The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  “Oh, my,” she breathed, “where did you get these?”

  Her gaze was fixed on his chest, so she didn’t see Ian’s expression turn cold. “Why do you ask, my pet? Do they disturb you?” He assumed she was repulsed by the scars. She’d been so interested in his smooth back, just moments ago.

  “Oh, yes, my lord, they disturb me greatly.”

  “Well, then maybe you should—” He was about to tell her to leave if the sight was too horrifying, when she lightly ran her fingertips over the scars. He sucked in a startled breath.

  “It must have been awful,” she murmured. “So much pain.” Leaning over, she placed her lips on one silvery line just above his nipple.

  Ian slid a hand into her hair, his fingers dislodging the pins. Long, curling strands tumbled loose, fanning over his chest and trailing into the water. When her mouth found his nipple, he inhaled sharply. She kissed the hard point, her tongue laving around it.

  His heart was beating so strongly, Ian expected it to burst any second. God, did she have no idea what she was doing to him? Was she that innocent?

  His chest rose and fell as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. He was so aroused that his cock, thick and hard and throbbing, rose stiffly upward toward the surface of the water. Who was this woman? She was a natural born seductress, despite her claim of innocence.

  While he held her mouth to his chest with one hand at the back of her head, his other hand reached for her wrist. He guided her hand into the water, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, covering them with his own. Groaning deep in his throat, he began to slide her hand up and down the slick length.

  Things were progressing too quickly, but Ian couldn’t help himself. Grasping a handful of her hair, he dragged her away from his nipple to capture her mouth with his. The kiss was deep and hot as he forced her lips open to accept his thrusting tongue. She moaned softly as he twined his tongue with hers, and at the same time continued tutoring her hand on his shaft.

  Ian released his grip on her hand in the water in order to work on the buttons down the back of her gown. He made a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat when he realized she continued the sliding motion on her own. Their mouths remained connected while, with skillful fingers, he quickly had her gown gaping open.

  She was leaning over the side of the tub, her chest pressed against his. Breaking the kiss, he maneuvered her backward, her hand slipping from its grip on his shaft. He pulled down the front her gown and chemise, exposing her beautiful breasts. Giving her no time to protest, he fastened his mouth on one, laving it with his tongue and lightly biting at the hardened nub of her nipple.

  “Ohhh, my God,” she said on a breathy sigh.

  “Do you like it?” Ian whispered against her skin, causing goose pimples to rise where his breath caressed it.

  “Yes,” she answered, tilting her head back as he moved to her other breast. “I-I never imagined…”

  His hands around her ribcage supported her, preventing her from falling as he rose from the water. He felt like Poseidon emerging from the sea to ravish the sacrificial virgin.

  Dragging her fully against his dripping body, he kissed her mouth, soaking the front of her gown. He stepped out of the tub, the muscles in his thighs accepting the strain of the maneuver. He moved her backward, toward the bed.

  Angela panicked as the reality of what was about to happen hit her full force. She was not ready – her scars! She began to struggle, wrenching her mouth from his. They were both breathing hard and when she looked into his eyes, her heart leapt into her throat at the intensity she saw there. He was like a wild panther, no longer a man – his hair sleek and black – his eyes flaring with golden fire.

  “What is it?” he rasped. “What’s the matter?”

  “I-I can’t do this. Not yet.”

  “You were enjoying it as much as I. Don’t deny it.”

  “I’m afraid.” He was still holding her close against him, his rigid manhood pressing boldly at the juncture between her legs.

  “There’s nothing to fear, angel. There will be a little pain the first time, but not after that. I’ll go slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “It’s not the pain I fear. Please, let me go.”

  “Look at what you do to me,” he said, holding her away from him so she could see his entire body.

  Angela was spellbound by the sight of his naked body. Her mouth actually dropped open, her eyes widening as her gaze traveled down his torso, fixing on his jutting sex. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. Her gaze lifted to his face. “So very beautiful.” He was as perfect as she’d imagined. Even with those scars. The thought that someone or something had hurt him, had torn through his supple flesh and caused him pain made her want to cry.

  “As are you, angel,” Ian said low, stunned by her words.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not. You don’t know—”

  She pulled free from his hold and he allowed it. She tugged her dress up, covering herself. “I must bid you goodnight, my lord,” she said hoarsely, and then rushed out the door.

  It’s not the pain I fear.

  What had she meant by that? Ian stood rooted to the floor, naked, staring at the closed door. She thought he was beautiful. Could a man be beautiful? He’d seen some rather effeminate looking men that could be considered pretty, but he knew he did not fall into that category.

  And what had she been about to say after that – you don’t know . . . what? She didn’t believe she was beautiful. It was hardly conceivable. All she had to do was look into a mirror.

  Expelling a long, regretful sigh, Ian dressed, the memory of her fingers, lips, and tongue on his bare skin lingering like mist on the moors. She was every man’s fantasy in the flesh. Firm breasts, plump and full. Golden hair draping seductively over her shoulders. Luminous blue eyes. Lips ripened from his kisses.

