Waiting for a Rogue

by Marie Tremayne

  Her mind rallied valiantly even as she accepted the invitation, parting her lips to open for him.

  I’ll not give him the satisfaction. I can just pull away and—

  With a muted groan, he invaded her mouth in one luscious stroke, and all her best intentions were cast aside. There was no opposing the hot pulsing need that flowed through her veins, nor could she deny the call of those dormant places that his kiss was awakening. Places that ached to be touched by his strong competent hands . . . or kissed with the same wicked mouth. The mere thought of such a thing caused her body to respond in new ways, excited and more keenly aware of the intimate potential of this man who, until recently, had been her adversary. Distantly, she reminded herself that he still was.

  A greedy flood of heat saturated her through to her core, and Caroline moaned softly. She suddenly felt confined beneath the tight press of her blue muslin bodice, and she longed for nothing more than for Cartwick to tear the meddlesome fabric away. Rising high on her toes, eager and full of longing, she wound her hands around the strong column of his neck and tugged him closer to deepen the kiss.

  To her shock, his grip loosened nearly as quickly as hers had tightened. She could hear him issue a low noise as he pulled just far enough away to foil her attempt, breaking their kiss in the process.

  “If I’d have known before that you had never been kissed, I would have been gentler in the hallway,” he said, his hands trailing down the length of her arms in an unhurried way that caused her to shudder in delight. His voice was controlled, but it was the harshness of his breathing that betrayed his own struggle.

  She was momentarily dazzled by his eyes, heavy and lidded with desire, golden and glowing. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, her body was primed for his touch, and she was in no mood to be shoved aside. Caroline stared up at him in defiance.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to be gentle,” she said, privately shocked at her own audacity. Judging from the surprise on his face, he was more than a little taken aback himself. “Maybe I liked the way you kissed me.”

  He reached out beside her face, his fingers sliding along an errant lock of auburn hair. “On both sides of the ocean, I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

  Caroline felt her lungs spasm in her chest. Surely, he didn’t mean that. He couldn’t possibly be sincere. She turned away.

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  He cocked his head to the side, perhaps seeing for the first time the extent of her insecurity. “But it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “What about my freckles?” Perhaps he hadn’t noticed those yet. She would gladly point them out to find something, anything, to put more space between them. “They were always my worst feature. My mother never let me play outside for fear of them darkening in the sun.”

  His gaze grew serious. “What a notion. Your little freckles are one of my favorite things. In fact, I’d like to kiss each one . . .”

  Jonathan’s head lowered, and his lips briefly touched the sloped tip of her nose before drifting over to her cheek, then sweeping across to the other side. She stood there, rendered immobile by her own surprise as he worshipped each exposed place that was marked by the pinpoint spots.

  “Oh,” she breathed softly, knowing she should push him away but so very unwilling to do so. Her temperature increased with the thought of the freckles that were scattered haphazardly all across her body, her brain conjuring visions of Cartwick’s simmering investigation of them all. Caroline slid her hands over the smooth linen that covered the broad expanse of his chest, luxuriating in the hard layer of muscle just beneath. “We mustn’t—”

  Jonathan claimed her mouth once more. She could envision him kissing her in every one of her soft places . . . across the curves of her breasts, between her eagerly parted thighs . . . and although she attempted to resist, the scorching heat of her arousal quickly spread. It had been a foolish supposition to think she could have somehow defied it in the first place.

  Caroline’s hands slid upwards to frame his face, and she flicked the tip of her tongue inside his mouth in a coquettish invitation to continue. He gladly accepted and wrapped his arms around her to pull her even closer. At last, she was pressed fully against him, only somewhat sated by the contact with him, separated as they were by their clothing. She wanted so much more . . .

  Jonathan jerked away once again. “Forgive me,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice and the breadth of his accent cutting through the hollow loss of his kiss. “You came here to ask for my help. You did not ask for this.”

