[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) (7 page)

Jack thought it was the finest idea he had had in an age. To find a dark arbour, to hold her, to kiss her again…

‘I promise not to touch you unless you wish me to,’ he said, and knew he was lying.

He could see the uncertainty reflected in her eyes and sensed that she was torn. She knew as well as he what would happen when they were alone in the dark, and although she was tempted she was wary as well. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it, and felt her tremble a little.

‘I hear your gardens are modelled on the Moulin Rouge,’ he said, ‘and that you planned the design yourself. I should like to see them.’

Sally laughed reluctantly and the tension between them eased a little. ‘We do not have the mock-elephant and the faux-Gothic castle, but they are very pretty.’

‘So show me…’

He held his breath and after a moment she nodded. Her expression was veiled. ‘Very well,’ she said.

They went out of the restaurant and down the red-carpeted corridor towards the big garden doors. Jack watched the sway of her body sheathed tightly within the pink column dress and felt his own body harden in response. He had never felt so powerful and possessive a desire for a woman in his entire life. The strength of his need drove him. If he could have her in his bed, just the once, it would surely cure this hunger that threatened his very self-control. They were both experienced sophisticates who could take their pleasures when and where they found them. She would know the rules as well as he—and be prepared to indulge their mutual passion. He forced his hands into his pockets and ruthlessly reined in the feelings that threatened to drive him to madness and prompted him to take her, here and now, against the wall.

Out in the garden the path wound its way between rose bushes decorated with paper lanterns that swung gently in the summer breeze. Even though the night was warm, Sally shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ Jack said. He slipped off his jacket and put it about her shoulders.

‘No, I—’ Sally clutched the lapels of the jacket close. In the shadowed darkness her eyes were very wide and dark. ‘I think that we should go back inside.’ She sounded hesitant, as though the strength of his desire had communicated itself to her and was making her nervous. ‘This was a mistake. Besides, Connie may have returned, and—’

‘Damn Connie.’ The abrupt reminder angered Jack and he spoke more roughly than he had intended. He put a hand on Sally’s arm. ‘I don’t want to talk about her. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. Sally?’

In response she tilted her face enquiringly up to his, which was exactly what he wanted. Her breath feathered across his cheek in a gentle caress. He could smell her perfume, as light and fragrant as the summer flowers that surrounded them.

He bent his head and kissed her. As an exercise in calculated seduction it was practically perfect, a textbook example of rakish behaviour of which, under other circumstances, Jack might have been justifiably proud. What was completely unexpected was his reaction. He had thought that this time he would be prepared, in control, but as soon as his lips touched hers, all logical thought processes vanished, drowned out in an excitement and a need so violent that it almost floored him.

Sally caught her breath and for a moment she went rigid in his arms, then she relaxed and her lips parted beneath his. Jack caught her to him then in an embrace as possessive as it was demanding, wrapping his arms about her, absorbing the taste and touch of her, each kiss both intense and seductive. Her palms were pressed against his chest and she responded to him without resistance, without artifice. She tasted faintly of chocolate and sweet innocence and it was so intoxicating Jack almost lost the final shreds of his self-control and plundered her mouth without reservation. But he was an experienced man, not a boy; he held on to his restraint by a thread, forcing himself to take it slowly, exploring her with a thoroughness that was gentle, yet ruthlessly determined beneath. This time he knew he had to court her response, not demand it. This time he needed to get her to the point where neither of them wanted to stop.

The suit jacket slid from her shoulders to the ground and he felt her shiver and drew her closer. The pink gown was smooth and silky beneath his hands, but it was not what he wanted to feel. He wanted her, her nakedness beneath him, her bare skin against his own. He wanted to uncover all the curves outlined by the dress, to trace them and learn them and give her exquisite pleasure.

‘I want to make love to you.’

He said the words against her mouth and she drew back with a little gasp. He sensed it was purely instinctive and it was not the reaction of a sophisticated woman. He felt a tremble rack her body and then she had stepped back, out of his arms.

