Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

by Sarah MacLean

  “Which is?”

  “Calpurnia Hartwell is not your kind of woman, Gabriel.”

  “And what kind of woman is she?”

  “The kind that wants love.”

  “Love.” Ralston spat the word. “Callie knows better than to believe in fairy tales. One doesn’t get to be her age without understanding that love is a fool’s errand.”

  “Callie, is it?” Nick asked.

  “You’re lucky I don’t lay you out right now,” Ralston growled.

  “Mmm,” Nick replied, noncommittally. He held his brother’s eyes for a long moment before standing and making his way to the door of the room. Once there, he turned back. “Just tell me one thing. The truth this time. Are you after her?”

  Yes. “No,” Ralston scoffed. “What on earth would I want with such a plain, missish creature?” Not so plain; not so missish. Ralston pushed the thought aside. “Have you ever known me to pursue a woman like her? I need her for Juliana’s sake. That is all. It is not my fault if the girl finds me attractive.”

  Nick nodded once at the words before pulling open the door, which had been ajar, to reveal Callie, wide-eyed and pale-faced. If Ralston were less in control of his emotions, he would have cursed violently.

  It was obvious that she had overheard.

  All thoughts of Juliana gone from her mind, Callie looked from one brother to the other and opened her mouth to speak, feeling that she must say something.

  There was nothing to say, of course. Ralston had said quite enough.

  She took a deep breath, his words seeming to echo around her. What on earth would I want with such a plain, missish creature? Well. At least now she knew the truth. Surely there was some comfort to be found in that.

  None right this moment, of course, but…surely at some point…sometime in the future…the pain of his words hit her like a physical blow.

  And then she felt the anger, surging around her like a vicious, welcome storm.

  And she wanted nothing but to strike back at this arrogant, self-important man who seemed to be no kind of gentleman.

  “Well,” she said, sarcasm seeping into her tone, as she pushed through the doorway to face Gabriel, “you seem to have a rather inflated view of yourself, my lord.”

  Twin sets of ink black eyebrows shot up at her words and, while she did not take her eyes from the marquess, she heard Nick’s surprised cough, followed by, “I do believe I will seek out Juliana. Perhaps she is faring better than my other sibling.”

  He bowed low, despite Callie’s summarily ignoring him, and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  The sound spurred Callie into motion. “How dare you?”

  Gabriel moved toward her. “I did not mean…”

  She held up one hand to stay his words. “You ruined your sister’s dancing lesson, not to mention the rest of her afternoon.”

  He stopped, surprised by the shift in topic. “She rather ruined it herself, don’t you think?”

  “No. I think you ruined it for her. And for the rest of us.” She pulled herself up to her full height, squaring her shoulders. “And I would thank you to remember that, since you need me for Juliana’s sake, you would do well to steer clear of our lessons before making a hash out of any more of them.”

  He blinked at her icy words before saying coolly, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  She lifted her chin, defiant. “As a matter of fact, I was. It is unfortunate that the afternoon ended so abruptly.” She looked down her pert nose at him for a long moment before turning on one heel to leave the room. Her fingers had barely touched the handle of the door when she turned back. “You owe your sister an apology.”

  He scoffed. “For what?”

  “She is young and alone and terrified that she will disappoint you, Lord Ralston. You may say whatever you like about me, but do try to remember that she is delicate. And she needs you.”

  “I am not a monster.”

  She smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes. “No. Of course not.”

  He had the distinct impression that she did not necessarily believe the words.

  She turned back to the door, making to leave, and he spoke, his words flying across the room. “Is he an item on your list?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, stiffly, turning with all the disdain of a Queen.

  He pressed on, as though speaking to a simpleton. “Nicholas, Callie. My brother. Is he an item on your list? Number three: Land St. John?”

  Callie’s eyes widened. “You think I’ve put your brother on my list?”

  “That’s exactly what I think.” His eyes flared with a barely contained emotion that she couldn’t quite identify. “Did you?”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at the ridiculous query. “No, Ralston. I didn’t. I assure you that were there a conquest on my list, it would not be your brother.”

  “Who would it be?”

  Against my better judgment, it would be you, you cabbagehead. “I am through with this conversation.” Callie made to turn back to the door. And then he was next to her, grabbing her hand firmly, spinning her toward him. The warm heat of his skin sent a shock through her; she fought to ignore it.

  “I am not through with it.”

  “Lord Ralston,” Callie said, eyes flashing with unbridled anger, “you appear to be laboring under the misapprehension that I am in some way beholden to your whims. Allow me to set you to rights. You may be able to direct your servants and your family as you see fit, but I fall into neither of those categories. And while I may be a plain, missish, passive creature, I am through with being ordered about by you. I am leaving.”

  He rocked back on his heels at her ire. “I never called you passive. There is nothing passive about you.”

  With a tug, she extricated her hand from his grasp. She glared up at him, and for a fleeting moment he thought she might do him bodily harm.

  When she turned on one heel and reached for the door, he flattened his palm against the cool mahogany, blocking her exit. “You may not be my servant or my family, Calpurnia, but we do have an agreement.”

