The Perfect Rake (31 page)

How many women had he kissed? He did not know. He did not care. None of them had been Prudence.

She put her hands up to hold his face as she kissed him back and at the feeling of those two small, cool hands cupping his cheeks so earnestly as she pressed warm, damp kisses against his mouth, he felt something inside him dissolve. He wanted to shout from the rooftops, he wanted to hoard her like a secret. Had any woman ever left him feeling so…so simultaneously powerful…and yet so…so helpless? He did not know, could not think. All he could do was to kiss her, to hold her…and fight the need to possess her, for though they were alone and on a bed, this was not the moment. He knew it.

His much-vaunted seduction techniques—where were they? He could not think straight enough to recall a single move. This was pure instinct, pure aching emotion…

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and he felt a fresh surge of tenderness as he coaxed her lips apart and deepened the kiss. Part of him felt like a boy, trembling on the brink of life, and yet another part of him looked on, immensely old. When had he ever been content to merely hold and kiss? When had a kiss not been the first step in a well-rehearsed dance of seduction and pleasure? His body knew the moves, craved them, even if his mind was as scrambled as his morning eggs.

So where had these scruples come from? He could seduce her in an instant, he could feel it. And he needed, more than anything in his life, to possess her, to make her his, flesh of one flesh. And yet…and yet…

Each careful, moist kiss was precious to him. Each touch of her hand, along his jaw, in his hair, around his neck. The soft, eager press of her body against his, innocent, ignorant of the effect on him. And therein lay the problem. He would rather have a dozen heartfelt, hesitant kisses from her than one night of passion and a morning—possibly a lifetime—of regret. Miss Prudence must come to him with a whole heart and in her own time. There could be no regrets afterward.

That was the difference, he suddenly realized. He was going to spend a lifetime with this woman, and he wasn’t going to rush his fences and jeopardize a moment of it. He would harness his urges and savor every instant, every small caress, each loving, untutored kiss.

And so he allowed the embrace to end. He watched her slowly come to her senses, watched the dazed, wide gray eyes focus and awareness slowly flood her. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, dear!” She pulled herself suddenly out of his arms, jumped up, and began straightening the bedclothes, darting swift, embarrassed glances at him and looking away. Finally she stopped, took a deep breath, and looked him in the eye.

“We…I shouldn’t have done that,” she said at last.

“Should we not?” Gideon could not help but smile at her flustered expression. “Why not?

She sighed. “You know why not. I am not free.”

Gideon shrugged. “A few kisses. You make too much of them,” he said lightly. “You were sad. I merely comforted you.”

She thought about it for a moment, and her brow crinkled uncertainly. “Was that truly the reason?”

“What else?” The casual tone of his words were belied by the look in his eyes. Or was that just her own confusion? Prudence wondered. Her own wishful thinking. She was still trembling deep inside from those few moments of what he called comfort. If that was comfort, then…she understood nothing…

“Although you might want to check again—I’m certain I must be feverish.” He took her hand and laid it to his forehead. A tender smile belied the dark promise in his eyes. He turned her palm inward and pressed it gently to his face. The hollow of her palm cupped his cheekbone, her fingers brushed his smooth brow. It was perfectly cool and not the slightest bit clammy or feverish. Prudence didn’t move. Her chest felt suddenly tight. The tips of her fingers just touched the thick, dark, springy hair. She itched to run her fingers through it again, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

His hand lay over hers, warm, strong, and possessive. Slowly, he brushed her hand down over his cheekbones into the hollow of his cheek, warm, male, and unshaven.

Prudence wondered vaguely how a failure to shave could be so wonderfully exciting, but it was, making him seem darker, more dangerous, and excitingly masculine. She shivered as he caressed her hand slowly and sensuously with his face, rubbing against her like a big, lazy cat, his eyes never leaving hers, mesmerizing, enchanting, as skin to skin, the embrace moved along the strong line of his jaw until it reached his lips.

