What's a Rogue Got To Do With It (Rogues of Redmere Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  She stilled. He made out the fluttering of her eyelashes when she drew back. In the murky light of the room, her gaze met his. Moments passed, punctuated by his frenetic heartbeat in his ears. His arm was still about her, her leg remained wrapped over his. He felt her warm breaths on his skin.

  “Knight,” she murmured, the word whispering through the air and landing deep in his chest, almost painful in how welcome it was.

  He could not be sure who made the first move. Any questions he had faded into obscurity when their lips met again, this time hard and frantic. He pushed a hand into her hair and clasped her to him. She gasped, opening her mouth to his, and he kissed her hungrily, drawing in the sweet taste of her.

  Her body undulated into him. Knight could hardly fathom it. Were these really Louisa’s hands scrabbling across his body? Tugging at his shirt and trying to find access to his skin? Was this her mouth, sliding its way across his jaw and making his body hurt with need?

  He pressed the kiss deep, forcing another moan from her. There was no doubting this was her. And by some miracle, she wanted him. He slid the hand from her hair, down her waist, and bunched up the long chemise she wore. He’d managed not to think about how close he was to skin when they went to bed.

  Until now.

  Now he realized he was but a slip of fabric from a soft, feminine body—a body he wished he could see better. Too many nights had been passed imagining what she would look like. But he forgot any regret when his fingers met her thigh. He flexed his hand up and around and found the curve of her rear. Her gasps between kisses drove him on, and he cupped her, drawing her closer to him.

  “Knight,” she breathed.

  He trailed kisses down her neck and tugged at the string bunching the neckline of her chemise free to give him better access to her body. She rolled onto her back, her hands to his shoulders, drawing him with her.

  “I am too big,” he protested in a harsh whisper.

  “No.”

  He could not fight her. The feel of her pliable body hard against his obliterated any sensible thought. Flames licked through him, igniting the years of desire he’d been crushing. There was no going back now.

  “Take me,” she begged, lifting her hips to his.

  This was not how it should be. He should take it slow. Ensure her pleasure. Explore every part of her with care and reverence.

  Louisa had other ideas, and he could not fight the tide. He thrust her chemise high and opened the placket of his breeches. She sifted her hands through his hair, pulling him tight against her and urging him on with scattered kisses that left little scalding points in their wake.

  He drew back for the briefest moment to meet her gaze. She was but a shadowy outline but he saw enough. She wanted this as much as he. How this had come to be, he could not fathom, nor could he dwell on it any longer.

  A hand to her hip, he joined them in a sharp, swift movement that had him clenching his jaw. She inhaled sharply, and her fingernails dug into his arms, the sharp bite of them assuring him this was indeed real. Her heat closed about him, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

  “Kiss me.”

  He relaxed a little, easing down on top of her and seeking out her mouth with his. She opened her lips to him and wrapped her legs about his hips. Louisa drew him deeper, and he clenched his eyes shut. She could have no idea what she was doing to him, how many times he’d imagined such a moment.

  His imagination had not done her justice. He could never have predicted her fiery response—though he should have done. She rocked her hips up into his. He responded with a thrust, and she cried out. The noise impelled him on. He drove deep into her, relishing every tremor and stuttered breath. Her responding kisses were wild and erratic.

  Knight increased the pace, a hand under her rear, and was utterly lost to her. Kissing her hard, he buried his head into the crook of her neck and drank in the sweet, clean fragrance of her while he kept up the frantic rhythm with little finesse.

  It did not seem to matter. Her nails raked down his arms and her breaths grew heavy. She tensed underneath him, her cries increased. He gritted his teeth and dragged her over the edge until her body tightened and released, making him feel a mere second away from exploding. He held on, drawing out her peak until she relaxed then withdrew quickly, and with a harsh, hot breath, his eyes clenched tightly shut, he spilled into his hand and onto her bare thigh. A wave of relief flowed over him, and he opened his eyes.

  In the darkness, he could make out the satisfied shape of her, her hands sprawled on either side of her head, her fingers loose and relaxed. The inevitable prod of regret needled at him. Louisa deserved better than a scarred, sullen bastard like him.

  “I—”

  A long inhale from Louisa and the sound of her rolling over cut him off. Not that he knew what he could possibly say. Forgive me, perhaps. Or some excuse for his moment of weakness. And apologize for not being softer, for not taking his time. But she saved him from any response with a heavy exhale. He allowed himself a small smile at her sleeping form.

  He cleaned himself up and gingerly dabbed her thigh with a cloth, erasing any evidence of their moment together. After tucking her under the blankets, he allowed himself one last moment of weakness and swept a gentle kiss across her forehead.

  Knight straightened his clothing and shook his head to himself. This had been one big, big mistake. He’d have to do better tomorrow. For her sake and for his.

  Chapter Eight

  With shaky hands, Louisa buttoned up her gown. The trouble was, she could not quite figure out if the shaking was from anger or something else. From the memory of what had happened perhaps. She skimmed a finger over a red mark above one breast—evidence of Knight’s rough stubble. If it were not for the ache between her thighs and that mark, she could have been led to believe it had all been a dream.

