Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “He seduced and abandoned you, didn’t he? That’s what a blackguard does.”

  Guilt choked her. “And you’ve…never done anything like that.”

  “Absolutely not.” His voice grew husky. “But I don’t want to talk about him.” He dragged off her chemise, then removed her drawers. “Tonight is for us.”

  Silently she agreed. Tomorrow she’d do whatever she must, but tonight was theirs. And the ardent way he scoured her nakedness made her feel, for once, as if she truly was his.

  “You’re a witch, I tell you.” He lifted his fingers to caress the curve of her waist, then the swell of one breast, before wrapping his hand in a long lock of her hair. Bringing it up to his lips, he pressed a worshipful kiss to the silky strands. “The most exotically beautiful witch I have ever encountered.”

  The extravagant compliment embarrassed her. “You sound like Stoneville.”

  “Don’t say that,” he retorted, his eyes suddenly solemn. “I’ve never been more sincere in my life.” He tugged her into his arms. “You’re a wonder, Madeline Prescott. Anyone who told you different is a liar and a fool.”

  Then he kissed her, a soul-searing sharing of mouths that made her badly want to believe him. But how could she? She wasn’t a “wonder”—he only said that because he thought her pretty…and experienced and easy to seduce. Once he realized that his tastes were more sophisticated than hers, he would lose interest. For now, he found her amusing, but it could never go beyond that.

  And yet…

  Other men who’d found her pretty in Telford had balked when they discovered that her pretty face hid a peculiar and clever female with a fascination for very unfemale things. Anthony had not. Didn’t that mean something?

  She clung to that as he backed her toward the bed. And when he tumbled her down upon it and covered her body with his, then kissed her again, slowly, sensually, she allowed herself to believe that he truly did find her a wonder.

  Because she wanted desperately to lose herself in him tonight, and that would be easier if she could believe he cared for her. That he felt even a tiny part of what she’d begun to feel for him. So she wrapped her arms about his neck and gave herself up to the delicious sensations of his tongue teasing her nipple, the exquisite delights of his hand stroking her below. Within moments, he had her gasping, straining against him, wanting more.

  “I begin to believe that the rumors about nitrous being an aphrodisiac are right,” he groaned against her breast. “I want you, sweetheart. Now.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Now.”

  He pushed her thighs apart with one knee, then halted, lifting his head from her with a pained expression.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Damnation, I forgot something.” Pushing himself off of her, he left the bed.

  Feeling self-conscious splayed naked atop the coverlet, she crawled between the sheets, then propped herself up on one elbow to watch perplexed as he searched his coat pockets.

  “I promised to protect you from disease and such,” he explained, “and I mean to keep that promise.” He rummaged another moment, then shot her a quick grin. “Ah. French letters. I knew I’d brought them.”

  Before she could ask why on earth he would want to read foreign letters at a time like this, he unfolded a silklike tube that had tiny ribbands hanging from it.

  “What in heaven’s name is that?” she asked.

  “A cundum.” He cast her a rueful smile. “It’s the only way to be sure you don’t conceive. It’s not foolproof, mind you, but fairly reliable.”

  She stared in rapt fascination as he pulled it on over his aroused shaft. But when he actually tied the ribbands close to the base, as if dressing his penis, she couldn’t prevent the laugh that escaped her.

  He scowled, his erection flagging a little. “You’re not helping, sweetheart.”

  That only made her laugh harder. “I’m sorry, it’s just so…odd.”

  “So says the woman who refers to lovemaking as mating,” he said dryly. As she struggled to restrain her amusement, he stalked to the bed, looking annoyed. “Do you want to prevent conception or no? Because I’d just as soon dispense with the whole thing, trust me.”

  She fought back the giggle rising in her throat. “No, no…preventing conception is good. I certainly want that.” This was probably not the time to ask him how his cundums were made and such. Forcing a serious expression to her face, she said, “Forgive me, it’s just the lingering effects of the nitrous.”

