When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  “Bloody—” He cut off the curse and flung out one hand to grip the mantel. His head fell back and he seemed to be struggling to breathe. A delighted smile crossed her face. She had read about this act, though had certainly never tried it, and the one invariable part of the stories was how much a man enjoyed it. According to Fifty Ways to Sin, it made a man absolutely delirious with pleasure. She took him between her lips and sucked as he had sucked on her skin.

  “Bathsheba,” he gasped. “What—?”

  She paused. “You said I could touch you as I wished, and put my mouth on you.”

  The muscles in his arms bulged. His knuckles grew white where he held the mantel. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice tight. “Yes, I—I did say that. I simply didn’t expect . . .” His words choked off as she repeated her earlier action.

  Unfortunately the description she’d read had been a little lacking in specifics. Driven by the greedy rapture in Liam’s face, she played at it for a few minutes, but soon ran out of ideas. Suck more? Her jaw was beginning to cramp. Lick more? He reacted less to that. And the deepest darkest secret in her breast was that she wanted to induce a reaction from him. A reaction that would leave him dazed with wonder and filled with growing joy that she was not merely Bathsheba, the woman who wrote the naughty stories that made money for him, but Bathsheba, a woman whose passionate hopes and dreams matched his own. It would take so little for her to fall helplessly in love with him, and for a moment the longing for any sign at all that he might look fondly on her was overpowering.

  Sense resurfaced quickly, thank heaven. He was not going to fall in love with her, and therefore she must do everything in her power to guard against falling in love with him. She rose from her knees and resumed touching him everywhere but there, where he was still glistening wet from her mouth.

  Some of the tension drained from his body as well. His breathing grew deep and even again, although he didn’t release the mantel until she asked, “What now?”

  A feral smile. “Explored to your satisfaction?”

  I could never get enough of you. “For now,” she said.

  “Good.” He led her to the chaise, and told her to sit. Bathsheba perched on the edge, but he knelt, picked up her foot, and spread her legs until she was straddling the chaise. “Lie back,” he said, holding her knees in place.

  She eased backward onto the pile of pillows, feeling more exposed than ever even though she still wore her stays and chemise, which she tried to push discreetly down to cover herself. But Liam brushed her hands aside and folded the chemise back until she was naked to the waist.

  And then he sat back and stared at her nether regions. Even though he’d touched her there last time, Bathsheba blushed fiery red.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured. “You’re very pretty here.” His knuckles brushed the springy curls.

  “Like all your other lovers?” She stared at the ceiling, trying not to feel like an idiot.

  “You keep mentioning them. Stop.”

  “This is all new to me,” she flared out, “but not to you!”

  He paused. “It is new,” he said. “You are new.”

  She realized what he was going to do a moment before he lowered his head. Her stomach seized, almost cramping with excitement and anxiety as he kissed the inside of her thigh. Lady Constance wrote of this—oral pleasure—in rhapsodic terms. Bathsheba squeezed her eyes shut, hardly breathing as he licked his way up her thigh, nibbling once or twice. He laid his palm on her mound, making her jump, and then he pushed back the curls and laid his lips right against the center of pulsing want.

  Bathsheba’s back arched; her mouth fell open. Liam’s hand on her pelvis pushed her back down, wide open to his questing tongue. Softer, wetter, hotter than his fingers, he explored as if he meant to take all night. Shaking from the raw intimacy of it, desperate for him to do more, she writhed and rocked on the chaise.

  He raised his head and waited until she managed to open her eyes and look at him. “You like this,” he whispered. She gave a tiny nod. “So do I.” He grinned. “You taste sweet.” He hooked both hands over her thighs, pushing them even wider apart, and lowered his mouth—teasing no longer, but insistent and demanding.

