The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  Rafe managed a half shrug. “I don’t recall.”

  “I do.” Upton’s voice held an edge to it that hadn’t been there before.

  Rafe tipped back his head and took another drink. “And what was my brilliant advice?”

  “I told you that you shouldn’t blame yourself about Donald’s death and you told me that perhaps I should take my own advice.”

  “I said that?” Rafe shook his head. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Funny. I thought it was quite wise.” Upton finally took a sip of his own drink.

  Rafe scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “I’m not wise. There’s nothing wise about me.”

  Upton set down the glass and braced his forearms against the back of the chair. “Yes. I assure you, there is. I know you have your score to settle but I want you to remember something.”

  Rafe barely glanced up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Don’t allow guilt over Swifdon’s death to haunt you.”

  Rafe gave the future earl a half-smile. “Ah, so you’ve come to return the favor, have you? Give me my own advice? Remind me of my wise words?”

  Upton stood and bowed. “That’s precisely why I’ve come. Well, that and another reason.”

  Rafe looked at him quizzically. “Which is?”

  “I know when I see a man trying to drown his sorrows over a lady by drinking too much.”

  Rafe snorted. “You do, do you?”

  “Yes, I do, and I thought I’d also give you a bit of advice I learned the hard way.”

  Rafe raised his brows and looked up at the man who stood next to him. “Which is?”

  “Don’t let the woman you love slip through your fingers because you’re being too damned stubborn to admit you love her.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Rafe was lying in his bunk in the captain’s cabin of the True Love, tossing a coin in the air and catching it. He’d removed his boots and loosened his cravat. One knee was bent, the other leg straight. He stared unseeing at the wooden ceiling. Again and again he tossed the coin and caught it in the same hand. It was a reflex at this point. His mind was long gone, turning in circles exactly like the dropping coin. Tomorrow morning, he and the crew would set sail for France. The letters he’d secured from the Russian spies told him everything he needed to know about the location of the men he was after in France.

  He should have been concentrating on the mission, but instead Upton’s words were steadily haunting him. “Don’t let the woman you love slip through your fingers.” What did Upton know about it? How did Upton know about it? Was it that damn obvious that Rafe had feelings for Daphne? He tossed the coin again and caught it solidly in his palm. Damn it. He wasn’t allowing Daphne to slip through his fingers. He’d never had her. She’d made it clear that not only did she not believe him about whoever the hell that blond woman had been, but she also had a list of a bunch of titled gentlemen from which she had already picked another husband. Rafe hadn’t pressed her on naming the chap because he couldn’t stand to know, if he was being honest. It would only cause that awful sick feeling in his middle to return. The same feeling he’d had when he’d met Edmund Fitzwell. Regardless, Daphne couldn’t have been more clear that Rafe was not a suitable candidate for the position. Perhaps ironic, given that he currently was her husband, but that didn’t matter. He’d give her her bloody annulment. He’d already sent a letter to his contact at the Home Office to get the thing started, quietly. And if his unsuitability wasn’t enough, he’d nearly allowed her to be raped and killed on his watch. No. He was absolutely no good for Daphne Swift, regardless of how he might feel about her. He could offer her nothing but mediocrity and danger. He couldn’t believe after what she’d been through at the hands of the Russians that she’d offered to go with him to France. But there was no possible way he’d risk her life again. No. The rest of this mission he had to complete. Alone.

  He tossed the coin again. Upton’s words still rankled. Besides, Rafe’s situation wasn’t exactly like Upton’s. Upton had been wounded in Spain. His friend Harold Langford had taken a second bullet meant for Upton and lost his life. That had been Langford’s choice. Rafe was a captain in His Majesty’s army, sworn to protect Donald Swift with his own life. He’d failed. The two incidents were nothing alike.

