by Lora Darling
“My grandfather taught me many useful things.”
His hands came to rest upon her shoulders. “Such as?”
She stared at the fire, wondering if he still wore the sheet. “How to shoot, ride, hunt, skin an animal, diagnose certain illnesses, treat a gunshot wound, the proper way to flush out an enemy, how to avoid an ambush, when to say no to a challenge and when to stand firm. Just to name a few.”
“You loved him.”
Her eyes began to burn so she looked away from the fire. “Yes. Very much. He was good to me.”
“And your parents? Were they good to you?”
Why must he ask such things now? Shouldn’t they be kissing? What man would rather talk than kiss?
“Were they?”
Hoping to put an end to his invasiveness, she offered a curt, “no.” She should have suspected it would not satisfy.
He spun her within his arms. His hair was wet and slicked back, as if he had splashed water on his face then raked his hands through his hair. Droplets dotted his bare shoulders, and she watched as one tracked down toward his nipple. Without thinking, she leaned forward and caught it with her tongue before it could reach its destination.
****
Adrien felt as though he’d suddenly leapt into the fire Eirene so expertly started. If she meant to distract him from asking questions about her family, swiping her tongue across the top of his nipple was a damn good strategy. When she pressed her lips to his flesh and moaned softly, he nearly laughed out loud at the level of torment her actions caused.
He had suggested to Cyril that he might love this woman. How else explain the power she wielded while doing almost nothing? The mere swipe of a tongue had never rendered him senseless. Ever. Lustful, eager, and impatient, yes, but never senseless. If asked to name the current King, he would not have been able to, not while Eirene dragged her warm mouth across his chest in a series of light, airy, butterfly kisses.
She reached his other nipple, and instead of teasing the upper edge, she attacked directly, flicking her tongue across the sensitive tip then sucking in a sharp breath as it responded by puckering into a hard nub.
She was going to kill him. Slowly and with extreme pleasure.
“This is a very bad idea.” Although proud of himself for managing to speak without revealing the way he shook inside, he hated himself for the words. Logic was a poor bedfellow to lust.
She drew back and looked up at him. “As I recall, you dared me to touch you.”
“I said nothing about employing your tongue to do so.” His tone read a bit harsh as evidenced by the slight widening of her eyes.
“I see.” She wiggled free of his hands and stepped back to cross her arms and glare. He wondered if her grandfather had helped her perfect the disapproving expression. “Let me see if I correctly understand the way of things, hmm? You offer yourself to me in a rather blatant fashion, I might add.”
She raked her eyes down his body. He had replaced the sheet with a pair of loose, linen trousers. They sat low on his hips, and her gaze lingered in the vicinity of the waistband.
He glanced down and noted the swath of hair just visible above the ivory fabric. Obviously, the sheet had been more modest.
“As I was saying…” She returned her gaze to his. “You stand there all—” She flapped her hand in the air and shook her head as if the word she sought simply did not exist. “—and yet I am to adhere to rules I am unaware exist?”
“What?” She had lost him. “Who mentioned rules?”
“You forbade me to use my tongue. That sounds like a rule.”
The image of her using her tongue to its fullest advantage had him regretting the looseness of his trousers. They tented rather embarrassingly over the rising enthusiasm of his cock. Did she really need him to explain what would happen if she continued to lick him? Maybe if he just gestured to draw her attention down…but, no, he had to remember this was a woman reared on military tactics not fantasies of love and romance.
“I was not laying down the rules, Eirene, merely cautioning you—”
“Against what?” While voicing the question, she glanced down. Color washed into her face, darkening her freckles. Her lips parted around a silent exclamation. “Oh.” Very quickly, she spun to face the fire. “I will allow you a moment of privacy to see to…to do whatever it is…you need to do.”
“I need to hold you.”
She peeked over her shoulder. “You are quite adept at this.”
“You’ve lost me again.”
“At being a rake.” She turned toward him. “You are quite adept at rendering yourself irresistible to women.”
“Does that mean you find me irresistible?” He bit back his smile and allowed himself a moment to admire how she looked with the fire behind her. The glow of the flames created an orange halo around her loose hair.
“Notice, I am managing to resist.”
Now he smiled. “Of course you are, but tell me, is it hard?”
God help him, but she flicked her gaze toward his groin, turning his last word into an unintended double entendre.
“It would appear so.” Her lips twitched as if she were the one now fighting back a smile.
Adrien held out his hand. “Show a little mercy and come here.”
She slipped her hand into his without hesitation and allowed him to coax her closer. “How is my proximity merciful?” She laughed as he tugged her the remaining distance, causing her to fall against his body.
“Because it allows me to do this.” He kissed her smiling lips.
****
Eirene coiled her arms around Adrien’s neck, her fingers playing among the wet tips of his hair. He deepened their kiss with the slightest adjustment to the angle of his mouth, and schooled now in the way of things, she was ready when his tongue glided alongside hers. He tasted of mint, and she suspected the reason behind his brief absence was so that he might freshen himself up for her.
Strangely, the thought provoked a warm flush of pleasure and a small sound of joy.
