Along Came a Rogue (15 page)

“Wider,” he growled, his eyes fixed on the spot between her legs. “You know what I want. Open your legs to me.”

With a soft whimper, she closed her eyes, placed her hands on her knees, and pushed, spreading herself wide to his hot gaze.

A masculine groan of satisfaction filled the tiny compartment, the deep sound rumbling through her straight down to her aching core. The cool air tickled against her bare womanhood, exposed in the muted sunlight filtering in through the curtains, but her skin prickled with heat. Not daring to move until he'd looked his fill of her, she took soft, shallow pants of breath as her frenzied heart raced, and as she waited in sweet anticipation for the next command, she prayed he liked what he saw.

“Dear God, you're beautiful…” Then, so softly she almost missed it, “Touch yourself.”

Her eyes flew open.

He leaned forward in his seat, his elbows over his knees as he stared at her with the greedy hunger of a starving man. Desire gleamed in the chocolate depths of his eyes, with so much arousal pulsing through him that his erection prominently tented his trousers. Emily shivered with her own growing need. This wasn't the patient tenderness with which he made love to her last night; this was raw, primal, predatory. The feast he'd promised to make of her. And all of her shook with the desire to be devoured.

“Touch yourself, Emily,” he repeated with an intensity that swirled down her spine. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself.”

She froze. Had the game gone too far? In fact, were they still playing games? She was torn between knowing she should stop before she crossed a line from which she might never be able to retreat, and the wicked desire to seduce him without laying a finger on him.

A soft sigh fell from her trembling lips, and she slipped her hand down between her thighs.

He didn't make a sound as he watched her brush her fingertips through the curls guarding her womanhood, his attention rapt on her seeking fingers. She felt deliciously wanton, brazen, and wholly unashamed beneath his intense gaze. Oh,
sweet heavens
—she felt alive!

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the squabs with her legs spread as wide as the narrow carriage allowed, then she stroked her fingers down into her cleft and across her hot folds, to touch herself the way he wanted. To explore herself as she'd never dared do before, not even alone in her bath.

He groaned, the sound as close as if he were leaning over her on the seat, yet she couldn't bear to open her eyes to look at him. “You have no idea how delectable you are,” he whispered, his deep purr swirling through her head and increasing the rapid tattoo of her pulse, “how innocently seductive…how many times in the past two days I've fantasized about watching you do exactly this.”

Emboldened by his words, she mimicked the way he caressed her last night, with teasing little swirls and strokes against her folds. An animal-like groan tore from him, and the primal sound aroused her to a throbbing frenzy. She'd never heard a man groan with desire like that before, never with so much raw passion and unbearable need. And he wasn't even touching her!

Exciting her to gasping shivers, the thrilling desire that pulsed through her now drove her to find the same release he'd given her last night. She abandoned herself to the throbbing ache beneath her fingertips and sank her fingers deep into her wet softness just as he had done, to caress herself, explore, arouse…She whimpered plaintively, reaching the edge of release but unable to plunge over the cliff without him.

“Kiss me,” she ordered, her voice a throaty plea of desperate need and unbridled arousal. “Now—I need to be kissed.”

His mouth captured hers, hard and demanding and greedy, and he shoved his tongue between her lips to claim both the kiss and all of her as his. He continued to thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth, to taste and plunder, even as he lowered himself slowly to the floor between her thighs. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he nibbled his way down her front, over her breasts and belly, to place a tender kiss on the inside of her bare thigh.

Her eyes flew open. “What—” Her hands gripped his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Exactly as you commanded,” he murmured wickedly against her flesh as he turned his head to reverently place a delicate kiss on her other thigh. “I am kissing you.”

She squirmed, her heated body yearning to have his mouth on her. But surely, he couldn't mean kissing her there—

He licked his tongue against her.
There.

“Oh, sweet heavens!” The moan poured from her as her head rolled back in helpless submission.

