A Good Rake is Hard to Find (26 page)

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Leonora caught her breath as his tongue swept over the heart of her, sending a maelstrom of sensation through her as he proceeded to worship her with his mouth.

She'd seen etchings that depicted the man with his mouth on that part of a woman's body before. Once when she'd stumbled upon the restricted area of her favorite bookshop she'd seen drawings even more scandalous than that. But nothing could have prepared her for the utter devastation of his tongue touching her there.

Of their own accord her hands found the soft silk of his hair, holding him to her as he thrust first one, then two fingers inside her, moving in counterpoint to the stroke of his tongue on the bud of her pleasure.

When the climax came, it was more powerful than anything she'd dreamed of in her most lurid imaginings. Her body moved of its own accord against him in a rhythm she wasn't even aware she knew.

She was still coming back to herself when she felt him move up to position himself at her entrance. “This might hurt a bit,” he said, kissing her swiftly before he thrust into her. “I'm sorry.”

It did hurt, but she bit back her cry in the knowledge that this was Frederick joining his body with hers. She reveled in the sensation of his weight pressing into her when he moved, and bending her knees, she gasped at how the change in position eased the pain into something like pleasure. “Better?” he whispered against her ear, as he stroked into her again. This time, the motion had her moving her hips to follow him as he pulled away.

“Better,” she gasped as she reveled in the way he filled her, her body clenching with the rhythm they set together. “Oh, yes, better.”

“Ah, God, Nora,” he groaned, his pace quickening as she felt herself hurtle over the edge into bliss.

 

Nineteen

Sometime in the wee hours, Leonora and Freddy dressed hastily and slipped back into her rooms.

They made love again, but when Leonora awoke some hours later, it was to find herself alone and feeling sore in places she'd not quite known she even possessed.

Stretching languidly, she remembered every caress, every word. The memories left her flushed with feminine satisfaction.

Lovemaking had been everything she'd hoped it would be. Because that's what it was between her and Freddy. Lovemaking.

What she'd done with Anthony, when she was still such a child, had been confusing. Though she'd wanted to please him, now that she'd been with Freddy, who focused entirely on her pleasure, it was obvious Anthony had not truly cared for her.

Only what he could get from her.

She'd been dreaming of running away with him, and he'd used her. Like a bath towel, or a shovel.

It hadn't occurred to her before Freddy that it was possible to feel so close to another human being.

When Freddy touched her, looked at her, she knew that he was trying to make things as good as possible for her. With every glance, every caress, he made her feel as if they were the only two people left on earth. And making love to her was his only concern.

Not once had he chided her for crying out, or shrunk back when she tried to touch him.

Anthony Townsend had been utterly wrong.

About everything.

She wasn't wrong or unnatural for enjoying what Freddy did to her. If anything it had been Anthony who was unnatural. He certainly hadn't behaved as if he cared about her.

She knew now that her dreams of them living happily ever after had been just that, dreams. She'd imagined him into a charming prince who would whisk her away and care for her and their child.

But in reality, he'd just been a flawed man, who got her with child then abandoned her.

It was impossible to imagine Freddy behaving the same way in such circumstances.

“Miss Craven, ma'am,” Peggy said, knocking on the door of the dressing room. “I beg pardon, but your aunt is asking after you.”

Since it was long past the time when she should be getting dressed, Leonora threw back the covers and asked Peggy to ring for a bath.

An hour later, feeling much improved, and dressed in one of her favorite morning gowns, a deep violet muslin that emphasized her bosom, she made her way to the wing of the house where Aunt Hortense had taken up residence. When she knocked on the bedchamber door, it was opened by one of the housemaids, who ushered her into the large rooms that her aunt had been placed in.

“What took you so long?” Aunt Hortense asked, her gray hair tucked into a pretty lace cap that Leonora knew the older lady favored because she thought it brought out her eyes. “I rang for you two hours ago. I thought you'd been kidnapped or perhaps had been spirited away by our hosts.”

