When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  William. Stupid blighter. “What did he do?”

  Her flush deepened, and she opened her eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “I would hate to make the same mistake,” Liam answered in the same low, languid voice. He ran his hands down her arms and wove his fingers through hers, lifting her hands to place them on his knees. It had the desired effect; she almost seemed to hold her breath. He slid his arms beneath hers and tugged at the string of her petticoat bodice. “Did he throw you on the sofa? Bend you over a table? Up against a wall?”

  “No,” she said, although her voice was tighter than it had been. “He persuaded me to take him to my bedroom, and sit on the bed with him. It was all very lovely—like this—until he—he got on top of me. A few minutes later it was over. He pulled down my skirt, kissed me on the cheek and said he’d had a wonderful time but he had to get back to work. I hardly saw him after that.”

  “The man should be shot,” said Liam with feeling. “What a bloody arse.”

  She gave a short, nervous laugh. “I thought it was the most disappointing thing. I didn’t expect him to stay and marry me—I never did, so I cannot blame him for that—but I thought it would be more blissful. And last a bit longer.”

  When he made love to her, it would last as long as she could endure. The petticoat bodice had come undone; he slid it down her arms to uncover the corset, one of the short workmanlike versions that came off in a trice. And he noted that she put her hands back on his knees without prompting once he’d got them both off her. Oh yes, this was going splendidly.

  “Were there any others?”

  She hesitated. “Are you going to tell me about all your previous lovers?”

  Liam grinned. “If you want to hear it. But not tonight. Tonight I am learning you.”

  Another hesitation. “How many nights will there be?”

  “I can’t think how to do this properly in less than three or four nights,” he said in mock indignation, taking his hands off her. “Unless you want William’s version of seduction—that will only take, as you noted, a few minutes to accomplish.”

  “No!” She shook her head, her loose hair flying against his chest. “This way is . . . much better, so far.” He grinned behind her; that last bit was so like Bathsheba, letting him know she was still reserving judgment. “There was one other. After Danny came home from the war, missing his arm, we were in very tight straits.” She paused, then went on with the air of forcing out the words. “We didn’t have enough to eat at times. We had lost my father’s shop, my parents were dead of consumption, and then Danny lost his navy pay and his ability to work. It took him months to recover from his injury.

  “Henry was a grocer. He had three children who needed a mother, and we got on well. He—he proposed to me. It would have been a very businesslike marriage,” she quickly added. “I would have helped run his shop and raise his children, and he would have supported me and my brother. We were engaged for a month, and a few times we . . .” She lifted one shoulder, pronouncing silent but brutal judgment on hapless Henry’s lovemaking. “I had hoped it would be better, even wonderful. That would have made me look forward to the marriage, some source of pleasure I might gain. It wasn’t awful. I would call it . . . perfunctory.” She paused and Liam realized he was scowling. No wonder Bathsheba adored Fifty Ways to Sin. Lady Constance never had so much as a perfunctory tea hour, let alone a boring or bland romp in bed.

  “I think he must have been as disappointed as I was,” Bathsheba went on, very quietly. “I could tell his interest in the match waned after we began sharing a bed. In truth, I broke off with him because I thought I would rather starve than become the property of a man who didn’t want me.”

  “I can’t blame you.” He put his lips to her shoulder, now bare as he slowly worked her shift off. All Bathsheba’s clothing was simple and easy to remove, which he appreciated. “I would have left him, too.”

  A bubble of laughter burst out of her. “Why?”

  “If the first few times in bed are dull and unexceptional, how much worse will it get in time? Any man who doesn’t put his best effort forth at the very beginning . . . Well, I fear he’s a lazy, no-good sort of fellow, and I would never trust my personal satisfaction to such a man.”

  She turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide. Up close, he realized her eyes were as richly brown as her hair, mahogany with glints of copper. “Danny worried I’d made a terrible mistake. Henry was a respectable man, with a prosperous shop . . .”

