A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (23 page)

She pushed the dressing gown off his shoulders, sending it to the floor. She reached for his shirt, pulling the soft linen folds free. His chest filled for a second as the last of the shirt came out of his trousers, but he said nothing. Celia gazed at his face as she worked at the buttons on his trousers. In the dim light his features were harshly shadowed, but with desperate longing. He looked so alone then, and she remembered what he had said to her so many times:
it doesn’t matter.
But some things did matter, and she wasn’t leaving until he understood her.

His erection sprang free. Celia took him in her hands, stroking the full length as his breathing changed, becoming deeper and slower as her fingers slid up and down. She wrapped her hands around him, caressing him; his breathing stopped altogether for a moment until he inhaled sharply, his arms twitching. Celia smiled softly and sank to her knees.

He was hard and warm under her lips. She flicked her tongue tentatively, and his hips jerked. The muscles of his legs were like stone, rigid and braced. She licked again, and his whole body seemed to spasm. Feeling utterly alive and wicked, Celia circled her tongue once more over the tip before taking him all the way into her mouth.

Ever since he made love to her with his mouth the other night, Celia had wondered, in a deep, secret way, what it would be like to do the same to him. The thought of driving him to the same ecstasy had made her so restless and hot, she’d had to press her hand between her legs. And now here she was, on her knees before him, making him tremble. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, his fingers tensing as he showed her the right rhythm. Celia just wanted to please him; she moved under his hand, reveling in her effect on him and growing wet herself remembering what he had done to her.

Abruptly he shoved her back on her heels, then yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Breathing hard, he fell to his knees before her. His eyes were almost black with desire and the tendons of his neck stood out. “You should have left when you had the chance.”

Slowly she shook her head, her skin prickling under his intense, hot gaze. His jaw tightened, and he reached out and stroked her cheek. Celia turned her face into his hand, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his palm, swirling her tongue over the base of his thumb. Flames seemed to leap in his eyes.

He thrust his hand into her hair and pulled, baring her neck. Anthony put his lips to the arch of her throat, hard, hot kisses that made her moan. She gripped his arms, digging her fingernails into his flesh. He growled deep in his throat. With sharp, short movements he unfastened her bodice, yanking it down. “Untie your chemise,” he commanded in a rough voice. Celia pulled the ribbon loose, almost gasping with relief as he dipped his hand into her corset to raise her breast, then bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth. Celia arched her back, shamelessly offering herself to him, begging, demanding, as he laved one breast and then the other. The bodice was still tight around her arms, preventing her from doing more than clinging to his waist. Without lifting his head, he took her hand and brought it to his erection, wrapping her fingers around him. She stroked him firmly with both hands, imagining that it wasn’t her hands he was sliding between.

He tore his lips from her aching nipples and pushed her backward, onto her heels and then onto her back. Her skirts bunched in a tangle around her legs between them. With ruthless efficiency, Anthony shoved the mass of fabric out of the way. Her delicate pantalets came off in the blink of an eye. He loomed over her, dark and sensual, staring between her legs as he pushed one of her knees up and to the side.

“How beautiful you are,” he murmured. “So soft and wet.” He stroked her there, and Celia arched off the floor, gasping. “So beautiful,” he breathed. “Hold.” When she moved too slowly, he swept his hand up behind her knee, pushing her thigh back onto her chest and completely exposing her. “Hold it there,” he said again, and then he thrust inside her.

It was hard and dominant and fast. There was no seduction or tenderness, only raw want. Somehow her leg worked its way over his shoulder as he stroked into her, hard and fast. She cupped her breasts, rolling the nipples between her fingers, as aroused by the feeling of her own hands on herself as by the taut expression on Anthony’s face as he moved above her, his arms rigidly braced beside her and his gaze locked on her hands.

