A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  “At least until Elsie arrived.”

  His voice sounded gritty. Not weak like hers, but certainly strained. Everything about him from the bunching of his muscles to his continued grip on her skirts screamed of his need to break free of restraint.

  And she could not help believe he was holding back for the same reason she was. He wanted to kiss her, maybe even touch her. She felt it in her bones, in her blood. As elemental as the air in her lungs. Ivy feared if he did not break and give her that kiss, her body might waste away, starved of his touch.

  Licking her lips, she steeled herself for what was to come next. “Lift your arm.”

  She used the cloth to clean away some more of the grime and sweat from his body. “You are filthy,” she murmured in a bid to distract herself from the way his stomach muscles tensed as she slid the cloth down them.

  “Boxing rings are filthy places.”

  Suddenly the distance between them seemed so very great. He built railways and knew more than she ever would. He frequented places she would never step foot in. She might have some noble blood running through her but he was far superior to her in every way.

  What could she say for herself? She sang. If she could bring her voice out to the world then perhaps she might be able to say she brought joy to people but, for now, she could not even bring herself to sing in front of August. It frustrated her beyond all belief.

  “Ivy?”

  She peered down and realised she was absently stroking his firm stomach with the cloth. “Oh.” Abandoning the cloth, she reached for the salve and bent to rub it over the marks on his ribs. “I hope nothing is broken.”

  “No, just bruised. I’d know if it was.”

  She lifted her gaze to his and found that her mouth was mere inches away from his. Her breath near froze in her throat. “Have you broken a rib before?” she asked huskily.

  “Yes, a long time ago when I first started boxing. I didn’t...” His words trailed off and she saw his gaze drop to her lips.

  In response, she tucked her bottom lip under her top teeth. A sharp hiss echoed from him and her mouth tingled. She searched his gaze and saw it there—the same need flaring through her. So why did he not move? Why did his grip on her skirts tighten and why did his muscles bunch?

  “Please,” she whispered before she’d even thought about it.

  “What do you want, Ivy?” he asked in a low, rough voice.

  Did she have the courage to say? Few things held her back in life and she could rarely claim to have control of her tongue, but she hesitated for a moment. Perhaps because the stakes were so high. Her heart throbbed painfully as if to remind her exactly what was at stake. It would be so very easy to fall for him. But a kiss? Maybe more? Would that be so bad?

  “I want you,” she replied.

  August’s hand uncurled from her skirts and she peeked down to see him flex his fingers. Unhurriedly, he lifted his hand to touch her face. A finger skimmed over her cheek and came to rest on her bottom lip.

  “I cannot.”

  Did he want her to beg? For at this point, she was ready to do so. Frustration burned through her, only inflaming that spark.

  “August, please. Kiss me. You want to, I am sure of it. Kiss me before I explode with frustration.”

  His lips curved upwards. “You have such a way with words, Ivy.”

  “No more words.”

  His fingers slid beneath her hair that had been braided to one side but now hung loose from her shoving her hands through it in worry. Then he used his hold on the back of her head to draw her close. For many moments, he held her there, at his whim, his breath skimming her lips. Candlelight highlighted the cut on his lips and she wondered if demanding a kiss had really been a sensible idea but he cut off that thought by pressing his injured mouth to hers. Even the tang of blood could not persuade her she didn’t want his kiss.

  Disappointment burst through her when he dropped his hand from her hair and broke the kiss.

  However, when he coaxed her into the cradle of his thighs with his hands cupping her rear, a new thrill surged through her. Emboldened, she pushed her fingers through his dark hair, relishing the softness. He allowed her to as well. This independent, gruff man let her stroke his hair as if he were a child and in response he burrowed his face against her breasts. She heard him inhale deeply.

  “You smell divine.”

  “Perfume.”

  “Not just that. It’s you, Ivy. It makes me want to lick you all over and see if you taste as sweet as you smell.”