  Just thinking about it raised his cock to full staff once again, making it difficult to fasten his breeches. Swearing an oath, he subdued his wayward erection and then made for his study. There he would wait until the hour was late enough to ensure Miss Hopkins was asleep. He fully intended to search her room, certain she had lied about her gowns.

  After the death of his friend, John Winston, Ian had sworn, if only to himself, to find the killer. What he’d found was overwhelming evidence that Miss Hopkins and her father were the ones behind it.

  The son of a wealthy merchant who had aspirations to a higher position in society, John had been intelligent, amiable, and quick to smile. He’d also been an honorable man – a loyal friend who hadn’t cared as much for the idea of social standing as his father did. Ian had considered himself lucky to have such a friend, a man who exhibited more noble qualities of a gentleman than most titled aristocrats.

  Then John had met Miss Hopkins. Ian discovered through his sources that John had become interested in Miss Hopkins, going so far as to request an audience with her father. But John had suddenly disappeared. Shortly afterward, he’d turned up dead.

  The girl’s father had accused John of ungentlemanly behavior, which was absurd. The baron called off the engagement, and a short time later, had demanded a large sum of money to keep quiet about the whole thing. He knew John’s family would not wish for a scandal. Knowing John, though, he would never have given in to the baron’s demands, which is why Ian believed the baron had decided to get rid of him.

  John’s body had been found floating in the river near the docks, the face badly decayed and unrecognizable. If hadn’t been for the unique design of his ring, they would never have been able to identify him. It was the ring his father had given him for his eighteenth birthday. John had joked about how his father was building his own dynasty, commissioning an artist to create a family crest. The ring bore that crest. There was no other like it and so, indisputably, the man found in the Thames that night had to have been John Winston.

  Ian angrily clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. Why
hadn’t John confided in him? If only he had, then maybe – maybe Ian could have helped his friend. He would still be alive.

  But there was more.

  Ian had followed a trail leading to two other wealthy young gentlemen who had courted Miss Hopkins. He discovered they had also been accused of trying to ruin the baron’s daughter and, subsequently, blackmailed to ensure his continued silence.

  Ian sat in a comfortable chair by the cold hearth, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. Staring at his outstretched legs, his vision blurred as his thoughts turned inward. A memory, long forgotten, flashed in his mind, sending him backward in time to his days at Eton.

  He and John had used their finely honed skills in the art of stealth and mischief – skills that any self-respecting twelve year old boy should possess – to sneak from their rooms after curfew. They were about to embark on the greatest adventure of their young lives.

  They were going to steal a horse.

  Well, maybe not actually steal the horse, just borrow it for awhile. And this wasn’t just any horse. It belonged to that snotty-nosed brat, Chad Bingley. Bingley’s father, the Earl of Chedwick, had given him the thoroughbred for his thirteenth birthday, which happened to be today, or earlier in the day, rather.

  Ian had eyed the regal, chestnut stallion with the covetous longing only a young boy with a passion for horses could feel. After much cajoling and bribery he was able to convince John to come along with him. He only wanted to take it for a quick ride around the stable yard, he’d assured his best friend.

  It was a clear, full-mooned night, the crisp air making the stars seem closer and brighter as the two of them crept silently toward the stable. Their breaths came quickly in their excitement, puffing out in little white clouds in front of their faces whenever they exhaled.

  They made it to the stables without incident, and creeping on hands and knees, found the stall containing the prize. Everything had gone according to plan, until Ian had tried to saddle the skittish, high-strung stallion. It reared on its hind legs, catching Ian in the forehead with one of its front hooves.

  When he awoke, Ian was in the infirmary, and John, he discovered, was to be punished for instigating the whole escapade. His friend had accepted full blame for their misdeed, knowing that since he wasn’t of an aristocratic background, his family’s non-existent reputation would live through the scandal. Ian had been furious, but John had just flashed his wide smile, saying, “You can take credit for the next one, Moreland.”

  It was so like John to shrug something like that off. And in return, Ian made sure that everyone knew if they had a problem with John, they’d be dealing with him. On more than one occasion, Ian had bloodied the nose of some boy who was stupid enough to pick on John. It was mostly because John was not of the nobility, but that didn’t matter to Ian. John had always been the best and most loyal of friends.

  Ian blinked his eyes, forcing away the moisture building in them. He would find his friend’s killer. Checking the clock on the mantel, he saw it was two a.m. Time to pay a quiet visit to Miss Hopkins’ room.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 8

  ANGELA HAD BEEN having the most wonderful dream when it was interrupted by someone shaking her. She’d been dreaming of him. Blackridge. His hands had been skimming over her naked skin. He’d put his mouth on her breast, suckling it, licking her nipples. Then his mouth had covered hers and he was kissing her, the weight of his body pressing her down, that rigid male part of him pushing between her legs . . .

  “Wake up, princess.”

  “Go away . . . so nice . . . feels so nice,” Angela murmured.

  He said something in her ear she didn’t understand. Then his knee was resting on the mattress, his weight causing her to roll into his thigh. Her hand came up to caress the back of his leg, then up to his tightened buttock.

