The Rake to Reveal Her

by Julia Justiss

  As he slowly worked his hand higher, her knees fell apart, her legs a boneless conduit of sensation from his stroking fingers down to her toes, up to where her centre throbbed. When he reached the velvety skin of her inner thighs, he finally, finally opened his mouth to her, and she surged within in a frantic slash of tongue and teeth.

  By the time his fingers reached the crease where her thigh joined the soft curls of her mound, she was beyond kissing, her breath in gasps, her hands clutching his shoulders. She cried out when at last, at last, he glided one probing finger up and across the flesh of her centre, and moaned when he slid the finger within.

  But before she could move her hips against it, desperate to reach completion, he pulled the hand away. She’d barely gasped out an inarticulate protest when he swept her skirts back and let his tongue take the path his fingers had just traced.

  A few quick strokes of his tongue, and the tension that had been building through her peaked in an eruption of such intensity that for a moment, there was nothing but blinding light and heat and sensation.

  When the cataclysm receded, she sagged and would have fallen flat back on to the bed, had Dom not supported her. Gently he held her up and eased her back against the pillows, then seated himself beside her. ‘You’re right. Much better than wine. But if we’re going to talk about dreams and imaginings...’ He grinned at her. ‘I haven’t yet begun.’

  Theo lay her limp head upon his shoulder. ‘This has already been the most erotic night of my life—and I’m not even undressed yet.’

  With a tender look, Dom pressed a kiss in the centre of her forehead. ‘Fear not, dear wife. The night has only begun.’

  * * *

  Some time in the early dawn hours, Dom awoke. In the moonlight drifting in from the window, he looked down at Theo, snuggled by his side, her hair a tangle of curls on the pillow, her bare shoulders showing above the bed linen she’d pulled up over her breasts.

  Ah, her glorious breasts! Tasting and nibbling and teasing them had been one fantasy he’d been able to turn into reality this night. Also, the one of slowly undressing her, one piece of clothing at a time—and for this game, ladies had such a delightfully large number of garments to remove—tasting each bit of skin as he revealed it. Then another, of having them both naked and slick, kissing slowly as they explored each other with hands and mouths before she pulled him over her and urged him within and wrapped her legs around him to draw him deeper as he thrust again and again.

  He’d expected Theo to be passionate, and the reality more than lived up to the dream.

  Thank heavens for Jemmie! He must hire the best trainer in England to school the lad. But for the sergeant-major’s son, he might have been halfway across England when Theo had been driven to marry in haste to secure her son and her orphans. Some other gentleman might have seen her, appreciated her, felt called to save and protect her.

  The very idea of any other man marrying her, holding her, touching any bit of her, even to solve her problems, brought a fierce indignation welling up.

  Theo was his.

  He must be the luckiest man in England.

  How wise he’d been on that journey to London, deciding to marry her straight away, with no delays for courting or manoeuvring around other gentlemen or second and third thinking. Marrying her felt right then, and felt even more absolutely right now.

  The realisation settled over him then, not in a coup de foudre or a lightning strike, but with a calm sense of absolutely certainty.

  He was in love with Theo Branwell. That was why deciding to marry her had been so easy and done with such confidence in its absolute rightness.

  He looked down at her, shaken by the revelation, but filled with the sweetest sense of peace and delight. He wasn’t sure when love had begun to curl its tendrils around his heart, growing so quietly he hadn’t noticed, until now, when the mature length and strength of it covered his heart and soul completely.

  He only knew, with same certainty he’d felt when he decided to marry her, that he loved her, and always would.

  And she...liked him?

  He frowned and shook his head. No, that would never do. He was almost certain she felt more strongly than that. But for some reason, she was afraid. He’d seen that nervous anxiety on her face a number of times since she accepted his proposal.

  Why? Surely she knew he’d never hurt her, that he meant to cherish her. She’d several times affirmed that she trusted him.

  Then he recalled the off-hand remark he’d made about marrying someone she did not love to ‘punish’ herself. Did she still think some sort of retribution for her mistake meant she had no right to be happy? Or, having been devastated by loss before, was she afraid of claiming a happiness she might lose again?

  The death of a fiancé that placed her in such horrific circumstances would make anyone afraid to chance loving again. As for any lingering notion of punishment, constant affirmation of her worthiness from someone who knew of her past, and admired her for surviving it, might finally free her from any lingering hold it had upon her.

  He should woo her, until she was assured of his love and secure enough to let go of the past and love again without fear. Until she believed in the depths of her soul that she was deserving of happiness. That he would always support her. That she would never again be left alone and desperate and in danger.

  How best to reach her?

  Beside him, Theo stirred. Opening groggy eyes to smile at him, she slid a hand up over his bare leg. As his member leapt in response, Dom knew he had his answer.

  His Theo had no fear at all of lovemaking. If he wooed her with words and bedazzled her with kisses, until she trusted the affection they shared was as deep and unending as their passion, he could bring her to acknowledge and eventually revel in loving him.

  Then he truly would be the luckiest man in England.

  He’d just have to think of ways to seduce her.

  Ah, now that was a challenge he could embrace with enthusiasm!