“Vixen,” he gasped, his thrusts growing even harder. “What you do to me…” She raked her fingernails down his chest, and he grunted, slipping his hand between them to tease her, stroke her there. He pushed her leg higher, farther apart from the other. Just when Celia thought she might split apart, pleasure ripped through her. She threw back her head and slammed her hands down on the floor. Her hips jerked off the floor, straining closer to Anthony as he thrust deep inside her once more and stayed there, pouring his own pleasure into her with a hoarse exclamation.

Anthony’s head cleared slowly; he came back to himself when his knees started to hurt. The black haze that had overcome him dissipated, leaving him feeling naked and exposed. Celia was still on the floor beneath him, her chest heaving, her legs still around him. Her hair lay in a tangled golden veil over her face. He brushed it away, his fingers lingering on the satiny smooth skin of her jaw, and she quivered—but she didn’t move away.

He closed his eyes. He had told Celia to leave as a last effort to preserve the option, for both of them, of walking away. Now he didn’t see how he could let her go, not even after he’d all but thrown her to the floor and made brutal love to her without consideration or restraint or even a sheath. He’d lost control, the first time in many, many years he’d taken complete leave of his senses and been ruled entirely by his passions. No, he’d lost more than his control. He’d lost everything—his heart and his very soul—to her.

Percy had been right. He was mad for her, and always would be.

“Celia,” he said, her name just a sigh. Slowly she turned her head to look at him, her eyes bright and unfocused. Anthony released her and got to his feet, tugging his trousers back into place for the moment. “Come, darling,” he told her, helping her to her feet before scooping her into his arms. “Come to bed.”

“With you?” She smiled dreamily at him, looping her arms around his neck. “Always.”

He laughed softly as he carried her to the bed. “Do you realize we’ve never been naked together?” She laughed, too, as he finished undoing the fastenings of her dress and lifted it over her head. He raised an eyebrow as he slipped off her shoes, the beautiful blue silk slippers he had sent her, and Celia laughed again. When he had stripped her, he discarded the rest of his own clothes and joined her in the bed, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” She twisted to look at him over her shoulder.

“For being…indelicate.” He shook his head. “It was not what I intended to happen.”

“No,” she said softly. “But it’s what you needed.”

Anthony closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She understood—or thought she did, which he supposed was good enough. She cared for him, at least enough to want to understand. Could she possibly know what that meant to him? “May I try to do better?” he asked instead.

“Better?” she repeated with a startled little laugh. “If you didn’t notice, I found it quite enjoyable.”

“That’s why I said better, impudent wench,” he retorted, laughing with her. “An improvement on good—”

“Very good,” she murmured.

“I accept your challenge,” he said, flipping her onto her stomach and ignoring her delighted shriek as he rolled on top of her. It felt as natural as breathing to move between her thighs and slide back inside her. She was still slick from before. “Trust me,” he told her, kissing the back of her neck.

“You know I do,” she replied with a little kick of her feet.

He made love to her tenderly this time, but no less thoroughly. For a while he simply held her, whispering endearments as he stroked and caressed her body. He was inside her, but mostly holding still; every few minutes he would withdraw almost entirely, then leisurely slide back home. It was entirely intimate without being demanding. And Celia found that that intimate connection, even without the pleasure associating with motion, was no less arousing and warming than their frantic, needy coupling on the floor had been.

After a time he rose onto his knees, pulling her to her hands and knees. Now he started making love to her, but still leisurely, his hands exploring without hurry. Once, twice he brought her to the brink of climax, only to retreat at the last moment. When she was almost begging incoherently, he brought her to completion, driving inside her as she heaved and sobbed her release until he reached his own, and both collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

And in the quiet moments after, while their bodies still twined tightly together and the blood surged hard and heavy through her veins, Celia realized what had brought her to Anthony’s room tonight, what had made her stay when he told her to go: it was love. Not the giddy, effervescent infatuation she’d felt before, but real love, the deep, true feeling for another that didn’t need poetry and flowers to thrive. It was not the hothouse plant her affection for Bertie had been, but a strong and vibrant thing. It hadn’t withered and died at the first storm but had grown only stronger with each trial it endured, until the roots of it spread through her entire being. She could never rip it out without ripping out a piece of herself. And Celia knew, with the same certainty, that what Anthony felt for her was just as strong. She didn’t need to hear him declare it when he had proved it to her so many times.

