The Right Kind of Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  “That’s just it,” Hart replied. “She wasn’t supposed to be my wife.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Norcross replied. “You spent a great deal of time with her this Season.”

  “I was doing her a favor and—”

  “And you merely happened to be compromising her in the Duchess of Claringdon’s garden? Was that a favor as well?” Wenterley snorted. The other two laughed.

  Hart snapped his mouth shut. When his friends put it like that … he seemed less … right about the whole thing. “My sister and the duchess were in on it, too. They sent me out there knowing she would be there and knowing—”

  “Knowing you’d compromise her?” Wenterley blinked at him innocently.

  Hart wanted to punch bloody Wenterley. Why did the viscount always have to be right? Damned annoying trait.

  “What does it matter?” Norcross asked. “You needed to get married, didn’t you? You told us you liked her. Why not marry her?”

  “She planned it,” Hart said.

  “Marriages are often planned,” Norcross replied.

  Hart slapped his hand on the table, making the glasses bounce. “It was a scheme. She doesn’t have a dowry.”

  “What do you care if she doesn’t have a dowry?” Harlborough replied. “You and your father have more money than the pope. Besides, I’ve never known you to shy away from doing something that would give your father a fit.”

  Hart didn’t have time to respond before Wenterley said, “I’m more interested in the seductress part. What did you mean when you called her a ‘scheming seductress’?”

  “She’s been trying to lure me into bed,” Hart ground out, feeling like an utter fool.

  “What in the devil’s name are you talking about, Highgate?” Norcross’s face had turned a reddish-purple color. The earl looked nearly apoplectic.

  “I mean I vowed not to touch her after our wedding,” Hart mumbled, feeling like a damn fool.

  “Have you lost the bit of your bloody mind you had left after all the drinking you’ve done, Highgate?” Harlborough wore a horrified expression.

  Hart slammed his fist on the table again. “Damn it. You don’t understand—”

  “Do I understand that your gorgeous wife is trying to seduce you and you’re not taking her up on the offer?” Harlborough shook his head in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Hart ground out, crossing his arms across his chest and giving all three of his friends a condemning glare.

  “Then I also understand you’re a bloody fool,” Harlborough added.

  Hart tossed back his drink in one gulp. Blast.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  That night, Hart came home at a decent hour. He’d imbibed several more drinks at the club but had quite appallingly sobered up by the end of the evening. He’d told his friends in no uncertain terms that he no longer wanted to speak about his new wife or his new marriage, but that hadn’t stopped the chaps from giving him digs throughout the evening.

  They’d finally told him he needed to go home and make love to his beautiful new wife. While he hadn’t agreed to any such thing, he had ordered his coach to go straight home.

  As soon as he entered his bedchamber, he dismissed his valet and ripped off his clothing. Was he in the wrong? No, by God, he wasn’t. Meg had schemed. She had plotted with her friends. Sarah admitted it. Meg was no better than Annabelle. Bloody hell. He may have given Meg the damn idea.

  On the other hand, she insisted she hadn’t been trying to trap him and he’d refused to listen. He’d known he was being an ass, but she deserved his anger. Didn’t she? Damn. None of it made sense any longer. Meg probably wouldn’t be coming back in here, not after he’d refused her so many times.

  Would he refuse her again? Should he refuse her again? He didn’t know anymore. If she didn’t come, would he go to her, demand his husbandly rights? No. He’d feel like an even bigger arse. Bloody hell! What if his blasted friends were right?

  On the other hand, what if his father was right? His father had told him how his own mother had schemed to wring an offer of marriage from the earl. His father had fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love with her, but she’d been unfaithful to him throughout their marriage. Hart had heard about it often enough.

  “Never give a woman your heart,” the earl had repeated to his son on countless occasions. “She’ll crush it in her palm.”

  Hadn’t Hart watched his father give his mother jewels, gowns, expensive coaches, all to be rebuffed and ignored? His father had stayed home night after night while his mother went out to pursue her friends and her amusements. The details were kept hidden from Sarah, but Hart knew.

  Hart had sat in his father’s study with him many a night, knowing his mother had never come home from the ball she’d attended. For years, he’d listened as his father poured out his heart and tried to find solace at the bottom of a brandy glass. Finally, his father had stopped trying and had gone out to find his own amusements.

  His parents treated each other like strangers. Hart refused to have a marriage like that. If he kept the upper hand with Meg, he wouldn’t suffer like his father. He would never have his heart crushed.

  Hart almost didn’t hear the tentative knock. He sat in silence. She didn’t open the door. She was waiting for his approval. “Come in,” he intoned.

  When she entered the room he was standing near the bed wearing only his breeches, just as he had been the other night.

  She wore her diaphanous blue dressing gown again. If he didn’t mistake his guess, this time she was … completely nude underneath. He couldn’t swallow. His mouth was so dry it hurt.

  “Not such a late night tonight?” she asked in a voice as smooth as glass.

  “No,” he mumbled like an idiot.

  “Dare I hope it’s because you wanted to come home to me?”

  He wanted to say no, prompted himself to, but he couldn’t make the word move past the lump in his throat, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her glorious body outlined by the firelight.