‘Jack, I…’

‘You want me too.’ He knew it was true and he was arrogant enough to want to make her admit it.

‘Yes—’ she did not hesitate, but her tone held him at arm’s length ‘—I do. But we cannot, Jack. Have you forgotten Connie, and your cousin, and that about three hours ago you threatened to destroy my business?’

He
had
forgotten, forgotten everything in the blazing heat of holding her and kissing her and wanting her. He thought about it for a split second and discounted it all. He reached for her again, not bothering to reply, seeking to persuade her through the touch of his hands and his mouth on her trembling, quiescent body.

He kissed her until he felt all the strength leave her body, felt her knees tremble and threaten to give way and felt the sweet taste of surrender in her mouth. She would be his now. He knew it. The flare of triumph the thought evoked in him almost pushed him over the edge. He swung her up into his arms and strode towards the door of the club. Her head was against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his cheek.

‘The service stairs,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t let anyone see…’

Briefly, Jack considered walking straight through the hall of the club with Sally clasped in his arms and carrying her up the main staircase to her bedroom. He rejected the thought with reluctance. He didn’t give a damn on his own behalf, but he supposed that she did have a certain professional reputation to maintain and he respected that. When they reached the terrace doors he put her down gently, steering her into the corridor and straight through the plain doors that led down to her office and the kitchens and up to bedchambers above. In the light he could see that Sally’s face was bemused and blank with passion, her lips parted, her breath coming quickly with the strength of her desire. Even so, he did not want to give her a single moment to reconsider what they were doing. He waited for a turn in the stair, a dark corner, and then he pulled her into his arms, pressing her back against the banisters with the pressure of his body against hers, for another soul-searing kiss. She made a noise of surprise and pleasure deep in her throat and his erection swelled in response. He held her trapped against the wall with his hips and kissed her long and deep until they were both gasping for breath.

Taking him by surprise, she caught his hand and ran up the remaining steps with him, pulling him through the door on to the landing and along the corridor to her room.

Jack turned the key in the lock behind him and stood looking at her. Only one lamp was burning and in its light she looked glorious—her breasts rising and falling with her panting breath, her hair tumbling free of the bandeau, her lips soft and stung from his kisses.

Jack did not move. Like a true rake he had planned not to give her the chance to change her mind, to seduce her ruthlessly. But now he hesitated.

‘Are you sure,’ he said slowly, ‘that you want to do this?’

Her beautiful eyes opened very wide and for a second he felt an absolute dread that she was going to refuse him. Why it should matter so much to him he had no idea; all he knew was that it did. And then she smiled and the relief slammed through him.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure.’

Sally had never been so sure of anything in her life. She knew it was foolhardy, out of character, probably downright irresponsible to make love with Jack Kestrel, but she did not care. She felt utterly reckless.

She had told Jack a little of her circumstances over dinner, but nothing of her feelings: her confusion and distress over Jonathan’s repudiation of her, the fear and pain she had felt when he had so cruelly vented his frustrations on her, the absolute belief that she was plain, unattractive, unlovable as a person, not just because she was not beautiful on the outside, but also because there was something inherently wrong with her. She had been so sheltered when she had married, moving straight from her father’s comfortable home to a similar house provided by her husband. She had been a conventional product of her class and upbringing. And then it had all gone horribly, disastrously wrong. Two terrible tragedies had rocked her life. Her father had died and her marriage had proved tobe a sham.

For five years she had worked to put that disaster behind her, accepting that it was Connie who was the pretty one and she was the one with the intelligence if not the looks. And then Jack Kestrel had walked into the Blue Parrot and his desire for her had been like rain falling on parched ground and she had decided that, no matter how rash and impulsive it was, she was going to find out at last what physical love was all about.

Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.

‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’

Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.

Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.

‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’

Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’

She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to
stop
? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.

‘But…They’re sharp!’

He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.

‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.

The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.

‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.

The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.

Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.

She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.