The Rogue's Seduction

by Georgina Devon

  He rose and put the chessboard and pieces away. Then he lighted a branch of candles and set them on the table between them before fetching a pack of cards. He sat down and shuffled them.

  ‘Shall we play for straws?’ she asked, thinking that was a safe wager.

  ‘Scared?’ he taunted her.

  ‘I have played cards nearly since I could crawl,’ she retorted. She felt much safer playing whist than she had chess. She had a chance to beat him at this game.

  His heart-stopping grin returned. ‘I think the stakes should be higher.’

  ‘A shilling a point.’

  His eyes became heavy-lidded. ‘A piece of clothing.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘What?’ She gasped, not sure she had heard him correctly. ‘I won’t play you for your clothing. Nothing of the kind. A shilling or I will…’

  She did not want to say go to her room. She knew from the look on his face that he would follow her without a qualm, whether she wished it or not. A repeat of this morning’s activities was not what she wanted, or at least not what she felt was best, regardless of what her heart and body desired.

  His grin turned wicked. ‘I will make it easy on you, Lillith.’ Her name on his lips was seductive and made her pulse pound. ‘You may play for shillings. I shall play for clothing.’

  She gaped at him. The urge to beat him that had driven her all afternoon as she lost at chess faltered. She knew she could not keep him from removing his clothes one piece at a time as she won. The only way to keep him dressed was to lose. Her pride rebelled, but her head knew what she must do.

  She nodded.

  With fingers that shook in spite of her determination that they should not, Lillith picked up her cards and fanned them. She suppressed a groan. They were better than good.

  ‘You should not play cards when there is a wager you don’t want to lose,’ Perth said. ‘Your face is transparent.’

  Her brother had often told her the same thing so she had no doubt that she had given away the truth. She would win this hand by the strength of her cards. And she did. She closed her eyes when his fingers went to his throat.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he drawled. ‘I am only going to take off my cravat this time.’

  Under the lazy words was the hint of sensuality. He knew she was attracted to him against her will. He had proved that this morning. She heard the slide of material as he pulled the long cloth from his neck.

  ‘You can look,’ he said.

  She told herself that what he had done was nothing. He was still fully clothed. She opened her eyes to see that he had undone the first button of his shirt. Dark, wiry hairs curled around the fine white lawn. She knew they were crisp to the touch and, if wound around her finger, would cling like a lover’s kiss. Her gaze rose to his face where she saw that he knew exactly what was going through her mind. His eyes were dark as the night and as filled with flames as the fireplace. With hands that shook worse than before, she picked up the cards and shuffled. Somehow she had to lose.

  Two hands later, he murmured, ‘You win again. Try as you might, you cannot lose every hand.’

  She averted her eyes and shuffled the cards until her fingers ached. A solitary shilling lay on his side of the table. A shilling she had borrowed from him and insisted that he fetch so there was tangible proof that he had won a hand.

  The fire had burned low and the candles were a third gone. The room was cooling off in the night air. Yet, Lillith felt as though she sat on burning coals.

  Against her will, her gaze returned to Perth. He watched her like a predator watches its prey. Slowly and deftly, his fingers worked down the front of his shirt, undoing buttons with ease. The fine material opened to show a V of sun-browned skin with dark hairs trailing down his chest. With the grace of a cat, he stood and stripped the shirt off.

  His shoulders were as broad as she remembered. His stomach as flat and hard as the floor that suddenly seemed more inviting than a bed. The flames from the fire played along his muscles, seeming to make them ripple as though he moved. She shook her head and made herself look away from his male perfection.

  Instead of sitting down, he moved to the table that held the alcohol and poured another glass. With his back to her, she watched him with a hungry intensity that made her ache. Heaven help her, she wanted him—just as he had planned.

  To ease some of her need and to satisfy her curiosity, she asked, ‘What happened to your back?’

  He stiffened and did not turn towards her. ‘Nothing.’

  His curt reply told her not to pursue the topic. Whatever had happened must have hurt him greatly if he still would not discuss it. She despaired of ever reaching him emotionally.

  He angled around. ‘We can stop this stupid game any time you wish,’ he said, his voice rasping like a man deprived of air.

  She grasped at his offer of respite. ‘Good. I would like to read one of your books.’

  He lifted one brow in a sardonic statement. ‘I did not mean that you could escape the inevitable. Merely that we would forgo this particular brand of foreplay.’

  She stopped in her attempt to stand. Anger at her cowardice flared. ‘Then the next time you lose, take off your boots instead of your breeches.’

  He laughed outright. ‘That is more like the girl I once knew and the woman I first abducted. I had thought that the injury to your ankle had taken away all your spirit. I am glad to be mistaken.’

  His words said one thing, but the smouldering heat in his eyes said something altogether different. There was no humour in his gaze, only desire and need. She sank back into her chair, all her bravado fading away under the intensity of his study.

  ‘Another hand, then,’ she finally said. ‘I cannot let it be said that I feared to finish what we have started.’

  Even as she agreed, she wondered what she was doing. She knew where they were headed. It was inevitable, much as she tried to deny her reaction. He wanted her and he was determined to have her. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, she wanted him just as badly.

