A Rake's Midnight Kiss (35 page)

Slowly she opened her eyes. “See? Sweet.”

He growled again, but his heart really wasn’t in proving himself king of the beasts. “You know nothing about men, Miss Barrett.”

“I think—” Her shyness contrasted beautifully with burgeoning assurance. “I think that while I mightn’t know anything about men, I’m coming to know something about you.”

“I thought I was a villain and you never wished to see me again.”

He should hustle her from the stables, but curiosity delayed him. His hand traced the shoulder under her sagging bodice, down her arm to her hand. He had a horrible inkling that anyone who saw him holding hands with Genevieve would concur with her assessment. Right now, he
was
sweet, confound it. If she wanted to punish him, this vulnerability was the punishment of the damned.

His voice lowered into seriousness. “I deserve your anger.”

“You do.” She responded with characteristic candor. “But you’re not utterly irredeemable. And you kiss like an angel.”

Like an angel?
He barely resisted the impulse to preen like a blasted peacock. He arched his brows. “Just kiss?”

She blushed. What an intriguing mixture of inexperience and sensuality she was. “And other things. Stop cadging compliments.”

He shrugged, then voiced the nagging question. “Why did you just give yourself to me, Genevieve?”

A
s the silence extended, Richard’s expression resumed the affability that he raised against the world. Genevieve was shocked to realize that somewhere in their tumultuous interactions, she’d peered beneath the mask. The perception was reassuring, fortifying her instinct that despite his lies, she’d glimpsed the true Richard Harmsworth.

“Forgive me. I have no right to ask.” His grip on her hand loosened.

Curse him, she didn’t want him to release her. She wanted him to hold her close forever. It terrified her to the bone quite how much she wanted him to stay.

“You push and push,” she said resentfully. “Then when I cooperate, you question me.”

She could hardly accept that she’d become a fallen woman, let alone put it into words. Last night, she could blame her recklessness on heightened emotions after the abduction. This morning, she’d had no excuse but lust.

“Because you push back. You were livid last night.”

“I was.” In the last hour, she’d accepted that while he’d
undoubtedly deceived her, he’d intended her no harm. If he had, she couldn’t have thrown herself at him as she had.

Lowering her head, she studied her fingers curled around his, paler, smoother than his tanned skin. Something about the capable elegance of Sir Richard’s hand made her feel safe and… loved.

Dear God, she really was in trouble.

He cupped her jaw, tilting her face until she met his eyes. His dark blue gaze was steady and concerned and made her feel like the only woman in the world. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But still she couldn’t shake the impression. He looked like someone she could trust.

Could she?

“You no longer believe I pursue you for the jewel?” he asked softly.

She was now convinced that his desire at least had always been honest. “Perhaps at first.”

He still looked troubled. “No, you were always the prize. Now I’ve ruined you.” To her regret, he slid away, disturbing a cloud of dust.

She felt on stronger ground here. It saved her from admitting how she yearned for him. “You tried to do the right thing.”

His laugh was bitter. “Much good that did me. I can’t resist you.”

She looked away. “As I can’t resist you,” she confessed.

When he didn’t jump on her, she was almost disappointed. Heavens, she really took to vice with gusto.

After a taut silence, he sighed. “Aren’t we a pair?”

If only they were.

Surely he wouldn’t stay in Little Derrick. He must have duties and obligations, not to mention the fashionable world clamoring for his return. A fashionable world closed to a
bluestocking with no connections, no fortune, and no polish. A fashionable world adorned with women who had shared his bed and women who would share his bed. The idea of those trollops touching Richard made her itch to scratch their eyes out. And there was that wife of perfect pedigree that he sought, according to the papers.

Her fingers formed talons in her crumpled skirt. She had no rights over Richard. But that didn’t stop her heart screaming “He’s mine” when she contemplated anyone else sharing those breathtaking intimacies.

And not just physical intimacies. She didn’t want him sharing private jokes. She didn’t want him studying another woman with that sweet, intense concentration. The same sweet, intense concentration he devoted to her now.

She was a jealous, possessive shrew. So much for proud independence. He’d forsake her for his real life. And she’d miss him forever, curse him.

“I could have made you pregnant,” he said grimly.

A baby would cause such problems, she couldn’t bear the thought. Which made her recent activities rash to the point of lunacy. But regret and fear seemed so distant when her body still quaked from his possession. “Can we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

Surprisingly he laughed. “What a pragmatic creature you are.”

The comment sounded like a compliment rather than criticism. Still, thinking of blue-blooded brides, she prickled. “You must be used to more sophisticated company.”

He caught each hand and kissed her knuckles with a tenderness that eased the ache in her heart, without banishing it. “You’re more fun.”

“Fun?” Her mouth dropped open with astonishment.

“You’re the most interesting girl I’ve ever met.”

“You can’t—”

Below, the door squeaked. There was a sharp bark. Sirius.

Before she could react, Richard launched himself over her, rolling her into the hay. He pressed into her back, his heart banging against her. His breath moved the loose hair at her temple. Dread tightened every muscle to the point of pain. Her nose smashed against the dusty floor. She closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t sneeze.

