Escape with A Rogue (27 page)

She shut her eyes and savored . . . everything. His hand stroked her inner thigh until she feared she’d melt into a puddle. His tongue, delicious and hot, played with hers until she felt ready to burst. Or scream. Or explode, as she had in the hut on the moors—

The kiss stopped. She snapped her eyes open.
Kiss me. I command you. I want you—

His head lowered to her naked right breast. Her nipple puckered in the cool air, then Jack’s warmth breath brushed it and it tightened even more.

“Yes. Kiss my—my breast,” she gasped. Could that voice be hers—partly sultry and rather high at the end? It sounded nothing like her usual crisp tones.

She squeaked like a mouse as his fingers slid up, up, to her hot, damp nether regions. She held her breath as he stroked her curls. This was glorious.

Heat and wetness circled her nipple. At the exact same instant, his fingers stroked her most sensitive place—the little nub that could make her scream with just the brush of a fingertip.

He flicked his tongue back and forth across her nipple. Her strangled cry of pleasure, of shock, of exquisite joy, flew out into the air, and stars exploded beneath her closed eyelids. Fortunately, the sturdy stone wall of the orchard was behind her and he leaned her against it.

 She remembered she must be careful. But she had to gasp again and he suckled hard and rubbed her aching, tingling nub just a little harder, too.

Her hips began to rock. Her body worked against his fingers, knowing instinctively what to do, while she was lost in a velvety, mind-numbing pleasure.

His fingers stroked harder. She was getting tighter, hotter, coiled up, wound up, ready to burst. In her head, she cried his name.
Jack. Jack. Jack!

Fireworks burst behind her closed lids—a crescendo of color and light. Heavens, she was climaxing on her feet, with her muscles dissolving and her body bucking with pleasure. “Goodness. Oh.
Oh
.” She could do nothing but surrender to violent pleasure that took her and whirled her in a maelstrom. She clung to Jack’s shoulders, knowing he was there, knowing he’d keep her safe.

It was so intense she feared she might come apart.

She came slowly back to her senses to realize her fingers were digging into him and she’d knocked his cap to the ground. He cradled her, holding her as only he could—with a protecting, loving embrace that made her feel safe and precious and miraculous.

“There are more climaxes to come.” His green eyes glinted with wicked promise.

“There can’t be—” she began.

He ignored her. His fingers parted her creamy nether lips and her moisture flooded out. She blushed but he moaned. She heard the agony in it. She hadn’t even touched him, but somehow she’d excited him.

His fingers flicked between her legs, stroking the very tip of that magical place. She gasped, and he sucked hard at her breast. Two fierce, wonderful shocks leapt from nipple and quim—

And exploded in the middle.

She rode wave after wave of luxurious ecstasy. It was like drowning in the best Madeira sherry, with rich chocolate in one hand and sweet cream in the other.

“You are a remarkably sensual woman,” he said huskily.

She giggled—something she’d not done for years. “Apparently, yes,” she managed.

His chuckle sent a wash of warm air over her breast. Even just a disturbance of air over her bare skin had her body aroused again.

At least he had her pressed up against the wall. She couldn’t stand on her own.

She wanted to ask for more, but she suddenly felt uncertain. What did he want? Surely, to satisfy himself. But he was not undoing his breeches. She couldn’t risk becoming pregnant. She’d wanted this, but hadn’t thought it through . . .

He bent to her left breast and gave its erect nipple all his attention. His fingers stroked her bottom, over the full curve, then his thumb stroked her anus, making her gasp in shock. It was . . . scandalously exciting. Fears and worries rushed away.

Jack released her breast, and her damp nipple stood up, flushed deep red. He dropped to his knees before her.

He mustn’t do
that
to her while she stood up. She’d melt—

But he did. He toyed with her nether lips, suckling them and giving them gentle nips with his teeth. She could feel every sensation, though all she could
see
was his cropped auburn hair.

His tongue slicked her nub, and she burst again.

On her fourth climax, it was like no experience she’d ever known. She felt as though she soared through the brilliant blue sky on silky breezes. She almost collapsed, but he supported her.

