The Rake (5 page)

She sat, huddling in his coat, absorbing the
warmth that remained from his body, and the wonderful scents that
adhered to it. She’d never been particularly fond of the smell of
tobacco, or horses, and yet, mingled with the other scents that
were his alone, she found it made her feel comforted and edgy at
the same time, and strangely warm all over. It occurred to her that
she would most likely forever afterward think of him whenever she
smelled that particular blend of tobacco.

Which would be marred by the additional
memory of having spilled her lunch in the grass first. She dropped
her face into her hands, wondering what she had done to deserve
having such horrid things happen to her.

“
You’re certain you’re not
coming down with something?” he asked, settling beside
her.

“
I could not be so
fortunate,” she muttered morosely.

He chuckled. She felt him digging in the
pockets of the coat he’d thrown over her shoulders. She was
beginning to wonder what he was about when he pulled a small flask
from one pocket, removed the lid and nudged her shoulder. The
pungent aroma of strong spirits wafted past her nose. She looked
down at the flask, knowing very well she had no business even
considering taking a sip of the vile mess, which he most certainly
knew as well.

She took the flask, held her breath and took
a large sip. It burned her mouth, her throat and finally her
stomach as it hit bottom. It snatched the breath out of her lungs
so that she sat gasping for several moments. It also scoured the
taste of sickness from her mouth, however, and as the burning
slowly cooled, warmth seemed to spread outward from the pool of
lava in her belly. “Thank you,” she managed to say hoarsely after
several moments.

Hooking the ball of his fist beneath her
chin, he caught her chin with his thumb and forced her to look up
at him. Reluctantly, she did. “I had pegged you for a fighter.”

She gave him an indignant look and lifted
her chin away from his hold.

Shrugging, he capped the flask and dropped
it into the pocket of his coat once more. “I couldn’t help but
notice that you didn’t seem particularly pleased about your
engagement.”

She blushed, but she didn’t want pity, and
she had no desire to become grist for the local gossip mills--not
that she could imagine Lord Wyndham taking part in such a thing,
but all the same it would not do to openly oppose the match. Mr.
Flemming might be angered enough to withdraw his offer, and the
lord only knew what her aunt would do in that event. “It is only
that it came as a great surprise. I have not had time to accustom
myself to the idea,” she said stiffly.

He looked her over with a critical eye, or
so it seemed to Demi. “I confess, I find it hard to imagine you was
a minister’s wife.”

Demi sent him a look. “If you have only come
to insult me, you may go away again!”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. A slight
smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You wound me. I have
gone out of my way to offer solace, and all you will do is tell me
to go away. I must tell you, Miss Standish, I’m not at all
accustomed to this sort of treatment. In general I seem to have the
opposite effect on women.”

Demi didn’t know whether to be amused or
irritated. Finally, amusement won out. “I had not pegged you as
being so full of your own consequence.”

He sighed. “It’s hard to remain humble when
so many designing mamas and dutiful daughters are throwing
themselves at your head.”

Surprised by the comment,
Demi looked him over searchingly. “I suppose by that you mean that
no matter what your station in life, there are always obstacles to
one’s happiness.
You
, at least, have the option of running, however.”

“
But that wounds my
dignity,” he said pensively.

She chuckled in spite of herself. “I’ll
admit I have trouble imagining it.”

“
Would you run if you
could?”

Demi shrugged. “I’m certain I will grow
accustomed,” she said, not very convincingly.

“
I take it by that the
answer is no. There are no other options?”

She turned to study him again. She’d been at
pains not to admit how distasteful she found her engagement, but
she supposed it would’ve been obvious to a stump that she was
unhappy about it. “None that I would seriously consider. None that
are not as bad or worse.”

“
You’ve no sense of
adventure then?” he said, smiling faintly.

She sighed. “Aunt Alma has always accused me
of being just like my father whenever I displease her, but I’m
afraid I’m not as much like my father she seems to think--no, I
don’t. I have far too much imagination.”

