The Rakehell's Seduction (The Seduction Series Book 2)

by Lauren Smith

  “Let me go back inside.” There was steel beneath that sensual tone, and he couldn’t help but admire her for that. Not such a wilting wallflower then.

  “What has you so frightened? One minute we were having a polite conversation, and the next you’re fleeing simply because I told you my name.”

  She arched a brow. “We were having a polite conversation until I learned that you were the sort of man who could ruin me by the simple act of being alone with you. Now if you’ll kindly let me pass…”

  Ambrose smiled, pinning her with the weight of his seductive snare. “’Tis a pity you fear passion.”

  Alex scoffed, completely unimpressed by a look he’d used to break many hearts and quite a few beds.

  “Did you think that would work? Challenge me to stay and let you compromise me in the name of conquering my fears? I’m not some country peahen.” She shoved hard at his chest, her determination making her even more alluring.

  Ambrose slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “I would never say you were a peahen. You remind me more of a doe. Deep, expressive eyes, sleek limbs. All you need is a proper buck, one to mount you and claim you as his with deep, powerful thrusts.” He painted the verbal picture and punctuated it with a slow roll of his pelvis against hers.

  A flush of red stained her cheeks, her lips parting in shock. He’d probably gone too far, but he took a strange delight in provoking this woman.

  “Would you like that, Alex? Do you want a man to possess you, take you hard until you scream?” His provocative words had the desired effect.

  She blinked at him, desire battling outrage in her eyes. Alex was a woman who craved passion but knew wanting it was dangerous. Smart girl.

  “You know what I want?” she demanded breathlessly.

  “Yes?” He pressed fully against her, his body ready to take hers. It would be so easy to lift her skirts, wrap her lovely legs around his hips, and take her here. He could silence her cries with his lips. God, he wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in a long damned time.

  “I want you to get out of my way.” He sensed the movement too late to stop her, and he felt the agonizing pain slice through him as her knee jutted up, a slither of silks and satins, and rammed into him, crushing his bollocks and crippling him. His throat closed with panic, and he clutched his crotch, his ability to breathe escaping him as stars danced before his eyes.

  “Christ!” he hissed.

  In his agony he barely noticed her leaving, a whisper of her dress as she pushed past him and back into the ballroom, leaving him broken and alone, holding on to the aching cock he had a moment before been pressing against her. He rested one palm against the brick wall, gasping and trying to control the surge of shooting pain from his balls up to his chest.

  Bloody hell, the woman had one hell of a leg.

  When the pain at last subsided, he started laughing. Alex was one hell of a woman, and he couldn’t wait to get her in his bed. He would worry about the Earl of Rockford’s daughter tomorrow. Tonight he would play buck to Alex’s doe.

  Chapter 2

  “Heavens, I can’t believe I did that.” Alexandra covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. She hid at the back of the assembly room with her best friend, Perdita Darby. Her heart was pounding, and her body was trembling. Thankfully, the music drowned out the sound of their laughter. The moment she’d rushed inside she’d sought out her friend, and they’d ducked behind a wall of impressive matrons who were watching the dancing with critical eyes to see which young men might suit their daughters.

  “You truly kicked a man between his legs?” Perdita seemed torn between laughing and gasping in scandalized shock. This was why she loved her friend. They were both a bit of outcasts in Lothbrook because neither one of them was inclined to marry, and the thought of kneeing a man’s bollocks made them both laugh.

  Lord, we are doomed to be spinsters, but at least we shall be together, Alex thought, laughing still.

  “I did! I don’t know what came over me, but there he was, talking about…possessing me, and I just…kicked!” Alex blushed and covered her face in her hands for a minute to collect herself. If anyone found out she’d behaved like such a hoyden, she’d be in real trouble. She was relieved her mother had given up on marrying her off and had gone to London on her own for the season. If she’d been here and seen what Alex had been up to…

  I’d never hear the end of it.

  “If he was trying to kiss you, it was only fitting that you put a stop to his forward behavior. You can’t afford to be compromised by a man like Ambrose Worthing, even if he is the finest man ever to be seen. Although, one kiss might have been worth it…” Perdita replied in all seriousness, but her lips twitched as she mentioned a kiss.