  And Liam would have bet his ownership of the London Intelligencer that Daniel Crawford hadn’t thought for one moment of his sister’s sensual appetites or feelings. “I’m sure he wanted you to be provided for, and I can’t fault him for that. But I certainly wouldn’t trust my brother to make the best decisions for me, so I applaud you for not blindly following his advice in that case.”

  Bathsheba stared at him, a startled innocence to her expression. She had not expected him to say anything like that. “Well—yes—I was proven right, in time, but then, you know, Danny was quite worried . . .”

  “Yes,” he interrupted, “but if you’d married Henry, you would never be here, right now.” She closed her mouth, her eyes still round and unblinking. “Do you still want to be here?” he whispered. “With me? Or would you rather be with a solid, respectable husband like Henry?”

  “Here,” she breathed. “With you.”

  Liam gave her his most wicked smile. “Excellent. Stand up.”

  Wariness sprang into her face, but she stood up, grasping at her clothing when it sagged toward the floor. Liam brushed away her hands and peeled the petticoat, stays, and shift down, kicking them away. Bare except for her stockings and shoes, Bathsheba’s face was bright red, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Come,” he said, pulling her back, this time facing him. She obeyed his urging and straddled him on her knees, her small breasts right in front of his face, her feminine mound tantalizingly near his groin.

  For a moment the thought flashed through Liam’s mind that he could undo three buttons on his trousers and be inside her right now. It’s what she wants, whispered a little devil in his ear. It’s what you want, too . . . Take her now and teach her seduction next time . . .

  He cleared his throat to drown it out. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed, and she bit her lip. “So you won’t fall off.”

  “Oh.” Gingerly she put her hands on his shoulders, hesitated, then linked her fingers behind his neck. His hair caught in her grip for a moment, and he felt a renewed surge of lust. Would she grab his hair and hold on to him if he laid her back on the sofa and rode her right now? Would she scream and pull, urging him to be rough and primitive?

  God. He was losing his mind. Four or five times? He’d be a madman by the end of tonight. He cupped her hips in both hands and pulled her right against him, her nether curls tight against his erection, separated only by his trousers. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

  “Do you like your breasts?” He covered them with his hands, appreciating the firm swell and rigid peaks of her nipples.

  “What?” She shook her head as if just waking up. “Why do you keep talking?”

  Yes, why? Take her now, urged the devil in his brain. “I want to know. I want you to revel in everything I do to you, and in everything you’re going to do to me. Next time,” he added as her eyes flew wide open again.

  “I thought this would be much simpler,” she said in a suffocated voice.

  “Then you should have asked someone else,” he replied, and took one deep pink nipple between his teeth. She flinched, and he swiped his tongue over her flesh to soothe it, and began to suckle. His hands moved up and down her back, from the plump firmness of her bottom to her bowed shoulders beneath her rippling hair, urging her from side to side or back and forth as suited his explorations. She was soft and supple in his hands, moving readily. Her fingers remained knotted behind his neck, and even whe
n he caught himself wishing she would touch him, Liam managed to keep to his plan: drive her wild. When the first sigh of rapture met his ears, he slipped his hand between their bodies and stroked the dark curls there.

  Bathsheba almost leapt off his lap; Liam kept her in place with his free hand around her nape. For a second her dazed eyes met his, then she dropped her head back and began to move in time with the slow strokes of his fingers. Now that she was rocking up and down on her knees, he eased backward so he could watch. The sight of his fingers sliding into her most intimate flesh sent a bolt of heat through him; his blood was scalding him from the inside out. Jaw tight, he pushed one, then two fingers inside her, still teasing that delicate bud with his thumb. Bathsheba moaned aloud; her fingers dug into his shoulders now, her spine moving in a sinuous wave as she rode his hand.

