Rake Beyond Redemption (9 page)

Marie-Claude closed the door and leaned back against it, astonished at her boldness, her lack of discretion. How could she have acted as she did?

M
arie-Claude’s memory was crystal clear when she awoke. Far too clear, she thought. Had she really done those things, said those things that brought a blush to her skin? Allowed him, invited him, to do those things to her? Marie-Claude’s awakening in her own bed, the moonlight replaced by the cool, clear light of an overcast morning, sank her spirits. Humid, heavy, the heat of the previous days threatened to break in a sudden summer storm. The air was as heavy as her heart. A flush of shame washed over her, even deeper. She had lain in Alexander Ellerdine’s arms, inviting his caresses. Demanding them. Not only the intimate discovery of his clever hands, but also tongue and teeth and lips. All consuming. And then when he had buried himself deep within her she had urged him on. Given herself completely…

She leapt from her bed to fling open the window to cool her cheeks, despite the threat of drizzle. What would he think of her this morning? It filled her with dread that he should despise her for her lack of discretion. No better than one of the whores who plied their trade, with no
more than an enquiring smile, a turn of a shoulder and a show of an ankle, along the quay at Hastings.

She had been no better than they.

She had been much worse! Marie-Claude closed her eyes on the image of Zan stripping her lace gown from her shoulders whilst her blood ran hot and sure for him.

As the rain dampened her skin, her first thought was to pack her clothes and make a run for London. She deserved every degree of shame. But she could not flee. When Zan had coaxed and lured, had he not said that she was brave, courageous?

But if that were so, fleeing in ignominy was not a choice she could make. There was only one thing she could do. Since he would not come to her, not in broad daylight, she must go to Ellerdine Manor, as she had once before, to see if…well, to see if he rejected her with a contemptuous curl of his lip. She flinched in horror as she recalled the intimacies those lips had taken.

And then at the end—something had occurred between them. Without doubt when he had stepped away from her, dressed her, there had been an unexpected coolness in his actions, in his manner.

Without further thought, Marie-Claude had a horse saddled and set off to face icy condemnation at best, outright rejection at worst. She would face him because she must.

And because she wanted to see him.

He was not at home. His taciturn housekeeper thought he might not be home until evening. Heavy with disappointment, Marie-Claude turned away. She might as well go home before the heavens opened and she was drenched to the skin.

Zan bent his head against the gusting wind and pushed his mare on into a smart trot, in no manner dissatisfied with his morning’s work. A vital business meeting, to consolidate his agreement with Rackham and Captain D’Acre, gang master of the Fly-By-Nights. He had had no choice. It would have been too dangerous at this juncture to send an excuse and cry off. But all had gone according to plan.

Except that he now appeared in imminent danger of being caught in a storm.

Of her own volition, the mare broke into a canter as her stable beckoned and Zan did not steady her. Not until, approaching from the opposite direction, he saw Marie-Claude. A swirl of wind brought a rattle of raindrops against his back. In a second he was beside her, gripping her reins.

‘Come with me.’

‘I can’t.’ Eyes dark with distress, she tugged on the leather against his damp hands. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘Yes, you should.’

‘I thought…I wasn’t sure that you would want to see me again.’

‘Marie-Claude…’ A hand to her chin made her look at him. ‘I want to see you. I want nothing more.’ A quickly snatched kiss as the drops grew heavier. ‘You’ll catch your death out here in this.’

‘I should go home.’

‘No.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’ll not allow it, so don’t bother to argue.’

They ran before the approaching storm, the exhilaration of it soaking into their blood. When her gelding stumbled, Zan threw out a hand to grasp her arm, and felt the same surge of energy in her that stirred him.

‘I’m safe,’ she gasped, the wind snatching at her words.

‘And I’ll keep you so.’ His eyes were wild, his expression unrestrained.

Swinging down from his mare, Zan plucked her off her horse and pushed her in the direction of the house, then slapped the rumps of the two animals to send them to the stables. No time to lose.

They were in the entrance hall, the door slammed shut against the elements.

Marie-Claude turned to him, a fever in her blood. ‘Last night. I should never—’

He closed her mouth with his. ‘You should.’

