Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake Read online

  “You would prefer? Well, I would prefer you stayed the hell out of my fencing club! And, while we’re at it, out of my taverns and my bedchamber! But it seems that neither of us is going to get what we want!” He paused, amazed. “For God’s sake, woman, are you trying to get yourself ruined?”

  Tears sprang to Callie’s eyes at the words, turning them into mahogany pools. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She looked away, suddenly desperate to be anywhere other than here, next to him, about to cry.

  At her tears, he cursed roundly beneath his breath. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Well, he had meant to scare her into stopping her damn foolishness, but he hadn’t meant to make her cry. He softened his tone. “What, then?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed on, cajoling, “Callie.”

  She looked at him again, shaking her head. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You don’t understand.”

  His blue gaze locked with hers as he relaxed next to her, seating himself at her side so that they were facing each other, his knee supporting her wounded arm. “Explain it to me.” The words were firm.

  “It’s really quite fine, you know,” Callie said, her tone belittling the importance of her words. “It’s just that…even in this moment, while I’m faced with certain ruin, and your anger, and my own fear, and not a small amount of pain from my wound—not that you didn’t do a lovely job binding it, my lord.” He nodded his acknowledgment of her praise. “Even with all that,” she plunged on, “I am having one of the best days of my life.”

  She could see the confusion in his eyes as she tried to explain. “You see, today I am living.”

  “Living?”

  “Yes. I’ve spent twenty-eight years doing what everyone around me expected me to do…being what everyone around me has expected me to be. And it’s horrid to be someone else’s vision of yourself.” She paused, then, “You were right. I am a coward.”

  His eyes softened at her impassioned statement. “I was an ass. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “You’re not an…” She stopped, unable to say the word aloud.

  “I’m not certain I agree. Go on.”

  “I’m not a wife, or a mother, or a pillar of the ton,” She waved her unharmed arm as though the life she was describing was just beyond the room. “I’m invisible. So, why not stop being such a craven wallflower and start trying all the things that I’ve always dreamed of doing? Why not go to taverns and drink scotch and fence? I confess, those things have been much more interesting than all the loathsome teas and balls and needlepoint with which I have traditionally occupied my time.” She met his gaze again. “Does this make sense?”

  He nodded seriously. “It does. You’re trying to find Callie.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes! Somewhere along the way, I lost Callie. Perhaps I never had her. But today, here, I found her.”

  He smiled wryly. “Callie is a fencer?”

  She matched his smile with one of her own. “Callie is many things, my lord. I also found her in the tavern.”

  “Ah,” he said, knowingly. “So Callie is a rake.”

  She blushed. “I don’t think so.”

  Silence fell between them as he watched the wash of pink across her cheeks. He lifted her wounded arm in his hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. She breathed deeply at the feel of his lips on her skin, so warm and soft, and her eyes flew to his, intently focused on her. He held her gaze, and she felt a shock of liquid heat as his tongue circled one of her knuckles.

  He registered her surprise, smiling against her and turning her hand palm up, then setting his tongue and lips to work on the soft, sensitive spot at its center. Her breath quickened, and she closed her eyes to the sensation, unable to watch the erotic movement of his mouth across her skin.

  He lifted his lips from her hand and, when she opened her eyes again, it was to find him watching her, a wicked smile on his lips. Reaching out, he traced one finger along the line of her jaw, sending a shiver through her. When he spoke, his voice was thick and liquid, and it sent a shock of heat down her spine. “I shouldn’t give up on that part of her just yet, Empress.”

  She caught her breath at the endearment, which brought with it a hazy memory from long ago. He chased the vision away with the vivid present as he clasped her chin, bringing her face closer to his. “You forget, I’ve met the woman several times…In carriages…”

  His lips hovered just above hers, sending a tremor of anticipation through her, “And in theatres…”

  She tried to close the distance between them and he pulled back just enough to drive her slightly mad. “And in bedchambers.