  The tips of her ears felt like they were burning at his words but at the same time, her chest swelled with pleasure. Not to mention she was now rocked by images of his lips on other parts of her body. Her inner thighs perhaps or even her breasts.

  “You are so hard to resist.”

  “Then do not,” she murmured.

  “I should not.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “And you don’t,” he stated.

  Not a question, just an observation. It was true, she rarely resisted impulses. She had wanted to become a singer so she had given in to the impulse to run away. She’d heard about jobs in Manchester so she’d travelled up here without any thought to the consequences. And then she had accepted a job she knew she was not suited to.

  And now she was giving into the impulse to kiss and touch him. But how could she regret any of it? Surely everything she had been through was for the best? She’d rather be in this predicament than married to some fusty old gentleman.

  Ivy had no qualms about giving into her impulses but August still seemed hesitant. How could she persuade him to follow in her footsteps and take what he wanted in life?

  She held his head to her chest, taking in several deep breaths. His fingers began to move over her rear, smoothing up and down. Desire simmered low in her belly and under her skin.

  “Touch me, August. Do not resist.”

  His fingers dug into her rear—hard. She released a gasp and an unnatural sound vibrated through the room, emanating from the back of his throat.

  “As if I could,” he growled.

  Hot lips met her collarbone. It felt like every part of her body sighed with contentment. Grip tight on his head, she urged him down until his mouth met one of her hard nipples. He sucked the peak through the cotton of her nightgown. The utter bliss of his hot mouth over the aching bud made her close her eyes. August released his grip on her rear and swept his hands under her robe to stroke her back. A rumbling moan sent vibrations through her body and she tightened her grip on him.

  “Oh, August.”

  “Bugger it.”

  He stood suddenly, forcing her hands to drop from him. He towered over her, his body slightly glistening and impossibly male. A small part of her wanted to shrivel away from him, unsure whether she could handle such a man, yet the part of her that always rose to the challenge relished the sight of his dark hair and flexing muscles.

  He pressed her back against the table, leaving her open to him. One hand rested on her lower back while the other grabbed her chemise and dragged it higher, higher. The silk of her robe stroked her thighs, making her aware of her nudity beneath the nightgown and how close his fingers were to touching her in her most intimate places.

  She longed for it, ached for it, but she’d never let a man touch her there before, not even in her most desperate moments when it would have been so easy to sell herself for a job or some money.

  His mouth lowered and claimed hers. The press of his swollen lips to hers stole her breath and made her head swim. Not only was she feeling the hard press of his lips but also his body—every hard, male inch of him. It shocked her, excited her, summoned up such overwhelming emotions that she hardly knew what to do with them.

  Curiosity, as it was so often want to do with her, burned through her. What did he look like there? Feel like? Taste...like? She’d heard of the practice of loving a man with her mouth. Living in the rough area of Manchester, she could hardly avoid s
uch talk, but never had it sounded appealing.

  Crushed. She was simply crushed by that wall of muscle. And savouring every moment of his break in restraint. Ivy opened her mouth to him and tasted the slight tang of blood. The fleeting thought she should not have insisted he kiss her was quickly dispersed by the way his tongue tangled with hers. She brought a hand up to grip the back of his neck, feeling the soft curl of his hair, and pinned him to her.

  Of its own accord, her body undulated into him, as though lifted by invisible strings. She might have demanded this but he was the puppet master and she his puppet. Her body was his to do with it as he would. Perhaps it had been this way since she’d first set eyes on him. Almost certainly it had been like this since he’d kissed her. August had dominated her thoughts far too often.

  Fingers gripped her bare hip under her chemise and she sucked in a sharp breath at the shock of it. Coarse, hot skin pressing into hers. Branding her in the most delicious yet wicked way.

