Sometimes a Rogue

by Mary Jo Putney

  “There’s an odd contrast between you and your sister,” Rob said thoughtfully. “Mariah had a rather volatile life with Charles, but she always knew that he loved her. Since she believed your mother was dead, she never felt abandoned. In most ways, you had a much more stable and secure upbringing, but deep inside, there was the grief of knowing your father had abandoned you. I imagine it wasn’t helped when Gerald died.”

  “You’re right. It sounds so foolish when said aloud, doesn’t it? So trivial. I love my mother. I can’t imagine growing up without her, as Mariah did.” She sighed. “But you’re right. My father’s leaving left a hole nothing could fill.”

  “All of us have dark truths engraved so deeply on our souls that it really doesn’t matter what the facts are. Being abandoned by your father was your truth no matter how much you now realize that your father was young and foolish and did something so stupid that it took him decades to sort it out.”

  She nodded. “Shedding some light on this particular dark truth will diminish it, I think. At least, I hope so.” She wiped her eyes again, thinking she must look a fright.

  Rob caught her gaze with mesmerizing intensity. “Sarah, I will never leave you. I am yours and you are mine for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others. I can’t guarantee that I won’t die, but if that happens, my spirit will surely stay close and try to protect you. It will take time to overcome your old dark truth, but this is a new truth. I will never leave you. Believe me.”

  She almost began weeping again, but she managed to block the tears. Rob had surely had enough of her being a watering pot. “I do believe you,” she said huskily. “In my head, at least. Belief will take time to reach my heart and soul.”

  Rob smiled warmly. “We have time. Take as much as you need.”

  She caught his hand and held it to her cheek, thinking how lucky she was to find a man with a deliciously dangerous edge who was also utterly reliable. Then it struck her that Rob’s insights were not the kind of thing anyone came up with casually. He’d spoken with the voice of experience.

  Raising her gaze to his, she asked quietly, “What is your dark truth, Robin? What pain is engraved on your soul?”

  Sarah’s words were a hammer blow that resonated through Rob’s whole body. He knew that dark truths were buried deep inside him, shaping his life every day, but he did his damnedest not to look too closely.

  Sarah caught his face in her hands and studied him worriedly. “Rob?”

  He took a deep breath. “No one has called me Robin since my mother died.”

  “Would you rather I didn’t?”

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the brocade canopy, the ivory and rose colors ones his mother would have loved, and which suited Sarah so well. “I don’t mind you calling me Robin, but hearing the nickname along with your question was . . . jarring.”

  She took his hand. “Because you looked into your own darkness?”

  He nodded. “I realized that . . . I’ve felt second best, even with my mother. That no one would ever want me if they had any other choice.” The darkness of that was a wave of bleakness and despair.

  Sarah squeezed his hand hard, her biting nails pulling him from the darkness. “I want you, Rob.”

  Chapter 36

  “I want you, Rob.”

  Sarah’s words were followed by a devouring kiss as she pressed her body into his. Passion flared through him like red-hot lava. He managed to say hoarsely, “If you don’t want to complete this, I must leave this bed.”

  “I find I no longer care what two hundred wedding guests are thinking,” she breathed. Her hand slid under his drawers, gliding tentatively down his belly. When her fingers brushed his erection, he turned rigid, feeling that if he didn’t make love to her right now, he’d die.

  He barely realized what he was doing as he stripped off his shirt and drawers and threw them on the floor. He did, barely, remember that she was still a virgin and he must take care to hurt her as little as possible.

  Luckily, she was simmering like a sensual teakettle from what they’d done already. She gasped when he worshipped her perfect breasts. Moaned as he trailed kisses down the soft, silken skin of her belly. Squeaked endearingly when his fingers trailed up her inner thighs and into the sweet hidden heat.

  She was warm and pliant and willing and he couldn’t bear to wait an instant longer. Fighting to go slowly, he positioned himself between her legs and pushed forward. Her eyes shot open.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked raggedly.

  “Not . . . not really,” she said. “More . . . surprise.”

  Giving thanks, he moved against her tightness a fraction of an inch at a time until they were fully joined. The pleasure was exquisite, too intense to last. His body no longer under control, he thrust once, twice, thrice, then spilled into her with such intoxicating release that he lost awareness of himself and his surroundings and everything but his beautiful, welcoming wife.

  Gasping as if he’d run a marathon, he collapsed on his side and folded her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he panted. “I didn’t mean to be so quick and heedless. I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”

  “That wasn’t as bad as I expected,” she said as she burrowed against him. “All the riding I’ve done might have made it easier.”

  “If so, I’m grateful.” He groped for the towel that he’d tossed at the head of the bed earlier, then released her so he could clean them both.

  There was very little blood, another sign of their relatively easy joining. The only other virgin he’d ever lain with was Bryony, and they were both so young and inexperienced that they didn’t understand much of what they were doing. But if he recalled correctly, it had been more difficult for both of them.

  That was the past. Sarah was his present and future. He settled back in the pillows and drew her close against his side, feeling pensive.

  Sarah said hesitantly, “I’m surprised that you felt second best with your mother. From what you said, she sounded kind and loving.”

