I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  Lila realized she’d been sitting on the bed too long and rose to change from her dress to her nightgown. She did her ablutions and quickly climbed into the bed, pulling the coverlet up to her chin. She scooted all the way to the wall so Brook would have plenty of room. He’d been gone longer than she thought, and she hoped he might believe she had fallen asleep when he returned. She closed her eyes and tried to look as though she were sleeping.

  The patter of rain on the roof and the roll of distant thunder kept her awake, and as the minutes passed, she began to wonder if Brook would return at all.

  What if Beezle had lain in wait and caught him?

  What if he didn’t want to see her again and preferred to sleep outside?

  Did he hate her enough to sleep in the rain?

  Suddenly the door burst open, and Lila was so surprised she forgot to pretend she was sleeping.

  Brook carried something small and wriggling in his arms. At first she thought it was a rat, but when he set it down, she realized it was the ginger cat she’d seen the day before and two tiny kittens.

  “Oh!” She forgot she was only half-dressed or that she was supposed to be sleeping. Lila couldn’t resist running to examine the mother and kittens. The mother eyed her warily, licking her wet fur and smoothing it down. The kittens, whose eyes were barely opened, cuddled close to their mother, who licked them as well.

  “She has kittens.” Lila crouched down to examine them. “Where did you find them?”

  Brook didn’t respond right away, and when she looked up at him, he quickly looked away. “She was moving them into the shelter of the woodpile. I’m not sure where she had them before.”

  “Are you certain there were only two?” Lila held her hand out to the mother cat, who sniffed it carefully then went back to washing.

  “I waited to see if she’d go back for more. She didn’t.”

  Lila lifted one of the kittens, who mewed immediately. The mother cat raised her head, but must have decided Lila was not a threat because she went back to smoothing her fur. Lila petted the kitten until it purred and closed its eyes, drowsing. It was absolutely precious—a ginger cat like its mother but with white stripes.

  “This is a strange time of year for birthing kittens. I saw her with a mouse or rat the other day, but we should see if we have anything to give her to eat.”

  Brook nodded. “I’ll look in Mrs. Spencer’s basket.”

  While he rummaged for food, Lila found an old blanket and laid it near the fire. She placed the sleeping kitten on it, and the mother soon followed. Soon, all three were curled up together. She’d always wanted a cat or dog when she’d been a child. Her father and mother had forbid it. She’d had a pony, but she couldn’t bring a pony inside or curl up with it at night. Lila glanced at Brook.

  “Why did you bring them inside?”

  He shrugged, pouring broth from the pot into a small saucer. “There’s a storm coming. I wouldn’t want to be out in it.”

  No one would, but most men she knew would not have cared if an animal was out in a storm. “I’m glad you brought them in. We’ll all be safe and cozy together.”

  He gave her an odd look and set the saucer before the mother cat, who lapped up the broth eagerly.

  “I rather thought you might object,” he said, discarding his damp coat and running his fingers through his wet hair. Lila had to force her gaze away from him. When she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think of what he’d been doing to her just a few minutes ago, and all the heat and mortification rose to her cheeks again.

  “Me? Why?” She rose and moved back toward the bed. The cottage, which had seemed perfectly comfortable a few minutes before, now seemed far too small. Brook was not a large man, neither in stature nor behavior, but his presence made her feel small and vulnerable. She was suddenly conscious that she wasn’t wearing her robe and that her nightshift did not hide as much as she would have liked.

  She stepped behind the curtain she’d rigged in front of the bed for privacy but hesitated to slide into the sheets. She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

  “Most women do not like animal hair on their clothing.”

  “My mother was like that, but I always wanted a pet.”

  “You surprise me.”

  If he’d told her he was a pirate, his words would not have shocked her more. He was actually beginning to see her differently. She’d finally done something outside of the little box within which he’d placed her. Perhaps he might see her as more than the spoiled duke’s daughter she’d been when they met.

  He sat to remove his boots, setting them carefully on the floor so that the mud did not soil the wood. Lila tensed, knowing he would come to bed soon. She wasn’t quite ready to sleep beside him. Neither did she want to insist he sleep on the floor. He was still healing from the knife wound—an injury he’d incurred to save her. He needed rest.

  Neither did she want to sleep on the floor again.

  “I think I shall go to sleep now,” she said, making a show of yawning and climbing into bed.

  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Lila paused in the act of pulling the covers around her. Did he think she waited for him? “I am certain I will be asleep before you lie down.”

  A shadow fell over her, and she turned from the wall. He stood over the bed, his shirt off. Thank God he still wore his breeches.

  “Are you nervous about my coming to bed with you?”

  “No. I must say, I feel it is a bit overly intimate, but after what has already happened tonight, there isn’t much else you can do to me.”

  She heard him chuckle softly right before the bed dipped as he climbed in beside her. “Oh, my little innocent. You do make it so entertaining to prove you wrong.”

  Twelve

  The heat of his body settled beside her, and Lila resisted the urge to curve toward it. Instead, she huddled on her side of the bed, waiting for him to pounce.

  He didn’t.

  He hissed in a breath, making a sound of pain, and then lay still.