  Ivy became aware of him fumbling with his trousers between them. She knew he was because his arousal no longer pressed into her, and she felt the brush of his knuckles near his stomach. She couldn’t help but stiffen. She’d wanted a kiss, yes, a touch, certainly. But more? As usual, she hadn’t thought past the first step. Oh dear.

  August worked his lips down her neck and grabbed her hand. In the next instant, her palm was pressed against something hard and hot.

  “Oh my.”

  “Dammit, Ivy, touch me.”

  Uncertainty, excitement, fear, arousal. All of it flooded her senses and made her stiffen. Her mind became a whirl. She kept her hand flat against that pulsing heat of his arousal, frozen.

  He rocked into her palm again, using his teeth to nip at her neck. Then one more time. “Need you, Ivy. So badly.”

  The words, so rough and wanting, coarse like some of his language, tore inside her. She needed him too but something held her back. Inexperience perhaps. An understanding that there would be no going back after this. A sudden realisation of how inappropriate it all was. She still wanted him. She couldn’t help it but...

  “Ivy?” He lifted his head away from her neck and met her gaze. His eyes searched hers. Then he cursed under his breath—a string of words that turned the air as blue as his gaze. Any other time it might have amused her but not now. Not when she was holding his... his cock.

  “Ivy, you should return to bed.” He lifted her hand away from him and pressed it back against the table, firmly away from his person.

  The disappointment stirring inside made tears singe her eyes. So confused, so desperate. She hardly knew what she wanted.

  “You don’t want this,” he said, shocking her at how he read her state of mind.

  “I-I do not kn—”

  “Return to bed,” he told her softly.

  August reached down, fastened his trousers and cupped her face with his free hand. Flattening a kiss to her forehead, he shifted enough to let her free of his embrace. She slipped out, unsure what else to do, and he rested both hands on the table, his head dropped in defeat.

  Ivy reached out but snatched her hand back at the last minute. He didn’t move, didn’t look at her. He only waited for her to leave. And what could she offer him? She hardly knew. This was too much. She’d come here to earn enough to get her back to London or to feed her until she found a job here. She’d certainly never intended to give up her innocence to her master.

  Stepping away, she moved swiftly to the door and drew it shut behind her only to pause at the sound of his palm smacking the table. Horrified, fascinated and wildly excited, Ivy put her eye to the gap in the door and watched as he opened his trousers and slipped a hand down. She couldn’t see much but she saw enough.

  She’d driven him to this. August closed his eyes and pleasured himself. His body was tense, his expression grim. Each rasping breath curled deep down inside her and she knew she’d never forget this sight. She watched until his eyes crunched tightly shut and his muscles quivered. Then he uttered her name...

  Chapter Fourteen

  August pondered the sharp point of the letter opener before slicing through the envelope. It would be put to better use cutting off a certain extremity, he thought grimly. Then he might at least get some peace. Three days since he’d kissed Ivy, since he’d... Damn it all to hell.

  Since he’d scared her.

  He clenched his teeth and eyed the drawing room clock. She was due back from her walk at any moment. She’d been studiously avoiding him since that evening in the kitchen. His wounds were healing but his shame refused to disappear. He had thought himself better than his base needs, but apparently not.

  Even now the memory of the feel of her stirred his cock. He recalled her heavy breaths and the way she kissed with such passion. But of course she did. Ivy lived every moment like that, with such excitement and fervour. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so passionate about anything—not even the tunnel. Certainly he’d been excited to begin with but once the scrutiny and the doubts had been heaped upon him that excitement had quickly been buried under a mountain of stress.

  Drawing out the letter, he skimmed the contents. Somehow he needed to make it up to her. But how did one apologise for all but thrusting one’s cock upon an innocent?

  Not to mention the gnawing ache in his belly reminded him that she had wanted him—that she had begged him to kiss her. Lord, that had been his undoing. How could he resist a woman in need, let alone one like Ivy with her expressive dark eyes and glossy, glorious hair?

