The Rake’s Intimate Encounter

by Lethbridge, Ann

  He swung open the door and watched in appreciation the sway of her hips as she sauntered in.

  Lady Falstow might be an abbess of sorts, but she did not run anything so common as a bawdy house. The suite—for it opened into a sitting room, and beyond lay a chamber he felt sure must be a bedroom—had pale cream walls and a sofa covered in green and white damask. A low table at one end of the daybed held a bottle of champagne in ice and two glasses.

  He closed the door with a soft click and she spun around, her slanted eyes wide, like a cat deciding whether to hide or play.

  “Would you like some more champagne?” he asked.

  “Yes One corner of her mouth twisted ruefully. “Thank you.” She sat down on the sofa while he drew the cork and poured two glasses. He sat beside her. “To us,” he said raising his glass.

  “To us,” she whispered.

  “A delightful room,” he said.

  “Indeed.” She took a long sip of her drink and set the glass down. She was nervous. Not quite the sophisticate he’d presumed. That pleased him, strangely enough.

  “Give me your hands,” he said.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Please.”

  She held them out. They shook just a little. He took them in his. “I promise I will do nothing without your approval.”

  Her gaze rose swiftly. “I did not think you would.” Her voice sounded breathless, but her expression remained calm, her eyes dancing again.

  “I’m glad.” He turned her hands over, placed them on his knee. Three tiny pearl buttons marched up the inside of her wrists. Starting with her left hand, he slipped the tiny beads through the loops one at a time. He pulled the fabric aside, revealing a tracery of faint blue veins in her creamy skin. He brushed it reverently with his thumb.

  She drew in a breath.

  The soft sound sent a shiver down his spine. Her skin there was sensitive. There would be many more places on her body equally responsive. He looked forward to discovering them all. He brought her wrist to his lips, tasted the fragrant flesh with his tongue. She brushed his cheek with her fingertips, the lace rough against his skin.

  He drew off the glove and laid it beside her glass on the table, still maintaining hold of her hand. It trembled lightly. It reminded him of a swallow he’d removed from the cold grate in his bedroom as a boy. Soft, warm, fragile and terribly vulnerable. He replaced it on his knee and went to work on her right hand.

  She smiled. “You are good at buttons.”

  “Mmm,” he said, tasting her other wrist. “Lots of practice.”

  She giggled. “It tickles when you talk.”

  He finished denuding her hand and handed her the glass. “Sip.”

  With a raised brow she did and he took a deep swallow of the bubbling wine from his own glass. Tart and crisp, it cleansed his mouth. He drew her to her feet and captured her mouth, tasting cool champagne and warm woman. She tangled her tongue with his with a tiny cry of encouragement in the back of her throat.

  Ah, yes.

  He cupped her buttocks, pressing his hips to her belly, his thigh against the apex of hers, felt her hips answering pressure against his erection.

  It felt good. Very good.

  m" width="1em" align="justify">His palm wandered the span of her lovely back, the straight spine, the velvet of her gown soft against his hand. And another row of tiny buttons. Far too many buttons. He cradled her nape bowing her back until he held her weight in his palms.

  Desire mounted as she leaned back, trusting he would not let her fall. He warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the heat at his groin, or the lust urging him to strip her naked. It registered in the corner of his mind still capable of rational thought.

  The exploration of her wonderful welcoming mouth, the weight of her supple body in his arms, had him on fire. The raging beast of lust wanted to rip her clothes away, to throw her to the floor, hair wild about her shoulders, spread her legs and drive into her heat. Blood pounded in his ears. His heart thundered.

  He brought her upright, cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her liquid brown eyes. Amber flame sparked in their depths. She smiled and lowered her lashes. The sweetness in her expression touched his heart. In that moment, she seemed more child than woman. Almost innocent.

  “Lovely,” he murmured. “May I see your hair down?”

  She reached up.

