50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (11 page)

“It is no such thing!” Trevor cried.

“Oh yes, it is,” she said, her voice dropping to a low a threat. She had no idea where such a venomous sound came from, but it held all the frustration and embarrassment of the last twenty-four hours. And it laid all of it at his door. “Because if you believe I shall be trussed up and paraded around as an object of fun alone, then you are sadly out, Mr. Anaedsley. This was your mad idea, and I shall not be pranced about like a dancing bear without you right by my side as a monkey jumping to the same tune.”

For the third time that evening, the room descended into silence. She could not tell if the reason was shock, horror, or appreciation. It didn't matter. Her gaze was on Trevor, as his was the only opinion that mattered. His expression was tight, but it slowly eased as he looked at her. In his lengthy silence, he seemed to be testing her resolve, so she kept her expression firm.

In the end, he puffed out a breath. “How will this work? I am not the least bit buggy.”

She picked up her fork and gestured much as the duke had done. “Be sure to open your eyes very wide.”

“Mellie!” he cried, the sound conveying both outrage and laughter.

“And no more of that,” she said coldly. “I am a princess from now on.”

Eleanor chose that moment to insert herself. “Can we at least make you Printsessa? That's Russian for—”

“No.” This time it was Trevor and Mellie who spoke at the same instant.

* * *

It was past midnight when he knocked on Mellie's door, half hoping that she wouldn't answer. Trevor had spent much of the evening in congenial drink with the duke. He found the man to be wise in the way of a practical man and pleasant in the way of the best drinking companion. So the two had stayed up late, and then—thankfully—the man had extended his hospitality enough to give Trevor a room for the night. Good thing, as there were likely creditors sleeping outside his usual rooms. Fortunately, he wouldn't need to live with a straightened purse anymore. His grandfather would be settling a nice sum on him the minute the engagement was announced.

But even pleasant masculine evenings had to end, and so it was that the duke went to his lady wife and Trevor turned his mind to Mellie. In truth, he'd been thinking of her for much of the evening—or avoiding thoughts of her—but it was time to face her fury. Or her gratefulness. Or her logic. Truth be told, he had no idea what she was feeling, and he was not a man who liked to walk blind into a woman's parlor. Two sisters and a petulant mother had taught him that. And yet he still felt the driving need to see her, so he scratched at her door and tried not to fidget in anxiety.

“Come in,” came her soft reply.

Awake then. Steeling himself for whatever came on the other side, he quickly slipped inside her room, shutting the door behind him.

She'd rearranged the furniture. The duchess certainly wouldn't have placed the chair facing the window. But she'd put it and herself there, looking out the darkened panes while an empty brandy snifter rested by her elbow. He had a moment's pang that there was no bottle resting nearby. He suspected she was as affable a companion as the duke had been.

“Mellie?” he asked.

“Don't you mean
princess
?”

She spoke lightly, humor in her tone, so he smiled and dared approach. “Princess, then. I came to see how you fared.”

She glanced at him, and he saw the moonlight caress her skin to a pearly glow. “So you haven't come to your senses, then?”

He was lost for a time in her beauty. God, the moon loved her face. But then he shook himself out of his reverie enough to blink at her. “What senses?”

“I have been thinking of writing down a fairy tale. The Cricket Princess and the Mad, Bad Buggy Duke. What do you think?”

“I think it shall be a marvelous tale.”

“It is a ridiculous tale, and you know it.” She adjusted her seat so that she faced him directly. “I thought you'd stayed away because you were steeling your resolve to tell me such.”

“I have no need to steel myself to talk to you,” he said with vehemence. And as the words left his mouth, he realized it was true. She was not an emotional woman, thank God. The fact that she could speak rationally, today of all days, told him that. So he dropped on the nearest seat—the edge of her bed—and breathed a sigh of relief. “Mellie, it will all work out. You just need—”

“If you tell me to trust you one more time, I think I shall hit you.”

“But…um…oh.” He had no counter to that because in his experience, it always did work out. Maybe not perfectly, but well enough.

Meanwhile, she arched a brow at his silence while he felt like an errant schoolboy caught doing mischief. Then she sighed. “Do you imagine that I have grown to adulthood in my father's house, managed servants and Ronnie, plus stopped my uncle's interference, by leaving it to someone else to bring things right?”

“Of course not. I'm sure you were the most responsible adult in that household within a year of your mother's passing,” he said. Then he gripped his thighs rather than reach for her because what he was about to say would not be pleasant to hear. “But that is in the country, and this is London. You have to rely on someone. You're an outsider here.”

