The servant said it was urgent.
Oh, she really didn’t want to knock on his door. But if an urgent message for her went astray and a neighbor shrugged it off for two days, how would she feel?
Eugenie grabbed her old gray shawl from its hook by the door where she kept it ready for when she had to fetch Ginger in from the garden, wound it tight around her shoulders and closing her door behind her, marched the five steps across the portico. The wind drove wet snow into her face and she huddled closer to the wall as she raised the iron knocker and let it fall with a bang.
She’d just give the letter to his butler, the man who delivered the nobleman’s carelessly scrawled mocking replies to her perfectly reasonable letters, and go.
Nothing happened. No sound of movement. No footsteps. Nothing. Well she had tried, hadn’t she? She looked at the note clutched in her cold fingers. What if someone needed him desperately? It was hard to imagine, given his disgraceful behavior, but who was she to judge?
One more try and then she’d go home. She knocked harder and longer.
“Did you forget something?” a deep mocking voice said to the sound of a bolt sliding back. “I’ll send it along in the morning.”
Blown back by the wind, the door flew open.
Mouth open, she stared at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, caught in the lamplight. A blond blue-eyed archangel. Elegant of stature, he looked thoroughly masculine in his shirtsleeves and open collar. Perfection in a state of disreputable undress. Not the raddled roué she’d expected, but a Greek god and a dangerous pirate all rolled into one.
A gust of wind drove snow in through his door and flakes clung to his long golden lashes. So pretty. So enticing. Heat rushed through her body. Like a bolt of hot lightning, longing trembled in her bones.
The same unquenched longing she’d been feeling since the day he arrived.
Yearning for something she could not have.
Oh how she wished she’d worn something less shabby than her old cat-catching shawl.
He frowned, peering into the shadows where she stood. Summer-sky eyes tracked down her length from head to toe. “Who the devil are you?”
“I—”
“Did Heaven send you?” A smile of appreciation curved his sensual mouth. “How fortuitous. Well, come on in before you freeze.” He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her over the threshold and closed the door.
Astonished, she gazed up at him. Before she could utter a protest, his hands went to her waist and he brushed his warm dry lips across her mouth. A sigh of appreciation forced its way up her throat. She barely managed to contain it.
Instinctively, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away, parting her lips to tell him to stand back. She was sure that was what she meant to do, but when his tongue swept her mouth, warm and silky and tasting of brandy, the spicy scent of his cologne filling her nostrils, instead of pushing, her fingers curled into the soft cambric of his shirt and pulled him closer. Memories of the pleasure of kisses and caresses melted any thought of resistance.
Slowly, lingeringly, he kissed her, exploring her mouth with the leisurely strokes of a master seducer. Finally he broke the kiss and she stood breathless, dizzy, held up only by the strong hands in the indentation beneath her ribs. It was all she could do to keep her feet, to not collapse from the delicious assault on her senses.
His kiss had set free all the pent-up desires of the past few weeks. Her core ached and fluttered.
He looked down at her, a lock of unruly tawny hair falling over his brow, a wicked smile curving his sensually carved mouth. “I just had to see if you tasted as good as you looked.” His smile broadened. “You do. Lucky me.”
She should slap his face. Call him a monster. It was all she could do to remember to breathe. “I—”
“Don’t let us linger here talking. My bed awaits.” He took her by the hand, leading her down the hallway and up the narrow stairs at the back of the house.
His bed. Her heart raced. Her head swam. He thought her a barque of frailty. Sent for his entertainment.
She pulled her fragmented mind together. “Stop!”
He halted. Looked down at her from two steps up, his blue eyes hot. “What game are we playing then, love?” His gaze ran over her, more critically this time. “Governess? Shy schoolgirl?” His eyes narrowed. He frowned, a new expression crossing his face. Puzzlement. Perhaps even wonder.
“No game,” she said quickly, backing away. “I brought you this letter.” She held it out.
A deep frown marred his elegant beauty as he glanced at the paper she waved in his face. “Unlike Heaven to send a gift of nectar laced with poison.”
What on earth was he talking about? “The message is urgent.”
He plucked the letter from her hand by the corner, holding it the way one might pick up something unpleasant, and peered at the seal. Then, with an elegant flick of his wrist, he tossed the letter onto the hall stand.
Surprised, she stared at it. “Aren’t you going to open it after all the trouble I took to bring it?”
His expression hardened. He waved a careless hand. “No doubt it is a summons I do not care to answer.” He grinned then, wickedly, boyishly mischievous. “Don’t you wish you could ignore the demands of others?”
“Frequently, but it would only lead to problems later on.”
He chuckled, the familiar low sound she’d heard so many times beyond her walls, and her insides clenched. “Only if you let it,” he said.
Was that what she had done? Let the demands of others dictate her life? Or was her life what she had made it? “Duty and responsibility must be attended to.”
“Must they?”
“Of course, or there would be anarchy.”
The mocking expression on his face said he didn’t think anarchy was such a bad idea at all. He glanced at her sharply and a sensual smile played about his lips. “You are not one of Heaven’s usual girls. Too bright by half.”
