As Rich as a Rogue (21 page)

It was amazing how everything in life could align in an instant. Her wants, her husband, her entire future lay before her now—a glorious picture of a home and children, with happy workers in a peaceful country. And in the center of it all was this man working steadily to maintain the noble civilization that was every Englishman's birthright. She saw it as clearly as daylight, and it fit her like a dream come true.

In fact, the only thing that did not fit was this dress and her blasted corset. And while a certain degree of breathlessness added to the excitement of being wayward, this was too much. The last thing she wanted was to faint just when she'd finally gotten the answers she sought.

So she leaned back. This was a working woman's dress, and so the buttons were in front. She started to reach for them, but he blocked her hands and set them on his shoulders.

“Let me,” he said.

She did, and the sight of his large fingers deftly releasing her buttons had her heart beating triply fast in her throat. He was undressing her. And she wanted him to.

The buttons went farther down, lost in the folds of the dress. Rather than search for them, he slipped his hands beneath the fabric and bracketed her waist with his two hands.

“Good God, that's whalebone. No wonder you can't breathe.”

Of course it was whalebone. That's what a proper woman wore. And it apparently made it very easy for him to lift her up and set her on her feet before him. She wasn't a tiny woman, and so the thrill of him doing such a thing made her belly quiver with delight.

“Turn around,” he said as he gently guided her.

Her dress pooled as she moved. Then she felt his fingers on her back, pulling at the ties that cut off her breath. And then…a miracle…they began to loosen.

She took a breath and then another. Air. Thank heaven. She was light-headed from the sudden freedom.

“Do you want it just loose or off?”

“Off.” She wanted to be completely, totally, irrevocably free. And now that she was an engaged woman, she could cease the strict restraint of every aspect of her life. She could breathe in so many ways. And maybe even wear patterned clothing.

The ties fell apart, and she pushed the hated thing down before kicking it away.

She wore only her shift now, fine muslin that fell to her knees. And he was behind her, his hands on her hips, his fingers gripping her slightly as she filled her lungs with air and leaned back against him. He braced her on her sides, warmed her back and bottom, and pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck.

“You smell like English ale,” he said.

She twisted slightly. “What?”

He tightened his hold so she couldn't pull away. “I like ale.” Then she felt the scrape of his teeth across her skin and the wetness of his tongue. “But you taste sweeter.” Another slow nip. “And spicier.”

She wanted to say something clever. Some sort of worldly response to his seduction, but she had no words. Just the shivering delight of his body around hers. His lips at her neck and his hands gently sliding around her hips to her belly.

“What should I do?” she whispered.

“You will marry me.”

It wasn't a question, but she answered it nonetheless. “Yes.”

She felt him smile against her neck, and then he tugged her fully against him. She felt the sheer size of his body behind her, the strength in his thighs as he bracketed her, and the breadth of his shoulders as he pulled her arms up over her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice thick.

“Hold on to me.”

There was nothing to hold, arched as she was like this. Her left fingers found his head and played in the thick curls of his hair. Her right hand touched nothing but air, but he balanced her back against him so she remained stretched out in the most decadent pose she could ever imagine. Especially as his hands were now free to roam over her body.

He skimmed over her belly, but quickly found her breasts. His touch was light through the muslin as he stroked across her nipples. The feel was both rough and too light as the fabric scraped across her peak. “Take it off me,” she whispered. She didn't know how she had the temerity to say such a thing.

He stilled for a moment. “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

He lifted up her shift. He worked slowly, first gathering it up in his fists at her waist, then raising it all the way off while she shivered at her sudden nakedness. Her arms came down, and she meant to cover herself. There was bold, and then there was brazen. This was beyond both.

“Shhhh,” he whispered against her temple. “You're beautiful. Let me look.”

He gathered her arms and again pulled them high, draping them over his shoulders. She again found his curls—this time with her right hand—while he stroked the underside of her left arm where it stretched over their heads. Then he turned them both a bit.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

She opened her eyes, startled to realize she'd shut them tight. But at his urging, she focused on a round mirror on the wall. It wasn't so large as to show her full body, but she saw enough. Skin pink and pale in the candlelight. Her body narrow as she arched, her breasts heavy. And there he was behind her. His eyes were nearly luminous as he looked at her. His hands were tan, his shirtsleeves a rough blue, and he held her as if she were porcelain.