“I can rely on advice, Mr. Anaedsley, without surrendering my reason completely.”

She had a point, but rather than allow her that, he quietly chided her. “We are alone and affianced. You must call me Trevor.”

“Are we?” she challenged. “Are we still engaged? Trevor—” She stressed his Christian name, and not in a nice way. It was more an angry, irritated, frustrated way. “This whole plan is ludicrous.”

“It will work,” he said firmly, though in truth, she had echoed his thoughts exactly. It was a delicate line to tweak the
ton
's interest without crossing over into total revulsion. The mood of the aristocracy was capricious at the best of times.

“Well, it has already worked for you, hasn't it? With our engagement, your grandfather will release your money, and you are saved from the duns. Whereas I am to find a suitable alternative to Ronnie while acting as your fiancée and hailed as the Cricket Princess.”

He tilted his head, seeing for the first time how careful she was. Obviously, she'd spent her life having other people see to their needs with never a thought to hers. In short, she expected to be overlooked and so had no qualms in accusing him of such a crime.

“You are far out on that, Mellie. Far, far out.”

She took a moment to study him, then slowly shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Then I shall make it clear. We shall begin with the simplest. Our engagement isn't real until it is published in the papers.”

She brightened. “Then there is still time to stop this nonsense.”

“No,” he lied, “there is not. Second, I made a bargain with you to see you wed, and I shall stick to it. You insult my word as a gentleman to suggest anything different.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you suggest that no gentleman has ever gone back on his word? That no bargain was actually a cheat or—”

“I say I am a gentleman, and I would never do such a thing.” He was rather insulted that she entertained the idea. But then she had grown up in the country, and they had all sorts of ridiculous notions. “Besides, I am the one at risk here. I have proposed. You have accepted. What if you change your mind and suddenly post the banns at your church? If you set a date, we must perforce wed. A neat way to trap a future duke, don't you think?”

Her lips narrowed to a flat line. Obviously, she liked being called a cheat no better than he did. Except her words were entirely unexpected. “You cannot convince me that you would marry me in such a circumstance.”

“Of course I would. Or face the rest of my life as the man who stood you up at the altar for no reason whatsoever. There are some things a gentleman doesn't do. I have pushed for this engagement, ruse though it is. You have accepted. Unless you murder someone or make me a cuckold before the vows, I cannot in honor refuse to appear on the day you choose.” She blinked at him, obviously mulling over his words. Good Lord, he couldn't have just given her an idea. Of course not. She was Mellie. She didn't think that way. But it didn't stop him from hastily adding, “I am relying on you to not change your mind. To not put my honor to the test in such a malicious way.”

“Do you know,” she said, “I find your gentlemanly code as ridiculous as Ronnie's romantic one?”

He reared back as if struck, though his reason couldn't deny her point. “I am insulted to my core.”

She arched her brow. “Truly? Insulted to your core?”

He shrugged. “Well, I should be.”

“Then you understand my point.”

“Of course I do. But you must acknowledge mine. I adhere to my code as firmly as Ronnie holds to his. I have made you a promise to find you a husband, and I shall stick to that no matter what.”

She shook her head, not in denial, but in apparent awe of his stubbornness. “You would attach your honor to finding the Cricket Princess a husband. Do you not hear how ridiculous that is?”

“Well, I do acknowledge that it will be a challenge. But never fear, with Eleanor's sponsorship I am sure we will find a way.”

She studied him again, her expression serious even though the discussion had hit unprecedented heights of silliness. “Your code—Ronnie's code—both are set to make me an object of fun.”

“I disagree. In truth, our codes have very little to do with you except that you are affected by our behavior. Our codes are meant to manage ourselves, not others. And before you poke another accusing finger, recall that you have a code of your own.”

“I do not,” she said haughtily. Then she seemed to change her mind. “Unless it is science. The rule of logic.”

“Well you need to toss that aside. You are in society now.”

She snorted, and he liked the indelicate sound. “I gathered that at dinner, Mr. Buggy Duke.”

He laughed, but he could see she was resigned to their charade. And for that, he was enormously grateful. “It will come out all right, Mellie. I have sworn it.”

She looked up at him, and at this angle, the light fell upon the creamy skin of her bosom. Her night rail had come untied, so he saw beautiful skin and the swell of her very lovely breasts. “You are daft, Mr. Anaedsley. But I have given you my promise, and so…”

“And so?” he prompted when she fell silent.

