“Are you ready to depart, my lovely bride?” Dare asked, his eyes silently pleading for assistance. Sentimental and slightly tipsy from the wine she had imbibed to toast the bride and groom, Lady Netherley appeared reluctant to release Dare from her clutches.
Regan hid her smile as she casually walked over to Dare and the marchioness. “Yes, my lord. I confess, I have not yet grown accustomed to these late evenings.” She placed her gloved hand on Dare’s arm and smiled at their hostess. “Lady Netherley, we cannot thank you enough for everything that you have done for us. Bless you and your romantic heart.”
Lady Netherley released Dare and opened her arms to give Regan a wobbly embrace. “Think nothing of it, my dear girl.” Regan winced at the marchioness’s fierce hug. “There is no shame, now that you and Dare have done the right thing. And you can trust me to keep your secret.”
“Come, love,” Dare said curtly, deftly separating the two woman. “We have kept this good woman from her bed long enough.”
Regan glanced back at Lady Netherley as Dare dragged her out the open front door. “But—” She barely had enough time to raise her hand in farewell before the woman was out of sight. “I am going to lose one of my evening slippers if you do not slow down.”
Dare immediately adjusted his pace. “My apologies. I feared if we tarried further, Lady Netherley would insist that we spend the night under her roof.”
“And would that be so awful? She is a delightful woman. Vane is very fortunate to have such a loving mother.”
Regan nodded to the coachman as she ascended the narrow steps and climbed into the coach. She listened as Dare ordered the coachman to return them to her brother’s town house. Regan looked up and caught him watching her while she adjusted her skirts to make room for her husband’s long legs.
“Lady Netherley is a resourceful and generous lady. Nevertheless, I have no desire to spend my wedding night comforting her,” he said, sliding onto the bench beside her.
A soft thud halted their conversation. The door of the coach opened, and Vane’s muscular frame filled the doorway. He was hatless, and his cheeks were flushed as if he had run to catch their coach before it had departed.
“I had not realized the hour. Forgive me for not being there when you said your farewells to my mother.”
Regan gave Vane a tender smile. “We understand. It must have been difficult. Everyone is well aware that your mother has such high hopes that you will soon make a good match.”
Vane snorted. “Well, that will be impossible since Dare has stolen the prettiest lady in London from me.”
Dare scowled at the playful reminder that Vane had flirted with Regan on several occasions. “Count your blessings, my friend. I spared your pretty face, did I not?”
Regan rolled her eyes, ignoring the sudden heat rising in her cheeks. She was dreadfully fond of Vane, but he was not the man she had longed for during her absence from London.
“I wish…” Vane lowered his gaze as he sought the proper words. “… I wish you both a happy and loving marriage.” The corners of his mouth quirked into something akin to devilish as his gaze alighted on Dare. “A little luck wouldn’t hurt, too. Especially when Frost—”
“There is still time for me to bloody your nose, you silly jackanapes.” Dare leaned forward and pounded on the small trapdoor. “Let us be off.”
Vane seemed untroubled by Dare’s casually delivered threat. “Save your fists for Frost.” He closed the door as the coach moved forward. “You’ll need them!”
Regan tilted her head and stared at Vane’s diminishing figure until he was swallowed by the darkness. “What did Vane mean when he said that you needed to save your fists for my brother?” She gasped as the answer struck her like a carriage whip. “Frost does not know about the wedding.”
“Your brother is resourceful. He will learn about it soon enough.”
Regan gaped at him. How could Dare be so nonchalant? Frost was likely to murder them both when he learned that they had married without his consent. “Wait! How is this so? You needed my brother’s permission to marry.”
Dare brought her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle above the ring he had placed on her finger. “And I had it. An excellent forgery of the man’s handwriting, if I do not say so myself. The vicar never even questioned it.”
“Oh, my God.” Feeling a little dizzy, Regan gave him a bemused stare. “Is that even legal?”
“No one will challenge the authenticity of the letter,” he assured her. “Not even your brother. Frost adores you. He would be the last one to drag you into a messy scandal.”
