by Emma Wildes
“They will blame me.” He ran his hand down his face. “Your parents will blame me. And God
knows the world will believe them.”
“How was I supposed to know it was a . . . a . . .” She couldn’t think of a proper word to describe
the party she’d almost attended.
Robert slouched a little lower in his seat and his smile was an ironic twist of his lips. “A
depraved, self-indulgent male gathering? My dear, did you not wonder why you and your parents
were not invited? You all are on the list of every fashionable hostess in London. Besides, when a
reprobate like Gerald Houseman throws a party, it is just an excuse for men to get together and
behave far less politely than we usually do when there are ladies in attendance.”
“Is that why you were there?” she asked. “So you could behave impolitely?”
“I think that was the original idea.” He paused, then added curtly, “But as you saw, I was
leaving.”
“Why is that?” she asked softly.
His hand tightened convulsively where it rested on his knee. “I found I wasn’t in the mood, after
all.”
“Damien said you’ve been spending a great deal of time at home.”
“Is there something amiss with that? Contrary to the popular opinion I spend every night gadding
about London, I actually stay home on a regular basis. Anyway, my activities don’t really matter,
for I do not have a reputation in peril, but you do. We are going to have to figure out a way to
safely and discreetly return you home.”
Considering all the trouble she’d gone to, and the possible disaster looming ahead, she wasn’t
willing to let him simply return her without at least saying what she’d risked so much to say.
“Since the damage is done and a small difference in time is moot at this point, could you not ask
your driver to drive around a bit so we can discuss this?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “In my experience, too much conversation with a woman is never a
good idea. And though I hate to ask, can you define this?”
She hesitated, knowing her next words could make all the difference in her future. Rebecca took
in a deep breath. “Us.”
Robert muttered that unfamiliar word again, shifting his tall body on the opposite seat. “Rebecca
—”
“Can’t we negotiate?”
“Negotiate?” He stared at her and narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
She swallowed down a lump of nervousness and went on with what she hoped was credible calm,
though her heart pounded. “Please understand, I am quite the opposite of you.”
For the first time since he’d spied her walking into that foyer, a glimmer of his usual reckless
charm surfaced. “Unfortunately, I’ve noticed, Miss Marston.”
Her laugh was a combination of tension and some well-needed relief at his levity. “I mean I
understand you have no wish to relinquish your freedom. Fine. As someone who has no freedom
to speak of, I believe I can see why you value the commodity. Perhaps we can work things out to
our mutual satisfaction. Make a bargain, if you will. All I ask is for you to give me a chance.”
He didn’t move.
Was she really going to do this? To say this outrageous thing based on a book written by a fallen
woman? Stake her happiness on the advice of a harlot?
Yes, she was. Because while Damien was doing his best to help her, he would soon leave for
Spain, and besides, this was a woman’s problem and it needed a woman’s touch.
Even her own mother had said it. We know what they want better than they do.
She’d read that wicked book in its entirety, and enlightened didn’t even begin to describe the
revelation. Oh yes, she’d been quite shocked by the frank descriptions, but also fascinated, and by
her reaction, maybe she really was just the woman for Robert Northfield.
What she really wanted was to do all of those forbidden things with him.
So she went on. Impossibly so. She couldn’t believe it, but she did it.
“Will you marry me?”
His lips parted in undisguised surprise. The stunned expression on his face would have been
comical except she was dreadfully nervous and had a feeling this was the most important moment
of her life.
“If we are wed,” Rebecca explained, hearing the quaver in her voice, “and I do not satisfy you in
every way possible, feel free to live your life as you did before. If you grow restless because I
can’t hold you, there will be no objection on my part over your lack of interest.” Rebecca paused
and gave him a calculated smile before she added in a hushed tone, “However, in the spirit of
being sporting about this whole thing, I must warn you that I have every intention of being all
you need.”
Robert had the feeling his face reflected his incredulity. Not since he was seventeen had he been
so bluntly propositioned. Elise had been twelve years older, an actress, and her intentions strictly
lascivious. One sultry summer evening she’d sought him out—after a performance he’d attended
with his family, no less—and whispered in his ear just what she wanted to do with him. She
adored beautiful young men, she’d explained in her signature husky voice with an unapologetic,
overtly sensual smile.
At the time, he was both sexually curious and flattered. Naturally, he managed to find a way to
the lady’s lodgings. That first affair had marked the beginning of his notoriety, and he’d been
offered sexual favors in many different ways—and from many different women—in the years
that had passed.
This was something else completely.
Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe a very innocent young woman hadn’t just told him in plain
terms she wanted to capture his sexual interest and had the confidence somehow—considering
her inexperience—she could keep it.
If he married her.
Robert closed his mouth, and fought to find something remotely intelligent to use as a response.
