Rakes Vow c-2

by Stephanie Laurens

  Feeling the touch of cooler air below her throat, Patience looked down. And saw Vane's fingers quickly, deliberately, slipping free the tiny buttons down the front of her nightgown. She studied the sight for an instant, aware of the throbbing in her blood, of the beat that seemed to vibrate about them. As his fingers passed the point between her breasts, and moved lower, she drew in a shuddering breath.

  And closed her eyes. "I won't be your whore."

  Vane heard the tremor in her voice. He regretted the word, but… He glanced at her face, then looked down, watching the small white buttons slide between his fingers, watching the halves of her nightgown slowly open, revealing her soft, sumptuous body.

  "I asked you to be my wife, you offered to be my lover. I still want you as my wife." Her eyes flew open. He met her gaze, his face set, etched with passion, hard with determination. "But if I can't have you as my wife, then I'll have you as my lover." Forever, if need be.

  Her gown was open to her waist. He slid one hand inside, palm sliding possessively around her hip, fingers sinking into soft flesh as he drew her to him. He took her lips, her mouth-a second later, he felt the shudder that passed through her, her achingly sweet surrender.

  He felt her fingers at his nape; they slid into his hair. Her lips were soft, pliant, eager to appease-he feasted, on them, on her mouth, on the warmth she so freely offered. She pressed herself to him. Inside her gown, he slid his hand down her back, to stroke, then cup the smooth swell of her bottom. The lower half of her gown was still fastened, restricting his reach; withdrawing his hand, Vane drew back from their kiss.

  Patience blinked dazedly. He caught her hand and towed her the few steps to the chair. He sat, then caught her other hand, too, and drew her to stand between his knees. She watched, her breathing ragged, as he quickly unfastened the rest of her gown.

  Then the two halves fell free. Slowly, almost reverently, Vane reached up and parted the gown fully, pushing it back to bare her rounded shoulders. To bare her entirely to his gaze. Chest tightening, groin aching, he looked his fill. Her body glowed ivory in the moonlight, her breasts proud mounds tipped with rose pink buds, her waist narrow, indented, the swell of her hips smooth as silk. Her belly was gently rounded, tapering to the fine thatch of bronzy curls at the apex of her thighs. Long, sleek thighs that had already clasped him once.

  Vane drew a shuddering breath and reached for her.

  His burning palms sliding over her back, urging her forward, broke the spell that had held Patience. On a gasp, she let him draw her near; she had to grasp his shoulders to steady herself. He looked up, the invitation in his eyes very clear. Patience bent her head and kissed him, longingly, openly, giving all she had to give.

  She was his-she knew it. There was no reason she couldn't indulge him, and herself, in this way. No reason she couldn't let her body say what she would never say in words.

  After a long, lengthy, satisfying kiss, his lips slid from hers to trace the curve of her throat, to heat the blood pulsing just under her skin. Patience tipped her head back to give him better access; her fingers sank into his shoulders, his tightened about her waist as he took full advantage. He held her steady as his lips drifted lower, over the ripening swells of her breasts. She drew a deep breath, murmuring appreciatively when the movement pressed her flesh more firmly to his lips.

  Her murmur ended on a gasp as his teeth grazed one tightly furled nipple, then he took it into his mouth, and she felt her bones melt. One of her hands slid from shoulder to nape, then her fingers slid higher, to convulsively clutch his head as he laved her breasts, teasing the now aching peaks, soothing one moment, then tantalizing the next, easing her back one minute, then whipping her to an excruciating peak of feeling.

  Her breathing was desperate long before his mouth moved on, lower, to explore the tender hollows of her waist, to feast on the sensitive cusp of her belly. His hands, palms hot and hard, fastened about her hips, supporting her. Then his tongue, hot and slick, probed her navel-the ragged hiss of her breathing fractured.

  As his tongue delved, the rhythm evocatively familiar, she swayed and gasped his name. He didn't answer. Instead, he trailed lingering hot kisses down her quivering belly. And into the soft curls at its base.

  "Vane!"

  Her shocked protest carried little conviction; by the time it passed her lips, she was already arching, straining up on her toes, knees parting, limbs pliant, hips tilting as she instinctively offered herself for the next heated caress.