  “Perdita!” Alex gasped in a hushed whisper. “You wouldn’t actually kiss a rake like him, would you?” Perdita’s statement shocked her. Was her friend actually considering going about kissing rakes? Surely not sensible, sweet Perdita. Between the two of them, Perdita was far more adept at navigating social situations, but that probably had something to do with her mother constantly throwing parties, balls, and picnics in an attempt to entice gentlemen to court Perdita. Alex was more of a hoyden than anything else—she’d readily admit to that. It was far better to be racing about the country on her horse than to be stuck inside like most other ladies her age.

  “Of course I would. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what it would be like, kissing a man like that? One who actually knows what to do with a woman?” Perdita’s dark-brown hair was pulled up, but loose curls teased the slope of her neck, and when she glanced about the curls danced on her skin. “You know what they say about him in London…”

  “You mean about how he…” Alex’s words died on her tongue as Ambrose strode straight toward her. Fury blackened his eyes, but a sensual smile hovered at the edge of his perfectly curved lips as though he’d already planned his revenge. Whatever he’d dreamed up, she knew it wouldn’t be good.

  “Oh dear, Perdy, save me quick!” Alex shoved her friend in front of her just as Ambrose reached them.

  “Mr. Worthing, I presume?” Perdita flashed him a charming smile. She wasn’t a diamond of the first water, but men seemed to enjoy spending time with her during social engagements. There was a liveliness and playfulness to her that made her instantly amiable. It was a rare man who didn’t enjoy being around Perdita when she was playing the part of a charming young lady. Ambrose, however, seemed unaffected.

  “Yes. You must be Miss Darby. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your mother.”

  Even though his reply was directed at Perdita, his gaze scorched a path up and down Alex’s body, despite the human shield her friend presented.

  Perdita chuckled wryly. “I doubt my mother’s acquaintance was much of a pleasure, but you are kind to say so. Are you staying in Lothbrook long?” She was a master conversationalist and wasn’t at all perturbed at being used as a shield. Alex was never more thankful Perdita was her friend.

  Perdita suddenly nudged backward with her elbow, prodding Alex to try to slip away from her and Ambrose. A wonderful idea…a quick escape…

  Ambrose, under the apparent guise of avoiding a nearby dancing couple, stepped closer to them and blocked Alex’s route to freedom. “I’m staying at the inn, but I’ve received an invitation to join the Earl of Rockford at his estate.”

  Alex’s blood drained from her face. Her father had invited one of London’s most notorious rakehells to stay in their home? What on earth could he be thinking? Surely he wouldn’t have done so if he’d known of Ambrose’s reputation.

  “You are acquainted with my father?” she blurted out.

  “Your father?” His responding look of confusion caught her off guard. He didn’t know who she was.

  “Yes, James Westfall, the Earl of Rockford.”

  This time it was Ambrose who paled. “You’re Rockford’s daughter?” An unreadable expression filled his rich brown eyes. Earlier in t
he darkened garden, she hadn’t been able to make out his features as clearly, only that he’d been a tall, muscled man with a smooth voice and a decent face. But now in the light of the assembly room, when she was really having to face him, she couldn’t help but hate him just a little. He was too good-looking. With dark hair and dark eyes, full lips that seemed most comfortable when curled in a slightly sardonic grin, and a strong chin and straight nose, he was an ideal specimen of a man. Just like Marshall had been…

  She shoved thoughts of Marshall away. The last thing she wanted to do was think of the young man who’d broken her heart five years ago before he’d left for London.

  She forced herself to eye Ambrose critically. She liked being able to read a person, and it unsettled her, not having a clue what he was thinking. She shifted restlessly on her feet. If Alex didn’t know better, she’d have thought the look was that of quickly masked calculation.

  “Mr. Worthing is acquainted with your father?” Perdita looked between them, amusement tugging the corners of her lips.

  Ambrose recovered himself and smiled warmly. “I met him when I was a lad. Our fathers are old friends. I’ve only recently had the opportunity to renew the acquaintance.”

