Lady and the Rake

by Anders, Annabelle

  “So, all of this business about comfort in your old age…?”

  “Claptrap.” George guffawed. “It’s all on the up and up, though, you know. She’s not under any illusions that I love her, nor am I worried that she feels anything for me. She has something I want, and I have something she needs. A tidy transaction if I say so myself.”

  Sebastian frowned. It was difficult to imagine the woman he’d spent the last few days being content to live the remainder of her life at Cragg House. “You will set up your nursery at last.”

  George shrugged. “I’ll make a valiant effort. If it doesn’t happen immediately, it’s no tragedy.” And then he turned to stare back at where Maggie was carrying a tiny little girl around in her arms, laughing as the child tugged at her hair.

  “Best keep her happy for now, however. Put in a good word for me here and there, if you don’t mind. Your favorite uncle’s livelihood depends upon it.” And then he rubbed at his chin. “I suppose I ought to do some more wooing now, show her how much I love children.”

  Sebastian watched his uncle amble across the grass with a sinking feeling in his gut.

  Margaret had consented to marry George. She was not being forced into anything. He watched as his uncle cooed at one of Danbury’s infants. Surely, she was not fool enough to believe his uncle’s act?

  Sebastian could say nothing. A man did not betray his family simply because he found a particular lady to be enchanting. Most certainly not when that particular lady was to wed his uncle.

  Danbury caught Sebastian’s eye and strolled in his direction in a leisurely fashion. “I openly admit that I had an unfair advantage during the race,” he confessed magnanimously as he closed the gap between them.

  “Anyone with Lady Danbury on their team would have an unfair advantage,” Sebastian agreed. The competition itself had been quite invigorating, if only he’d not been required to return for his teammate’s glove. “Dashed fun little vessels, though. I imagine you had quite the time with them as a boy.”

  Danbury stared out at the lake. “We did indeed. And up until I reached the age of eleven, I lost most races to my older sister.” He turned back toward Sebastian. “Speaking of vessels. How is that ship of yours coming along?”

  The mention of her turned Sebastian’s mood immediately. “She could be ready for her maiden voyage as early as Christmas, but I’m considering a few design changes. Have you heard of the S.S. Savannah?”

  “I believe Penelope mentioned something about it. A ship powered with steam? Crossed from America about five or six years ago?”

  Sebastian nodded. “Incredible potential. Both sail and steam keep it moving steadily at about ten knots. In addition to the improved speeds, the captain can rely on the engine when there isn’t any wind. It has flaws, however. The engine takes up too much of the cargo space, not to mention the coal and wood required for fuel. And the propellers must be lifted when the ship encounters a storm. Such a design might serve my purposes well, however. I’m to meet with an engineer when I return to London.”

  “I was rather surprised to see your ugly mug turn up here. Not that I wasn’t pleased that you chose to attend but what, in God’s name, caused you to leave your precious project? ”

  This could be Sebastian’s opportunity to toss out a cautionary clue. “My mother insisted I bring the ring to George. She said he would forget all about it and his intended would go ringless. I’m sure you would have done the same for your dear departed mother.”

  “Without doubt,” Danbury agreed easily, notably not commenting upon his sister’s engagement.

  “It seems we are to become relations in the near future.” Sebastian made another attempt to hear the viscount’s opinion.

  Danbury’s jaw clenched as he turned to peruse the guests who had not yet departed in one of the waiting coaches. “Ah, there, my wife is in need of my assistance. If you’ll excuse me, Rockingham.”

  “But of course.” Sebastian rubbed his chin. It would seem Danbury wasn’t overly enthusiastic about his sister’s pending nuptials. The question was, would Maggie heed her brother’s advice?”

  The other question was, why was Sebastian concerning himself with such matters when he ought to simply pack up his belongings and turn his horse toward London? He had plans of his own, details he needed to see to in order to remain on schedule.

  He’d barely known the woman one week and furthermore, she was spoken for.

  By Uncle George.

  14

  Don’t Thank Me

  When the picnic began winding down, Margaret told George to go ahead in one of the carriages. He’d surprisingly offered to walk back down to the manor with her, but she’d refused. He did not really wish to walk all that way, and besides, she had a good deal to think over.

  Only a handful of the other guests were returning on foot, and she knew George expected that she would walk with them, but she would not.

  Instead, she assisted the last of the servants and then asked them to inform Penelope that she would be later than most. As the farmer’s cart rolled toward the house, she began the descent alone.

  She had not expected such declarations from George, nor the attention he’d paid her all afternoon. He’d been surprisingly affectionate, in stark contrast to his behavior the day before, and the day before that.

  Although he lacked her fervor for a family, he’d confessed to anticipating that aspect of marriage. Furthermore, he had apologized for making the announcement without speaking to her.

  It was everything she’d hoped for and yet she’d felt unsettled all afternoon.

  She rubbed her finger where the ring remained stuck and as she did so, hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. When a large flock of birds took flight from a distant tree and moved in one giant swooping motion, Margaret shivered. The warm air of a few nights before would not be present tonight.

  She increased her pace, not really paying attention to the scenery.