  Chapter Twenty

  Two days later, Theo sat at the table in the breakfast room sharing a light repast with her husband.

  Her husband...the fact of being wed still amazed her every time she thought of it.

  Though they’d spent so much of their marriage thus far in the bedchamber, she felt her face flush every time one of the servants looked at her, as a footman did now before refilling her cup.

  ‘That’s all, Thomas, you may go,’ Dom said. Grinning as he looked at her no doubt rosy cheeks, after the footman left the room, he said, ‘It’s all right, Theo, we’re married now.’

  ‘I could scarcely face Susan when I finally got back to my room yesterday at noon, when we’d arrived so early the previous evening! I apologised for having her wait so long to help me change. And I still feel...odd, knowing they all know what we’ve been doing. ‘

  ‘They expect it. Maybe not so much of it...’

  She felt her face heat further, and his grin turned into a chuckle before he took her hand and kissed it. ‘My Theo. So calm and matter of fact in public—and such a siren in the bedchamber. Who dreamed I would be lucky enough to marry every man’s secret fantasy? I’d be the envy of London, did anyone suspect.’

  ‘Well, I trust you’re not going to go announcing it in your clubs,’ she said tartly, still feeling embarrassed.

  ‘Certainly not! It’s my secret—and my good fortune. I hope the last two days have made you as happy as they’ve made me.’

  She smiled and squeezed his fingers before releasing them. ‘I’ve been wonderfully...content.’

  His smile wavered, as if that wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. Before she could figure out what else to say, he said, ‘This will be our last day before we rejoin the others at your aunt’s and prepare to leave London. Lady Coghlane urged me, and I think it wi
se, to complete purchasing a wardrobe for you before we go back to the country.’

  ‘“Dandy Dom’s” wife, after all, should look the part?’ She made a face. ‘Must we? I thought you didn’t mind me riding about in my comfortable old habit.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ve wanted to have the dressing of you since the day we met. And the undressing. Since I’ve managed that last several times, quite skilfully I thought, it’s time to proceed to the former.’

  ‘My old habit being a challenge—or an affront, as it is to Aunt Amelia?’

  ‘A bit of both.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to do more of the “undressing” first?’ she asked, leaning over to give him a lingering kiss.

  He reached up to hold her chin, prolonging the kiss, which now lacked the urgency of passion long denied, but was sweeter for the promise of passion to come—wherever and as often as they chose.

  When he finally broke the kiss, Theo noted with gratification that Dom looked as flushed as she felt.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ he asked unsteadily. ‘Ah, yes. Commissioning some new gowns and a new habit.’

  Theo groaned. ‘You do have a mind like a poacher’s trap.’

  ‘Did you think to distract me? Remember, I have a reputation to maintain.’

  ‘Very well. But only if you promise me a ride in the park this afternoon.’

  ‘It will have to be tomorrow. I’ve already made an important appointment for today—visiting Tattersall’s to find a pony for a little boy.’

  She drew back a little, surprised. ‘A pony? When did Charles ask you about that?’

  ‘The day I proposed, I asked his permission to marry you, and he said he would agree, as long as he got his pony—and I showed him how to arrange his soldiers in line of battle.’

  Something softened and twisted in her heart as Theo realised Dom had thought to include her son in his vision for their marriage. He really would be the protector and champion she and Charles both needed. ‘That was so kind of you. Even if he did take shameless advantage of the opportunity, the little rascal.’

  ‘Enlightened self-interest, like Jemmie. I’ve got no suitable ponies at Bildenstone, so it would be best to find one for him here. We’ll have a groom bring it back, while we take the carriage.’

  Impulsively, she rose and went to hug him, gratitude and affection intensifying the connection she’d always felt to him. ‘Thank you for accepting my son,’ she whispered.

  He caught one hand and kissed it. ‘You and your son are one blood. I could no more marry one without embracing the other than you could marry me without inheriting my cousins as well—though, to your relief, none of them are yet near enough to irritate you. But be warned! Eventually, Max, Will and Alastair will be tripping over our threshold and taking over our sitting room.’

  ‘I shall love to welcome them.’

  ‘So, before Tattersall’s—which, sadly, admits gentlemen only—we shall visit the modiste.’

  ‘Very well—but I can’t imagine anything more of a dead bore.’

  ‘Oh, no, it will be tantalising. I can imagine you in—and out—of each gown. Then there are chemises, and stays, and stockings, and garters...’

  ‘Chemises and stays and garters!’ she echoed, scandalised. ‘You cannot accompany me to buy those!’

  ‘Why not? Because I’ll be looking at you lasciviously the whole time?’ he asked, grinning again—obviously enjoying her discomfort.

  ‘It would be too intimate to view such apparel together, in front of total strangers,’ she said stiffly, her face heating again at the thought.

  ‘Very well.’ He relented. ‘Gowns only.’

  ‘That will be a dead bore,’ she muttered.

  He caught her chin again. ‘What will be the forfeit, if I prove you wrong?’

  ‘You can have your wicked way with me—when we return, of course, not in the modiste’s dressing room.’