Adrien eased back. “Are you laughing at my kisses, mademoiselle?”
“You cleaned your teeth.”
He stared down at her for a confused moment, then nodded. “Oui.”
“How gallant and, dare I say, not very rake-like.”
“Has it occurred to you yet, my dearest, I might not actually be the rake you accuse me of being?”
“It has, yes.” It seemed indelicate to offer anything other than honesty while being held in his arms. “And allow me to admit, the realization is bothersome.”
“Oh?”
Eirene nodded. “Yes. I do believe I could handle you better if you were a dastardly rake intent upon ravishing me senseless before leaving me to wallow in regret and self-pity.”
“But?”
“But you are not intending to do that, are you?”
“Not in the least.” He frowned. “Why do I suspect that disappoints you?”
“Disappoints, no. Frightens? Yes.” Heavens, there was a point when too much honesty did a person no favors. She may have reached said point. Uncomfortable, she pried herself from his embrace and stepped back. “Have we reached an agreement then?”
“I take it that question is intended to preempt what could have been a pleasurable rendezvous?”
She could not help it. She flicked her gaze beyond his partially clad body, toward the rumpled bed. What would it be like to spend a few hours in that canopied monstrosity? Not sleeping, of course. Heat crept into her face at the image of herself lying entangled with Adrien’s naked limbs. Were she to end up in his bed, he would not merely hold her. He might not be a rake, but he was a man, and men did not merely hold the women they took into their beds. Her mother had not taught her a great deal of useful knowledge, but she had managed to impart that bit of wisdom.
“Eirene?”
She yanked her gaze from the bed to look at Adrien. “Will you agree to pose as my betrothed?”
He crossed his ba
re arms over his bare chest, transforming a rather mundane posture into something quite extraordinary thanks to the lovely muscles of his upper arms and the captivating tendons that stretched along the curve of his shoulders.
It was beyond her not to stare.
“How long will this farce continue?”
“Hmm?” She moved her focus toward that damnable collarbone of his and her mouth watered at the remembered taste and texture.
“How long will we be engaged?”
“As long as it takes,” she replied, rather absently, while allowing her gaze to travel up the side of his neck. There was a drop of water just below his ear. She licked her bottom lip so as not to step forward and lick his neck.
“As long as it takes to do what?”
So many questions! Could the man not see how distracted she was? She forced her gaze to his eyes. “As long as it takes to anticipate our vows, decide we will not suit, then dissolve the understanding.”
He arched a brow. “We are going to end our engagement based upon the realization that we will not suit?”
“Yes.”
“A realization we will arrive at after anticipating our vows?”
“Yes.” Now she crossed her arms. “Why do you sound so perturbed?”
“I sound perturbed because I am.” He threw his arms out in a display of frustration. “This idea is just as poorly thought out as your original, and look how that turned out. No.” He held up a hand as she drew breath to counter. “Do not say a word until I am done. No one will believe we have decided we ‘do not suit.’ No one. Not after what Lady Palmer and her entourage witnessed.”
“They witnessed nothing but the sight of me sitting astride your lap.”
“I told you to say nothing until I finished.”
“Yes, well, I do not take kindly to orders.”
He visibly ground his teeth together. “You might recall, I voiced my eagerness to continue our interrupted rendezvous with Lady Palmer and the others as witnesses—”
“Of course I recall. It was only last evening.”
Now she could see and hear his teeth gnashing together. “And,” he went on as if she had not spoken, “in so doing, revealed my desire to be with you. Why, in God’s name, would I decide not to be with you once securing your hand in marriage and your delectable person in my bed?”
“Perhaps it is I who finds you unsuitable? Perhaps I discover you are not as skill—”
“That will not work.”
Eirene huffed. It was childish, but it seemed more mature than stomping her foot. “Why will that not work? Are you worried I will sully your rakish reputation? Compromise the success of future conquests? Or maybe—”
“No.” The force behind that one word silenced her. “None of the above. It will not work because if you publicly decry my inability to please you in bed, you will have a line of men stretching from your front door to the bloody English Channel who are eager to succeed where I could not, increasing your current dilemma tenfold.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Oh.” She turned her back on him. It really was easier to think when not looking directly at him. She stared into the fire until her eyes began to burn. “If finding fault with one another’s performance in bed will not work”—she twisted her hands together—“what do you suggest we do?”
“You could actually marry me.”
She closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms to counter the unwanted longing his words aroused. “I cannot.”
Why would he even suggest such a thing? He could not possibly wish to marry her. They barely knew one another. He was a rake, she a recluse. It would never work, regardless. No. It was entirely ludicrous.
“Eirene, look at me.” He stood before her, blocking the fire. “Will you consider it?”
She shook her head. “I am sorry, but—”
“Say no more. For varied reasons your plan will not work, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, my suggestion is not acceptable, therefore, I would advise you to leave London as soon as possible, return to the country, and do your best to ignore any future advances you might deem unacceptable or inconvenient.”