  “In fact,” he added, his words a caress along the sensitive skin of her lips, “I rather like the rakish side of her.”

  And then he settled his lips upon hers, and she was lost. She was consumed by the softness of his mouth, the gentleness of the caress—so very different than the kisses they had shared before. This kiss consumed her, made her forget herself, their surroundings, everything but the magnificent pressure of his lips on hers. His thumb stroked her jaw as his mouth ate at hers, sending waves of pulsing pleasure through her.

  She gasped at the feeling, and he took advantage of her open lips to plunder her mouth with deep, drugging kisses that made her dizzy. She reached for him, her anchor in a sea of sensuality, wrapping her arms around his neck and plunging her fingers into his heavy, soft hair. He made a deep, satisfied sound at the feeling of her wrapped around him, and traced a path across her cheek and down the column of her throat with soft, moist kisses that sent explosions of pleasure through her.

  The high neck of the fencing jacket she wore hindered his progress, and he deftly unbuttoned it as he made love to the sensitive skin of her neck, following the path of her skin as the widening collar revealed it. When he finished unfastening the jacket, he pulled back from the embrace to open the coat. His heavy-lidded gaze fell to her bound breasts, rising and falling against the tightly wound linen that had bound them for the afternoon.

  He shook his head at the bindings before meeting her gaze once more. “This,” he said, running his hands over the edge of the linen, “is a travesty.”

  Registering the need in her eyes, her lips parted in passion, her flushed cheeks, Ralston took her lips in another ravenous kiss before setting his hands to the bindings, seeking the end of the linen. Finding it, he pulled it from its place and began to unwrap the length of fabric.

  Callie watched as his eyes followed the movement of his hands, nervous. She registered the roughness of his breathing, the darkened blue of his eyes, and she realized that she was here, in Ralston’s arms. In the arms of the only man she had ever wanted. The only man of whom she had ever dreamed. And now, as he laid her body bare, she knew with an unquestionable certainty that her soul, too, was his. She would never stop wanting him.

  As the words floated through her mind, she gasped from the glorious feeling of the last of the bindings falling away, releasing her breasts from their tight confines. His eyes darkened further, and she looked down at herself, noting the harsh red lines that ran across her normally pale skin. She moved to cover herself, embarrassed by her nakedness. He caught her hands in his.

  “No,” he said, his voice thick and seductive. “You have treated these beauties most unkindly. As their rescuer, they now belong to me.”

  Callie felt heat flare at his words, pooling deep within her as he released her hands and moved to caress her. His warm, strong hands cupped and molded her abraded flesh, coaxing sighs of pleasure from her as he soothed and gentled her chafed skin. He set his lips to the red marks left by the linen, running his tongue along the oversensitive skin, placing soft, gentle kisses across her breasts.

  He laved the skin for long minutes, deliberately avoiding the straining tips of her breasts, allowing them to grow tighter and more sensitive with every stroke of his fingers and tongue. Callie began to squirm under his ministrations, straining for his touch on the areas where she was most desperate for it
.

  He noticed her movement, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “What is it, Empress?” he asked, the words a caress in themselves, his breath breaking across her aching skin. “Do you want me here?” He ran one finger across a straining nipple, and she gave a little cry at the explosion of sensation that came at the feather-light touch. He moved to the other tip, repeating the caress. “Or here?”

  “Yes…” The word came on a pant.

  He smiled wickedly at the sound. “You have only to ask.”

  And then he set his lips to one turgid peak, and she thought she might drown in the pleasure of it. He soothed the sensitive skin with his roughened tongue, clutching his head in both of her hands as he suckled gently, sending a burst of liquid heat to the very core of her. The sensation, so foreign and wonderful, consumed her as he turned his attention to the other breast, repeating his actions, this time more firmly. He scraped his teeth across the peak, then soothed it with tongue and lips, and she cried out, anxious for something that she could not name.

