Along Came a Rogue (14 page)

As she turned to take her seat, she stopped. A small package wrapped in plain paper and twine sat on the bench. She looked up at the two men who stood waiting by the open door. “What's this?”

“Nothing important.” Grey shrugged. “Thought you might like something to chase away the boredom during today's ride.”

Then he moved aside to let Hedley step up into the compartment and settle onto the bench across from her, before securely closing the door and climbing up to the driver's seat. With a lurch, the carriage started off.

Once they were under way, she curiously turned the package over in her hands. She glanced up at Hedley. “Sergeant, what is this?”

“We stopped in th' village on the way back from fetchin' the carriage so we could buy you a dress. 'Tweren't no seamstress in the village, though, so the major requested th' shopkeeper open his mercantile for us.”

She dubiously arched a brow. “Requested?”

“Strongly suggested,” he amended with a grin. “When we was buyin' the dress, the major got that for you, too. Like he said, ma'am, ain't nothing much.”

Muttering something beneath his breath about benches, sore spines, and the devil, he leaned back against the squabs, closed his eyes, and fell asleep before they were more than two miles from the inn.

“Something to chase away the boredom?” she murmured softly. Unable to bear the curiosity any longer, she pulled at the twine and worked the knot away until the paper fell open on her lap.

Her eyes widened. A sketchbook and set of pencils—she could scarcely believe it! Her fingertips trembled as they traced affectionately over the book and touched each of the four pencils bound with a pink ribbon, all of them thoughtfully sharpened and ready for use.

She smiled with happiness even as a tear dropped onto the book in her lap. Because it was the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her. Because Grey remembered the girl she used to be, which meant she would never be just another widow for him to bed.

And because she knew she loved him.

“You're moving again,” Emily chastised as she traced a line carefully across the sketch she was making of him.

“The whole damned carriage is moving,” Grey grumbled and folded his arms irritably across his chest.

“You're fidgeting, then.”

He crooked an exasperated brow. “I'm bored.”

“I'm not.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes shined brightly in the early-afternoon sunlight as she slid him a seductive look. “Perhaps this evening we might consider…nude sketches?”

He leaned forward on his seat. “Believe me, darling.” His voice dropped to a husky purr. “The last thing I want you stroking with your hand tonight is that pencil.”

She blushed instantly scarlet, the color fanning out from the back of her neck and flushing down below her neckline. She pretended to not hear his comment and focused all her attention on her sketch, her eyes not lifting from the page as if her life depended upon it.

He chuckled.
Little minx.

His turn on top had ended an hour ago, and he'd gladly joined her inside, where she'd thanked him for her gift with a kiss that left his blood humming and his cock half-hard. Then she promptly set about drawing his portrait when what he wanted to do was introduce her to the pleasures of a rocking carriage. But since he'd used the excuse of wanting to prevent her boredom when he'd purchased the set for her, he couldn't very well refuse.

Truly, he was glad he hadn't. Sitting there across from him, she was lovely, as warm and golden as the sunlight slanting onto her shoulders though the window. The slight frown of concentration on her face as she carefully traced out his profile and the way she bit her bottom lip at particularly tricky lines only made her more appealing.

His chest lightened. When was the last time, if ever, that he'd felt this relaxed and satisfied? For once, he was perfectly content. And judging from the way she hummed softly as she sketched, so was she. And
that
pleased him more than he wanted to admit. He'd never cared before about a woman's feelings the day after he'd bedded her, but with Emily, he did care. A great deal.

She looked up and beamed. Her glowing smile swept through him, and his gut clenched. Two days ago, she'd been living in terror and hunted in her own home, but now, she was safe and in high spirits, alive and free…The change in her was nothing short of an answer to his prayers. Her nightmare wasn't over yet, he wasn't that naïve. Once they reached London, he would have to ensure her protection however he could and hunt down the man who killed her husband and set fire to the house, but for now, she was happy. And Emily's happiness was simply infectious.

