The bed dipped as he placed a knee on it, as he stretched out beside her. He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he rasped. “You will be as well when I am done.”
She already was. She needed this, needed him. While she could not say that she had forgiven him completely, she couldn’t deny that she was drawn to him as she’d never been drawn to another man, as she hadn’t believed she could be drawn.
He nibbled on her ear and her body curled against him. He trailed his mouth along her neck, nipped at her shoulder. She scraped her fingers up into his hair. This was a memory she would cherish, that she would take out and reminisce about on long, lonely wintry nights when in the company of dogs, cats, and bunnies. These sensations—the rumbling in his throat, the vibrations in his chest—she noted them, locked them away, never to be forgotten.
Each caress, each kiss, each stroke of his tongue was unforgettable. Wedging himself between her thighs, he pressed his lips to the hollow between her breasts. Wrapping her legs around him, combing her fingers into his hair, she held him near, relishing the intimacy.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
She’d never felt beautiful, not really. Not until her memories had been lost. When they had returned, the ugliness of her life had risen to the fore. But now with him, worshipping her as he was—
“You make me feel beautiful.”
“Never doubt,” he whispered as he turned his head to the side and closed his mouth around her nipple, his tongue stroking and teasing, shooting glorious pleasure to the apex between her thighs. She lifted her hips to meet his, seeking some sort of surcease.
He chuckled low, the wicked sound its own aphrodisiac. She scraped her fingers over his back, over the dragon, imagined she could feel its muscles within his. He scooted lower, kissing her stomach. Lower still, licking at the hollow of her hip. Lower still, spreading her, blowing a gentle breeze over the curls.
“Drake.” His name was a benediction, a plea, a question.
His eyes held hers, boldly, irrevocably without any doubt.
“Every aspect of you is beautiful,” he said, before dipping his head. The first caress of his tongue nearly had her coming off the bed.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders, pressed her head back against the pillows as he nibbled and nipped, stroked and suckled. Insistent, determined. The pleasure escalating until only this moment, only he, only raw sensation existed. No memories, no other man, no ugliness.
Only beauty. Only his adulation. Only joy. Only want. Only desire.
No shame in any of it. Only acceptance.
She allowed herself to embrace it, fall into it, be consumed by it until her back was arching, her body trembling, her voice crying out his name in wonder. She was lost, lost in the bliss of it, he her only anchor—and even that added to the enjoyment of it. She had soared to new heights of awareness, had experienced incredible splendor.
A memory that put all others to shame, but still not enough.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, then eased up until he was gazing down on her, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes. How did she tell him it wasn’t enough?
“I want you,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Today is for you.”
She shook her head. “I need you.” She slipped her hand between them, felt his burgeoning hardness and wondered that he wasn’t doubled over in pain. “I need you inside me.”
“Phee—”
“You promised to obey my commands, so take me.”
He cursed harshly, growled low. His mouth came down on hers, hungry, without finesse or gentleness. She relished his eagerness, relished the notion that she could drive him to such madness. There was no shame to be found in true, honest desire. She understood that now, understood it completely.
She almost laughed at the haste with which he removed his trousers. He rose up over her, held her gaze, and plunged swift and deep as she lifted her hips to welcome him. He stilled, his eyes sliding closed, his groan echoing between them. “I love the way you feel,” he said.
Slowly he opened his eyes. She ran her hands over every aspect of him that she could reach. “I love the way it feels when you’re inside me.”
Words she’d never thought to say, words that made her entire body grow warm, but she would not retract them. She loved the weight of him, the fullness of him nestled within her.
Holding her gaze, he began to rock against her, slow but sure, long and deep, resparking the sensations that only moments before had nearly undone her. She wondered if it all felt as marvelous to him as it did to her, and she found herself grateful that she could give him this, that she could share it with him—openly, without remorse, without long-ago memories intruding.
It was only they, here in this bed, touching, kissing, sighing, moaning, rocking against each other. Pleasure building until they reached the summit together. Until they were both soaring. Until there was nothing except each other.
Drake thought he might have died. For a brief second at least, when the pleasure had ripped through him with an incredible force that he’d never before experienced. He had planned to give to her, and not to take, but he supposed there was a sort of giving even in the taking.
Lethargic, not certain he’d ever be able to move again, he rested on his side, facing her, his hand draped over her hip. He didn’t fool himself into believing that anything had changed between them, that he would have anything more than today. When they had made love before, she had not known who they were.
Now she knew. She wasn’t here because she loved him. She was here because she needed to put the past with her uncle—and perhaps her past with Drake—behind her. She was staring at his chest more now than she was looking into his eyes.
“It’s somewhat of a relief,” she said quietly, “to feel free of him. I didn’t expect to ever know what it was to willingly be with a man. I wasn’t certain I’d even be able to be so close to a man.” Laughing lightly, she finally lifted her gaze to his. “I seem to have overcome my doubts.”
“Does this change your position on marriage?”