  It came-a kiss so intimate she could barely cope with the shattering sensation. He followed it with more, not ruthless but relentless, not forceful but insistent. Then his tongue slid between his lips, and between hers.

  For one, crystal moment, Patience was sure he'd pushed her too far and she would die-die of the glory sizzling down her nerves, of the distilled excitement searing every vein. It was too much-at the very least, she'd lose her wits.

  His tongue slid lazily across her throbbing flesh-and high became higher, tight became tighter. Hot as a brand, it flicked and swirled, dipped and delved-and her limbs liquefied. Heat soared and roared through her.

  She didn't die, and she didn't crumple to the ground in a witless heap. Instead, she clutched him to her, and lost any hope of pretending the truth was not real-that she wouldn't be his, be anything he wished.

  He filled his palms with her, cupped her and supported her, held her steady as he tasted her. Explored her with his tongue, teased and tantalized her until she was sobbing.

  Sobbing with urgency, moaning with need.

  He was hungry-she let him feast; he was thirsty-she urged him to drink. Whatever he asked, she gave, even if he used no words, and she had only instinct to guide her. He took all she offered, and confidently opened further doors, walking in and claiming all as his unquestionable right. He kept her there, his, undeniably his, in a dizzying world of bright sensation, of nerve-tingling realization, of soul-stealing intimacy.

  Fingers clenched in his hair, eyes closed, glory exploding, a golden haze on the inside of her lids, Patience shuddered and surrendered-to the welling heat, to the beckoning culmination.

  With one last, lingering lick, savoring the tart taste of her, the indescribably erotic tang of her sinking to his bones, Vane drew back. One hand beneath the full swell of her bottom, and her convulsive grasp on his hair kept Patience upright. His gaze roaming her flushed face, he flicked the two buttons that closed his trousers undone.

  She was already high, floating, pleasured to her toes; he had every intention of pleasuring her more.

  It was the work of an experienced minute to ready himself, then he elapsed her thighs and urged her knees onto the chair, sliding along on either side of his hips. The chair was an old one, low, deep and comfortable-made for just this.

  Dazed, she followed his unspoken instructions, clearly unsure but eager to learn. He knew her body was ready-achingly empty, yearning for him to fill her. As her thighs slid past his hips, he grasped hers and drew her to him, then drew her down.

  He sank into her-and saw her eyes close, lids falling as her breath expelled in a soft, long-drawn sigh. Her body stretched, her softness accommodating his hardness. Then she shifted, pressing deeper, to take more of him, to impale herself more completely.

  For one fractured instant, he thought he'd lose his mind.

  Certainly all control. He didn't, but it was a grim fight he waged with his demons, slavering to have her, to ravish her utterly. He beat them back, held them back-and set himself to giving her… everything he could.

  He lifted her, then lowered her; she quickly caught the rhythm, quickly realized she could move herself. He eased his hold on her hips, let her have the illusion of setting the pace; in reality, he never let go, but counted every stroke, gauged the depth of every easy penetration.

  It was a magical ride, timeless, without restraint. Using every ounce of his expertise, he created a sensual landscape for her, conjuring it out of her needs, her senses, so that all
she felt, all she experienced was part of the staggering whole. His own needs he held back, his demons' cravings, allowing them only the sensations he felt as, rigid, engorged, giddy with passion, drunk on the lingering taste of her, he sank into her cloying heat, and felt her welcoming embrace.

  He gave her that-unalloyed sensual joy, pleasured delight beyond description; under his subtle guidance, she gasped, swayed and panted as he filled her, thrilled her, pleasured her to oblivion. He gave her all, and more-he gave her himself.

  Only when she started up the last stair, the last flight to heaven, did he loosen his reins and follow in her wake. He'd done everything he could to bind her to him with passion. At the end, as they gasped and clung and the beauty swept over them, through them, and between them, he let go and savored, in his marrow, in the deepest recesses of his heart, in the farthest corners of his being, the glory he intended to capture for all time.

  Chapter 14

  A deep, regular vibration woke Vane in the eerie hour before dawn. Blinking his eyes wide, struggling to make out shapes in the dim light, it was a full minute before he realized the vibration was emanating from the warm weight in the center of his chest.

