Conspiring with a Rogue (45 page)

Sin frowned at them both. “Why don’t you take Lady Audrey home for me and save me from my own folly?”

“
I don’t think so.” Drake shook his head.

“
Absolutely not,” Whitney added, determined get Drake alone as quickly as possible, so he could start his lesson of submission. Her body tensed with longing for his touch. “Out you go,” she informed Sin, giving him a little push in his chest, so he had to step back to keep his balance. Once his head was out of the door, she firmly shut it in his face, and then she closed the curtains.

“
You’re wicked,” Drake said, chuckling.

She ran a finger to the edge of her bodice and pulled it down a bit. “I can open the door back up and let Lady Audrey in, or you can start my lesson right here, right now.”

The door started to open and Drake lunged across Whitney to grab the handle.

“
You’re on your own, Rutherford,” he called.

Drake rapped on the carriage to signal the driver to go. As the carriage jerked to a start, he turned his body toward Whitney’s, his mouth coming so close to hers that his warm lips brushed hers. “Are you prepared to submit?”

She nodded, her heart pounding, her insides tingling as his hand slid up her dress, and his fingers traced softly back and forth close to her inner thighs.

“
Your skin’s like silk,” he said huskily. “So soft, so perfect, I want to touch you everywhere, memorize every curve, every detail.”

“
What’s stopping you?” She spread her thighs, shocked at her own boldness but thrilled at the idea of his tender hands learning every part of her body.

His dark eyes gleamed purposely as his hands slid up the length of her thighs, and his mouth descended to hers in a long, possessive kiss.

When he finally released her mouth, she was panting heavily, burning for him to take her, possess her and love her forever. “I need you,” she said thickly.

“
I’m yours.” He opened her bodice and flicked his tongue across her breast to begin the first of what she hoped was many lessons to come.

About the Author

Julie Johnstone is a best-selling Regency Romance author. She has been a voracious reader of books since she was a young girl. Her mother would tell you that as a child Julie had a rich fantasy life made up of many different make believe friends. As an adult, Julie is one of the lucky few who can say she is living the dream by working with her passion of creating worlds from her imagination.

When Julie is not writing she is chasing her two precocious children around, cooking, reading or exercising. Julie loves to hear from her readers. You can send her an email at
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. Visit her at her website at
www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com
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Coming Soon!

DANCING WITH THE DEVIL

(book 3 in the
Whisper of Scandal Series
)

Other titles available from Julie Johnstone

Bargaining with a Rake
(A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

The Redemption of A Dissolute Earl

What A Rogue Wants

ANTHOLOGIES

A Summons From Yorkshire (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 1
)

All books available as e-book at all major e-book retailers.

Bargaining With A Rake

Also available in print.

World of Johnstone Teaser

Keep reading for a peek into

What A Rogue Wants

London, England

1804

Lord Grey Adlard entered White’s gentlemen’s club, intent on one purpose―to find and wring the neck of Gravenhurst, his former best friend as of roughly twenty minutes ago. Before Grey got two steps into the entranceway, Henry, White’s stuffiest and Grey’s favorite footman, appeared.

“Milord, may I take your hat and coat?” As usual, Henry’s droopy eyelids made it hard to gauge his reaction, but Grey bet his soggy state shocked the proper footman. Hell, it shocked
him
, and he was far from proper.

He held out his dripping coat and hat, trying to ignore the water pattering against the floor from his garments. He looked like a damn fool. At Henry’s annoyed inhalation, Grey narrowed his eyes, daring Henry to say a word. After being forced to traverse down a thorny rose trellis and take an unplanned midnight swim in a freezing lake to escape the sudden appearance of Lady Julia’s irate father, Grey was in no mood for Henry’s reproach. “Is Gravenhurst here?”

“Of course.” Henry took Grey’s coat with the tips of his fingers and eyed it distastefully. “Lord Grey, you are dripping on my floor.”

Grey glanced at the puddle at his feet, his neck warming in irritation. His favorite shoes were ruined, not to mention his trousers. Tiny rips covered the front of the fine, black material. Gravenhurst would pay to replace these,
if
he decided to let the man live. “Sorry, Henry. Might I have a towel?”

“You might. But first, you must promise no fisticuffs. I’d hate to have you and Lord Gravenhurst thrown out again.”

Grey scanned White’s for Gravenhurst. He found the man positioned diagonally from the entranceway, one blond eyebrow raised, left foot propped leisurely on his right knee, coat off, cravat loose, drink in hand, and perfectly dry. The man deserved to be dumped in the lake. “Might I have that towel before I catch my death?”

“Milord, your promise?”

Henry’s brazenness made Grey smile. He preferred audacity over timidity any day. “You’re impertinent.” He said it to goad Henry. The man’s sharp-witted responses never disappointed.

“Yes, milord.”

