Nothing But a Rakehell (A Series of Unconventional Courtships Book 2)

by Deb Marlowe

  “Well, except for the bond of friendship,” she clarified. “I truly believe you could use another friend in your life, Keswick. I’ve seen you. You are too often alone. Even when you are in a crowd, you are alone. Perhaps, especially in a crowd.”

  The distress in his spine put out feelers and began to invade his gut. Hell and damnation. She truly did see, more than he could be easy with.

  “You need another friend. Someone you can rely on and talk honestly with. Someone with a feminine point of view. Someone who will tell you the truth, even when you don’t wish to hear it. Someone you can trust.”

  “Trust cannot be had just for the asking,” he objected.

  She nodded. “I know. But we’ve a good foundation already, do we not? We can talk and laugh together. You’ve come to my aid and I’ve come to yours. I believe that we are friends already—and that I have more to offer in such a role.”

  “It’s what I think you are offering that is worrying me.”

  She flushed and his dread flared higher. And so did the roiling heat and the damned longing that he kept trying to stuff back in the hole where it belonged.

  “I don’t think you will object so very much to my request.”

  Oh, he was in trouble. So much trouble.

  “No.” He turned to go.

  “Keswick, stop! At least hear me out.”

  He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see her pink blushes or the plea in her amber eyes, or recall the feel of her lips under his or the beat of her heart beneath his hand.

  He kept going.

  “Stop, damn you!” she called. “It isn’t fair! I want to know!”

  He paused. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Know what?” he asked over his shoulder.

  She slumped back against the tree. “I saw what happened earlier.” She glanced away. “I saw Lycett and his friend. They were watching me. Discussing me. And you were near enough to hear. I saw your anger.” She sighed. “I know they weren’t saying anything kind. I tried to tell you. Most men are just not willing to take on someone . . . damaged.”

  He turned back. He had to. But he kept his distance. “Not all men are such idiots. There will be someone, someday, who sees all of the glory of you.”

  It was small, but it was a smile, and it made his neck prickle the way it did when he sensed a footpad following him in the streets.

  Danger.

  “Most of it, I don’t mind,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t want to marry any of these men. I cannot even imagine such a thing. I don’t mourn the idea of a husband, but . . .”

  He took a step back again.

  “I’ve never truly enjoyed the company of a gentleman. Not until you. And I keep thinking about that kiss.”

  Panic ratcheted high. It tightened around his throat so that he couldn’t even croak out a denial.

  “No! Don’t you dare run! I’m not asking for anything beyond friendship, as I said. Except—”

  “Except?” It was the only word that escaped, even though there was a flood of No, Never and Damn it all to Hells behind it.

  “Except—as it becomes clear that I likely will never marry . . . I hate the idea of not knowing . . . what comes after the kissing. It isn’t fair!” She struck the tree. “I want to know what I’m giving up. I despise the idea of being forever left in the dark, of never knowing the true, full extent of . . . the physical side of it all.”

  His heart wanted to explode out of his chest. Every instinct told him to turn and march out of there—but he could not reject her so soundly. Not when she’d been brave enough to make herself so vulnerable.

  “That’s all I’m asking for,” she rushed to reassure him.

  Ha. She had no idea what she was asking. He knew how women worked. How emotions tangled with everything and made the simplest transactions fraught with danger. He didn’t want to hurt her. It was the last thing he would wish. But that kiss had been bad enough. He had finally reached an equilibrium, had carefully shaped his days, his world, so that he would never have to feel . . . wrong. So he wouldn’t have to risk giving away anything and losing everything.

  But if she got her way, he suspected things would get out of control quickly. He couldn’t see either of them getting out unscathed.

  “It’s just . . . lessons. I have a dancing instructor, after all. It would be like that, nothing more. You are an expert, or so I have been assured by all and sundry. You would just . . . instruct me.”

  She turned her liquid, hopeful gaze upon him and waited.

  * * *

  He was going to bolt. She could see it. But he closed his eyes and gathered himself.