  Caroline allowed her trembling fingers to drift down, testing the feel of him through the thin fabric of his shirt, traveling further down to his abdomen, then wrapping around his rib cage to splay across the tense muscles of his back. His body straightened and stiffened in her arms. It seemed to be a concerted effort not to touch her, but she understood his hesitation. Submitting to this overwhelming need would only complicate things between them, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “I will ask for it, if that is what you require,” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

  “With all due respect, my lady, I don’t think you know what you are asking for.” His gaze lowered to the swells of her breasts, compressed by her bodice, and when his eyes raised back up to meet hers there was an undeniable shimmer of heat.

  Perhaps she didn’t. She’d never managed to elicit a reaction, noteworthy or otherwise, from men during the season . . . but the way this man was staring at her now was most definitely a first. An illicit thrill raced inside her.

  “Mr. Cartwick,” she whispered. “I wish you would stop talking.” Caroline leaned in to melt against him, the softness of her breasts serving as an erotic counterpoint to the sculpted muscles beneath his clothes. She heard his breath catch and hoped his gentlemanly battle was nearing an end.

  I am definitely a wicked girl.

  How she had tried to talk herself into hating him. To talk herself into believing how singularly one-dimensional such a man must be. She’d been profoundly captivated by him instead. Now every thought was one of being possessed by him.

  Moving her hands around to the hard span of his chest, Caroline could feel the palpable tension under her fingers. She continued the steady course up his neck, not stopping until she sank her fingers into the thick, bronze waves of his hair to pull a troubled sigh from his lips. His countenance visibly wavered—eyelids dropping, gaze turning hazy for just a moment, before fixating on her once again.

  His fingers crept around the indent of her waist to settle over the small of her back, and she angled her face upwards to seek his mouth. But still, he shook his head and defied her by pulling away before she could catch his lips. She moaned plaintively in frustration.

  “My lady,” he murmured, his rapid breaths striking her cheek. “Surely you know there is no endgame here.”

  “I—” She paused, trying to think and failing miserably. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, one hand straying dangerously over her hip, “you’ve no plans to marry—”

  She stared at him as if in a daze. It was true, after all.

  “No. Never.”

  “—won’t even let anyone court you,” he admonished softly, his other hand rising up to brush against the curve of her breast.

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed, the thread of their conversation momentarily forgotten as she arched into his caress.

  “So what would be the point of any of . . . this?” he asked, his own breathing growing labored as he leaned down to press a kiss against the soft skin just beneath her earlobe.

  Tipping her head to the side, she let out another moan. God, he was right. But it didn’t change what was happening. It couldn’t prevent her from trembling with desire; from needing to join with him in a way she’d never thought to explore with anyone else. Her body knew just what it wanted to do, especially when one of his hands was roaming so fiendishly close to her bottom, and the other wa
s teasing her aching breast with strokes that were purely diabolical.

  Enough.

  Lunging upwards, she gripped great fistfuls of his shirt in her hands and kissed him hard. Jonathan’s hands clamped securely around her as the sudden movement upset their balance to send him stumbling backwards. Only his agile recovery ensured they landed safely, and he let out a soft grunt when the backs of his legs slammed against the solid edge of his desk. Still, he did not break the kiss, taking care to widen his stance before shifting his grip to her hips and tugging her tightly against him. The hard feel of his arousal through her skirts was a surprise, as was the warm jolt of dizzying pleasure that it caused. She tore her mouth away to let out a gasp.

  “I, oh—Jonathan . . .”

  “Don’t,” he groaned in admonishment. In this instance, she knew for him to hear it might rob him of whatever restraint he still had.

  Cartwick slid a hand up the length of her ribs to find her breast, his fingers closing around her swiftly, possessively. With a tiny intake of breath, she watched while he squeezed and kneaded, the sight of his hand on her unbearably exciting. Still, her clothing ruined the sensation of skin-to-skin contact that she so desperately craved, and she arched into his caress in silent supplication.