  They played the next hand without speaking. Perth sipped his drink and Lillith wished for some strong hot tea. The tension between them made her crazy.

  Perth played his last card. ‘I believe you have won again,’ he drawled.

  She stared helplessly at her boss card. ‘It takes greater skill to play badly than to win.’

  He shrugged, the flicker of fire and candles glimmering across the expanse of his chest. ‘Perhaps I am more motivated than you.’

  She gave him a jaundiced look. ‘Most definitely.’

  He bent over and tried to pull one of his boots off and could not. One black brow raised. ‘You will have to help if this is the item of clothing you intend me to remove.’

  ‘I intend for you to take nothing else off. You are the one determined to undress.’

  Her words dripped like acid. He ignored them.

  ‘If you refuse to help, then I will take off something else.’

  ‘No.’

  He stood and undid the button at his breeches. She jumped up, knocking the table and nearly overturning the candles. Like lightning, he grabbed the candelabra and set it straight. ‘You are too late,’ he drawled, undoing the last button so that the front fell open.

  ‘Wicked. You are wicked,’ she accused, flushing from her bosom to the roots of her hair. ‘Isn’t it enough that I desire you before all else, even my honour? Must you bedevil me until I can think of nothing but you and what you do to me?’

  ‘I will do whatever I must to have you, Lillith.’ His eyes were darker than hell.

  He rounded the table and grabbed her. She gasped and took a step back. Her heel hit the grate in front of the fire. Heat scorched her as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. His scar stood out in livid relief against his skin. Then he bent his face to hers.

  She cried out, whether in denial or a plea, she did not know.

  He covered her mouth with his and she melted into the all-consuming heat of
his passion. Nothing else mattered.

  Desire, hot and unquenchable, drove him through the night. He could not get enough of her. Need whipped him until he drowned in his passion, her passion, their passion. No sooner were they done and lying limply entangled than his need rose again, an insatiable heat that engulfed him—them. He entered her, devoured her and was consumed by her.

  It was late the following morning when he finally left her. She curled into a tight ball as his body moved away from her. The urge to stroke his palm down her flank and rejoin her was nearly impossible to ignore. Clenching his fist, he turned sharply and left without a backward glance. He knew that if he looked at her, he would never leave her.

  He entered his room and shut the door quietly behind him, keeping under tight rein all the emotion that boiled inside him. Someone cleared his throat.

  ‘Pardon me, my lord,’ Fitch said. At least the servant had the grace to flush on seeing his master standing naked.

  ‘Damn it, Fitch. If I need you, I will call,’ Perth growled.

  He felt no embarrassment at his lack of clothing. Fitch had seen him in worse situations. What did discommode him was the emotion he knew had been on his face when he entered the room. A naked body was nothing. A naked heart was altogether too vulnerable.

  Scowling, Perth crossed the room and took the robe Fitch had picked up in spite of being told to leave. He belted the heavy silk robe about his waist.

  ‘Well?’ he finally said.

  ‘Pardon my saying so, my lord—’

  ‘But you are going to say so anyway,’ Perth said sardonically. ‘As you did last night.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. We have been together too long and gone through too much for me to stand by and watch you do this deed without trying to stop you. The lady deserves better than you are giving her.’

  Perth’s scowl deepened into an angry flush. The scar running his cheek stood out like a streak of white lightning.

  ‘You go too far.’

  Fitch said nothing, just watched the Earl.

  ‘I intend to offer her marriage.’ Perth crossed the room and threw open the window. The fragrant morning air washed over him. He turned back to the manservant. ‘That will take care of any wagging tongues should word of this get out.’

  Seeing the harsh line of the Earl’s jaw and the way the scar blazed, Fitch knew that to continue arguing would be fruitless. ‘As you say, my lord.’

  Fitch could not keep the disappointment from his voice. With a curt bow, he left the room.

  Perth watched his manservant leave. As Fitch had said, they had been through much. And now this.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, remembering against his will how Lillith’s fingers had clutched hanks of his hair in order to hold his mouth to hers. Her scent still clung to him, lilacs and woman. He groaned.

  Frustration was an emotion he had great experience with, but why should he suffer it now? She was in the next room and he knew that if he went to her, caressed her, she would open to him. He knew that with a certainty that threatened to send him to her.

  ‘Damnation.’

  He slammed his fist against the wall. This was not how it was supposed to be happening. This was not supposed to be tearing his gut out. She wanted him and admitted it. He intended to offer her marriage. She would accept. She would be his, to have and do with as he wished.

  Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Lillith sat down at the small table and wondered why she had come downstairs. Fitch would have brought her breakfast up to her. But Fitch had to do everything because all the other servants were gone. Perth had done what he could to see that none of this leaked to a member of their set.

  The hunger that had brought her downstairs dissipated. She had never been concerned about acceptance. Vouchers for Almack’s, invitations to all the proper balls and routs, all of that had never interested her. She attended as a matter of course. Everyone of her acquaintance attended.

