The Care and Taming of a Rogue (17 page)

“When the
London Times
describes a party that hasn’t even taken place yet as the likely event of the Season,” Olivia said from the opposite side of the dining table, “you
have
to attend. Everyone else will.”

“And that doesn’t take into account the fact that we’ve already accepted the invitation.” Their mother gestured for a refill of her cup of afternoon tea as she glanced through the article.

“But you didn’t ask me about it first, and it’s being held by Lord and Lady Thrushell.” Phillipa stirred her tea as she had been for the past twenty minutes. She had yet to drink any; with her nerves as they were, putting even tea into her stomach would likely make her ill. “On behalf of Captain Langley.”

Olivia laughed. “If we asked you which event we should attend before we accepted, we would be spending the Season in musty old museums and book reading clubs.”

“David Langley is the Thrushells’ son, my dear. Of course they’re holding a soiree in his honor.”

“But Mama, we don’t attend every party ever thrown by someone’s parents for their offspring.”

“David Langley isn’t just an offspring,” Livi countered. “You know he returned from Africa a hero,
and
he’s been celebrated all over England for his book.”

The book he hadn’t even written
. Phillipa sent her sister a glare. “And that’s why we shouldn’t attend. That book makes Bennett look foolish. I don’t want to be seen endorsing either it or Captain Langley.”

The marchioness put her hand over Phillipa’s. “The difficulty with refusing, my dear, is that it may well be seen as a slight,
because
you’ve been seen with Captain Wolfe.”

“It will definitely be seen that way,” Olivia agreed.

“Livi, fetch my blue shawl, will you?”

Olivia stood. “You might simply tell me to go away, you know,” she said with a smile.

“Well, go away, then, but return with my shawl,” their mother amended lightly.

Once the door closed again, Phillipa stood to pace. “I will feel like a traitor.”

“Because Captain Wolfe says he’s courting you?”

When Phillipa drew a breath, she could still smell the fresh scent of daisies in the air. “Because I think he truly is courting me,” she returned.

“And if you’re wrong, we will look doubly foolish. Not only would we be seen as siding with Captain Wolfe, but we would look as though our loyalty had been purchased for the price of a few daisies and some vague promises.”

A hundred daisies was a great deal more than a few. “I can hardly believe that someone I admire could also admire me, Mama, but I’d hoped that perhaps
you
would believe it.”

“Flip, that is not what I mean. Regardless of whether Bennett Wolfe does or doesn’t attend, are you certain you want to risk being looked at askance? You’re twenty-one years old. Both you and Livi should have married already. With Livi, I’m not worried. But I don’t want you to have to end up alone.”

“Oh. Oh.”

She understood that. As it was, she was already regarded as something of an oddity. If she made a show of siding with a man of uncertain reputation simply because he was the only man who’d ever looked twice at her, and if he either turned out to be unworthy or decided against marrying her after so public a pursuit, she would fall from eccentric to laughingstock.

“Don’t look so serious, Flip,” her mother was saying. “All we need do is attend the soiree.”

Phillipa turned for the door. “I’m going for a walk. I need a bit of fresh air.”

“Yes. Of course. Make certain you take Mary with you.”

She fetched a bonnet and the maid, and went outside. Early afternoon meant everyone was out visiting, paying calls, returning calls made earlier, or simply making certain they were seen out being social, but she didn’t much care about any of that. It had always seemed insulting that the main goal in visiting wasn’t actually seeing someone, but being seen seeing someone. Well, she wasn’t paying a call on anyone, but she supposed she still received credit for doing so, simply for being out-of-doors.

“Where are we off to, my lady?” Mary asked.

“Nowhere in particular. I just want to stretch my legs.”

“Very good, my lady. It is a lovely afternoon. And I think your peach gown will survive its dousing the other night. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought at first look.”

“Good. I’m fond of that gown.”

Phillipa kept walking. Yes, the soiree at Langley House would be extremely popular, if for no other reason than people liked to associate with the famous and celebrated. None of them would likely have the slightest inkling that Captain Langley was a thief, much less an outright fraud and a liar.

As for the damage done to Bennett’s reputation, she’d heard the questioning remarks made behind his back, the comments about whether he’d adopted the monkey, or the monkey had adopted him. It was all nonsense, and anyone who’d read his books would know that. Clearly it was more amusing for her peers to think the worst, whatever the evidence to the contrary.