  George had even gone so far as to attempt to charm little Louella Miracle while Margaret had been holding her. The child—a child much like her mother, who never seemed to be afraid of anything—had flinched from George’s fingertips.

  Margaret frowned. Of course, he was a stranger to her, and it had been past the children’s naptime. But still…

  Staring ahead, she squinted in the distance when she caught sight of the silhouette of a man approaching. She wasn’t afraid, as this was her brother’s land and the gait, the swing of his arms, and the physique were all familiar.

  “You should not be out here alone.” Sebastian scowled at her

  Margaret hated the turmoil his arrival had brought to her life. She hated that she no longer saw her future clearly. She also hated that she had begun to crave his company.

  “I do quite well alone,” she groused.

  “I realize you feel the need to assert yourself on occasion but it’s getting dark, and I was concerned when you didn’t return with the others.”

  “I am fine. I sent word to Penelope.” He had been worried? About her? She bent over to pick a few fading marigolds. “You mustn’t concern yourself for me, My Lord. I have managed to survive three decades now without you to watch over me. I imagine I’ll survive three or four more.”

  He halted where she’d stopped and ran one hand through his hair. “Sebastian,” he corrected her.

  “Sebastian.” She said his name on an exhale. He did not meet her eyes but rather stared off to the side. “You should not worry about me.” Her irritation evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. It was not his fault that she couldn’t make sense of her feelings.

  Or was it?

  “Worrying is not something a person chooses to do. It merely happens.” He hadn’t moved, nor had he looked at her again, leaving her free to study the fit of his jacket across his broad shoulders and the manner in which his breaches hugged his legs. He’d worn tall Hessians for the outing today, and Margaret had always believed that boots showed a man off b
etter than any other piece of clothing.

  “I am sorry to have worried you,” she offered. “We are friends and I ought not to have snapped at you.”

  After a moment, he nodded and then turned back to search her eyes. “Is that what we are? Friends?” He was not smiling. “And soon, it seems, you are to become my aunt. Dearest Aunt Maggie.” One corner of his mouth tilted up ironically as he awaited her response.

  She swallowed hard. She did not think of him as an aunt ought to think of a nephew. An aunt did not ogle one’s nephew’s fine thighs. Was this what had been bothering her all day?

  “I am sorry you were concerned. Because, yes. You are my friend.”

  Taking a moment, he seemed to visibly force himself to relax. “Of course.” He then offered her his arm. “Would you care to have my escort back to the manor, or would you prefer I follow you at a distance in order to give you the illusion of being alone?”

  “I prefer to have your escort, if you please.” She reached out to him but he did not tuck her hand into his elbow. He clasped her wrist instead.

  “The ring is too small.” He held her hand, examining her finger.

  Margaret grimaced. The swelling was not exactly attractive, nor was the discoloration around the metal. “I can’t get it off.” Oddly enough, she nearly choked on a sob as she said the words. Luckily, she stifled it before it could escape.

  “This is not good.” He examined it closer. “It must be painful.”

  It was. “My maid and I tried lard and lavender oil. I’m waiting for the swelling to go away.”

  He did not release her hand though. He narrowed his eyes, as though deep in thought. “Is it tingling? Numb?”

  “A little. Right here.” She pointed at the section just above her knuckle. “My efforts have only made it worse.”

  “Do you have a ribbon?” His question surprised her. An odd request, but…

  “Will this work?” She pointed at the silk securing her bonnet.

  “It might.” He grimaced. “But that ring has to come off.” Sebastian gestured for her to sit on the grass and not having any notion as to what he had in mind, she did just that. Once there, he settled himself beside her, cross-legged, and then reached across to her chin. “May I?”

  She nodded and tilted her head back. Just as she reached to untie it, his fingers gently brushed her hands away and he worked at it himself. Feeling it loosen, she lowered her chin again, lifted the bonnet off, and handed it over. The cool breeze tickled her hair, causing a tremor to run through her.

  “Are you afraid? This won’t hurt. I promise.”

  “No. I trust you.”

  “Cold?”

  She shook her head again.

  Satisfied that she was not uncomfortable, he withdrew a knife from his boot but then paused and sent her a teasing glance. “Not another favorite, I hope?”

  “It is not.” His ability to make her laugh when she needed it most struck her as uncanny.

  Once he’d separated the ribbon from her hat, he took hold of her hand again. Margaret watched patiently, still curious as he twisted the ring slightly and attempted to work the silk in between her flesh and the tight metal. Having little luck, he furrowed his brows in concentration and then retrieved his knife from where he’d balanced it on one of his knees.

  “I’d rather keep my finger, if you don’t mind.” Margaret smiled again, not worried at all, in fact, trusting him implicitly.

  He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes and shook his head at her joke before looking down again and concentrating fully. Using the tip of the knife, he then incrementally wedged the ribbon into the seemingly nonexistent space that existed between her flesh and the ring.

  “Stop me if it hurts, Maggie.” But before long, he had slid it through and very precisely wound the leftover ribbon snugly around her finger, rather like a stripe on a barber’s pole.

  For the first time all day, Margaret felt at peace. And safe.