“You know,” he commented, “people aren't usually so happy to be bounced across the countryside for hours in a carriage with worn springs.”

She peered at him shyly through lowered lashes. “I know it sounds silly,” she began tentatively, as if testing the newly forged trust between them, “but I keep thinking that this is how it is with ordinary couples taking long trips together. Quiet conversations, stretches of silence that aren't the least bit awkward, and…” Her lips sheepishly tugged upward.

And anticipating another night in each other's arms.
She'd left that bit unsaid, but he caught the underlying implication in her words and in the way her eyes sparkled wickedly at him. Clearly, she was looking forward to stopping at some filthy, cramped, rat-infested inn with scratchy bedding and lumpy mattresses as much as he was.

He didn't understand it. He should have been tired of her by now, as he would have been with any other woman in whose company he'd been for this long. But he wasn't. Puzzlingly, being with Emily only attracted him more. In fact, when he'd been on top of the carriage during his turn at the reins, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be inside the compartment with her. How much it irked him that on this morning of all mornings it was Hedley who rode with her instead.

When they reached London tomorrow, he would deliver her to her family, and everything would change between them. But he had today. Why waste a moment of it?

He reached up idly to brush his fingers against the window curtain, watching her slyly from the corner of his eye. “Do you know what else couples do in carriages when traveling long distances?”

“No,” she answered naïvely. “What else do they do?”

With a devilish grin, he pulled closed the curtain. “Oh, play little games to pass the time.”

“Games?” The disappearance of her smile indicated that she'd followed the sudden turn of conversation and suspected where he was headed. “What kind of games?”

“The best kind.” He reached across to close the other curtain, leaving them ensconced in the muted light filtering inside the compartment. He lowered his voice seductively. “Would you like to play with me, brat?”

At the obvious innuendo, her eyes locked onto his, and her cheeks pinked irresistibly. “Oh yes,” she breathed out quickly. When he crooked a brow at her eagerness, her cheeks deepened to a rosy red. “I mean—naturally, I wouldn't want you to be bored.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” he murmured with earnest gratitude. Stripping off her clothes and licking his tongue over every luscious inch of her would certainly keep away the boredom.

As if sensing the wicked thoughts swirling through his mind, she inhaled tremulously in anticipation. “What shall we play, then?”

“I have an idea.” He flipped the lock on the door.

“Somehow I knew you would,” she muttered, which only made him smile more wickedly.

“The game is simple. We take turns giving commands to the other, and no matter what the command, you must do it. You cannot refuse, or you lose.”

Her breath came faster now. Arousal tantalizingly flushed her skin at her neckline. “How do I know if I've won?”

“Trust me,” he murmured. “You'll know.”

Despite the heat of his gaze, or perhaps because of it, Emily shivered.

Games…They were playing games, and she had the titillating suspicion that the game he proposed was going to be scandalous, or he would never have drawn the curtains; intimate, or he wouldn't be looking at her as if he wanted to ravish her; and oh so very wicked, or he wouldn't have used that low, husky voice that wrapped around her like a spell. Already her heart pounded, and an ache flared between her legs just at the hint of doing something sinful.

And that was exactly what she wanted to do. Be very,
very
sinful with this man.

“You'll go first, I presume?” she asked, suddenly nervous beneath his wolfish stare.

“Of course,” he answered, and a bit too gleefully, she thought, although she couldn't help the responding goose bumps dotting her arms.

“Of course,” she echoed wryly. “However did I guess?”

His eyes gleamed at her sarcasm. “Remember, you have to do everything I say.”

“Until my turn, when you have to do whatever
I
say,” she reminded him. And how she was looking forward to
that
! To having this strong, powerful man under her command. “When will it be my turn?”

“When I command it.” He grinned deviously, then gave a teasing cluck of his tongue, scolding her. “Haven't you been paying attention?”

She scowled. “That doesn't sound fair to—”

“Put down the sketchbook and pencil.”

Her heart skipped. His first order sounded more like a request than a command, but she did as he bade her and set them aside. “What next, then?”