“
Some would say being
adventuresome requires an imagination.”

“
A fanciful imagination, I
should think,” Demi said tartly. “For myself, I am more inclined to
imagine the consequences of rash actions.”

“
You have a particular
reason for not wishing to wed Reverend Flemming?”

“
Beyond the fact that I
would be trading one tyrant for another far more dangerous one?”
Demi responded tartly, then gasped and covered her mouth with her
hand, looking at him wide-eyed. “I should not have said that. I
don’t know what made me say that.”

Lord Wyndham was frowning. “The fact that
you believe it to be true?”

She sighed. “You don’t? I mean, do you think
that I’ve misjudged him?”

Again, he shrugged. “You would be in a
better position to judge than I.”

Demi huddled a little deeper into his coat
and shivered. The sun had set and long shadows spilled into the
meadow from the wood that surrounded it. It would be dark soon. She
knew she should go in, but she was reluctant to return to Moreland
Abbey and the almost certain wrath of her aunt. As if he sensed her
thoughts, or perhaps because she’d shivered, Lord Wyndham slipped
an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She stiffened,
but she didn’t try to pull away. After a few moments, she relaxed
against him, dropping her head against his shoulder, relishing her
closeness to him.

She knew he meant to kiss her when he tucked
a finger beneath her chin and urged her to look up at him.

She knew she shouldn’t allow it.

She lifted her face to look up at him
without hesitation, with complete trust. Their gazes locked for a
suspended moment in time, then, slowly, he dipped his head closer
to hers, brushed his lips lightly across the sensitive surfaces of
her own. A rush of delight filled her at the feather light contact,
suspending her breath in her chest. When he lifted his head
slightly to look into her eyes, she held herself perfectly still,
waiting to see what he would do next.

He released a sharp exhalation from his
chest as she met his gaze, as if he, too, had been holding his
breath. Something flickered in his eyes, surprise and something
more, something dark, heated. Slipping his hand from her chin to
the base of her skull, he lowered his head once more, pressing his
lips to hers and releasing, and then moving ever so slightly and
molding his lips against hers again, as if seeking the perfect fit.
An intoxicating lethargy swept through Demi at his light caresses,
as his breath mingled with her own. Lifting a hand, she caught a
fistful of his shirt above his pounding heart and moved closer.

Lightly, he touched the seam where her lips
met with the tip of his tongue. A ripple of surprise went through
Demi, a touch of doubt. She subdued it. Hesitantly, she parted her
lips, not entirely certain that that was what he wanted, but
willing to allow him to do what he would with her. He opened his
mouth over hers then, thrusting his tongue past the lax barrier of
her lips and teeth and raking it along her own. A jolt went through
her at the unaccustomed contact that was part surprise and part
something else she couldn’t begin to define. Like the spirits she’d
drank from the flask, it sent a wave of dizziness through her and
created a warm, melting sensation inside of her, evoking a frantic
rhythm from her heart. Briefly, she wavered between fear of the
unknown and the desire to see where he would lead her. Desire won
out, and she relaxed against him, savoring his possession,
submerging herself completely in the unaccustomed sensations
creating havoc within her as he explored her mouth thoroughly,
caressing her in a way she would never have imagined allowing any
man, let alone wanting.

She did want it, though. The sensations
enthralled her as much as they confused her and when he began to
withdraw, she leaned closer, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to
explore as he had explored hers. A shudder went through him, but
before she could retreat in her uncertainty over his reaction to
her boldness, he closed his mouth around her tongue and sucked. It
sent a hard jolt of fire through her veins, draining the strength
from her so that she felt weak all over.

Abruptly, he broke the kiss. Disappointment
instantly flooded her. With an effort, she lifted her lids to look
up at him reproachfully. He stared back at her for a long moment,
his face taut, unyielding. Finally, he tucked her head against his
shoulder, stroking a shaking hand along her shoulder and down her
arm. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said hoarsely, “unless you’re
of a mind to have your skirts tossed over your head.”