  ‘And here I thought you had imagination.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll take your bargain, though. Did you bring with you the gown of Prussian blue à la Hussar?’

  She looked at him blankly for a moment. ‘You mean the dark-blue one with the double buttons and frogging on the front? Yes, Susan packed it.’

  ‘Wear that one,’ he said drily. ‘While you’re changing at the modiste’s, I can imagine undoing all those little buttons.’

  * * *

  Chafing at having to waste their last morning together at a dressmaker’s, Theo dutifully presented herself a half-hour later in the requested gown, and a short time after that, the hackney deposited them before the elegant shop of ‘Madame Emilie’.

  To Theo’s chagrin, the shop girl who greeted them must have recognised Dom, for a moment later, the modiste herself hurried over in a flurry of curtsies. Welcoming him by name, she enquired about his injuries, expressed her joy at his recovery and her delight to see him back in her shop. After telling her what they were seeking—Theo mute through the whole exchange—Madame Emilie hurried off in pursuit of the latest copies of La Belle Assemblée and the materials Dom had requested.

  ‘She greeted you like an unexpected bequest from a distant relation,’ Theo murmured. ‘Just how many mistresses have you dressed here?’

  Dom laughed. ‘Just one former fiancée—even wealthier than you, and much more interested in acquiring a wardrobe.’

  ‘Madame must have been devastated when she heard you’d broken the engagement and gone off into the country.’

  Merriment in his eye, Dom nodded. ‘Probably saw half her projected yearly earnings disappear in the dust of my departing coach. We’ll have to make it up to her.’

  At that moment, the modiste returned. ‘Eh, bien, so we begin, yes? First, I must take your lady’s measure.’

  To Theo’s embarrassment, Dom accompanied them to the dressing room, despite her motioning him out when the shopkeeper’s back was turned.

  Settling himself in the corner, he watched avidly as the dressmaker’s assistant removed her garments, until she was standing before him clad only in chemise and stays. Her body grew tight and prickly as Dom’s gaze followed every movement of the tape being drawn against her body, his eye darkening with desire.

  It was almost as if it were his own fingers tracing over her skin, rather than a strip of numbered cloth.

  By the time the measuring was completed, she was feeling hot and shaky. But there was more.

  Seated again with Madame to discuss style, he did touch her. Sliding his hand over her shoulder and down her arm to demonstrate a desired cut and length of sleeve...sweeping a palm over her hip to indicate a fit of skirt... And when his fingers made a leisurely transit across her chest, the tips almost but not quite grazing her nipples as he outlined the depth and cut of the décolletage, it was all she could do to hold back a gasp.

  Desire pulsing through her, relieved to be almost done, she was envisioning what she would do to him once she got him back to the town house when he announced it was time to choose the materials.

  Bolts of fabrics were dutifully bought in.

  First, he talked of colours—peach, apricot, honey. His voice and the heavy-lidded gaze he fixed on her made her picture biting into rich, ripe fruit, its perfume filling her senses, its juice sweet against her tongue.

  Her eyes fixed on his mouth, she jumped when he took her hand and ran it across the subtle texture of the lute string. He unrolled some of the honey silk from its bolt and draped the material over her neck, slowly rubbing its sensual softness against her bare skin, from her chin to the tops of her breasts.

  Her nipples hardened, and a moist, urgent throbbing started between her legs.

  He moved to a velvet and then a lace, her intensely sensitised skin feeling every nuance of difference between softness and texture, weight and lightness as he drew them across her—as if h
e were making love to her with fabric.

  She thought she would go mad with frustration and impatience.

  When at last the assistant finished getting her back into her garments and the modiste left them, looking immensely pleased at the number of gowns they’d commissioned, Theo leaned over to whisper, ‘What must she be thinking!?’

  Dom shrugged, his heated gaze on her lips. ‘She’s French. She’ll think I was seducing you.’

  Her face burned with chagrin—but the idea of him practically making love to her in public was so immensely arousing, her mouth felt dry. ‘If you ever shopped like this with anyone else, I’ll murder you,’ she finally managed to get out.

  He grinned at her. ‘Only with you. Most females require no assistance to enjoy shopping.’

  * * *

  By the time she was released from the torture of the shop to find a hackney, Theo was almost beyond speech. She scarcely knew what she replied to the idle chat he made during their short drive back to Upper Brook Street.

  When they arrived, before Dom could say anything else, Theo took his hand and marched him straight upstairs to their bedchamber, where bright afternoon sun blazed through the windows.

  Good; he’d be able to see everything clearly.

  Time for the boot to go on the other foot.

  ‘I never thought shopping would take so long,’ she said as she closed the door behind them. ‘Did you really find this garment so offensive?’

  ‘It’s not offensive. I rather like it.’

  ‘But at the shop, you said you preferred something lower cut. To better display my breasts?’

  He nuzzled her neck. ‘Seeing more of those breasts is always a good thing.’

  ‘Perhaps I should remove the gown, then. Will you help me?’

  ‘Willingly.’ To her satisfaction, his breath caught, his fingers fumbling with ties and laces as he freed her from the gown. When he’d helped her out of it, she swept a hand towards her stays. ‘Are these too plain, do you think?’