He paused, for what felt like an aeon, and she waited, as if on a precipice, feeling his firm, warm mouth beneath her trembling fingers. Then, slowly, he turned her hand until her palm cupped his mouth. He pressed one kiss into the hollow of her hand, and it was as if her insides turned to melted butter. He pressed another, and her knees began to buckle.

That was what saved her. As her legs trembled and threatened to give way beneath her, she snatched her hand away for balance, for security, for safety. At least that was what she told herself afterward.

She sagged against the end of the bed, clutching at the rails at its foot, and fought for composure.

She tried to make herself angry, but she couldn’t.

She tried to convince herself he had taken unfair advantage of her, but she didn’t believe it. The truth was, she wanted to fling herself back into his arms and have him kiss her on the mouth again, instead of the hand. And later, maybe she could kiss him on the palm and see if he felt it clear through to the tips of his toes, the way she had.

But she couldn’t.

She might wish to be free to to love Lord Carradice, but she wasn’t. She’d given Phillip a sacred promise. They’d exchanged rings and…

And they’d plighted their troth.

Promises were not to be given lightly. She gave few promises, and when she did, she honored them. She’d been able to control few things in her life; she had no choice in where she lived, with whom, what she wore, who she saw, what she ate, or how she and her sisters were treated. The only thing she truly owned or controlled was her honor.

In any case, her sacred vow did not only involve herself and Phillip. Old and bitter grief began to well inside her. With shaking hands, she fussily began to straighten the items on his bedside table. Some things were too painful to dwell upon.

“What is it?” Lord Carradice frowned as he watched her sudden nervous activity.

Aware of his eyes steadfastly observing her, she snatched a pillow from under his head and plumped it violently, the pillow hiding her face from him.

“Ouch! Take care. That’s the head the horse kicked, remember? Now tell me, what has disturbed you?”

“Nothing,” she muttered and briskly plumped the next pillow. Activity was better than emotion. When you were busy, you had no time to think.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” he persisted. “Your eyes are like smoky pools of crystal; every feeling and emotion is reflected in them.”

Prudence stopped in mid-pillow-fluff.
Smoky pools of crystal
…Nobody had ever said anything half so beautiful to her before. She’d always considered her gray eyes dull and colorless, but
smoky pools of crystal
…She averted her gaze abruptly, recalling that they also apparently reflected her thoughts. And if they revealed thoughts, they might also reveal secrets…

He reached out and possessed her hand. “Tell me.”

It occurred to Prudence for a fleeting moment that she ought to tell him. Though she did not know if she could bear the way he would look at her afterward, she might as well tell him and get it over with, because she didn’t think she could withstand his tender assault on her virtue much longer. But as she gazed into his dark, concerned eyes, the coward in her put the moment off a little longer.

“It’s not fair of you to undermine my principles, to disregard what I have told you about my betrothal.”

“Haven’t you heard, Imp, all’s fair in love—”

She cut him off. “But you have all the advantage here!”

He touched his bandage and regarded her soulfully. “I do?”

“Yes! And stop looking at me like that. You know perfectly well what I mean. Phillip can’t compete with you. He is far away across the sea, and you are here.” He did not conceal his satisfaction at that, so she added crushingly, “Always underfoot! He was little more than a boy when I saw him last, whereas you are a man of practiced charm. Very practiced!”

He grimaced.

“You need not pull that face. You know it’s true, whether you like the fact or not. And pretty compliments drip easily from your tongue—”

He ostentatiously wiped his mouth.

“—while poor Phillip writes staid and matter-of-fact letters. But not all men can be poets and it would be shallow of me indeed if I abandoned him because he does not make my head whirl with pretty compliments and you—” She broke off, seeing by the look in his eyes that she’d said too much. “Whatever, it does not matter. I am not so shallow nor so dishonorable as to jilt Phillip in his absence, so we shall drop the subject henceforth, if you please.”