  Sweat popped out on his brow. She wants you inside her, screamed the devil. Deep inside her—God, so tight—so wet. Desperately Liam bent his head back to her breast, laving her flesh and sucking hard, so hard there might be a mark later. And she leaned back, almost begging him, her breasts shivering and bouncing every time she breathed.

  She began panting, her breath catching with every stroke. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his fingers as deep inside her as he could, withdrawing and thrusting deep again, the way he ought to be doing with a different body part. Watching feverishly, he ran his other hand over the damp curls, ruthlessly exposing the deep pink flesh and then spread that flesh open to show the pearl that held the key to her pleasure.

  Speared on his left hand, driven onward by his right, Bathsheba flushed from her hair to her pretty little breasts, and rode him hard. Almost suffocating with arousal, Liam pushed her toward climax, trying to hold back his own. He’d thought this would be a bit less engrossing, a bit more scientific, but now he was nearly frantic to make her come so he could let loose the explosion building at the back of his mind.

  Her arms tensed; she gasped for breath; the ripples of climax shuddered over her belly and a hot wetness covered his fingers, deep inside her. Liam cupped his right hand hard over her mound and let go, not even caring that he was spending himself in his trousers like a schoolboy. Bathsheba gave a long, sweet exclamation of release, and the world went dark around him for a moment.

  Chapter 5

  If Bathsheba had thought taking off her gown in front of Liam was awkward, it was nothing to the feeling when she opened her eyes after the last glorious thunderclaps of climax had died away and found herself draped over Liam, naked but for her stockings.

  Good heavens.

  Tentatively she tried to wiggle free, but her hands were caught behind him. He had fallen against the sofa, his head thrown back with an expression that could only be called fierce. Reality splashed over her in a cold wave. Now she was going to have to dress, probably while he watched, and then say good night. A long, chilly ride in the carriage would follow, and then she’d have to hope Danny had already gone to bed. There was no way on earth she could keep her expression neutral if her brother were waiting up to ask how her evening had gone. And if Danny found out she’d lied to him and snuck out to meet Liam, for the express purpose of debauchery, Bathsheba didn’t even know how she would endure it.

  Liam opened his eyes. They were a clear slate gray now. For a moment the two of them just gazed at each other, his face calm and serene and hers, no doubt, blotchy from embarrassment.

  “That’s lesson one,” he murmured.

  Stiffly she nodded.

  “When do you want lesson two?”

  Now. The thought streaked across her mind before she could stop it. “I can come away again on Friday,” she said.

  “No good,” he replied, skimming one hand over her bare thigh. “I’ve a dinner engagement.”

  She frowned slightly, trying to ignore his touch. Danny would not expect her to go out on Saturday evening, and it seemed wrong to arrange an illicit rendezvous on Sunday, the Lord’s Day. “Monday next?”

  “Tomorrow.” He grinned, lazy and tempting. “Tell Danny you’ve joined a sewing circle.”

  “He’d never believe that!” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t usually go out more than once or twice a week.”

  “Tell him you’ve met someone,” said Liam. “At the assembly rooms.”

  She raised her brows. “And when he declares he’s going to accompany me the next time, to meet this hopeful suitor? Or expects the man to call on me at home? Don’t be daft. Danny’s got one strong arm left, and he’ll draw your cork.”

  Liam seemed interested in that. “Would he? You think he’d disapprove of me?”

  Danny would strongly—violently—disapprove of Liam taking off his sister’s clothing and doing all sorts of wicked things to her. Liam’s hand was still between her legs, brushing almost absently over the curling hair he had so boldly pushed aside. Something deep inside her belly contracted at the memory of his fingers moving inside her, and his mouth twitched in a satisfied smile; he knew.

  Blushing, Bathsheba struggled to her feet, then felt even more exposed standing naked in front of him. She grabbed the twisted ball of undergarments and began tugging them apart. “We both know you aren’t going to call in Totman Street and tell Danny I asked you to bed me.”

