50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (23 page)

“Not like this,” she gasped as she pulled away his hand. Then she turned to face him. “Take me.”

He blinked, his eyes bloodshot, but with intense focus. “Mellie—” He groaned, hunger in the sound. “It's too soon.”

She flashed him a wicked smile, choosing this moment to echo his words. “Trust me,” she said. “It will all be all right.”

He knew that she was teasing him. She saw the rueful awareness hit his expression. But then she twisted her hips then reached down to grab hold of him. He'd taught her how to stroke him, and so she started with the head—a circle of her fingers—before she pushed down and around him.

He shuddered and thrust into her hold, but his words were clear. “What do you want, Mellie? What—”

“How deeply can you penetrate me?”

She watched his eyes widen, saw him swallow, but he answered calmly. “There's a position,” he said.

She grinned. “Show me.”

He nodded, then rose from the bed. She'd seen him naked before, but now she saw him like a god rising before her. Muscled chest dusted lightly with hair, broad shoulders and strong arms as he lifted her knees and, of course, the broad head of his penis between them.

“I will stop if it hurts.”

She shook her head. Nothing hurt. Absolutely nothing at all.

Then he carefully lifted her legs, putting her ankles on his shoulders. She was spread before him, and he seemed to grow in size, his chest between her legs, his penis pressed against her curls.

Then he adjusted her even wider, helping her slide her legs such that her knees lay in the crook of his elbows. She'd never felt more decadent in her life. Or more open. This truly was why they called it plowing a woman. His penis would be the blade that cut her open, and she couldn't be more thrilled.

He used his thumb to stroke her. His press started gently, but he rapidly built the tension because there was nowhere for her to go. She arched beneath him, she squeezed her legs against his arms, but there was no escape from the steady press and circle of his thumb. She pulsed beneath him, her hips lifted and lowered into his stroke, and her breasts ached with need.

“Touch your breasts,” he said. He had one free hand to reach forward, but he wanted her to work her other side. She did as he bid, lifting her right breast to his view while he stroked her left.

“Pinch your nipple.”

He did, and she did. And fire flared from her chest to her belly and sizzled in her spread thighs.

“Now,” she gasped. “Trevor, now.”

His hand dropped away from her breast, and he leaned forward.

“Please—” she began.

He speared her.

A thick penetration that burned with pleasure.

Oh yes!

“Mellie—”

“Again!”

He leaned forward a little more, pulling her legs wider as he moved. She felt his slow withdrawal, the collapse of her belly, the suction as she tried to keep him inside. But he was the man, and he did as he willed.

He pulled back, but he didn't escape. And then he thrust again.

Yes.

She was impaled, and the impact sent sparks of fire shooting through her body.

“Again!”

This time, she was the one who spread her legs further. She was the one who tightened her calves trying to pull him deeper. And she was the one who gripped his strong shoulders and held on.

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

The thrusts were growing more rapid, the feeling of being split open repeated in escalating blows. She loved it. She loved every spreading, pulsating, pounding impact.

And when orgasm burst through her body, she allowed her consciousness to explode as well. She let everything in her become a gift to him. For his possession, for his adoration, for his seed.

She'd never known it could feel this primal. Or that this act could be so very…everything. Woman and man joined.

Yes!

He drove into her one last time. An impact that had him releasing with a warrior's cry—part triumph, part call to arms. His head was thrown back, his expression fierce, he looked like a god staking a claim.

She was his, and he would defend her unto death.

That's what she saw as he released. And that's what she heard in her soul: mine! So she answered in her heart: yours.

Then he fell to the side, barely catching his weight on his forearms before dropping heavily on top of her. She didn't mind. It felt right. And so she lay in blissful joy with his weight pinning her down.

And she nearly drifted back to sleep.

She might have if he weren't making her so hot. Sweat was beginning to form where he lay belly to belly with her. And worse, she needed to take a breath. So she shifted. Then she wriggled. And then, sadly, he groaned, and he slipped out of her as he rolled to his side.

She mourned his loss. Mourned the emptiness that came afterward as her belly hollowed out. But he was beside her, breathing into the sheets.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. He answered with a kiss to her shoulder. And her eyes drifted shut again.

But she couldn't sleep. She had to get home before dawn.

She eased herself sideways. Her body was heavy with lethargy, but she knew if she gave in to it, she'd sleep until noon. She couldn't do that. She'd be compromised publicly, and that was a complication she wasn't willing to risk.

