50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (19 page)

Trevor was looking at them with a thinking man's frown, but at her words, he immediately stepped up to her. Ronnie's hands had gone slack, so she was able to slip through his arms to join her fiancé.

Ronnie had one last plea. A low moan that might have been interpreted as her name. It didn't matter. In order to be the evil queen, she had to be cruel. And what she'd just done was the cruelest thing of all. She'd finally refused him in terms he would understand.

They were off into the garden when Trevor finally spoke. His words were quiet, but attuned as she was to every noise around her, his words came to her clear with concern. “You know the dodo bird is extinct, don't you?”

“I gave him a quest. It's grand and romantic, and it will take him far away from me.” Her words were strong, but her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking over Ronnie's words. Had she just descended into madness as he accused? It was possible. What sane woman talked about quests? And Trevor was smart enough to see the flaw in her plan.

“Aren't you encouraging his delusions?”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But I'm not sure he's deluded so much as fanciful. Either way, the romantic part of him won't deny the quest. The practical part knows that a long sea voyage will help him find another lady love.”

“But the bird is extinct. And it wasn't from Madagascar. I think it was Mauritius.”

“Maybe the place has pretty girls.”

He chuckled. “Do you think he'll really go?”

“I don't know. What's more surprising is that I really don't care.” And that—said her logical mind—was a sure sign of madness. That's what her father always said. That he'd known her mother was beyond his reach when she ceased to care. For herself. For the young Mellie. And for the unborn child she carried.

Meanwhile, Trevor's thoughts were going along their own path. They were walking out of the garden now, and as they left the small patch of greenery, he posed the next logical question. “What happens when you and I don't wed? Will he come back to bother you?”

A chip of ice twisted in her chest, but what she said was forced into a casual tone. “I will send him on another quest. Maybe make it three quests like in the fairy tales. Or twelve like Hercules. It doesn't matter. I will do it until he understands.” She took a deep breath, and finally put words to the fury she was feeling. “I've finally found some measure of freedom from my family, and I don't care what they think or do. I'm not going back.” Just as her mother had never looked back when she ran to the bridge. Or so the tale went.

They continued to walk in silence. She used the time to wonder what it was like to be at peace. To have no family showing up at balls, no threatened duels, no gossips surrounding her on all sides. In the end, she decided her life at home had been very boring. Which perhaps explains why her mother descended so easily into madness. It was invigorating. It stirred her blood. It made her wish to never return to the bleak life of reason she'd been raised to embrace.

So there it was. She was mad, and she didn't care. And while she tried to absorb that thought, her words ran somewhere else entirely. “What happened in the card room?” she asked.

Beside her, Trevor slowed his steps, his words starting out as a groan. “I was a fool. I lost my temper with my grandfather and did something unforgivable.”

Her gaze cut to his, but in the darkness it was hard to see. “Your grandfather, the duke? What happened?”

He looked up at the sky. As it was overcast, there were few stars to speak of, but he wasn't really looking to them. “I told the truth, Mellie. And now, I think I will be cast out completely.”

For such a dire prediction, he didn't seem that upset. But then she remembered that he'd been in a devil's temper when he pushed his way into her crowd of admirers. “As bad as that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But like you, I seem to find it hard to care.”

Two people in the grips of madness. This was not a good combination. Or rather, since she was a student of chemistry, it was an explosive combination. “Then we are two of a kind,” she said, liking the sound of her words. “We are both unfeeling outcasts from our families.”

He was silent for a long moment. Long enough to have her searching for his face through the darkness. There was a quarter moon tonight, so there was some light, especially with the gaslights a dozen feet away. But that only gave her enough to see the shadow of his features—the dark circles that could be his eyes and the full line that might be his mouth.

“Mellie,” he said as he brought her hands to his lips. “When I hatched this mad scheme, I never thought it would hurt you.”

“I'm not hurt, Trevor. I feel free. I feel alive.” She said the words, but there was a tightness in her belly that belied her statement. Then, as if to prove it, she kept talking. “I was a success at the ball, had admirers on every side, and if it weren't for Ronnie and whatever happened with your grandfather, I would say it was a perfect evening.”

“Then why do you grip my fingers so tightly? Why do I hear desperation in your voice?”

How did he know her so well? How did he hear when her voice was tight and her mind at war with itself? She didn't know, but she knew an easy way to distract him. Or perhaps she meant to distract herself. Either way, her path was easy.

