The Rake

by Georgeanne Hayes

  If she hadn’t been so swamped with guilt and so nervous, she would have realized that that was exactly what did arouse Sarah’s suspicions. Is she’d asked, and then argued and allowed Sarah to talk her out of it, Sarah would have left her with the feeling that she’d ‘talked some sense into the girl’. As it was, Sarah left her feeling nearly as uneasy as Demi did.

  She was too nervous to sleep. In any case, she was fearful that if she tried to doze for a little while that she wouldn’t wake until morning and she would discover she’d missed her chance.

  She had no clock in her room to tell her the time, and no certainty, in any case, of what time she should make the attempt. She worried over it for some time and finally recalled that it had been very dark in Garrett’s room when she’d gone the night before. The single lamp, turned low, had barely spilled across the room and virtually no light had filtered in from outside. Since Garrett’s room was on the same side of the house as hers, that could only have meant that the moon had at least reached its zenith by the time she’d arrived in his room.

  Climbing from the bed, she went to the window to check the moon’s progress. Clouds scudded across the sky, but she could see the moonlight filtering through high above the horizon. She studied it for several moments, wondering how long it would take to reach the midpoint and finally moved away from the window to the door to listen.

  Lord Wyndham had still been downstairs with Lord Moreland when she and the others had come upstairs and she wondered if she shouldn’t give up the idea altogether. Perhaps he’d forgotten he’d asked her to come back? Or maybe he’d changed his mind?

  Despite her fears/hope to the contrary, she’d seen nothing in his eyes to make her think he realized that it had been her the night before in his room. Perhaps a sense of guilt had prompted him to rethink the matter? Few gentlemen worried about dishonoring lowly maids, but she knew that Garrett was not like that. Perhaps he’d been overcome with his needs the night before, but then worried that he might get the girl dismissed or pregnant if he pursued it?

  She’d been pacing the distance between the door and the window for hours it seemed before she heard the telltale rap of his cane on the floor that told her he’d come upstairs at last. She listened until he’d gone into his room and closed the door, then moved back to the window.

  The moon, she saw, was beyond her vision.

  He’d stayed downstairs long past the time when she should have gone … to warn her away, she knew. He’d told her not to risk it, but she knew what the risks were. If she was willing to chance it, surely he wouldn’t send her away?

  He was leaving tomorrow. Even if they allowed her to go down to see him off, she would not have a moment alone with him.

  Shaking her doubts, she moved to the door once more and waited until she heard it open again and Fitzhugh’s tread as he retired for the evening.

  Moving to the armoire, she unearthed the maid’s clothing, pulled her night gown off and struggled into the gown without bothering to don a chemise. When she’d stuffed her hair under the mob cap, she went to the door and eased it open, peering down the hallway.

  She saw no sign of the footman who’d stood in the hallway since her confrontation with her aunt. Pulling the door open a little further, she leaned out to take a better look.

  Either her aunt hadn’t told him to watch this night, or more likely, he’d decided to take a break and had left his post.

  She’d worry about that when the time came, she decided. Slipping out the door, she closed it carefully, and ran on tiptoe down the hallway to Garrett’s room, tapping lightly on the panel. The door was snatched open almost at once. He was wearing nothing but his breeches and she wondered if she’d interrupted him as he undressed for bed.

  Leaning around her, he glanced quickly up and down the hallway. “You should go,” he said in a harsh whisper, “before you’re seen here.”

  Demi’s heart dropped. “I just wanted to tell you good-bye.”

  He shook his head. “Last night I was drunk. It seemed perfectly reasonable to take what I wanted when you didn’t protest. I’m not nearly drunk enough tonight to take that kind of chance.”

  Humiliation flooded her cheeks with pounding color. Nodding, she turned away. Before she could take more than a step back, however, she heard a slight sound from the direction of the stairs. Even as she whirled to look, it connected instantly in her mind that it must be the footman … and from the proximity of the sound he must already have reached the upstairs landing. She would never make it to her room before he saw her.

  Apparently, Garrett realized that, as well. Grasping her arm, he hauled her inside his room and closed the door.

  They waited, listening tensely as he took up the position he’d assumed for the past several nights in the hallway near the head of the stairs.

  Demi didn’t know whether she was more frightened or more embarrassed. Garrett didn’t even want her and now she was trapped in his room and unable to flee her shame. She glanced around the room. As it had been the night before, only one lamp was lit. The one beside the bed had been extinguished.

  After a moment, she moved quietly away from the door. Things had gone badly enough as it was. She didn’t want Garrett to see her well enough to realize that she wasn’t one of the maids. As humiliated as she was, it was some comfort that at least he didn’t know it was her.

  Moving to the window, she pulled the curtain back and stared down at the darkened lawn. The moon had moved far enough across the sky that the area directly below was in darkness, but a little further, it lit up the lawn almost like day.

  Or, perhaps, it was only the sharp contrast?

  She didn’t realize that Garrett had followed her until he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “You are trapped now, until he falls asleep--if he falls asleep. If not, we shall have to think of something else.”