  Oh, how could she pretend to sleep if he was in pain? She turned toward him, propping herself up on her elbow. “Are you well?”

  He’d pulled the curtain mostly closed, shielding the bed from much of the firelight. Outside, lightning flashed. The storm was still miles away, but for an instant the room flickered brighter. His face looked grim and set in marble.

  “Fine. I moved too quickly.”

  Lila sat, concerned. “You didn’t open the wound again, did you?”

  “No. In my haste to join you in bed, I forgot my injury. It was a twinge. Nothing more.”

  He wasn’t the sort of man to hiss in pain at a twinge. If he opened the wound, she’d better clean and bandage it again.

  “Let me see.” She tugged at the coverlet.

  He held it in place. “Lila. I’m fine.”

  “Let me see.”

  He released the coverlet, and she drew it down. She couldn’t see anything in the dark and reached over him to draw the curtain back and allow more firelight. Across the room, the mother cat raised her head to peer at her curiously, then lowered it again and went back to sleep.

  Brook hissed in another breath, and Lila glanced down at him. Her unbound hair trailed over his chest. He certainly didn’t welcome the sensation.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said.

  Now that she had more light, she settled on her knees and studied the bandage. It looked clean and dry. The wound hadn’t started bleeding again. She plucked at the binding, peering underneath. She saw no sign of infection. It seemed to be healing quickly.

  “Satisfied?” Brook asked.

  “Yes.” Now was the time she should pull her hand away and cover him with the sheets again. She should lie back down and resist his advances, thereby preserving some of her modesty and dignity.

  Her hand lingered though, her fingers hovering just above the bronze flesh of his chest. Her skin looked pasty beside his gold-tinged chest. “How
is it your skin is so tanned?” she asked.

  “I believe we have Mediterranean blood somewhere in our family line,” he told her. “One of my ancestors couldn’t resist the allure of a Moroccan princess. Or so the legend goes.”

  “Really?” She glanced at his face. His eyes, always so dark and mysterious, were locked on hers.

  “That’s the rumor. Of course, it might also be because Northbridge boasts the best swimming hole in all of England. I’ve been known to swim there for hours in the summer.”

  She almost asked if he swam nude but closed her mouth before the impertinent question might be voiced. “And here I thought you spent all of your time chasing thieves and murderers in Spitalfields.”

  “I would, but my mother insists I visit her on occasion. I’m certain you understand.”

  She didn’t. Her mother had been dead these past five years, and neither her father nor her stepmother requested or seemed to want her company. They sent her away more often than not. She doubted they even wondered where she was at the moment or what she was doing. No one would miss her if she were to disappear and never return. Her father might be put out, but he wouldn’t really mourn. He had his heir and an adorable young daughter to dote upon.

  Her relatives would be relieved they no longer had to accommodate her when her father sent her away. The debutantes and unmarried misses would rejoice, eager to take her place on the social staircase. She had no real friends, having only ever used other girls to achieve her own ends. And when her mother became ill, and Lila wanted a friend, no one came to call except to gloat over her misfortune.

  Men were not friends but prizes to be won.

  Her brother might miss her. Colin and she had always felt affection for each other. He protected her, chaperoned her, warned her away from men of dubious character, and chastised her for the worst of her bad behavior. But he also had his own life and interests. He wouldn’t mourn her long.

  She looked down again, at the hard flesh just below her hand. Even her own husband didn’t want her. He could not wait to end this marriage and be free of her.

  “Will you ever touch me, or are you to torment me all night?” Brook asked.

  Her eyes locked on his again. His mouth curved roguishly, but his eyes were dark and intense with desire. Her gaze drifted down to the waistband of his trousers, which he’d most likely kept on to avoid terrifying her. She was not experienced in such things, but she could see the bulge in them, an indication, even she knew, of arousal.

  “You want me to touch you?” Lila asked.

  “Must I beg?”

  She almost laughed. She couldn’t imagine him begging.

  “I did that once. I won’t do it again.”

  She recoiled slightly as the memory slammed into her. He had begged for her hand in marriage, and she’d been so callous, so unsympathetic. No, the man Brook Derring was now would never beg. And the Lady Lila Pevensy—Derring—she was now would never turn her nose up if he did.

  This wasn’t the time for apologies. He wanted her to touch him, and she lowered her hand until her fingers brushed against the smooth skin of his side. He didn’t react, seemed not to breathe as she slid her hand up toward his nipple. It puckered and hardened as her finger traced it.

  Her hand skated over the firm muscle to the other side, learning the texture and feel of him. Where she was soft, he was firm and solid. Her fingers crept lower, toward his belly button. His chest had very little hair, but a line of golden hair began there and delved lower. She traced it, pushing back the coverlet as she did.

  His hand caught her wrist in a viselike grip.

  “Not yet.”

  She blinked at him, almost as though wakened from a dream. She’d been so intent upon exploring his body, she’d forgotten she should have been demure and shy. “I thought you wanted me to touch you.”

  “More than you know. But you were unwittingly making promises you don’t intend to keep.”