She knew the truth. Even if Bennett hadn’t told her, all it would have taken was a few of their conversations for her to gain all the proof she required that he wasn’t incompetent and that Captain Langley’s version of events wasn’t the accurate one. The only difficulty with knowing that Bennett was a brave and honorable and intelligent man was then accepting that he was completely serious about chasing after her.

If she’d been pursued before, if she were the kind of woman that men longed for, she supposed she would have accepted him at his word. But men didn’t long for her; she frightened some of them, as far as she could tell. She did have male friends, like John Clancy and Lord Murdock, but that had more to do with common literary likes and opinions than with the fact that she was a female.

When she finally slowed and looked up, they were more than three miles from Eddison House. In fact, she and Mary were on Lees Mew, directly outside Howard House. Bennett’s temporary residence. Phillipa took a deep breath, her heart hammering. How in the world had she ended up here? She wasn’t a great believer in providence, but coincidence had its limits, as well.

She wanted to talk with him, though. With Bennett. After the daisies and not seeing him for nearly three days, the urge to set eyes on him again had burrowed itself into her chest, nagging and aching. “What a lovely garden,” she heard herself saying aloud. “Let’s explore for a moment, shall we?”

“But—”

“Come along, Mary. It’s only a garden. Not a lion pit.” As she spoke, she walked through the open gate. And immediately she looked up toward the house, to see a startled pair of emerald eyes looking back at her through one of the windows.

Chapter Thirteen

He told Kero to stay, and then charged down the stairs and out the servants’ entrance adjoining the Howard House kitchens. Whatever reason Phillipa might have for seeking him out, her presence sent his heart pounding. If she was as ready to throw over the damned rules as he felt at that moment, he wasn’t about to leave her standing there in the garden. And he knew precisely where he wanted her to be.

As he came around the back of the house into Lady Fennington’s large garden, he didn’t see her. For a moment he thought he might have imagined her, and he stopped, listening. Even with all the loud London sounds around him, he knew he would recognize her voice—and then he heard it. Angling toward the center oak tree, he made his way around the tangle of vines and roses until she came into view again.

“Phillipa.”

She turned away from her maid to face him. “What a pleasant surprise, Captain!” she exclaimed, tension and excitement radiating from her so powerfully he could almost touch it. He
could
feel it.

“Come in and see Kero,” he heard himself say, as he reached out and took her hand. He needed to touch her. He wanted to touch her.

“Oh, of course.” She glanced back at her maid. “Wait here for a moment, Mary. Kero’s timid around strangers.”

“But my lady, you—”

“Wait here,” Bennett stated.

With a faint squeak the maid sat on the bench that encircled the oak tree’s trunk.

Before Phillipa could come to her senses and begin protesting as well, Bennett wrapped his fingers around hers and towed her around the back of the house and in through the servants’ entrance. “What are you doing?” she finally demanded, her voice hushed. “And you’re not supposed to order my maid about.”

“Shh.” With a quick look around them he pushed open a door at the far end of the back hallway. He took a lit candle off a hallway sconce, pulled her in after him, and shut the door with them inside. After another assessing glance at her, he shoved a broom across the doorjamb, effectively locking them in.

Sacks of flour, dried herbs, pots and pans, and jars of assorted other spices and jams lay tucked into shelves or stacked on the floor. “Why are we in the kitchen larder?” Phillipa asked, pulling her hand free from his.

Bennett set the candle on a shelf. Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep breath, excitement, arousal, the hard feeling of just being alive all pounding at him. Then he opened his eyes again and turned around. “I was going to say something clever,” he murmured, studying her face and the glint coming into her brown eyes, “but nothing comes to mind.”

With one long stride he reached her. Before a protest could come to her mind, he slid his arms around her waist and lifted her onto an upturned barrel. Then he kissed her.

She opened to him, lips and teeth and tongue, with a passion that both reassured and thrilled him. The blood pounding through his veins felt molten, all flowing down to his already alert cock. “Phillipa,” he murmured against her mouth, lifting his hands to undo the half-dozen buttons running down her back. He wanted her bare skin against his.

“Bennett, I think this is a very bad idea,” she moaned, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

“Stop thinking, then.”

“That’s not very helpful.” Her voice hitched as he tilted up her chin and began kissing her throat.

