The Rake Enraptured (10 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

A glance was all it took.

She supposed he had had enough practice at assignations. She met his eyes - for the first time in days - looked at the door to the terrace, and looked back at him. It was enough. She saw a fierce light kindle in his eyes a
nd he nodded once, a subtle motion that another might have thought random. She knew better, and she walked out onto the terrace alone. In the shrubbery at the foot of the steps she waited, the evocative resinous scent reminding her of the last evening she had stood here, and watched the door.

He was more skillful than that.

Suddenly there were strong hands on her upper arms, and she was drawn back against a broad chest. "Little dove," he said softly in her ear.

She quivered with unwanted excitement at
the touch. "That is a foolish thing to call me. I am nothing like a dove."

He smiled, his teeth a pale glint in the dimness as she turned and pulled free. "True. But your dress looks almost white in the night."

She pressed her lips together, vexed by this mistake that might make her visible to anyone wandering in the garden, and wished she had worn navy blue. She stepped further into the shelter of the trees, and he followed without hesitation, standing too close. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and she struck it away.

"No! I didn't want you here for . . . for that."

"What then? What do you want me for?" His tone was smoothly suggestive, and he moved even closer so his thighs pressed against her skirts.

She crossed her arms over her
chest. "No! I only want to speak to you."

"Then speak." He was close enough she could smell the sweet fruitiness of wine on his breath.

"You are threatening my position here. More than a threat. Everyone has noticed, and speaks of your attentions to me. You must cease. You realize by now there will never be anything between us. Relieve me. Say you will not . . . not be like you are. Not watch me, or seek me out. Say you will ignore me."

"I'll say it if it pleases you, but it won't be true." He eased even closer, so his
chest brushed against her bodice. Branches of the fir stabbed her in the back. She could retreat no further.

Her palms pushed against his
chest in entreaty, but he did not budge. "I do not want this. How many times must I say it?"

"Your body must lear
n to say it before I'll believe you. Do you think I can't see you watch me too? Do you imagine I am unaware of you? I am not. Each time your head turns to me I know it, and it is often.

She raised one hand to her burning cheek. "Don't say these things."

"Why not? They are true. I am not the only one who yearns. This hunger belongs to both of us."

"You are wrong-" But his mouth came down on hers, and she could taste the hunger he spoke of, the fervency of him bent to her as if he would convince her by sheer
force of will.

It did not require force. Her mouth opened under his, let in his seeking tongue, a shocking thing to have within her; crassly intimate, silkily seductive. He sucked on her, encouraged her to respond, and when she returned the slick caress he
groaned into her mouth. "Yes, sweetling. Yes, like that." One of his arms was around her waist, holding her close, his other wrapped around her shoulders and he tilted her off balance, so she gasped and clung to him, afraid of falling. But he held her secure and after a moment her head tipped back in surrender, and she gave him her weight as she kissed him heedlessly.

He was hot in the night, and so was she, her clothing chafing, binding her almost unbearably and she wanted to fold at the knees, to go down
with him into darkness and sensation and never think again or measure the cost.

Foolishness.

"No," she whimpered, a broken sound. It took a moment to gather the will to speak again. "No. This is wrong." Still she clung to him, a vine with no support but him.

"It is right. It is right and perfect and what we were made for. Don't tell me no, sweetling. Let me teach you. Let me show you the way."

"No. I will not do this." She whispered it, and hoped it was true. Hoped it was not true.

"Then we will not, if yo
u don't want to. Only let me touch you, just here, like this." He had gathered her dress without her realizing, lifted it so the folds of fabric fell over his forearm, so his hand was suddenly there at her undergarments. She made a sound of shock and he kissed her again, for a moment distracting her and then-

Oh. He was touching her. His fingers were deft and so knowing, and it was all too fast for her to make sense of it, of being held in place by him alone in the darkness while he touched a part of her th
at was so private, hers alone.

"Mr
Holbrook-"

"Colin. Say my name."

She clasped his shoulder in a fierce grip, urging him closer. "Colin, you must stop."

"Say you do not like it, and I will stop."

Oh, that was quite-

Oh.

"Mmmm," she hummed.

"So soft. So wet. Do you know how wet you are? Heaven. So responsive."

His murmurs made no sense to her. She did not try to understand them. Only held him and breathed in little moans and sobbing sighs as he did something extraordinary with his skillful fingers, a world beyond what she knew of sensation, foreign and utterly compelling. She tried again, with an enormous effort of will. "N-naughty. Wicked. You mustn't-"

"I must. I can't resist you." His voice was very dark and soft, like velvet. "But I won't
harm you, I promise. Only this."

"I can't think when you- Oh, what are you doing?"

"God, little one, I can't believe how hard I am for you. But only this. I swear it. No more. Unless you want more. Shall I stop? Say my name again."

"Colin."

"Shall I stop?"

"No."

"Ah, yes, sweetling. I've been burning to have you like this for days, weeks. I've dreamed of you. Give it to me. Little dove. My own. Give it to me."

He was fervent, commanding, and she searched for the answer within herself, to give him what he w
anted, what she wanted, this feeling of urgency overwhelming. "Ah. Oh. Oh my. Oh."