  Not only that but if Julian Swift found Rafe before the French did, he’d no doubt beat Rafe to a bloody pulp himself. Daphne had surely informed her brother of her near escape from the Russians. Rafe had promised to keep every hair on her head safe and she’d already had the makings of a large bruise on her face when he’d taken her home. Apparently, one of those filthy bastards had struck her. If he wasn’t already dead, Rafe would have gone back and finished the job. He would make the rest of them pay, too.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Rafe caught the coin and rose up on his elbow. Who was at the door? At this hour? It had to be after eleven. He consulted his timepiece. Yes, after eleven.

  “Come in,” he called, expecting to see Grim or Salty asking about some last-minute arrangements.

  The door swung open and Grey was standing there, tight breeches, flowing white shirt, and adorable cap.

  Rafe nearly rubbed his eyes. Was it an illusion? “Daphne, what are you doing here?”

  She walked into the room and kicked shut the door with her booted foot. Her eyes never left his face. “I wanted to see you, Rafe.”

  Rafe leaped to his feet. “Does your brother know you’re here?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I came because I—”

  He put up a hand to stop her. She didn’t need to say it. “You needn’t have come. Don’t worry. I sent word to the Home Office. They’re seeing to the paperwork for our annulment.”

  Daphne raised her chin. “I don’t want an annulment. I want to consummate our marriage. Tonight.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Rafe’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull. “You want to … pardon?” He cocked his head to the side. Surely he’d heard her incorrectly.

  Daphne’s small hand went to her throat and she began tugging at the cravat at her neck. “You heard me.”

  Rafe swallowed. Hard. Speaking of hard, everything in his body was going hard. Rock-hard. Including his cock. He stepped back and pushed against the wall behind him as if that could put more space between them. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted an annulment.”

  Daphne finished unraveling the cravat. She pulled it from around her neck with one sharp movement and tossed it in the corner. “At the moment all I want is to spend the night with you.” Her voice was husky, hot. Her eyes were pools of liquid steel.

  Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “How did you get here?”

  “I have my ways. Does it matter?”

  “Does Swifdon know you’re here?”

  “No.” The one word shattered like a vase onto the floor.

  Rafe couldn’t drag his gaze away from her. She was mesmerizing him. He searched his brain for a coherent thought. “I thought you wanted a title. I thought—”

  Daphne pulled off her cap, and shook out her long, blond hair. It fell in waves over her shoulders. Rafe gulped.

  “You thought wrong. I want you,” she said.

  “Daphne, I—” His fingers raked through his hair again. Think. Think.

  Daphne stalked toward him, her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “What’s the matter, Captain Cavendish? Am I making you nervous? I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Then she tugged at the buttons at her collar.

  Rafe nearly leaped up the wall. “No. No. No. I can’t. Julian will rip out my intestines. He’ll finish what the French started. He’ll…”

  But Rafe’s words trailed off as she pulled her shirt over her head. It followed the cravat into the corner. Rafe drew in a deep breath.

  Her chest was wrapped in linen and she still wore her breeches. She shucked off her boots, one by one, and then began slowly unwinding the fabric from around her breasts.

&n
bsp; “Don’t do this,” Rafe whispered. Close your eyes, you fool. But he couldn’t, not with the sight in front of him, the linen slowly peeling away from her creamy skin.

  “Too late,” she said just as the linen fell away. She tossed the fabric into the pile with the rest and moved toward him. She stood merely a pace away from him.

  Next, she began unhooking the fall of her breeches.

  “You’re going to get me killed,” Rafe breathed. “Murdered.”

  She nipped at her pink lips with her white teeth. “I don’t want to kill you. I want to make love to you. We don’t have to tell Julian anything.”

  Rafe moved then. No more acting like a quivering boy. He took one decisive step forward and grabbed her hands. Her breasts nearly skimmed his chest. He clenched his jaw. “Don’t do this, Daphne.”

  Her eyes were pools of mist gazing into his. “Why not?” She let her mouth hang open and he was fixated on her tongue that darted out to wet her lips.