  She heard the door open and turned. Perth stood in the doorway, looking as though he had not kept her awake most of the night, looking as though nothing had happened between them.

  She forced herself to take a sip of the tea she had prepared along with a slice of toast. ‘What do you want?’

  She kept her voice flat and hoped he would leave without saying anything. She did not think she could bear to hear anything he might say to her after what they had done.

  He remained where he was, his stance easy. He wore a green jacket over a shirt that was open at the neck. Buckskin breeches accentuated the muscles in his thighs, thighs that had rippled under her fingers just hours before. She shook her head.

  ‘I want to marry you.’

  She dropped the cup. The fragile china shattered, sending tea splattering. She knew the hot liquid hit her hand, but it did not hurt. Nothing could hurt like the words he had just spoken. He only wanted to marry her to possess her, to continue his revenge by breaking her heart. He did not love her.

  ‘Marry you?’ She put her palms on the table and pushed herself into a standing position. ‘After what you have done? Never.’

  A stillness came over him. If she did not know just how little she really meant to him, she would have thought that her words pained him.

  ‘What other choice do you have?’

  She blanched before anger came to her rescue. ‘I am a widow. I have any choice I choose to make.’

  His mouth curled. ‘What if word of this spreads? I have done everything I can to prevent that, but you may after all have to doubt your servant.’

  Her anger turned bitter. ‘Nor did you do anything to disguise the fact that you were a nobleman abducting me.’

  ‘True. I intended to marry you when we were through.’

  ‘When we were through?’ she asked, incredulous at his assumption. ‘You thought I would marry you after what you have done? Dragged me here with no consideration for my wishes, my needs. You are more arrogant than I thought.’

  He shrugged and moved into the room, closing the door behind himself. ‘What if you have a child from this? Have you considered that possibility?’

  Because she had not, the question set her back. She sank to the chair with a thud. A cold lump settled in her throat, but she met his look squarely.

  ‘After nine years of marriage and no children, I don’t think I need worry about that. And if I do, then it will be my problem.’

  Fury twisted his face. He lunged forward and caught her shoulders with his hands before she realised what he was doing.

  ‘You will not. Should you bear a child, it will be mine as well as yours. I will have as much to say about what happens to it as you do.’

  She stared up at him, surprised by his vehemence but determined that she would do as she felt best. ‘You say that now, but we will not be wed. You will not even know should that come to pass.’

  He shook her, not hard, but enough that she knew her words had increased his anger. ‘I will know.’

  They stayed like that for long minutes, eyes locked, mouths hard lines of stubborn rejection. Her heart beat painfully and she could see his scar whiten until it stood out harshly on his cheek. Meeting him glare for glare after what they had just said was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

  After an eternity, his hands fell away and he stepped back. ‘I will have a carriage pick you up in one hour. It will be a hired one from the nearby village. It will take you wherever you want and no one need know you have even been here.’

  ‘Like that?’ she asked, taken aback by his abrupt change of focus. ‘You are freeing me without another word?’

  He nodded. ‘If you will not marry me, then there is no more need for you to stay under my roof.’

  Her mouth was dry and a lump had lodged in her throat, making breathing difficult. This was what she had wanted, her freedom. But this suddenly, this abruptly, after being asked to marry him and talking of a child that she knew would never exist, made her head spin.

  Dazed, she watched h
im leave, his boots cracking against the wooded floor. The door slammed behind him. Silence reverberated through the room. She slumped into her chair.

  He had asked her to marry him, and she had told him no.

  Her hands shook when she tried to pour herself more tea. Somehow she managed to get cream and sugar in the cup and got the drink to her lips. The scalding heat helped ease some of the ice that seemed lodged in her chest. A tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.

  If only he had spoken of love.

  Exactly one hour later, Perth caught her hand, knowing she did not want him to touch her and unwilling to do as she wanted. He helped her into the rented carriage where she sat with ill grace. He leaned in so that whatever he said to her would not be overheard by the hired driver.

  She tugged, trying to free her hand from his. He tightened his grip. ‘Look at me, Lillith,’ he demanded, angered by her determination to ignore him.

  ‘Why should I do that?’ she demanded. ‘You will only use it to say something I don’t want to hear or to take liberties I don’t want to give.’

  She was leaving him and the pain of that loss strengthened his resolve. ‘I do what I must.’ He caught her chin with his free hand and turned her face to his. ‘I have treated you abominably, but I have also given you pleasure. Things would not be easy between us, but I believe we could make a go of marriage.’

  She glared at him. ‘I have had one marriage of convenience, I will not willingly enter another.’

  His pulse quickened. ‘So you want a love match.’ Something tightened his chest and twisted his gut. She had hurt him too much, he would never give her that power over him again even if it meant losing her. ‘Then you had best be on your way, Lady de Lisle, for I have no intention of marrying anyone for love. Lust, yes. Mutual satisfaction, absolutely. Love, never. I suffered from that malady once and have vowed never to do so again.’

  Still, determined as he was to keep her from his heart, he could not resist the closeness of her. Her scent invaded his mind and the thought of making love to her very nearly had him climbing in the carriage and shutting out the world.