Challenging A Rake (A Rake's Redemption Book 4)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  “No other staff?”

  He smiled as he slowly shook his head. “No, just the two of us.”

  Her insides burned with need as she realized the enormity of what he was saying. He had arranged this tonight, just the two of them. He must need her as much as she needed him.

  But what now? she wondered as she glanced down the hall and then up the stairs. She looked back at him and swallowed. A sense of cluelessness washed over her. She so did not understand what was expected of her.

  Here, she was on his territory, he was in charge. What did she do now?

  As if reading her mind, Lord Warwick smiled gently then stepped forward to take her hands in his.

  He held her stare for a long heart quickening moment then leaned forward and gently kissed the crook of her neck. That special spot where it joined her shoulder.

  She shivered inside as her eyes closed and she sank into the sensation rushing through her body.

  “You have a choice,” he said as he continued to kiss and nibble.

  “Mmmm?” she responded as she fought to maintain control.

  She felt his lips turn up as he smiled while kissing her just behind her ear.

  “I can give you a tour. Show you every room. Then we could step into the parlor and discuss current affairs with today’s society. Perhaps the weather.”

  “Or?” she managed to say as her hand came up to take his shoulder, holding him in place.

  “Or,” he said. “We can retire for the evening and discuss more … personal matters.”

  Her very core grew warm and ready. Twisting a little, she took his earlobe between her teeth and pulled gently. “I have always preferred … Personal matters. They can be so much more … enlightening.”

  He chuckled as he bent, sweeping a hand behind her knees as he lifted her up.

  The surprise in his action made her start, pulling her out of her cloudy secret world. Then he smiled down at her and started up the stairs. Once again, she melted inside. The man was chivalrous. And strong, and handsome, and everything a woman could want.

  Reaching her hands around his neck she lay her head on his chest and let him carry her up the stairs. Obviously, his wounds were no longer bothering him. She could rest there forever she realized. Cradled, protected.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, he put her down with a sad regret flashing in his eyes. Then turned and opened the door.

  A man’s bedroom, she realized. A simple comforter on a heavy four-poster bed. A dresser and an old leather stuffed chair in the corner. She could imagine him sitting there reading his reports by the window light.

  Turning, she caught him looking at her, a strange expression on his face.

  “What?” she asked, suddenly very worried that a hair was out of place, or had she gotten a stain on her dress.

  He smiled, “I was thinking that you are a particularly remarkable woman, Miss Water. And I am going to enjoy tonight.”

  Her heart turned over. She was abandoning all propriety she realized. By being here with him, now, in this place. Everything she had ever been taught. The difference between right and wrong, between sin and good. Everything was being put aside.

  Yes, she thought. And she was determined to enjoy every moment of it while she could.

  She smiled back up at him with a saucy look, “not as much as I am sir, I can assure you.”

  He laughed out loud and pulled her in for a kiss. Amanda felt her world drift away as she became lost in his kiss. The two of them both rushed to help the other undress. Both of them desperate for each other.

  At last, they stood before each other, naked, alone. Amanda allowed him to examine her as she slowly let her eyes travel over the hard body in front of her. Every cut, every hard muscle, all of it ignited something at her very core.

  There was no sense of embarrassment. Not this time. Not with this man. She could completely trust him, she realized. A sense of rightness filled her.

  She needed this man. She needed him now. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed.

  They both laughed as they fell onto the bed, him landing on top of her, his legs naturally coming between hers. She stared up into his eyes, he stared down at her as his hand traveled to caress her, his fingers parting her folds.

  Amanda arched her back and said, “Please.” She was ready for him, now. And could wait no longer.

  He smiled, “This time, I am prepared, Angel,” he said as he retrieved a small cloth bag from his bedside table.

  She frowned, this was so different than last time.

  He removed a long silk sheath from the bag, then pulled it over himself and tied it in place.

  She continued to frown. No one had ever mentioned such a thing.

  Lord Warwick smiled at her as he positioned himself. Then leaned down and took her lips with his as he entered her.

  Amanda moaned with pleasure. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed.

  “Yes,” she sighed once he was fully buried inside of her. “Yes,”

  He withdrew slowly, then thrust forward. She rose to meet him and they fell into that exquisite rhythm. Over and over again until he exploded and her world expanded into a thousand colors.

  Once they were done, Lord Warwick fell to the side, both of them laying next to each other, fighting to catch their breath. Both of their fingers still wrapped up with each other.

  “Have I told you, Amanda, that you are an Angel?”

  She laughed, “I like it when you call me that.”

  He turned onto his side and pulled her to him.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She balked, that had come from nowhere. Did he expect her to get up and cook him a meal?

  “Perhaps,” she answered hesitantly.

  “Good,” he said as he jumped over her, his feet hitting the floor with a heavy thunk. “I’ll be right back.”

  Amanda watched in amazement as the man walked across the room to the armoire, stark naked. As bare as a plucked goose. Of course, no goose ever looked as good as that hard backside of his.

