Rapturous Rakes Bundle (17 page)

cus. Lucas lit the candle, set it down and turned to her.

‘Now...’ he said.

Despite the severity of his tone, there was gentle-

ness in the way that he pulled her close to him once

again, his arms going about her, drawing her against

the hard, warm length of his body. Rebecca relaxed

into his embrace. He smoothed a tender hand over

her hair.

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‘You should have told me that I would be the first.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I told you several times.’

‘You said that you were no courtesan.’ Lucas hes-

itated. ‘I thought you inexperienced, but I did not real-

ise...’ He sighed. ‘I should have known.’

Rebecca gave a tiny shrug. ‘I told you that I was

virtuous.’

‘Then why this—now?’

Rebecca turned her face against his shoulder. ‘I told

you that too. You said that you understood. I wanted

to escape—forget everything—for a single night.’

Lucas took her chin in his hand and turned her face

to his. His eyes were golden in the candlelight. ‘Oh,

Rebecca...’ He sounded rueful and tender.

Rebecca kissed his shoulder, touching her tongue to

his skin, inhaling his scent and tasting the faint tang

of salt and sweat. She did not want to talk. She wanted

to live in the moment.

She ran her hands down his body, exploring, learn-

ing as she went. His muscles felt tense and coiled and

she wondered whether he was going to repudiate her,

but after a moment he gave a soft sigh and she felt

him surrender to her touch. Her mouth followed the

path her fingers had taken. His skin felt hot and damp

and as her hands drifted lower he rolled over and

trapped her beneath him.

‘That’s enough...’ His tone was rough and when

she looked at him wonderingly he touched her cheek,

his voice softening. ‘I do not want to hurt you any

more than I already have done, sweetheart.’

‘You have not hurt me,’ Rebecca said, ignoring the

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slight ache of her body, ‘and the morning is not yet

here—’

Her words broke off as his fingers found the damp

warmth that he had left only minutes before, and

gently caressed and teased her into a state of shameless

pleasure.

Fierce heat flowered in her and she pulled him

close, arching against him, crying out as his mouth

closed over her breast.

He nudged her legs apart and entered her again.

This time was slow and gentle, a matter of small, ex-

quisite movements and drugging sweetness that cast

them adrift in sensuality until they finally and, oh, so

slowly, slipped into pure ecstasy and from there to

oblivion.

Rebecca woke to find that they were still intimately

entwined. He was still inside her. She had
slept
with

him like that. The shock ripped through her, followed

almost immediately by a quivering leap of raw excite-

ment at the shattering intimacy of it. She made a small

sound, half-astonishment, half-pleasure, and as Lucas

started to move she felt her body tighten once again

into a slow, shimmering climax that went on and on.

His hand slid up possessively from her stomach to her

breast with a gentle, sleepy touch that made her want

to press herself against him in sheer contentment. She

was dazed and weak with the hot, endless pleasure,

her mind as cloudy as her body was limp. Lucas kept

her spread beneath him, shifting more firmly over her,

lowering his head to take her nipple in his mouth so

that the rasp of his tongue over her skin made her arch

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The
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with desperation. He did not move within her but kept

himself anchored deep, and she tautened like a

plucked bow beneath his hands, his lips and his

tongue, frantic for release whilst he played with her

breasts. Finally she grabbed him to her, kissing him,

lifting her hips in hopeless frustration until he could

resist the temptation no longer and drove himself into

her and the dizzying heat overtook them in endless

waves.

When Rebecca woke again it was late. The damp

grey skies of the previous day had given way to a fresh

autumn day of blue promise. The pale sun dappled the

floor of Rebecca’s bedroom and lit up the dust motes

that danced in its beams. Rebecca felt warm and

dreamy and heavy with contentment. She knew that

there was no likelihood of her working today, though

when she did finally drag herself from her languor she

wanted to continue engraving the kestrel glasses for

Lucas. Lucas, who had taken all the passion she usu-

ally reserved for her work and transformed it into the

most wicked, sensual and perfect night that she could

ever have imagined.

She turned her head. The space in the bed beside

her was empty, but the tangle of sheets and the dent

in the pillow showed where Lucas had lain. She re-

membered waking at one point to find herself clasped

tightly in his arms. She had lain quiescent and still,

revelling in the close contact of his skin against hers

and the warmth and intimacy of the embrace.

She knew she loved him.

Rebecca rolled on to her back and stared at the cob-

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webby ceiling. She did not feel guilty at what she had

done. She did not feel embarrassed or ashamed or any

of the other conventional responses that she might

have expected to feel having given herself to a man

with such passion and wild abandonment all through

the night. It had been exquisite bliss. She wriggled

slightly. So there was one thing that Nan Astley had

been right about, after all. It had not been difficult in

the end. It had been magical and far from the merce-

nary arrangement that Nan had advocated.

