The Countess Conspiracy (30 page)

His eyes widened in mock innocence. “Excellent. Keep doing that; I’ll just keep telling you wrong things.”

Violet shifted; he smiled and slid his hand around her, pulling her close, playing his fingers against her spine.

“
Rakus indifferentus,
alas for him, but quite merrily for the rest of us, has a shortened lifespan. If he’s not killed by the women he preys on or the men who care for those women, he’s often taken by the clap. His subspecies is particularly vulnerable to it.”

Violet found herself smiling despite herself.

“Then there’s
rakus precauticous.”

“
Rakus precauticous?”
Violet said dubiously. “That does not sound like valid nomenclature.”

“Don’t interrupt; you’ll have a chance for questions at the end. That is a rake who understands the rules of the game. He limits himself to women who are willing. He may use sheaths or hire doctors to perform examinations of potential partners so as to preserve his, uh, his assets.” Sebastian shrugged. “In general,
precauticous
either becomes so enamored of the activity that he metamorphosizes into
indifferentus
—”

“That cannot be a proper species identification, then.”

Sebastian ignored this. “Or he becomes so tired of taking precautions that he limits himself to one or, er, sometimes a few women for lengthy periods of time.”

Violet wrinkled her nose at him. “And so you’re a
precauticous
on the verge of metamorphosis, is that it?”

Sebastian pushed her to arm’s length. “My lady,” he said in a dignified tone utterly belied by the sparkle in his eye, “I am not. Those two species are to be pitied.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “What species are you, then?
Rakus giganticus?”

He smirked. “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it as a subspecies.”

“
Rakus improperus?”

“I am wounded and offended.” He didn’t look wounded or offended. He looked cheerful. “Surely you have heard of the humble, the brilliant, the most sought-after
rakus perfectus?”
He waggled an eyebrow at her.

She burst into laughter, doubling over.

“Please don’t bow in my presence,” he said. “There’s no need; a mere genuflection will do.”

Violet straightened and set her hand over her heart. “Never say that’s true. Am I really in the presence of
rakus perfectus giganticus?
Let me fetch my scalpel and perform a dissection right this instant.”

“Again, there’s no need—the study is already complete.” He buffed his nails against his jacket. “The
perfectus
is formed, you see, when a…well, I would call him an ordinary man, but, well.” Another grin. “Even I am not capable of such delusional self-effacement. When an
extraordinary
man falls irrevocably in love with a woman he cannot have.”

Violet felt the smile slide off her face.

He shrugged. “Maybe she’s married to another,” he says. “Maybe she doesn’t love him back. Maybe he’s a widower who has lost the love of his life.”

“This is taking a somber turn,” Violet said.

“
Rakus perfectus
knows he won’t fall in love with anyone else—not so long as he has
her
in his mind. But he doesn’t like the idea of hurting anyone else.” His voice grew low. “Not while he has
her
in his mind. His assignations may be fewer in number, but he takes care not just for his welfare, but for his partners’ well-being. Because, well.” He looked away. “Maybe because he imagines that someday, someone might tryst with the woman he loves. If they do, he hopes they’ll treat her the way that he…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. She looked over at him. “Sebastian,” she said. “You’ve been a rake your entire adult life.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you remember on the eve of your wedding, when you were nervous? Do you remember how I joked that you should jilt your husband and elope with me?”

“I was eighteen.” She glanced at him. “You were
sixteen.
You were still in school.”

“Yes, well.” He swallowed. “Also, I wasn’t joking.”

She didn’t know what to say. “Sebastian, you can’t mean that. That was sixteen years ago. You were a boy.”

“My point precisely,” he said quietly. “I was a boy, and back then—at first—I figured I would grow out of it. And I did, actually. For a while. It was just…I grew back into it, too.” He shrugged.

She shook her head.

“Over the years, it has changed. Shifted. It has been sixteen years, and during that entire time, I have not been having sex with you.” His hand closed around her wrist, his forefinger lightly pressing her wrist. “I know that even the thought of that sends you into a tearing panic.”

She exhaled slowly. She could feel her pulse hammering against his finger.

“I know you, Sebastian,” she said. “You like sex, and for me, it’s a complete disaster.”

He simply raised an eyebrow. “Let me tell you more about
rakus perfectus,”
he said. “The whole point of raking is to make sure that everyone is satisfied and safe. There was one night when the woman I was with changed her mind after she came up to the hotel room I had taken for the evening. We spent the night playing
vingt-et-un
for pennies.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

He considered this. “Yes. By ‘pennies,’ I meant ‘half-pennies.’ It just flows better when you say ‘vingt-et-un for pennies.’”

“Weren’t you furious with her?”

“Should I have been?” He shrugged. “I won three shillings.” He was playing with her hair, twirling it about one of his fingers. “We’re still friends, she and I.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Usually, I’m not,” he said. “But about this?
Rakus perfectus
spends a great deal of time learning how to find satisfaction without risking disease or pregnancy. It makes for a much, much happier life.”

“But playing cards? Really?”

“I like it when people like me.” Sebastian shrugged. “When a woman bursts into tears in the bedroom because she’s realized she doesn’t want to go through with it, you’ll make her very happy when you pull out a pack of cards.”

Violet could actually imagine him doing that.

“As it happens, she’ll also tell all her friends that you are an extraordinarily considerate lover, and they’ll tell everyone else, and the next thing you know…” His smile glinted at her. “From a purely selfish perspective, I have found that making sure my partner leaves with a smile on her face—however I manage that—is always a good choice.”