  “You honor me,” he said patiently.

  Which of course, made her utterly impatient.

  “Truly. I do understand the sort of trust that such a request requires.”

  He was going to refuse her. She couldn’t let him. She started to move toward him, stepping carefully over the detritus on the forest floor. “Keswick, I do not want this to be yet another thing I am left out of.”

  Some of the granite inflexibility melted from his expression. A very small amount.

  “How? How did you become so brave?” He asked it as she stepped closer. “Where does this tenacity come from?”

  He couldn’t hide the marvel in his tone and it gave her courage.

  “I think I was born with it,” she answered a little breathlessly. “It must have been a blessing.” She had to keep him here, where the quiet was full of quivering expectation. Where desire tinged the air between them.

  “More like a curse.” He said it on a moan, but he didn’t back up when she moved closer.

  Good heavens, but he was warm. She could feel it from here. And see the quick rise and fall of his chest.

  It matched her own.

  Another step. He smelled of crushed bay and the faintest whiff of pipe tobacco. She was so near and he was so large. The expanse of his chest filled her vision—until she looked up at the awe-inspiring angle of his jaw. She placed a finger there and ran it along the edge.

  Smooth. Warm. Not sharp against her skin, like she’d half expected it to be.

  She had to kiss him. Tempt him to stay, to accept her bargain. She had to use the weapons she had. The pulse in the air between them, the tightening of his skin—for surely it was the same for him? The memory of that last kiss, how they had lingered, how they had tasted, together.

  She steeled herself, balanced carefully—

  And he swept down, grabbed her up and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her with lusty demand, even as he scooped her into his arms and carried her back, to the wide elm where she’d stood earlier. He took her around to the other side, still holding her mouth captive, and set her down where they would not be seen, should someone come along the same path.

  He settled her carefully, and after a quick glance to be sure she was steady, he swooped down again, his kiss growing even more ardent. No butterfly kisses this time. He nipped and pressed and coaxed and nibbled until her mouth opened and the kiss deepened.

  His hands were moving on her. Fingers trailed up and along her arms, sending shivers throughout her frame. He caressed the curve of her neck and all of her small hairs stood at attention. A single finger ran along the edge of her bodice.

  He broke the kiss. Stared down at her. She thought he would say something, but he buried his face in her neck instead, spreading hot kisses along her nape. His hand cupped her breast.

  Sweet heaven. Her knees felt weak and she was so glad of the elm’s support. She opened her eyes and stared up through the canopy of leaves and branches—giving thanks for him and for this feeling. She’d known she was right to ask him. He was so good at this—and he made her feel alive. Even better, he made her feel beautiful and desirable and whole.

  The golden fastenings of her overdress gave way beneath his nimble fingers and the two halves sagged away. Now his fingers were busy in the back of her gown. She felt the tapes come undone even as her bodice lo
osened.

  Now there was only her stays and chemise left. He drew back and met her gaze directly as he worked at the laces of the stays. Almost immediately they’d gone loose enough for him to slide his hand in.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  He squeezed her breast and rubbed his palm across her taut nipple. When he pinched it, she gasped. When he rolled it between his fingers, his breath rasped against her ear, and her head fell back. Leaning down, he followed and captured her mouth again.

  The passion, the want, it swept her up. She didn’t recognize her body anymore. It was alight, charged with a desire that arched back and forth between his fingers and her womb.

  “Yes. Feel it,” he ordered. He kissed her fiercely before drawing back. “This is what you were made for, Glory.” He took her hand and pressed it against the engorged length of his cock. “This is what you do to me. It’s a kind of power. It’s yours and you should treasure it.”

  She let her fingers roam and explore the expanse of him. He groaned and pushed into her hold. “You are missing nothing, do you hear me? You are whole. Complete. Utterly lovely. Someday you will wield this power again, on a man who will fall on his knees before you and offer you the world.” He sucked in a breath. “But it will not be me.”