Leonora forbore from pointing out that it was no thanks to her chaperone who'd spent all of her time since their arrival the day before secluded in her bedchamber.

“I had to bathe and dress, aunt,” she said, seating herself on the edge of her aunt's bed. “Are you feeling better?”

“Hardly,” her aunt said with a hand to her brow. “The drive was such that I am unsure I will be able to return to London if your young man insists upon driving us. I have sent for my own carriage to fetch me in four days' time. Of course I will remain here for the duration of the house party to act as chaperone for you. But I am afraid I won't be able to leave my bed.”

It was a familiar refrain, one that Leonora had heard again and again over the years. Her aunt maintained that her health was fragile and as such she was required to spend as much time as possible in her bed, resting her nerves. Leonora and the rest of her aunt's acquaintances knew that the old woman's nerves were as strong as iron and that she took to her bed as much because she disliked interacting with others as anything else. Still, her readiness to chaperone Leonora on those occasions when she was needed, made her a favorite. Especially because Hortense either possessed no curiosity, or indeed had none, about what Leonora got up to while her aunt was ensconced in her bedchamber reading and eating bonbons.

“You must do what you can for your poor nerves, aunt,” Leonora said, patting her elderly relative's hand. “I know how they plague you. And I apologize for the discomfort of the journey here. Of course you must not endure that again.”

“It is perhaps unseemly for me not to insist that you accompany me,” Hortense said with a mournful shake of her head. “But I will have room only for myself and my maid. As you are already betrothed to Lord Frederick, I believe it will be unobjectionable for you to ride unchaperoned with him back to London.”

“Oh, of course,” Leonora answered, maintaining a straight face while inside she danced a jig. “Is there anything I can bring you to make you feel more the thing?”

But her aunt had all she needed to see to her comfort and soon dismissed her niece with an admonition to behave herself.

If she only knew, Leonora thought with a grin as she shut the door behind her.

“Miss Craven, the very person I was looking for,” Lady Melisande said as she met Leonora on the landing. “Would you be interested in a walk to the folly this afternoon? I would have asked you at breakfast but you were not there. And the others would like to set out in a short while.”

Leonora felt her cheeks burn as her hostess waited with raised brows that seemed to imply knowledge of just why Leonora had missed breakfast. Still, the folly sounded interesting and she would like to speak to the other guests to see what they recalled about her brother. “I would like that, Lady Melisande,” she said with a coolness she hoped belied her burning cheeks. “Do you know if Lord Frederick has agreed to go?”

“I thought you must have spoken with him already,” her hostess said with a touch of asperity. “However, I do believe he has agreed to walk with us. I will instruct the others to wait for you downstairs. You might wish to put on something a bit warmer, for there is a bit of a chill in the air today.”

With that admonishment, the other woman hurried down the hall, likely to don her own change of clothes, Leonora thought wryly as she looked at her hostess's retreating back and the short-sleeved round gown Lady Melisande wore.

She wasn't sure what it was about Sir Gerard's wife that set her back up, but she certainly did have the power to annoy. Perhaps it was the way she looked at one as if you had just trod on her toes, or tipped over a glass of claret onto a white carpet. Though she supposed that she was democratic about that look, for Leonora had seen the same expression on Lady Melisandre's face when she was speaking to virtually every other member of their party.

Deciding to change her gown despite her pique at her hostess's suggestion, she hurried to her bedchamber.

*   *   *

The next morning, despite having slept very little, Freddy went down to breakfast with a spring in his step.

Last night with Leonora had been beyond his wildest imaginings of what they would be like together. He'd known the bond between them was intense, but it wasn't until he'd held her in his arms—looked into her eyes while he joined his body with hers—that he'd realized just how intense.

What he felt for her was unlike anything he'd felt before. A mix of tenderness, affection, passion, and a burning desire to protect her from anyone who might wish her harm. And while they were together, he'd known in his soul she felt the same way about him.