The compliment warmed her. Fool. Such a fool. “I only came to deliver the note,” she said, turning back for the door.
He leaped down and dodged around her, cutting her off. She found her gaze level with the open V of his shirt. The sight of the light dusting of golden hair on silken skin weakened her knees and left her breathless.
He grabbed her hand, pressed a small kiss to the back of it, his blue eyes watching her face with a piratical gleam. “I can’t let you leave. Not alone. Not so late.”
The warmth of his touch sparked such a deep need for companionship, her very bones trembled with longing. How unfair that he should be so unutterably tempting. “I must.”
“Does someone wait for you, then?” His eyes held regret. He turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist.
She should have worn gloves, she thought dazedly as she felt the heat of his breath and the sweet gentle touch of his mouth. “No one is waiting,” she whispered.
“Then the two of us are alone on Christmas Eve. Why not stay?”
She couldn’t think of a good reason right at that moment, but she knew there had to be one. “It is Christmas Day.”
He curled his hand around hers. “You are freezing. You must at least warm yourself by the fire.”
Gently, inexorably, he pulled at her hand, leading her into a drawing room lit by candelabra on a low table and a blazing fire. The oak-paneled walls glowed softly. The warm welcoming ambience drew her in.
Glass crunched beneath her feet. “Oh, goodness.”
“My last visitor had a habit of throwing things at my head.” The hand at the small of her back encouraged her towards the chaise longue beside the hearth. “Fortunately, her aim was abysmal.”
“You probably deserved it,” she said tartly, a twinge of jealousy surprising her.
He laughed. “More than likely.” And with practiced ease he relieved her of her shawl. He stared down at it, fingering the wool. A small smile played about his lips. “Christmas wishes do some
times come true,” he muttered rather mysteriously. He tossed the shawl over the back of the sofa with a quick shake of his head. “Sit down. Warm yourself. You will take a glass of brandy with me, won’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question. He was so sure of his charm. Of his allure. And damn him, resistance was beyond her power when he gazed at her with such warmth in those summer-sky eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her with such undisguised admiration. She felt like a girl again. Giddy and shaking inside as if something momentous was about to occur.
“It is the least I can do after you went to such trouble,” he continued.
Bringing the note he hadn’t bothered to read. “It was only right that I do so,” she protested, weakly sinking into the plush cushions.
Long clever fingers brushed her cheek and his mouth curled in a smile that was both dangerous and boyishly charming. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Better? How was it better? She was alone with a rake. A man with appetites for dissipation and vice. She’d been listening to him for weeks. Feeling his presence like electricity in the air before a storm. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “I really can’t stay long.”
Amusement filled the startling blue of his eyes while firelight flickered across the carved lines of his starkly beautiful face. A shiver ran down her spine.
“You really are unexpectedly delicious.” He hesitated, then touched her jaw with his thumb. “A feast for the senses.” His eyes grew smoky. “Perhaps my tastes are not so jaded after all.”
Now she really should leave. Instead her limbs felt heavy, made languorous by his words and her own wicked longings. Clearly, he had no idea she was the woman to whom he’d written such sharp protests about her cat. And he was right about them both being alone.
Fascinated, she watched his long-limbed grace as he prowled to the console to pour two glasses of brandy. “This will warm you.”
She was quite warm enough, thank you. On the inside, where her pulse beat wildly, and her heart seemed unable to find the right rhythm.
He handed one glass to her and lowered himself to the other end of the chaise, stretching out his legs, so clearly at ease when she felt like a spring wound too tight. The liquid in her glass rippled in answer to the earthquake inside her body.
“To my unexpected but welcome guest,” he toasted with his glass.
The brandy would fortify her will. She sipped. The fiery liquid traveled down her throat in a warm comforting rush. A very fine smooth brandy, she noted. If she wasn’t careful it would go to her head and she was quite dizzy enough. She set the glass on the side table near at hand.
As if sensing her desire to escape, he captured her hands in his. She gazed into eyes as bright as sapphires and as deep as an ocean and wanted…
Wanted so much more than her life had to offer.
Excitement. Passion. A mingling of spirits.
Her heart thudded.
Her pulse tripped.
It was this need of hers for excitement and passion that had brought her to this life of isolation in the first place. Cut her off from her family, lest by association she further taint their good reputation. Had she learned nothing from her past mistake?
Jerkily, she reached for her threadbare shawl. “Thank you for the brandy. I really must bid you good-night.”
He put his hand over hers, stilling her movement as her fingers grasped the soft wool, his expression full of genuine regret. “If I said something wrong, I apologize.”
“There was no one else to bring the note.” Why on earth was she continuing this charade? Pretending to be the woman he wanted. Did she fear seeing the warmth in his gaze turn to ice when he realized who she was? Wasn’t she the proud fool?
He tipped her chin with his fingertips, his gaze searching her face. “You really are lovely.” He sounded awed.
Her cold lonely soul gazed longingly at his exquisitely carved features, at the glitter of gold in the curl of his hair where it fell over one eyebrow, at the heat in his gaze, and tried to remember that years of cold lonely nights were no one’s fault but her own.