  “Oh,” Alex breathed in relief. “You won’t be staying long then.”

  “Alex!” Perdita jabbed her elbow sharply in Alex’s ribs.

  “Oomf!” Alex hissed from the discomfort of that unexpected little blow and glared at her friend.

  “Alex? You told me no one calls you that.” Ambrose crossed his arms, and Alex couldn’t help but admire the fine cut of his dark blue waistcoat. With broad shoulders, narrow hips, and muscled legs in buckskin breeches, Ambrose Worthing was a vision of masculine perfection. It was a pity he was no better than a bounder who preyed upon ladies of quality by seducing them for his own pleasures. A man like him should have had a sweet disposition and a kind heart and be loyal to a wonderful wife. But alas, the most attractive men were always the most dangerous, the rakes, the rogues—devils each and every last one.

  “Her friends call her Alex.” Perdita flipped her fan open and looked at Alex from behind the lacy contraption, hiding a wide grin.

  “Well then, Alex, I am delighted to make your acquaintance and am quite sure I shall win you as a friend.” Ambrose captured her hand and bent to press a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Alex’s blood heated at the hot pressure of his lips. He flicked his tongue against her pulse. She jerked her hand back in surprise. She’d suffered a hundred kisses to the hand over the last few years, and none had such an effect as Ambrose’s.

  Why would he be different? It is probably because he infuriates me so, with his arrogance and his determination to woo. Well, I shall not be wooed.

  “Miss Darby.” Ambrose kissed Perdita’s hand in a much more gentlemanly fashion. “Would you care to dance?” He flashed a smile in her direction, ignoring Alex completely.

  Perdita’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Worthing. My dance card is full. Alex, however, has the next waltz free.”

  “They allow you to waltz here?” Ambrose’s brows drew together in puzzlement.

  “Alex can. Her father convinced the matrons of Lothbrook to allow it.” Perdita announced this with a great deal of pride. After all, it had been after the request her father had made, and it had taken Alex’s best behavior for two seasons to prove to the matrons she could be trusted to dance the scandalous waltz.

  “Dancing on the edge of scandal?” Ambrose quirked his lips, reading her silent thoughts.

  “I’m twenty-two, Mr. Worthing. Even though I am unmarried, I should be able to waltz. My father and the matrons agree. It helps that my reputation is beyond reproach.”

  “Not for long,” Ambrose muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” she demanded.

  “Shall we dance then?” Ambrose stepped around Perdita and once more claimed her hand, pulling her toward the dancers lining up for the waltz.

  He tugged her into his arms, fitting her body snugly against his.

  “Move back, Mr. Worthing, you’re too close,” Alex protested. Flashes of heat scoured her body in tiny flames, licking at her breasts and between her legs. Being flush against him nearly robbed her of her senses. She’d danced other waltzes, but no man had affected her like this. Alex didn’t like it.

  “That is the point of dancing a waltz, Alex. A man likes to hold his woman close, feel her breasts against his chest. He wants to feel her body against the length of his.”

  “But I’m not your woman,” Alex pointed out. If she had her way, she’d never belong to any man. She was quite content to live the rest of her days alone and in control of her own destiny. Her father allowed her quite a bit of freedom, and someday she would have the lands and money settled upon her in a trust that her uncle would be in control of, but her uncle was a dear old man and would let her go on as she pleased. There was no need to marry. After what she’d suffered when Marshall had left Lothbrook, she couldn’t bear to think of falling in love with another man, and she certainly wouldn’t marry someone unless she loved him.

  “But you could be my woman. All you need say is ‘Please, Ambrose,’ and I’m yours to command. I only wish to worship at the altar of such loveliness.” His tone was rich and low, teasing, and yet not mocking as she’d expected.

  Alex scoffed, trying to ignore the way his bewitching voice made her feel. “Do those pretty phrases actually work? Do women fall at your feet begging for your attentions?”

  “Every single time,” he assured her with a brazen smile as the dance started.

  Very well, I can play too. She flashed him a smile back.

