Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

  That hand on her hip moved. He skimmed it easily up and down her back. Against his large, hard, frame, she actually felt the contrast of her softer curves and the masculine brawn in his. He smelled wonderful, a balmy spice yet fresh scent, mingled with something that uniquely male.

  He said above her, “I won’t do more until you are ready. I will not rush you. But could we lie in our bed?”

  Val pulled back and looked up at him. “Yes.”

  He gave her a short hug before taking her hand. They exited and he kept that handhold going up the stairs.

  Val trusted him. However, it did not make her feel wonderful, because he wanted her, she knew he did, and she needed to communicate to him that it was not fear. It was not even the bad memories. It was lack of (this) sort of experience with a man.

  In the chambers, she parted from him, going to the bathing chamber to remove the gown and her shoes and stockings. She was in a thin chemise when exiting, and caught sight of him by the window.

  He had on linen drawers just above the knee, with a drawstring low on his hips. Having said that—they were thin, nothing really, and moonlight spilled in, bathing his profile. It was enough to show just how solid muscled he was everywhere. His stomach was taut and ridged, round muscles defined his chest and shoulders…mounds and ropes of sinew and muscle down his arms. Even his buttocks were round and firm. Legs yes, just as clothing never could hide, they were long and powerful.

  Val thought to don her robe, the chemise being not much more than the linen he wore. Somehow standing there, distance between them, and in shadow, she thought of how long she had known him, what she knew of him, and the months he had been gone. She thought of the kiss, her feelings and those sensations. She was wed to this man. The Viking. She was his wife. She should at least try to uphold her end…

  “Archard,” her voice seemed a mere wisp in the shadowy chamber.

  His gaze turned with moonlight catching his light eyes for a moment as he searched and found her in the dimness near the sitting room.

  “What’s wrong?” He turned fully.

  Her gaze skimmed down over carved and ridged abs and back up. “Nothing…” Val wet her lips and began padding toward him, then stopped.

  “Are you frightened?” He came the rest of the distance.

  “No.” She folded her arms.

  “Cold.” His hands rose.

  She shook her head, stepping toward him. Her forehead came to rest against his shoulder. Val was still slightly hunched, but he felt hot, good, and so strong. “I want to know what to do.”

  His hands slid, slowly buried in her hair as he cupped her head, gently making her lift it so their eyes met in the mellow gloom. His were so light and intense. “We don’t need to do anything but hold each other, all right?”

  She nodded, searching his shadowed face.

  Behind those intensely burning blue eyes was also a gentle light. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he led her to the bed. “I could sleep for a week.”

  Archard released her to turn down the covers. Val crawled in, feeling another moment of awe at his physique and size when he joined her. She lay rather tense until he scooped his hand under her shoulders again; flexing, so she was forced to rest her cheek on his smoothly muscled chest.

  “This is nice…” His voice came from above her, the sound of his strong beating heart competing with her own roaring in her ears.

  She lay too tense for a long time, his scent and feel, his maleness—pervasive. It sent a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations washing through her. That was Archard, vivid, intense, and powerful. At some point thankfully, his deep steady breaths began to relax her.

  Arm tingling for lack of blood flow, Val finally brought it up, so her hand rested just below his raised ribs. Everything was pleasant in surprising ways. Eyes closed, she let the thoughts drift freely through her mind, even as she let the sensations seep in. It wasn’t as if he could feel or see them, was it? Her first time lying close to a male who seemed—well male. Her first time having her senses open instead of defenses up.

  Sleep took her sometime afterward. The only consciousness Val had after that, was in the wee hours, when she must have stirred or moved. She would recall later that day, barely opening her heavy eyes to the feel of Archard’s strong hand on her nape as he helped her move her hair that was obviously pulling, while she adjusted her position.

  Funny, but he looked wide-awake compared to her own sleep heavy state. Nonetheless, he merely brushed his lips over her brow and turned with her, his arm lying over her hip.