He kissed her curls again but Madeline gasped. “Oh no. If you make me climax any more, I just might die. Let me touch you. It’s not fair . . . I get all this and you suffer.”

Jack gave a soft laugh that came from deep in his heart. Typical Lady M., to be concerned for his welfare, even when she should be unable to think. “This is pleasure for me, too.” He stood and licked his lips, savoring her earthy flavor.

Her look was all too knowing for a woman who should be innocent. “You aren’t fine, I suspect. I never feel
fine
when you arouse me. And I do know men
must
be satisfied—”

“I’m not like that.” That was the truth, but he saw she didn’t believe it. He stroked her lower lip. She was beautifully disheveled, with wisps of golden hair blowing around her face.

“I’m sure any other man would be thinking now of his own pleasure. You’re thinking only of mine.” She gave him a wicked smile that weakened his knees. “Which means it’s
my
duty to take care of yours.”

She stroked the front of his breeches, then reached for the buttons and freed them with her deft, capable hands. She reached into his linens, and did battle with his underclothes to release his rigid cock.

“You smell like me,” she whispered. “Salty, sweaty, earthy. You look—well, now I understand why men build masts, flagpoles, cannons . . .”

Could she know her teasing made him weak with yearning? Then she wrapped her hand around his shaft and he had to brace his fist against the wall.

“Do you like to be touched?”

“Just like you do.” His voice was a rasp that sounded like he’d breathed in smoke.

“You mean with my mouth—”

“Good God, no.” She was a lady, and he was not going to sully her by asking her to take him in her mouth. “I can take care of it.”

He’d hurt her. He could see that at once in her frown.

“Why on earth do you want to torture yourself?”

Jack groaned. He couldn’t begin to count the reasons. He was a criminal. He could never be freed. He had dragged her into danger. But his body ached for physical release.

No, it ached for more than that. He hungered to join her in ecstasy. And knew he couldn’t.

She stroked her hand up and down and he made a strangled sound like a man begging for mercy. “Is that good?”

“Beautiful. My cock likes to be rubbed.”

“Mmm. Your
cock
.”

The word, on her lips, almost made him come.

She massaged the head thoughtfully and he slapped his palm against the wall. “I’d heard the word in drunken men’s ditties. But I never imagined it would be so . . . intriguing. I can barely put my fingers around the base. I like this ridge along the back that leads up here, to this cleft in the head—”

“Madeline—”

Moisture dribbled out of the head, soaking into the finger of her glove. She stopped, and drew off her glove, so she could explore him—skin to skin. “What do you like?”

“This. You.” He couldn’t hold back any longer. He pressed his hand over hers and they both stroked him. It took three passes before his brain caught fire and his body went up in an explosion of ecstasy. He pushed his cock to the side, away from Madeline—from her hand and her dress—and his body began to jerk.

A soft groan escaped, but he held back all other sound. His eyes shut and he held his mouth ruthlessly rigid as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Goodness,” she whispered. “It’s so thick. And white, like cream.”

It was like being stroked in the middle of an orgasm. Her words released another mind-numbing wave of sensation and he had to bite back a howl of pleasure.

“You’re feeling what I felt, aren’t you? The need to thrash and moan, until all you can do is surrender—”

“
Maddy.
” He cupped her cheeks and drew her to him and kissed her in the shadows beneath the trees. Fervently. Intensely. Forgetting his hand smelled of her and him and he was branding her with that scent.

Then Jack broke the kiss, cradling her chin with the palm of his hand. “I have to get you back for dinner.” His thumb stroked her lips. “Do not question the gentlemen tonight. Madeline—let me take care of you.”

No one had ever said such a thing to her, with such desperation. Madeline was about to be honest and argue that she could come to no harm at her dinner table when sunlight slanted across Jack’s face. He did not share the look of exhausted bliss she was sure she wore. He looked more haggard than ever. Was it worry over her questioning the men? Or— “Did you not enjoy it?”

“I did more than enjoy it. I can’t resist you, Lady M.”

“Why do you want to? If I’m happy.”

“I can’t have you, love. A man like me could never dream so high.”