  Alex aimed purposely for his foot and trod on it. He narrowed his eyes but gave no other indication that he’d noticed. His fingers around her waist dug deep. She stifled a gasp when the primal possessive touch shot straight to her core, making her wet. That was a problem.

  She was not a stranger to sexual desire. She’d come upon one of her father’s grooms once in the summer when he’d been cleaning the stables out. He had removed his waistcoat and shirt as he mucked out the stalls. Alex had leaned against the door, hidden from view as she’d watched the play of light and shadows on his muscled body. That was the first time her body had awakened, but she had not acted on that desire. And much later, when she’d fallen in love with Marshall, they had stolen kisses in the shadows of the stable and behind the hedges of her garden and it had been wonderful. The dizzying feel of building desire had left her aching and desperate to know fulfillment. But she’d never gone past kisses. She would not let a man like Ambrose draw her in with honeyed words or heated gazes. It reminded her too much of Marshall, and thoughts of him always sliced her deep.

  A little voice inside her head whispered that Ambrose wasn’t Marshall.

  She didn’t want to want Ambrose. She couldn’t afford to give in to hunger for a man like him. He’d ruin her and not look back once his coach left Lothbrook. Alex raised her eyes to his face. His aquiline nose and sculpted jaw were beautiful. The temptation to be seduced was impossibly strong, but she would not give in.

  Lucky for me, his arrogance makes him less attractive.

  “You know, I would never bed a man like you. You’re an arrogant, pompous arse.”

  For a second he blinked, as though startled by her tart response. Then he recovered and smiled. “You don’t know the first thing about arses, my dear.”

  She flinched at the fierce, leonine look in his eyes.

  “I sense you don’t like me, but I wonder if it’s men in general, dear Alex, that sends you into a such a state of scorn?” he mused thoughtfully. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Did you love another man? Is that it? Someone broke your heart?” He was teasing, but she stumbled at his too accurate guess.

  “Please, I don’t wish to dance anymore,” she whispered, trying to get him to stop. She didn’t want to talk about Marshall, didn’t want to think about him or the dreams she’d built that had been shattered when
he abandoned her to marry another woman for more money.

  Ambrose stared at her, and she looked away, not wishing to see a look of gleeful pride.

  “I hadn’t—I’m sorry…I didn’t realize I might be right. I was jesting. Please, Alex, let us finish the dance.” His tone was gentle, and it drew her face back to his. Those brown eyes were warm and soft and apologetic.

  They continued the waltz in silence, the music cloaking them in its rhythmic pulse. Alex and Ambrose fell into a relaxed pace, legs perfectly in sync, bodies just the right distance apart. He was a wonderful dancer, she would allow him that.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked when they reached the corner of the room and began to move back out amid the twirling couples.

  “Hmm?” Alex was barely listening. She was caught up in the lovely feel of dancing with him.

  “You look both relaxed and perplexed all at once.”

  “Oh. I was thinking that you are a wonderful dancer. Most of the men in Lothbrook have trod on my toes too often for me to enjoy dancing. Until now.” Even Marshall hadn’t been a good dancer. Passable, yes, but never divine like this. She’d always wanted to waltz with a man who could do it properly, and now she was glad to find that desire hadn’t been a waste. This was more than agreeable—it was lovely. Almost too lovely, and she knew it would come to an end.

  “So you admit I’m not all bad.” Ambrose’s smile was piratical. It was possessive, predatory, and completely intoxicating. The power of it impacted her deep inside, like an explosion of sensation and hunger.

  This is why rakes are so dangerous. Women would do anything to win a smile like that.

  “You are still mostly bad,” she replied, but it was impossible not to laugh a little as she said it.

  Ambrose laughed too. “I’ll accept mostly bad as a credit to my irresistible charm.”

  “I suppose that next you’ll tell me reformed rakes make the best husbands.”

  “Lord no, but I’d love for you to try to reform me.” He pulled her an inch closer and lowered his gaze to her lips. “Perhaps we could discuss the ways in which my wickedness could be handled. You could tie me down and torture me with that sweet little mou…Ack!” Ambrose gasped as Alex purposely stomped on his feet again.