“Yes,” she whispered, hardly hearing her own voice over the thump of her heart. “Yes.”

He kissed the nape of her neck, his breath on her skin sending a shiver through her. “Yes, what, darling?”

“Yes,” she said again. “I’ll marry you.”

Marcus accepted her news without blinking an eye. “I wish you very happy,” he said, kissing her cheek.

She beamed at him. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to tell your mother?”

“No,” she said, still smiling uncontrollably. “I know she’ll be pleased.” Marcus raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. Celia went to find her mother. Of course her mother would be reluctant, but surely once she saw how happy Celia was, Mama would relent. She always did.

Rosalind paced the room several times with her hands clasped before her as if in prayer, eyeing Celia worriedly, after hearing the happy news. “Dearest,” she began very carefully, “are you certain?”

“Yes, Mama, I am.”

Her mother sighed. “Then—But—It’s not that I do not want to see you happy, but I worry…”

“I know. You must trust me.”

Agony flickered across Rosalind’s face. “I trust you. I do. But I do not trust
him.”

“Now, Mama,” said Celia in reproach.

Rosalind quickly sat in the chair opposite her. She took Celia’s hands in her own. “Before you accuse me of being unfair and judgmental, listen to me,” she begged. “Celia, I am your mother. I saw you miserable in marriage before, after being so certain Bertie was the one man you loved, and I cannot bear to see it again. Will you please, just for a moment, hear my concern?”

Celia thought to herself that this circumstance was nothing like when she had married Bertie, and she couldn’t stop a twinge of irritation that Mama had to mention that now, but her mother’s distress kept her from saying it. She nodded.

Her mother gave a tight, bright smile. “Thank you. I don’t wish to cause you pain; on the contrary. But you must know, dearest, that Mr. Hamilton is not a respectable gentleman.”

“Haven’t you always told me not to listen to gossip?”

Rosalind flushed pale pink. “Yes. I have. And mostly I am right, but in this—Celia, you have been away from town for four years. You can’t expect to know what he’s done in that time.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I would not condemn a man based only on gossip,” Rosalind went on, ignoring the question. “But many of the stories I know to be true. He is not a faithful man, dearest. I doubt he has told you of all his lovers. I can name four women who shared his bed, and mind you, they were not the sort of women a man marries. There were rumors, quite supported by facts, that he seduced wealthy women in order to gain access to their funds, and then threw them over once he had wagered their money away. His gambling habits are beyond the pale. It is no secret that he frequents the most notorious gaming dens and has done for years, mostly because it is widely believed he is not honorable at the tables. Your godmother, Lady Throckmorton, told me—in confidence, mind you—that Mr. Hamilton was in such dire financial straits only a few years ago, he was almost taken to the Fleet for debts. Lord Throckmorton saw the warrant himself. There is even evidence he killed a man in Bath last year over a dispute at the hazard table. Darling, is this such a man you wish to marry?”

Celia met her mother’s anxious eyes evenly. “There is more to him than you know—and less. If there is proof he killed a man, why is he not in prison? If he gambles so intemperately, why did Lord William have to bait him into joining a simple hand of casino the other night? And I think, if society were to turn out every man who’d had debts in his life, there would be precious few dancing partners for the ladies.”

Rosalind closed her eyes in despair. “I knew it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I knew it! He’s seduced you and cast some sort of spell over you to make you agree to this!”

“For what purpose, Mama? He’s already made his fortune. He shall inherit an earldom.” Celia paused. “And he has not tried to coerce me at all.”

Her mother gazed sadly at her. “You would make him respectable,” she whispered. “And that is something he cannot inherit or create himself.” Celia bit her lip, and Rosalind reached out to cup her cheeks in both hands. “I cannot bear to see him break your heart.”