  He let her go and stepped away, but she reached out and grasped his arms. “Why not, Keswick?” she asked desperately. “Why not you?”

  His face had gone bleak. Color and warmth were draining away. “Will you make me say it out loud? Fine, damn you.” He looked away. “Because I have nothing to give. I have a title and an income—and nothing else.” He held a fist to his chest. “Everything that makes a man worthwhile is in here. But I’m just . . . empty. A husk.”

  “No! Keswick—”

  But he’d stilled—and the look of horror blooming over him came not from her words, but from the sound of someone calling her name.

  “Lady Glory?” A moment’s silence, then, “Lord Keswick?”

  “Hurry!” He stepped close again and yanked her stay lacings tight. She pulled up her bodice and while he reached around to fasten her gown, she tried to reconnect the two halves of her overdress.

  “Here. Let me.” He got her fastened and then straightened her skirts.

  “Lady Glory?”

  “It’s Miss Munroe.” She patted her hair. “How do I look?”

  He shook his head and gave a little laugh. “Guilty.”

  She didn’t join in.

  “Come on.” He offered up his hand, but she pushed it away. “We’ll probably get away with this—and that is all the better for you. But let’s go out and meet her.”

  He could smile about it because he thought he’d made his escape. She stepped carefully out from behind the tree and back to the faint path. He was wrong. This was far from over.

  Chapter 10

  It was, indeed, Miss Munroe calling for them. They met her as they made their careful way back out the way they had come. Keswick watched her closely for signs of censure, but saw none. She didn’t appear to be looking for clues as to what they’d been up to. In fact, judging by her darting gaze and wringing hands, he guessed she was caught up in some distress of her own.

  “Oh, there you both are,” she said with relief. “I’m so glad I caught you. I . . . I have something to tell you.” She cast him an uncertain glance. “You, especially, Lord Keswick.”

  He didn’t want to hear it. Now that he knew they were in no danger of being called out for impropriety, his only thought was to escape.

  He needed distance. Space to be alone and think about what had just happened—how she had nearly tempted him into crumbling up and throwing away every foundation stone he’d built his life upon.

  Damn the girl. She was courageous and loyal. Smart. Amusing. And oh, so very tempting. Curse her, she made him want things again, dredged up the old feelings of longing that he’d hacked off and buried long ago.

  But the longing didn’t come alone. It dragged along memories—bad memories of pain and betrayal and the forlorn, certain knowledge of his inadequacies.

  No. That was his past. He might have a future. Perhaps. Someday. But for now, his path led only through this barren wasteland.

  “Can we speak privately?” Miss Munroe asked. “It’s just, we’ve had an unexpected family visit and I wanted to discuss it with you.”

  The wood was thinning. The shore lay just ahead.

  “Would you mind if I returned to my chair, first?” Glory grimaced. “It is set apart from the crowd and should lend us some privacy.”

  “Oh, of course! Your leg must grow tired. All of this activity on top of our dancing this morning. Let’s get you settled.”

  “Dancing?” Keswick asked.

  He caught the warning look Glory shot the girl.

  “It was nothing,” she said quickly. “Just a sort of . . . experiment we’ve been working on.”

  “Be careful through here, Lady Glory.” Miss Munroe stepped closer to her and Keswick fell back, out of the way. “Those boulders must have rolled all the way from the cliff face. There are bits and pieces all along here.”

  Glory slowed her pace. Keswick let the two of them pull ahead. He hoped Miss Munroe would keep her conversation short. He wanted to get away, back to the house. Or perhaps he would take a page from Glory’s book and ride out alone. He peered out, across the stretch of shoreline. Party guests were still scattered along the riverside, but a group had gathered around Tensford at the cliff.

  “My lady! Careful!”

  He snatched his attention back. Glory had stumbled. She teetered, struggling to keep her balance. Miss Munroe had a hold of one of her arms and was trying to pull her upright. She had reached with her other hand and grabbed onto a boulder, her fingers dug into a cleft in the stone.

