Conspiring with a Rogue (22 page)

And if Drake refused, Jonathan would surely be here soon, and Drake would know the awful, painful truth—except the truth was a lie. She paused at the last step to the main floor. Her lies became more complicated by the day. At the rate she was going, she was going to need some sort of small book to pen the tales she was weaving, lest she forget one of them.

Her shoes tapped against the hardwood floor as she made her way toward the parlor. With each step, her heartbeat increased until it hammered against the wall of her chest like she had run and run without stopping. Masculine voices drifted out of the parlor. If she knew Sin, he was no doubt hatching some plan to bring her to her senses and had already convinced Drake to go along with him. Drake, trusting man that he was, would never suspect he’d been duped.

She paused outside the open door, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves. Before her breath was released, Drake appeared around the corner, his gaze sweeping around the empty hall before he pulled her to the side.

“
Hello, Whitney.”

Before she could respond, he stepped close and his scent—soap, rainwater and raw masculinity—surrounded her. She forced herself to retreat, though she longed to move nearer to him. Blast him. Her resistance was weak, at best. Desperate to put distance between them, she shuffled backward until her shoulder blades met the hard wall.

Drake chuckled and brought his arms to either side of her shoulders, his palms settling flat against the wall and pinning her in place. The heat of his body enveloped her, painfully soothing, like a hot bath after being caught outside in cold rain. Her body screamed to be touched by him.

A fire burst to life in the pit of her belly under the simmering heat of his coffee eyes and the knowing half smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Did he know how he made her burn? Could he tell by looking into her eyes that her legs trembled, that she was aware when near him only of the strength of his arms, the thick, muscled thighs so close to her own, and the wall of chiseled muscle hidden beneath his shirt and coat?

“
What’s the matter, Kitten? Have I called you the wrong name? Are you not Whitney Rutherford today?” His mouth compressed into a thin, hard line. She wanted to press her lips to his and melt away the anger she saw in his face. Frantically, she shoved the desire aside. The only thing she needed to think about now was fueling his fire of hatred until the flame burned bright. Shrinking away from him, she met the cold wall. “Do I not appear myself?” she asked flippantly.

“
Oh, you do, Kitten. You appear as the woman I now know you are. Breathtakingly beautiful, but under all your silk and finery I wonder if your heart is cold.”

Anger flared inside her, though she knew very well she did not have the luxury of the emotion. Still, unable to fully curb her hurt at his cruel words, she shoved his hand back. “Do not call me Kitten.”

“
Why?” He ran a finger down her cheek, her neck, the hollow of her throat, until it came to rest for a second on the swell of her breast. Her heart pounded, and she tried to slow the speed, but her will was no match for the feel of his touch as he rubbed his finger back and forth over her sensitive flesh. “Will you no longer purr as you once did when I caress you?”

She shook her head. Speaking was impossible unless she wanted him to know his touch had the power to turn her into a wanton creature.

His right eyebrow lifted at her denial. “Not even if I touch you here?” His finger slid over her breast, down her stomach, and rested between her legs where he pressed the thin material of her gown against the swollen, sensitive mound.

She moaned, and he responded in a shockingly quick and unapologetic manner. He rubbed his finger back and forth against her, causing her to moan again. How horrifying. She could not control herself and at any moment Sin could discover them. She scrambled to recover her senses as his finger increased the pressure between her legs. “Please,” she said thickly, intent on demanding he stop but finding it hard to speak.

An amused grin broke across his face. “No need to beg, Kitten.”

Before she could clear him of his misconception, his mouth lowered over hers, softly, reverently. His tenderness astonished her and sent her defenses crumbling to the ground. One kiss. What harm was there in one last kiss?

She wrapped her arms around his neck as his mouth slowly caressed her lips, nipped and caressed again. The heat of his breath hit her jaw, cheek, then earlobe. He kissed the tender skin behind her ear, sending dizzying sensations throughout her body. She clung to him, lost in a sea of desire, helpless to do more than ride each wave of pleasure he brought her.

His lips moved down her neck to the edge of where her bodice met her skin. He pulled her dress away from her flesh enough to flick his tongue slowly over her exposed breast. Another whimper escaped her as his hands found her buttocks and kneaded. His thighs pressed fully against her, pinning her to the wall and making her shockingly aware of his own growing need.

“
I want you,” he growled in her ear with an urgency that broke through her own desire.

This had gone too far. She had to stop.

“
Drake.” She pulled back from him and quickly averted her gaze, so she would not see desire, need or even love in his eyes. “I told you, I do not want
you
.”

His finger came under her chin, and he turned her face toward his. A devilish smile pulled at his lips. “I don’t want you for a wife,
Kitten
. Lover will do nicely, and there’s no damn way you’ll convince me you don’t desire me for
that
.”

She shoved his hand away, opened her mouth to reply, then promptly clamped it shut. His arrogance left her astonished, angry and confounded all at once. And hurt. She deserved the hurt, so she would suffer it, but the rest…

How dare he think she had no power to resist him? He reached out and slipped a finger under the sleeve of the right side of her dress. Dear Lord, when had her dress slipped down? His warm skin brushed hers as he returned her sleeve to its proper place. Her body trembled with renewed desire.

He had to go.

He had to go, right
this
instant.

She wrapped her arms around herself to disguise her trembling, but judging by the amused expression on his face, her efforts were futile. “I want you to go,” she croaked.

“
Impossible.”

“
I assure you, it’s not.” She grabbed his arm, her fingers curling around the swell of his muscles. Arrogant, confounding, extremely well-built man. “Come.” She tugged sharply. “The door is this way, and I will gladly show you to it.”