“It's your turn,” he breathed devilishly against her, his lips tickling over the throbbing center of her spread thighs, “and I must do as you command.”

Her fingers dug through his thick hair to find some purchase to keep from falling away as the tip of his tongue slowly circled her. Kissing and tasting, licking and nibbling, his mouth was utterly wicked…and oh, so divine! She'd never imagined she could ever feel both as wanton and wonderful as she did at that moment, with her body writhing shamelessly against his lips.

He nibbled down her cleft, only to drag a long lick back up the length of her to the pulsating nub— She gasped at the electrifying jolt of pleasure as his lips grazed against the sensitive point, her legs slamming closed against his shoulders but for his hands on her inner thighs, torturously holding her open wide to his greedy mouth.

“You taste heavenly,” he murmured against her. “So sweet and delicious…and all mine.”

She gasped as his tongue plunged deep to invade her body, then moaned as he thrust in and out of her in a quick, stabbing motion that left her lungs breathless and her sex quivering against his mouth.

“Grey,” she begged, uncertain if she was pleading for him to stop or to keep fanning the ache inside her.

He laughed at her confusion, and the deep sound rumbled tantalizingly against her womanhood. What a wicked, wicked game he'd picked! That even when he was losing he was winning. She was helpless against him, shuddering and weak. And hotly craving more.

She whimpered as a primal yearning spilled through her, and she lifted her hips to force his mouth even harder against her, his tongue even deeper. So close, so
very
close to release…but he expertly kept her dangling at the cliff's edge without letting her plunge over.

“My turn again,” he rasped. “Do as I command, brat.”

“Yes—anything! Anything you want,” she whined helplessly as he placed one last, impossibly tender kiss against her throbbing center.

He sat back and pulled her across the compartment to him, lifting her to straddle her legs wide across his thighs. “What I want is
you
.” His eyes gleamed like the devil's own. “Right here.”

“Here?” Instead of the squeak she expected, her question came as a throaty purr. “Like this?”

His hand dove wickedly between her thighs to fondle her heated folds and wear down her resistance by heightening the ache pounding away inside her. “Just like this.”

“But—but we're in a carriage!” she protested, even as evidence of her desire wetted his oh-so clever fingers as they teased mercilessly against her.

“I know.” He grinned devilishly at her, then leaned up to kiss away the moan threatening at her lips. “We won't hurt the baby, I promise.”

Her heart softened that even now he was concerned about her unborn child. But to make love in a moving carriage, with her sitting on him like this—she'd never thought it possible, never even
considered
…She squirmed over his large erection pressing hard against her bottom and instantly became amenable to new considerations.

“Yes,” she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him, gladly willing to do whatever he commanded.

Grey made quick work of unfastening his trousers, then freed himself from the tight fabric and yanked her skirt up high around her waist and out of his way. She'd aroused him to the breaking point, and he needed to possess her.
Now.

His hands slipped beneath her to grasp her bare buttocks, and with a soft growl, he yanked her toward him, impaling her on his cock in one swift thrust. He smothered her cry of surprise with his mouth and thrilled at the shudder of wanton pleasure that sped through her at having him inside her, steel-hard and primed to please her.

“Shh,” he warned. His teeth nipped at her earlobe as he rocked her gently against him, grinding his hips up against hers until she'd taken his large cock completely inside her and was fully seated over him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she panted breathlessly, and her body trembled in hot anticipation of the climax to come, one he gleefully looked forward to giving her. “They'll hear you outside.”

She eased away from him just far enough to look into his eyes as his hands squeezed her buttocks, cupping her in his palms as he raised and lowered her, sliding her tight warmth smoothly up and down his length.
Good Lord
, how glorious she felt! How wonderfully slick and sweet. How unbelievably luscious with all those little muscles inside her clenching tightly around him. And he knew she enjoyed it, too, because she couldn't stop the soft mewling sounds that escaped her.

“Ride me, brat.” He pulled her legs up onto the seat on either side of him so that she could balance on her knees over him, then tilted his hips straight up into hers. “Ride me hard.”