  Myst lay curled in the hollow just below his breastbone, looking at his face through unblinking blue eyes.

  And purring fit to wake the dead.

  Another source of warmth, the soft female body curled against his side, registered. Vane glanced sideways. Patience was clearly accustomed to Myst's roar of a purr-she remained dead to the world.

  He couldn't stop the grin that curved his lips. Just as well she was asleep. Despite the ups and downs of yesterday, especially the downs, the ups, particularly the last up, dominated his mind.

  Coming straight back and making passionate love to her had been the right tack to take. Masterful, yet not forceful. If he pushed too hard, she would dig in her heels and resist-and he'd never learn what it was that was holding her back from marriage.

  This way, he could indulge his senses, slake his demons' urges, and wrap her in a sensual web that, regardless of what she might imagine, was quite as strong as the web she'd dready woven, albeit unwittingly, about him. And in between tying knot after knot in the net that would bind her to him, he would, gently, carefully, win her confidence, her trust, and she would, in the end, confide in him.

  Then it would simply be a matter of slaying her particular dragon, and carrying her off. Simple.

  Vane's grin turned wry. He struggled to subdue his cynical laugh. Myst did not appreciate his quaking chest; she dug in her claws, which abruptly cut off his laughter. He frowned at her, but, given her sterling assistance in the night, did not push her from her comfortable perch.

  Aside from anything else, he was feeling decidedly comfortable-sunk in a warm bed with the lady he wanted as his wife softly sleeping beside him. At this precise moment, he couldn't think of anything else he wanted in the world; this haven was complete. Last night he'd confirmed, beyond all shadow of doubt, that Patience loved him. She might not know it-or she might, but be unwilling to admit it, even to herself. He didn't know which, but he knew the truth.

  A lady like her could not give herself to him, take him into her body and love him as she had, if she didn't, truly, in her heart care for him. It needed more than curiosity, more than lust, or even trust, for a woman to give herself completely, utterly, as Patience did every time she gave herself to him.

  That degree of selfless giving sprang from love and nothing else.

  He'd had too many women not to know the difference, not to sense it and value it as a gift beyond price. How much Patience understood of it he didn't know, but the longer their association persisted, the more accustomed to it she would become.

  Which seemed eminently desirable to him.

  Vane smiled, devilishly, at Myst.

  Who yawned and flexed her claws.

  Vane hissed. Myst stood, stretched, then regally stepped off him and padded to the end of the bed. Pausing, she turned and stared back at him.

  Frowning, Vane stared back-but the cat's action raised the question of "what next?" in his mind.

  His body replied instantly, with an entirely predictable suggestion; he considered it, but rejected it. Henceforth, as far as he was concerned, Patience was his-his to care for, his to protect. At this juncture, protecting her meant preserving appearances. It would never do for some maid to stumble in and discover them, limbs entwined.

  Grimacing, Vane edged to his side. Patience lay sunk in down, deeply asleep. He stared at her face, drank in her beauty, breathed in her warmth; he raised a hand to brush aside a curl-and stopped. If he touched her, she might wake-and he might not be able to leave. He stifled a sigh.

  Silently, he slipped from her bed.

  Before going down to breakfast, Vane detoured by Minnie's rooms. Her surprise at seeing him was written all over her face. Speculation filled her eyes. Before she could start in on him, he nonchalantly stated: "Halfway down, I realized that my London appointment was of far less moment than my obligations here. So I came back."

  Minnie opened her old eyes wide. "Indeed?"

  "Indeed." Vane saw Minnie exchange a laden glance with Timms-who'd clearly been informed of his departure. Knowing from experience the tortures they could put him to, he nodded curtly to them both. "So I'll leave you to your breakfasts, and go and find mine."

  He got himself out of Minnie's room before they could recover and start to tease him.

  He entered the breakfast parlor to the usual nods and greetings. The gentlemen of the household were all present; Patience was not. Suppressing a smug grin, Vane helped himself from the sideboard, then took his seat.