  “Nitrous, my arse,” he muttered as he pulled down the sheets, then stretched out on his back beside her. “That stopped affecting you half an hour ago, admit it.”

  His arousal was swiftly waning, thanks to her, and that was the last thing she wanted. Especially now, with him displayed so gloriously naked beside her. “That’s not entirely true…” She pressed her hand to his chest, marveling at how his muscles bunched beneath her fingers. “I still have that tingly feeling it roused.”

  With a quirk of his eyebrow, he glanced at her. “Tingly feeling?”

  “You know,” she said coyly. “Here.” She laid his hand upon her mons, where she’d dreamed of his touching her again ever since that day at Mr. Godwin’s.

  That was all it took to return the heat to his gaze and rouse his penis anew. “Ah,” he rasped as he began to fondle her with deft strokes, “that tingly feeling.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, “oh, Anthony…”

  His mouth sought hers, hungry, eager, while he delved inside her below with first one finger, then two, each caress maddening her further. Within moments they were back to where they were before, him kneeling between her legs, parting her thighs…replacing his fingers with something larger and thicker.

  Lord help her, they’d come to the deflowering already.

  As he eased inside her, she fought the urge to resist, knowing instinctively that would only make it more difficult. At least he took care with her. And it wasn’t too awful, just an intrusive pressure in an unexpected place.

  Still, having his penis inside her was more intense, more intimate than when he’d stroked her with his fingers. And when he thrust, burying himself deeply, she was grateful his eyes were closed, so he didn’t see her sudden grimace at the sharp pain that apparently signaled the loss of her maidenhood.

  He didn’t seem to notice, thank heaven. Indeed, it hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d feared. It didn’t compare to the awkward fullness created by her being joined to him down there.

  “Good God, you’re so tight,” he whispered, the words hot against her brow. “You feel incredible, sweetheart.”

  “So do you…” she managed to choke out.

  Incredibly thick and uncomfortable. What a disappointment. She should have known that his talk of pleasures would come to nothing.

  Then he began to move, in and out, in long, slow strokes. At first that seemed uncomfortable, too…until his repeated pressing against her mons roused a strange urge to squirm against him. When she did, a faintly pleasurable sensation shot through her that was so delicious she tried it again. And again.

  With every motion, the sensation intensified a little. How intriguing.

  “Here, sweetheart,” he gasped against her ear as he pulled her knee up to shift her position. “You’re so much smaller than I’m…used to. Put your legs around my waist. Yes, like that.”

  Sweet Lord in heaven. That was more like it.

  Now he was pounding right against that aching spot he’d been fondling before, and excitement uncurled throughout her senses, opening her to him. Something broke free inside her, rising toward the surface like the first bubble floating up from the bottom of a water tank heated to boiling.

  “That’s it, my sweet wanton,” he said hoarsely as he thrust harder, deeper. “You’re…so tight, so warm…God save me…you really are…a witch.”

  “No such thing…as witches,” she pointed out.

  A strangled laugh escaped him as he gazed down at her, his
black curls plastered to his brow from his exertions. “You never…cease to amaze me.”

  “Good.” She wanted nothing more than to keep amazing him, to hold him beyond tonight. She wanted this. With him. Forever.

  Then tears stung her eyes. A rakehell viscount marry a scandal-tainted schoolteacher? Never. So she would take what she could of him now, store up every bit against the famine when he was no longer hers.

  His eyes slid shut, and he drove into her with quickening strokes that sent more bubbles rising inside her, taking her with them, edging toward light and air and the sun, until he gave one mighty thrust that sent her boiling free of the surface to burst into the air.

  With his choked cry of pleasure echoing in her ears, joining with hers, she strained up against him, feeling weightless and for once, free.

  Wrapping her arms about him, she clung to the feeling, not allowing herself anything but this joy.