“Must I really be a Cricket Princess?”

“Yes,” he said in mock seriousness. “Much more a compliment than it sounds, you know. Men go mad for crickets. Just look at your father.”

“Do not hold him up to me as an example.”

“The Beetle Queen made a spectacular match last season.”

“I lived in the country, Mr. Anaedsley, not Siberia.”

He frowned, searching through his memory for his geography lessons. He'd been terrible in that subject, his interest much more in the construction of canals.

“It's part of Russia,” she supplied.

“Ah yes, of course it is,” he said. He couldn't stop himself. He touched her chin. “You are a very clever girl, you know. Much more clever than I, it seems, in matters of geography.”

“You are better in entomology.”

“And you in chemical recipes.” He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, pleased when the flesh heated and swelled beneath his caress. “But in this—in society, and what attracts a gentleman—pray allow me to be the wiser one.”

“I believe I have gambled my entire future on just such a thing.”

He smiled. “So you have.” Then his smile broadened. “There is only one thing left to do, you know.”

Her lips had parted, the heat of her moist breath flowing over his thumb like a beaconing wave. “What?”

“We must seal this bargain with a kiss.”

Her eyes told him she'd expected such a thing. The way her breath caught told him she'd hoped for such a thing. But it was her lips that he was most interested in as she formed these words.

“We have already sealed it with a kiss,” she whispered.

A great many of them, in fact—kisses that burned in his memory as splendid events. As the best damn bargains he'd ever made purely because of the way they made him feel: alive, happy, and desperate to kiss her again.

“I feel the need to ensure your promise again,” he said as he leaned closer.

“You have it.”

So he took it: her promise, her mouth, and a great deal more besides.

You must overwhelm his senses while keeping your own.

She knew this was wrong. Unmarried ladies did not entertain gentlemen in their bedrooms. Not while in their night rail, and certainly not with brandy and kisses. She knew it, but she found herself unable to stop. After an entire lifetime of being demure, Melinda found herself tossing every scrap of logic and decorum aside.

She blamed him completely.

She blamed him for charming her out of her anger. She blamed him for leaning close and being so handsome that she ached to touch him. And she blamed him most especially for being so good at kissing that she wanted to do it again.

Their lips touched. His were warm and tempting. Like hot chocolate on a cold morning. She wanted to lick him slowly before relishing tiny sips. But she never had control with him or chocolate. She knew she'd start gulping him down while his touch still burned her tongue.

She kissed him full and deep. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, then quickly lost that duel as he dominated her. She was stretched awkwardly in her chair. He had the room to push forward and to wind his fingers through her hair as he took control of her mouth and her kiss.

She tried to stay dispassionate. After all, she'd kissed other men. What made this man's caress so much better than another's? Was it the way his one hand was firm as he cradled her head and the other hand a sensuous stroke as he brushed down her neck and across her shoulder? Was it the way his tongue was unpredictable, first thrusting then stroking? A push then a nip while she scrambled to keep pace? Actually, it seemed that his total command of the situation was thrilling and…

He touched her breast.

She knew he would. While their kiss had gone on and her mind had spun its distraction, she had allowed his fingers to slip the shoulder of her night rail down before his fingers stroked over her bare breast. She had allowed it, and yet, everything seemed dizzyingly beyond her control.

He broke their kiss, dropping his forehead against hers while their breath mingled hot and sweet. But his fingers did not stop as he brushed the rounded swell of her breast, then slipped quick as a wink beneath it. She felt him lift her slightly, and his thumb brushed her nipple.

Lightning tingled up her body, lingering in her jaw for a second. Bizarre, she thought, and then he did it again. His thumb, back and forth across her nipple. This time the sizzle went low, heating her belly and weakening her legs.

“You must trust me,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her nose.

“I do,” she answered, though she'd meant to say, “of course not.” Of course she did not trust a lustful man in her bedroom at night. She was a proper girl and not a fool. But then he pressed his lips to her shoulder. A kiss. Another. Then the scrape of his teeth against her skin.

It was so delightful she shivered. What an odd reaction, she thought, but as soon as the idea formed it slipped away under the steady thrum of his thumb across her nipple.

“Trevor,” she whispered. She lifted her hand, meaning to push him away. Instead, she feathered her fingers into his hair, feeling the soft caress of his locks across the back of her hand. Soft curls. Sweet kisses, now on the curve of her breast.