  “She was, but she always wanted a little girl.” His throat tightened. “She died in childbirth. She’d been so excited to be with child again. She told me I was going to have a little sister and how much I’d like that. And then . . . she bled to death. The baby, the daughter she wanted, lived only a few hours and was buried in my mother’s arms.”

  “Oh, Rob.” Sarah pushed herself up on one elbow. The faint lamplight limned her flawless features and shining hair as if she were an angel. She bent into a kiss whose compassionate warmth flowed into him, through him, warming the never forgotten chill of his mother’s death.

  Knowing there was more to be said, when the kiss ended he pulled her down under his arm so that her head rested on his shoulder. “As you pointed out, such things sound trivial when they’re said aloud. I know my mother loved me even if she wanted a daughter, too. But for all these years, on some level I’ve thought I wasn’t a good enough son to satisfy her. She needed more than I could give.”

  “She adored you,” Sarah said firmly. “What mother wouldn’t? If we have a son, I hope he’s just like you. Including tall.”

  He laughed, but under his amusement was wonder. Sarah spoke of children—their children—as a natural and welcome part of their future. Creating a family was an everyday miracle, but the knowledge was suddenly, breathtakingly new. “In that case, I’d want to register my desire for an exquisite little blond daughter to dote on.”

  “You might get twins,” she warned. “They run in my mother’s family.”

  “That would be a double blessing.”

  She stroked her hand down his chest, her fingers brushing through the brown hair. “There’s more to your dark truths, isn’t there? Reinforcement of the original feeling of not being good enough?”

  “My too perceptive princess,” he said wryly. “Once a dark and possibly wrong truth is in place, there are so many reinforcements. Certainly my father considered me second best and unworthy
of the Carmichael name. My brother was sent to Eton, I wasn’t. I wanted to be a noble officer fighting for my country, and instead I descended to the grubby ranks of thief takers. I cared about a woman with whom I wanted a future, and she left me for another man.”

  “Is this why you’ve been so uncomfortable with inheriting the title?” Sarah asked. “Because it seemed impossible and wrong that you could become Earl of Kellington?”

  He frowned. “You may be right. I could reel off any number of reasons why I didn’t want to inherit, but perhaps feeling second best lies under all of them.”

  “It’s strange how dark truths persist even when the events turned out well,” she mused. “The Westerfield Academy was surely much better for you than Eton would have been. And while boys may dream of military glory—have you ever talked to a soldier like Alex Randall about what war is like?”

  “Enough to know that doing justice as a Bow Street Runner was a better choice for me,” he admitted. “But army uniforms look much more dashing.”

  She laughed. “You would have looked splendid in scarlet regimentals. But you look splendid without them, too.” Her fingertip circled his navel. “As for the woman who left you for another man—she had very poor taste.”

  This time Rob laughed. “No, she was wiser than I. She and I were too much alike and are better off with different mates.” He gently massaged the back of her neck with his fingertips. “I know I am, and I hear she is, too.”

  “Then everyone lives happily ever after. I approve of that.” Sarah exhaled softly, her breath a gentle warmth on his chest. “I’m tired, but not ready to go to sleep yet. I don’t want this night to end.”

  His massaging hand moved down her back. “Neither do I. Tomorrow we’ll need to settle down to the serious work of the estate. We have this one night without cares.”

  “Which is why I don’t want to waste it.” Her head popped up from his chest. “I have an idea! Let’s try the bath. That tub is large enough for two.”

  The images of Sarah naked and wet were irresistible. He disentangled her and sat up in the bed. “I hope you know how to operate it. I found the mechanism intimidating.”

  Sarah laughed and swung from the bed. “I doubt that anything intimidates you! It’s fairly simple, actually. I’ve been itching to try it ever since Mariah and I discovered the bathing room.”

  He donned his banyan again. “Do you have a robe? The night air is chilly.”

  “All the more reason to sink into a giant tub of hot water!” Sarah wrapped a flannel robe around her, slid her feet into slippers, then led the way to the bathing room.

  Rob lit another lamp and followed. He hadn’t looked closely earlier, being more interested in beds than baths, so he studied everything with interest. The deep oval tub was easily five feet long, and it was set in a polished mahogany box with a wide rim around the tub proper. Steps ran the width of the box to aid bathers climbing in and out. It looked fit for royalty.

  “There are beautiful large towels in that cabinet.” Sarah pointed, then climbed onto the lowest step of the tub and turned two taps. Water began gushing in.

  “Hot and cold running water?” he asked with amazement as he pulled several towels out. “That must have cost a fortune to install! What a waste of money that could have been better spent elsewhere.”

  “Your father would have spent the money in unworthy ways anyhow, and at least this went for something we can enjoy,” Sarah said practically. “I wouldn’t have spent thousands of pounds on something so unnecessary, but if the house has to be let to a nabob, these luxury features will make a higher rent possible.”

  “Silver linings,” Rob murmured as he lit the candles in the sconces. They produced a soft, romantic light. “I can’t help thinking that for the cost of this bathing room, every tenant house on the estate could have had a new roof.”