  He hurried forward and went to support Glory’s other side. “I’ve got her,” he told Miss Munroe. You can let go—”

  Just like that, the stone gave way. Thrown off balance, Miss Munroe cried out and pitched forward. She sent Glory crashing into him. He felt the shifting of the loose gravel beneath his feet and all three of them abruptly went down in a tangle.

  He took the brunt of it, thank God. Glory lay stretched out along his chest and Miss Munroe sprawled across both sets of their legs.

  “Are you all right? Both of you?” He struggled up onto his elbows, sharp stone biting into his skin.

  “I’m fine. I’m so sorry.” Glory sounded mortified.

  “No, no, it was my fault. I had no idea the boulder wouldn’t hold our weight.” Miss Munroe shifted to a sitting position.

  The other guests arrived to assist them. Mr. Lycett helped Miss Munroe to her feet and then Sterne lifted Glory away. Keswick saw Lycett exchange a glance with the friend he’d been gossiping with. He bristled. He would give the man the drubbing he deserved—

  “By God.” Tensford said it in a hushed tone. “By all that is holy.”

  The earl stood behind him. He didn’t take note as Keswick got to his feet and brushed himself off. The chatter of questions and reassurances around them all died away as their host stepped past him, his eyes transfixed, his expression changing from concern to elation.

  “By God,” he repeated. “Keswick! Glory! Miss Munroe!”

  “Yes, yes. We are all fine,” Keswick said irritably. “It was an accident, nothing more.”

  “The most fortunate accident! Look! You’ve done it!”

  He pointed and everyone turned. Keswick started.

  A whole section of rock had peeled away from the boulder. There, highlighted in the newly exposed stone, was a . . . creature. A fish of some sort, easily four feet long. It stood out, clear as day. Scales, fins and all.

  “Are those spines? Or teeth?” someone asked.

  “What is it?” Miss Ruddock breathed.

  “It is a fossil,” Tensford answered.

  “It doesn’t look like the one I found.”

  “No, it does not. Nor does it look like any I have
found.” Joy was growing in Tensford and infusing his voice. “This is a find. A magnificent specimen—just exactly what I’ve been looking for, all of these years!”

  * * *

  Tensford was in alt. Everyone else got caught up in the thrill of the discovery, too. Hope came down from the house, with the rest of the guests who had skipped the outing. Servants brought cold tea and lemonade and biscuits and an impromptu celebration took place, right there at the riverside. Miss Ruddock sketched the scene, and everyone involved in the discovery.

  Except for Keswick, who had disappeared quickly, in the initial frenzy after the revelation. Glory refused to fret over it. She’d spooked him, but she doubted he’d run all the way back to London. He would be back, and she would have to tread carefully. In the meantime, she wanted some answers.

  Mr. Lycett became interested when he heard that the specimen might be worth some significant money. He hung around, asking questions, but he and the other guests quickly lost interest once Tensford and Sterne began the painstaking, slow process of digging the specimen out from the boulder. It took meticulous work. They explored, hammered, cut and chiseled and everyone else had returned to the house by the time they fully separated a six-foot slab of rock.

  Sterne then returned to the company for dinner, but Tensford stayed out to supervise the transfer of his prize to the small workshop he’d set up long ago, adjacent to the stables.

  When the ladies removed to the parlor after the meal, Glory excused herself and went to check on Tensford and his fossil.

  He had the tiny space brightly lit. She found him bent over his treasure, poring over it with fingers caked with dirt and covered in dozens of small cuts.

  “It looks like you’ll need newer, better gloves,” she said from the doorway.

  “I ruined mine.” He smiled up at her. “I’ve never had to cut so much stone in one day.”

  Dozens of small fossils lined the room. In his years of searching and collecting, Tensford had previously found several types of specimens, both plant and animal. They were all immaculately cleaned and displayed in cabinets. The new, larger discovery had been laid out on a table in the center of the room.