  “Let me,” he said, filled with a kind of madness that required he serve her. He walked around her with measured steps, the urge for haste beating in his veins, only iron will chaining it fast. The knot at her nape presented an interesting challenge. As did the myriad buttons down her back. With a gentle probe, he located a pin in the luxuriant coil. Tortoiseshell, he saw as he pulled it free. Its companions amid the glossy tresses were more forthcoming. In a rainstorm of pins, copper fire bursting forth wherever candlelight touched, a mass of soft wavy skeins fell to her creamy shoulders, slid halfway down her back and over her breasts.

  The strands ran through his fingers, silken ribbons scented with lavender. Rich, and glorious. She glanced over her shoulder, a teasing half-smile on her lips. “Do you approve?”

  “Oh, yes, my sweet.” He spun her around and swept her up, her wonderful hair trailing over his arms.

  Her face alight, her eyes dancing, she laughed. The throaty sound went straight to his groin. In a fever of impatience, he kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips in quick succession. He swept her up and carried her through to the next chamber.

  Covered in gold brocade, draped with filmy hangings, an enormous bed dominated a room lit by wall sconces and a blazing fire. A rug of white fur lay in front of the hearth, a chaise-longue occupied the bay window embrasure. Tony had eyes only for the bed.

  He set her on her feet. “May I help you with your gown?”

  The rough edge to his voice sent pleasurable little quivers racing around in Margaret’s belly. Her throat dried. No going back. She’d wanted this. He was lovely. Perfect in fact. Handsome. Gentle, and obviously experienced in seduction. In less than an hour, he had her b humming with tension, strung tight with desire and longing.

  Even so, the little pinprick of fear poking around in her mind warned of terrible consequences. A fallen woman. Easy virtue. Wanton. Words of disparagement. All true, to some extent, if she followed this path. And if she didn’t? If she called a halt right at this moment and returned to her lonely sensible existence, would she regret it forever?

  She had weathered many storms in her life, ridden out the fierce gales of shattered hopes and dreams in absolute calm as good breeding demanded. Here, no duty, no expectations lay in wait to mould her decisions. Only free will. Hers.

  His face hovered above her, waiting for her answer, his gray eyes smoky, mobile lips full and sensual from their kisses. A man with a powerful need to conquer, for all that he held it under control.

  And if she let him conquer her body, would he also conquer her heart? Could she come out of the adventure unscathed? Incredulous, she let go her breath at the painful squeeze in her chest. Clearly it was too late. He’d already touched her soul. If she weren’t careful, he’d leave scars.

  But she would not let him think her a pawn to be played at will.

  “First you, my dear Anthony.” She reached for his cravat.

  “It will be faster if I do it,” he said, breathing just a little hard.

  “And deprive me of the pleasure? I think not.”

  “Hell,” he breathed.

  “Don’t worry. I know what I am about.” After all, her elderly husband had occasionally required her attentions. Konrad had been a considerate husband, always kindly, but other women had hinted at things that led her to believe she might have missed something in the marriage bed. In seeking to learn the truth, she was taking a risk. The thrill surging in her veins made her think it might be worthwhile.

  She flipped the ends of his cravat free. The knot proved resistant to her efforts, but he stood patient, his chin elevated, the flicke
ring of a muscle in his jaw the only sign of tension. That and the heat rolling off his body and dashing against her breasts like waves breaking on shore. The knot gave. She unwound the crisp length of muslin free and let it fall to her feet.

  Wicked. She swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth, wondering if she had the courage. Her heart seemed to beat louder in the quiet room. Could he hear it? Sense her nervousness?

  She inhaled a quick breath and fumbled with his coat’s five gold buttons. He helped her pull the garment over his shoulders and down his arms. It landed on top of the cravat. Next the pearl gray waistcoat. It slipped off easily and she flung it aside. Her breathing became very shallow and rapid. Her hands were shaking worse with each passing moment. If she didn’t get this done quickly, she’d be running for the door.

  The shirt disappeared into the waistband of his biscuit-colored pantaloons. She tugged it free and undid the buttons at his throat, revealing golden flesh and a sprinkling of light brown hair. She laid a handbrea on his flesh, feeling warmth and a strong steady heartbeat. Her insides quickened. “Bend down,” she said.