Rebecca got up very slowly and dressed with ab-

sent-minded movements, somehow managing to get

herself down the stairs and into the workshop, where

she threw open the windows and let the fresh air flood

in. She could hear the scrawny stray cat mewing at

the back door. She ignored it whilst she built up the

fire—the wood that Lucas had purchased for her

would last a good while longer—and set a light to the

tinder. The flame caught and the studio immediately

looked brighter, the light winking off the rows of en-

graved glass on the shelves. Rebecca’s spirits were

soaring and she hummed as she swept the floor. A

servant had called to collect the last of her uncle’s

commissions the previous day, so at least she had been

paid. She could eat.

And she would see Lucas again. Of that she was

certain.

The mewing of the cat had become more insistent

now, accompanied by a repetitive scratching that

threatened to wear away the back door. Rebecca went

through to the scullery. When she opened the door the

cat shot in, accompanied by a blast of cold air that

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The
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Mistress

Rebecca knew would make the chimney smoke. She

was about to slam the door shut again when she saw

the bag.

Her heart started to race. She bent down and picked

it up. It had been wedged in a gap between the wall

of the house and the drainpipe that ran down from the

roof, which was even now emitting a sluggish stream

of rainwater from the night before. The bag was made

of oiled canvas and was slightly damp, but Rebecca

could feel the shape of a small, folded piece of parch-

ment inside—and the outline of golden sovereigns.

She took the bag into the scullery. When she pulled

the drawstring, the sovereigns spilled out on to the

table, dull in the darkness of the room. She ignored

them and took the note across to the window, her fin-

gers shaking slightly as she unfolded the thick parch-

ment.

Dearest Rebecca,

I am sorry I have been away so long. Tovey will

carry this message to you, but it is no recompense

for not seeing you in person. I pray it shall not

be long before we may meet again. In the mean-

time, I hope that these may make some small rep-

aration for my absence.

Daniel

Rebecca sighed, refolded the note and stuffed it

back in the canvas bag. Pleasant as it was to have fifty

gold sovereigns, it was no compensation for her

brother’s absence. Nor had he indicated when she

would see him again. Very likely he did not know. He

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was away at sea for months at a time and seldom knew

in advance when he would make landfall again. He

came to London even more rarely since it was too

dangerous for him. It was close to a year since they

had last met.

She scooped up the sovereigns, put them in the bag

and placed it beneath the stale biscuits in the china

crock, along with the money she had received for her

uncle’s commission. She had seldom had so much

cash in the house. She should find a better hiding

place.

Her heart ached with a sudden, fierce pain. She

would give almost everything she possessed to have

Daniel home. But she knew it could not be—not yet—

and in the meantime she must make shift as best she

could. She tried to feel better by telling herself that

she would see Lucas again soon, but the feeling of

warm intimacy had drained away and something

colder had taken its place. It nagged at her—where

was Lucas and why had he not left her any message?

The day seemed suddenly pale and the sunlight dim.

Rebecca poured herself a mug of milk and cut a piece

of bread and cheese for her breakfast, then went back

into the studio, sat down at her workbench and picked

up her diamond scribe. If she could not see Lucas, then

she could try to lose herself in her work, but somehow

she could not quite shake off the creeping chill that

told her everything was not well.

When Lucas awoke in his own bed, it was with a

blinding headache. It was not alcohol induced, but the

result of an over-active conscience, a conscience that

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Mistress

had singularly failed to do its job and protect Miss

Rebecca Raleigh from him the previous night. He lay

still and stared at the ceiling. Last night he had be-

haved in the most dishonourable, disgraceful and dis-

creditable way imaginable. It was the first time in his

adult life that he had tried and failed to keep a measure

of control. He had tried to do the decent thing. His

mind recalled with perfect accuracy all the
indecent

things that he had done with Rebecca and the fact that

he wanted to repeat them all again—and again. His

body hardened into arousal instantly at the same time

as he sat up and clutched his head in his hands with

a groan. The fact that the night had been the most

satisfying, exquisitely pleasurable and ultimately per-

fect experience he had ever encountered was beside

the point.

He was a scoundrel.

He had awoken again just before dawn. Rebecca

had been asleep, fragrantly, peacefully. He had seen

her lying beside him and had felt the soft, tempting

warmth of her body and had been overwhelmed by an

emotion he had never previously experienced. He had

felt awestruck and exalted and terrifyingly happy.

And then he had felt afraid.

He had eased himself out of the bed, dressed with

speed and crept away, like a thief in the night. With

each step away from Rebecca his heart had dropped

like a stone into the depths. Fear and guilt had warred

within him, smothering the contentment that had come

to him when he was lying in Rebecca’s arms. He had

wanted her from the moment he had first seen her and

now that hunger was not appeased, but raged within

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him with a dangerous intensity. Yet somehow that in-

timate lovemaking had unleashed far more than phys-

ical desire.

He felt angry and protective and
responsible.
He