“Did I mention how patient I’ve been attempting to be?” he returned, pulling the front of her gown forward to bare her shoulders. Good God. Her skin smelled of citrus. “Do you always bathe in lemons?” he breathed, baring his teeth to nip a little at her soft skin.

“Oh.” She jerked, shifting her hands to twine her fingers into his hair. “Lemon slices. I like the way they smell.”

“So do I.”

“I thought we were working on you behaving in a civilized manner.” To his delight, she began pulling at the knot of his cravat.

“I’m not civilized, Phillipa. Not at all. And certainly not today.” After another deep kiss, though, he backed away a fraction, resting his forehead against hers. Whatever he wanted, and however badly he wanted it, he wasn’t about to force her into anything. “I want you, Phillipa,” he whispered. “And I mean to have you. So tell me yes, or tell me no. Now.”

He actually felt her breathing deepen. “This is very naughty,” she murmured, nearly breaking his neck as she yanked his cravat free. “Yes.”

Thank Lucifer
. Finally he let his breath out again. “Good.”

One by one he pulled her arms free of her gown, then tugged the plain green muslin down to her waist. Glorious. His hands shook a little as he ran his fingertips in slow circles around her warm breasts, drawing closer and closer until he could slide the pad of his thumbs across her nipples.

At her soft gasp of pleasure his own blood began pounding. It took every ounce of control he owned to resist the primal urge to lay her down on the floor, lift her skirts, and bury himself in her. But this was her first encounter with intimacy, and he did not want to send her fleeing.

And so he kissed her again, molding his palms over her breasts, listening to the changing pattern of her breathing. “I want to see you naked,” he whispered, moving his mouth against her ear and down the line of her jaw.

“I
am
naked,” she returned in the same tone.

“Not nearly naked enough.”

He lifted her again, setting her feet down on the floor. Then he squatted down, pulling on the hem of her dress until it fell past her hips in a rumpled green pool of material. He wanted to stay there, to taste her, but that would wait, as well. Slowly he straightened, setting her back on the barrel. Leaning in between her legs, he licked her left nipple.

Phillipa gasped, arching her back and pressing herself closer against him. He did the same with her right nipple, then took it into his mouth, sucking gently. Placing his hands on her bare thighs, he ran them slowly down to her knees and up again.

“I’m beginning to think that being ruined is underrated,” she murmured in a shivery voice that made him ache. “But I am quite nervous.”

Bennett pulled off his coat and waistcoat, dumping them with her clothes. It made an odd pile, he decided, all the cloth that had been keeping him from her, lying there together on the floor.

“I encountered a tribe along the Congo,” he said quietly, kneeling down to pull off his boots, “where women decorate their bare breasts with blue and yellow river clay to signify their availability.” He ran the tip of his tongue back and forth across one sensitive nipple again, and she shivered, groaning and tangling her hands into his hair.

“Did you now?”

“I did. At the time I found it rather…exotic, but now I’m thinking the stuff must have tasted awful.” He licked her nipple again.

“I…I promise not to paint myself blue, then,” she managed shakily, throwing her head back, then gasping again when he sent his hands trailing up the insides of her thighs.

“You’re no longer available.” With a growl, pushed nearly to breaking by the aroused sounds she kept making, he ripped his shirt off over his head, then pulled her down to the floor in front of him.

Phillipa stared at the bare, muscled chest before her, mesmerized. Slowly she lifted one hand to touch his warm skin. Muscles jumped beneath her touch. “Oh, my,” she breathed, fascinated by the dusting of dark hair on his chest that narrowed as it descended his abdomen and disappeared beneath the band of his trousers. Then she noticed the puckered white scar just below his rib cage on the right side. “This is where you were wounded.”

“Yes. Hurt like the devil. I don’t want to talk about it.” He moved over her, taking her hands and lowering her onto her back, then kissed her again. “Touch me.”

The deep huskiness in his voice sent waves of excitement through her. “I don’t want to do anything wrong, Bennett.”

“You can’t do anything wrong. There aren’t any rules.”

As he lowered himself over her to take her mouth again, Phillipa slid her arms around his shoulders, kneading her fingers into his muscles. He felt so alive, and so arousing, that she could barely remember to breathe.