  She untied her dressing gown quickly, pushed the material off her shoulders, and let it drop. She stood naked in front of him. Hart’s eyes flared and he sucked in his breath. Of all things, he hadn’t expected this. His body instantly reacted, hardening.

  “Damn it, Meg. What do you think you’re doing?” He tried to look away but couldn’t force himself to.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to seduce you.”

  “Why?” His breathing was ragged.

  Meg took a deep breath. “This is it, Hart. This is the last chance. I offer myself to you willingly tonight. If you refuse me again, I’ll leave and not return. I refuse to beg you.”

  Hart fought an internal war. Fought it and lost it. When he raised his eyes to hers, he knew that he’d been bested. “You don’t have to beg.”

  He took two long strides and she was in his arms. His bare arms swept around her body, pulling her close, crushing her naked breasts against his bare chest. She moved up on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His mouth ravaged hers, his tongue pushing against her lips until she opened for him. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck. His lips began to move down the slim column of her throat. He nipped at her collarbone. “God, Meg, I—”

  “No,” she whispered. “No more talking. Only this.”

  He scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the doorway to her bed, where he laid her down gently. “You are beautiful.” He stood up and drank in her body with his eyes while he divested himself of his breeches.

  He would make love to her and not give her his heart. He did need an heir. He’d been foolish denying himself one. She could busy herself taking care of the houses and the children and he could avail himself of her gorgeous body once in a while. That didn’t mean he’d give her his heart. That didn’t mean he loved her. Yes, he could do this. He was a master, a rogue. This was only sex.

  * * *

  Once Hart was completely naked also, he slowly lowered himself
down to the bed. Meg’s eyes scoured over him.

  “You’re … perfect,” she whispered, watching him intently. His body looked as if a sculptor had carved it out of stone. His sinewy neck, wide shoulders, taut chest, and flat abdomen tapered into narrow hips and long legs. He was ready for her. Sarah had explained enough about it that Meg knew that much. Lucy had explained something else Meg couldn’t contemplate lest she blush from head to toe. There would be time for that later. For now she had the distinct impression that Sarah had been right. Her husband knew precisely what he was doing in bed and he was about to show her.

  He moved atop her and there was the strange sensation of a male body pressed against hers, all sinewy and hairy and hard and hot and heavy. He kissed her neck again and she thought she might go half mad with longing. He moved down her body and cupped one of her breasts in his palm. His mouth came down to meet his hand and he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Meg gasped. She arched her back to meet his lips, her nipple an aching tight point as he laved it. She clasped the back of his head, letting his soft dark hair filter through her fingers.

  “Hart,” she whispered, her head tossing fitfully against the pillow. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth and sucked it hard. She closed her eyes, awash in a tide of sensations she’d never experienced before. His hand moved down between her legs and lightly traced the outline of her most intimate spot. One of his long fingers slid between her cleft and stroked the soft, wet skin there. The sensation overwhelmed her. She twisted her hips away.

  “No,” he said. “Let me touch you, Sweet. Relax.”

  Relax? How was she supposed to relax when he was doing things to her body that made her tighter than a bow? She closed her eyes and his finger slid inside her. She cried out and arched up.

  “Hart,” she called. He kissed her to absorb the sound. His finger began to move inside of her and she forgot everything else. She forgot her shyness and her embarrassment and her uncertainty as a wave of pleasure rode through her. He eased his finger out and with the tip he circled a spot so perfect she cried out again. Her feet tensed and her back arched. She tried to sit up. “Hart, I can’t—”

  “Shh,” he whispered in her ear, sending goose bumps skittering along her skin. “Yes, you can. Let me touch you. I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

  Worth it? Was he mad? It was already worth it. She never wanted him to stop touching her, but could she handle any more? She was on fire. He kept circling the spot with his finger until she dug her fingernails into his back, until her feet pushed against the mattress, until her knees squeezed his hips, until she called his name and exploded in a shower of light and feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  When Meg floated down from of the haze he’d shot her into, she opened her eyes and blinked. Suddenly shy, she gave him a tentative smile and pulled up the sheets to cover her breasts. “I had no idea you could do that. If I’d known, I would have demanded my marital rights on our wedding night.”

  He gave her a boyishly handsome grin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He nudged his forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Enjoy is not the correct term. I’ve been told how to do some awfully scandalous things but I had no idea that—”

  He shot up onto an elbow. “What sorts of things?”

  Meg darted her nose under the sheet and blinked at him. “Nothing.”

  “No, you said you’ve been told how to do some scandalous things. Like what?” His grin was roguish.

  Meg pulled the sheet back down to her chest and bit her lip. “My friends and I were discussing seduction.”

  Hart traced the outline of her ear with his finger. He bent to trace his tongue along the same path. Meg shuddered. “I gather. What did they tell you?”

  “I can’t say it.” She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow. “I’d die of embarrassment.”

  “Very well, what if I lie here and you do it then?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  Meg turned her head to allow one eye to peek out from beneath the sheet. She nodded.