“Because I want you to kiss me, Trevor,” she said. “Because I want so much more than that tonight.”

He stepped closer, and though she couldn't see it, she knew his eyes had blazed hot and hungry. She knew the cadence of his breath before he kissed her. And the tension in her belly that anticipated his touch.

“Mellie, this is madness.”

She smiled. Finally, he understood. “Kiss me, Trevor. Teach me what you promised.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. She was not the only one waging an internal war, she realized. So she ended the agony for them both. She ducked under his head just enough to come up from below. Then she claimed his mouth with hers.

His kiss set fire to her blood. She had started the motion, pressing her lips to his, but he finished it, opening her mouth with his tongue before thrusting inside. She surrendered without protest. She opened herself to him and let her body press forward, anxious for his attention.

He let go of her hands, slipping them forward to grip her hips. She thought for a moment that she could feel his member then. Hot and hard as he thrust once against her. But then he set her back.

“I'll not take you in a London back alley,” he growled.

“So take me somewhere private, Trevor,” she said.

His fingers slid up her body. Just his right hand, but the trail was a long caress the left fire in its wake. “So reasonable,” he murmured.

She wanted to laugh at that. She had embraced her madness now, not run to reason. But his fingers had found her breast. Sometime during the evening, her bodice had become completely denuded of feathers so there was little between his fingers and her taut nipple but the smooth caress of silk. She moaned at the feel—the rasp of his nail across the hard bud. And she ached for him to do more.

So she pressed her hand against his on her breast, trapping it there. Then she took his other and slid it from her hip to the juncture of her thighs and held him there. “Now, Trevor. Please.”

He answered with one word, but it was all she needed right then. “Yes.”

Novelty is the key with every rake. Do something new with him.

Trevor had never been more grateful for being too poor to afford a regular servant. As he whisked Mellie through the London streets—trailing feathers like breadcrumbs—his mind filled with all the things he wanted to show her.

The sexual explorations were one thing, but the idea that she would see his rooms—in all their haphazard, disastrous glory—had him thinking of what he should hide. That brought him to the startling realization that he wanted to show her everything.

His notes on her father's work. The latest paper on the newly discovered bones of a massive lizard. Even his rather complex research on the possibility that insects carried diseases, and his friend's recent gift of knitted pants. He wanted to show her everything, and that startled him enough that he slowed his steps.

Turning to her, he searched her face. Her eyes were wide, her lips red and moist, and she was smiling.

“Mellie…” he began, unsure exactly what he meant to say. It didn't matter because she silenced him with a kiss. She was too quick in her approach, and he had to catch her even as he slanted his mouth across hers. Then it was thrust and parry with tongues and teeth. All else was obliterated.

Then she pulled back. “You promised, Trevor,” she whispered against his cheek. “I will never forgive you if you go back on your word.”

“I won't,” he promised. At that moment, he would promise her anything and then do his damnedest to see her every wish fulfilled. “Come upstairs.”

He rented bachelor rooms in a house loosely run by a widow. She fed him and the other tenant occasionally, kept the main parlor clean, and was in bed by dark. She was also nearly deaf.

He pulled Mellie in the back door and up the stairs. A moment later, they were inside his rooms, stumbling past a pile of papers he intended to read and skirting a pile of mending meant for his valet as soon as he could afford one again.

“So this is where you live,” she said, her steps slow as he tugged her into his bedroom.

“Yes.” He decided against lighting a candle. The window had no curtains, and so the partial moonlight streamed in. He could see how her skin glowed like alabaster especially as she pulled off her gloves.

He stripped off his coat and waistcoat, wanting full use of his arms. Meanwhile, she wandered through his tiny room, stepping into the only open place near the window. While he set his clothing aside, she stood looking out at the street below, at the expanse of rooftops, and perhaps, at the indifferent moon. He, on the other hand, got to look at her.

The feathers were nearly all gone, and the moonlight highlighted the silver stitching along the silk. A design that…

“Are these wings?” He couldn't stop himself from tracing the line along her back. She shivered as he touched her, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Yes,” she whispered. And in that word, there was so much more than an answer to his question. It was gratitude, anticipation, and need all compressed into that single sound. And it was all the permission he needed.

He kissed the skin along her neck. Her hair had mostly tumbled down, and so he used his fingers to pull the tendrils aside. She let her head drop to the side to give him better access as he nipped her sweet skin.