“I suppose I’m not categorically opposed to it any longer, but it would have to be a true love match, based on trust.” She studied him for a moment. “Why did you tell me I was your servant?”
Slamming his eyes closed, he sighed.
“Because I was always calling you boy and asking you to fetch things for me? Because I never failed to give you a cut direct whenever our paths crossed?”
He opened his eyes. “I was being petty.”
“I apologize for the way I treated you before. It was wrong of me.”
He’d never expected an apology from her, especially as he owed her one. “I’m sorry as well. I should have taken you home straightaway.”
“You should have, yes. But if you had, I never would have had this.” She circled her hand over the bed. “I can’t regret it exactly, but I wish the circumstances had been different. And I do appreciate your efforts today.”
It took everything within him not to curse. She was building the walls again. Not that he blamed her. She was Lady Ophelia Lyttleton and he was the owner of a gentlemen’s club.
“Perhaps in the future, we’ll be friends,” she said. She rolled out of the bed.
He couldn’t be angry that she’d used him. He’d offered. He got out of the bed, snatched up his trousers, and drew them on. Then he assisted her with her clothing.
“This isn’t nearly as much fun as taking them off,” he said.
She laughed, the sweet sound that he loved. “I never thought to be comfortable with all this. I thank you for that.”
“For God’s sake, stop thanking me.”
Nodding, she drew on her gloves. “How are things going at the club?”
“I’m going to close it down for a couple of weeks, modernize it. By the way, I decided to take your advice. I’m going to open it to women.”
Her green e
yes widened until he was drowning in them. She smiled brightly. “Marvelous. I might have to get a membership.”
“You shall always have a membership there, with my compliments.”
“Well, then, I shall definitely stop by sometime.”
“I look forward to it.” But he hated the increasing formality between them. “I meant what I said that night at Lovingdon’s. I fell in love with you.”
“No, you said you fell in love with the woman in your residence. We both know she wasn’t me.”
“I think you’re wrong there.”
“I don’t think so.” Edging past him, she headed for the door.
“Phee?”
Stopping, she turned, peered over at him, one blond eyebrow finely arched. “Yes?”
“I also meant what I said about if you should find yourself with child. Or if you are ever in need of anything, I’m here for you.”
“I shall keep that in mind. Good-bye, Drake.”
Then, once again, she walked out of his life. And he, being the fool he was, let her go.
Phee stared out the carriage window, fighting not to cry because Drake had not tried to stop her from walking away. It seemed of late she spent a good deal of time staring out windows and warding off tears.
In a manner of speaking, her loss of memory had been a blessing, had allowed her to experience something quite remarkable, even if deception had been involved. If she were to be honest with herself, she might even admit that she deserved it a little bit, a very tiny little bit.
Dammit. She had deserved it, all of it. Her treatment of Drake had been obnoxious. If their situations had been reversed, if he’d been the one without a memory, she’d have done the same thing. Only she’d have made him a stable boy shoveling manure.
She smiled. He’d always pricked her temper, sharpened her tongue. She wished she had been the lady who lived in his residence, but one couldn’t change one’s stripes.
On the other hand, maybe one could.
Chapter 25
“Bloody hell, I can’t believe the line of people standing out there waiting for you to open the doors,” Andrew said, staring out the window of Drake’s office at the Twin Dragons.
Its inauguration tonight was the talk of London, not only among the aristocracy but among the wealthy who bore no titles. Entry into the Twin Dragons was by invitation only, each one hand-delivered to the elite, those who could afford membership. The aristocracy. The newly rich. Railway barons. Manufacturing barons. Those who dared to reach for something better. Americans. And the ladies. Ladies were being allowed into what had once been the men’s inner sanctum. And that was causing quite the stir.
Leaning back in the chair behind his desk, Drake dared not browse the expectant crowd, because he knew if he did, he would search for her, and he didn’t want to experience the disappointment that she hadn’t come.
It had been six weeks since Wigmore had been put in the ground. Grace had informed him that Phee was again attending balls and dinners, concerts and theater. She was being wooed and courted. Any day now he expected to read about her betrothal in the Times.
From her he had received but one missive, which said simply, “No child.”
He should have been relieved. Instead he’d felt his last opportunity to regain her in his life melt away. Not that the circumstances would have been ideal. But it might have been a chance for them to start over. It might have—
“I can’t believe how different the place looks,” Rexton said.
Drake’s brothers had arrived early, intent on sharing the reopening of the Twin Dragons with him. They held no resentment, no grudges that the duchess had handed him her portion without recompense. He was touched by their loyalty, their goodwill toward him. They embraced his good fortune as though it were their own.
“I wanted ladies to feel welcome here,” Drake said. “It was too dark before.”
He’d done much of the work himself, hammering, painting, papering, rearranging. The more punishing the task, the more likely he was the one to do it. Anything to make his muscles scream and ache, anything that resulted in exhaustion, so that when he finally went to bed he could sleep without dreams, without thinking of Phee.