“Take off your shirt,” she said. She wanted to feel him as naked as she. His flesh, his heat. He smiled and pulled back to strip off his workman's shirt.

“Wait a moment,” he said.

She watched in the mirror as he stripped off everything. Shirt, shoes, and stockings, then his pants. All until he stood naked and proud. His organ was large, even in the reflection, and she saw the dark reddish color of it amidst the golden of his hair and skin.

“Are you frightened?” he asked. “I'm large, but we will fit, I promise you.”

“I should be.”

“But you're not?”

No. She was intrigued. Excited. She looked into his eyes. “I'm delighted.” Finally, she could begin her life unfettered.

He grinned in answer, but when she went to kiss him, he stopped her. “I have dreamed of this,” he said. “Let me watch you before I lose control.”

“Watch?” she asked, but then he turned her back to the mirror. He guided her arms again, stretching her out against him as he touched her. Skin on skin, calluses brushing across her in increasingly powerful caresses.

He stroked her breasts, then palmed her nipples. She gloried at the size of his hands and the way his eyes watched her flesh spilling through his fingers.

Then he took hold of her nipples and twisted them, pinching and pulling while she writhed against him.

He supported her as she arched into his hands. He nudged her head back, and she relaxed against his shoulder. And she moved up and down on the hot fire of his organ where it pressed thick and wet against her bottom.

“Lift your knee,” he said.

She had no idea what he meant until he nudged his thigh between her legs. She bent her left knee, and he immediately used his leg to pull her open as he braced his foot on a nearby stool.

She still wore her stockings, bright white against the dark hair of his leg. The mirror didn't show below her navel, but she could see his leg and hers intertwined when she looked down. And she could feel as his finger pressed down her belly before sliding to the wetness below.

She had felt this before. She knew this sensation. The fullness, the erotic rub. He spread her and speared her. Touching everywhere with thick, callused fingers.

Then the invasion deep inside her that wasn't enough. She ground against his hand, wanting more.

Her breath caught, and fire burned across her skin.

“Yes,” he said against her ear. “Come for me.”

She barely heard him, though she knew the tone of command. How silly to order such a thing, and yet she strained to obey. Faster and faster he rubbed her, tighter against her nub. Deeper inside her as she moved in ways outside of her control.

She had no idea how he kept her upright. Perhaps he held her. But her thoughts, her body, all of them spiraled to the movement of his hand, the heat of his breath, and his one single word.

“Now.”

Yes!

Sweet detonation as she fractured apart in his arms. A flood of sensation too myriad to contain.
Yes!

Then suddenly she was in his arms more literally. While her mind had been floating, the pulses continuing at a slowing pace, he had picked up her boneless form. He was carrying her to his bedroom, cradling her in his arms.

She blinked, too pleasured to do more than press a kiss to his neck.

She felt his hands tighten where he held her, then he gently set her on his bed. Her head was pillowed in the blanket. Her legs dangled off the side.

“Mari,” he whispered.

She stroked the hard angle of his jaw as he leaned down above her.

“You will be my wife,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I cannot wait for our wedding night.” This time his statement was almost a question. Almost, but not really.

“I know.” She didn't truly know. Her mind was not yet her own. But as she spoke, he began to caress her breasts again. Brief strokes, almost reverent. Then she felt his lips there. Suckling on her nipple and bringing everything back into focus.

He couldn't wait for their wedding night. He meant to take her now. As a husband did a wife. As a man possessed a woman.

He spread her legs, easily stepping between her knees.

He would have her virginity, and she would be completely, irrevocably tied to him.

She felt him there, a large presence at the entrance to her womb, but he didn't push inside. His hands slid to her flanks, lifting her knees until she gripped him. Then he leaned forward, his expression stark, his eyes dark.

“Mari,” he whispered. “Mari, say yes.”

She touched his jaw, feeling the muscles twitch there. She touched the sensuous curve of his mouth, and then she tightened her knees.

“Husband,” she whispered. “Yes.”

He thrust.

Pain flashed through her consciousness. Bright and sharp enough to make her cry out. He was so big. He was so very
there
.

He stopped when he was fully embedded. His mouth was tight, and she saw him swallow, but his eyes were on hers. He watched her face as she breathed shallowly and waited.

She softened.

She didn't know how it happened. Perhaps it was just the pain fading away. She was still stretched and too full, except not as much. Not bad.

Oh. Oh yes.

