Pursued By The Viscount (11 page)

“Then what would you call it?” Thea raised her brows at Rachel’s constant fidgeting.

She frowned her displeasure. “I would call
him
impossible. A devil disguised as a gentleman. Satan’s spawn—”

“I trust you are not referring to me so unflatteringly?” The object of her tirade strode confidently into her private sitting room, looking for all the world as if he had a perfect right to be there.

Rachel rose abruptly to her feet, only to wince a little at another twinge of discomfort between her thighs. “How did you—” She broke off as an apologetic Alder now stood in the doorway, his miserable demeanor declaring he had tried his best to stop the viscount from walking in as if he owned the place. And failed utterly.

“Shall I bring another cup, my lady?” the butler prompted in an apologetic tone.

“No.” She continued to glare her disapproval at Lucien. “The viscount will not be staying long enough to drink tea.”

“Very good, my lady.”

“I believe I shall be the one to leave,” Thea announced once the butler had departed. “I still have some shopping to do, and Blackmoor will worry if I am late home,” she added affectionately as she stood to place her untouched cup of tea back on the silver tray.

Rachel envied Thea her happy marriage to the Duke of Blackmoor, knew the couple doted on each other to a degree they did not like to be apart for longer than a few hours at a time.

“He should have accompanied you.” Brooketon was the one to answer. “He and I could have discussed horseflesh while the two of you discussed fashions.”

Thea chuckled. “Oh, I assure you, Brooke, our discussion this morning had nothing to do with fashions.”

“Indeed?” There was an answering humor in those wicked blue eyes.

“Indeed,” Thea confirmed before stepping forward to hug Rachel and then kiss her warmly on the cheek. “Do not let the past define your future, darling,” she said so softly only Rachel could hear.

Rachel might never have discussed her abusive marriage specifically with her three closest friends, but they had known of her unhappiness anyway, if not the full reason for it. James’s neglect of her, apart from the social engagements they were forced to attend together, could not be hidden from such close friends as Thea, Sally, and Fliss.

She nodded silent acknowledgment of the other woman’s advice, deep in thought as she rang for Alder’s return while Thea made her good-byes to Brooketon.

Perhaps she had made Brooketon suffer enough for his behavior last night by leaving him in the same state of physical dissatisfaction as she had endured. Besides, his appearance this morning was enough to make Rachel’s pulse race and her heart pound loudly: dark tousled hair, aristocratic features, a superfine of deepest cobalt, gray brocade waistcoat, and gray pantaloons above brown-topped Hessians.

Lucien waited only long enough for the duchess to depart with the butler before dropping his air of good humor. “Stanforth has disappeared.”

Rachel’s eyes widened in alarm. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

“Gone. Departed.
Disappeared
,” he repeated grimly.

One of the two men Lucien had dispatched to watch Stanforth the previous evening had been waiting for him when he returned home from the theatre. The man assured Lucien he had left his associate to watch Stanforth House, but that Lord Stanforth was not at his residence, nor did any of the household staff know where he was.

Lucien had spent all this morning conducting his own search for the other man, to no avail. No one had seen Stanforth after he dined at his club yesterday evening. Nor had he returned home since then.
 

It was too much to hope that someone had robbed and struck the other man over the head before dumping his body in the Thames.

No, Lucien had come to the unpleasant conclusion that for Stanforth to have disappeared so completely, he had to have done so deliberately.

Which begged the question, why had he?

In Lucien’s opinion, Stanforth’s disappearance, following so quickly after his blackmail and threats to Rachel, was too much of a coincidence for it to be unrelated.

Rachel looked…tired this morning, despite the cheerful lemon silk gown she wore. She had obviously still been angry with him when he arrived. There was no doubt in his mind he was the person she had been describing to Thea Remington as Satan’s spawn.

There was no sign of that displeasure toward him now as Rachel wrung her gloved hands together. “Where could he have gone? And why?”

“I am still investigating.” Lucien frowned. “I will find him, Rachel,” he added decisively. “But, in the meantime, I thought you should be made aware of his disappearance.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your having confided in me.”

There was little or no reason for Rachel to thank Lucien when, instead of helping her, he might now have made this situation more dire than ever. Lucien had no doubt Stanforth was plotting and planning some scheme with the intention of bringing more misery into Rachel’s life.

Lucien understood Rachel’s plea that she could not preempt Stanforth’s blackmail by revealing his affair with her husband Lord James Shaw. Not without also bringing her son’s father into disrepute and so affecting the child’s future. But that acceptance did not make it any less a bitter pill for Lucien to swallow.

When he finally caught up with Stanforth and had Rachel’s letters returned to him, that gentleman was going to know the full force of Lucien’s wrath.

Which was considerable.

In the meantime, he intended to distract Rachel.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he prompted innocently.

That frown returned to her brow. “I am perfectly well, thank you.”

“You seemed…a trifle out of sorts, when we parted yesterday evening?” Lucien picked up one of the two cups of tea, his gaze resting on Rachel as he took a sip of the cooling brew. He had noted on his arrival that she was moving a little warily this morning.

Color stained her cheeks. “You behaved disgracefully last night.”

He grinned unabashedly. “You did not enjoy the play?”

Her eyes narrowed in warning. “We are not going to have that conversation again.”

Lucien chuckled. “Both I and my cock have suffered terribly since we parted.”

The color deepened in her cheeks. “At the risk of repeating myself—good!”

“I had not suspected you of being such a hard-hearted woman.”

“I had not suspected you were the devil incarnate, but it would seem we were both deceived.”