  She froze at the words, gaze locked on his hand. “I have lived up to my end of the bargain.”

  “Juliana’s behavior this afternoon indicates otherwise.”

  “Oh, please.” Callie scoffed. “We both know she is ready.”

  “I know no such thing. I shall be the judge of her preparedness.”

  “There were no such stipulations made when we discussed the agreement.”

  “Nor were they expressly not made. I am making them now. You received what you requested. Or, have you forgotten?” The words sent a shiver down her spine. He was standing behind her, and she could feel the warm kiss of his breath on her bare neck, sending a river of heat through her.

  “I have not forgotten.” The words came unbidden, and she closed her eyes.

  He laid a hand on her arm and, with virtually no pressure, turned her to face him. When he met her eyes, the anger that had been there was gone, replaced by something much more complex. “Neither have I. And not for lack of trying.”

  Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

  “I’ve tried to forget that kiss…and the carriage ride…and the fencing club…but you seem to have taken up residence…in my memory.”

  As he spoke between long, drugging kisses that consumed her senses, he guided Callie across the study and into a large chair near the fireplace. Kneeling in front of her, he cupped one cheek in a strong, warm hand, and met her gaze with a searing look. Shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite understand what had come over him, he kissed her again, growling low in the back of his throat. Her hands found their way into his thick, dark hair as he caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at sensation, and he rewarded the sound by de
epening the kiss, giving her everything she desired.

  He broke off the kiss as one of his hands found its way under her skirts, caressing up the inside of her leg. He shifted her against him, running his lips across her cheek to the curl of her ear, sucking and nibbling and licking as he spoke to her, the scandalous words more sensation than sound.

  “Such soft skin…” he said, as his fingers played along the inside of her thighs, driving her mad with desire as heat pooled at their juncture. “I’ve been wondering what you felt like here…” He shifted to gain better access to the skin high on the inside of her thighs, so close to the spot where she most wanted him. “Now that I know…I’m going to be consumed with thoughts of how this soft, lovely skin will feel against me…” He placed a soft, lush kiss on the column of her neck as his hand moved higher, closer to the center of her.

  Her hands rushing across his chest and shoulders, eager for the feel of him, Callie sighed, squirming against him, desperate for his hands in that secret, dark place that she had just recently come to understand. He smiled against her neck, deliberately pulling back, lightly tracing his fingers back down her legs. He moved away from her and she opened her eyes.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Empress,” he said with a wicked smile. “I merely want a better look.”

  He had lifted her skirts even higher before she fully comprehended the meaning of his words and struggled to sit up. “No…” she said, embarrassed by the very idea that he might want to see such an intimate place.

  He reached up, running one hand to the back of her neck and pulling her toward him for a searing kiss. When she had softened against him once more, he released her from the caress and said, “Oh, yes, Empress.”

  He pushed her skirts high on her legs and gently parted her thighs once more, running his strong, knowing hands along the skin there. “So smooth and soft,” he murmured, placing soft, wet kisses on the inside of one knee and following a warm, wicked path up her leg, coaxing her open once more. Callie closed her eyes against the vision of him moving so sinfully against her, but could not help but open for him when he asked—she was entirely under his control, a victim of his passionate assault.

  When he reached the junction of her thighs, he pulled back, marveling at the dark, glistening curls that shielded her sex. Brushing his fingers lightly against the soft down, he sent a shock of sensation through her. Her eyes opened, and she met his heavy-lidded gaze. He spoke, his voice coursing through her as his fingers played at her entrance. “I’ve imagined this moment, late at night, in the privacy of my bedchamber. I’ve thought of you, like this, open to me…entirely mine.”

  The words sent a flood of liquid fire through her.

  “I’ve imagined touching you like this…opening you, caressing you…” As he spoke, his actions mirrored his words, parting the delicate folds of her sex, stroking her wet heat. She gasped at the sensation, lifting her hips toward him, silently pleading for more. He circled the firm nub of her sex gently with the tip of his finger and watched as a shock of feeling coursed through her.

  She moved toward him again, but this time he let his hands slide away from her…from the place where the world seemed to begin and end, and she cried out her disapproval. For a moment, she thought he would end it there, but instead he set his lips softly to the spot where her thigh and torso met.

  When he lifted his head from the kiss, he said, “Do you touch yourself, lovely?” He ran his finger through the wet heat of her.

  Callie squeezed her eyes shut at the question…she couldn’t speak…couldn’t answer him…couldn’t meet his gaze, dark with restrained passion. But he would not allow her to escape.

  “Empress,” the nickname coaxed, as a single finger played at the entrance to her. “Answer me. Do you?” The words were barely a whisper, a lush, wanton sound that she couldn’t possibly respond to. That she couldn’t possibly not respond to.

  She nodded, catching her lip in her teeth on a tiny whimper, the color raging across her cheeks a mixture of passion and embarrassment as his white teeth flashed and his fingers resumed their unbearable stroking.

  “Here?” The word was a breath of sound, brushing against the sensitive skin of her thighs as he inserted a finger deep within her, and set his thumb to the tight place that set her aflame. “Do you touch yourself here?”