  “Please—” she whispered against his ear, hoping he would know what she needed. She’d told him she would ask, but she would beg for it if she had to . . .

  He took her lips once more, his fingertips gliding under the lace neckline of her dress to find the flesh that lay hidden beneath. She froze against his mouth, immobile with anticipation, and knowing what she was waiting for, he slowly stroked one fingertip against a tightly budded nipple. Pleasure rocked through her again as he teased her into unbearable sensitivity, then with a quick tug on the fabric he freed her breast from its blue muslin imprisonment. She bit her lip awkwardly and a hot wash of mortification flooded her cheeks, but his quiet laugh brought her gaze back to his in disbelief.

  “I didn’t take you for being shy.” His voice was amused but his eyes were nearly glowing with unadulterated lust.

  Her mouth fell open. “And I didn’t take you for—”

  Cartwick immediately silenced her with another vertigo-inducing kiss. Caroline did not think twice, or even at all, before receiving him, meeting his tongue with her own in what soon became a sensual duel that erased any last vestige of his amusement. Catching at her nipple, he squeezed it gently between his fingertips, causing the breath she’d been holding to release all at once, punctuated by a whimper of pleasure against his mouth.

  “God, I would give anything to have you,” he whispered, a note of mournful longing unmistakable in his voice.

  His gaze trapped hers, and she was astonished by the level of regret she saw there.

  Caroline had repelled him at every turn, for each wrong he had committed and even a few he had not. But now in the arms of this American invader, he was starting to feel like the only man who could help her put her life back together again.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the thought, only to have them fly open again when he bent down and drew her nipple into the searing liquid suction of his mouth. Delight shot through her amidst the soft chaos of her own cries, and she greedily sank her fingers into his hair to pull him closer. His tongue teased at the rosy tip, and he planted a soft kiss there before pulling away to cup her breast with a warm squeeze of his hand. She could only stare at him mutely as his thumb traced erotic circles around the swollen peak.

  “Caroline, you should leave. Before I—”

  Cartwick broke off, shaking his head and leaving the sentence unfinished. The rough surface of his fingertips scraped deliciously against her flesh, and she covered his hand with her own. His eyes lifted to meet hers, the pupils blown wide and dark.

  “Before you what?” she asked, wanting to hear his answer in the worst possible way.

  Jonathan’s answer remained unspoken, but he pulled away to gently shake her off, winding his hands tightly around her waist to walk her backwards. Caroline’s eyes darted anxiously, unable to see behind her, but in just a few moments he had pressed her back up against the oaken door where their lovemaking had begun. Hooking his fingers beneath her skirt-wrapped thigh, he raised her leg and urged his hips against hers, allowing her to feel him once again, watching as she writhed against the door with a gasp. His head lowered and he whispered roughly in her ear.

  “Before I take you, here, right now.”

  Any retort she may have had to hearing his astonishing words was stolen away by the eager slide of his mouth. She wasn’t certain what she would have said, but soon it didn’t matter. Caroline gripped his arms and moved her hips against his in a motion that set off brightly kindling blooms of ecstasy.

  “No.”

  His objection could barely be understood through the tangle of their kisses, which did not slow down or stop. Mystified and driven wild by the pleasure that rose steadily where their bodies met, she was unwilling to heed him. Caroline rocked against him again with a soft cry, her head careening amidst another warm wash of bliss, and Cartwick muttered an oath as his grip tightened around her leg, straining forwards now to meet her. She tore her mouth away from his.

  “Mr. Cartwick, I—oh—”

  Too late she’d realized the perilous territory she’d strayed into, and all at once it became too much. The rhythmic press of his body, the sound of his labored breathing beside her ear and the knowledge that he wanted to give her pleasure helped her to quickly find it. Her surprised cry of release was hurriedly muffled by another kiss from Cartwick as she surrendered, surging inside his arms, each voluptuous wave enveloping her until she exhausted herself to slump against the door in a daze.