  She shook her head. No. She could never have dreamed such a thing. As much as Knight plagued her thoughts, she’d been hard-pressed to imagine what it would be like to make love to such a man. Would he be tender? Skilled? Rough?

  He’d been none of those things. They’d both been utterly swept away, and it had been hard, fast, and furious. And her body had responded like it never had before. There had been no skill from either of them, no game of seduction. The only thing that had driven them both over the edge was a fiery passion she had not known Knight possessed.

  Swallowing, she did up the last button and eyed the empty bed. A passion he wanted to forget clearly, if his disappearance from the room had anything to do with it. No doubt he was down in the taproom, indulging in an ale or something stronger.

  A hand to the back of her neck, she blew out a breath and pressed fingers into the ache gathering at the top of her spine. This whole thing was giving her a headache. She wanted to go back a few days when everything was simple. The inn was still hers, Ralph had not appeared in Cornwall, and she had no idea what it would be like to make love to Knight. Of all the people to take as a lover, why did it have to be him?

  Because you have never been interested in anyone else, whispered a voice.

  She scowled at the voice. It was true. She had been too busy ensuring the inn became, and remained, profitable. There had been a few interested men and, as a widow, she could have taken a lover without impunity. However, one needed time to take a lover. Something she never had.

  Louisa snatched up a hairbrush from her bag and tugged it viciously through her hair as though the pain tingling her scalp might help her forget what had happened. It had all been her fault too. He’d given her every opportunity to deny him, to kick him from the bed, and yet she could not resist. Lord, what had happened to her simple life of merely wondering about the brooding man?

  Of course, now she did not have to wonder any longer. Now she knew what his lips felt like on hers, how he tasted, how wonderful his rough palms were against her skin. As she looped her hair up and jabbed pins in it, she walked over to the window and eyed her fuzzy reflection in it. Wit
hout a mirror in the room, it would have to do. She looked presentable enough to travel, she reckoned.

  They did not have far to go to Bristol now. Another day’s travel at best. Once they were there, she could send Knight on his way to Northumberland and catch a mail coach back to Penshallow once she’d found out whatever she could about Ralph.

  She only hoped her instincts were correct and this man was not her stepson after all. If he was truly Ralph, she had little idea what she would do without her living. She had some money but hardly enough to set up a new business. And it was not as though she had other skills. Running an inn was all she had ever known.

  Straightening her shoulders, she exhaled slowly. There was no more putting it off. She would have to face Knight at some point. Ensuring her belongings were packed neatly, she grabbed her bag and studied the room. Were it not for the rumpled bed, there would be no evidence of Knight at all. He must have gathered up his belongings too so he would not even have to step foot back in the room. It should not hurt but it needled at her heart that he wanted to escape her.

  Even if it should not. She needed to forget about last night too. After all, she had much bigger things to worry about.

  Making her way downstairs, she stepped into the already busy taproom. Though few guests were awake, the familiar sight of an inn readying itself for the day with delivery boys hauling in boxes and drivers eating their morning meals before their employees could arise, made her heart ache further for home.

  She spotted Knight, his elbows propped on the bar, a clean shirt stretched over broad shoulders. A half-empty ale sat in front of him. He spotted her and something flickered in his gaze—a flash of desire maybe—but he shuttered it quickly, adopting his usual gruff expression. She lifted her chin. That was fine with her. She needed to forget what happened just as much as he.

  “Good morning,” she said, forcing a bright note into her voice.

  Confusion briefly creased his brow before vanishing. Perhaps he’d expected her to be angry. She was really. An irrational part of her had wanted to wake in his arms and enjoy his kisses and body in the daylight. Really, she should be grateful he had run away. He had saved her from making a fool of herself and dragging this on longer than it should.

  He glanced at her bag. “You’re ready to leave?”

  She nodded. The sooner they left this place, the better. Then they could go their separate ways and forget this ever happened.

  “Do you not want to eat?” he asked.

  “No.”

  She answered before really considering her body’s state, but she doubted she could bring herself to eat anything in front of him. Even now, she was recalling how his hands had felt on her body, how the heavy weight of him on top of her had been so perfectly right. She even vaguely recalled how he’d tucked her exhausted body into bed and brushed a kiss across her forehead. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—she’d been so sated, she could not even respond to his tender touches.

  He shrugged. “Very well, let us get moving. The carriage is ready.”

  He took her travel bag from her before she could protest and headed outside. She hurried to catch up and found the carriage along with the driver and footmen waiting in the courtyard. Whether they were simply being efficient or Knight had ordered them to make ready swiftly, she did not know, but she suspected the latter.

  “I know you need to get to Bristol with haste,” he muttered.

  Louisa nodded, not willing to call him out on his excuse. It was true, though. The sooner she found out what she could about Ralph, the better.

  Knight offered a hand to aid her into the carriage and she hesitated in taking it. He quickly withdrew it and glanced away. Blowing out a breath, she stepped into the vehicle and slid onto the seat. They would be on the road for most of the day, which would feel like a long journey normally, but it was going to feel even worse if they did not discuss what had happened, no matter how uncomfortable it felt to address what happened between them.

