself worldly after mastering the kiss. Now she knew sensuality was an ocean. She’d barely dabbled her toes in the shallow end.

His mouth was a drugging elixir. She couldn’t be bothered to care that he was leaving a damp spot on her bodice, so long as he kept suckling her nipple through the fabric. Then his hand moved between their bodies and cupped her sex.

The effect was like heat lightning crackling over her skin, sparking with pleasure. Georgette sucked a quick breath over her teeth. Never in all her life had she imagined anyone would touch her
there
.

My
“nethers,” for pity’s sake.
She had never known what to call that part of herself and decided Mercy’s word was as good as anything.

And she’d never known that a touch there would be so shattering.

She felt achy and swollen. When one of his fingers slipped through the slit in the crotch of her pantalets, she realized she was wet too.

Slippery as moss in a well, if the way his fingers glided through her hidden valley was any indication.

He grazed an extra sensitive spot and pleasure radiated in waves from the slick folds between her legs. But the ache didn’t abate one whit. If anything, it throbbed all the harder.

Her knees started to buckle and she might have gone down if not for the way Nathaniel held her. She’d never felt so out of control, as if she were spiraling into a maelstrom with no way out.

This
has
to
stop.

With supreme effort, she cupped his cheeks and pushed him away from her breast.

He lifted his head and met her gaze. His eyes had gone dark, the pupils enlarged so that his irises were simply rings of cobalt around black wells. His breathing was as ragged as hers. He still held her “nethers” in his hand.

She wasn’t thinking very clearly, but something niggled at her brain. He’d asked her forgiveness just before they kissed. It occurred to her that he’d known exactly what he was about to do to her.

Well, he would, wouldn’t he, him being an accomplished rake and all?

It was like the Eden story, only reversed. This time Adam opened Eve’s eyes.

“Nate.” She couldn’t manage more for another three breaths. She struggled with the ache and finally subdued it. “I…forgive…you.”

That made him straighten to his full height, his expression as stricken as if she’d slapped him. Clarity flooded back into her mind and with it fresh resolve. She needed to end this.

Quickly.

“Now I understand why those poor girls in Covent Garden fall into that life.” Georgette gently pushed his hand away and ruffled her skirts till the hem fell to the floor. She still felt exposed as she exhaled shakily. “Please don’t do that to me again.”

Georgette eased around him. Somehow, she walked across the wide open dance floor toward the door. Her insides clamored for her to look behind her at Nate, but she didn’t dare. If she did, she might run back to him and tell him she was a goose. She didn’t mean a word of it and if he’d be pleased to continue to diddle her silly, she’d count it as a personal favor.

She paused when her hand closed over the crystal doorknob. Without turning around, she said, “I know you are a guest in my parents’ house, but you are not my guest. Stay far away from me.”

Just because she forgave him for giving her a forbidden taste of carnal knowledge, it didn’t mean she had to hang around the tree waiting for him to tempt her with another bite of the apple.

***

Gasping, Reuben Darling rolled onto his back. Hundreds of times, he’d imagined what it would be like to take Mercy Atwood to bed. To strip off her clothes and make her his, finally and completely.

His wildest dreams hadn’t come within spitting distance of the real thing.

“Oooh, that was nice,” she cooed.

“Nice? It was bloody incredible!”

She propped herself up on one elbow and grinned down at him. “Ye have a ways to go before ye hit ‘bloody incredible,’ but ‘nice’ isn’t a bad place to start, Mr. Darling. I suspect ye’re going to learn quicker than I thought.”

Some of the golden glow of his heart-pounding release faded a bit and not only because she’d classed their coupling as merely “nice.” He was more upset because she was back to calling him “Mr. Darling.”

He’d liked it when she called him “Reuben.” In fact, she’d practically sang “Reuben” while her tight little insides fisted around him and her limbs bucked in release. He’d worked around the hard shell of disdain Mercy used to keep folk at arm’s length. He thought he was finally getting close to her. Hearing “Mr. Darling” drop from her lips now was like taking ten steps backward. “What was wrong with it?”

“Sure ye want to know?” She ran her tongue across her upper teeth and smiled like a cat who’d just licked away the incriminating evidence of stolen cream. The sheet drooped just enough to bare one of her lovely breasts, its rosy nipple still a tight bud.

He was grateful she insisted on leaving the candle burning. The other women he’d been with—and he could count them on the fingers of one hand—had been shy about being seen in the buff, so he’d had to use his imagination a lot. Mercy Atwood in the altogether was so much better to look upon than he could have ever imagined.

“I want to know,” Reuben said. If there was a chance he could bed this little minx again, he’d suffer through her criticisms willingly enough. After all, she criticized nearly everything he did outside the bed. Why should he expect this to be any different? He laced his fingers behind his head. “Tell me.”

“Let’s start with the good things first, shall we? Ye’re a tall, handsome man, but I was afeard ye mightn’t be what ye might call—oh, what was that word milady tried to teach me? Oh, yes, now I mind it. Proportional. That’s the word.” She slid a hand under the sheet and fondled his now flaccid member. “But fortunately for the both of us, ye’re blessed with a fine, big thing. You’re a very
proportional
fellow.”

“Saints and demons, woman.” He grasped her wrist. It hadn’t even been two minutes yet since he pumped himself dry into her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, just trying to see if ye’re still alive,” she said with a giggle.

To his very great relief, he began to stiffen again under her touch.

“There he is.” She lifted the sheet and blew a kiss to his swelling cock. Her smile was tinged with sweet wickedness. “As I hoped, quick on the ready as well.”

She wiggled down under the covers.

“What are you do—holy God!”

She licked the full length of him and took the head into her hot little mouth.

Reuben had heard of such things, but he never imagined he’d ever have a woman do it for him. Not without paying for her to, in any case. He’d have sworn there wasn’t another drop in him, but now he gritted his teeth to keep from spilling into her sweet mouth.

Then he remembered men used to pay Mercy for this. He didn’t want her thinking he expected it. He reached under the covers and pulled her up for air before the pressure in his shaft reached the point of no return.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“Don’t you like it?”

Not
like
it?
He’d never heard Mercy say anything so monumentally stupid but didn’t think she’d appreciate him pointing it out. After all, between the two of them, she was convinced she was the one with all the brains.

“I like it fine. It’s better than fine. It’s…it’s…” He searched in vain for a word that was big enough, grand enough to let her know she made him feel like a god when she took him in and swirled her tongue over him. Finally, he gave up and blurted out, “I love you.”

Mercy laughed. Not a chuckle. Not a musical giggle. It was a full-throated belly laugh. She clutched her pillow and buried her face in it, lest her laughter bring the whole house down on them.

“What’s so funny?” He sat up in bed and folded his arms across his chest.

“You, you big lummock.” She wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “First time a girl sucks yer thing and ye fancy yourself in love with her.”

“What makes you think you’re the first?”

“Aren’t I?”

She was, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of telling her so.

“Most girls don’t laugh at a fellow when he offers his heart,” he said testily.

“But I don’t want yer heart, Reuben. Keep it for someone who deserves it.” She draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his neck. “I only want ye in my bed from time to time. Let’s just have fun together. I’ll teach ye everything I know. We’ll make it to ‘bloody incredible’ in no time.” She latched onto his earlobe and suckled it a bit. “Don’t ye think ye could like that fine?”