  Using the end he’d inserted beneath the ring, Sebastian slowly began unwinding it. Amazingly, it eased the ring along with it. Past the swollen part. Past her knuckle.

  And off.

  When it was off entirely, she could only stare at it, sitting harmlessly in his hand, the ribbon strung through it, almost as though he’d just performed a very clever magic trick.

  Sebastian set them aside and massaged her finger with both hands.

  “Don’t put it on again until he has it sized for you.” The gravelly sound in his voice ought to have been alarming. They sat very near each other. If she was much closer, she’d be sitting in his lap. Was he as affected by her nearness as she was by his?

  Margaret forced herself to speak. “I do not intend to.” Ever? Or until it was sized? “I’m sorry you brought it all this way for nothing.”

  He jerked his head up and eyes the color of a stormy sky seemed to stare into her very soul. “Are you? Sorry that I brought it?”

  They were no longer speaking of the ring. They were talking about him. About his presence in her life. Because if he had not come, then she would have climbed into bed with George and everything… would be exactly the same?

  No.

  Meeting Sebastian Wright had changed everything for her. He might not be in her life for very long but perhaps he’d had a purpose after all.

  “I am not. I am not sorry that you traveled all this way.” The rest of the world faded away in that moment, and Margaret leaned forward to touch her lips to his jaw. “Thank you. For everything.” But when she went to draw away from him, she was instead caught up in his arms.

  “Don’t thank me, Maggie.” His mouth claimed hers, and she couldn’t bring herself to put up any resistance whatsoever. “Not yet.”

  His hands were in her hair, and then she was lying on her back, his weight above her. “Maggie.” The heat of his breath trailed from her mouth to her jaw, her neck. “What are you doing to me? Is this some sort of test?”

  It must be. But she couldn’t speak. Because she didn’t know the answer. And if it was a test, sent from either heaven or hell, it was surely hers to pass or fail—not his.

  “I can’t stop thinking of you,” he murmured as he removed the pins from her hair. Mesmerized, he spread the long strands all around her face on the grass where they lay and took his time to study it lovingly, seemingly fascinated by this uniquely feminine aspect of her. “I couldn’t stop thinking of this, of the sensation of it sliding through my fingers, how it caught in the whiskers on my face, like gossamer, or a silken spider’s web…”

  Margaret stared into his eyes, unable to speak. She’d doubted practically everything she’d believed about herself over the past few days: her dreams for the future, her memories of the past, and more than ever before, what she needed in the present.

  In that moment, lying in his embrace, she believed she’d rather die than push him away. How long had she craved a lover’s touch?

  He moved his attention to her neck, to her shoulders, sliding her sleeve and bodice out of his way. Margaret couldn’t move. She dare not speak.

  “And your skin,” he continued. “I couldn’t forget your scent, your taste, how it felt beneath my lips, on my tongue.”

  She closed her eyes and shivered. “Sebastian.”

  His mouth on her chest now, he inhaled. “Lavender and… woman.” Continuing his journey, his tongue trailed around the curve of one breast while his hand cradled the other. “You asked me to forget, but how could I, Maggie? How could I forget this?” His mouth clamped down and he suckled.

  She had done her best to forget that night, as well, and she had failed miserably.

  He was gentle at first but gradually increased the suction, almost to the point of pain. Margaret couldn’t hold back her moan of satisfaction, clutching his head, her fingers threaded through silky black hair.

  It had been so long—so very, very long.

  His hand left her breast to trail up her leg, beneath her skirt.

  She wanted him. She wanted
this man, and she didn’t care about anything else. Her feelings made no sense at all. They had nothing to do with her desire to become a mother. Nothing to do with anything rational or logical. Only that she wanted him to make love to her. She wanted him to put himself inside of her.

  “I won’t allow you to forget,” he promised. She parted her legs for him.

  His hand covered her center. “Soft, wet. Will you remember this, Maggie?”

  A gasp of pleasure tore past her throat.

  He’d unlocked these needs that first night in her bed. He’d released them, and she hadn’t been able to cage them again. She writhed as his fingers played with the sensitive flesh between her legs. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her.

  Watching her closely, he slid one finger inside. “You like this.”

  She nodded. She had only ever done anything like this in the complete cover of darkness. The sunlight was waning, but golden light cast his skin a sensual bronze. She felt exposed, vulnerable.

  Alive.

  Still watching her, he licked his lips. His muscles flexed as he reached his finger deeper inside of her.

  “God, I love touching you,” he murmured, withdrawing his finger and then thrusting it inside again. “Do you know what you feel like? So warm and wet, like nothing else in this entire world.” His thumb slowly massaged the nub above her opening.

  Her heart raced. She was transfixed by his gaze and by all the sensations he elicited.

  He added another finger and reached even higher now. Maggie couldn’t keep from arching her back, pressing herself against his hand.

  “There you go, sweetheart. Let go. God, you’re beautiful.”

  His fingers curled and rubbed at her insides, touching her in places she’d never been touched before. She was on the edge of a cliff. The breeze lifted her up, swirling her over the sea. He pushed his hand in again and then lowered his mouth to her breast.