“Send for David,” Celia said, recognizing that her mother’s fears were too great to be set aside by her own declaration. “If he, who knows Anthony so well, will condemn him, I shall delay. But if he vouches for Anthony,
you
must reconsider, Mama.”

Rosalind didn’t appear entirely pleased with this, but she nodded and rang for a servant. “Tell Lord David I should like to speak to him at once,” she told the maid who answered. “I am not certain David’s opinion will be the most objective,” she muttered.

“But neither is yours.” Celia smiled sheepishly. “Nor mine.”

When David appeared, Celia got to her feet. “David, we would like your opinion.”

“Oh? On what?” he asked easily. Suddenly Celia recalled how ferociously her brother had attacked Anthony the night they were discovered in the library, and felt a prickle of apprehension.

“Of Mr. Hamilton,” said Rosalind. Celia was grateful that she didn’t say more.

David’s eyes shifted from Celia to Rosalind, then back. “Why? What’s he done?”

“Nothing,” Celia said swiftly as her mother opened her mouth to reply. “You know him best. What sort of man is he?”

Her brother continued to watch her guardedly. “He’s a decent fellow,” he said at last.

“Is that all?” she burst out. “You’ve known him for fifteen years and that’s all you can say for him?”

“No,” said David. “But I think you have more to say about him as well, and if you don’t care to say more, then neither do I.”

Celia glared at him as her mother exhaled in obvious satisfaction. “He has proposed marriage to Celia.”

“Ah.” David nodded. “And I suppose Celia wants to accept him, while you want her to refuse him.”

“We would like your opinion,” said Rosalind very civilly. “Is he an honest man? A kind man? A respectable man?”

David glanced at Celia for a long moment. “Yes.”

Celia took a deep breath of relief. Her mother took a deep breath of outrage. “What?”

“He is honest,” David repeated. “Although not always to people who are not honest with him. If you ask him a direct question, he’ll answer in kind. Oddly enough, he’s a quiet chap. Keeps his own counsel most of the time, but I expect that’ll be because his father tossed him out when he was fifteen. He’s bloody brilliant with money. Once he got enough to do something, his fortune was made.”

“What about the gambling?” Rosalind cried. “The debts?”

David looked abashed. “He was no worse than I, Rosalind. Had much better luck at it, too. I believe the debts sprang from investments that took some time to prosper. I’ll tell you this: if ever I needed to turn one hundred pounds into five hundred, I’d give the whole sum into his hands without hesitation.”

“He is not respectable.” Rosalind drew herself up as if this were the last word. “You can’t deny that.”

David shrugged. “What is respectability? It’s not his fault the gossips latched onto him at an early age.”

“His actions—” began his stepmother.

“Rosalind, he’s a decent fellow,” David repeated. “I don’t know why the gossips made such hay over him. I’ve never known him to lie, to cheat, or to abuse a confidence. Nor has he ever trifled with a lady; if he’s offered for Celia, he must be mad for her.”

A quiet glow of delight suffused Celia at her brother’s words. She beamed at him, and he gave her a wry look in reply.

“Then why did you strike him the other night?” Rosalind looked anguished. David’s grin disappeared and he cleared his throat.

“Ah—that. I was surprised and acted rashly.”

Rosalind closed her eyes in defeat. Celia bit the inside of her lip to hide her delight.

“Dearest,” said Rosalind one more time. “Are you truly certain? This is marriage. It is the rest of your life, Celia.”

“I know, Mama. And I am certain.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment with worried eyes. Then she mustered a smile more tragic than joyful. “Then I shall make the arrangements.”

Celia threw her arms around her mother. “Thank you, Mama.”

Rosalind’s arms about her tightened. She drew in a deep breath, compressing her lips into a tight line as if to bite back any more argument. “I only want you to be happy.” Her voice wobbled.

Celia nodded. “I will be.”

Walking a bit stiffly, Rosalind excused herself. Celia turned to her brother when she was gone. “Thank you, David.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “If he puts so much as a toe out of line, I’m thrashing him senseless.”