Not that his plan garnered him much success where she was concerned. She always hovered at the edge of his consciousness and he could do little to eradicate her from his mind. It didn’t help that as he oversaw the arrival of new furnishings and their placement that he envisioned her handling the delivery of furniture at his residence. A residence that was now too blasted empty, the only sound his hollow footsteps. He could smell her on his pillow, his sheets, and his desire for her would only sharpen.
“I’m not sure how I feel about playing against women, taking their money. Not very gentlemanly,” Rexton said.
“Never bothered you to take Grace’s money.”
“He could never beat Grace,” Andrew said. “I could, though.”
“Because you cheat,” Rexton announced.
“So does she. Did you never figure that out?”
“I wouldn’t expect my sister to be so underhanded.” Rexton lifted the glass dragon from its perch on Drake’s desk and examined it.
“Careful with that,” Drake said. Rexton arched a brow at him. “I don’t want it broken.”
“Pity it’s already broken. Part of its tail is missing.”
Not missing exactly. Rather it was nestled within a small pocket in Drake’s waistcoat, so it was always with him, so he always carried a reminder of Phee.
Carefully, Rexton returned it to its place. “It’s an exquisite piece. I can’t imagine Jack Dodger having such whimsical objects in his office.”
“But then it’s not his office,” Drake said with a smile. It hadn’t been in some time, but tonight it truly felt like Drake’s. Perhaps he was going to be able to generate some excitement after all.
“I assume he’s coming tonight?” Andrew asked.
“He and Claybourne, along with their families, should be here anytime now.” He’d given them a private tour the day before. They’d been impressed with the alterations. While most of the main floor would cater to both genders, he’d added private salons for each. A rather fancy dining hall created a pleasant atmosphere for a gent to bring a lady for dinner. Another room would offer dancing. He was expanding beyond vice.
A soft knock sounded.
Drake peered over at the doorway and saw the duke standing there. He quickly came to his feet. “Your Grace.”
Greystone held up a bottle. “Anyone care for some good scotch before the masses are allowed inside?”
“Absolutely,” Drake said. Grabbing four glasses, he set them on the corner of his desk.
“Where’s Mother?” Andrew asked, as the duke wandered in.
“With Grace and Lovingdon, ordering people about, making sure all is in order before the festivities start. It means a great deal to your mother that you allowed her to have a role in planning tonight’s unveiling.” The duke poured two fingers into each glass. As Drake reached for his, the duke said, “Oh, wait, something else first.”
He slipped a hand inside his jacket and withdrew a small leather case. He extended it toward Drake. “Just a little something to mark your success.”
Drake hesitated a moment. Fine things came in leather boxes. “I haven’t had the success yet.”
Greystone winked. “But you will.”
Drake took the offering and slowly folded back the hinged lid. Inside he found nestled among velvet a gold pocket watch and chain. On the cover, finely etched in exquisite detail, was a dragon. He wasn’t certain he’d ever received such an exquisite gift. He had no words. “It’s remarkable.”
“You and I have always had the dragon in common. It seemed appropriate.” Greystone patted his waistcoat pocket where his own watch was protected. “A father passes his watch down to his firstborn son, so of course mine will go to Rexton.”
“Not for many years yet, please, Father,” Rexton said.
<
br /> Greystone grinned. “Not for many years yet.” Sobering, he gave his attention back to Drake. “But I wanted you to have a watch as well. Doesn’t come with a storied past, but each watch must begin its tale somewhere so it can be carried on down the line. There’s an inscription.”
Taking the watch from the case, holding it in his palm, Drake carefully opened the cover and read the words etched in delicate script.
To my first son
—Always, with love and pride
Drake swallowed down the hard knot that had lodged in his throat. His chest tightened. His eyes stung. He lifted those eyes to the man standing before him. “I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded slowly, his lips curling into a slight, wry smile. “ ‘Thank you, Father,’ would be nice.”
Drake shook his head, or he thought he did. He seemed incapable of moving. His voice was locked. Every muscle in his body was locked. He had stood in a crowd and watched his father hang. He saw his father’s fists, his rage, his ugliness. He saw …
He saw …
He saw the duke holding his hand the first time they boarded a ship. He’d been terrified, but hadn’t voiced it, yet the large, sure hand had been there all the same, calming his fears.
He saw the duke crouched beside him, pointing out and explaining Stonehenge, the pyramids, the Roman Colosseum, the Great Wall of China. He saw the duke climbing a mountain with him and revealing the world from its summit. He saw the duke teaching him to ride a horse, correcting him with a stern voice when he misbehaved, insisting he learn his lessons, never allowing him to shirk his responsibilities, patting him on the shoulder for encouragement, carrying him on his back when he was younger and grew tired.
He saw now that the man on the gallows had merely given him life. The man standing before him had gifted him with a life, and a remarkable one at that. But more, he’d always shown him kindness and love.
Once More, My Darling Rogue Page 31