  Chapter Six

  “The Coalfield’s ball?” Val frowned at Jo as they had tea after shopping the next day. “I have no idea. Archard was up and gone to the club or some such, before I awoke.”

  Jo observed her face closely. Val could sense it, though her sister merely grinned dryly and offered, “Then he’ll get up with father and the rest, and likely plan to go, as we all are.”

  “Very well. I must get back then and prepare.”

  On the way home, Jo offered, “Though I know little about it, I gather husbands and wives compare their schedules with each other.”

  “I know that. I thought perhaps Archard would be tired or want to show his brother around a bit—”

  “That Viking, tired?” Jo snorted. “As to his brother, he appears no country bumpkin. He’s mature enough to get up to the usual things unattached men will in London.”

  “But Archard also has business to check on.”

  Before the coach let her down at the Marquis town house, Jo met her sister’s eye. “How much do you wish to wager that Van Wyc would rather spend time with you than anything else?”

  Flushing, Val supplied, “It’s not that kind of marriage.”

  “Maybe to you. But not to him.” Jo laughed. “You weren’t half attending at supper, but I watched him enough to see it. Dear, Val. Women would kill to have a husband who looks like Van Wyc, not to mention, have one who looks at—them—as he does you.”

  Jo waved and hurried off, the dyed gold feathers on her outrageous hat wafting as she did so.

  The coach pulled out. Val absently took the short ride to their home. She was still half there, half in her thoughts while she had her bath later. Still sitting in her robe, her hair down, enjoying a cup of coffee and thick cream in solitude, when Archard came through the door.

  He pushed it closed behind him, eyes going to her, over her. Tossing his coat on the nearest chair, he swept his longish wind tossed hair behind his ears before motioning to the silver pot.

  “May I?”

  “Yes, of course.” She started to ring for a cup, but he came to her side, smelling of tobacco, the outdoors, and all sorts of warm masculine things. His fingers covered hers as the cup she’d drank from was transferred to his hand. He filled it.

  Sitting himself on a trunk, he leaned back against the footboard behind him, legs out, booted ankles crossed, while he sipped and watched her look out the window.

  Val did that to keep from watching him.

  “Your father mentioned the coalfield’s ball. Would you care to attend?”

  “If you would—”

  “Yes. I think we should.”

  Val turned her gaze to him but he was in the process of getting to his feet.

  “Very well.”

  Van Wyc stood, unwinding the thin loose scarf he wore instead of a neck cloth, and tossing it aside. He sipped from the cup between pulling off his boots and tugging the hem of his shirt free from his trousers. He set the cup down long enough to tug the shirt over his head.

  “We’ve plenty of time.” Val managed, eyeing that deeply tanned back, halved by muscle, the taut waist, before jerking her gaze back to the window.

  Archard padded toward her, now only in his snug, buff trousers. Leaning down to refill the cup from the pot on the table by her elbow, he agreed. “Yes, a few hours, yet.” His accent seemed thicker. She felt the brush against her shoulder as he rounded the table and her, sitt
ing on the window ledge just behind her chair...Chills raised on Val’s skin. The hair on her nape prickled. It was almost as if she knew he would, when he leaned up a bit and touched her hair with his free hand.

  “This is lovely stuff.”

  “Too thick,” she murmured feeling him slide his fist through it.

  “Not at all.” Van Wyc’s knuckles skimmed her nape as he touched it again.

  Val was conscious that due to his position, height and size, and the short straight chair she sat in, he could see from the top of her head and downward. Part of her wanted to prudishly check to make sure her robe was well closed over her breasts, the other part, knew it was not.

  He shifted, bringing him closer and set the cup on the table. Then his hands gathered up her hair, touching it, before he pulled it slightly aside. Suddenly, his face and warm breath were near her ear. Her skin and pores sensitive to his nearness, as was her nose aware of his scents, her body to his warmth. Valerie held very still.

  “I like the way you smell. Your scent filled my head last night as we slept.”