  Good question. He poked out his cheek with his tongue and tried to think about anything other than his rock-hard member. “Because I can’t resist you.”

  “Good.” She pulled her hands away sharply and her breeches fell to her ankles. He swallowed again, knowing if he just looked down he would see her completely naked. Unholy torture.

  “Rafe, you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted. Take me to bed.”

  Oh God, she was naked. Completely nude. He forced himself to clench his eyes shut. Sweat beads popped along his brow. He had to be the reasonable one. Apparently, Daphne had lost all reason along with her clothing. “I’m leaving for France in the morning,” he pleaded.

  He felt her nearness, her warmth. Her hands were on his shoulders—she must have been on tiptoes—just before her soft voice whispered in his ear. “I’m not asking you to stay.”

  He licked his lips. She smelled so good. Like apples and roses and—

  “Daphne, I … I want to, Lord knows I want to, but—”

  “Then what’s the matter?” Her hands tugged his cravat away and then her warm lips were at the base of his throat. Jesus Christ. Rafe’s eyes remained tightly closed. If he opened them, if he saw her, saw what she was offering, there would no longer be a choice. No longer be a chance to do the right thing to send her away. “I could be killed. I might not come back,” he offered.

  Her whisper was hot in his ear and her fingers slid enticingly into the hair at the nape of his neck. “All the more reason to have this one night together. Besides, we’re married, remember?” Her supple breasts pushed against his chest, all that separated them was the thin fabric of his shirt. Her nipples burned through it.

  That was it. Rafe broke. He couldn’t resist her touch. He opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to scan her body. She was perfection, all creamy white skin and glorious blond hair. Her breasts were delicate and round, her waist tiny, her legs, while not long, were perfectly proportioned with the rest of her. She was any man’s dream. His dream. “I cannot make you any promises, Daphne,” he breathed.

  Her lips barely skimmed his, driving him mad. “I don’t want promises. I just want one night with you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Rafe’s eyes closed again. A muscle ticked in his jaw. But as soon as he opened his eyes, Daphne knew she’d won. His eyes were bright and shining and he stepped back and gently pushed her to arm’s length while his gaze devoured her body. “God, you’re beautiful,” he groaned.

  She put a hand on one bare hip. “Does that mean yes?”

  His hand rubbed across one of her shoulders. “I told you. I can’t resist you.” Rafe reached out, grabbed her fiercely, and pulled her into his arms. Then his mouth descended slowly, so slowly that Daphne wanted to cry. He was torturing her now. How quickly things changed. He kissed her, his mouth tangled with hers. Daphne strained on tiptoes to reach him, her arms threaded around his broad, muscled shoulders.

  He lifted her then, under her knees, and gently laid her on the bed. She shuddered, the cool air finding all of the sensitive spots on her naked body. She thought she’d be embarrassed with Rafe looking at her so intensely without the benefit of the fuzzy head she’d had last time. She thought she’d be shy. But his blue gaze scanned every bit of her nakedness and all she felt was powerful, more powerful than she’d ever felt in her life. She sensed his leashed desire, knew he was holding himself back. But she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to unleash himself completely … on her. She shuddered. She would just have to help him lose control.

  He stood next to the bed, his eyes still raking over her. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it roughly over his head. His breeches and stockings quickly followed and were discarded in the corner. Daphne had a chance to look at him. His body was magnificent, so muscled and strong and perfect. The muscles in his abdomen stood out in sharp relief. A smattering of light hair covered his chest. His shoulders were so squared and strong. She ached to touch them again. He was a dream. A male dream. Her gaze dipped to his member. She’d only seen his but she was certain most such appendages weren’t nearly as large as Rafe’s. She hadn’t had the chance to study it the night the Russians had interrupted them, but now she looked her fill. It was enormous. It jutted proudly from his thighs, strong and thick. She shuddered at the thought of it entering her. She remembered the unholy ache between her thighs the last time they’d been about to make love. She stared at his nakedness in fascination. Cass and Lucy had been kind enough to answer her questions, giving her an idea of what happened between men and women in bed. Of course, reality might be much different than the theories in her head, but all she could think about was how desperately she wanted to find out. Now.