“
Ah, my sweet Whitney.” His warm hand covered hers and squeezed. “Your words are just as honeyed this morning as they were last night.”

“
Yet you fail to understand that I do not wish you to pursue a courtship.”

His same blasted right eyebrow rose again. “Courtship? I assure you, a courtship is not what I have in mind.”

A blush heated her from head to toe. “Nor do I wish for a tête-à-tête.”

“
Your tongue says one thing, but your body tells me another.”

“
Well, my head rules both, and it is telling me you must leave.
Now.
Preferably five minutes ago.”

“
Honeyed words, again. How do you manage such sweet talk all the time?”

She stomped her foot. “Quit toying with me. And quit lingering. Jonathan is on his way to see me, and he is extremely jealous.”

“
Jonathan is coming
here
?
Now
? Even as we speak? A jealous man, you say? Perhaps, I
should
go?”

“
You should, you really should.”

Drake took two long strides down the hall, and Whitney sagged with relief. But then he turned and faced her, a dark, dangerous look sweeping across his face. He was before her again. He grabbed her arm, his fingers pinching her sensitive flesh. “I just remembered I don’t fear
any
man. Let alone an impotent one.”

The cruelty was so unlike Drake that it made Whitney shudder. He was hurt and striking out. God, what had she gotten poor Jonathan into? He didn’t even like women. She hoped he was a good actor, or else Drake would discover the truth in seconds if Jonathan’s gaze lingered too long or too desirously on Drake. She broke into a cold sweat. “If you stay, you could ruin everything for me.”

“
And I’m supposed to be sorry?”

All the fight drained out of her at the sharp sarcasm in Drake’s voice. “I suppose not. Will you please go anyway?”

“
I’m afraid I can’t. You and I are temporarily linked, like it or not.”

“
Linked? We are not linked. Last night will never happen again.” She stepped away from him as fear mounted in her chest at the complete sureness in his voice.

He reached out and ran his thumb across her bottom lip. The flesh pulsed to life at his touch. “You could be right, but I hope to prove you wrong.”

“
Quit.” She brushed his hand away, afraid to let him touch her, afraid that what little self-control she possessed against his sensual onslaughts would disappear with another kiss.

A playful scowl wrinkled his forehead, and his hand moved lower to her collarbone. His fingers stroked back and forth across her skin, causing gooseflesh to rise up and her nipples to harden. “Regardless of whether we enjoy each other again, Kitten, I have a stake in your newest venture.”

Her mind swam dizzily at his words. Did he mean Lillian? She needed to shove his hand back and regain her senses. A few more strokes and she would ask him to stop. She arched toward him, wanting to savor each slide of his hand over her flesh. She felt like a cat stretching toward the warmth of the sun. Soon she would be purring if she was not careful.

“
You’re searching for Lillian Lloyd, are you not, Mr. Wentworth?”

The biting sarcasm of his tone snapped her out of her haze. She blinked, becoming aware of her surroundings once again. “You seem to know a good deal about what I’ve been doing.”

“
I confess I forced Sin to tell me everything he knew last night,
after
I learned you had made it home safely.”

Thank God her treacherous cousin did not know all of her secrets. And speaking of Sin, why had he not barged out to play chaperone? To defend her honor?
Unless
…Sin knew Drake had already taken her innocence, and he was perfectly all right with that turn of events. Sin had probably thought if Drake took her innocence, she would not leave again. How utterly wrong her cousin was.

Whitney shoved past Drake and barreled into the library. Sin sat sprawled on the settee, feet propped, shoes and jacket off, cigar in mouth, and reading the
Observer
. She stomped over to him and looked down. What a lark! If her cousin was truly reading the society pages, then hell had frozen over, the
ton
had admitted a commoner to Almacks and she no longer need stay away from the man she loved. She snatched the sheets away. “Enjoying your titillating reading?”

“
Immensely. One can never be too up to date on the latest
on dit
.” Sin looked her straight in the eyes, unblinking, his face unreadable, except that the normally faint white scar that ran down his right cheek had turned a faint shade of red. Sin was perturbed, was he? Well, good. She was more than perturbed. She burned with anger.

She strode over to the window, shoved open the shutters and breathed in the cool morning air and scent of freesia wafting from the garden. She had to get control of herself and form a plan of attack. Sin put Sally’s meddlesome ways to shame. Her cousin was the king of crafty and undoubtedly thought he knew what was best for her. Apparently what he thought was best for her was Drake.

She faced Sin, aware that her trembling hands no doubt showed her ire. Let her cousin try to toy with her life some more, and he would see her wrath. Nothing and no one would ruin what she had worked so hard to give Drake―the chance to keep his lifelong dream and goal of creating a shipping empire intact. “What game are you playing, Sin?”

With all the care of a man who had no cares, Sin sat up and slipped on his shoes. “No game.”

The parlor door closed softly, and Drake walked into the room and sat in a chair opposite Sin. Drake said nothing, but his presence rattled her concentration. Why must he have chosen that particular blue jacket to wear this morning? It strained across his chest, leaving no doubt as to the powerful body underneath. She forced herself to look away from him and back at Sin. He regarded her with an amused smile, and she sent a glare toward him in return. “No games?
Really?
How unusual and surprising for you. Let’s see, shall we?”

Sin dipped his head toward her. “I suppose we shall.”

Whitney glanced at the paper in her hand and read the first line.
Lord B was seen leaving a certain lady’s home on Curzon Street at the wee hours of Saturday morning, yet his wife resides at Dover Street.
She would prove Sin a liar and a meddler and then make him leave.

This was her home, after all. “Do you mean for me to believe you were so caught up in reading gossip that you did not even think you may need to come and find Drake and me?”