  He referred to coitus, of course. By touching him so close to his…to that organ, she implied she wanted to consummate the marriage. She wanted no part of that, not when it would only end in annulment. Not when it was only her body he wanted.

  He sat, and she shrank back. She’d forgotten they were in bed together. His injury made her forget how virile and powerful he was. “And now it’s my turn to touch you.”

  “But you touched me earlier.” The words were out before she could stop them, and her face instantly flamed.

  “I want to touch you again.”

  He brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek, trailing them down toward her chest.

  “Why?” She had to duck her head, allow her hair to slide forward and shield her before she could go on. “What I mean to say is, you took no pleasure of your own before. Did you?”

  He pushed her hair back and cupped her face. Lila was surprised by the tenderness of the gesture. It was almost as though he cared about her.

  “It gave me pleasure to watch you climax.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I want to see it again.”

  And Lila desperately wanted him to touch her again. Her skin felt so warm where his hands met her cheeks. His touch was so light, so gentle. And yet she knew it could be demanding and forceful.

  “And this time will you…” She did not know how to say it.

  “I’d like to,” he said, kissing one side of her lips. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.” He kissed the other. “And as I’ve said, I’m a patient man.”

  His hands dropped from her face to land lightly on her shoulders. Beneath the thin nightgown, her skin burned with his touch. He slid one finger inside the scalloped edge of the bodice and slid it to the center, where he played with the ribbon she’d knotted to keep the gown closed.

  She took a shaky breath and looked at his face. All of his attention was focused on that white ribbon. Slowly, he traced the tail of the ribbon until he held it between two fingers. One quick pull, and it would come loose. Instead, he tugged ever so gently so the bow she’d made came undone fraction by tiny fraction.

  Lila held her breath, unable to move or even to speak. She knew when the material parted, she would be exposed to him. She couldn’t seem to tell him to stop. Her breasts felt heavy and full. Her nipples rose, hard and sensitive against the soft material. It was as though her body betrayed her and begged for his touch, even as her mind told her that if she allowed this, she would risk falling in love with him.

  He was handsome, unselfish, brave, kind, and intelligent. She had no defenses against a man like that. The more she gave of her body to him, the more she risked giving her heart completely.

  The knot popped loose and the material at her shoulders immediately sagged. It would have slid down, but she quickly caught it, holding it in place over her breasts. He didn’t pull her hands away. Instead, he respected her right to cover herself and moved to push her thick hair off her shoulders. His fingers combed through it, twisting it around his hand until she had to raise her chin. Holding her in place, he bent and kissed her. His lips were tender, searching. He kissed her as though she were his lover, not the woman he’d despised the last seven years. When he urged her lips open, she parted for him, unable to resist kissing him in return.

  A frisson of heat raced through her when their tongues tangled. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue mating with hers, stroking hers, exploring her. And she never wanted him to stop. In that moment, she wanted to give herself to him. Though part of her rebelled against the vulnerability of the act, she opened her fingers and released the material of the nightgown. It slid off her shoulders and caught on the swells of her breasts.

  Brook continued to kiss her, and she was his willing prisoner, held in place by his hand in her hair. His grip was firm but not painful, just enough to show her he was in control.

  Finally, he drew away. The hand in her hair held still, but his other traced the bare skin of her shoulder.

  “You’re like a marble statue,”
he murmured. “So white and perfect.”

  “So cold,” she said with a trace of bitterness in her voice.

  “Not at the moment. At the moment, your skin is hot and alive. Shall I taste the heat of it?”

  Surely the question was rhetorical, but she couldn’t stop the yes tumbling from her lips. He arched her neck back farther and pressed his lips to her shoulder. His mouth was warm and wet, and she shivered at the feel of it on her skin. He explored every inch of her shoulder with his lips and tongue, sliding into the valley of her collarbone and tracing the slope of her neck. Lila was all but panting. She had not known the skin of her shoulder could be so incredibly sensitive.

  His lips lowered, kissing a path from the skin of her neck to the swells of her breasts. Her flesh burned with each slow, delicious kiss he placed. He must have heard her heart pounding as his tongue delved in the valley between her breasts, barely covered now by the thin material.

  And then he took the edge of the nightgown between his teeth and pulled it lower until she felt the cool air on her breast and nipple. He groaned softly, looking at her far longer than was comfortable. Her hair was wrapped about his fist, but now he released it and used his other hand to slide the nightgown from her other breast.

  She had the impulse to raise her hands and cover herself, but just as she moved to do so, he growled low in his throat, a very satisfied sound.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve pictured you like this? Your hair down, your breasts bare, your skin warm to the touch?”

  “No,” she whispered. She’d never considered that he thought of her in that way at all. Had he imagined her like this when he’d asked her to marry him that night at the ball, or was it something he’d thought of since they’d come to the cottage?

  “More times than I will admit,” he said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “And yet”—he reached out, running the back of his hand along the side of her breast until he caressed the plump underside—“you are more perfect than I could have imagined.”

  His hand closed on her flesh, one thumb rubbing lightly over her nipple. Lila inhaled sharply at the sensation, a sharp jolt of pleasure radiating through her body. Thunder rumbled again, and the flash of lighting—closer now—lit up the sky outside.