  The glow that had suffused him since the early hours had yet to leave him; he responded to Edmond's variation on his latest scene with an easy smile and a few perfectly serious suggestions, which caused Edmond to depart in a rush, revived and eager to serve his demanding muse.

  Vane turned to Gerrard. Who grinned.

  "I'm determined to start a new sketch today. There's a particular view of the ruins, taking in the remains of the abbot's lodge, that I've always wanted to draw. The light's rarely good in that quarter, but it will be this morning." He drained his coffee cup. "I should get the essentials down by lunchtime. How about a ride this afternoon?"

  "By all means." Vane returned Gerrard's grin. "You shouldn't spend all your days squinting at rocks."

  "What I've always told him," humphed the General as he stumped out.

  Gerrard pushed back his chair and followed the General. Which left Vane gazing at Edgar's mild profile.

  "Which Bellamy are you currently researching?" Vane inquired.

  Whitticombe's contemptuous sniff was clearly audible. He pushed aside his plate and rose. Vane's smile deepened. He raised his brows encouragingly at Edgar.

  Edgar slid a careful glance at Whitticombe. Only when his archrival had passed through the door did he turn back to Vane. "Actually," Edgar confessed, "I've started on the last bishop. He was one of the family, you know."

  "Indeed?"

  Henry looked up. "I say-was this place-the abbey, I mean-as important as Colby makes out?"

  "Well…" Edgar proceeded to give them a neat picture of Coldchurch Abbey in the years immediately preceding the Dissolution. His dissertation was refreshingly short and succinct; both Vane and Henry were sincerely impressed.

  "And now I'd better get back to it." With a smile, Edgar left the table.

  Leaving Vane and Henry. By the time Patience arrived, in a frantic froth of skirts, Vane's mellow mood had stretched to granting Henry his long-sought return match over the billiard table. Happy as a lark, Henry stood, and smiled at Patience. "Best go look in on Mama." With a nod to Vane, he ambled off.

  Thoroughly enamored-softened by his mood and this unexpected consequence-Vane subsided into his chair, angling it so he could gaze unimpeded at Patience as she helped herself from the sideboard, then came to the table. She took her usual seat, separated from hi
s by Gerrard's vacant place. With a brief smile and a warning look, she applied herself to her breakfast. To the large mound she'd heaped on her plate.

  Vane eyed it, straightfaced, then lifted his gaze to her face. "Something must have agreed with you-your appetite's certainly improved."

  Patience's fork froze in midair; she glanced down at her plate. Then she shrugged, ate the portion on her fork, then calmly looked at him. "I vaguely remember being excessively hot." She raised her brows, then looked back at her plate. "Quite feverish, in fact. I do hope it isn't catching." She forked up another mouthful, then slanted him a glance. "Did you pass a quiet night?"

  Masters and his minions were hovering-well within earshot-waiting to clear the table.

  "Actually, no." Vane met Patience's gaze. Memory had him shifting in his chair. "Whatever had you in its grip must have disturbed me, too-I suspect the malady might last for some time."

  "How… distracting," Patience managed.

  "Indeed," Vane returned, warming to his theme. "There were moments when I felt enclosed in damp hotness."

  A blush spread over Patience's cheeks; Vane knew it extended to the tips of her breasts.

  "How odd," she countered. She picked up her teacup and sipped. "To me, it felt like heat exploding inside."

  Vane stiffened-further; he fought to avoid a telltale shuffle in his seat.

  Setting down her cup, Patience pushed aside her plate. "Luckily, the affliction had vanished by morning."

  They stood. Patience strolled to the door; Vane sauntered beside her. "Perhaps," he murmured as they passed into the front hall, his voice low, for her ears alone. "But I suspect you'll find your affliction will return tonight." She cast a half-wary, half-scandalized glance at his face; he smiled, all teeth. "Who knows? You might find yourself even more heated."

  For one instant, she looked… intrigued. Then haughty dignity came to her aid. Coolly, she inclined her head. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and practice my scales."

  Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Vane watched as she glided across the hall-watched her hips sway with their usual unrestrained license; he couldn't quite stifle his wolfish grin. He was contemplating following-and trying his hand at disrupting her scales-when a footman came hurrying down the stairs.