He shifted until he was kneeling before her. He pressed his mouth against her skin and pushed her backward in the chair. Her head dropped against the ornate chair, and her pulse rushed close to the surface. She felt it in her throat, and yet she also felt the stroke of his thumb as if he touched the deepest center of her body.

Then he lifted her breast higher, bringing it to his mouth.

She had heard of this before. She wasn't completely ignorant, and she often overheard ladies whispering together. Gentlemen liked breasts, they'd said. “Sucking on tits” was the phrase they'd used. She never guessed that she would enjoy it too.

That the press of his lips would set her to gasping. That her pulse would jump as his suction pulled at her. Or that she would grip his shoulders and hold him so that he would never stop.

He sucked. Sometimes he stopped, and his fingers twisted her nipple. Not painfully. Or yes, a little painfully, but in the most wonderful way. On the other breast. On both breasts. And then, yes, he took her nipple into his mouth again.

Her heart hammered, and she shifted restlessly. She wanted to draw him closer, but she hadn't the thought. She felt his pull. Every stroke. Every caress. She felt it…

Everything tightened unbearably.

So tight. Like everything drawn in and held.

Until it broke.

Her belly convulsed, and her mind sputtered in shock.

Everything pulsed and writhed and rushed inside her. And it was wondrous!

It continued for a while, with her body throbbing, while everything else tried to grab hold. Her mind tried to understand, her breath tried to catch up, and even her belly, which quaked and quivered, tried to gather its dignity and pull her legs closed. Nothing worked except this flight of pleasure powered by the contractions of her belly. And in the end, she surrendered herself to the sensations, only to have them fade into a pale tremor inside her.

Which was when she opened her eyes to see him watching her. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly parted. His expression seemed dazed, but beneath it all was a clear excitement. Not lust, but giddy joy.

Or was that her?

“Has that ever happened to you before?” he asked, his voice hushed.

She swallowed. “N-no.”

He smiled. “And what did you think of it?”

Think? She couldn't think at all.

His smile widened into a grin. “That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I feel quite accomplished, you know.”

He was laughing. She could hear the delight in his words, but she didn't understand his meaning. Accomplished?

His expression gentled, and he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “You're beautiful, you know. Every time I see you, it seems that I find something more remarkable about you.”

She grabbed hold of her reason and formed a word. “What?” Sometime later, she managed to pull herself together enough to straighten in her chair. She meant to pull her knees together, but he was pressed against them, keeping them wide. It was only the fabric that kept him distant from her full body.

And then, while she sat there desperately trying to gather her wits, he straightened up. She still fought to control even the smallest aspect of her body while he slipped an arm underneath her legs and the other behind her back. Then he lifted her out of her chair.

She gasped in surprise, managing to wrap an arm around his broad shoulders as he maneuvered them to her bed. Then he set her down, his touch gentle, even as his eyes sparked with delight.

“Lord,” he murmured, “the things I could show you.”

She ought to object. She had enough awareness to know that. But the words didn't form. She didn't have the wherewithal to do more than grip his sleeve as he drew away, his expression regretful.

“This wasn't well done of me,” he said with a sigh. “I should have left that to your husband, lucky bastard.” Then he flashed his mischievous grin. “But I can't regret it. God, the way you looked. Surprised. Delighted. I haven't the words, Mellie, but I was awed.”

She didn't understand what he was saying. She was coming to grips with the basics as her logical brain pulled the facts together. She had come. That had been an orgasm. Contractions and pleasure—she understood now. Women could take delight in their bodies. That was good to know.

But he was leaving her, and so she clutched his hand, trying to hold him still. She needed to comprehend what had happened. And she wanted to process the information while he explained. And provided more examples.

“Mellie—”

“Not yet,” she managed. “Don't leave yet.”

He paused. “You tempt me too much. Do you understand? I'm barely holding onto my honor as it is.”

She did understand, and yet… “This is so new. I want to…”

“Explore more?” he asked.

She nodded. “Oh yes.”

He chuckled, the sound tight for all that it was filled with good humor. “Then I must leave. Mellie, I have had too much brandy.” And yet, he lingered and still held her hand. His thumb stroked her skin, and her nipple tightened in memory.

She watched what he did, and she felt her belly tighten again. She licked her lips and heard him groan.

“Mellie—”

“Does that happen every time?”

“With me it does,” he answered, pride in his tone.

