If You Give a Rake a Ruby (12 page)

Fallon didn't doubt it. She'd once seen Lily staring at a miniature of a little boy and weeping. But that sort of secret was nothing like Fitzhugh's type of secret. “It's my father,” Fallon said.

“I thought your parents were dead.”

“My father is apparently alive.”

“Is he trying to blackmail you?”

“No.” Fitzhugh had taken care of that himself. “But he's not altogether a nice man, and Fitzhugh wanted to protect me.” That wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough.

“Well, you're in good hands.” Lily patted Fallon's arm.

“How do you know that? I fail to see how you can know so much about Mr. Fitzhugh.”

“I like to know a little bit about everyone.” This was true. Lily did seem to have a nose for all the best gossip and knew every scandal before the papers ever did. Sometimes before those involved even did! “What can I do? Are you comfortable here? Can I bring you anything?”

“No. I'm—actually I'd like another change of clothing.”

Lily brightened. She loved being useful. “What sort?”

“Something dark.”

“Something seductive?” Lily raised her brows.

“No.” Fallon laughed. “It's not like that.”

“Why not? Fitzhugh is just your type. He's not too pretty, and he scares me half to pieces. Never mind. I shall have something sent right over.” She pulled her gloves on, and Fallon caught her wrist.

“Lily, don't go yourself. Send one of your servants or a note to one of mine.”

She nodded. “I'll be careful. Now, I must be off!”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm meeting Lord Darlington in the park.”

“Darlington? I thought he was away and in mourning for his mother.”

“He's just back in Town, and I hope to cheer him up.” Lily glanced at herself in the cheval mirror and righted her bonnet.

“How will you do that?”

“Why, remind him of the bet he and Juliette made, of course. He promised to stand on his head if the Duke of Pelham attended Prinny's ball. I'm going to collect for Juliette.”

“She'll be ever so appreciative.”

Lily shrugged. “She may not care, but I do.” She gave Fallon another hug. “Be careful, and don't hesitate to ask if there's anything else you need.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, she was gone.

In Lily's haste, she hadn't closed the door completely. Fallon moved to do so, but a hand on the wood prevented it. She followed the hand to the arm and then to the man.

Fitzhugh smiled. “Good. You're alone.” He stepped inside and closed the door. “There's something we need to discuss.”

There was something about seeing her in a bedchamber that fired his blood. Really, seeing her at any time and in any place fired his blood, but when she was standing directly in front of a rather large tester bed, he couldn't help but imagine her splayed on it, her hair fanned out in all its sable glory and her body gloriously naked.

“I didn't invite you in,” she said. “I have nothing to discuss with you. And do not try to leave me behind when you travel to The Merry Widow tonight.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” His agreement was too easily given.

“Fallon, trust me. I am amenable to taking you as long as you agree to stay out of sight.” He stepped closer, and that was a mistake. He could reach out and touch her easily at this distance, and he couldn't quite stop imagining doing so.

“Why must I hide?”

“Because if Bayley gets the chance, he'll grab you. He can use you to get to me, and I can't give him any leverage. I need to know who is behind this assassination plot. I have to find the leader. That's the only chance I have of saving… the rest of the Diamonds in the Rough.”

She narrowed her eyes. She was no fool, and she knew he'd almost slipped and given her a name. “All right. I understand that well enough, but how could my father use me to get to you?”

He shook his head. “Do you really still not know?” He did touch her now. He took her hands in his and raised one to his lips, brushing his mouth over her soft fingers.

She watched him, looking perplexed. “Know what?”

“That I'm in love with you, Fallon.” He kissed her fingertips. “That I think about you all the time.” He took one of her fingers in his mouth and sucked lightly. She took a quick, sharp breath. “That I want you.”

“Why are you saying this?”

He laughed. Before Fallon, he had never been inept at making a woman know he wanted her. Of course, he'd never told a woman he was in love with her before. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he was doing it wrong. “I'm saying it because it's what I feel.” He cupped the back of her neck and drew her gently to him. “And I think you feel some of it as well. Am I mistaken?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you want me?”

She hesitated. “Yes. I want you.” She moved to kiss him, but he put a finger on her lips.

“How are your ribs?”

“What? Oh, they're fine.”

“Are you still wearing the bindings?”

“Is this really what you wish to discuss at the moment?” A line had appeared between her eyebrows, and she looked slightly annoyed.

“Humor me.”

“Yes, I'm still wearing the bindings. They help.”

“Then we'll have to be careful.”

“Careful? When?”

“When we do this.” He scooped her into his arms and kissed her, moving toward the bed. She gasped in surprise and then kissed him back.