“That’s it?”

Henry’s mouth twitched upward in a faint smile. “I’m afraid so, milord. We’re very busy, and short-staffed.”

Bollocks. There was no fun to be found anywhere tonight. “Fine. I promise no fisticuffs.” He dried himself with the towel Henry handed him. When he was as dry as he could manage, he handed the towel to Henry. “I’d like to remind you that my fight with Gravenhurst was years ago.”

“All I remember are the broken chairs and tables, milord.”

Grey eyed Henry. “Gravenhurst and I are now far too old and wise to engage in fisticuffs inside White’s.”
Outside
was implied, of course.

“I agree with too old.” Henry’s eyebrows rose in challenge.

Entertainment at last. “You know―” Grey ran a hand through his disheveled, wet, hair. “―I’m not sure why I put up with your insolence.”

“I believe, milord, it’s because you know I’m right, and our verbal sparring amuses you.”

“I’ll never admit such a thing,” Grey tossed over his shoulder as he strode away. He nodded to Lords Peter and Perkins, who gaped in return. He could count on those two dimwits to gossip all over Town about his appearance, which if nothing else, would cause his father a moment of discomfort. Grey smiled. The night wasn’t a total loss after all.

He pulled out a chair and sat, his trousers smacking wetly against the wood. The candlelight from the center of the table glowed on Gravenhurst’s tan skin and light hair and made him look wicked. Fitting. No telling what the man was up to now. “Do not,” he said as Gravenhurst started to snicker, “laugh or say a word to me until I’ve had a drink or I’ll rearrange your nose for you, which might be an improvement to the crooked thing.”

Grey grabbed the full glass Gravenhurst put in front of him and downed the liquor. A slow warmth started in his mouth and spread to his chest, pushing away a little of the iciness clinging to his damp skin. He would need a least two more drinks to warm himself and cool his irritation, but now he could talk civilly. Setting his glass down, he leaned back and allowed himself to relax for the first time in over an hour. “Your information was incorrect.”

“You don’t say?” Gravenhurst replied, a smile pulling at his lips. “I thought as much when I saw you enter. So her father’s back in Town?”

“He is indeed.”

“Bollocks. I’m sorry, Grey.”

“Think nothing of it. I almost broke my neck climbing down a rickety trellis and nearly froze to death swimming in their lake escaping, but don’t hold yourself accountable for giving me incorrect information.”

“Seems to me being caught by Lord Blackborn in his daughter’s bedroom would’ve been the perfect opportunity to finally get your father’s notice.”

“I stopped wanting my father’s notice ten years ago. I’m perfectly happy being the invisible second son of the mighty Duke of Ashdon.” He ignored the inner twitch that always occurred when he lied. Someday, he’d master that reaction.

“So your constant exploits are for―?”

“Irritating him.” He wasn’t about to begin exploring why he acted as he did. He had an agreement with himself to never examine his actions toward his father. So far, the agreement had worked out perfectly. He raised his hand and signaled the server for another glass of whiskey. “It’s a perverse but enjoyable pastime. One I’ll not see ended by being snagged in marriage with a lady like Julia who beds all who take her fancy. That would irritate me, not my father.”

Gravenhurst regarded Grey over the rim of his glass. “If you really want to shock and irritate your father, I have a way.”

Grey leaned his elbows on the table. The sympathetic look on Gravenhurst’s face bothered Grey more than his wet state. Pity, even from his best friend, made him uncomfortable. “I want nothing more than to be the exact opposite sort of man than my stick-up-the-arse father. What’s this way you speak of?”

“Marie Vallendri is now living in Golden Square. I propose we go there tomorrow, you meet her and invite her to your parent’s country party.”

“That’s brilliant.” Grey slid his chair back and stood. “Father hates anyone French, and he’ll despise a former rumored courtesan of Napoleon’s, famous opera singer or not, dining across from him at dinner.”

“You’ll really do it?” Gravenhurst’s face had gone pale.

Grey chuckled. He hadn’t been sure, but now he was. Passing up a chance to shock Gravenhurst was out of the question. “Were you trying to call my bluff? Really Grave, you should know better. Pick me up at ten and we’ll make our way to Golden Square. By dinner tomorrow night, I expect Miss Vallendri to be my newest mistress and sitting at my parents’ table eating turtle soup.” Never mind he didn’t particularly want a new mistress. That wasn’t what this was really about. “If this doesn’t make my father want to secure me a commission and send me far from him, I don’t know what will.”

“You’re sure this is wise?”

“I’m sure it’s not, and that’s what makes it perfect,” Grey said and strode toward the door with as much dignity as he could muster over the squishing of his shoes.

LADY MADELAINE ALDRIGE SCRAMBLED OUT of the hired hackney and tugged on her dearest friend Abigail Langley’s hand. “Do hurry.”