‘I thought you might despise me,’ she gasped when she could. ‘And I was ashamed.’

‘Never! Let me show you how much I hold you in esteem.’

Up the stairs to his bedchamber. When Marie-Claude tripped, Zan supported her, an arm around her waist. He locked the door to enclose them and shut out the world.

‘Well, Marie. What now?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, catching her breath, but her eyes never left his.

Tension hummed between them, spinning out in lively waves. Then as they faced each other, it exploded into outrageous need, with so much energy that the air almost sparkled with it. Jolted by it, Zan simply pounced, gathering her into his arms, her whole body flattened against his in a need to touch every inch of her, to be aware of every curve and angle even through the layers of silk gown and petticoats. Covering her face, her throat with kisses, he could bring no thought into his mind but that she had braved the storm for him, come to him, that she was here, in
his bedchamber, by God, and her mouth was soft under his. Desire rushed through him as fast and overwhelming as a summer flood.

Stripped of all thought, Marie-Claude allowed herself to be swept along with the elemental thrill. This was what she wanted, to be here, with this wild, untamed man who touched her heart and her soul. Marie-Claude did not even try to argue that she should not be here. In his bedchamber in the middle of the day with his hands hard on her back and his mouth hot on hers. It was glorious. She wound her arms round Zan’s neck and curled her fingers into his hair, heart beating furiously as the slide of his teeth along her throat tossed her responses into a mad spin. A whirlpool, the water soft and fluid but utterly relentless, whirling her faster and faster into its vortex. The only thought to surface—that he did not despise her. When he groaned, his tongue sliding along the swell of her breast above the lace edging of her gown, she knew the bond between them was unconditional, without limit.

Zan was out of control, dominated by one driving force. To take, to possess, to own. To ravish and devour. Raising her head, he dragged in a breath. He must be careful of her—but the need to hold, to arouse, had the sharpness of a knife-edge. Every movement she made in his arms, every brush of her body, every slide of breast and thigh, saturated him with need. The taste of her, her perfume, the texture of her skin, all melded together to create a feast for his senses. And he was ravenous. As if he had not eaten for days. For years.

‘Marie…’

Driven by the hunger, his mouth swallowed her gasp
of pleasure as he tumbled her to the bed, pushing aside, snatching at clothing as she fed his arousal.

Marie-Claude found herself pinned under him on the bed. ‘Wait!’ she gasped.

‘Too late for that!’

Her breath sobbed. The tendons in his neck were taut as ropes beneath her lips. She felt a need to brace herself, as if she had been cast adrift in a relentless sea and must weather the force of a storm. His hands, such clever skilful hands, skimmed and roamed, a ferocious onslaught of discovery, searching out new responses. Seducing her. One moment softly reassuring, the next swooping, plundering, so that her skin heated and quivered.

She could not get her breath. Her body strained against his.

Zan was stunned. The ultimate combination of sleek muscles overlaid by the most satin-soft of skin. He couldn’t get enough, but wanted to absorb her, every perfumed inch. It was not enough to re-learn with his fingertips the lovely body he had seen in moonlight. He needed to consume and savour. To trace with his lips the sweet under-swell of her breasts, her hard-tipped nipples. The sinuous dip to her waist, the fluid sweep to her hips. The dark secrets of her thighs. Until the taste and texture of her was in his blood.

Marie-Claude shivered when Zan captured her wrists to stretch them above her head. A lovely long sinuous offering for him. He could not wait. Here was everything he wanted, a banquet of taste and sensation. He was entranced by every shiver. Lost when she arched her hips in mute invitation. When she writhed, he plunged.
Buried himself within her with one long thrust of dark and desperate pleasure.

‘Yes…’ she breathed against his throat, enclosing him. ‘Take me.’

He thought, in some distant moment of recognition, that he could not have responded if she had said no, if she had denied him. Too late. Too much sensation crowding in. But she wanted him as much as he needed her. His name trembled on her lips, and in passing gratitude he thanked God for it.

‘Zan!’ she cried out.

It lit a fire in his flesh and blood. In his very bones. Breath ragged, muscles straining as he pushed himself over her, relieving her of his weight, he lowered his head to brush her lips in the most tender of caresses.