“But…”

He smiled at her. “As it happens, I also really, really enjoy intercourse.”

She exhaled, feeling a bloom of heat.

“But I also like kissing,” he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to her breastbone. “And touching. Between the extremes of playing
vingt-et-un
and doing my damnedest to get you with child, there are innumerable possibilities. And I’m very, very, very…” he paused, his lips pressing against her. “Very,” he repeated, “very interested in discovering which ones you like.”

She couldn’t think, not while he was doing that. Not while his breath tickled her chest, his hands held her close.

“Wait,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what I think of your so-called classifications.”

“Oh?” He kissed her again.

“They’re complete bollocks,” she said.

“True.” He winked at her. “But you’re smiling now. It’s all part of my evil plot.”

“You have an evil plot?”

“Of course I have an evil plot. Before the evening is up, I intend to engage you in a game of
vingt-et-un.
One-on-one.”

She did her best to hide her smile and failed miserably.

“We’ll work up to that,” he said archly. “A good rake doesn’t whip out his cards at the first sign of acquiescence. Right now, I’m going to give you a back rub.”

She pulled away from him. “Is that a euphemism?”

He frowned and looked upward. “Yes,” he said, “it is. When I say ‘back,’ I include your shoulders and neck.”

She swallowed, just thinking of what that would mean. His hands, caressing her, kneading her flesh. Coaxing her into relaxation.

“And what will happen when you’re done?”

He leaned down to her. “Then I will stop touching you. Rake’s honor.”

She let out a shaky breath. But she knew she could trust Sebastian for this—if he said he was going to stop, he’d do it.

He stood and motioned for her to lie on her front. She took a deep breath and rolled over.

She was tense for that first touch, so tense that when she felt the palm of his hand fall on her lower back, she almost jumped. But he didn’t move any lower. He didn’t spread her legs, as she’d feared. He just pressed his hand against her lower back, unmoving, until her heart stopped thumping and her exhales grew farther apart. Until, despite the warning bells sounding in her mind, her muscles began to relax.

And then he ran his hand up her spine to her shoulders.

“Here,” he said. “Your muscles are so tense, right here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ll feel better if you can relax a little. Like this.”

It was a coaxing, gentle massage, his fingers pressing ever so lightly into her flesh. It wasn’t the kind of angry, expectant rub that a husband might give his wife’s shoulders—a tit for tat that positively screamed,
Look what I’m doing for you; now you’d better let me between your legs, or next time, it’s nothing
.

“You spend all your time bent over those garden beds in your greenhouse,” he told her. “You’ve got a knot right here.” He pressed a spot in her back, and her breath hissed out. “And right here.” Another sore point. “And…well, you get the drift of what I’m saying. You carry around all the day’s labors in your flesh. Let’s see if we can’t get you to set them down for a few moments.”

She might have thought that he had no more interest in her than in loosening those sore spots. He could have made it more sensual. When he leaned over her, he might have brushed his body against hers. When he pushed his thumbs into those knots, working them, he could have kissed the back of her neck…and sensitive as it was, so aware of his flesh so close to hers, she would have shivered. He might have worked his hands not just along her back but down the sides, finding her breasts, the erect nubs of her nipples. She was aware, so aware of all the ways he wasn’t touching her. Of all the things he could do. Of how vulnerable she was under him—how little effort it would take for him to push her against the cushions and hold her there, no matter how she protested.

She wasn’t even sure she would protest.

But he’d promised her that he wouldn’t importune her, and so he didn’t. His touch warmed and then it loosened—and then, gradually, she found herself drifting into a state of contentment.

After a while, he pulled away from her. “There,” he said. “I knew it. You’re smiling.”

She turned over onto her side and he sat next to her.

“But you want more.” She could see the outline of his erection even against his loose trousers. “And…” She was afraid even to admit this much, but she didn’t want to hide it from him. “And you’re making me want more. And that means…”

“It means whatever we say it means,” he said with a shrug. “Want is not destiny. We’re adults. It should be fun to want.”

“But what is the goal? What are we working toward?”

“Your complete and utter surrender,” he intoned.

She sucked in a breath.

“I won’t be truly alive,” he continued, with a mischievous look, “until I’ve feasted on your virtuous flesh and sucked the marrow from your bones.”

Violet jabbed him in the ribs. “Very funny.”

“You see?
You
don’t believe I want anything dire. Not really.”

He might say that, but he wouldn’t be satisfied if this was all he ever had from her. A few touches at night? He could say it was fun to want, but after two weeks of wanting, he’d start to lose his warm good humor. That’s when the remarks would start—a few snide remarks about how frigid she was, how selfish to withhold her favors. He’d mention how long it had been since his last release. Men weren’t made for celibacy, and Sebastian least of all of them.

She opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it again. It should be fun to want, he’d said, but it had been a long time since she’d faced the idea of want with anything except dread. Want was a tool that was used against her. The less she wanted…

“Sebastian,” she said. “We can’t keep on like this.”

“Why not?” he answered back. “If matters get dire over here, I’ve got a working left hand.” He glanced over at her. “You have the same.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t?” he asked innocently. “Well, then. I can help you out with mine.”

She let out a scalded breath at that thought—at the notion of his clever hands sliding between her legs, finding the pinpoint of her desire—but he just leaned down and kissed her.

Chapter Nineteen

I
T WAS THE NEXT MORNING
, and despite the summons in his pocket—and Sebastian could not call that terse note anything except a
summons
—Sebastian felt unnaturally cheerful.