No wonder Vane was certain that Dare would need his fists. While Frost may permit the marriage to stand, his pride would demand a blood price.
“Good grief, is Lady Netherley part of this deception? Is that the secret she was referring to as we were leaving the house?”
Dare hesitated, and shot her a wary sideways glance. “Well, I might have embellished our unfortunate predicament when I approached the vicar.”
Regan swallowed. “Unfortunate predicament?”
“I may have confessed to the good man that you were enciente.”
She slapped his hand away when he tried to reach for her. “Of all the outrageous things! How could you tell everyone that I was—” Regan stopped in midsentence as her gaze locked on the trapdoor. She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “In a delicate condition.”
Flustered and embarrassed by his lie, Regan was mad enough to kick him in the shin. Forgetting about the coachman, she shouted, “You had absolutely no right!”
“How do you know it is a lie?” he quietly countered.
The question took the wind out of her high dudgeon. Indeed, how did she know? Her blue gaze narrowed on her new husband. “A woman knows such things. I am definitely not—not that!”
“Of course you’re not,” Dare said soothingly. Ignoring her feeble attempts to avoid touching him, he pulled her close so her body molded against his side. He smoothed back the strands of hair that had come undone during their brief struggle. “I only meant to sway the vicar to our side. However, since the lie has distressed you—”
“It has.”
“Then I can only think of one thing that will satisfy us both.” Dare lightly kissed her pouting lips. “I will dedicate myself to the task of making certain that I spoke the truth.”
“Wait!”
Uninterested in continuing their conversation, Dare crushed Regan against the leather-cushioned bench as his mouth plundered hers. Her arms curled around his neck, Regan sighed and pulled him closer.
For once, she was willing to let Dare have the final word.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Life with Dare would never be boring, Regan mused. With Dare’s hand on her backside, he managed to help her climb up the ivy-covered trellis and onto the balcony.
Regan collapsed into the nearest chair. “Sneaking back into my bedchamber is more laborious than I would have guessed. Now that we are married, do you think we might try using one of the side doors?”
Dare ignited several candles. Shadows from the candlelight flickered across his handsome face. “Already losing your taste for adventure?”
“Never.”
While she was attempting to catch her breath, Dare had already removed his frock coat and waistcoat. Regan stood up and reached around to unfasten the buttons on the back of her dress.
“Here.” Dare walked over and finished undoing the remaining buttons. “If I may be so bold?”
“From you, I expect nothing less.” She felt his fingers trace the nape of her neck as they traveled downward to the laces of her corset. Regan shivered in anticipation. “Does making love feel different when the lovers are married?”
“Let’s find out,” he murmured, nuzzling the curve of her neck.
Her corset loosened and slid to the floor. Soon her chemise, petticoat, and stockings were discarded until she was naked. It was terribly wanton of her to stand in front of Da
re unclothed, but his hungry gaze gave her the courage not to run to her bed and dive into the bedding.
“Come with me.” Dare took her hand and guided her over to a chair. With her sitting naked on his thigh, he leaned over and removed his boots and stockings. Willing to help, Regan finished untying his cravat. She unfastened the buttons of his shirt.
Regan struggled not to giggle.
“What?” he whispered in her ear.
“Until now, I have never sat on a gentleman’s lap completely naked.”
“It is a charming and decadent pose to be certain.” Dare cupped her breast and lowered his head to kiss the soft, warm flesh. “I can assure you that Lady Karmack and your Miss Swann would not approve.”
Dare groaned as if she was a wicked temptation that he should resist, but he was incapable of adhering to common sense. It made Regan feel powerful and mysterious. Then he lifted her off his lap and helped her to stand.
Well, this was not exactly how she envisioned her wedding night, Regan thought, feeling suddenly awkward. Perhaps Dare was not ruled by passion, after all.
Regan was about to reach for her discarded nightgown when he muttered “trousers” and turned his attentions to the buttons at his waist. Minutes later, he carelessly dropped his discarded trousers on the floor.