“I have to leave,” she murmured, the words meant for herself as much as him.

His hand tightened, pulling her close, but then it opened. He knew she had to leave. He moaned as he rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed, his skin shadowed from his morning beard, but he still looked handsome.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

His mouth curved into a smile, but he didn't move beyond that. And then a moment later, he groaned again, his words coming out muffled. “I've never felt more sated in my life.”

She chuckled. She felt equally good, though she really wished he'd open his eyes. It didn't matter, she told herself. He was tired. So she pulled on her corset and shift. Her crumpled gown was there on the floor, but she smoothed it as best she could. She dressed quickly and somewhat quietly. She kept hoping he'd rouse. She wanted to make plans with him. She wanted him to say all those sweet things she'd read about in books. She wanted…

She sighed. He was snoring now. Which left her to grab the cloak and head home by herself. She paused at his door, waiting there. In the end, she chose to declare herself…again.

“I'm leaving now, Trevor. I love you.”

A snore was his only response.

She sighed and let herself out. She was lucky and found a hackney quickly. The driver smirked at her, especially when he heard the address, but he didn't comment more. Ten minutes later, she was sneaking through the servants' entrance up to her bedroom. She was trying hard not to feel awkward, but her muscles were achy, and her clothing abraded her skin where his beard had made it tender, and…

And he hadn't said he loved her.

After all of that, he hadn't said a word.

Which made her start to cry.

She fought it for a while. She fought all the damning, furious thoughts that crept into her mind. But in the end, she burst into tears.

But they didn't last long. She wasn't one to linger over tears.

By noon, she'd dried her eyes and took a frank look at what had happened.

A half hour later, she got angry.

Use every tool in your arsenal, fair or fowl.

She didn't see him at all that day. That was in part her choice. She declared herself ill, refused to go downstairs for afternoon callers, and barely made an appearance at that evening's ball. She kept hoping that Trevor would storm down her door and demand to see her. Or he would simply appear with a minister and a special license. Anything dramatic that would prove he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She needed that declaration because he hadn't made one last night. And she was afraid that she had thrown everything away on a ridiculous ploy to win him back.

She was a fool. A damned fool.

So it was that on the next day, she dressed herself in her best gown for an afternoon garden party. This was a green silk stitched with silver filigree meant to reflect the sunlight. It was her favorite gown, and she wore it as if the design weren't supposed to suggest veins. Veins in a cricket. She'd tried to explain to the duchess that crickets did not have veins as in a human, but the lady would have none of it. So she wore it and prayed everyone thought it an interesting design and not a scientific mistake.

Eleanor tried to talk to her as she stepped into the carriage. Mellie could easily believe that the woman had guessed the reason for her illness yesterday. She might have heard Mellie return early in the morning. She'd definitely seen Mellie's red-rimmed eyes. Fortunately, the woman didn't judge her. And in an uncharacteristic show of warmth, she had even patted Mellie's hand in the carriage.

“Are you sure you are feeling well enough for this?”

What she was really asking was, do you feel well enough to face society? The answer was obvious.

“Absolutely.”

Eleanor gave an approving nod. “And you are in fine looks. Never fear, we shall find you a husband soon. A few more gentlemen have made inquiries into your financials. Radley told me he heard it from…” Eleanor chatted on, but Mellie stopped listening. She had no interest in any man except Trevor—only to scratch his eyes out.

Good Lord, didn't he know she could be pregnant? Didn't he realize…

While Eleanor prattled on about potential husbands, Mellie's mind circled with the same thoughts that had been spinning there for the last thirty-six hours: on all the ways Trevor had failed her. In truth, it wasn't a lot. It was simply that he didn't love her when she loved him. He had allowed her to stumble headlong in love with him while he remained damnably aloof.

By the time they arrived at the party, Mellie had worked herself into a fine temper.

As was typical these days, a group of her scientific friends greeted her immediately. She made her schedule known—or Eleanor did—and so those who wished to find her could. These gentlemen were among her possible husbands, and she found them pleasant but not especially stimulating.

She heard about one's newest anatomical drawing of a toad, another's unfortunate experiment with fireworks. She reassured him his eyebrows would grow back better than ever. And then there was the last man to bow over her hand: Mr. Rausch. He greeted her as warmly as ever, but there was a tightness about his face that was new.