  August pinched the bridge of his nose and re-read the invitation. He’d been expecting it. The summer gathering at Grandbury Hall was a regular occurrence and held by one of the railway tycoons, the Duke of Surridge. As much as he loathed social gatherings, he’d have to attend. It was expected.

  A woman strolling past the window drew his attention from the letter, bringing about the most ridiculous sensation within him. It wasn’t her. The brief bubble of anticipation quickly faded. Bloody hell, was he to spend the rest of his days feeling as though he were standing on the edge of a bridge waiting to jump?

  Or be pushed. Slowly but surely, Ivy was nudging him towards the edge. The other night had been the first push and he’d nearly fallen. How many more occurrences would he tolerate before he plummeted to his doom? How many more times would she beg him to kiss her?

  She wanted him—perhaps not in the same way he wanted her—but she did desire him. However, in her innocence she could hardly know what she was asking of him. And was he really willing to taint her so for a brief moment of passion? As she liked to remind him, she wouldn’t be here forever. Ivy might rarely think of consequences but he was all too aware of them. Everything he did had a consequence. When building a railway, nothing could be left to chance—not when lives and livelihoods depended on him.

  What would happen when they parted ways and he’d ruined her? She would never accept marriage, he knew that, so they would part ways. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her regretting her time with him.

  He discarded the letter on the side table and reached for his coffee, draining the too hot liquid quick enough to leave an unpleasant tingle on his tongue. Punishment perhaps for his sordid thoughts. No less than he deserved, he reckoned.

  So what other options did he have? Force her to leave and struggle to care for Elsie again? Or spend however long they had left together fighting the liquid heat that flowed through him and inevitably travelled down when she was around?

  August released a mocking laugh. What else could he do? He needed her—for Elsie’s sake. The child adored her. Sensible child. There was much to adore about Ivy. And he suspected Ivy was growing increasingly fond of the baby. He had to admit that now he was not carrying the burden of looking after her all the time, he took more pleasure in being with the child. Her increasing smiles and babbling words often made him chuckle.

  The front door clunked open and he jumped up from his chair before pausing, feeling like a prize f
ool.

  “Bloody idiot,” he muttered to himself and scraped a hand through his hair. He waited for the sound of the door shutting and stepped out into the hallway.

  Several reasons drove him to confront her. For one, he could not tolerate walking on eggshells in his own house. Additionally, the thought of her discomfort aggravated him. And finally—and this was hard to admit—he wanted to spend more than a brief moment with her. Looking at her, speaking to her would only feed his fantasies but he was like an opium addict—desperate for more.

  “Good morning.” He helped her draw the pram into the hallway and to one side.

  He might have laughed at the way she appeared so surprised at seeing him if he had felt in a more jovial mood. But that wary cast to her expression brought about a bitter taste on his tongue. Damnation, he didn’t want her scared of him. Perhaps he should reassure her, but how? He’d already broken his promise never to touch her.

  “You’ve been out for walk?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ivy lifted Elsie out of the pram and went to settle her on her hip but the child reached for him. He took her and allowed her to thread her fingers into his mouth. He nipped playfully at the tiny fingertips, making Elsie giggle. Ivy’s gaze flitted between them both, her brown eyes softening.

  She turned away swiftly to grab the newspaper from the pram. Annoyance burned his gut. She was still searching for auditions then. He had no reason to be annoyed. She’d been clear she would not be staying forever and if he could just get hold of his cousin, perhaps he’d have no need of her. Not to mention the infernal discomfort of having this beautiful woman under his roof would be at an end.

  But he still hated the thought of her leaving.

  “Any news of interest today?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” She released a sigh.

  August let his jaw go tight. Sir. God, how he hated that now. God, how he wanted to hear his name on her lips in that sensual, seductive voice of hers. Not that she had any clue as to how much pleasure he drew from her voice.

  “No auditions then?” he pressed before turning into the drawing room. He had Elsie so she’d have no choice but to follow.