  “Mmmm . . .” She arched her back, thrusting her breasts upward.

  “I said wake up.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a sitting position.

  Angela screeched in pain, jerking her injured arm from his grasp. Then she was swinging at him with both fists, scrambling for the edge of the bed.

  He jumped fully onto the bed, diving for her, struggling to capture her flailing arms and legs. Finally, he pinned her down with the weight of his body.

  “Hush. Stop fighting me.”

  She was gasping for breath, her heart beating like a terrified rabbit’s. When she realized it wasn’t who she’d thought it was, Angela relaxed her body. “I-I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I thought you were – never mind.” She pushed away the hated image of The Baron.

  “You thought I was what – trying to rape you?” he asked, completely misunderstanding. “You should know I prefer my women willing.”

  Now that she was fully awake, Angela had to wonder what Blackridge was doing in her room in the middle of the night. Their position at the moment was too reminiscent of her dream, the sensations much too vivid to think clearly. The heaviness of his body pushing her into the soft mattress made her heart pick up its rhythm again, only this time it was from something other than fear.

  The thick ridge of his manhood was cradled between her thighs, igniting a strange and wicked fire in her core. “No, I – what are you doing here?”

  Ian’s blood raced hotly through his veins, flowing straight to his cock as he became aware of the soft, feminine curves beneath him. All that separated him and her delectable body was a thin layer of material. He wanted to tear it off and take her like a rutting animal.

  God. No other woman had ever affected him this way, and she was supposed to be his enemy, for Christ sake. Cursing himself for his lack of control, he sat up, bringing her with him.

  Holding her upper arms, he schooled his features. “Why did you lie about the gowns?”

  “I didn’t lie. They’re ruined, like I said.”

  “They’re ruined, yes, but not by mold. I looked in the trunk, princess. Everything has been torn to shreds. Did you do it?”

  “No! Why would I ruin my own gowns, for heaven sake?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because you’re a spoiled little brat and you wanted new ones?”

  She sputtered like a kitten. “I’m not a spoiled brat.”

  A sexy kitten.

  “I can buy all the new gowns I wish when this is all over. And since we’re on the subject, I want you to keep track of any costs I incur, such as material for dresses, so that I can pay you back.”

  Now, that surprised him, keeping him silent for a moment. “You wish to pay me back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you don’t have to. As my mistress, you are entitled to certain perks.”

  “I think twenty thousand pounds is enough of a perk, wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

  Frowning at her flippant remark, he snapped, “A few gowns will not break me.” Why was he arguing with her about this? He should go ahead and let her pay him back. But his pride just wouldn’t allow it. “I insist.”

  She lifted her chin. “But I don’t want you to.”

  Ian shook her gently. “You will accept them as a gift and not another word about it.”

  An uneasy thought crept into his mind – had she just manipulated him into giving her the gowns? No, she was the one who had brought it up in the first place. She was the one who insisted on paying him back. But then maybe that was her tactic. He had no way of knowing if she was being sincere, or working her tricks on him. Either way, she was taking those blasted gowns.

  “Tell me – if you didn’t destroy the contents of that trunk, then who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying, princess.”

  For the first time, he noticed her hair was unbound and tussled. It fell to her waist like a golden waterfall. She looked like she’d just been tupped by her lover. His nostrils flared, taking in her fragrance, subtle and intoxicating, the soft flesh beneath his hands heating from his touch.<
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  She licked her lips, making his cock twitch. “Honestly, I don’t know who did it, my lord.”

  Ian stared at her mouth while her small pink tongue slid over her lips again, wetting them until they glistened provocatively. “You’re sure you don’t have any idea?” he asked huskily.

  He could see the swell of her breasts, the dark shadows of her nipples visible through the filmy covering of her nightdress. His cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, forcing him to shift position.

  “I may have a suspicion, but it doesn’t mean I’m correct. It wouldn’t be fair to name a person who might very well be innocent.”

  “Nevertheless, I want a name.”

  “And yet, I cannot give you one.”

  Damn, she was a stubborn woman.

  As they talked, his thumbs had been working in circles on the soft flesh of her arms. Then his hands were on her breasts, cupping them, stroking them, his thumbs working on her nipples.

  Her breath hitched.

  Thinking that maybe he could seduce the truth out of her, Ian moved one hand under the hem of her nightgown, sliding it up along her smooth leg. The sound of her gasp encouraged him to continue.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “Tell me the truth, princess,” he whispered as his hand trailed to the inside of her thigh. Leaning in he fastened his mouth on one breast, sucking the nipple to a hard bud right through the material. “Who destroyed those gowns, hmmm?”

  He blew lightly against the wet material, her nipple turning hard as a diamond.

  “Ohhh! I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do, angel,” Ian rasped, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me.” He kissed her mouth then, and at the same time found her opening with his fingers. She jerked, but he held her still, spreading her heat and moisture around her nether lips. “God, angel, you’re so hot and wet and ready for me.”

  “What are you doing to me?” She was panting. “It feels so . . . so . . .”