He'd promised not to press her, and he wouldn't. But now he was more eager than ever to settle the business of Jonathan's death. Not only to see justice done, but so that he and Nora could start their married life together.

“Good morning, cousin,” Sir Gerard said with a lascivious grin as Freddy entered the breakfast room. “You look as if you slept very well, indeed.”

Wishing he'd found someone else lingering over their eggs, Freddy said, “I did, thank you.”

He left it at that.

At the sideboard he filled a plate with eggs and bacon. When he turned, despite his wish, his cousin was still there.

“So,” Gerard said, toying with the rim of his coffee cup. “Did you enjoy my little game of hide-and-seek last night?”

Freddy was damned if he'd tell Gerard anything about what happened between Leonora and him last night. He could practically hear the questions lurking in his cousin's fetid brain.

“I'm not much for games,” he said tersely. Chew on that, old man.

“Oh come now, Freddy,” Gerard said with a pout. “Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud. I'm sure there are one or two little anecdotes from your evening you can share.”

He bit back a demand for his cousin to leave him the hell alone. If Gerard had planned the game last night so that he could collect stories the following morning, then he would have to live without Freddy's.

Deciding to turn the tables, he took a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, then paused.

“I was wondering, Gerry,” he said as if it had only just occurred to him. “Where did Jonathan Craven stay the night before the race?”

At his cousin's narrowed eyes, Freddy knew he'd made a hit.

“It's just,” he continued, “that I had always assumed the race was from London to Dartford. But someone pointed out to me that they saw the coaches headed in the opposite direction. Did you invite Jonathan and Lord Payne to stay at South Haven since the race was so nearby?

It was truly satisfying to see his cousin gnashing his teeth after the hell he'd put Freddy and Leonora through over the past week. And, if Jonathan had stayed in this house the night before the race, then there was a good chance his things were still lurking about here.

All it would take to find them? One correct answer from his cousin.

“Where are Jonathan Craven's belongings?” he said, laying his fork across his plate to indicate he was finished. “For I do not recall my fianc
é
e ever mentioning a note or letter telling her his things had been found. It's such a shame when people ignore ladies. Especially those in mourning.”

“I am growing weary of your looking down your nose at me, Freddy,” his cousin said with ice in his eyes. “You are just a man, like any other. You cannot walk on water. And you are not above enjoying the pleasures of the flesh upon occasion.”

“I think that's beside the point, Gerry.” Freddy spat out the word, as if his cousin's name tasted foul. “I asked you a simple question. Do you, or do you not, know the whereabouts of Jonathan Craven's belongings? The ones he brought with him the evening before your race.”

Indifferent to his cousin's glare, Freddy crossed his arms and waited. He'd always been better at keeping his patience than Gerry. It had been one of the things that set them apart, even as children.

Finally, his patience paid off.

“I believe they are boxed up, and were placed somewhere in the attics,” Gerard said coldly. “You and your ladylove are welcome to go look for them at your leisure. Now, if you would excuse me, I must go make sure preparations are under way for our trip later this morning.”

“One more thing before you go,” Freddy called out to him. When he turned as if to ask what the devil he wanted now, Freddy asked, “Why did you not send them home? I would have thought a grieving sister and an elderly father who's lost his only son would wish to have them.”

Gerard's lips pursed. “If you must know, it's because the club wanted to keep them. They are just a few fripperies and whatnot. I don't think you'll solve any great mystery with them.”

“We'll just wait and see, won't we?” Freddy asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“I suppose so.”

With that, the other man stalked out of the room, anger reverberating in his every step.

Freddy only wished he could be sure Jonathan's things would be of any value. Mostly because his cousin had too readily given him permission to search through them.

Oh, he'd grumbled about it, but that was to be expected when one requested anything from Sir Gerard Fincher, from a shilling to a guinea. He was reluctant to part with things. Even the ones that bore little real or sentimental value to him.