  He donned a robe and left her, shooting her a quick smile as he closed the door.

  Sighing, she turned to stare at the ceiling.

  Admit it, she thought. She was in love with the man. Every aspect of him. From his quirky disguises to his chivalrous manner, to that hard backside. Everything about him sent her into a special world.

  It could not be allowed to continue. She must walk away from what she most desired.

  She had hoped that this one last rendezvous would help prove herself wrong. Help her come to some kind of closure. But that would not happen. Instead, she knew that a long heartbreak was fast approaching and there was nothing she could do to delay it.

  “Scoot over,” he said as he reentered the room carrying a tray. Letting his robe fall to the floor he walked toward her. Yes, she had been right, the man would never look like a butler. Especially not naked.

  She sat up, pulling the blanket to make sure she remained covered. The thought made her almost smile. A mere moment ago the man had been buried inside of her. Now, she was worried about maintaining her modesty.

  Amanda removed the towel off the tray to find a plowman’s lunch of bread, cheese, pickled onions, sliced apples, and smoked ham. Though it be simple, the thought that he had prepared it himself made her feel happy. She smiled to him as her stomach rumbled

  “I know,” he said as took some ham and cheese. “I seem to have worked up an appetite.”

  She smiled back at him coyly, “It is important that you maintain your strength.”

  He pretended to be shocked at her comment, then smiled at her. She smiled back. Both of them lost in their own little world. Nothing else mattered. Not societies judgment, not his mission for Lord Liverpool, nothing but each other.

  Now, here, it was just the two of them. A happiness filled her soul. A happiness that she knew would not last.

  “What?” he asked as he frowned at her.
“You suddenly went sad, I saw it behind your eyes.”

  Her heart crumbled. He knew her so well. No other man would ever know her like he did. The true her. No other man would see her as competent, intelligent, an equal. And yet it must end.

  She had known that it would come to this. That she must be the one to end it. It might very well ruin her happiness, but if she didn’t, then eventually, if their liaisons continued, it would ruin her life.

  “We cannot do this again,” she said as her heart tore in two. “This must be the last time. You must not tempt me like this again. I cannot risk exposure.”

  She quickly looked down as she studied the piece of apple in her hand, unable to look at him. She was terrified that she had hurt him. Or worse, that he was not upset at all. Unable to not know any longer his true feelings, she quickly glanced up at him.

  His hand had halted halfway to his mouth. The piece of cheese hanging in the air as he scrutinized her closely. His eyes bore into her with a hint of anger and a large dose of loss.

  Inside, she was able to relax just a little. The man was not pleased with her announcement.

  “I would never allow anything to harm you,” he said slowly. “You must know that.”

  She nodded, “I know. But even you cannot keep away the prying eye of society.”

  He sighed heavily and replaced the cheese on the plate then reached out to gently hold her shoulders, twisting her until he could stare into her eyes.

  “If tonight is to be our last together. I propose we make it memorable. Create memories that will never leave us.”

  Her heart sank, he was sweet, but it was not the declaration of his everlasting love she had hoped for. No, it was Warwick, being Warwick. Grounded in reality. Aware of a dozen different ramifications. It was him being a man of his world.

  She smiled sadly at him and nodded. “I would like that. Although you have already given me so many memories I will treasure forever. I would like to have more. As many as we can in the time left too us.

  His somber eyes held hers for a long moment until he leaned forward and kissed her and once again they were lost.

  .o0o.

  Later, much later, she lay in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers gently tracing across his scars. Memorizing each one.

  His arm held her in place, as he stared up at the ceiling. A deep frown on his face.

  What was he thinking about? She wondered. What troubled him. Was it her, or his mission that he was thinking about. There was but one way to find out.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked him as she held her breath.

  He smiled down at her, a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “A dozen different things. The way your lavender perfume will haunt me. The curve of your hip and the fire in your eyes when you are excited. I was thinking of my valet and wondering if I reminded him to fix the button on my favorite shirt.”

  She swallowed and nodded for him to continue.

  He shrugged, “I was thinking of Liverpool and what he is going to say when I fail. Of Lord Hicks as I looked for a weak point. Some way to get under the man’s skin. I was reviewing in my mind the many reports and that critical list you so bravely obtained …”

  She smiled at his compliment as suddenly, it fell into place. The item that had been bothering her about the list.

  “That’s it,” she said as she suddenly sat up, the blanket falling to her waist.

  Lord Warwick’s brow furrowed in confusion as he shot her a questioning glance.

  “The list,” she told him. “I’ve discovered what has been bothering me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lord Warwick pushed the hair from his eyes as he nodded, waiting impatiently for her to continue. Had that amazing mind of hers discovered something useful?

  “What day was New Year’s?” she asked him.

  He smiled and said, “Normally it is on January first.”

  She playfully slapped his shoulder. “The day, not the date.”

  He frowned for a moment as he tried to recall.