She stiffened. After a moment, she pulled
away from him, trying to sort through her chaotic feelings. She
knew very well that she should have been outraged at the comment.
Somehow, though, she was more intrigued by it than insulted.

He released her, scrubbed a hand over his
face and shifted uncomfortably, straightening one leg. She looked
him over curiously. “You have a muscle cramp?”

The question startled a chuckle out of him.
He turned and studied her a long moment. Finally, he took her hand
and, watching her face, pressed her open hand against his lower
belly, sliding her palm over a long, hard ridge of flesh that she
hadn’t noticed before. Comprehension dawned almost instantaneously,
however. She’d spent much of her life in the country, certainly
enough to have a fairly firm grasp of the concept of mating between
animals. She just hadn’t, previously, considered there might be a
similarity between humans and animals. “Oh.” She felt her face
redden and jerked her hand back.

Settling back, she stared down at her hand
in the deepening twilight. She could still feel the impression
along her palm, the heat of it, a faint pulsing of life. Her belly
clenched as she stared at her hand and she curled her fingers
inward. She knew she shouldn’t pursue it further, shouldn’t have
pursued it as far as she had, but she discovered a burning need to
know if it was in any way significant for him as it had been for
her.

She was not in the habit of allowing men to
kiss her, although she knew Phoebe had experimented with kissing
more than once. She had not, in point of fact, had either the
opportunity or the desire to do so before. “Does it … does that
always happen?”

He sent her a sharp glance. “You should
never ask a man a question like that, my dear, if you expect him to
treat you like a lady.”

The rebuke was certainly warranted. It stung
nevertheless. She nodded. “I expect I shall discover it for myself
soon enough,” she muttered to herself, revolted at the idea of
discovering something like that in Jonathan Flemming’s breeches
when he kissed her. Would it be that big, she wondered? Or would it
be bigger still, since he was a bigger man than Lord Wyndham? The
thought sent a wave of panic through her. She knew it was supposed
to fit inside of her, she had just never quite figured out
where.

Beside her, Lord Wyndham stiffened, and she
realized, belatedly, that she must have muttered her thoughts
aloud. “I should go in now,” she said quickly, pulling his coat
from her shoulders and handing it back to him. “Thank you.”

He took it, and stood up, pulling her to her
feet. Peering up at him, she saw that he was still angry, far more
angry than she’d realized. She was sorry for it, but would it be
better to apologize for her brazen manners, she wondered? Or would
it be best to try to pretend that it had never happened?

She stared down at her hands a moment. “You
are so … comfortable to talk to. I apologize if I made you
uncomfortable after your kindness to me.”

He caught her shoulders when she would have
turned away. She looked up at him in surprise. “You should not get
too comfortable with me, Demi. It would be all too easy for me to
forget that I am a gentleman and you are lady, particularly when
you kiss me like that.”

She grimaced. “I shouldn’t have kissed you
back?”

He shook his head slowly, moving closer.
Catching her arms, he placed them around his neck, pulling her
tightly against him. “No,” he murmured, leaning close and brushing
his lips against hers lightly once more. “Nor allowed me to kiss
you the way I did.”

“
Why?” Demi asked
breathlessly when his lips parted from hers briefly.

“
Because now I know what
you do to me … and what I do to you … instead of merely imagining
what it would feel like to kiss you,” he said between short,
nibbling kisses. “And now I have a burning need to discover what it
would be like to make love to you.”

He kissed her deeply then, as he had before,
but with far less restraint. Her belly clenched as excitement
washed through her. Heat burgeoned instantly inside of her, where
before it had grown slowly from warmth to fire. Dizzy, breathless,
she rose up on her toes and tightened her arms around his neck,
caressing his tongue with her own and finally sucking on it as he
had hers before. He groaned, slipping a hand down along her back
and cupping her buttocks through her gown, pressing her lower body
tightly against his own. The swollen ridge of flesh was bruisingly
hard, but she imitated his movements, rocking her hips against
his.