“Put me down,” she murmured against his lips.

“Your wish is my command.” He set her gently in the center of the bed and climbed in beside her, kissing her again, pressing his body to hers, careful not to put any pressure on her rib cage.

She kissed him back, her hands twining in his hair then moving to his shoulders to pull him harder against her. “I want to feel you,” she whispered. “Skin on skin.”

“We're both wearing too many clothes,” he said.

She looked down and laughed. “You're still wearing your boots. Kitty will have my head if you spread dirt on the counterpane.”

“Kitty is going to be too busy untangling these sheets and remaking the bed to worry about a small detail like that.” He kissed her throat.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “That sounds quite scandalous.”

“Only if we do it right.” He reached her gauze fichu and let his tongue trail over the soft material until he reached the swells of her breasts. Then he pulled the gauze out and watched it flutter to the floor. He kissed her skin, training his tongue over the soft flesh, already pebbling from arousal and the cool air. “I suppose this is one of those gowns with dozens of intricate fastenings.”

“Just push up my skirts,” she said.

He frowned down at her. “I don't think so. Now that I have you, I want to do this properly.”

“Warrick.” Her voice was breathless. “I don't want to wait.”

“I'll make it worth the wait. I want to see you.” He rolled off her and held out a hand to help her stand. With a huff, she rose and offered him her back. Why did these gowns have such dainty hooks and eyes? His fingers felt monstrous and clumsy beside them.

“You know, the more I stand here and think about this, the more I think it a bad idea.”

“Then stop thinking,” he said between clenched teeth as his hands fumbled with the fastenings. He got the dress open then sighed at the stays. Why did women have to wear so many layers?

“Perhaps we should keep a professional relationship.”

“Our relationship was never professional. I wanted you the first time I saw you.”

She turned to look at him. “You hid it well. I made quite the effort to seduce you.”

“Turn back around.” When she complied and he was unlacing her stays again, he said, “No, you didn't. You were seducing a man. Not me. You didn't know me at all.”

“I feel I hardly know you now.”

There!
He pushed the gown down to her ankles and tugged the stays off. She stood in only her chemise and petticoat. Those were easy garments of which to divest her. “Do you want to know me? Know my secrets?”

She looked as though she wasn't certain. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Here's one secret.” He undid her petticoat and let it fall to the floor. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She sighed. “Fitzhugh…”

He cupped her chin. “Call me Warrick.” He kissed her softly. “And it's true.” He kissed her soft cheek then moved to her neck, tracing a gentle path to her shoulder. There, he slipped the sleeve of her chemise off and let it fall down her arm.

“Tell me something about you. Something no one else knows,” she said.

He paused and glanced up at her face. There were so many things no one knew about him. Things he didn't want anyone to know. Things he was not proud of.

“You know my real name. You know all about me.” She began to undress him now, loosening his cravat and tugging his coat off his shoulders. “I think it's only fair.”

“You're right, of course, but most of my secrets aren't the kind of thing one speaks of before going to bed. They'll give you nightmares or turn your stomach.”

She nodded, unbuttoning his shirt and then pulling it over his head. “What about this scar here?” She touched a white gash that began in the center of his chest and continued to his flank, along his rib cage. It had long ago healed, but when she touched it, it felt hot once again.

“War wound,” he said. “Bayonet.”

“Bayonet?” She stood back and looked at him. His gaze traveled to the neck of her chemise. One sleeve was down to her elbow, and the curve of her creamy breasts was exposed. He wanted to slip the silk down farther and cup her. “Shouldn't you be dead?”

“It was a glancing blow, fortunately for me. I was on horseback and jogged at just the right time.”

“Were you fighting? I thought you were a spy.”

“Spies don't always sneak around behind the action. Sometimes we have to cross battle lines. I happened to be crossing at a particularly bad time.”

“But you made it across.”

“I did. Honestly, I didn't even feel the wound until I was off my mount. War is like that. The excitement numbs the pain.”

“And what happened to the man who bayoneted you?”

He looked down, the image flashing across his mind as though it had happened mere moments ago.

“Warrick!” Suddenly, Fallon was beside him, and he realized he was on his knees on the floor. She knelt and cupped his face in her hands. “What is it? You were fine and then all of a sudden you sank to the floor.” She rose hastily and poured water from the pitcher on the bedside table. “All the color has gone out of your face. Shall I call for your man?”

“No.” He grabbed her arm and held tightly. “Just give me a moment.” He sipped the water and took deep breaths. Gradually, his hands regained some feeling, and he noted the softness of her skin under his fingertips. He would concentrate on that, he thought. He would think of her silky skin and her low, husky voice, and he wouldn't be back on the battlefield. Fallon would keep him grounded.