She began to like the feeling of fullness.

“Is there more?” she asked.

He flashed a grin. “Much more.”

He eased back slowly. She felt his withdrawal and whimpered.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose. Then another to her cheek. Then her lips, teasing them with his tongue.

She teased back. Nipping. Kissing. Entwining tongues in a dance—

Thrust.

He pushed inside her again. Hard but not sharp this time.

Nice, especially as he ground his pelvis down against her.

Right there.

Very nice.

Then he raised up away from her mouth. Somehow her hands had gone to his shoulders, holding him to her, but she was not strong enough to keep him with her.

“Again,” she said.

Thrust.

Very nice!

She gripped his hips, wanting to hold him to her. Wanting to increase the pressure. Just wanting. Then she smiled at him.

“Come for me,” she said, barely knowing what it meant, but liking the echo of his words.

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he grinned. It was as if she had let loose his reins. Suddenly, he was thrusting into her harder than before. A wild tempo of impalement. Again and again.

His breath rasped in her ears as she held on. Her body thrummed with every impact, and she felt her body spiraling up with him. Another glorious splintering soon, but this time with him. He slammed one last time, and his body shuddered.

She felt him deep, saw his face as he surrendered to the release, and thought for a split second: This man gave everything. No half measures, no partial gifts, but everything. To a woman who made lists, measured every word, and never gave everything of anything to anyone. This was almost beyond comprehension.

Then he took her with him. Her body exploded. No half measures, no itemized list. Everything she was changed completely.

And she was amazed.

It was done. She was his, and the magnitude of that gift robbed him of speech.

He collapsed beside her on the bed, careful not to crush her. She was still languid with pleasure, and he was thankful he'd managed to control himself long enough for her to come again. It had been a near thing, but this time—and every time—should be perfect for her.

He reached out and gathered her to him. She snuggled close, settling her head on his shoulder, her breasts on his chest, and her hand in his. He pressed a kiss to her fingers, feeling the rightness in that. She belonged with him.

She slept.

He drowsed, but forced himself to stay awake. She had gifted him with her body; the least he could do was be sure to keep it safe. And that meant being careful that she returned home before her reputation was destroyed.

A half hour.

An hour.

He spent the time making plans for her dowry. He would make Sommerfield into a paradise. And he would do it with her.

* * *

“Mari. Wake up, sweetheart. We need to get you home.”

Mari hated waking. When she slept, she went deep and generally refused to get up until she was ready. But there was something special about rousing to the sound of Peter's voice. To the gentle way he squeezed her shoulder and nibbled at her lips.

She opened her eyes on a smile, and she stretched her arms around him. Up this close, she could see his eyes crinkle as he returned her smile, and she was reminded again how handsome he was. Then she ruined the moment with a jaw-cracking yawn. She slammed a hand to her mouth to cover it, but it was too late. He'd already seen it.

“Sorry,” she said behind her hand.

He grinned and pulled it away from her mouth. “Don't ever hide from me. I want to see it all.”

She shuddered in horror at the thought. “No man wants to see everything.”

“I do.” Then he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose before pulling her upright. “But we cannot linger here. Not unless you want everyone to know what we have done tonight.”

It was a testament to how far she'd fallen that part of her didn't care. They were to be married. What difference did it make if things were done quicker than completely proper? But it was a very small part. She'd been reared to be a lady, and no lady lingered in a man's bed before marriage. Unless…

“Surely we have time for—”

He kissed her. Swift and hard in all the best ways. But just as she was beginning to truly enjoy it, he set her apart from him.

“A lifetime with you will not be enough to satisfy me. So for now I will get you safely home.”

She laughed, but then heard the rumble of a dray on the street. Surely it was too early for that.

He must have seen her confusion, because he answered her question before she could ask it.

“It is just after four.”

Four? She gaped at him. “But the servants will be up soon.”

His expression turned wry. “Just so.”

She grimaced as she quickly donned shift and coarse stockings. The shoes were distasteful, since they pinched her feet, but it was nothing compared to the hatred she felt for her corset. But as the dress was too tight for her, it was wear it laced rib-crackingly tight or go naked in the street.

“You must help me,” she said as she fitted the garment to her chest.

“I dislike that you must be disguised,” he said as he quickly closed the buttons on his own attire.

“No more than I. Believe me, I will be the one gasping for air.” She twisted so the ties were facing him. “Next time, I shall be sure to barter with a larger woman.”