  But as the minutes marched by, and she floated down from her lofty heaven, dragged down as much by the warm weight of him atop her as by the waning of her pleasure, reality began to intrude.

  Now was the time to point out that she was an innocent. That he’d taken her virginity. That he owed her something in return.

  And she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, “I’ll be happy to take you out of yourself at any time. I am at your command.”

  The words were so sweet that she clutched him to her, cursing herself for her weakness. “I’ll remember that,” she choked out, letting the moment of confrontation pass.

  Now she had another secret to keep. She could never let him know he’d deflowered her, or she’d have to explain why she’d allowed it, and the thought of tainting this wonderful night by revealing her sordid plan was too appalling to bear.

  But neither could she stay here and risk his plaguing her for answers again. He refused to help her unless she told him everything, but doing that meant risking his warning Sir Humphry off, so she couldn’t.

  Neither could she have him find out where she lived and plague Papa for answers, too. Time to return to her original plan and sneak away in a hackney. She wasn’t sure how to manage that, but the late hour might work in her favor. Yes, she would let nature take its course and wait until he dozed.

  Then what would she do about meeting Sir Humphry?

  She would take a chance on Anthony’s good heart. Now that she knew he had one, she knew she could trust him. Monday, she would urge Mrs. Harris to enroll Anthony’s niece. Once he learned of it, he might be willing to introduce her to Sir Humphry, no questions asked.

  But if he wouldn’t help her, she’d find another way. Because telling him the truth meant possibly alienating Sir Humphry entirely, and she dared not risk that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Charlotte,

  I bow to your greater knowledge of the young Miss Prescott. Forgive me for being so presumptuous as to question your judgment in the matter, but it was only my concern about Lord Norcourt being at the school with you that made me even broach the subject.

  Your ever-anxious relation,

  Michael

  Sometime later, Anthony lay on his side with Madeline tucked neatly against his sated body, her back to his chest. He ought to renew his questioning of her. He ought to use the intimacy of the moment to find out what she was hiding. But after what they’d shared, he couldn’t bear to, not yet.

  Perhaps he was indeed the smitten fool Stoneville took him for. At the moment, he didn’t care. Gazing down at her tumbled golden hair, he felt a tenderness for her as sweet as it was alarming. Did she realize how profoundly she affected him? Or how amazing their joining had been? It had been everything he’d imagined and more…a progression of wonders so glorious, his head still reeled. He’d never felt like this with any other woman—as if he’d met his match.

  Certainly, no other woman had dared laugh at him when he’d donned a French letter. He chuckled. Leave it to Madeline to see cundums for what they were—necessary perhaps, but very odd indeed.

  “What do you find so amusing, sir?” she turned her head to ask. “Not what we just did together, I hope.”

  Her teasing tone held a thread of uncertainty that he was eager to banish. “No, indeed.” He nuzzled her shoulder, drinking in her unique scent of almonds and citrus. “You bewitched me entirely, as I’m sure you know.”

  With a hesitant smile, she shifted to lie on her back. While her hand stroked up and down his arm, she stared at him from beneath shyly lowered lashes. “Then what struck you as funny?”

  “Your reaction to my cundums.”

  “Oh, I forgot about those!” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I meant to ask—what are they made of?”

  He shook his head helplessly. “Only you would want to know such a thing.”

  Her smile faded and her gaze dropped to where her hand still caressed his arm. “And does that bother you?”

  “No.” He brushed a curl from her brow. “It’s what I like best about you. And to answer your question, they’re made of lamb intestines turned inside out, macerated, scraped, washed, cured, blown up, and dried, then cut to a nice, convenient length on one end.”

  “And fitted with ribbands,” she teased. “But what chemical do they use to macerate it? How do they cure it? How long does it take to dry?”

  A laugh erupted from him. “I should have known you’d want the entire process described in excruciating detail. You’re as bad as I am, with your insatiable curiosity about how things work.” He feathered a kiss over her nose. “Let me just go remove the thing, and you can examine it to your heart’s content.”