“Stay,” he whispered seductively. “It is what we both want.”
A predator could not eye his prey with more understanding than showed in his eyes. He had guessed at her weakness with unerring instinct. A weakness she didn’t have the strength to combat, for she released her grip on the shawl and he smiled just a little. Knowing.
“Finish your drink, then decide,” he said.
He leaned over her, the heat of his body warming her skin, as he reached for the glass she’d set down. He pressed it into her hand.
Breathless, she took a sip and let the slide of warming liquid soothe her jangled nerves while she searched her mind for words to fill the crackling silence.
“Your lady friend left in rather a hurry.”
A slight frown creased his forehead above his aquiline nose, then he shrugged. “Ran into her, did you? She wanted something I found myself incapable of providing.”
He must have seen her shock, because, clearly unabashed, he laughed, deep and rich. “She wanted marriage.”
“I suppose she wasn’t good enough for you,” she said with some asperity, thinking of the fury in the other woman’s steps as she hurried down the path.
He looked back at her without guile. “Quite the contrary. She deserves better than me.” He took a long sip of his brandy, as if giving the matter further thought.
Eugenie could only gape at his admission, because if he hadn’t said the words, she would have. But now she wasn’t quite so sure.
Chapter Two
She was incredibly lovely. Nothing like the dry spinster he’d imagined. Richard felt her clear gray gaze like a touch on his skin as she absorbed his response to her tart admonition. There was an innocence about her shock that made him feel old and weary, when he wanted to feel alive, to make her smile reappear and bring forth the elusive dimple at the corner of her mouth.
How was it possible that this glorious woman was his cat lady? Or was his mind playing him tricks?
“What about you?” he probed carefully. “Has some particular gentleman caught your fancy?” He couldn’t for the life of him think why he asked. He, who never cared about the other men in his women’s lives. Like some gauche schoolboy, he’d given her the perfect reason to remember why she should quit his drawing room and head into the night. But for some reason he had to know if she considered herself taken. A twinge of anger at the thought that she might say yes, took him by surprise, as did the utter relief at her dismissive laugh. A light laugh with husky undertones, as intriguing as the woman herself. A woman he wanted to know better.
Blood beat hard in his veins.
The tattoo started the moment he saw her standing on his step. Passion held on a tight rein had sparked in the air. He wanted to set it free. He wanted to see joy in those cool gray eyes.
Dove-gray when she was serious or dark as storm clouds when she regarded him with a look that said his charm didn’t fool her for one minute. They sparkled like a crystal stream rushing over pebbles when she laughed.
He had the feeling she didn’t laugh very often. A strange sadness swept over him at the thought. An odd sort of tenderness.
An emotion as surprising as the instant attraction between them. Small-boned and slender, she was unlike the voluptuous females he usually chose. The delicacy of her heart-shaped face, the fragility of her body was utterly erotic.
Blood rushed to his groin where it caused instant discomfort.
It must be her air of mystery that held him captive. Usually he knew exactly what was going on in a woman’s head, the bold assessment of his wealth, the heated admiration for his form, the calculation of what he would want in return for a share of both. This one seemed unusually wary. At any moment, he expected her to flee.
Normally he would have shrugged and let her go. Instead he was walking on eggshells to convince her to stay.
If it had
n’t been for her carnal response to his kiss at the front door, he might have thought her a virgin. Something he avoided at all cost. But her mouth had responded to his with deliciously wicked knowledge. It was the reason he’d invited her in. He wanted to explore every inch of her beauty.
He stroked her hand with his thumb, looking deep into her eyes, then he raised it to his mouth, turning at the last moment to press a kiss in the center of her palm. A soft palm, without the calluses of hard work. A woman of quality fallen on hard times perhaps. It would account for her educated speech and intelligent eyes.
Her hand trembled slightly, but the flare of heat in her gaze, the silver sparks, gave away the passion he knew lay behind the outward calm. Knew with the certainty of a male on the hunt. Just as he knew he would not let her escape. Not until he was ready to let her go. Not if he could help it.
Which might not be for a very long time. The thought stilled him. Held him in thrall. Made his heart beat just a little too hard, dried his throat until he wanted to swallow like a nervous lad fearing rejection. Ridiculous. There wasn’t a woman in London who could resist his practiced seduction.
The knuckles on the hand holding her glass pressed to her chest gleamed white. He glanced at her face and found her eyes heavy-lidded as she watched him, a little fearful perhaps, but mostly fascinated. And ripe with desire.
Her lower lip trembled as if it carried the weight of a kiss she found too heavy to bear any longer. So tempting. He wanted to ravish that lusciously prim mouth.
He was not a man to resist temptation. He leaned forward slowly, giving her every chance to draw back, but she met him halfway, and he tasted those finely drawn lips with the tip of his tongue. Intoxicating. Like fine wine. Heady. Like exotic perfume.
Her lips parted softly. Gently he melded his mouth to hers. Very gently, fearing she might run at the least show of the powerful surge of lust beating in his blood, the primal urge to feel her submission.
A Rake for Christmas Page 2