His gaze fell to her mouth. “Lick your lips.”

“Lick my—” She stopped. Then softer, not quite believing…“You want me to…seriously?”

The grin faded from his face, and a dark, intense expression replaced it. He repeated quietly but firmly, “Lick your lips for me, brat.”

Her blood began to hum. She slowly did as he ordered and traced the tip of her tongue over her lips. An ordinary movement, one she did several times each day without a thought, but now, with him watching her, the gesture felt undeniably erotic.

“Like that?” Her voice came much huskier than intended.

“Exactly like that,” he murmured. His eyes fixed on her mouth for a heated moment before traveling slowly down her body. “Now lift your skirt.”

Her skittering heart completely somersaulted. He'd already seen her naked—for God's sake, he'd
washed
her!—but now, with both of them fully clothed in the carriage, revealing even the smallest bit of skin seemed somehow more intimate. Vulnerable. And wantonly exciting.

With a shaky breath, trying to hide the trembling in her hands as she ran them down her legs to her knees and grasped the muslin in her fingers, she pulled her hands back and drew her skirt upward. The lace-edged hem rose slowly up her legs, scandalously stockingless, to reveal inch after slow inch of bare calf. Everywhere his gaze grazed her legs, she felt a shiver of heat as real as if he were actually stroking his fingers over her skin.

The hem reached her knees, and she stopped.

“Higher,” he rasped.

Her heart pounded fiercely, joined by the throbbing ache between her legs, as his desire-hooded eyes fastened on her skirt. Despite the casual way he continued to lean back in his seat, she could see the arousal in him and hear his breathing turn rapid and shallow in anticipation.

Emboldened by his reaction, she nudged the hem higher to teasingly reveal legs closed together at the knees and a short stretch of bare thighs above. The skirt bunched modestly across her lap and hid from his view the triangle of curls beneath. Her own breath came short and quick now, her mouth suddenly so dry that she had no choice but to lick her lips again beneath the heat of his stare, which slowly caressed up one naked thigh and down the other.

“Higher, brat.”

“Higher?” Instead of the surprised squeak she expected, the word came as a throaty moan.

He gave a single, jerking nod, his gaze lingering wickedly at her lap. “I want to see all of you.”

For a moment, she didn't move—she
couldn't
move! She'd never even undressed in front of a man in the daylight before, and now, to reveal herself in a such a wanton way, in a rolling carriage in the afternoon sunlight, no less…But his eyes stayed on her, patiently waiting and wanting, making heat and moisture gather between her legs, and she knew she couldn't stop. She was helpless to his commands, because as much as he wanted to see her revealed, she wanted equally as much to bare herself to him.

“Is this what you want?” she whispered. She placed her hands just above her knees and slid her fingers back along her thighs, pulling up the skirt until it reached her hips and bared her from the waist down.

The air ripped loudly from his lungs. Her eyes flew up to his face, but his gaze was fixed on her legs, on the long stretch of nakedness beneath the waist of her dress and the little patch of curls just peeking out from between her closed thighs. His expression burned, filled with such raw desire that she shivered beneath its heat.

“Jesus, brat.” He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “You've got me hard already.”

“Good,” she purred, running her hands up and down her bare thighs, drawing his attention to her core. “Then I'm winning.”

He drew a shaky breath and mumbled, “I think we're both winning.”

As she stared at him, a devilish realization fell through her, and she suddenly understood how to play this game. Even though he was giving her commands, she was the one in control because she held the power to grant his wicked wishes. And she liked it.
Very
much.

With a seductive smile, she ordered softly, “Then command me again.”

It was his turn to lick his lips. “Open your legs.”

Raw excitement jolted through her. With her thighs trembling, she slowly parted her knees a few inches, just enough to teasingly reveal a small glimpse of what lay between her legs but not wide enough for his seeking eyes to have a good look. A frustrated sound tore from his throat. A thrill pulsed through her at the power she possessed over him, with the mutual control he held over her.