Lemon verbena flooded her senses, headier than wine. Especially mixed with the salty musk of sexual satisfaction. She shifted surreptitiously, bumping her hips against Richard, and he groaned in her ear.

“Behave yourself,” he hissed. “If they find us, there’s the devil to pay.”

“You did well, lad,” Williams said. The groom stood directly below. All urge to tease disintegrated.

With the soft clop of hooves, George led her old pony inside. These days Lightning didn’t justify the name. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. When can we go again?”

Bubbling happiness rang in the boy’s voice. She felt Richard smile against her cheek. In that moment, she gave up pretending to possess a scrap of sense where he was concerned. She’d fallen utterly in love with him. The emotion had been present so long that she didn’t know where it started. Perhaps right back when he’d locked her up, then wandered off whistling.

She was hopelessly in love with Christopher Evans. She was hopelessly in love with Richard Harmsworth. She was hopelessly in love, and she had no idea what to do about it.

Luckily Williams chose to escort his pupil home, leaving the stables to Sirius, the horses and two miscreants in the loft.

When Richard was sure the barn was empty and likely to
stay that way, he rolled off Genevieve with a muffled groan. All that proximity had tested his control and he was as hard as an oak staff. The last few moments confirmed, as if he hadn’t always known, what risks he took tumbling Genevieve. Risks he couldn’t countenance if he made the smallest claim to honor.

Slowly she sat up and a pang of concern penetrated his sexual frustration. He stared up at her. “I’m sorry. I squashed you.”

Her lush mouth curved into a smile that sent another jolt of hunger through him. “Actually it was rather… enjoyable.”

“You’re a tease, Miss Barrett.” He stood and extended his hand.

“You’re leading me astray.” Once upright, she patted and straightened her skirts. She wasted her time. With her loose hair, creased clothing, and indefinable air of fulfillment, she looked thoroughly tupped.

Dear God, what he’d give to have her again. Lying over her, he hadn’t been able to think beyond her accessibility. The merest hitch of her skirts and he’d take her from behind. She’d squirm deliciously and make those luscious sounds that became more addictive than brandy to a drunkard.

He stifled the urge to keep her here. They’d already had one close call. He couldn’t chance another. He led her toward the edge. “I’ll go first and make sure it’s safe.”

When Richard set foot on the ladder, Sirius barked and trotted forward. “Quiet, you blockhead.”

As if the dog understood—Richard wasn’t entirely convinced that he didn’t—he sat on his haunches as his master descended.

“Stay there. I’ll check outside,” he called to Genevieve, who peeped down, thick golden hair framing her face.

His heart turned over. If he’d been close enough to haul
her into his arms, she wouldn’t be going anywhere until tomorrow morning. If then. Prudence be damned.

Sirius watched with cool consideration. He shot the hound a quelling glare. “Mind your manners.”

“What did you say?” Genevieve asked from above.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

After checking the stable yard, he returned to the ladder. “Nobody’s around. Can we get back into the house without being seen?”

“I hope so. I can’t stay up here forever.”

How he wished she could. How he wished he could stay with her. She descended as he held the ladder steady. He couldn’t help regretting that she’d put her drawers on.

She glanced down with laughing disapproval. “Stop looking up my skirt.”

“You have the most magnificent legs. It’s a crime not to admire them.”

She blushed. “Arrant nonsense.”

He caught her round the waist and swung her to the floor. Then inevitably he kissed her. If she protested, he’d stop. Well, he’d consider it. But Genevieve, foolish woman she was, responded with a passion that set his blood rushing.

Eventually he raised his head. “We can’t.”

She was rosy and heavy-eyed, resting against him as if she had no thought of being anywhere else. “Will you come to the summerhouse tonight?”

He tightened his embrace, basking in her lithe warmth. With her, the anger that had smoldered most of his life faded. Even vanished. With her, he was free as never before. “We’re being reckless, my darling.”

She tilted her head. “I’ve never been reckless before. I’m beginning to enjoy it.”

“Only beginning?”

She laughed softly. “You’re so conceited.”

“With you in my arms, I feel like a god.” He pretended to tease. Whereas the woeful truth was that she made him feel immortal. By Jove, if a dragon poked his scaly head through the barn door, Richard would repel the beast with his bare hands.

“Will you meet me?” Her smile faded, revealing a need that stoked his own.

His heart crashed hard against his ribs. He bent and kissed her quickly. Anything more and he’d let the world hang itself from the nearest tree while he bundled her up the ladder into the fragrant hay. “I can’t stay away.”

She stroked his beard-roughened cheek. “Good.”

He smiled, loving her frank desire. Still he couldn’t let her go. “First we must decide what to do about Fairbrother.”

He loathed the way the swine’s name stole the joy from her eyes. He took her hand and drew her toward the door, Sirius trotting behind. After the barn’s dimness, the light outside was blinding. Richard squinted as he stepped into the yard. Sirius growled, low and menacing.

Genevieve released a horrified gasp. Richard’s vision cleared. Hector Greengrass sauntered through the gate, beefy arms crossed over his barrel chest and a sneer on his thick lips.