  He laughingly groaned, but did as she bid and she hauled the soft fabric over his head and off. The treasure she had uncovered held her gaze. Delicious arcs of muscle and chords of sinew sculpted his firm flesh. Beautiful. His pectoral flexed as if to prove his strength. His Adam’s apple rose and fell with a swallow. She wasn’t the only one feeling the stress.

  Unable to resist the glorious sight, she ran her hands over the warm flesh of his shoulders and biceps, trailed her fingers through the crisp curls on his deep chest, outlined the ridges of muscle beneath his ribs.

  Lovely curves and defined shadows. Hard flesh and supple muscle. Not an ounce of extra flesh or any blurring of the definition of shoulders, waist or hip. Perfect male beauty.

  He sucked in a breath.

  A thrill tightened her center, deep between her thighs. She rode the sensation as it rippled outward, loosening her limbs, making her breasts feel full and sensitive.

  His hand went to the buttons of his falls and she took in narrow hips and lean flanks, gloating at the evidence of his arousal. With a quick flip, she brushed his fingers away. “I’ll do it.”

  “Sweetheart, you are killing me,” he murmured, his voice a hot murmur.

  “I know.” Her voiced rasped.

  He cupped her chin and pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. “Hurry up.”

  Truth to tell, she thought she might die soon herself, if she didn’t get him onto that bed. But she would not rush. She’d never have the courage to do this again, and never with anyone else.

  The buttons of his falls slid free with little effort, thank heaven. Reveling in the tensing muscles of his stomach at the intrusion of her fingers between fabric and skin, she worked on the fastening at his waistband. The button pinged onto the floor. “Oh dear.”

  “Not a significant problem.” He sounded as if he might be laughing and indeed when she glanced up his eyes were dancing beneath half lowered lids.

  She peeled the tight fabric over his hips, down long muscular thighs to his knees.

  His erection sprang free, larger than she’d expected, hard and proud, curving up to his navel.

  She knelt to remove his shoes, her cheek brushing his arousal.

  “Hades,” he said. “Woman. Enough.” He toed his shoes off and stripped off his pantaloons and stockings in seconds.

  She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. She’d seen statues in museums that didn’t hold a candle to this man.

  A sound rumbled up from his throat, a frustrated growl.

  She laughed. In a flash he had lifted her to her feet.

  “No more teasing. You’ve had your fun. Now it is my turn. Be prepared to suffer the torments of heaven.”

  Slowly she turned her back to him. She bowed her head and let her hair fall forward, a curtain to hide her heated cheeks. “If you please.”

  He traced the line of her dress across her spine, a gentle abrasion of her skin, then briefly pressed his lips to her nape. She shuddered, whether in terror or delight she wasn’t sure. Nimble fingers released the buttons down her back. A quick jerk and the bow holding the lace for her stays unraveled. Strong practiced fingers pulled them free of their eyelets. Despite the warmth in the room, her back tingled with the touch of cool air as he pushed the gown off her shoulders and down her arms.

  She swallowed. Turned to face him. For she had never been accused of cowardice. His gaze lowered to her breasts, covered only by her chemise, a gauzy muslin shift edged in fine lace. The wonder and awe in his face brought a smile to her lips. “I see you are not disappointed.”

  He glanced up then, and grinned. “No indeed. J’adore.” He dropped to one knee, pulling the gown over her hips, untying her petticoat. His movements, though quick and strong, were not quite as controlled as before. “I am at your feet.”

  “Literally.” She laughed. She had never felt so beautiful in her life, or so alive. She ran her fingers through his hair, shorter than fashionable, but shining. Light brown with hints of gold.

  “Step out, please, madam.” For all of his politeness, his service as her maid, there was no mistaking the words for anything but a command. A request to make haste.

  She stepped over the pile of crumpled red fabric pooled at her feet, and he whisked it away, tossing it across the room.

  “Sit,” he said, still on one knee and gesturing at the bed.

  With raised eyebrows, she complied.