  He entered the carriage and settled opposite her. Rapping his knuckles on the roof, he folded his arms across his wide chest and turned his attention to the view outside. Louisa did the same while they travelled through the carriage entrance and turned into the road. Few other carriages were on the road but several carts were moving to and from the inn, slowing their progress out into the surrounding countryside.

  Despite the fresh air drifting in through the open window and the hints of sunshine shining through the diaphanous clouds, the air in the carriage seemed thick and unyielding. Louisa eyed Knight. He still avoided her gaze and it gave her an opportunity to study him. Whatever had happened during the war left him more scarred than most men. She’d seen the scars before from a distance but never been able to touch them or view them closely. Thanks to running an inn, she recognized some of the marks as wounds created by blades and others as gunshot wounds. The thought of him suffering so much pain made her want to fling herself at him and soothe away any memory of it.

  He met her gaze, breaking such ridiculous thoughts. Though he swung his attention quickly from her, she cleared her throat, forcing him to look at her again.

  “Knight,” she started, clenching her fists and willing her silly heart to slow. She tried again. “Knight, about what happened...”

  “Louisa,” he said, warning clear in his tone.

  “You have nothing to fear,” she blurted. “I want nothing from you.”

  No doubt he thought her some irrational woman who would expect romance and marriage. She knew Knight was not the sort of man to want to settle down just as she was far too busy to think on such things.

  His brow furrowed.

  “It was one moment, that is all.” Her cheeks felt hot with the lie.

  “It will not happen again.”

  She forced a smile. “Exactly. We shall just forget it ever happened and not mention it again.”

  He gave a stiff nod, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. If she was waiting for something more from him, he would not give her anything more. Which was fine with her. The less they talked, the better. Once they were back in Cornwall, they hardly needed to interact anyway. That was, so long as she still owned an inn by then.

  And he had not taken up the role of viscount in Northumberland. For all she knew, he might decide he should remain there and somehow save the estate.

  “What do you intend to do when you arrive?” he asked as they passed the twenty-mile marker to Bristol—the first full sentence he’d uttered in ages.

  Louisa pressed her lips together. When she’d decided to take Red up on his offer, she had not really thought it through. She did not know Bristol at all and had little idea where she should start.

  “I thought I might ask around at whichever inn I stay in and see if anyone knows of him.”

  Knight scowled. “Bristol is a big place. It shall not be that easy.”

  “There is always the sawmill. Ralph said he worked there. Maybe someone there will know something.”

  His expression darkened. “Bristol is a large town, not like Penshallow.”

  Louisa hardly knew how to respond and did not quite understand the statement until they began to travel through the town toward the center, where one of the drivers knew of a reputable but not too expensive traveler’s inn. Houses were clustered close together and the roads thick with carts and carriages. Signs of industry were everywhere and shops cluttered up the central streets. A blanket of smoke hung over the town, turned an ominous murky amber color from the setting sun.

  The carriage drew into a cobbled courtyard and Louisa peered up at the sizeable inn. The stables appeared almost full and men hastened back and forth, bringing food and water to the horses. She grimaced. Her time looking after a pub should have prepared her for anything, but in Bristol, she felt wide-eyed and innocent. This place was nothing like her simple inn.

  “Well...” she started.

  The driver opened the door, leaving Louisa little opportunity to say a
nything to Knight. Not that she knew what to say. Thank you for the sullen company? Sorry we can no longer be friends because we shared a passionate night together? Good luck with the whole viscount affair?

  What did one even say to a lover?

  He stepped out behind her and took her bag from the driver before she could reach for it. He motioned for his bag too, and Louisa eyed him. “What—”

  “I am staying with you.”

  “But—”

  “Bristol is no place for a woman on her own, and I am in no hurry.”

  His tone brokered no argument, and as much as she would have liked to remind him she was no weakling in need of a man’s protection, Louisa did not have it in her—nor was she foolish enough to deny his aid.

  “I shall ensure there are enough rooms,” he muttered, leading the way into the inn.

  Louisa did not know whether to laugh or cry. A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her, which she supposed was better than weeping, and Knight gave her an odd look.

  “Yes, excellent idea.” She cringed at her overly bright tone. Did he know? Could he tell that she secretly hoped there would not be enough rooms again?

  What a fool she was.

  Chapter Nine

  Knight eyed the bed with distaste. He’d hardly slept a wink thanks to its narrow frame. His bloody feet kept getting tangled in the metal bars at the end and he’d nearly rolled off several times. He yawned and dragged himself over to the washbowl to give himself a thorough wash in the freezing water. If that did not wake him, nothing would.

  Unfortunately, he could not only blame the bed for his lack of sleep.

  He dipped the washcloth in the water and rubbed it across his chest and arms, shuddering as icy trickles tracked down his back. Maybe the cold would knock some sense into him. It was not the first time he had slept on a tiny bed, but it was the first time he’d done so after sharing a bed with Louisa. Foolishly, he missed her body nestled up to him. And, naturally, he could not remove the memory of what had happened between them. Little flickers of it kept haunting him—the feel of her lips, the curve of her body, the sensuous noises she made.