  “You have a bad bruise,” he whispered, tracing the spot on her cheek where Billy had slapped her.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she promised, turning her cheek away from Rafe’s line of vision.

  He clenched his jaw so tightly it popped. “I would rip that blighter limb from limb if—”

  She pushed up on her knees and touched a finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s over. Tonight is about us.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her.

  He kissed her fiercely and wet warmth pooled between Daphne’s thighs. She wanted him so much.

  He lifted up on one hand and looked down at her, tracing the edge of her jaw with one finger. “Daphne, I hate to ask this, but I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  She searched his handsome face. “What is it, Rafe?”

  “Nothing happened with that blond at the inn, but I want you to know—”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down to her. “I don’t care about the blond. Lucy made me realize that it made no sense that you were coming to look for me if you had a woman in your bed.”

  “I swear I never saw her before you and I walked in. I think she—”

  “I don’t care, Rafe. I truly don’t. That’s in the past.”

  “But I swear I—”

  “Shh. This time we won’t be interrupted.” She covered his mouth with hers and kissed him again with all the pent-up longing she felt for him.

  Rafe groaned against her mouth. “I want you, Daphne.”

  “I want you, too.”

  “You’re right. No one will interrupt us tonight. There’s no need to rush.” Rafe moved to his side and Daphne traced her fingertips along his muscled chest. She admired his wide shoulders and narrow hips. She moved her hand along his hip and dipped it behind him to rub along his backside. His eyes widened a little.

  “I dreamed about touching you there for an age,” she admitted.

  Rafe kissed her again. “By all means, touch all you like.”

  She let her hand move up to his lower back and gasped when she felt the puckered skin. She leaned up and over and looked at the scars crisscrossing his back. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. I’m sorry they did that to you.”

  He pulled her hand away and kissed it. “It’s nothing, Da
phne. Your brother paid a far greater price.”

  “It’s not nothing,” she insisted, pushing up to her knees. She kissed the tops of his shoulders and ran her mouth down his back. She ran her fingertips along the scars. “You were so brave and strong to withstand this.”

  Rafe’s breath caught in his throat against the lump that had unexpectedly formed there. He’d never felt such emotion from another person before. Never felt such caring. Certainly not when bedding a woman. But this was different. This was Daphne. He turned over, gathered her into his arms, and rolled atop her. His cock was nestled between the heat of her legs but he didn’t want to scare her. He stayed there, unmoving, sucking at her bottom lip and nuzzling her neck until he felt the tightness leave her shoulders and the rest of her body.

  “I’m shaking,” she whispered.

  “I am too a little,” he said with the hint of a laugh.

  She slapped lightly at his shoulder. “You are not.”

  “Feel this.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest over his heart. The pounding there made Daphne’s eyes widen.

  “I’m excited,” she whispered, “and a little frightened.”

  “Don’t be frightened, my love. Don’t ever be frightened with me.” He slowly moved down to her breast and covered it with his mouth.

  Daphne arched her back. “Oh, Rafe, yes.”

  His other hand came up to play with the nipple of her opposite breast and she arched even more, her back coming off the bed. “I never knew anything could feel this way,” she whispered, pushing her fingers through his hair and holding his mouth to her breast.

  He tried to move his mouth lower, but Daphne stopped him. “What is it, love?”

  “I want to do it this time,” she whispered, peeking up at him from beneath her impossibly long lashes.

  At first, his brow furrowed, but then his eyes rounded when she began to shimmy down the front of him. “Daphne, how do you—” But his words were completely lost as soon as Daphne’s small, pink, torturous mouth closed around his cock.