  Closing her eyes, Val swallowed, wondering again if these were the things women who craved romance, longed to hear. She did not see herself that way, nor see Van Wyc as one, and yet—such a simple compliment sounded so...well, intimate.

  His lips barely touched her ear, skimming it while he breathed in. Then, Lord, but his nose and lips grazed feather light down the side of her neck. Chills raised everywhere on her flesh. So too did her heart speed and breath trap in her lungs for long seconds. Several times he made that journey, so light and sensual seeming to be barely breathing on her neck, at the same time his lips, his nose would brush her skin. He pushed her hair further to the other side. There was no mistaking the small kisses he was planting on the back of her nape—to the collar of the robe!

  Wetting her lips, Val cinched her hands together in her lap.

  Archard lifted his head. Releasing her hair, he placed his hands on her shoulders. His mouth grazed over her ear again before his cheek was touching hers. Skimming his hands down her arms, he found hers and unclenched them. Slowly stroking her fingers with his, before rubbing her wrists and palm with his fingertips, he murmured, “How do you feel?”

  “W—warm.” Val let him take her hands and raise them. He put them on his silken hair before leaning up enough to kiss her. The stretch of her reaching back to him, the subtle turn of her head to meet that kiss, sped Val’s pulse and breathing even more.

  His sensual, masculine lips were incredibly soft. There was something about the way he kissed her, clinging and unhurried, with only a hint of his tongue touching now and then that made her tremble. Short kisses, yet hot, sultry, had her so enthralled she did not realize his hands went under her arms, down her sides, until they were sliding back up.

  They came to rest on the thin robe, at the sides of her generous breasts. He did not need to touch them fully; a mere firming of his touch had the nipples hard and tingling.

  Her breathing seeming strident, heavy, in her ears, Val turned her head and made to lower her hands although touching his mane felt good.

  Archard moved one hand up, to cup her chin. Leaning so their eyes met, he searched her flushed face. “Are you uncomfortable with my kissing and touching you?”

  “Not exactly…” Was that breathless sound her voice?

  Light eyes on her own, he asked, “Warm...and…?”

  She wet her lips again, her face likely flushed from simply having to talk intimately like this, Val managed, “Shaky, flushed...I…I don’t know.”

  He kissed her again before whispering in her ear after releasing her chin, “Aroused. That’s the word, love.” With a soft masculine groan and his breath a little uneven, he told her, “You make me feel that, simply looking at you. You can touch me, kiss me, Val. Whenever you feel compelled.”

  She raised her hand back to his hair tentatively.

  He caught it, kissed her palm and fingers, then her palm again, before rubbing it against his cheek.

  “Tonight you will not sit with the matrons and dowagers. You are my wife and I want to dance with you.”

  She smiled over the sensual havoc in her body. “Very well.”

  “And you’ll dance with my brother, with your father, with Edmund...”

  “Yes.” She moved her face against his, her heartbeat growing so vociferous in her ears she could scarcely hear anything else.

  Archard lowered her hands and took another soft kiss before she realized his hands on her shoulders were sliding the robe off it.

  “Archard...” She jerked her mouth free.

  He put his to the skin of her shoulders. “Does this feel good?” He kissed across them, nibbling lightly a time or two. She felt his tongue taste her skin.

  “Y...yes.” She could not lie. It did.

  “Someday, Valerie, I’m going to kiss you all over, just like this. I’m going to rub my lips on your soft scented skin, and taste you, breathe you in.”

  His hands held her upper arms, which were clamped down to stop the progress of the robe falling, fingers flexed as he promised, “I’m going to make you forget everything unpleasant that you equate with intimacy.”

  Shuddering, Val gave an inch of surrender. Her head fell back slightly. She could feel the waft of air on the tops of her breasts and sense something inside of her that wanted to melt back into him, the same part that wanted to turn and make contact, skin to skin.