He began talking, giving her some effusive compliment about how she'd styled her hair, which was especially annoying because she'd barely styled it all. The bulk of her hair was braided to the base of her skull before being allowed to fall free. So she held up her hand, stopping him mid-word.

“Pray, forgive me for interrupting, but what has you looking so pinched?”

She watched his eyes focus intently upon her face, and he abruptly frowned. “Pinched? I am never pinched.”

She laughed and did as bold a move as an unwed girl could do in society. She stretched up on her toes and pressed her gloved thumb against the lines between his brows, smoothing away the tightness there.

“I meant pinched in terms of anxious. Not that your funds are lacking. I believe we are all aware of your wealth.”

He frowned all the darker, but she did not flinch. They were the same in their wealth. Newly minted as rich, they were not casual about their coin even as they relished every stitch of gold filigree in their attire. It declared to the world that they had something of worth.

So when he frowned, she merely shrugged. She could tease him about his coin, and he would tolerate it, or she would cut him. Such was her mood this day.

In the end, he was the one who relented. He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it, holding her fingers overlong. “You make me laugh, Melinda.”

“I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, Mr. Rausch.”

“I know, but I am going to take a liberty before this afternoon is over, and I thought to ease the surprise with boldness.”

“You are ever bold, sir,” she retorted, but there was no rancor in her words. In truth, she liked a man who knew what he wanted and grabbed it no matter the consequences. “I intend to follow your example today,” she said blithely. She was done with this prancing about for a husband. She would select one today and be done with it.

His brows shot up and a gleam entered his eye. It was his greedy look, and she was well used to it by now. “Miss Smithson, would you care to explain that last comment?”

“I do not believe so, Mr. Rausch.”

“Then perhaps we should walk in the garden so I may pester you until you reveal your secrets.”

She looked at him then. She thought of Trevor and her fury at him. And she thought of all the other gentlemen of her acquaintance. Mr. Rausch was the one who most intrigued her. Her heart might long for Trevor, but at least Mr. Rausch stimulated her mind. That was something when Trevor gave her nothing.

“I accept your challenge, sir. We may walk, and I shall work to ferret out the cause of your distress.”

“Ah, well, that is no easy task.”

“I have never been one to choose the easy path.” She said the words, but in her heart she knew she lied. A careful look at her life revealed that she had always chosen the easy path of staying at home, caring for her father, and creating a place that was hers alone. It was only because Ronnie continually charged into her home that she was at last driven to seek an alternative. She might say that she'd chosen the difficult path in London, except that Trevor and Eleanor had arranged everything. She had performed, danced, and even spoken as she was told.

But no more. She was a woman reborn and would take her future in her own hands. And given that Trevor had spurned her, she supposed her best option was Mr. Rausch. So she allowed him to walk her through the garden. They greeted several friends, but never lingered. And when their path wended toward a more secluded corner, she allowed it to happen.

“Well, sir, we have had a lovely walk, haven't we?” she began. “But as we cannot expect to remain alone for long, pray tell me what is on your mind. Please don't say that I am the cause of your distress.”

He smiled and possessed her hand. “On the contrary, it is my business affairs that upset me because I must go away to Africa for a time.”

“Africa!” she gasped. “Oh, I have often longed to go there just to see the animals.”

“There are creatures there nothing like what we have in poor England,” he agreed. Then he pulled her fingers to her lips. But rather than kiss them, he lifted her hand higher and higher until the button below her elbow was revealed.

“Mr. Rausch—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, telling her to be quiet. She raised her eyebrows at his impertinence, but didn't object. After all, she had decided to be amused by boldness today, right? But when he thumbed her glove undone and began to push it down her elbow, she wasn't intrigued as much as confused.

Then he brought it to his lips. Not her arm, but the glove as it slouched on her wrist. She felt the tickle of his lips and heard a slight sound as he sucked the button inside his mouth. He was…suckling her glove.

She looked at him, wondering if he meant to be erotic. Obviously, the answer was yes, and there was a certain wild thrill to be had when undressing in public so a man could fondle her arm. But she wasn't aroused. And when his tongue traced a circle along her skin, she shivered, not from excitement but a vague, wet revulsion. All she could think was that he was licking off her perfume. And then he looked into her eyes.

She expected to see a dazed hunger there. Some sort of sexual need such as on Trevor's face whenever they touched. Instead, she saw calculation. The kind of narrow-eyed inspection that her father gave rare beetles or something new and different trapped beneath the glass of his microscope.