So intense a pleasure rose up in her, so excruciating it was almost pain. It engulfed her, drowning out the soothing reassurance of his voice, his warm encouragement, a husk
y litany of praise. There was tension, a feeling she might break apart. "Ah," she cried, suddenly afraid of this, of herself.

"That's right. I have you. Let go."

"No."

"Say yes. Say yes. Let it happen," he urged, his arms around her holding her safe agains
t the night.

"Yes. I- Oh, yes."

It was the most peculiar thing, like a bolt of light up her spine and through her brain, a shaking and rippling she realized was pleasure. Her legs gave way completely. He held her steady, lifted her a little, so she was draped on him, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, clean skin, linen, pomade and musk, compellingly masculine, and tried to catch her breath, her own chest heaving like a smith's bellows.

His hand cupped the nape
of her neck, a tender touch, and he kissed her shoulder.

For an eternal moment she was dazed and happy, held and soothed.

Then she regained possession of her senses.

"No wonder," she murmured.

"Pardon?" he asked, his voice thick.

"No wonder women are so s
tupid over you. If you can do that to them." She paused, but he was silent. She took a deep breath, then another, striving for rationality. "It explains a lot. Well. I shall consider myself better educated, at the very least. Would you put me down, please?" The words came out as if she was requesting a cup of tea, polite and distant.

He hesitated a moment, then did as she asked, let her slide down his body that felt so hard and lumpy against her. His arms were still around her and she thought his eyes sear
ched her face, though he was featureless in the darkness. "I expect you've done that a hundred times. A thousand," she said, as composed as she could manage.

He swooped on her and kissed her, an onslaught of passion that took her breath away.

"No," he paused to say fiercely. "This is not the same."

For a moment she clung, wishing passion were truth and she could believe him. Then s
he pushed him away, and he let her with reluctant compliance. "Of course it is. It is precisely the same. A very lowering thought, but I shall learn to cope with that. It seems I have not the fortitude I thought."

"Do not think badly of yourself," he deman
ded imperiously.

"What? Shall I blame you, like some weak-kneed ninny?" She put on a mocking tone of shocked dismay. "It was the rake who did it. Not I. That naughty man led me astray."

"I did," he said, very low.

"No. I shan't blame you. I take responsibi
lity too. I should have given you a good, swift kick."

"Should you?"

"Most decidedly. And run away screaming. Or at the very least, run away. Did I do so? No. Therefore I also carry the blame. I know what you are."

"There is no blame." He was impatient, hi
s hands massaging her shoulders as if he could not quite bear to let her go. "Nothing has happened."

She broke his hold, eased back a scarce inch. "Oh, I take leave to differ," she said with a touch of frost.

"I mean-" she saw him drive his hand through his hair, silhouetted against the starry sky. "That is, nothing of significance."

"I suppose that depends on one's perspective."

"I do not mean it like
that
. You have not been damaged. I have not done anything to change your state."

"Ah. I see. We are referr
ing to removing my maidenhead, I perceive."

". . . Yes."

"I'm glad you find this reassuring. For my own part, I would rather lack the experience I now have. It is something I anticipated sharing only with a husband."

"I'm sorry to have spoiled your goal."
He did not sound sympathetic. Piqued, rather.

"As I said, it was a mutual effort. I too bear the blame. It all happened very quickly."

"Not as quickly as that." She thought he said it through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry. Is that offensive in some way? Pardon
my ignorance. I had best go. Please remember what I said earlier. Goodnight."

"Wait. You can't go now."

"Of course I can."

"No. Everything has changed."

"Nonsense. You said yourself nothing happened. We shall regard it as precisely that. Nothing. Let us each pretend nothing occurred."

"No. We shall not pretend anything. You gave yourself to me. I showed you how we can be together. A line has been crossed."

"Then I cross back to the other side of that line. I don't know what you have in mind but I want no part of it. I am quite content with the status quo, if only you will be a gentleman," she emphasized the word, "and cease your persecutions."

"Persecutions?"

"Shhh. No need to speak as loud as that. I have had enough. Leave me alone."

"Julia, it is I who h
ave had enough. I understand you've little enough reason to have faith in me. Yet I love you. Ardently. Passionately. As I have never loved a woman before, or thought I ever could. The depth of this emotion still takes me by surprise. But Julia, believe me," he caught her hand, "this does change everything. I am not one to worry much about the formality of marriage. All I want is you. Still, marry me. Make me the happiest of men."

"I-" she blinked at him, straining to make out his features in the darkness.
"Are you serious?"

There was a pause. "Never more so." The tone of pleased expectancy had faded a little from his voice.

"I am astounded." She was silent, breathing hard. "I never expected this from you. You are fixed in my mind as a determined bachelor. I- Well I'm flattered I suppose. But no, thank you. Good night."

"Julia." Now he was shocked. "Is that all you will say?"

"What else would you have me say?"

"I can think of any number of things."

"I'm sure I shall also, probably before the night is through. I'm sure I shall wish I had been more polite or dignified. You may say my dignity has been ruffled by these events. I find I am not in the mood for platitudes. Imagine them said, and good night."

"Not platitudes. My God, have you nothing more of substanc
e to offer me? I give you my heart, and this is all you will return?"

She hesitated, bit her lip, tried to think of a way to be kind. "Pray don't be offended. I'm certain you mean well, and certainly you are very attractive in many, many ways, but you are
not the man to make me happy, and you never will be."