“I don’t care about your criminal past any more. You must see that.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he clasped her hand and led her toward Penelope and Jupiter, and they rode back toward the stables. What was it that haunted him so?

Could she brush away his shadows, just as a room could be aired or dust beaten from drapes? Surely she
could
—if she were determined enough. “Jack—”

“Shh,” Jack murmured suddenly, and he pointed.

Madeline followed the line of his finger. Sunlight touched a man’s profile. He stood about twenty yards to the east of them, half-hidden by the shrubbery that grew beside the stables, and he silently watched the house.

She knew at once what to do. She spurred Penelope toward the stables—and the man. She would say she’d been out riding alone before dinner. At the clop of hooves, the man looked up. But instead of coming to find out what she was doing, he retreated behind a screen of leaves and vanished in the shadows.

* * *

Giselle, her lady’s maid, stepped back. “There!” the middle-aged woman cried with satisfaction. “Lovely. At least as lovely as can be, my lady, under the circumstances.”

Madeline studied her transformation in her vanity mirror. Giselle had bemoaned whether anything could be done with her disheveled hair, since she’d arrived at her room so late. Her hair had been mussed by pleasure, not the breeze, as she’d told Giselle. But that was her secret, and her maid had performed miracles.

Small sapphires winked from the silk ribbon threaded through her curls. The deep blue enhanced the gold of her hair. Her eyes held a vivid sparkle she’d never seen before. Her lips looked decidedly dewy, her cheeks pink.

“You are simply glowing, milady,” Giselle gushed.

She did look well, even though her heart pounded with nervous anticipation over dinner and with concern for Jack. Goodness, it had to be the orgasms that made her shine.

That brought deeper pink to her cheeks and she pushed up from the vanity stool. Her heart still felt warmed by pleasure and she felt more courageous. She was ready to face dinner, and face the men—because of Jack, ironically.

As she reached the dining room, Madeline saw Father waiting for her. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. He leaned heavily on his cane, which he normally did not do, and he appeared older and tired. He held her gaze for seconds, then, without a word, he walked to his study. She followed.

At his desk, he poured himself a brandy. He had been generous to raise her as his daughter. She had never expected that he would grow to love her. That was foolishness for novels. How could such a proud man overlook her mother’s betrayal and her inferior blood? But she had wished he would like her for herself.

After a large swallow of the liquor, he rounded on her. “Madeline, when I consented to your plan for another house party, I had no idea you believed one of our gentlemen guests was a murderer. I will not countenance this . . . you will not speak to our guests of this matter.”

Stunned, she began, “But don’t you see, Father, if Jack is innocent—”

“What has happened to you?” he shouted. Never before had he cut off her speech. “You have always behaved with such decorum. I could at least be confident you would not shame me. But haring off to Dartmoor War Prison? Accusing respectable gentlemen of murder? This must stop, Madeline. You will abandon this.”

She couldn’t.

“I cannot let you stay under this roof unless you agree to obey me.’

She gasped. This was what she’d feared throughout her childhood: that one day she would be left adrift, entirely alone. If she stopped her search, she might be safe and Jack would be free to flee England because she would no longer be in danger and he could feel he no longer had to protect her. But would her family really be at ease? Philip would never be free from suspicion. And would Jack really believe her safe? “It is too late to stop,” she said softly.

She braced herself, waiting for his command to leave his house. Tears burned in her eyes. With all her money, she had nothing to fear, except losing her family.

The empty glass struck the polished wood of the table. Leaning on his cane, he stalked out of the room without a word. She swiftly wiped her eyes and trailed after him to the dining room.

Heavens, it was hot in there, under the chandeliers and the candles. Conversation buzzed around her and her head swam even as she took her seat.

She kept her head down, praying no one would see her hands shake. This was not something she could share with Jack. This she had to cope with alone—

“Good evening, my dear.” Deverell, at her side, leaned close. He didn’t notice the tears drying in the corners of her eyes. How could he? His gaze had dropped to her scooped neckline, and his voice dropped to a self-satisfied purr. “I hope you have considered my proposal.”