  Demi stiffened at his touch. “It would be better, I think, my lord, if I gathered the laundry … or took a tray if there is one … and took my chances now. If he says anything, I could always say I’d been asked to bring something. If I stay longer, I’ll not have even so flimsy an excuse as that.”

  “I have the gravest of doubts that your disguise will fool him even for a second. It did not fool me, and I was dead drunk. Of course, I would know you if I were blind, and we can hope that his little excursion downstairs was to have a little nip.… In which case, he is bound to go back for another before long.”

  A deluge of conflicting thoughts and emotions went through her at his words. Foremost among them was a sense of deep hurt. It was almost better to think that he hadn’t known who she was than to think that he had and the only reason he’d made love to her was because he was too drunk to consider the consequences. “You did not seem drunk,” she said cautiously.

  He snorted. “Because I was in bed, instead of staggering around on my bum leg? Trust me. I was three sheets to the wind.”

  Demi cleared her throat. “But … you didn’t even slur your words.”

  “Unfortunately, your timing was all too perfect. A little earlier, and I’d have had the sense to send you away. A little later, and I’d have been too far gone to be a threat to you.”

  Demi bowed her head, fighting the urge to weep. She wished fervently that she had not come now. His refusal to let her in was humiliating enough, but to find that what had happened between them the night before was merely the result of too much drink, too much carnal need, and not enough judgment was far worse. Despite everything, she’d been overjoyed by the knowledge that Garrett had been her first and that no one could take that away from her, whatever else she was powerless to prevent. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. It was unconscionable of me to put you in such an uncomfortable position, especially when you’ve been so kind to me.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Truly. I just wanted to be certain that you were all right. You’d been so ill. I was afraid that Sarah had only told me you were getting better to keep
me from worrying.

  “As for tonight … well, I only came to tell you good-bye, in case I didn’t see you before you left tomorrow. And … well, because I didn’t want to have to behave as a polite stranger because of Aunt Alma.”

  He removed his hands from her shoulders, moving slightly away from her. “The regrets have set in I see.”

  She flicked a glance at him, but she didn’t actually make eye contact. Instead, she looked away again, put a little more distance between them as she moved toward the chair.

  The unfortunate truth was that she didn’t regret it, but he, obviously, did. It hurt that he did, and because it hurt, it also made her angry. Despite the urge to tell him the unvarnished truth, the temptation to wound him in return was stronger still. She shrugged, moving away from the chair. She would have to look at him if she sat down, and she didn’t think she could look him in the eye and lie to him.

  “I expect Jonathan will make me regret it, but it is a fitting revenge, all things considered. Don’t you think?”

  “You made love to me to spite Jonathan Flemming?”

  Faintly, the smell of strong spirits wafted warningly past her nostrils. He’d been downstairs for hours, no doubt with Geoffrey, imbibing freely. She knew from seeing Geoffrey in his cups that men were prone to dangerous and very unpredictable mood swings when they imbibed. She should have been warned by the tone of his voice, but she was too hurt and angry to pay any mind. “He is my aunt’s choice, not mine. I may be powerless to stop them, but I will at least have the satisfaction that he will realize on our wedding night that someone has been before him. And then there is the strong possibility that I might even now be with child. He will hate me as I hate him each time he has to look at another man’s child.” Always assuming he didn’t kill her for her perfidy and disguise it to look like an accident … or beat her until she lost the child and all chance of ever conceiving again.

  At that moment, she almost relished the thought that Garrett would have to live with her death on his conscience … assuming he had one or even suspected Flemming had killed her because of him.

  “I have misjudged you. You are a cunning little jade,” he growled in a harsh whisper.

  The comment sent another shaft of pain and anger through her. Demi flushed. She turned to face him but found she still couldn’t meet his gaze. “You are angry because you think I used you, when you were only using me to slake your lust?” she gasped, outraged. “How very male of you! But as it happens, your opinion of me is of no consequence. I’m just surprised you didn’t call me a slut, but I expect that’s next. I suppose I am, for I thoroughly enjoyed it. You are very good, even drunk. I must suppose it comes from a great deal of practice.”

  He caught her in two strides, jerking her up against his body. “That’s enough, Demi.”

  She struggled to pull away. Realizing almost immediately that she couldn’t free herself unless he was willing to release her, she glared at his bare chest. “I suppose I should apologize for my clumsiness. I’ve had no practice myself, but that can certainly be remedied. Married women, I understand, have far more freedom for this sort of thing. How long should I wait, do you think, before I can take a lover?”

  Gripping her shoulders, he set her far enough away from him that he could look down at her. Demi refused to lift her head to meet his gaze, however. “Have it your way, then. I’ll give you what you came for,” he growled. Gripping her chin almost painfully, he tilted her face up, lowered his head and covered her mouth angrily, silencing her at last in a kiss that was meant to be punishing and hurtful.