  Later Bathsheba thought she might have clawed rents in the upholstery of the chaise. Liam suckled on her, refusing to let her retreat from his most wicked kiss. When she thought she would faint from the intensity of it, he would relent, his tongue turning soft and gentle, but only for a moment. It seemed as if her every muscle was drawn up tight and hard, and then he plunged his fingers inside her, as thick and hard as last time. Bathsheba screamed as the pleasure crested, swamping her.

  As if from a distance she heard him swear under his breath, then he rose up over her, shoving her shift aside. He planted his hands beside her shoulders and let his weight fall on her. His eyes glowed in the firelight as he thrust his hips, grinding his rigid erection against her belly. Some primal instinct made her push her hips upward into his, and his head fell back. Two, three, five thrusts later he shuddered, and spilled himself on her skin.

  Chapter 7

  For a long minute neither moved. Liam’s arms were slick with perspiration, braced beside her. Her own arms were clasped around his waist, holding him to her, and one of her legs had got hooked around his. Bathsheba felt wrung out and limp, unable to move, but also uninterested in changing her situation. She’d suspected last time that he had found his own release, but this time there was no doubt. Something deep inside her purred in satisfaction; he was as aroused by this as she was.

  Of course, that might not be due to her particular person; any female body might do the same. Bathsheba could not stop herself from hoping it was the former, even slightly, as she told herself it was more likely the latter. Liam was a handsome man, worldly and wicked. He hadn’t had one thought of doing this with her until she badgered him into it.

  “So,” she said breathlessly, to drive those thoughts away, “that was lesson two, I take it.”

  He raised his head. “Yes.” And he grinned, so joyfully she had the mad thought that he might kiss her. His lips were only a few inches from hers, and her chin even tipped upward, unconsciously rising to meet him because the only way this evening could improve was if he did kiss her—everything else was mere physical release, but a kiss would mean honest affection—

  “I’ll ring for the carriage.” He ran one fingertip down her cheek, then pushed himself up and off her. He fetched a handkerchief and gently wiped her belly clean. Shrugging into his banyan, he walked out of the room.

  Stupid girl, she chided herself, sitting up and touching her hair, now a wild mess. When would she stop hoping? Perhaps never, her foolish heart whimpered. With a sigh she got up and collected her clothes.

  By the time he returned she was dressed and had let down her hair, for Mary’s chignon was ruined beyond repair. Without a word he handed her the comb, and she twisted up her hair into its usual simple knot. When she turned from the mirror, he had poured more wine and was watching her from across the room. It did terrible things to her composure when he did that. She wasn’t used to people watching her, for one thing, but especially not Liam watching her with his all-knowing eyes, perhaps picturing how she looked on her knees before him. Or how she looked writhing like a wanton while he drove her mad with his mouth. Or how she looked right now, plain and drab and desperate, like a woman who couldn’t attract a lover in the usual way, but had to argue a man into it.

  She fiddled with the comb, then set it aside. “Will lesson three include consummation?” she asked. “Or more of this pretend seduction?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Pretend seduction?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “You don’t have to seduce me. You know I’ll let you have me—I asked you to do it. All this . . .” She hesitated. “This exploration is lovely, but quite unnecessary. I merely wanted to experience the euphoric side of lovemaking—”

  “And you haven’t found pleasure so
far,” he cut her off. “Is that it?”

  She blushed. “No, of course I have. I just didn’t expect it to take this long—”

  “The quicker the act, the shorter the pleasure.”

  Her face was on fire as he shredded her arguments in that dry, cynical tone. “I wouldn’t know,” she snapped, “since we’ve not done the act. Would you just get on with it?” She was beginning to think she had made a terrible mistake. Yes, these “lessons” had been pleasurable beyond her dreams. The longer they went on, though, the harder it was to keep her head clear and her heart safe. The best thing she could do was speed the lessons along as quickly as possible, so she could hold her head high and maintain her dignity in the months and years to come, when she would still be working with Liam.

  But he looked wildly annoyed. His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a flat line. “Very well. As you wish.”