  He seemed to sense her need, one hand grazing along the inside her thigh, gently tracing a path to the core of her. He cupped her in one hand, sending a dart of pleasure through her, making her keenly aware of the fabric that blocked his access to that spot where she so desperately wanted his touch. She squirmed, trying to get closer to him, and he lifted his head again, meeting her gaze.

  He kissed her soundly, stealing her breath, before saying, “Tell me what you want, my lovely.”

  “I—” She stopped, too many words coming at once. I want you to touch me. I want you to love me. I want you to show me the life that I have been missing. She shook her head, uncertain.

  He smiled, pressing firmly with his hand against her, watching the wave of pleasure course through her. “Incredible,” he whispered against the side of her neck. “So responsive. Go on…”

  “I want—” She sighed as he set his lips to the hardened peak of one breast again. “I want…I want you,” she said, and, in that moment, the words, so utterly simple in the face of the roiling emotions that coursed through her, seemed enough.

  He moved his fingers firmly, deftly against her, and she gasped. “Do you want me here, Empress?”

  She closed her eyes in embarrassment, biting her lower lip.

  “Are you aching for me here?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Poor, sweet love.” His words were liquid fire against her ear as he slipped one arm of her jacket off and pushed aside her croissard, gaining access to the buttons of her breeches. Sliding a warm hand inside the fabric, he coaxed another sigh from her as he met the soft down of her sex. Parting the slick folds there, one finger pushed inside the heat. “Here?”

  She gasped, grasping his forearm with her hand.

  He growled low in his throat as he watched her attempt to understand the feelings coursing through her. When he spoke, his voice was rough with his own response. “I think you want more than that.”

  His fingers began to move against her as he set his mouth to the straining tip of one breast, and Callie lost the ability to think. He stroked against her pulsing flesh, nudging her legs wider, gaining access to her slick heat. One finger circled the very center of her, and she writhed against him, uncertain of the emotions roiling through her. The movement of his firm, knowing hands—in perfect tandem with the lush pull of his mouth—pushed her further and further toward a precipice she couldn’t identify. Pleasure spiked as he found the soft, wet place where the world seemed to end, and she cried out as he stroked there, pushing her higher and higher.

  She tensed as waves of pleasure washed over her in concert with his movements, and he felt the change in her. He released her breast, plundering her mouth, stroking with tongue and teeth, drugging her with his kiss before pulling away and meeting her gaze, and noting the confusion and passion mingling there. He inserted a finger deep within her, and she gasped, the coiled tension deep within her, threatening to release.

  He set his lips to her ear, whispering, “Let go, my lovely…”

  She turned to him at the words, seeing ripe understanding in his eyes as the finger inside her was joined by a second, thrusting rhythmically, as he circled the core of her faster, more firmly, as though he knew just where she ached, just where she needed his touch. She cried out at the wave of feeling—like nothing she’d ever felt before.

  “I will catch you when you fall.” The words, liquid with passion, were her undoing.

  He held her gaze as she plunged over the edge, clinging to him.

  She throbbed beneath his touch, writhing against him, begging for more even as he gave it to her. His fingers moved inside her, knowing just how to touch, where to stroke, when to flex. And when he had wrung the last, pulsing movement from her, had captured the last of her cries with his firm lips, he did catch her, his knowing hands guiding her safely back to his arms, back to earth.

  He held her as she regained her senses, his lips brushing against her temple, his hands stroking her back and arms and legs gently. When her breathing returned to normal, Callie dropped her hands from around his neck, allowing her wounded arm to rest on him again. Ralston hissed as her hand settled on his lap, and he quickly grabbed her hand and lifted it away from him.

  Recognizing only that he had moved her hand from where it had touched him, Callie became immediately insecure. Ralston instantly understood her uncertainty. Placing a warm kiss on her now-clenched hand, he met her wounded gaze, and said, “It’s rather difficult to watch such a thoroughly enthralling display of passion and not be moved, lovely.”