  One foot at a time, he removed her slippers with an economy of movement that had her heart pounding in her chest. He shot them after the dress. He ran a hand up her calf, caressing, shaping, then brought her to her feet wearing naught but her chemise and stockings and her emerald choker. “Gorgeous.”

  He cupped her bottom in one large hand, the other went around her shoulders, and he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed as if she weighed no more than a kitten.

  She felt kittenish, flirty, lighthearted and terribly wanton. He nuzzled her throat, licked her ear, making her whimper approval. He straightened, gazing down at her with hot quicksilver eyes.

  Her nipples hardened and her breasts ached for his lips and tongue.

  “It seems to me,” he said, his grin wicked. “You are overdressed.”

  The words, the roughness in his voice, drew her insides tight as if a chord between them had shortened or twisted. A jolt of pleasure made her gasp.

  He laughed. “God, you are so responsive.”

  “Anthony,” she said. “Lay with me.”

  He shook his head. “Stocking first, madam.” A warm hand caressed the sole of her foot. A knuckle massaged the arch. A strong thumb rubbed the ball of her foot.

  “Mmm. Now you are the tease,” she said.

  “This is serious business,” he said, dropping to his knees beside the bed. All she could see was his shoulders, his nape, the glint of gold among toffee-colored waves as his hands shaped her ankles, squeezing and rubbing her calves before straying up behind the backs of her knees. A finger eased beneath her garter.

  He leaned forward, breathed on her thigh, warm and moist and blazing sensation. More sensation than she ever imagined. Her insides melted, grew hot, quivered.

  He tugged at a garter with his teeth. It came undone. Slowly he slipped off her stocking. Then the other garter.

  “Lovely,” he said. “Beautiful legs. A feast for the eyes.”

  “Please,” she said, wanting him skin on skin, inside her.

  “Soon,” he murmured. “My sweetly veiled. Patience.” He pressed his palm against the inside of her thigh.

  She swallowed, feeling the blush rush to her face, yet relaxed at the gentle pressure, let her thighs fall open.

  He stroked her inner thighs, up and down, gentle sweeping caresses of both hands now, each pass reaching higher, closer. Her woman’s flesh tingled, expecting his touch, wanting the weight of his hand. She reached down and caught his wrist, place his ha
nd at the juncture of her legs.

  He drew in a soft hiss of breath. “You are bold. Demanding.” Pressing down with heel of his hand, he increased the pleasure.

  Her stomach rolled slowly. This man knew how to please a woman. She purred her approval.

  The touch disappeared. She lifted her head, frowning, and he grinned as he climbed up on the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good,” she murmured.

  He kissed her then, sweetly, a light brush of mouth on mouth. A whisper. She nipped his bottom lip and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She sucked it. He groaned. The sound arrowing sweetly to her core. He took control of the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, ravishing her mouth, plundering with his tongue until she felt dizzy.

  He broke away and in one swift and ruthless move, pulled her shift up her body. She lifted her arms and head, and he pulled up and free with one hand, while capturing her wrists wit the other.

  “No escape for you now.” He gazed into her face, his eyes dark like the smoke from an open fire. Mysterious, promising heat, and yet waiting for permission.

  Had he sensed it then, her cowardice? If she told him no, he would stop. For a little while longer, she had the control. But this was the point of no return; his eyes said so.

  Whatever happened tonight, she would never see him again. Couldn’t. It would be too difficult to hide her feelings. Feelings one should not have for a casual lover. And if she would never see him again, she might as well have something worth remembering. She smiled.

  He captured her mouth, while his free hand went to her breast, teasing the nipple, rolling it, squeezing hard enough to cause sensual pain. She gasped into his mouth.

  He broke away, trailed little kisses down her jaw, her throat, licked at the small hollow at her shoulder, blazed a path to the rise of her breast. Sensations swirled through her blood, leaving her languid, yet tight as a bowstring. She stroked his back, his arms, his wonderful shoulders. Warm and wet, his mouth took her breast. His tongue played with her nipple, licking, flicking, swirling.