  She gasped her reply. “Yes!”

  A second finger joined the first, rubbing against the very heart of her, sending bolts of pleasure through her body—which was no longer her own to control. It was his. As she had always known it would be.

  “What do you think about when you touch yourself here?” The words were spoken against her skin as he kissed across her torso toward the place where his hands were robbing her of thought. She bit her lip—she couldn’t tell him—couldn’t answer.

  He placed a soft kiss on her rounded belly, looking up at her. “Empress…” His tone was cajoling, making her want nothing more than to tell him anything—everything.

  His fingers delved deep, thrusting and stroking against her, his thumb circling the little button of fire that made her blood rush. She arched toward him, eager for more as his fingers retreated. Opening her legs wider, she whimpered at the loss of him, only to gasp when he blew on the soft hair that covered her mound, sending all coherent thought from her head.

  “Lovely…” His tone was lazy; if it weren’t for his harsh breathing, she would have thought he was unmoved by the situation.

  His thumbs separated the folds guarding the heart of her and, for a moment, she struggled, embarrassed by his actions, mortified by his interest as he dragged his gaze up her body to meet hers—his piercing blue eyes held a promise that she did not fully understand, but for which she was desperate.

  “Callie…” His breath hit the heart of her, hot and intense.

  “I—” Words escaped her as he blew firmly on her—a cool stream of air teasing the exact place where her pleasure seemed to pool. She gasped. He was killing her.

  “Who do you think of?”

  She couldn’t bear it.

  “You.”

  The word ended on a cry as his mouth rewarded her for her honesty. The sensation of his mouth on her turned Callie inside out. Her hands plunged into his hair as his tongue stroked, laving the soft, moist skin of her inner lips, tasting her wet heat with tiny circular movements that threatened to rob her of breath and sanity. She sighed at the pleasure he wrought, lifting against him, boldly asking for more even as she felt a wave of embarrassment course through her.

  When his tongue found the swollen, aching nub at the center of her and circled it firmly, sending a wave of pleasure through her, Callie cried out his name and grasped his shoulders, in a twin attempt to push him away and lift toward him. In response, he grasped her hips firmly, holding her still as his lips closed tightly around the secret place, and he sucked, bringing her to the brink of pleasure with his lush, knowing mouth.

  “No…” Callie panted, shaking her head against the powerful feelings coursing through her, “Gabriel…stop…”

  He ignored her, licking more firmly, sucking more deeply, moving one hand to thrust a knowing finger deep inside her to coax forth more of her sweet rain. And then, as though he knew precisely what her body needed, he began to move faster, his fingers and tongue in perfect unison, chasing away all rational thought, bringing with them a wave of passion and unfathomable pleasure. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, the wave crested, and Callie shattered, unable to do anything but give herself up to the sensation, pulsing against him, crying out his name as the world tumbled down around her.

  His mouth softened against her, his fingers stilling as she regained awareness of the day, of the room. He lifted his head, watching her intently as she opened her eyes and met his gaze, filled with passion and satisfaction and something else she couldn’t identify. Stretching toward her, he took her mouth with a dark intensity that she did not recognize; the kiss felt more brand than caress.

&nbs
p; Pulling away, he spoke, his voice harsh. “You do want me.”

  The words pierced through the haze of emotion that had consumed her, and she stiffened immediately. With vivid clarity, she recognized the meaning in his words. It was not passion that had driven him to make love to her in his study in broad daylight, but rather a need to prove himself and his prowess. This was nothing more than a competition; she was nothing more than a prize to be won.

  He didn’t want her…of course he didn’t. She was plain and missish.

  The thought sent a vicious chill through her, and Callie sprang into motion, pushing at him with all her might, knocking him off-balance, suddenly desperate to get away from his mouth and hands and heat. She stood, haphazardly setting her skirts to rights as she stumbled past him and hurried toward the door of the room, putting distance between them.

  “Callie—” he said, standing and following her. She turned at her name and, surprised to see him so near, she held one hand out as though she could stop him from coming closer. As though she could prevent him from becoming too deeply entrenched in her heart. As though it weren’t too late for that.

  Hair mussed, cravat untangled, waistcoat unbuttoned, Ralston appeared every inch the portrait of debauchery. In that moment, there was no question that Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, was a rake of the highest caliber. He’d likely had this very interlude with countless other women—likely to prove the same point. Callie shook her head, disappointed in herself. She so obviously meant nothing to him. How could she not have seen that?

  Because you didn’t want to see it. You’re Selene. Doomed to love a mortal in eternal sleep. She closed her eyes at the thought, willing the tears not to come. At least, not until she was out of the room. Out of his house.

  He raised an arrogant brow, his harsh breathing echoing around them. “Do you deny it?”

  Hurt flared, and she could no longer hide it. When she spoke, her voice was small. “I don’t deny it. It’s always been you.”

  She watched him react to the words, watched him register the truth in them. And then she said, “I just wish it were anyone else.” And with that, she turned and—pride be damned—she fled.