“As I said, I chose to cross battle lines at an inopportune moment.”

“Are there any good moments?”

He smiled at her and sipped the cool water. “Yes, when the two sides are sleeping. And, in fact, it was early morning, and I thought several hours until fighting would begin again. But I happened to cross at a spot close to where a small skirmish was taking place. As I was moving through a field, a flood of redcoats came running over the hills.”

“Our men?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The papers never report on the cowardice of our men, only the bravery. Honestly, I can hardly call it cowardice. It was more like survival. In any case, the French came running after them, and I was stuck in the middle. One of their boys, and I say
boy
because I don't think he could have even been sixteen, came after me. I was on horseback. He was not. He wounded me, and in the heat of the moment, I drew my sword and went after him.”

“The heat of the moment?” Fallon knelt beside him again. She tucked her legs under her, looking perfectly content to sit on the rug. His hands itched to take her hair down, to see how far down her back it would fall. “Surely you were trying to stay alive.”

“I was on horseback, and he'd failed to mortally wound me. I could have kept going, but I turned my mount and went back for him.”

“It was war, Warrick,” she said quietly, looking him directly in the eyes.

“It was revenge, and he was a boy. I killed him.” He put his head in his hands. “God, I can still hear the sound the blade made as it sliced through him—a sickening wet sound. His blood splattered everywhere. It ran down my sword, covering my hands. Do you know how many times I've read
Macbeth
?” He looked up at her now, found her eyes soft with compassion. She should be disgusted by him.

“How many and why? Shakespeare.” She shuddered.

He almost smiled. No pretending to be better than she was for Fallon. “Dozens, and it's because I can relate to Lady Macbeth. I don't think I'll ever wash that soldier's blood off my hands. And the look on his face. It gives me nightmares.”

“Is that what you were dreaming about the other night?”

“No. That was something else.” He sipped the water again and struggled to keep his hold on Fallon's arm.

“You don't see yourself as a hero, do you?” she asked after he was breathing normally again.

“I did what any other soldier would do for the most part. I did worse than some.”

“And you did much better. Look at Daisy's brother. You saved him. She's grateful. I'm sure you did even more than that for the country. If not, no one would want you dead.”

“That's one way to look at it.”

She took his hand. “It's not easy to forget killing a man. I know. I've done it—or at least I tried. But you have to stop thinking of yourself as the man who killed the French boy. You're so much more than that, Warrick.”

“I killed others.”

“And you saved others, I warrant. You're still saving others. You're trying to save the rest of the Diamonds in the Rough, and look how far you'll go to do so. You've all but kidnapped me.”

He laughed. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to stop seeing himself as a murderer, as a monster. He wanted to be… not a hero. He wanted to simply be a man.

He set the glass on the table. “And now I'm going to complete my diabolical scheme and ravish you.”

“Not if I ravish you first,” she said and unfastened the fall on his trousers.

He was hard instantly, and when her mouth closed over his, he had to stop himself from taking her right there. She kissed him with a passion he hadn't expected. She kissed him to make him forget, he realized. And he knew, instinctively, in Fallon's arms, he would forget.

“Take your hair down,” he murmured, running his hands up and down her body, learning her dips and curves.

She sat back, reached up, and began to pull the pins out. He imagined she'd remove one and shake it free, but obviously the style in which she wore it was more complicated than that. It fell down in sections, the long brown strands uncurling like apple peels as they tumbled to the floor. And then she swept it over her shoulder, and he could see the ends almost did brush the floor.

“Obviously you're not in favor of the current style of cropping one's hair,” he said. His fingers itched to touch those silky tresses, to wind it around his hand, and bend her head back.

“Lady Sinclair said men like long hair. It's erotic.”

“I can't argue with her there. What else does Lady Sinclair say?”

“What
doesn't
Lady Sinclair say? She has opinions on everything. I do seem to recall her once telling Juliette or Lily that seducing a man is a slow art. One does not hurry.”

“One might hurry a little,” he said. “Patience is not every man's virtue.”

“Oh, but it is yours, else you would never have succeeded in espionage.” As she spoke, she took the hem of her chemise, which had bunched at her knees, and worked it up her thighs, slowly revealing more and more of that honey-kissed skin. Her thighs were sleek and smooth, her hips flared and were the perfect shape for a man's hands. Her waist was small, perhaps it looked even smaller with the stark white bindings above it. And then there were her breasts. He had thought of those breasts countless times since he had last seen them fully bared. He was not disappointed. “Should I remove these bindings?” she asked.