She bristled. “You just said he’s a decent fellow!”

“He is,” David said. “Most of the time. I know things about him you should never suspect.”

“I expect he knows things about you that you’d prefer no one else knew, too.” She smiled sweetly at his scowl. “And if you interfere in my marriage, I’ll find out, and I’ll tell Vivian.”

“Vivian trusts me.”

“And I trust Anthony. We should have no worries, then, either of us.” David just looked at the ceiling. Celia lowered her voice and stepped closer. “After all, I know how he wins at cards all the time. I daresay you don’t.”

Interest sparked in her brother’s face. “Oh? How?”

“It’s not cheating, it’s just a natural talent he has.” She sighed dramatically as David’s face darkened again. “One you must certainly lack.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve mostly given up cards.” David started toward the door, then swung around. “Is it something one can learn?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Hmph. I’ve wondered for years,” he muttered. “It’s unnatural.”

Celia just grinned. “Thank you for reassuring Mama, David.”

He sighed, finally pulling her into his arms. “It was the least I could do,” he said, “since your betrothed is undergoing the Exeter inquisition as we speak. Not quite sporting to put the fellow through that and then let Rosalind scotch the works.”

She gasped. “What? Marcus wouldn’t—”

David laughed as she rushed for the door. “Oh, Marcus would!”

Anthony had never been so glad in all his life for an expansive memory as he was that morning, as the duke of Exeter asked question after question after question of him. He had gone to make certain the duke wouldn’t prohibit him from marrying Celia. She was a widow, but she was also the duke’s younger sister, and Exeter was known to be protective of his family. The last thing Anthony wanted to do was make a muck of things by being careless or foolish, and not paying proper respectful deference to the duke would be very foolish and extremely careless.

Exeter had been waiting for him. Celia had already told him the news. Anthony searched for any sign, any hint of what his response to her had been, but there was nothing. The man had a face like marble. Anthony unconsciously assumed his own mask, bracing himself.

The duke knew more about him than Anthony had suspected. His questions probed into areas of his life that Anthony had felt were very discreet. Still, this was the price he must pay to marry Celia, so he answered with unflinching candor. From time to time the duke would incline his head ever so slightly, but that was the only encouragement he received.

When he was beginning to think he had shared every detail of his life he could remember, there was a rapid knocking on the door, then it flew open. “What is going on?” demanded Celia, out of breath and flushed.

Exeter got to his feet, as did Anthony. “We are getting acquainted, since we are to be family.”

She shot a questioning glance at Anthony, who gave her a small, hopeful nod. Her face lit up. “Then you didn’t—you haven’t—?”

The duke smiled, coming around his desk. “You’re babbling, Celia.” She blushed. “I wish you both much joy.”

“Thank you, Marcus.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “David said you were giving him an inquisition.”

Subdued amusement lit the duke’s dark eyes. “Not at all. It was all quite cordial.”

Anthony thought that he’d rather not discover the duke’s unfriendly side, if that were a cordial conversation, but then Celia turned to him, her face glowing. “Then everything is settled?”

He couldn’t help grinning like a fool. “Yes, I believe so.” Exeter said nothing to contradict him, and Anthony’s grin grew a little wider. “It is,” he repeated more definitely.

She beamed back at him. “I shall go tell Mama. Thank you, Marcus. You must know your approval will be a great comfort to Mama.”

He just chuckled, and Celia hurried out the door ahead of them. Exeter put his head to one side, watching his sister go. “I’ve not seen her this happy in years. Perhaps never.”

“I shall do everything in my power to protect her happiness,” said Anthony gravely.

Exeter glanced at him. He gave a suddenly open grin. “Oh, no need for that. I shan’t take your head off. You’ll answer to Celia from now on, not to me.”

“Ah…right.” Anthony still remembered how quickly David, his supposed friend, had charged at him. “Of course.”

The duke shook his head, still grinning. “David feels the same. Come. Luncheon awaits.”