Apparently he didn’t please. “If he doesn’t make your head whirl—and I’m not referring to compliments—he’s not the man for you, Imp. Duty and honor is a dashed dry foundation for a marriage. Oh, I know many make it, but you deserve more, my Prudence. You need—and deserve—to be most thoroughly and completely loved. And by a man who makes your head whirl.”

His words and the look in his eyes as he said them robbed her momentarily of breath. Prudence avoided his gaze. She felt shaky. Blast the man—just as she had bolstered her resolution to resist him, he must go and say something else that made her yearn for her life to be different. To have been different.

“I have to go,” she said. “I shall order a nuncheon to be brought to you.”

A slight frown wrinkled his brow. “Something else is disturbing you, and I intend to discover what it is. I don’t like to see those shadows in your lovely eyes, my Prudence.”

“I am
not
your Prudence,” she retorted, taking refuge in propriety.

He did not argue, just smiled at her in a deeply masculine way that annoyed her, even as her insides melted.

“I’m not!” she argued, flustered.

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t understand why you persist with this nonsense! I thought we’d agreed to drop the subject!”

He sent her a sizzling look. “You agreed. I didn’t.”

“It is not for discussion. I can do nothing until I see or hear from Phillip. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. Besides, there are things between him and me that—” She broke off. “Well, never mind that.”

“I shan’t mind if you don’t,” he agreed. “But I’ll not let you go, Prudence. I’ll not pester you, but know this: I will wait until you choose to listen to your heart.”

“Pshaw.” It was a feeble effort. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Humbug! How can you presume to know my heart?”

He smiled a slow, devastating smile. “You
are
my heart.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “And our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things. And you know it.”

She shook her head but was too shaken by his words to say anything.
Our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things
. Did that mean what she thought it meant? That he, a notorious rake, now believed in love…even after what he’d told her of his parents? Because of her?

Oh, dear Lord, what a mess she was in. Promised to one man and bound by honor and duty to keep that promise. And yet…and yet…Oh, unruly heart!

Even if he wasn’t being rakish, even if he meant what he said, that he could perhaps have feelings for her, he didn’t know her whole situation. He would think differently about her if he did. She tried to comfort herself with the reflection. Cold comfort…

She had learned enough about the world that in some matters, at least, Grandpapa and society were as one.

“Don’t fret yourself, my dear,” he said. “I know you hold your promise to Otterbottom sacred and I cherish you the more for it. Kept promises have not figured largely in my life till now, so I value one when I see it. But I
shall
wait for you.”

Prudence just looked at him.
I cherish you the more for it.
Oh, why must he use such words? He would not cherish her if he knew…

She would have to tell him. It was the only way. Only then would he stop this relentless, tender wooing that was tearing her apart. She swallowed and took a deep breath, then closed her eyes.

No, she could not do it, not now. Not yet. She could not bear to tend him in his sickbed while he stared at her in disappointment. Or condemnation. Or worse.

She would not even think the words her grandfather used so freely on her.

But it would flay her alive to have Gideon say them—or even think them. She would have only a little time more with him. It was cowardly of her, she knew, but she would not tell him the truth until he was well again, and she could flee his condemnation in good conscience. She gave his bedclothes one last vague, distracted swipe and turned to leave.

His hand shot out and caught her wrist. “Trust me, Imp.” His voice was deep and dark and soft with sincerity.

Her heart seemed to seize in her chest like a hard, cold ball. She froze, closing her eyes. He was right. It was time. She could put the moment off no longer. And if he…after he knew the story, if he…well, her sisters could tend him. They’d be glad to, she knew.

“Very well, since you insist, the whole story.” She fetched a hard, wooden chair from the corner of the room and sat a few feet from the edge of his bed. She didn’t think she could do it if he was too close and able to reach out and touch her.

Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at him for one last moment, drinking in the last moments of his warm, unshadowed gaze. After this there would be a different kind of knowledge in his eyes, and she didn’t think she would care to look into his dark, dark eyes again and see it there. Not with the memory of tenderness and laughter. She took another deep breath, then with trembling lips, began to burn her bridges.