This was not physical desire. This was analysis.

“Miss Smithson, you surprise me,” he said. “And I assure you, I do not surprise often.”

She tried to pull back her hand, but he held it still, idly stroking her bared wrist. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Did you feel no desire then?”

“I—” She swallowed. “It was pleasurable,” she finally admitted.

And it had been. Just not exciting.

“Damned by faint praise,” he said as he straightened to his full height. “I suppose I shall have to persuade your mind then.”

“I have always been impressed by the way your mind thinks,” she said honestly. “You are not as educated as you pretend, but your thoughts are keen. And you know how to listen. That is rare, even among learned men. I find it quite stimulating.”

His expression shifted into a genuine smile. It wasn't polite. Not the cultured shift of lips and chin to show amusement. This expression showed teeth and looked odd in this manicured garden. And yet it was the warmest she'd ever seen on him.

“Mr. Rausch—”

“I want to take you with me to Africa, Miss Smithson. I want to show you giraffes and rhinoceros.”

She tilted her head. “Would that not be rhinoceri?”

He chuckled. “I have no idea, but I would show you them. And at night, I would teach you things that would excite you. I would show you ways to pleasure that can only be learned in the Orient.”

She arched a brow. “Would we be traveling to the Orient?”

“Yes,” he said, the word pitched lower and more seductive.

She began to think about the creatures to see in the Orient. She had never had a desire to travel the world before. Never thought to go beyond the streets of London. Her explorations had been reserved for chemicals and formulas, but now he sparked in her a desire to explore the world, and she took a step toward him.

“So you wish to learn?” he asked. “Shall I tell you about the creatures in China—big bears that are colored black and white and are the gentlest of creatures?”

“Bears? Gentle?”

“Usually.”

She couldn't imagine it. “Tell me more.”

His smile widened, and he began to touch her cheek. “There are such wonders in the world, I could not begin to describe them all.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Or the things I have yet to try.”

She knew he meant sexual things, and part of her tightened in curiosity. Perhaps even desire. So she did not stop him from caressing her jaw or brushing his thumb across her lower lip. His hands were different from Trevor's. Larger, more calloused. She wasn't sure she liked them.

Meanwhile, his greedy expression was back. He knew he had caught her. “It will cost you though,” he said softly. “But I think you shall enjoy paying.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. Men could be such single-minded creatures. “Sexuality is not so difficult a thing.”

He chuckled. “Then you have a great deal to learn, and I shall enjoy teaching you.”

She started to argue, but he pressed his thumb across her lips.

“I have a different payment in mind, Melinda.”

She shook her head. “But I have nothing else to offer.” Except her dowry, of course. But he had no need of money.

“You do. You have your cosmetic formula.”

She blinked, pulling back. She hadn't thought about her clearing lotion in weeks, and wasn't that a surprise? Before Trevor, it had been the single most important thing in her life. But now, it languished in her notes. A forgotten recipe for a cosmetic for women.

“But…why?” He had no blemishes that she could see. No dark spots to remove or lessen.

“Can't you guess?” he challenged. “Give me the formula, Melinda. Let me sell it. You can even help, if you like. Advise me on the factories, tell me which shops would be best, which ladies would pay most for it.”

She thought about it. She had no doubt that he could make a fortune with her formula. He had the skill and the resources to produce it. Meanwhile, he stroked his fingers along her neck. He slipped beneath her hair, and she knew he angled for a kiss.

“It is part of my dowry,” she whispered, thinking aloud. “I should choose a husband who knows what to do with it.”

She saw his lips curve, but there was no humor in the expression. “I have no intention of marrying you, Melinda. Only a mistress will do the things I imagine.”

She jolted. “What?”

And now he did look amused, as one might at a very young child. “I have told you I am a man of greed. Why would I allow a woman—any woman—to load me with her debts? No, Melinda, what I offer you is the world.”

“In exchange for the formula.”

“And your body. Your luscious, innocent body to use for our pleasure.”

Now she understood. Now she knew what he offered, and she was shocked. She shouldn't be, she supposed. What he said made sense. And damn it, she was considering it. After all, she hated this business of finding a husband. Why not throw it all to the wind and make a fortune besides? She could force him to share the profits with her. She could make a contract, couldn't she?

There was a name for what he offered. She'd overheard it before but only now began to understand what it entailed.

“Is this…” She swallowed. “Are you offering me carte blanche?”