Nothing came to mind.
God help him, he was more intrigued than ever. She probably really didn’t even realize what she
promised, but the idea of teaching her was tantalizing in the extreme.
He was fairly sure he couldn’t tear his gaze from her face even on pain of death. Had she really
just proposed to him?
Her luminous blue-green eyes regarded him from across the small space as they rolled along the
street. He’d been so rattled when he saw her walk in the door at the party he hadn’t given his
driver any instructions, so her request for more time was already granted, whether she realized it
or not. George would wait until told to take them to any certain address. He’d undoubtedly seen
the young lady enter the carriage with him.
That was another point. Cloak or no, she still could have been recognized. Robert had told the
perfect truth earlier. If word got out she’d been seen at such an event as Houseman’s party, there
would be an enormous scandal.
Perhaps he had to marry her.
Maybe I wish to marry her.
Did he? As Damien would no doubt point out, Robert wasn’t sure he didn’t want to marry her,
and he was dead certain he didn’t want her marrying anyone else.
“Your father won’t agree.” The words came out hoarsely.
If I don’t satisfy you in every way possible . . .
“He just might. My m
other likes you. She isn’t precisely in favor of a match between us, but she
isn’t opposed, either. I think the intrigue of the situation appeals to her.” Rebecca arched a brow.
“It was really a stroke of genius to dance with her.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a genius,” he muttered. “I was just . . .”
She waited, looking interested in his response.
He had no idea what he even meant to say. Why had he danced with Lady Marston? He finally
settled on rasping out, “Rebecca, you needn’t be so selfless. You are beautiful, gifted, an heiress.
We both know every eligible man in London is at your feet.”
“Good, then that must include you. My parents are pressuring me to choose a husband soon. I
choose you. Can I assume you accept my offer?”
“It is hardly that simple.”
“Tell me why. You are eligible, aren’t you?” Her smile was slow and enticing. “Unless there is a
secret wife none of us know about.”
Damn her, she knew she was winning. No, worse, she knew she’d won.
It was time for him to take charge of the situation again.
At least he had the satisfaction of eliciting a surprised gasp as he suddenly reached across the
small distance between them and caught her by the waist, hauling her onto his lap. Robert grazed
his mouth against her temple. “Why do you do this to me?”
“I’ve asked that same question about your effect on me many times.” Her laugh held a breathless
note. “I’m afraid there isn’t an easy explanation.”
His lips traveled across the satin curve of her cheek, much like that first night in the garden. He
nibbled at the corner of her mouth in a reenactment of the moment when he held her against the
hedge as she dodged Lord Watts. “Fine, I agree to your terms, as long as you agree to mine.”
Her arms slid around his neck. “I doubt I will object to anything you say.”
His smile was deliberately wicked. “If I don’t satisfy you in every way, feel free to seek solace
elsewhere, but be warned, I intend to hold your interest.”
She quivered against him.
Then he kissed her. Not with the same restraint as the first time, but a lover’s kiss, hot and hard
and long. It was a promise and a silent vow. He ravished, but he also gave back, letting her feel
his hunger, but also his restraint.
In fact, when he finally resurfaced and lifted his mouth a fraction, he had no idea where in
London the carriage might have taken them, but he did know a wonderful inner peace he hadn’t
even suspected could exist after such a monumental decision. Robert murmured against her lips,
“We’ll need to marry soon.”
“To save my reputation in case anyone saw me tonight?” Rebecca laughed in a sweet exhale, lush
and warm in his arms.
“Because I can’t wait long. Perhaps you can tell.” He shifted so she could feel his erection against
the curve of her hip.
“Oh.”
He laughed at the underlying uncertainty in the exclamation, happy to have the upper hand again.
“I do have a certain reputation, you know.”
Then she turned the tables. Her hand slipped from his shoulder downward, across his jacket to
rest on his upper thigh, and then she touched him. It was through his breeches, but still he sucked
in a breath in an audible rasp as she pressed her palm against the length of his hard cock. “Why
wait at all?” she said in what could only be described as a sultry whisper. “We’re betrothed and
just agreed to an expedient wedding.”
It shocked the hell out of him. The suggestion, but also the boldness of the pressure of her hand.
It was a rather adventurous act from an innocent maiden.
“Good God, don’t say that.” Robert shifted, but she leaned into him, so he could feel the luscious
pressure of her breasts, and spiking desire shot through him. “Trust me, I don’t need the
temptation.”
“Your house is close to here.” Her lush lashes lowered. “Take me there. My parents don’t expect
me home for hours.”
Take me. . . .
He shouldn’t. Just a moment before he’d agreed to join the ranks of respectable married men who
honored their wives with proper vows. “Rebecca . . . no. I can wait.”