Then one of his own wandering hands slipped between her thighs and brushed against her most intimate place. Phillipa couldn’t help jumping, but she was rather proud that she didn’t yelp. Until he slid one finger inside her, and she
did
yelp.

“Shh,” he cautioned, desire and deep amusement in his voice. “You want me, don’t you?”

Phillipa nodded, every nerve in her body centered on his finger rubbing against her. Inside her. “Oh, yes.”

“Then unbutton my trousers, Phillipa.”

If he wanted her to stop thinking so much, he’d certainly found the way to accomplish it. With his fingers down there and his mouth on her breasts, she couldn’t think at all. And all she wanted was to know what came next. With shaking fingers she reached between them. Her fingers grazed the engorged part of him that strained at the seams of his trousers, and he hissed in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Did that hurt?”

He wiggled his finger. “Does that hurt?”

Her eyes almost rolled back in her head from the sensation. “N-no.”

“From your expression, I would say they felt about the same. Unbutton me, Phillipa.”

Trying to find enough control to open each button left her moaning and panting as though she’d run a race. Finally she managed the last fastening. He straightened, his knees between hers, and she helped him shove his trousers down past his thighs. “Oh, my,” she breathed, fascinated all over again at the sight of his large, aroused manhood.

“That’s better,” he said, lifting one leg at a time to yank the last bit of clothing off either of them.

“Are you certain it doesn’t hurt?” she asked, lifting up on her elbows to get a better view. “It looks swollen enough.”

He snorted. “You say the most romantic things.”

Still barely able to breathe, Phillipa frowned up at him. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” Bennett went down on all fours again and leaned in to kiss her. “And no, it doesn’t hurt. It will hurt you, though. The price of your virginity.”

“I’ll pay it, but I still think you’re teasing.”

Bennett smiled, the expression making her heart do excited flip-flops all over again. “The more I want you, the more swollen it is. Judge for yourself whether I’m teasing.” He twisted sideways, giving her a very nice view of his muscular arse, and dug into the inside pocket of his discarded jacket.

“What’s that?”

He held up the brown, tubular thing with a red ribbon at the open, top end. “A French condom. To keep you from getting with child. That, I would not tease about.”

“Let me, Bennett.”

She reached up. After a brief hesitation, he shook his head. “Next time.”

“You think I’ll do it wrong?” she asked, indignant.

“I think you’ll drive me over the edge and therefore make its use unnecessary.” Swiftly he pulled it over the end of his large manhood and tugged it up like a stocking, using the ribbon to pull it closed and tying it.

“It’s very festive.” She lifted her gaze to his face again, to find him studying her. “I would drive you over the edge?”

“Mm hm.” He sank down again, lightly brushing hair from her face and then kissing her on the mouth. His finger slid inside her again, its rhythm matching that of his tongue. “Like this,” he murmured, moving in deeper, pressing his palm against her curls as he did so.

She drew tighter and tighter inside, arching her hips up against his hand. “Oh,
oh
,” she breathed, shaking. Then everything shattered in pulsing, shivering ecstasy.

Bennett angled his hips forward as she clung to him. Slowly, very slowly, he slid inside her. As she still shuddered from the…whatever he’d done to her, he met her gaze, his jungle-colored eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Hold on, Phillipa,” he murmured, making her name into a kiss.

He pushed forward, entering her fully. Sharp pain cut through exquisite pleasure. She yelped again, but Bennett caught the sound against his mouth. In a moment she nodded.

The sensation of him inside her simply had no words. His weight, the scent of him, the slide of his bare skin against hers—she’d never known anything like it. And immediately she had no idea how she’d ever gone through life without it.

“How do you feel,
nyonda
?” Bennett asked, beginning a slow, rhythmic thrust and retreat.

She tangled her fingers into his hair again, pulling him closer against her. “Ruined,” she panted, tilting her head back as his pace increased.

“Put your legs around me.”

His words were cut off, short, the rising tension in him flowing through to her. As she locked her ankles around his thighs he seemed to move even deeper inside her, and she moaned again, shifting to grip him around the shoulders.

She could feel every inch of him, tight and hot and exquisite. When he kissed her again, warm and openmouthed, the deep pull began in her once more. He sped his thrusts until they seemed to meet the hard, fast beat of her heart. Their gazes locked, and Phillipa dug her fingers into his back. Then it happened again, that exquisite release, and she moaned breathlessly.