“Is that a large bruise on your leg?” Regan asked, peering at the dark smudge on his skin. It looked rather painful.
“A minor incident at the club,” he said, dismissively.
Regan arched her right brow playfully. “And what about your shirt?”
Dare hesitated. Her brow furrowed as he silently considered her request. “What if I told you that I have a few bruises under my shirt that match the one on my thigh?”
Concern clouded her face. “Let me see.”
He leaned over the candles he had lit and blew out the flames, casting the bedchamber into darkness again. “No. Forget about the bruises.”
In the darkness, she heard a whisper of fabric and a flash of white as Dare removed his shirt. Regan started when his arms circled her waist. He guided her toward the bed.
“What of my brother?” The back of her knees bumped against the mattress.
“Frost is very open-minded, but I would prefer not to invite him to watch.”
Regan sat down on the bed and crawled backward until she could lie down. “Oh really? And what are you planning to do?”
Dare crawled up her body, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Ravish you until we both collapse from exhaustion.”
Oh, my.
Dare pressed her body into the mattress as his mouth slanted over hers. His tongue undulated against Regan’s, a shallow pantomime of what he intended to do to her body. She reached down and caressed Dare’s swollen manhood. The velvet flesh radiated heat against her palm. He moaned against her lips and ended their kiss. Straightening his arms, Dare widened the gap between their bodies so he could cover her hand with his.
“I do not want to wait.”
Before Regan could ask him what he meant by this cryptic statement, Dare lifted his hips and fitted the broad head of his arousal against the opening of her sheath.
She felt his breath on her cheek.
“I should stop. I’m rushing this,” he said, his arms shaking as he resisted the urge to end his torment and plunge his rigid length of flesh into her womanly sheath.
The realization that Dare was gradually losing his hard-won control was as intoxicating as brandy to Regan. “No … no,” she murmured, parting her thighs, and inhaled sharply as his manhood eased a few inches deeper. “I want this, too. I need you, my—husband.”
Dare slipped his hand under her buttocks and urged her body to take more of him. “I can no longer fight it,” he said, sounding apologetic.
She arched her back just as Dare abandoned his restraint and thrust deeply into her. Regan did not have time to marvel at how perfectly they fit, because her lover was far from finished. Once he began moving within her, Regan slid her hands to his back and held on.
Regan could barely make out the details of Dare’s face, but she did not need her eyes to recognize the man in her arms. The weight of his body, the feel and taste of his skin, and the scent of their combined arousal were as familiar as they were comforting. Stripped of all her senses, she would still know this man, for her soul cried out to his. Dare belonged to her, and he had ensured that she was bound to him as well.
She raked his back with her fingernails, silently urging him to quicken his pace. Dare groaned and nibbled at her chin before his mouth dropped to her shoulder. He cupped her breast and scraped her nipple with his beard stubble. She gasped and her legs tightened around him as he eased the slight burn by laving the tender bud with his tongue. There was no doubt in Regan’s mind that Dare craved her body just as much as she wanted him.
Dare surprised her by pulling out of her. Before she could mourn the loss of his manhood filling her, he rolled Regan onto her stomach. “There are so many ways to take you,” he growled into her ear as he stuffed a pillow under her belly and positioned her on her knees. “I want to savor them all!”
Cool air washed over her. Regan felt a little silly on all fours, until Dare covered her body with his. His fingers probed the drenched opening of her sheath. She bit her lower lip when he replaced his fingers with the firm, blunt head of his arousal. With a hand splayed on her hip, he adjusted her stance until he was satisfied with the angle. Then he filled her, sliding deeply. Regan clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
It was a glorious sensation. Her womanly sheath constricted around his manhood, coating the rigid flesh with her desire for him. Deep inside her body, her womb throbbed in anticipation for what was to come.
Regan did not have to wait long. Sensing her unspoken need, Dare began to move. Slowly at first, and then he quickened his pace. His hips slapping against hers, over and over, until she understood the rising madness that had overtaken her husband’s control.