Lucien liked Rachel in this mood. Defiant. Confident. Utterly beautiful in her anger. “If I were to get down on my knees and kiss the hem of your gown, would you consider forgiving me?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you do such a thing?”

His grin returned. “So that I might then progress to kissing your ankle, your calf, your knee, your thigh, your pussy—”

“No, I would not forgive you,” she cut in primly, although the feverish glitter in her eyes gave lie to her claim. “Lucien, what are we going to do about Stanforth?” she groaned.

“You are not going to do anything.” He scowled, displeased that his teasing had not succeeded in diverting her, as it had been meant to do. Not that he would have refused an offer to kiss Rachel anywhere she would allow it, but he had meant the banter as a means of distracting her. “My men and I are going to continue to look for him. You will go about your life as usual, as if nothing had happened.”

“Nothing
has
happened. With his disappearance, I am left even more in the dark, not knowing what to do for the best.”

“In those circumstances, the best thing is to do nothing.” He replaced the cup on the tray before crossing the room to stand beside her as he took both her hands in his. “You must believe that I will put an end to this situation for you. Sooner rather than later,” he added grimly.

“I feel as if I have the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, not knowing what Stanforth will do next.”

“I will not allow him to harm you or your reputation.”

Rachel believed him. How could she not? He was the arrogant Lucien Brooke, the aristocratic Viscount Brooketon.

“Now could we get back to the subject as to why I have been in torment since we parted last night?” He eyed her wistfully.

Some of her tension left her as she gave a throaty chuckle. “You are incorrigible.”

“I am in dire need of release, which is not the same thing at all.” He lowered one of her hands and placed it against the front of his pantaloons.

Rachel loved the feeling of power Lucien’s arousal gave her. Oh, not power over him, never that. It was only that, after her marriage to James and now the ridiculous muddle she had got herself into with Stanforth, it was exhilarating to know she had the ability to arouse a man such as Brooketon. That a gentleman who could have any woman he wished with only a snap of his elegant fingers so obviously wanted her.

“All banter aside, Rachel,” he said huskily, “I apologize for last night. I had meant to amuse you, to tease and play, but I took it too far. Will you forgive me?”

She raised one eyebrow. “I do not see you on your knees, my lord?”

His eyes warmed as a slow smile curved his lips. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable sitting down while I make my apology?”

Rachel grimaced. “Sitting down is not at all comfortable for me today.”

He frowned his concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nothing I am sure a suitable apology will not…cure.”

“Then I will ensure it is very suitable, indeed.”

A delicious shiver ran the length of her spine at the sensual promise she could see in Lucien’s darkened gaze. “Perhaps I might be more comfortable lying on my bed?” She had already broken so many rules of Society with this man, accompanying him alone to a ball and then the theatre, what did it matter if she added one more to the ever-growing list?

“I think that to be an excellent idea,” he accepted.

Rachel was less certain of her suggestion once the two of them were in her bedchamber. She and James had stayed together at Shaw House whenever they were in Town. Her bedchamber, despite having been redecorated and the furniture changed since James’s death, still reminded her of those nights he had come to her bedchamber and—

“We will replace them with happy memories.” Lucien grasped her arms as he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Rachel?”

“With my life,” she answered without hesitation.

Blue eyes glittered his approval. “Then trust me in this too.”

“Yes…” If anyone could rid her of those horrible memories of James, then it would be Lucien.

She offered no resistance as he sat her on the side of her bed to remove her slippers and then assisted her in sitting back against the pile of pillows at the top of the bed. She eyed him warily as he then moved to the bottom of the bed, his movements predatory as he crawled toward her on hands and knees. His gaze held hers captive the whole time.

“I apologize most sincerely for causing you even a moment’s discomfort.” He knelt at her feet.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him lower his head and kiss the hem of her gown, then inside first one ankle followed by the other. He then proceeded to push her gown up as he kissed his way up to her calves, her knees, her thighs, her—

“No drawers,” Lucien noted with satisfaction as he revealed the bare cluster of blonde curls between Rachel’s legs.

“I am a little sore, and they chafed against— Lucien!” She gave a low groan as he lay between her parted thighs to place the coolness of his lips against her mound.

Lucien’s senses swirled as he breathed in the perfume of Rachel’s arousal, and it took every effort of will on his part to rein back the need he felt to taste her and then fuck her to mindless pleasure.

Instead, he lifted her legs to bend them at the knees, her feet firmly on the bed on either side of him as he parted her thighs to gently kiss her pussy. The moist sweep of his tongue down her cleft intended to soothe rather than arouse. Which was not to say Rachel did not become aroused. Her little nubbin became swollen, beginning to pulse, as his tongue paid lavish attention to it, the perfume of her increased arousal urging him to greater intimacy.

“Lucien…” She gave a low groan as he finally slipped the hardness of his tongue into her weeping pussy, her hips undulating to meet each of those moist thrusts as he stimulated and stroked her clitoris with the soft pad of his thumb.

Her neck was arched, head thrown back on the pillows, and her eyes closed, hands tightly gripping the bedcover as Lucien continued to stroke his tongue inside her. The walls of her pussy contracted, drawing his tongue in deeper still.

Gently. Slowly. Harder. Faster.

Lucien lost himself totally in pleasuring Rachel’s pussy, his cock hard and weeping by the time she cried out her release. He greedily drank down the flood of juices coating his tongue, lapping up every drop before raising his head to look at her.

She gazed back at him, the pupils of her eyes so enlarged, there was only a thin line of brown at their edges. “Make love to me fully, Lucien.” She reached a hand down to him imploringly. “Show me how pleasurable it can be. How beautiful.”