He gripped the ties but didn't pull. “There will be no next time. I will not put you in danger like that again.”

“You didn't put me there in the first place,” she countered. “I found you. Now pull. It's almost daylight.” It was far from daylight, but she was beginning to fear discovery and was anxious to be demurely back at home.

He pulled the ties, but not hard enough. She could still take a breath. She cast him an arch look. “Is that all the power you have, my lord?”

He blinked then frowned down at the garment. “I don't know how you stand it.”

“A woman does what she must to find a husband.”

He hauled on the ribbons, but again, he was holding back. At this rate, she'd never be able to close the gown. Meanwhile, he grumbled into her ear, “You have already found a husband.”

“Which means I will have to appear as a countess at your side. You will not want me looking fat.”

“I would have you naked in my bed and never in one of these things again.”

She chuckled, shaking her head at his silliness. He truly did mean what he said, but she knew there were requirements of a lord and his lady. He would see to the land and his people. She would have to see that they were respected in Society and acted in a proper fashion.

“Come now, my lord. It is bind me tight now, or take me home in a gown that gapes in the front for all to see.”

That was enough to spur him to action. With a grunt, he set one hand to her waist while the other hauled back on the ties. She exhaled as she must, and within moments, she was restricted as any
not
wayward Welsh could possibly be.

“Excellent,” she said. Quietly and with a shallow pant.

“Abhorrent. I like you better lush.” Then he turned her around, and his gaze dropped to her breasts. “Though I suppose there are some advantages,” he murmured as he stroked a finger slowly across her breasts.

She felt her skin heat, and her breath caught. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

She needn't have asked. He was already leaning in. So they kissed. Not deeply, but long. And when they separated, his gaze was intense.

“We will marry as soon as the banns are read.”

She dropped her hands on her hips. “I cannot manage a wedding fit for an earl in three weeks' time.”

“Between you and my mother, I am sure you can.”

“But—”

“I have waited six years for you, Mari. I am impatient to begin our life together.”

She'd been dreaming of the day she'd be mistress of a home since she was old enough to pick up a doll and order her brother's soldiers around. “Finish the contract with my father, and I will see what can be done about the wedding.”

He agreed with a swift kiss. “Hurry now. If we linger much longer, I will have you back in my bed.”

She smiled at that thought and pulled on the gown. It was tight, but she managed it, though there was nothing to be done about her hair. The pins were long gone. She tied it back, pulled on the heavy shoes, and pronounced herself ready. Two minutes later, they were in a hackney and headed to her home. It wasn't a long distance, but they spent every moment in each other's arms. She doubted she would ever tire of kissing him. Then the hackney stopped. She would have lingered, but he refused to allow it.

“How will you get in?”

“I have a key to the back. Everyone's asleep and won't stir for another hour.” Half hour more like, but she didn't quibble.

“Have you done this before?”

“No, but my sister did. Sometimes she just needed to run free, even in London.”

“Dangerous.”

“I know. But she was quick and careful. Just like I will be.”

He nodded, pressed a last kiss to her lips, then pushed open the door. “I will call on your father today.”

“I will be waiting.” Then she hopped out of the hackney and ran as quickly as was possible in the corset around to the kitchen entrance. She opened the door quietly, tiptoeing as she slipped inside. But a moment later, she realized her mistake.

The kitchen was well lit.

She turned slowly, dread rising from the pit of her stomach to choke off her breath. Then she turned around to see her parents, the cook, a young boy, and Horace, all staring at her.

“Sodding hell,” cursed her father.

She couldn't help but agree. What was she supposed to do now? Her best choice, she decided, was to distract them, so she smiled at the dirty boy eating some honey bread. “Hullo there. You're a new face.”

Her father slammed his hand down on the table, making everyone jump. “Where the devil have you been?”

“At Lord Vinson's ball,” she said with a bright smile. “It, er, was a masquerade ball.”

Her mother huffed out a breath. “It was not!”

“Well, it was for me. Afterward.”

Her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her voice dropped to a more menacing level. “You said you were staying with Georgette.”

“Yes, well, I intended to.” Lies upon lies. “But my help was needed elsewhere and…um…in disguise.” This was not going well at all. However had her sister managed to sneak about? One wayward night, and Mari was floundering. She glanced significantly at Horace, then back at her father. “Must we discuss this right now?”