  Her concern turned to confusion and he pressed her hand to the outside of his breeches, allowing her access to the hard ridge of him. Understanding dawned and, though she blushed, she did not pull her hand away from the heat of him. Instead, she tentatively pressed against him, reveling in his soft groan of response, and in the way he held her hand to his body. “Can—” She swallowed, then tried again, “Can I…do something?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up in a pained smile before he pulled her to him and kissed her again, not stopping until she was clinging to him once more, breathless with excitement. “While I would like nothing more than for you to do something, Empress, I think we have done rather too much as it is, considering someone could enter at any time.”

  The words shook her from her reverie like a splash of ice water. Her attention flew to the door—unlocked—just waiting for another fencer to make the same mistake she had and to stumble upon them.

  “Oh!” She leapt up, wincing at the pain that shot through her arm at the movement. Stuffing her free arm into the sleeve of the ruined jacket, she turned away from him and hurried to the far corner of the room, working on the long row of buttons fastening the garment. What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t, of course, been thinking of anything but him.

  “You seem to have forgotten a critical piece of your disguise.”

  She whirled toward the lazy words to find him walking calmly toward her, running the length of linen that had flattened her breasts between his fingers. As he closed in on her, he whispered, “No one will believe you’re a man with those gorgeous breasts left to their own devices. Frankly, no one should believe it with your magnificent—”

  “Thank you,” she said firmly, staying his words, ignoring the wash of heat on her cheeks and taking the linen from his hands.

  “You’ll need my help, lovely.”

  No. She couldn’t allow him such an intimate task. She would simply have to risk discovery—Benedick’s coat allowed a modicum of coverage. Unwittingly, she looked down at herself, as though measuring the obviousness of her cleavage.

  It was quite obvious.

  Ralston seemed to read her thoughts, taking the linen back from her. “You should be discovered in seconds, Empress. Best let me help.” His gaze took on a wicked gleam. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled at his words, so ridiculo
us were they. His face broke into a wide grin and, after a moment’s thought, she gave in. Slipping out of the jacket once more, she shyly turned her back to him, holding one end of the fabric tight against her breasts. She waited for him to begin wrapping her in the linen, but he did not move. After a long minute, she looked over her shoulder to find him mere inches away, watching her. She offered him a questioning look.

  “Turn.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. He wanted her to spin into the bandages, instead of standing still and allowing him to wrap her. She did so, slowly, understanding almost immediately the seductive nature of the situation. Something about the movement, about his dark blue eyes on her as she spun, made her feel like a temptress—his Salome. He did not touch her as she turned, dancing only for him; instead, he allowed her to choose the speed and the strength with which she was bound. And when she reached the end of the fabric, she spun right into his arms.

  Holding her gaze, Ralston tucked the end of the linen into the bindings before he took her face in one hand and tilted it up for another kiss. This one was soft and sweet, his lips brushing gently across hers in an excruciatingly slow caress, leaving her heart pounding and her mind reeling. With his other hand, he stroked one flattened breast gently, teasing the protected skin until she wanted to tear off the bindings again.

  He broke off the kiss and leaned down, setting his lips to the edge of the linen, softly laving the sensitive skin straining above the bindings. “Poor, lovely darlings,” he murmured, worshipping her with hands and mouth, raising her temperature and sending another wave of passion pooling deep within her.

  Just as she thought she might not be able to stand if he continued, he stopped, bending to retrieve her fencing jacket, carefully pulling it over her bandaged arm and tucking her into it, deftly fastening the buttons as she watched, her emotions wreaking havoc on her ability to accomplish anything useful.

  When he was done, he stepped away, toward the pile of fencing accoutrements they had abandoned earlier. She watched as he stopped just off the mat to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen unseen when he had removed her bindings. She immediately recognized it and was spurred into motion, calling out, “Wait. Don’t.”