“What if I can’t?” She sounded breathless. “Don’t forget I’ve been dreaming of this for over a
year, ever since I first saw you. I want you.” One slim hand tugged at his cravat, loosening it. “I
intimated I might stay with Arabella. I’ve done it before. We have all night. If I do not return
home, my parents will not be alarmed.”
She had no idea what she was saying, what she offered. Robert caught her wrist. “Your father
could still very well refuse. If I behave dishonorably—”
“Do you plan on telling him? I don’t.” She freed her hand and kissed him again, untutored but
inquisitive, the tentative brush of her tongue into his mouth making him stifle a groan. All the
time her hands were busy, discarding his cravat and fumbling with the top fastenings of his shirt.
One small palm crept inside and pressed his bare chest, cool against his heated skin.
Bemused, aroused, and undecided, Robert broke the heated kiss with effort, trying to hold on to
his honor. “I need to take you back to your parents’ home.”
“Don’t worry about my father. I’ll marry you anyway, with or without his permission. He
probably would refuse to pay the marriage settlement—”
“I don’t care a fig for his money,” Robert interrupted curtly. “I don’t even want it if he gives us
his blessing. I want you.”
It was prudent to settle Rebecca back on the seat across from him and he deposited her back that
short distance, but it did nothing to help him. She looked just a little disheveled—delectably so—
with her mouth rosy and a flush on her cheeks. The aquamarine of her eyes shimmered. “Please.”
His resolve wavered at that one small word. Her allure was so powerful he had to close his hands
into fists to keep from reaching for her again. With an inner curse, Robert tapped sharply on the
ceiling to signal his driver.
Chapter Twenty-one
Society has a set of rules to govern the behavior of gentlemen and ladies. But in the bedroom, we
are simply men and women. Instead of the rules, I recommend you follow your instincts.
From the chapter titled: “Is It Scandalous, and If So, Should You Care?”
Lady R was nothing short of a genius. Rebecca felt her fiancé’s hands linger at her waist as he
lifted her from the carriage, and the smoldering hunger in his eyes made her stomach tighten.
Without a word he guided her up the steps of his town house.
Her fiancé.
Robert Northfield, no less.
“I keep only a modest staff.” He unlocked the door himself. “And they are discreet.”
So they would have to be, she thought in unwilling amusement, to serve a disreputable rake of his
stature. To her surprise, she didn’t resent the notion any longer, for she would remember as long
as she breathed the moment when he reached across his carriage and snatched her into his arms.
He’d looked unguarded.
“They’re used to you bringing women here.” She clasped his extended hand.
Robert shook his head, his azure eyes direct. “No one like you. Ever.”
That was true enough, she would guess. No eager virgins who had shamelessly ha
lf undressed
him in his carriage after they brazenly proposed marriage along with a scandalous promise of a
lifetime of sexual fulfillment. Rebecca would be more embarrassed over her actions if they hadn’t
produced the desired result. Had she couched her proposal in terms of romantic love, told him
how much she wanted to cradle his child in her arms, how she’d dreamed just as often of his
smile across the breakfast table as she had heated passion in his bed, what would have been his
reaction? She wasn’t sure, but she could guess.
To men, love represents vulnerability. When a man becomes emotionally attached to a woman,
she wields a great deal of influence in his life. You must understand that this frightens most of
them, whether they admit it or not. Of course, their fear varies in degrees from one male to
another. They embrace passion, but they tread around love most carefully. It is a glorious gift
when a man gives you both.
His bedroom was on the second floor and she got a brief glimpse of a huge bed hung with dark
silk, an armoire in the corner, a pair of boots by a carved chair, before he caught her shoulders
and stared into her eyes. “You’re sure? You’ve had no time to prepare, to talk to your mother or
whatever brides do. Rebecca, I can’t say with honesty I am reluctant to take you to bed, but I can
say I have no desire to ruin you.”
One of the servants had left a lamp lit for his return and the light gilded his golden brown hair.
She reached up and touched his jaw, feeling the faint hint of a beard under the clean-shaven
surface, her fingers both questing and gentle. “I’m prepared, and I have no need to talk to my
mother.”
Arched brows lifted but his hands slid down her arms in a light, practiced caress. “Is that so? I am
curious as to how.”
“Show me,” Rebecca whispered evasively, as she pushed his coat off his shoulders so she could
finish unbuttoning his shirt. “I want you to show me every wickedly wonderful aspect of what
happens between a man and a woman. I want to see you, to feel you.”
When she tugged his shirt out of his breeches, he helped, slipping it off his shoulders. His chest
was hard, the musculature well defined, his shoulders dauntingly wide. “I doubt we have time for
every wicked bit of education in the next hour or so,” he murmured, clad only in boots and