  As you wish. He’d been saying that all evening, and since the one thing she did wish more than anything—the one thing she most did not want to wish—had not happened and probably never would, her patience snapped. “Yes, I do wish,” she retorted. “Briskly and efficiently.”

  His gaze turned cool. “As you wish,” he said again, making her want to scream. “Come back a week from tonight. Plan to stay the entire night.”

  She gaped. “What? No! I cannot!”

  “Then you ought to find someone else.” From the hall came a loud rap at the front door. “The carriage is ready.” Without looking at her, Liam walked into the hall, leaving her to storm after him in frustration.

  “I only meant you don’t need to spend so much time on it,” she said, trying to placate him. “I know you’re a busy man! Three nights is already more than I expected you to grant me, and I’m grateful enough that I don’t want to try your patience.”

  “And yet you are.” He handed over her cloak and bonnet. The sash of his banyan had slipped, and she could see he still wore nothing underneath. The wild temptation to put her hands under the silk and explore at will nearly made her faint. Perhaps if he found as much pleasure in this as she did, he would want to prolong it—perhaps that accounted for his maddeningly slow pace.

  And perhaps he had to work his way up to it, teaching her something about being a good lover so she wouldn’t be inept and disappointing beneath him when the time came.

  “Then I am sorry,” she said, huddling into her cloak and tying the bonnet ribbons with unsteady hands. “It was not my intent.”

  Liam paused. “No? Then what was your intent? Did you hope I would throw you on the nearest horizontal surface and take you fast and hard? That’s not what you asked. You asked for deeper knowledge. By your own account you’re acquainted with the mechanics of the deed; I understood it was the pleasure of the deed you were missing. My intent was to show you that. If I have been mistaken and you only wanted a few more tumbles to check your memory’s accuracy, then by all means find a willing fellow at the assembly rooms. I daresay most of the blokes there will accept with alacrity and then not remember your face the next day, preserving the secrecy you requested.” He opened the door, revealing the carriage waiting. “If you want what I can teach you, come back a week from tonight—and plan to spend the entire night.”

  Mortified and furious, she blinked back tears and dropped a curtsey in mock deference. “Yes, sir. I will notify you of my decision in a few days.”

  “Notify me only if you won’t come,” he said as she swept out of the house. “Otherwise I’ll see you in a week.” And he closed the door without waiting to see her off.

  Bathsheba flung herself into the coach, alternating between numb shock and steaming fury. Find someone else! Stay the whole night! What kind of woman did he think she was? What sort of man was he?

  The man I want, her stupid heart mourned. Cold, calculating, sensual, wicked, and unquestionably the focus of her innermost desires. Bathsheba slumped against the carriage seat, exhausted, and wondered how she would contrive to get away for an entire night.

  Chapter 8

  Liam brooded over her words. Briskly and efficiently! What sort of woman wanted that? Not that he hadn’t thought of taking her roughly and quickly, especially after she closed her soft pink lips around his erection and suckled so hard her cheeks hollowed out. He’d been about three seconds away from throwing her onto the hearth rug and riding her to the hardest, fastest climax of her life, and had counted himself very virtuous for restraining that urge.

  And that, perhaps, was the problem. He was not accustomed to virtue; it didn’t suit him. He wanted Bathsheba. Even worse, he wanted her more desperately every time he saw her.

  That was not what he had expected. At first he had thought there was a chance she would change her mind and decide she didn’t want to continue, after lesson one. She’d come apart in his hands, and deep inside Liam knew it would forever alter their relationship. He didn’t think he would be able to read her manuscripts without imagining that Bathsheba was Lady X and he was her lover, whoever that lover was, whether they were embracing against a tree in Hyde Park or on the finest linen sheets in Lady X’s town house. It wouldn’t stop him from publishing her tales—that would be stupid, as those stories accounted for a significant percentage of his income—but it would be an image lodged in his mind forever.