  It didn’t take long for his demeanor to shift into guilty acknowledgment of his own part in what had just happened, and his head lowered when it did. Slowly, gradually, he extricated himself from their embrace.

  Her cheeks turned hot. She would have felt even more foolish, but Jonathan showed a little compassion by moving the neckline of her bodice, adjusting the cornflower muslin back into place over her breasts. Caroline could feel her lips shaking as she fumbled to find the right words . . . any words, really. In all her life, she’d never experienced such awkwardness.

  “I-I’m sorry. I’ll just . . .” Failing miserably, she scowled down at her hands then pivoted on her heel, making her way on wobbly legs to fumble at the cool handle of the doorknob. “Good-bye, Mr. Cartwick—”

  The flat of his palm pushed against the door, preventing her departure, and she turned to glance at him over her shoulder.

  “As much as it pains me, you and I both know we cannot be lovers,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  Lovers. The word sparked another wave of desire and Caroline sighed in anxiety. She tried tugging on the knob again but his grip held fast.

  “Must you?” she asked. Really, she just needed to leave before doing anything else she’d regret today.

  But his large masculine presence was palpable behind her. Heat radiated outwards like the rays of some brilliant sun, and she longed to sink back into him; to let him warm her through from the inside. His next words were spoken beside her ear, closer than she’d expected, and she couldn’t help but shiver in response.

  “Perhaps, though,” he continued, “you could treat me more as a partner, with our mutual interest focused primarily on your aunt’s well-being? It is why you came here today, after all.”

  “Partners may be taking it a bit too far. Unless you don’t mind my holding a meeting with your land agent to discuss Windham Hill?”

  Cartwick stepped forwards to lean a broad shoulder against the doorjamb. He eyed her curiously. “In an effort to . . . what? Prevent the acquisition of property I already own?”

  Caroline stared at him with surly insistence, knowing there was nothing she could really say to that. “Perhaps,” she finally replied, struggling in vain to prevent a smile from forming. She valiantly forced her expression b
ack into something more aloof. “Fine. It was a silly idea. Now let me out.”

  A grin flashed across his face, sending a thrill spiraling through her chest, and she narrowed her eyes at him even further. He straightened with a bow, then extended his hand in her direction.

  “Right after we shake hands,” he said, “just as I would with any other business associate.”

  This spelled trouble, especially when every place he had touched was still tingling and yearning for more. Even so, she stared disbelievingly at her own hand as she reached out to take his, desperate to be done with the silly gesture and out into the comparative safety of her awaiting carriage.

  “Fine.” Glowering, she completed the perfunctory handshake, trying not to notice the residual fire that burned beneath her skin at the merest contact with him. “Happy?”

  Holding her gaze, he surprised her by turning her hand and smoothly raising it to his lips. Her whole body tensed in acknowledgment of the pleasure that suddenly flooded through her.

  “Yes,” he replied, his breath warm and lush upon her skin.

  She very much doubted that he concluded normal business conversations in such a way, but he had finally relinquished her hand and she needed to leave before she pleaded with him to finish what they’d started earlier. Caroline dipped her chin into a hasty nod and yanked the door open to bolt gracelessly from the room.

  It was only after the carriage door had slammed safely behind her that she realized she’d forgotten her blasted bonnet in his study.

  Chapter Twelve

  Caroline woke from a light and dreamless sleep, eyelids fluttering open amidst the gloom inside Frances’s bedchamber. Her weary eyes moved across the dim shapes of the bureau at the far end of the room and the shadowy outlines of porcelain figurines on the small table nearby, before a shooting pain down her right arm indicated she had lain in one position for too long. She shifted her weight, tugging at the nightgown that had become trapped beneath her body, and rolled onto her back to massage the painful limb. As the circulation returned, she rolled over to her left side to find Frances lying beside her awake and wide-eyed.