  Hart flipped onto his back and crossed his arms beneath his head, his naked body open to her. Meg regarded him. The man was a work of art. Even his knees and calves were manly. She traced her finger along the inside of his thigh and he flinched. Drunk with the knowledge that he reacted to her touch that way, she moved her hand to the juncture between his thighs and wrapped her fingers around his length.

  * * *

  The moment Meg’s hand touched him, Hart groaned. She’d surprised him, his innocent wife. He was eager to see what she’d learned from her married friends. He wanted her so badly he thought he might explode. Her eyes explored his body, and he reveled in it. He was young and fit and had never been more pleased to display his assets.

  She’d come apart in his arms and it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, giving her an orgasm while she was still innocent. He hadn’t done that with a woman in ages, but with Meg he felt like a lad again. It was almost as if it was the first time he’d been touched or touched a woman. Such a different experience than he was accustomed to.

  How did Meg manage to make everything feel fresh and new? When his beautiful innocent wife wrapped her delicate fingers around his cock, he nearly exploded with desire. When his beautiful innocent wife lowered her sweet, pink lips to his cock, he was certain he would go up in flames. She kissed the tip and stopped. For a moment he thought she would stop there, and he nearly sobbed. But then the slightest hint of wetness flickered across the tip. She’d licked him. She was using her tongue. Sweet Jesus. Her lips opened over him and she sucked the tip, hard. Hart dug his fingers into the sheets, nearly ripping them. “Jesus Christ.” His voice was a harsh whisper.

  “Is this too much?” came Meg’s sweet tone. Her breath was a hot puff against his cock. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “On the contrary,” he managed to pant. “Please don’t stop.” His voice was a husky rush of air.

  Her mouth descended once more and this time she slid him into her throat. Hart pushed himself up on his elbows to get a better look. He’d had whores who hadn’t been this damn good.

  Her mouth worked over him and her soft pink tongue rubbed him as she moved up and down his throbbing length. He tried to regulate his breathing, to keep from spilling his seed inside her mouth. If they were going to consummate their marriage tonight, by God he wanted to do it right. He wouldn’t be able to if he allowed this to continue for much longer.

  Wives did this sort of thing? “Meg, where did you … How did you…?” Did it even bloody matter where she’d learned how to do this? He didn’t care. Definitely didn’t care.

  Meg’s mouth came off him with a sucking sound. Her cheeks were pink.

  Hart panted. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He groaned again as his wife’s mouth covered him once more. As much as he was loath to, he had to put a stop to this. He wanted to make love to her. This was not helping.

  He cupped her shoulders and gently pulled her up on top of him. He kissed her again. His mouth ravaged hers. She kissed him back with fiery passion. He rolled her over so he was on top of her. “Meg,” he said. “I’ll try my best not to hurt you, but I’m told it … I understand it can be…”

  “Sarah told me.” Meg looked at him with those unfathomable pools of green she had for eyes.

  Hart gathered every bit of patience he’d ever had and every ounce of finesse he possessed. He wouldn’t allow her first time to be uncomfortable.

  He leaned down and kissed Meg. He played with her nipples, sucked them, stroked them. He slipped a finger inside her again and circled that same spot she responded to. He didn’t stop until her legs thrashed and her head moved fitfully on the pillow. Then he pressed her thighs wide with his and slowly, more slowly than he’d ever moved in his life, slid inside of her. He pressed himself in bit by bit, higher and higher until finally he was in to the hilt. He stared down at his wife, whose eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He didn’t
want to laugh at a time like this, but she was adorable. Doing his best not to move while her body adjusted to his, he memorized the freckles along the bridge of her nose.

  “Meg,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

  She gasped for air but kept her eyes screwed shut. “Yes, I’ll be all right. Please tell me when to expect the pain.”

  He buried his face in her neck to keep from laughing. “The, ahem, painful part is over.”

  “What?” Her face exploded in ecstasy as Hart moved inside her for the first time. He pulled out a small bit and slid back in.

  Meg moaned. “Oh.”

  He pulled out again, farther this time, and slid back in. “My,” Meg groaned.

  The third time he pulled out nearly all the way and slid back in ever so slowly.

  “God,” Meg cried.

  Hart bit his lip, sweating with the effort of control. He wanted this to be the most unforgettable night of her life, and he would make it good for her if it was the last thing he did. How he’d kept from coming already was a bloody miracle. She was so tight and wet and felt so good and was so responsive. When he remembered how she’d sucked his cock … that wasn’t helping.

  He buried his face in her neck. Passionflower. God how he loved the scent of passionflower. It drove him mad. He pumped into her again and again, trying to ignore the soft cries that came from her lips every time he moved. He reached down between them and touched the spot he knew she needed. Forcing himself to stop moving inside her, he circled her again and again as Meg’s body thrashed beneath his.

  She moved up and down beneath him, forcing him to pump into her. He groaned and steeled himself against the thrumming in his balls that told him he was about to come. She had to come first. Had to. He flicked his finger back and forth on the nub of soft flesh. Sweat beaded on his brow and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard. She tensed against him, her nails carving into his shoulder blades. She cried his name against his cheek as Hart pushed one last time, allowing his seed to spill inside her.