  “No, that’s all right.” A strange alarm filled her face. Pulling his arm about her waist, she returned to her former position, curled up against him. “Don’t go anywhere yet. Stay here with me a while longer.”

  “If you wish.” Tucking her head beneath his chin, he held her close, relishing the moment.

  She took his hand in hers, then stared at his wrist. “You have a nasty scar here. How did you get it?”

  His enjoyment of their cozy moment instantly fled. Should he tell her the whole mortifying tale? No, he couldn’t. He cringed even to think of how she might react to such evidence of his wicked character. But he could tell her the bald facts of the incident, just not why and how it had occurred.

  “When I was a boy, I…got caught in something and tried to cut myself free with my penknife. Instead I cut myself.”

  “It looks like a very serious cut,” she said softly. “You were lucky you didn’t die.”

  Thank God she didn’t ask what he’d been trying to cut himself free of. “So said the doctor who sewed me up. Right before he abandoned me.”

  A strange stillness came over her. “Abandoned you? What do you mean?”

  He shouldn’t have revealed even that. “Nothing. It was a long time ago.”

  But she wouldn’t let it go. “Was this in Chertsey?”

  Ah, so that’s why she wanted to know. “No, in Telford, while I lived with my aunt and uncle.” He smoothed his cheek over her shoulder. “So it wasn’t your father who sewed me up, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Of course it wasn’t,” she said hastily. “So…er…how did this doctor abandon you?”

  “It’s nothing, not worth mentioning. Forget I said it.” The very thought of her knowing about that mortified him. She would surely see it as evidence of his inherently bad character, and he didn’t want to add to that impression.

  Why he cared so much what she thought, he chose not to examine too closely.

  “All right.” She surprised him by pressing a kiss to his wrist before holding it against her breast. “I’m just very glad you didn’t die.”

  “So am I,” he said with a flippancy he didn’t feel. Her tender remark resonated through him to the depths of his hollow heart.

  He held her close although he knew they ought to be thinking about returning her to Ri
chmond. She hadn’t said what she’d told her father about where she was going and why.

  A sigh escaped him. Instead of revealing his darkest secrets, he ought to be questioning her about hers. But he was none too eager to do so. Lying entwined with her was the most sublime experience of his life. He couldn’t bear for it to end.

  So he savored it as long as he dared, while the fire crackled behind them, and the ormolu clock atop a nearby writing table ticked away the moments. After a while, when he caught himself starting to doze off, he glanced at the time. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “it’s past midnight. Won’t your father worry?”

  No answer. And her deep, even breathing told him she’d fallen asleep. Not surprising. Between the nitrous, their exertions, and the late hour, he was amazed she’d stayed awake as long as she had.

  He should rouse her, but he hated to. Why not let her rest a while longer before he took her home? Once they were in the carriage, there’d be plenty of time to get answers to the rest of his questions about her father’s situation.

  You’re making excuses to put off an uncomfortable discussion.

  Perhaps so. But who could blame him for being loath to leave her bed? It had taken him long enough to get here, after all.

  Still, it surprised him how fiercely he wished to lie all night with her. That had never happened with any other woman. He buried his face in her hair. Mmm. Such soft hair. So pleasantly scented. He breathed deeply.

  He wondered what she did to…make her hair…smell so good…

  It seemed only moments later that he opened his eyes again, but it had clearly been longer. The fire had burned out, as had the candles. Black as pitch. All around him darkness.

  For a second, the familiar panic swelled in him. Alone. In the dark. Trapped.

  No, he was not alone, was he? He felt for Madeline next to him but found nothing. God save him, he was alone.

  But not trapped—not that, at least. He could move his arms and legs with perfect ease, and did so, just to be sure. His fingers brushed something wet and cold, which made him start violently…until he realized it was just his French letter, which had slipped off while he’d slept.