  Liam still sprawled on the sofa as if he’d just woken from a nap. Bathsheba got her shift back on and jammed her arms through the straps of her stays.

  “I would hardly say that. Would he draw my cork, as you put it, if I simply called on you?”

  “Why on earth would you do that?” She was honestly appalled. Her entire plan rested on one crucial point: no one must ever know. Liam had every reason to keep it secret. He and Danny were acquainted and knew each other well. Danny, for all that he was her younger brother, had a protective streak, and if he discovered this affair, he’d start growling at Liam to marry her. Bathsheba had promised it was only for research—and Liam had only agreed because it was to their mutual business benefit.

  “It would make it easier for you to get away if you didn’t have to lie to your brother,” he pointed out. “I can tell him I’m escorting you to the theater.”

  She snorted with laughter as she yanked the strings through the stays. Liam had undone everything. “Like a courting couple? Do you want Danny to start asking about your intentions?” She shook her head and scooped up her petticoat. He didn’t reply, and when she’d got the petticoat over her head and was fastening the short bodice again, she saw he wore a rather moody expression. “I don’t,” she hastened to assure him. “Danny’s never stopped me when I go out, but he wants to know what I do or where I go, and . . . I don’t like lying to him. Since I live with him, it’s hard to get away without some lying. I’d rather keep the lies as small as possible.”

  He was quiet as she put on her velvet gown. “Whatever you desire,” he finally said, coming to his feet. He went out of the room for a minute, reappearing as she was struggling with the tapes. “The carriage will be ready soon,” he said, brushing aside her hands to do them up for her. He ran his fingers through her hair, sending a tiny ripple of pleasure through her. “Do you need a comb?”

  “Please.”

  He left the room again and Bathsheba turned around, hunting for her shoes. She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace, and stopped in shock. She looked so unlike herself; her hair was usually straight as a stick, but now it rippled over her shoulders like some kind of Botticelli goddess’s. Her complexion had a healthy pink flush to it, and even her expression was different—more knowing and relaxed, perhaps, even though she still faced a long drive back home and the gauntlet that might await her there.

  But surely no one could experience so much pleasure and not be affected by it. The memory of it—the tide of euphoria that had flooded her, the giddy feeling of being worshipped by Liam, the hungry cast to his face as he watched her reach the glorious peak—brought a small smile to her face. It might have begun as a business bargain, but for a moment, however fleeting,
she and Liam had shared something elemental. Something deep and powerful. Something she couldn’t wait to feel again, the next time they met.

  Liam came back with a comb. He’d put on a banyan over his shirt and trousers, and while she re-braided her hair, he poured himself more wine and sipped it. Without a word he handed her the pins to secure her hair, in a looser knot than before, but close enough to fool Danny.

  “Why do you wear your hair so tightly?” Liam asked.

  She touched it self-consciously. “To keep it out of the way.”

  “Pity,” he murmured. From the hall there came a knock on the door. “That will be the carriage.”

  He walked her out, helping her back into her cloak and waiting while she tied her bonnet ribbons. “Friday,” he said abruptly. “Same time.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Your dinner engagement . . .”

  “I’ll cancel it.” He gave his usual sardonic smile. “Can’t have you forgetting what you’ve learned tonight.” He opened the door and picked up a lamp. As promised, the carriage that had brought her was waiting on the gravel drive.

  “What did I learn tonight?” she whispered as they walked out, Liam holding the lamp for her.

  He handed her into the carriage, but leaned through the open door. “How to lose yourself.” He closed the door in her astonished face and rapped on the side of the carriage, which started off at once.

  Bathsheba settled into the seat, feeling off balance again. Perhaps she had lost herself tonight; it hadn’t been what she expected. Her little notebook was completely empty of helpful notes and ideas for her next book. But Liam was willing to cancel a dinner engagement to see her again—what did he plan for lesson two? Something fizzed inside her chest, nervous and excited at the same time. Three days had never sounded so long.