She stared at him for several moments, wondering if one last kiss would be appropriate. No. Best not to add to the memories already guaranteed to haunt the rest of her days.
“It seems this entire endeavor was doomed to fail from the beginning. Had I known my only remaining option would be to return to the country and simply ignore the unwanted advances of gentlemen, I would have remained in the country and avoided this useless trip to London. I could have done without the congestion, noise, and smell.”
“Surely, it was not all bad?”
“Every moment of it.” She turned away before he could react to the lie. Her grandfather had always told her anger was a powerful weapon but to wield it with great caution lest it inflict irreparable damage to its target. If Adrien thought of her in anger, he would forget her, and she needed to believe he would forget her.
“You should go, Eirene.” The chill behind his word seeped directly into her skin.
She rubbed her cold flesh through the long, thin sleeves of her gown. Without looking back at him, she headed for the door. The urge to say something, anything, nearly overwhelmed her, but she managed to open the door and step into the corridor before doing or saying anything that might leave her irreparably damaged.
It was not until she was back in the privacy of her own home, within the confines of her bedroom, that she allowed herself to cry. It was not an indulgence that lasted long. Crying, her grandfather always said, had the power to change nothing. To regret was a waste of time and a show of weakness. If one had better strategized, there would be no need to look back and wonder what if.
She had not strategized well in regards to Adrien. Not at all.
“You would not be proud of me at this moment, Grandfather. I have allowed myself to become weak, to give in to the very passions you so often warned against.”
“My lady?” Hamish stood at the door making a poor attempt to hide his curiosity.
Eirene swiped at the last of her tears. “Pay no attention, Hamish, I merely indulged in a moment of emotional weakness, which has now ended.”
“Of course, my lady. I did not mean to intrude, but I was curious how your visit with his lordship went. Has he agreed to your new plan? Will we be remaining in London a tad longer?”
“No and no.” She moved to her vanity to peer at her tear-streaked face. No wonder Hamish wore an ill-disguised expression of horror. She looked a fright. Fresh air would do her good. It cured all ills, according to her grandfather, who had enjoyed a brisk walk at the beginning and end of every day, no matter the weather.
“I am going to take a walk, Hamish. In my absence, have the servants begin making preparations for our return to the country.”
“Of course, my lady. Shall I ring for one of the footmen to accompany you?”
“I only mean to take a quick turn about the block. No need for an escort.” She left her room, Hamish following on her heels.
Once in the foyer, he opened the door and waited while she buttoned her spencer and pulled on a pair of light weight gloves. The air coming in through the open door was brisk, and she longed to feel the chill in her bones. Perhaps it would numb the feeling she’d had since walking out of Adrien’s bedroom.
One could only hope.
Chapter Twelve
Adrien fumed as he exited the house and headed for the mews. After Eirene’s unexpected visit and the unsatisfactory conclusion of said visit, he needed a good long, hard ride to clear his mind, calm his temper, and extinguish his lust. Focused on the way she had oh-so-calmly walked out of his room, and possibly his life, he was not paying attention when he rounded the corner and stepped blindly into a well-placed fist.
The hit split his lower lip and knocked him to the ground. He barely got a hand out in time to break the fall, then regretted it when his wrist bent at a damned painfu
l angle. Unsure if he should see to his bleeding lip, his throbbing jaw, or his tweaked wrist, he ignored all three and looked up from his prone position upon the ground.
“Sam? What the hell?”
Cyril’s cousin reached down, yanked him to his feet, then slammed him against the uneven bricks of the nearest wall. The breath whooshed from Adrien’s lungs, and stars filled his vision. He attempted to make a fist, but his hand had gone numb.
“I warned you,” Sam hissed. He drew back and landed another solid punch to Adrien’s jaw. The hit would have knocked him back on his arse if not for the arm Sam had locked across his chest. “I told you to stay away from her.”
The next punch landed just below the ribs. The pain was extraordinary, enough so that he forgot all about the numbness of his hand and the likely damage to his wrist. He had not been in a full out fisticuffs since university. He’d won that confrontation, but he did not like his chances presently. He couldn’t even get a leg up to knee Sam in the stones. Their bodies were pressed together, chest to thigh, Sam using his full weight to keep Adrien pinned.
“Christ, Sam, leave off.” Adrien groped for the sleeve of Sam’s coat in an attempt to be free from the manacle of his forearm. His efforts were rewarded with another bruising punch to the ribs. A burning pain followed the hit and grew worse with each breath he took.
Damn. The bastard had cracked a rib. Or two.
“I still plan to marry her, you know.” Sam panted like a crazed dog while landing a few more punches to his side. One glanced off his hip bone, sending a wave of numbness down his leg. “It don’t matter if she’s whored for you.”
“Go near her, and I will kill you.” Adrien spoke through his teeth as he fought against the pain roaring through his body. Eirene had made it perfectly clear she did not want to be a part of his life, but damned if he would allow Sam to force her to be a part of his.
“You can try,” Sam snarled in Adrien’s face, “but I think you’ll find yourself too busy with other matters to care what becomes of Lady Rowe-Weston.”