  Chapter Twelve

  As angry and hurt as she was, Demi welcomed his punishing kiss with fierce gladness. She wanted to drive him over the edge into madness, wanted to push him until he hurt her so that she could hate him. Instead, desire rushed through her the moment she felt his hard mouth, felt the ravishment of his tongue as it skated over hers possessively, tangled with her own, began a wild, primal mating dance as he sought to dominate her. For many moments, she could not think at all, couldn’t catch her breath with the influx of heat and desire, like heady wine, racing through her blood. Driven by both need and anger, she clenched her hands, digging her nails into his chest, kneading his flesh like a contented cat. He shifted away from the pain, kissing her more savagely still. The moment he did, she slipped one hand downward and cupped his sex.

  He stiffened, but as she rubbed the palm of her hand over the distended ridge, imitating the movements of their lovemaking the night before, he placed one hand over hers, pressing her palm hard against his length. A shudder went through him, a quaking, as one who holds himself so tensely they strain near the breaking point. His breathing grew ragged, labored. Abruptly, he tore his mouth from hers, struggled with the tie at the neck of the gown briefly, then caught the neck of her dress with both hands and snapped the tie, baring her almost to the waist as the torn lacing slipped from its grommets. Her unfettered breasts fell free with a gentle bounce, her nipples growing tight instantly, pouting with need.

  He caught a breast in each hand, leaning down and suckling first one and then the other, kneading them. Demi sucked in her breath at the first contact of his heated mouth, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her. Tangling her fingers in his dark hair, she cupped his head, urging him to lavish the teasing torment of his mouth and tongue on her nipples, scarcely aware of the whimper of protest that edged its way up her throat when he abandoned one for the other.

  Catching her waist, he lifted her, swinging her around and laying her back on the edge of the bed. She dug her fingers into the bedding, gripping it tightly as her head swum. He followed her down, leaning over her, an arm braced on the bed on either side of her as he kissed her mouth briefly, then moved along her throat to capture one trembling peak of her breast in his mouth once more. If possible, the sensations were even more intense. She found that she was gasping so hard it was more like hoarse cries than gasps scoring her throat.

  After a few moments, she realized she lay half on and half off the bed. Gripping the sheets, she pulled herself backwards until she felt the mattress beneath her hips as he moved his mouth from her breasts to her neck once more. He caught her hips, trapping her on the edge of the bed, and she opened her eyes to look up at him in confusion. Grasping her skirts, he dragged them up, bunching them about her waist.

  He lifted his head then, catching her gaze as he slipped a hand beneath the waist of her pantalets and very deliberately snapped the tie. She gasped, torn between a fervor that matched the taut desire in his face, and dismay at the anger that she saw still seethed beneath the surface. Her uneasiness increased as he pulled the pantalets from her and tossed them aside, then reached for the opening of his breeches, unsheathing his erect member.

  Catching her legs with his hands, he hooked her heels on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. She felt the rounded head of his member nudging along her sensitive cleft and tensed with expectation, feeling a renewed burst of hunger for him that chased her doubts into abeyance. She wanted him. She didn’t care at this moment about anything beyond feeling him deeply inside of her, a part of herself and yet excitingly unfamiliar, as well, his hardness engulfed by her yielding flesh, the heat and strength of his body possessing even as it caressed, taking from her even as it gave.

  She reached for him as she felt her flesh yield to his pressure, felt him sliding slowly into her damp passage, but she found that the position prevented her from touching him. It was enthralling and at the same time disconcerting to feel him joining his body with hers and yet so distant that only those two points converged. Panting, dizzy with the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood through her, she gripped the covers as he leaned forward, slowly moving deeper and deeper inside of her, stretching her resistant muscles, until he’d claimed her depths. He withdrew almost as slowly, until no more than the rounded head of his member remained imbedded inside her, then thrust again, more smoothly and easily as her body adjusted to him.

 
; She squeezed her eyes closed, allowing her mind to focus on the stroke of his hard member along her passage as he began to thrust and retreat more quickly. A glorious tension began to build inside of her, vibrating along her nerve endings delightfully. Mindlessly, she reached for him again, the need to feel the closeness of his body almost as intense as her urge to struggle toward release. She touched his fingers where they gripped her legs, touched his hands, but he was too caught up in his own battle toward release to respond to her silent plea.

  As if her touch had driven his own hunger beyond his control, he began thrusting harder and harder, pounding into her so hard she began to slip away from him, felt her body driven slowly, inch by inch, along the mattress. She dug her heels in, gripping the bed covering tightly in her fists as he released her legs and caught her around the waist.

  Abruptly, he leaned over her. Slipping an arm beneath her, he moved her further into the bed, following her. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he pushed inside of her once more. She gasped as she felt her body rise swiftly and hover on the brink of fulfillment as he thrust into her again, immediately setting the hard, pounding rhythm of before. She hovered so long on the edge, fearful that she would fall over, and fearful that she would not, that when the pleasure suddenly thrust her over the brink into an explosion of blinding pleasure, she cried out, half in surprise, and half in shock at the intensity of it.

  As if he had been holding himself back, awaiting that moment, he uttered a guttural growl and stiffened, slamming into her in several shuddering thrusts and finally pushing deep and holding himself perfectly still as he gasped to catch his breath.

  Coolness washed over Demi as her body floated back to earth. She shivered, realizing suddenly that he had held himself away from her even after he’d pushed her up onto the bed, that he still held himself away from her.