As he'd commanded, she moved against him, thrusting and retreating as she galloped over him. The sensation was exquisite. He groaned as she leaned back, dug her fingers into his shoulders for leverage, and pumped him hard and fast with her body, as if his cock were a wicked toy created solely for her to take whatever wanton pleasures she desired. Her hips bucked ferociously over his as she drove toward her release.

“Grey!” A helpless shudder raced through her.

Her body gripped down hard around his cock as she tossed back her head and arched her back. The catch of her breath, the quivering of her thighs against his hips as her tight warmth flexed around him—

His arms grasped around her like steel bands as his mouth clamped hard over hers to swallow the helpless cry as she climaxed. Growling his need, he thrust into her from beneath, his hands at her hips keeping her tight against him, then he exploded inside her with so much intensity that a second cry tore from her lips. She collapsed against him, utterly spent.

He held her there with his arms clasped tightly around her and his limp cock still inside her. Her hot sex quivered tantalizingly around him with each residual wave of pleasure that pulsed through her. He didn't want to move, preferring to keep her perched right there over him on his lap the way he'd wanted to have her since she so boldly taunted him in the carriage about kissing her. He hadn't lied to her. He'd not stopped with a taste.
Sweet Lucifer
, what a meal he'd made of her!

“Grey?” she asked softly.

“Hmm?”

“I win.”

Laughing, he buried his face against her neck. He'd never been happier in his life than he was at that moment.

The little minx had changed him. For the first time, he found himself enjoying not just a woman's body but also the woman herself.
All
of her. And he had no idea how he'd be able to let her go once they reached London, when she returned to her family and he left for Spain.

E
mily paused in the doorway of the inn where they'd stopped for the night. Fellow travelers gathered inside around tables and on the tall-backed settles pulled up close to the massive stone hearth. The room smelled of smoke and ale, but its stone walls were freshly whitewashed, its floors clean, and its lamps brightly lit. Her stomach fluttered as she took it all in. Clean, well lit, safe…and Grey, once again, all to herself.

She sighed.
Heaven.

After they had spent themselves in each other's arms in that wonderfully wicked new game she hoped they'd play again tomorrow, Grey rode for the rest of the afternoon on top of the rig, taking turns at the reins. The silence was just fine with her. It gave her time to finish her sketch of him, to smooth the lines lovingly with her fingertips, and replay in her mind every delicious kiss and caress he'd given her. He didn't mind that she was with child, desiring her despite that, and he seemed to like it when she took the initiative to please him. So tonight she planned on showing him all the various ways she could do just that.

As if reading her mind, he came up behind her. “Will this place do?”

She nodded. A barn and a pile of hay would have served as long as Grey was with her.

“And it's safe. Whoever set fire to Snowden couldn't have followed us here.” He squeezed her elbow to reassure her. “You can rest easy tonight.”

Her lips twitched as she stifled a smile. Resting was the last thing she wanted to do tonight.

“Let's get settled, shall we?” He took her arm and led her across the room to the bar.

Her heart raced with anticipation. There was nothing sexual about what he'd said, not even an innuendo, yet a shiver raced through her at the tantalizing thought of settling in for the night. With him.

Grey reached for the quill to sign the register and nodded curtly at the bald innkeeper, who finished wiping down the bar and tossed the towel over his stocky shoulder. “We'll need stalls for the horses and two private rooms for the night, preferably on opposite ends of the hall.”

At that, Emily's heart somersaulted, and a faint blush heated her cheeks. Oh yes, they were definitely settling in for the night.

“Upstairs to the right.” The innkeeper slid two keys across the bar to Grey. “Payment in advance. Have your driver speak with the stable manager outside regarding your team.”

Grey nodded and handed over enough money to cover the bill. “And a bucket of hot water in the room for the lady, both tonight and in the morning.”

“Aye, sir. And will you and your wife be needin' anything else?”