‘Hold on.’ Raw with emotion he might be, but he would love her well and with kindness.

‘I can’t. Take me now, Zan.’

It stoked the flames into an inferno that cauterised every doubt that he might have had. All softness was obliterated. Zan thrust hard, sure, piercing her, a relentless demand that gave neither of them respite as passion built and built until nerve endings could withstand it no longer. He felt her shiver, felt it begin deep within her, her muscles clenching around him.

He held on, keeping up the assault, breathing hot and uneven, body rising and plunging, rising again, until her whole body convulsed. Only then, with a hoarse cry, did he allow his own ending.

Chest heaving, sweat slick on his body, Zan looked down at her flushed face, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. She had taken him by surprise. In spite of all his skill, his experience, his knowledge of women,
he had not expected this. And when she touched her tongue to her well-kissed lips, he felt a renewed arousal stir his muscles.

‘You could be the death of me, my lovely Marie-Claude,’ he remarked as calmly as he could.

‘I think I have just come alive again,’ she replied, the blue of her eyes still blurred with astonishment.

‘Then let us be alive together.’ He kissed her gently, so tenderly. ‘I think I used you with less than finesse, lady.’ He stretched to take her wrist in his palm, and frowned at the faint marks he had left there. ‘I have less control than I’d like when you touch me. I don’t like it.’ He touched his mouth to the shadow of the bruises.

But Marie-Claude brought his hand to her own lips. ‘You did not hurt me. I think I have never known such pleasure. Don’t frown at me.’

‘I’ll never frown at you.’ The disquiet smoothed away from his features. ‘And since you appreciated my poor attempts despite my lack of skill—then let us repeat the exercise. Perhaps a little more slowly.’

‘Again?’

He touched his tongue to her nipple. ‘Again…’

And Marie-Claude shivered at the promise.

Another day of shared pleasure. Marie-Claude could not grasp the joy of it, the burning anticipation of the next minute, the next hour, even the next second that they could snatch to be together. Climbing the cliff path from the beach to the Pride, Zan helping her to scramble over a rock fall, his hands splayed firmly around her waist, his lips stealing a kiss, the evening sunlight blinded her to reality. Mouth firm, tasting of salt from the sea wind, he was everything to her. Nothing could
ever change that. She looked back over her shoulder to where he followed her in shirt sleeves, carrying his coat slung over his shoulder with careless grace. Her heart leapt in her chest. He caught her gaze and responded with a smile that melted all her reservations that they were being anything but discreet. What did it matter? Who would care how she spent her time? She could do nothing but return the smile. Her lover! How shocking! Long past any shyness with him, she stretched her hand back to touch his, gratified when he laced his fingers through hers. If there had been any hesitation, it had been momentary. He wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. She knew it.

Had he not given her proof, that very morning? If a man gave a lady something so foolish as a parasol—and went to such much trouble to get it—then he must be in love.

‘To replace the one you lost,’ he had said, handing over the slender, carefully wrapped package.

She had unwrapped it. ‘Oh! It’s French…’

‘It is. I can vouch for it.’

‘Come with the contraband?’ she’d gently teased.

He had simply smiled. It was beautiful, elegantly sophisticated. Cream silk, stretching over the frame to a delicate scalloped edging, a carved ivory handle with a cream silk-tasselled decoration. Entirely inappropriate for a stroll on the beach, but she had unfurled it anyway, angling it with neat precision.

A man had to be in love to give so particular a present.

‘It’s lovely.’

And he had kissed her. ‘Not nearly as lovely as you.’

She carried it now.

‘Come.’ Zan pulled her on when she would have lingered. ‘It’s growing late and you should be home.’ He
led her on until they reached the cliff top and the spread of the gardens of the Pride beyond, and there he allowed her hand to fall.

‘This is where I must leave you.’ A shadow wove its way between them, the first of the day. Nor was it dispelled when Zan touched her cheek, then let his fingers smooth the wind-whipped curls at her temple. His smile owned not a little regret.

On an impulse Marie-Claude caught his wrist. ‘I wish you would not.’

‘It’s better so.’

‘Stay with me.’ Oh, she wanted him to stay. ‘For a little while.’