Her scent was stronger now than earlier. Or perhaps away from the cloying atmosphere of the ball, he could sense her more clearly. She'd used lemon on her hair. She tasted of salt and strawberries. He had no idea how, but that's what came to his mind.

And then there was her musk. Not something he usually appreciated, especially on a woman. But her scent filled his nostrils, and his body began to take over. His hips pushed forward, grinding his erection against her. Her bottom tightened against him. For a moment, he thought she was appalled by his base actions, but then she pressed backward against him, rubbing herself enough to make him insane with want.

His hands were shaking as he tugged at the shoulders of her gown. It took him a moment to realize that the dress had to go over her head or be ripped. He almost did it anyway, but he wouldn't shame her that way.

So he pulled her backward—away from the window—and began to gently tug her gown up. Her skirt lifted, and she gasped.

“That feels…the silk feels…decadent,” she whispered.

Decadent was good, so he took his time, swishing it against the silk of her stockings. She seemed to like it, making a sound that was as much a moan as a purr.

“I am going to teach you such things,” he whispered. It was a vow he made to himself. Tonight she would know what she could experience. What lovemaking could be.

So he made a sensuous dance of lifting her dress off. She was out of the moonlight, but he could still see her in his mirror: a woman ripe for the taking with silk stockings gartered at her thighs, a corset that cinched her waist and pumped her breasts, and a chemise so fine it was nearly translucent.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered. “Look in the mirror,” he said as he angled her to see. “Watch what happens when I touch you.”

He didn't loosen her corset yet. Instead, he tugged apart the thin straps of her chemise and let the edges drift down. The skin of her bodice had flushed rosy, but in the mirror, he could see that she was watching him. Steady. Calm. Too quiet, in fact. He resolved to make her scream.

So he stroked across her chest and then dipped a finger beneath the fabric to pop across her nipple. She gasped, her body momentarily tightening. And then when she relaxed, her body settled a little more deeply against him.

He played that way with both her nipples. Brushing underneath, pinching them as best he could, before pulling away. He learned that when he pinched hard, she gasped, but she moaned when he managed to twist them a little. And she sighed sweetly whenever he brushed his fingers across her chest.

But soon she began to get restless. She reached behind herself to tug at the ties of her corset, and so he pressed another kiss to her shoulder. “Allow me,” he said.

Even in the dark, he had no trouble untying her laces. He quickly divested her of the tight garment, and then she pulled off her chemise. That left her standing before him naked except for her stockings and slippers.

She looked lush there in the half light. While he was untying her corset, she'd gathered her hair, pulling it to the side so that a riot of auburn curls draped across her right shoulder.

He grabbed a candle, lighting it with shaking hands. He was much too eager for what was to come as he carefully set it so the light would hit her just right. “You are going to see the most beautiful thing.”

Then he settled himself on the edge of the bed. His room was so small, there was little space between bed and the full mirror propped against the wall.

“Will you do exactly as I say?” he asked. “Will you follow my lead and…” He swallowed. “And stop me when I want more?”

She nodded, but he could tell she didn't understand. It was up to him to remain honorable. To teach her just so much and not take more. It was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

And yet, just then, as he pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed between his spread legs, it felt like the most wonderful thing in his life.

“Don't you want to take off your clothes?” she asked.

More than anything, but he needed the reminder. “It's better if I don't.”

She twisted in his arms and tugged at his shirtsleeves. “At least let me feel you.”

He hesitated, wanting to give in. Then she took away the decision, unbuttoning his shirt with quick and clever fingers. Quick because he was nearly unbuttoned before his next breath. Clever because she used the backs of her fingers to stroke his belly as she worked. His muscles leaped beneath her fingers, and he closed his eyes to better appreciate the feel of her touching him so intimately. It was all he would allow himself, and so he would live it to the extreme.

Especially as she pressed a kiss to his chest followed by a lick to his nipple.

He gasped, his hands tightening where they rested at his sides. “Where did you learn that?”

“It was a logical guess. I like it. Why wouldn't you?”

He chuckled—or he tried to. It was more a strangled moan as her fingers continued to caress his belly and lower. While he sat there, his hands fisted in the blanket as she outlined the heat of him, pressing and stroking until his blood pounded.

Just one more moment.

Just one more…

“Enough!” he gasped as he grabbed her hand.

“But I want to learn,” she said with the most adorable pout he'd ever seen.

He pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “And so you shall.” He was insistent as he turned her back around such that she faced the mirror. She was seated in the V of his thighs, her silk-clad legs so dainty and erotic as they crossed tightly at the ankles. Above she was rosy skin, tight nipples, and wild abandon. Below she was covered, her knees closed.

“Lean against me,” he said.

She did, and he rewarded her with a kiss to her temple. And then he began to stroke her. Petting caresses that started at her shoulders, went down across her chest and breasts, and spanned her rib cage. He took his time, rechecking her responses as he tweaked or pinched her nipples. By the time she was squirming against him, he flattened his palm across her belly. Then he let his right hand trail down her thigh. He couldn't resist the ribbon ties of her garters, pausing long enough to tug the bow open.

But then he slid his hand down the length of her inner thigh to her knee. Her legs were only slightly relaxed now, so he had to push his fingers between her knees as he pressed another kiss to her temple.

“I'm going to teach you what you want to know now.”

She blinked, her expression wonderfully dazed, but a moment later, she nodded.

“Relax your legs.”

She did. He slipped to the inside of her knee and lifted her leg. Up and over his own knee on the right. He kept his legs as tight as he could so as not to frighten her. But then he encouraged her to do the same on her left.

It took a moment, but she did as he wanted. Soon she had both legs draped over his thighs.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

Then he slowly widened her such that her dark curls, and then her flushed pretty center was exposed to the candlelight. He had his hands on her thighs, his fingers always moving as he brushed teasing circles at the edge of her garters.

“Do you want me to do it first and then let you?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Or do you want to go first?”

She swallowed, her body shifting restlessly as he held her open. “I—I don't know.”

“I'll show you first, then.” Good. He would get to touch her as he wanted.

He went slowly, seeing her eyes focus on his hands as he trailed up her thighs and to her core. He stroked through her curls, nearly coming from the wetness and the heat. God he wanted her. He wanted to plow himself inside her before he…

He shuddered. He wanted to plant his child and watch it swell inside her. He wanted such things in that moment that he was frankly stunned. And yet that did not slow his fingers as he separated her folds. Because he needed to be inside her, he pushed a finger deep into her.

She gasped, and he felt the muscles of her legs quiver in resistance. In response, he spread her even wider, opening her to every touch, every invasion.

He was gentle, but he did not allow her to resist him. Something dark and primitive had claimed him. If he could not have her in the usual way, he would own her like this. She would forever remember his fingers, the thrust of his thumb, and the way he held her spread as he owned every part of her most intimate space.

He took his time, submerging his fingers in her body. Not just inside her, but covered in her moisture, opening her petals. He would have all of her.

Then when her breath shortened, and her legs trembled, he pushed his fingers higher. He found her clitoris and began to stroke it. Gently at first, but with increasing strength and a variety of motions.

Well, that was his plan. In truth, he was so absorbed in touching her, in hearing her moans and gasps as he tried different techniques, that when she suddenly arched and cried out, he was caught by surprise.

But then he looked up. He watched her body undulate, felt her flesh grip where his fingers pressed deep inside her, and he heard her startled, delighted cries. It was the most beautiful thing in the world, and he tried to prolong it for his own selfish pleasure.

Eventually, she made him stop. She grabbed his hand and pulled it away, tucking it tight to her breasts while she continued to shudder in his arms. He held her then, pressing kisses to her temple and stroking her white skin until she lay languid in his arms.

“So,” he said lightly, “are you ready to try it yourself?” He was teasing her. He knew she was still too weak to do much more than lay against him. But to his shock, she nodded her head.

“Truly?”

She lifted her chin, catching his gaze in the mirror. Then she took a deep breath, lifting her breasts to his hungry gaze. “Yes,” she said, though he barely heard her over the distraction of her body. “I want to try doing that to you.”

“What?”

She straightened, using her body weight to push him backward on the bed. He fell easily, mostly because he was too startled to resist. And then he felt her fingers on his pants, and he jerked upright. Or rather, he tried.

She was prepared, holding him down easily with one hand. He could have set her aside. He should set her aside. Undressing him was not safe. He was too close to taking what he wanted. But she was insistent, and it felt too wonderful as the buttons eased around him. Then she was gently pulling away his falls, exposing his throbbing erection to the cool air and her tender caress.

He groaned. God, to be touched like this was heaven. Her fingers were gentle as she tortured the wet tip and sensitive ridge. She lifted him higher, apparently to touch his underside. She was too tentative, too uncertain, and yet he couldn't make himself stop her. Whatever she wanted to do with him—to him—he would allow it.