“No wonder the ladies flock to you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I read about you in the society papers. I know you are a favorite. Now I know why.”

She tugged on his hand, and he obliged her by settling on the edge of the bed. She felt his heat against her thigh and idly brushed her fingers through the hair on his forearm. He had such lovely arms. Corded with strength, but still soft enough to stroke.

“The papers have me bedding every female in England. I assure you, that is far from the truth.”

She shrugged. “But I understand it now.”

He sighed, and the sound seemed to come from deep within him. “Mellie, I cannot. I will not debauch you.”

She bit her lip. She wanted to be debauched. How had she lived this long without having that experience? How had she not even known it was possible?

But the more time passed, the more she knew he was right. She risked everything by having him here touching her. There were too many things set against her on the marriage mart already. She had to be sure to stay a virgin. She knew this, and yet it was so hard to stop touching him.

Then she looked at him, seeing a way to satisfy her curiosity. She rushed the words out, whispering them before she could stop herself.

“Will you teach me?” she asked.

She felt her words jolt through his body. A jerk of his hand, but a sudden heat in his eyes. “Teach you what exactly, Mellie?”

“Show me how to do that…to feel that way again. By myself.”

She watched him swallow, and his eyes seemed to fire suddenly bright, but then his expression abruptly closed down. He looked hard. And very remote.

“Don't be angry,” she said, though—God in heaven—why she had formed those words, she hadn't a clue. It was only that he suddenly looked so forbidding.

“I'm not angry,” he said. “I'm trying to hold onto my honor.”

“But—”

“Yes.” The word was hard and clipped, but there was no anger in his face.

“You will?”

“Yes. But not tonight. I'll… We'll… Tomorrow night maybe. Or…Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Then he abruptly straightened and stepped away. He gently disentangled their fingers and left the bed. “Another time, Mellie.”

“But—”

“Not. Tonight.” Then he gave her a stiff, awkward bow and headed for the door. “I—” he began. Then he shook his head. “Jesus.”

Then he slipped away.

* * *

Trevor stumbled to his room, his mind reeling. What an undiscovered jewel Mellie was! All men longed for a passionate, responsive wife. Sadly, there was no way to tell before the wedding night exactly the kind of sexual creature one had married. Most men discovered they'd tied themselves to a frightened virgin who eventually became a cold fish.

Mellie wasn't that kind of woman. She was sensitive. Good Lord, he'd never seen someone who could come just from nipple play. Add to that her naturally curious mind, and she could become a goddess in the bedroom. It only required some simple encouragement.

Her husband had better not be a clod. What a waste that would be!

He hastily stripped out of his clothes before collapsing naked onto his bed. He couldn't bear the thought of Mellie with an idiot for a husband. Which was why he'd promised her he'd teach her. If nothing else, he'd make sure she knew how to pleasure herself. He almost taught her right there and then, except he knew himself. If he got one hand between her thighs, nothing would stop him from completing the deed. He'd embed his cock so deep, she'd never forget him. And he'd surely end up releasing his seed without even the forethought of a sheath.

He knew that about himself, so he had run from her like an errant coward. He had awakened her to the possibilities of her body and then abandoned her.

He released a litany of curses, but it was really a distraction. Easier to damn himself for a fool than to think of the way her skin had flushed and her body had writhed during her awakening. She had been so shocked, she hadn't even cried out. It had been more of a gasp and the sweetest mew of delight as her body shot from her control.

He closed his eyes, remembering that moment. Replaying it in his mind's eye over and over while he wrapped his own hand around his cock. And how ridiculous was this? He hadn't pleasured himself in years. Even under his current restricted finances, there were always women happy to entertain a future duke. But the idea of any other woman repulsed him.

So he took himself in hand and dreamed of the surprising Mellie. Of her smiling, her eyes languid and her body soft. She was so rarely soft with anyone, but with him, she had sighed in delight and shivered like a newborn colt. She had gripped his shoulders and arched into his caress.

He pictured himself repeating what he had done while slowly spreading her legs. He would slip in, taking his time so that she could adjust to him. She would be virginally tight. She would grip him as he plowed her, and her lips would form that perfect
O
of delight.

And he would…

While she…

Images flew through his mind, each more graphic than the last. He wanted them all with her. And when he exploded in his hand, it was almost an afterthought. The ideas continued, the thoughts consuming him, of what he could do with her. It would take years to accomplish them all, and by that point, he would have thought of some more.