  The maid tapping on the door wrenched them both out of the spell, although Van Wyc answered in a lazy manner, compared to Val jerking upright and grasping her robe closed.

  Val heard her say, “Your pardon, Sir. I was sent for the tray.”

  He stood and came round, taking it to the door.

  Val could hear him decline dinner, saying they would eat at the hotel, and then tell the maid they would need nothing else until the mistress required her to dress for the ball.

  By the time the door closed, Val stood, shivering a bit at the end of the bed, her arms folded and eyes going over his height and breath, before looking into his Nordic face, fierce and wild. Had she noticed that in past years? Had she ever absorbed just how virile this blond giant was?

  On his way across the room, not a foot from her, he requested, “Show me the gown you will wear?”

  Still in a slight fog, it took a moment for her to lead him to the wardrobe, showing him the black and purple ball gown.

  “Lovely,” he said. However, she noticed he was fingering the small bows that hid the closures up the front from waist to breast. It was off the shoulder, the bodice unadorned save that adornment. A deep purple with black lace overlay. Her stockings would be lace and gloves also.

  “I had best do you equally as proud.” He winked before heading to the bath. “We’ll meet up with Aric at the hotel. “

  By the time, Archard exited the bath, Val’s maid had her dressed and was doing her hair, upswept, and weaved with pearl pins. Her small earrings showed amid two wispy, spiral curls teasing her ears.

  Archard—had dressed with his wardrobe doors barely blocking him. Val flushed at it, even though he was humming under his breath, because the maid was obviously trying to get a glimpse of him, before he closed the door.

  He dressed in his usual relaxed style that still made him look better than 10 elegant bucks. He wore snug, buttery, leather trousers, a white silk shirt. After donning burgundy boots, he opened a small drawer and looped one of those colorful scarves around his neck. A thigh length jacket in supple leather came next.

  The maid, Suzie, was finished with her and cleaning up. Val stood, watching Van Wyc as he combed his longish hair, tucked it behind his ears, and then tossed the brush on the table.

  Turning, catching her, he said lightly, “Will I do?”

  “Yes. You look...handsome.”

  His white grin came before he offered his arm. “You…take my breath away.”

  Where had this side of Archard been hiding? She had never imagined… Then i
t occurred to her, she had been too much in her own problems and guilt, to notice him—above that, he was always her friend, trustworthy, always there for her. They had both had a strong reaction to gossip about them last season; it embarrassed her for his sake. He was upset because she was upset.

  Then there was that kiss.

  Oh, bloody hell, she used one of Jo’s favorite sayings, she could not go on forever analyzing like this. It was residue from her terrible relationship with Leland to constantly judge motives, to remind herself she knew Archard well enough. That was past. Gone. Moreover, this was Archard, not Leland.

  * * * *

  At the hotel, once Aric joined them, Val found herself entertained by the brother’s conversation. Aric had his hair tied back and was wearing rust brown trousers and coat, a white embroidered shirt. His neck cloth was an expensive silk also, simply tied. She found herself laughing as they spoke of their family, the eccentrics and wayward youths—the interfering aunts. Although Val sensed some tension in Aric, that Archard later explained was due to the “falling out.”

  Val was flattered at the compliments Aric offered her, sensing he was not simply out to charm. It was good for her esteem. She returned the compliment and earned a wink and grin that would melt hearts at sixty paces. Aric would not be long in London without females falling at his feet.

  They strolled in the night air and Val mentally shook her head having two such tall and handsome men on her arms, whilst relaxing via the good conversation. A year ago...ah well, life had changed and for the better...She so enjoyed being with them, it was with some dread they headed to the ball.

  The Coalfield’s mansion was not far from the Marquis. Her family had arrived earlier. Val was aware of the stares and talk during their trek through the receiving line and her introductions of Aric. She ignored it. She had long learned her family would always be the subject of talk.

  “You look delicious!” Jo caught them at the end of the line, hauling them toward the Marquis, Edmund and Alex.