Her mother sniffed. She had the angriest sniff of any woman alive. “I rather think it's too late to try discretion now.”

“Mother—” she began, but she hadn't a clue what she wanted to say. And then her brain finally caught up to the situation. At least as far as the people in the room, as she focused on the boy. “Wait a moment. Are you Tie?”

The boy's eyes were round, and his mouth was jammed full, but he still managed to nod at her.

“You're the reason I'm dressed like this. We've been searching all over dockside for you.”

“Mercy me,” murmured the cook.

“Dockside!” gasped her mother.

“
We?
” said her father with a growl.

Trust her father to narrow in on exactly the point she wished to avoid. He could be angry at her all he liked. Heaven knows she deserved it, given what she'd really done this night. But she did not want that fury turning on her future husband. That would not do at all.

“That doesn't matter,” she said much too brightly as she focused on the child. “The point is that finally we've—that I've finally found you. Or you found me. Was it Ellie who told you?”

The boy nodded his head. He'd finished off his bread and was reaching for his cup of honey tea. But when she stepped toward the child, her father intercepted, his hand hard on her wrist.

“What have you been up to, Mari?” His voice was low and dark. Darker than she'd ever heard from her father.

“Papa, it's nothing.”

His voice dropped to a low timbre, barely audible in the near-silent room. “Were you in my bedroom? Have you been looking at the ledger?”

She frowned. “What are you talking about? I haven't been in your bedroom for weeks.” She looked to her mother, but the woman just shook her head, her expression sad. “Has something gone missing?”

“No, no,” said her mother. “Nothing's gone.”

“It's been touched. Damn it, I know when my things have been moved.”

Moved? Touched? Papa didn't notice when Mama bought completely different furniture for the main parlor. It took him weeks to comment after Josephine laid off pastels in favor of brighter colors. And Mari believed he'd yet to realize the nursery had been remade into a sitting room eight years ago. But that wasn't his ledger. About certain things, her father was obsessive.

“I don't understand,” she began. Worse, she was rather disconcerted to realize he cared more about his ledger than that she'd walked in at dawn, wearing a tavern woman's dress. Then she realized the thought had come too soon. Her father certainly did see what she wore and the hour. In fact, he made a point of sniffing her hair.

“Why do you smell like ale?”

How to answer that? “Well, I got into an accident while we were searching for Tie.”

A man's voice came from behind. “She clapped two pints of ale across a villain's head. I assure you, sir, I had no desire for her to be there, but she appeared nonetheless, and I was grateful for her assistance.”

She spun around to see Peter walking casually into the room, his expression rueful even as he nodded to her parents before looking intensely at the boy.

“Pet—um, Lord Whitly. What are you doing here?”

“I waited to make sure you got inside safely, then I heard the conversation.” He flashed her a sad look. “Do you realize you are the worst liar I have ever heard? A masquerade party?”

“I was in disguise,” she huffed. “It felt like a masquerade. Of sorts.” In truth, it had felt like the most fun she'd ever had. Until, of course, she had gone to his rooms and learned about even better amusements.

Meanwhile, her father straightened to his full, lanky height. “Strange goings-on here. My things touched. A dirty boy appearing, asking after my daughter. And now you say she was in a fight with a villain. You will explain yourself this instant, or I will have you clapped in irons.”

“Papa!”

“Quiet. I am waiting for Lord Whitly's explanation.”

She reared up, furious about this, of all things, on this bizarre day. Her father demanding an explanation from Lord Whitly for
her
actions. “Well, you cannot have it,” she snapped. “I am the one who jumped a hackney on the way to the docks. I am the one who found Tie. And I am the one responsible for clapping Silas on the head with two tankards of ale.”

“Really, Mari,” gasped her mother. “And here I thought Josephine was the wild one.”

Mari threw up her hands. “She is, Mama. I am the wayward one.”

Her father banged down his hand again, the clap echoing loudly in the kitchen. “And what has that to do with anything?”

Everything. It had to do with everything, but she couldn't begin to explain. Not with her father glaring daggers at Peter, and her fiancé accepting the blame for everything she had done. It was ridiculous, and she was tired of it.

“I am a grown woman, Papa, well into my majority.”

Her father flashed her an irritated grimace, but it was Peter who spoke, his voice calm and deliberate. “The servants will be rousing soon.” He glanced at the cook and butler. “The other servants. Perhaps there is a more private place we could speak?”