Regan cried out as Dare’s fingers slid down her front and stroked the tiny nubbin of flesh between her legs. She choked back a ragged cry as colorful lights burst behind her closed eyes. The brilliant display reminded her of Vauxhall Gardens’ fireworks.
Dare straightened so he could grip her hips. Without breaking his rhythm, he hammered his manhood wildly into the very heart of her with unflagging accuracy. Regan widened her stance on the mattress, drawing his thick, rigid flesh even deeper. Dare groaned and froze. And then with a sudden surge, he bucked against her buttocks as he found his release. Regan buried her face into the pillow as her sheath squeezed his manhood. Another wave of pleasure swept over her hot, sweat-slick flesh as she felt the final pulses of his seed fill her womb.
Even with her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Regan could have sworn that she heard Dare mumble something against her back.
It sounded awfully like “home.”
* * *
Grim-faced, Frost stared down at the sleeping couple. He was not an artist, but his fingers itched, nonetheless, to capture the graceful lines of their naked bodies entwined, which disappeared beneath the curving folds of the sheet. Frost had stumbled upon an achingly beautiful scene, and his throat tightened in longing for something that he could not quite define.
Even in slumber, his friend protected his lover’s modesty. One arm was wrapped around her, shielding Regan’s breasts, while his other hand was splayed over the nether curls between her legs.
Frost gave Dare a pitying glance. Poor bastard. He wondered if Dare had figured out that he was in love with Regan.
His sister’s eyelids fluttered open. She smiled sleepily at Frost, until awareness swept through her muddled brain like sunlight cutting through the fog. Her dark blue eyes widened in alarm. “Good grief, Frost!” Regan tried to sit up, and then realized that Dare was holding her. She frantically plucked the sheet covering her and Dare’s legs, and pulled it up until it halted waist-high. If given the chance, Frost figured that Regan would have pu
lled the sheet over her head.
“Dare … wake up!”
It was tempting to laugh at his sister’s predicament … until he noticed the topaz-and-pearl ring on the third finger of Regan’s left hand. The muscles in his body coiled with so much tension, the bones in his jaw and shoulders crackled to relieve the strain.
“When were you and Dare married?” he asked, surprised by his mild curious tone.
Dare glowered at him while he tugged the sheet around his waist higher to ensure that Regan was suitably covered. “Last evening.”
Frost felt the vertebrae in his neck pop one by one as he cocked his head to the side. “Regan is only twenty. She needs my consent to marry.”
“Frost,” Regan began.
“Quiet, dear sister,” Frost said genially. Nevertheless, his sister winced at the edge he could not quite soften. “I believe Dare was about to explain how the two of you married last evening without my consent.”
Dare held Frost’s unblinking gaze. “Well, fortunately, you were generous enough to grant it.”
“Ah, I see,” Frost said, slowly pacing the length of his sister’s bed. “And was the vicar satisfied with my letter of consent?”
“As to be expected, you were very thorough,” Dare replied.
Frost’s turquoise-blue eyes narrowed with feigned amusement. His friend had absconded with Regan, married her without Frost’s consent, and bedded her in her family’s home. He could not help but silently marvel at the man’s cheek. If it had been any other chit, Frost would have lifted a glass of brandy in the gent’s honor.
Dare had not moved an inch, but Frost was not fooled by his friend’s nonchalance. “By the by, there is one more thing that you should know.”
“And what is that?”
Dare cleared his throat and gave Frost a sheepish grin. “The vicar married us because he believes Regan carries my child.”
“And does she?”
Dare chuckled softly and glanced at Regan. “Not for lack of effort.”
The invisible leash that had held Frost in check snapped. He had not been aware that he had lunged for Dare until he heard his sister begging him to stop. Anticipating his attack, Dare rolled off the bed and onto his feet with the grace of a fighter. It seemed to matter little to his friend that he wore nothing under the sheet.
After Dark with a Scoundrel Page 19