  “Think about that tomorrow.” Sarah smiled as she removed a bottle from the cabinet and poured several drops of oil into the rapidly rising water. The scent of herbs floated deliciously through the small room.

  Rob sniffed. “Rosemary and lavender?”

  “Among other things. This is a bath blend that Kiri mixed for me. I love her experiments.” Sarah inhaled deeply. “One night of mad luxury before we return to work. Shall I pour us more wine?”

  “Please do. Drinking wine in the bath is the ultimate luxury.”

  Sarah headed to the bedroom and returned with her hair clipped on top of her head and a small tray holding wineglasses and tidbits of food. “Look at these delightful nibbles!” Sarah popped a cube of cheese into his mouth. “I think that everyone at Kellington has worked to make today special.”

  “We’re their hope for the future, princess.” Rob fed her a morsel that combined biscuit, ham, and cheese. She took it neatly from his fingers, along with a deliberately provocative lick that made his toes curl.

  Judging that there was enough water, Rob turned off the taps and set the tray on a broad corner well suited to hold food or books. “Now, my lady, we sample the bath. May I help you remove your nightgown? I’ve been looking forward to seeing all of you.”

  At his words, Sarah froze, her expression appalled.

  Rob frowned. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

  “I . . . I don’t want to take my nightgown off. I can bathe in it.”

  His brows arched. “I could understand shyness, but you don’t look shy. You look worried. Do you have a birthmark? I assure you I will always think you’re beautiful.” Since she was still shrinking back against the wall, he added, “I hope we will be married for a very long time, princess. I suppose you can stay covered for the next fifty years. But I’d rather you didn’t.”

  She took a deep breath, which made the light fabric of her nightgown shimmer delightfully. “It’s not a birthmark I’m trying to hide. It’s . . . it’s a tattoo!”

  “A tattoo?” he repeated, startled. “Where on earth did you acquire such a thing?”

  She made a face. “I attended a boarding school for several years to acquire polish and meet more girls of my rank. One of the girls was quite wild and different. Her parents were Irish, but she’d grown up in India. I thought she was wonderful and daring and adventurous. She’d ridden elephants!”

  “For a girl who craved adventures, I can see where she’d be irresistible as a friend,” he said, amused. “Was she also a tattoo artist?”

  “No, but she was interested in tattoos and was mad keen to create one. But it would have been almost impossible for her to tattoo herself, and I was the only girl in the school willing to allow her to experiment on me.”

  Rob couldn’t help it. He began to laugh. “Sarah, you are an unending source of delight. May I see this tattoo? Please? Or will you make me wait for fifty years?”

  She sighed. “I suppose I might as well get this over with.” She pulled her nightgown straight up over her head and stood revealed in all her satin-skinned, hourglass perfection before she crumpled the fabric and held it over her most private parts.

  Rob temporarily stopped breathing. As beautiful as she was clothed, she was even more beautiful naked. “You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen in my life.” His body, which he’d thought satisfied, began stirring with interest.

  Her smile was shy, but also pleased at his reaction. “The tattoo is back here, on the right side.” She turned and revealed the small, roughly circular black design on the perfect curve of her derriere, which needed no decoration. “I liked the idea of a scandalous tattoo, but was too much of a coward to put it anywhere likely to be seen.”

  “A nice balance between rebellion and practicality. At least it’s now possible to tell you and Mariah apart.”

  As Sarah snorted at his comment, he knelt for a better look at the twisting pattern. The tattoo was about an inch in diameter and a bit lopsided, but pretty. “It’s a Celtic knot. Your mad friend did a good job for an amateur. I had no idea what mischief schoolgirls might get up to.” He kissed the tattoo and stood up.
“Didn’t it hurt?”

  Sarah made a face. “Dreadfully, but there was brandy involved, which helped.”

  He chuckled. “Without the brandy, there probably would have been no tattoo.”

  “You’re right.” She cocked her head quizzically. “What about you? You were a sailor. Do you have any tattoos?”

  “No, I dislike being obvious. Shall we have that bath now?” He scooped her up and slid her into the water with a swirl of rosemary and lavender scents.

  “Ahhh . . .” She breathed as the deliciously warm liquid rose to her shoulders. “Wonderful! It’s like visiting a hot spring spa, but it smells much nicer.”

  “I think many people believe a hot spring has to smell dreadful in order to have medicinal properties.” He opened a cabinet and found bars of soap. He handed her one. It had a spicy scent he couldn’t name, but liked.

  Setting the soap aside, she folded her arms on the rim of the tub and regarded him with bright-eyed interest. “And now, my newly acquired lord, it’s my turn to see you in your bare skin!”

  Chapter 37

  “I’m much less beautiful than you,” Rob warned.

  “No tattoos, but I have some scars. Also—my apologies for this—I’m showing clear indications of a desire to consummate our marriage again a time or two before morning. Not that I will. You need time to recover.”

  “I’ll take those indications as a compliment,” she said. She loved the sense of play between them. When she first met Rob, he was all sternness and business.

  He untied the sash of his banyan and pulled off the robe, turning to hang it on one of the hooks on the door. She’d never seen a completely naked grown man before, and the sight was intimidating, fascinating—and rather arousing.