And at
that
, Emily's heart stopped completely.
Your wife.
The innkeeper thought they were married, that she and Grey were—
oh no
.

Or…oh yes?
Was it so wrong for the man to think they were married, especially after they'd been intimate, both with their bodies and their secrets? With the affectionate way she was certain she looked at Grey even now and how Grey kept her so possessively close by his side, could she fault anyone for making that assumption when they'd just strolled inside together at sunset?

It meant nothing, she told herself. Just a mistake on the innkeeper's part.

Still, Grey didn't correct him, and Emily found herself not wanting him to. A small part of her thrilled at the possibility that Grey might finally think of her as someone other than Thomas's little sister, as something more than a friend. And her heart wished with all its might that he could somehow find a way to delay his departure to Spain so he could remain with her in London through the rest of her pregnancy, to be with her when her baby was born…if not beyond.

And for goodness' sake, what harm was there in wondering what it might have been like to have Grey for a husband, for him to be the father of her baby? What sin was she committing to let anyone assume that tonight he truly did belong to her? Surely, even fate couldn't fault her for wanting that.

“We have everything we need,” Grey answered with an indecipherable glance at Emily.

Mumbling his thanks to the innkeeper, he tossed the second key to Hedley and gestured him outside toward the stable yard to tend to the team. He placed his hand against the small of her back and steered her toward the dining room and the hot meal waiting within.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. “It meant nothing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She feigned ignorance, although the sinking pinch in her stomach told her exactly what he'd meant.

“A man and woman traveling together—he doesn't want trouble, so he turns a blind eye and addresses everyone as if they're wed.”

Her throat tightened as foolish embarrassment swelled inside her, yet she forced her face to remain blank so he wouldn't see the pain squeezing her chest. “Well, it's good to know that the innkeeper will help keep my reputation intact.”

“Not just yours. This inn is on the route to Gretna Green. He makes a fine pound off Scottish weddings, I'll bet.”

Even though she felt the heat of his gaze slide sideways onto her, she kept her eyes straight ahead and nodded, unable to look at him.

Oh, she was such a fool! While she had been wondering what it would be like to truly be his, Grey had been thinking only of the economics of elopement. She'd gone and done exactly what he'd warned her not to do—she'd confused sex with affection, wanting more from him than just his body.

“I see.” She allowed herself to blink just once. Very hard.

He stopped, his hands on her shoulders turning her to face him. He puzzled down at her. “You see what, exactly?”

She gave a small shrug, hoping the simple physical movement could somehow force back the stinging heat behind her eyes. She saw it clearly now, the different ways they lived their lives and the very different goals they had for their futures. That he wanted adventure and intrigue, while she wanted nothing more daring than to be an artist. That he was perfectly content as a rake and a bachelor, while she wanted the chance again for a loving husband and a family, despite her past. That he wanted freedom, and she wanted…
him
.

“How very different we are,” she whispered simply.

The quiet words hung in the air between them. For a moment, neither of them moved, neither spoke. Then his eyes narrowed with cold accusation, and his hands fell away from her. His jaw worked hard.

“How do you mean?” he demanded.

She shook her head, knowing she could never make him understand. “That you're who you are, and I'm—”

“That you're a lady, and I'm a rogue,” he bit out in a voice so low and cutting it stabbed through her. “I warned you about that, if you'll remember.”

“I didn't mean that!” Her heart thudded painfully in her chest with sudden panic. Oh God, she was losing him already— “No! I would never think that.”

Mindless of the crowded room around her, she reached a hand for him. But he stepped back, leaving her to grasp at empty air.

Her hand fell to her side. As she stared at him, knowing he could see the tears glistening in her eyes yet helpless to prevent them, the words rested on her lips to tell him how much he meant to her, how desperate she was to keep tonight from being the last time she would be alone with him.

And if she did tell him? If she admitted that she loved him, that perhaps she'd always loved him, then he would know exactly how she felt, and…
Nothing.