  “Wednesday,” she said, “Christmas was on a Wednesday. So New Years was on a Wednesday. I remember because Cook’s normal afternoon off is Wednesday and I felt bad so I gave her Tuesday afternoon off as well for Christmas.”

  He continued to nod. All right, that was understandable. But what was its significance?

  “The dates,” she said with a huge smile, “The dates listed on the list. Each of them falls on a Wednesday. I couldn’t understand what was bothering me until I realized they are multiples of seven between dates.”

  Had she found it? And if they were on Wednesdays. What was the significance?

  He needed proof. While she might very well have everything memorized in that pretty head of hers. He needed to see it in writing. He threw the blanket aside and rolled out of bed to retrieve his leather portfolio.

  “What is that?” she asked him as he pulled it from the top dresser drawer.

  “My notes, my reports on this case.”

  She frowned at him. “You brought them here?”

  He shrugged. “I had hoped to discuss things with you. But, I became … distracted, shall we say.”

  Her cheeks turned very pink as she looked away. In fact, the blush spread down her body to that delicious chest as hers. So sweet, he thought. That enticing mixture of innocent and brazenness.

  Sitting down next to her on the bed, he opened the portfolio and removed the list she had gotten from Hicks’ study.

  “You are right, they are multiples of seven days apart. Either a week, or as much as four weeks, but always in multiples of seven days apart.”

  “That is what I said,” she commented as she shook her head.

  He laughed, “But, what does that do for us? So, he made his payments on Wednesday. How does that help us get any closer to identifying his accomplices.”

  She smiled at him. That smile that let him know she had solved the puzzle.

  “Lord Hicks always has his social events on Wednesday. Whether it is a full-on gala or a simple dinner party. Each of them, always on Wednesday. It is one of his eccentricities that he is known for. Something about a family tradition.”

  Warwick frowned as his heart began to race. “No, the man couldn’t be that stupid. He invited his co-conspirators to his own house where they gave him valuable information and he paid them. Under the guise of a social event. It would be idiotic.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Can you think of a better way to do it. If he were to meet them in some out of the way place, a dark alley, or the back room of a pub. Too many people would see him coming and going. His chance of being discovered would be much higher. And he would look guilty as sin.”

  He nodded, the woman was right, besides, if he made the payment in his own home, he could sluff it off as a gambling debt. Nothing to worry about.

  “Oh, my God,” he exclaimed as he dove into the portfolio and frantically began removing the reports from his men. He started flipping through them until he found the small bundle tied up with string.

  “I have a list of every person who has attended an event at Lord Hicks home for the last eighteen months. One of his footmen. The man killed the night I was shot. Over the last year, he has provided me with a list of visitors to the house.”

  Her eyes grew very big. “We can match them up to the initials.”

  He smiled back at her as he untied the knot and removed the pile of notes. “Give me the first date.”

  “January Twenty-First,” she said. Obviously recalling it from memory “But LS is listed for that date. Lady Simpson. We already know about her.

  “The next then,” he asked

  “Here,” she said as she leaned across him to retrieve her spectacles from the bedside table and put them on.

  He froze for a second. There was something about a beautiful, naked women wearing spectacles that drove him to forget where he was and what he was doing.

  She ignored him as she remo
ved the bundle of papers from his hand. “Let’s spread them out. Give me all the dates.”

  He leaned back and glanced at her as she bent over and started laying them out on the foot of the bed. Remarkable, he thought. The woman had taken control of his case. Laughing to himself, he read out the dates. That picture of her, her breasts exposed as the blanket fell to her waist, and those gold glasses perched on the tip of her nose, would remain with him for the rest of his life.

  Amanda quickly put aside those dates that did not correspond to a set of initials. Then she gathered those that applied to Lady Simpson, Freddie Bartholomew, and Victor Barclay into a second set of papers. Leaving only seven slips of paper remaining on the bed.

  “Now then,” she said as she lifted the first of the remaining papers. “What are the initials that correspond with March Seventeen?”

  He looked down the list in his hand and said, “CR.” The woman probably knew the answer before she asked him. She had undoubtedly asked only to make him feel as if he were involved

  She looked at the footman’s guest list and smiled broadly as she held it for him to see. There on his report was the name, “Cecil Ridgetop”

  He nodded. “A merchant. Rather rich. Has a big government contract to supply boots for the soldiers. Out of the Midlands. He would know every detail of every contract the government was considering. How many men were being deployed and where.”

  Amanda set aside the piece of paper.

  “And March Twenty-Fourth?”

  Lord Warwick held his breath as he told her, “DH.”

  “David Hawthorn,” She gasped. “I danced with him, that night, the night I got the list. He’s a Lawyer I believe, works in the home office.”

  Lord Warwick ground his teeth, the thought of her dancing with another man bothered him to the very bottom of his soul. He well knew he had no right to be jealous. But that did not change the burning hate building up inside of him.

  Was that why she was so willing to end things between them? Had she already lined up his replacement?

  He was going to particularly enjoy having the King’s men take David Hawthorn. He would particularly enjoy watching the man walk to the gallows.