  Then tonight, he’d thought she was embracing the spirit of the enterprise, unflinching in her admiration of his body. Liam had felt that to the marrow of his bones, the realization shocking him but also enthralling him. This was a side of Bathsheba he’d not guessed at. It was one thing for her to respond to his touch and follow where he led her. Tonight she was the leader, and he thought she could make him lose all sense if she kept it up. Perhaps this relationship didn’t need to expire after she’d satisfied her curiosity. They were both discreet adults, living in the same town and well able to contrive reasons to see each other. This could become a lasting affair, stretched over as many sensual months as pleased them both.

  But then she’d gone mad: would you just get on with it? She didn’t want the affair to last. She wanted a quick coupling, maybe two, so she could get back to her life and not be hampered by coming out to St. John’s Wood and spending the night in ecstasy with him.

  He stalked back into the library, where things had gone so splendidly until her last outburst, and scowled at the scene. His clothing was scattered on the floor where she had thrown it—she might be innocent but she wasn’t shy. He dropped the banyan and snatched up his shirt to fling it over his head, then stepped into his trousers. Was the woman totally deranged? She asked him to show her passion and pleasure, then grew impatient when he did so. Liam knew she’d had the best climax of her life. When she screamed in release and he threw himself on top of her to ease his own raging lust, he’d seen the awestruck wonder on her face. Whoever her inept previous lovers had been, Liam was very certain neither of them had ever made her scream like that.

  His gaze fell on the chaise. He could still picture her sprawled on the pillows, legs spread wide, all that silky wavy hair lying around her, her eyes starry and her mouth pink. He could still taste her on his lips, and he could still feel the hot suction of her mouth on his erection. God. What more could any woman want than the incendiary passion they shared?

  There was something under the chaise. He reached down and picked up her reticule, a sturdy plain bag of dark gray wool. He pulled the string and looked inside, not surprised when he shook out a small notebook and short pencil. She’d planned to take notes again, even after the first lesson.

  Liam knew he had a reputation for being cold. He preferred to think of himself as focused, rational, and logical in every situation. In fact, he thought Bathsheba was like him in that; her practical streak went bone deep, and once her mind fastened on a problem or question, she would pursue it until she conquered it. He flipped through the little book, wondering what she would have written, and saw, with some surprise, it was half full of notes already.

  He shouldn’t read it.
<
br />   He shouldn’t even look at it.

  He sat down on the end of the chaise and opened to the first page.

  It began with scribbled ideas for her next book. He’d read the first few chapters of that manuscript and recognized the plot and character names. Then came a list of queries, some answered, some not, about practical matters: schedule of mail coaches to Kent? Ease of sailing from Deal to Calais? Visit British Museum and assess possibilities for rendezvous locations. The last made him smile, picturing Bathsheba striding through the museum, her head swiveling from side to side in search of an alcove or closet where two people could conceivably be intimate, briskly and efficiently.

  He kept reading. Her notes changed as she wrote more of the book, deciding that Lady X would not meet a lascivious country vicar after all, but a strapping blacksmith instead, when her horse threw a shoe. A rough man, powerful and large in all ways, she’d written, a faint line under the word all. Liam smirked; he knew what that meant, but had Bathsheba? She must have done, but now he was very curious to read those chapters of the tale. Without thinking, he picked up the pencil.

  Make him a clever fellow—a gentleman’s bastard, educated with his half-brother or similar—or else it will seem coarse and depraved of Lady X, he wrote. Surely you don’t expect her to be satisfied by an ordinary brute.

  He turned ahead and read more. Several queries about fashion, which he mostly skipped, and a few about the timing of certain events. Bathsheba delighted in working in mentions of notable occasions, and in two places she had copied in reports of a ball and an art viewing for possible inclusion.

  Liam made a few more notes—consider some public spectacle, such as the King’s progress to Parliament, as a way to introduce her to a new gentleman—and was feeling entertained by the whole thing when he reached the last pages with writing.