Nothing would change. She would still be a duke's widowed daughter who might very well be carrying a future marquess, and he would still be a rake and spy. He would never be willing to love her the way she wanted, not when his true love was the War Office.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized in a strangled voice, somehow finding the inner strength to retreat from him. “I didn't—” She inhaled a jerky breath and shook her head. “I am suddenly not hungry. If you'll excuse me.”

He blew out a muttered curse and reached for her hand. “Brat, I'm sorry. Please listen—”

“Lady Emily!”

Emily startled at the shriek of her name across the common room. An older woman in a hunter-green traveling costume and matching hat, complete with billowing ostrich feathers and ermine stole, stood up from one of the tables. She waved a handkerchief excitedly in the air to capture her attention.

“Lady Emily—that
is
you, is it not?”

Emily cringed.
No, please, God, no! Not her, not now!
But it was too late for prayers, and dread curled inside her stomach. Of all the places to be recognized, of all the people to spot her…

Fate had no mercy, apparently. Not even for love.

Lady Gantry was one of the most gossip-mongering women in the
ton
, and to cut her in any way would be to foolishly risk the woman's sharp-tongued wrath across the drawing rooms of London. Steeling herself, Emily forced a smile and bobbed a shallow curtsy as the insufferable woman quickly approached.

“Baroness,” she said tightly, “how unexpected to see you…and here, of all places.”

“Why, Lady Emily, it
is
you!” The woman squeezed both of Emily's hands, completely oblivious to her distress and the way her watery eyes glanced heart-wrenchingly at Grey. “I knew it! I said as much to my George and his dear wife, Alice, when you walked inside. I said, ‘There is Emily Matteson! There can be no doubt of it.' And, indeed, there was not!”

Her temples throbbed already at the woman's grating voice and at Grey's fixed gaze, which never left her face, as if wanting to gauge her reaction to meeting the baroness with him at her side. “You have been well, I hope?” she forced herself to ask.

At that moment, Emily couldn't have cared less how the gossipy old hen was doing, or her son George, a former classmate of Thomas's at Eton, who crossed the room toward them much more slowly than had his mother. A demure and plain woman held on to his arm.

“Oh yes, quite well,” Lady Gantry chirped, “now that my George has wed. We expect an heir before next summer, don't we, George?”

Her son answered weakly in the affirmative and looked away, as if bored already with the conversation. His bride's cheeks pinked delicately with embarrassment.

“Congratulations.” Emily dropped another shallow curtsy to the pair.

“
Good luck
would be more appropriate, I daresay,” Lady Gantry mumbled, shooting her daughter-in-law a peevish glance, but the woman never lifted her eyes from the floor to see it. “How is your family, my dear? I saw Her Grace just last month at Lady St. James's garden party. And now, to run into you, and at a posting inn, no less—what a coincidence! Why, wherever are you traveling?”

Emily swallowed hard, feeling like a caged bird at the Tower Menagerie under Grey's unwavering attention. “My brother was injured. I'm traveling to London to see him.”

“Oh yes.” Lady Gantry shook her head, clucking her tongue sympathetically. “Such tragic news! Shocked us all. After all, if such a thing could happen to him, then how safe are any of us? But we were all so pleased to hear that Chesney survived.”

“Not nearly as pleased as Chesney, I'm sure,” Grey muttered acerbically, unable to keep his silence.

Emily gave him a pleading look to behave himself, biting her bottom lip anxiously. Lady Gantry and her son looked at him then and blinked in unison, as if they'd just now realized that he existed.

Apparently finding him lacking or uninteresting, or both, George turned back to his wife, who still had not raised her bashful eyes from the floor.

But the baroness smiled broadly and extended her hand. “You must be Lady Emily's husband. I had heard she married—”

“He's not my husband,” Emily interjected quickly. Realizing how emphatically she denied the woman's wrong assumption and unwittingly drew Lady Gantry's puzzled curiosity, she added in explanation, “Mr. Crenshaw passed away five months ago.”