The Midnight Rake (18 page)

His heated gaze had settled on her mouth and uncertain of his scrutiny, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth in a reassuring habit. She’d give anything to know if he experienced the heightened pull between them; the undeniable attraction that ignited all of her senses whenever they stood near.

Seeking the equilibrium she’d lost, she stepped backward, an attempt to separate from the invisible force drawing her, but Phineas moved in, closing the distance between the two of them with one long stride. His imposing height, utterly male, and the conditions of their situation, the midnight hour, the seclusion of the gardens, amplified his masculinity. Her eyes fell to the pulse at the base of his neck, transfixed by the beat of his heart, wanting nothing more than to give herself to this breathtaking man and remain with him forever no matter how her foolish decisions in the past dictated the future.

Penelope stood trapped in the gazebo, half lit by moonlight, in nothing but a thin silk wrapper and his eyes lingered over every lovely lush detail. Rain droplets glistened where they caught in the shimmering strands of her hair, mist laced her eyelashes and a few wayward curls clung to the lithe column of her neck. The scent of vanilla reached him and he inhaled, waiting in greed. Heat flooded his body, settling in his groin in a wave of raw want. She sounded a little out of breath from their rush through the garden and each whispered sigh escaping her sweet lips made him wonder how she’d sound were he to bring her pleasure, captured in his bed and ravished through the night.

How temptingly erotic and dangerously forbidden this sweet fantasy. His mind canted a vague warning and a surge of longing knocked it flat.

Her freckles, he’d memorized the arrangement. And her too-sensuous mouth, the delicious fullness of her inviting bottom lip, he’d tasted the flavor of her indescribable sweetness and would never be satisfied otherwise. The pensive tilt of her head, the cinnamon silk of her hair, every delectable detail, confirmed he wanted her
. All of her. Only her.

Be damned, no wife, happy life. He lived only in this moment. If he did not arrest the fervent craving, he could never stay in London. It was inordinately difficult functioning in a constant state of arousal whenever he shared her company. Beguiling and unaware, she offered him every taste of sin his fantasies conceived, yet he was only a man, currently held in check by the thinnest thread of honor imaginable.

“Phineas.”

Her whispered entreaty stoked the desire making him punch-drunk. It was only one word, his name on her lips, not an invitation of any kind but the soft utterance broke his resolve. All logic went ignored.

Reaching for her, wicked images struck like a tidal wave, Penelope beneath him, his body buried within hers, his mouth tasting her everywhere. His hands snatched out before his brain knew better and he pulled her hard against his length. Palpable desire, an insistent craving, threatened to overtake him, urging him to make her his. She was an innocent. He could hardly expect her to receive his advances lightly, but he dismissed the conflicted emotions with the same speed as they arose, his mind a blur of reason and want. Logic had no place in this argument.

“Yes.” His gruff answer reflected the pent up agitation coursing through his veins. She tilted her head as if she read his mind, barely reaching his chin, her hands braced flat against the beat of his heart. Could she feel it pummeling as if it would break through his chest with the next breath?

Determined not to interrupt the inevitable, he anchored her to him with an arm around the back and she shuddered with the contact, from his damp clothing or tight embrace he would never be able to tell. Sensible thought washed away in the wake of endless want. He compassed the soft weight of her body and tensed in anticipation. With hardly a move of his chin, her lids fell shut, the sweep of lush lashes crushed against her cheeks in exquisite acquiescence. His lips hovered above hers, mingling with the same breath she’d released and enhancing the anticipation of what was to come.

“I should have asked your permission before I kissed you,
chère amie.
I should never have just taken.” He murmured a husky apology, incapable of pulling away no matter what she might offer as an answer. Framing her face with care, his fingers slid through the damp tendrils at her nape. He wanted to whisper kisses across her forehead, the smallest tantalizing touches across her brow, as gentle as the rain outside; to capture her lips in a tender kiss and hold her to him with the bond created by their bodies alone.

His kiss erased the lie.

Holding nothing back, hungry for her touch for what seemed like forever but was less than a handful of hours, he took her mouth in wild possession. His lips demanded she surrender and drown with him in the wanting, his tongue seeking and exploring, drawing her deeper with each sensual caress. Passion, unruly and disobedient, pitched and reeled within him, driving his lips to leave her mouth and drag across her jaw, down the column of her neck, the soft delicious skin, hot and trembling. Her hands flexed against his chest, a gasp lost on her lips. Hot pleasure flooded him. Grasping her shoulders, his fingers slid over the damp silk, further, splaying across her back, shaping her to fit perfectly against him, her night clothes a gossamer whisper separating her skin from his touch.

She tasted like rain, clean and refreshing, with the enchanted power to wash away the past and erase all mistakes. He couldn’t get enough of her, her soft sweet scent, innocence and elegance, his control slipped another notch, aware of the danger yet not willing to stop.

A distant argument, one of honor and respect tried to reel in his ardor. At first the feeble objection was easily squelched, but with persistence the bitter reality took hold and at last defeated him. He knew Penelope belonged to another. She was not his to take. What he wouldn’t give for the right to kiss her lips and carry her to bed. With extraordinary effort, he withdrew.

He disentangled his hands from her hair and she shivered; her resigned sigh warm against his palm. Little sense could be made from her reaction, his mind ruined for logic as his body throbbed with unsatisfied need. If her heart was given to another, why would she allow him such familiarity? The duplicitous implication resurrected unwelcome memories.

“You should go inside.” He exacted control, the words said with slow deliberateness.

She nodded her head, an infinitesimal movement he did not miss and it began to rain harder, the drops striking the gazebo roof in soft cadence. Yet he couldn’t let her leave without confessing a small portion of his feelings.

“You are lovely, Penelope. Absolutely lovely. The man of your heart is a lucky man indeed.”

She said nothing, her expression unreadable in the shadowy night and his body tightened when she brushed past him, unsure if he saw raindrops or tears on her cheeks and whether or not his words had caused her sadness.

Chapter Fourteen

“Phineas, you don’t appear the least bit hungry.
Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?
Is something wrong? You need to eat.”

It would be impossible to convince his mother he wasn’t hungry. He was always hungry, so he skewered a thick piece of ham on his plate in an attempt to take interest in the fare, while his mind spun with images of what he’d like to do with the delectable temptation seated across the table. Chef Pierre would never be able to replicate such a mouth-watering delicacy. He’d best tuck the thoughts away, as there would be no opportunity to steal a private moment with Penelope this morning, or anytime else.

Since their chance meeting in the garden two nights past, they’d schooled their emotions and acknowledged their relationship as one of friendship, nothing more. At least they both resolved to give that appearance.

He glanced to her now, looking utterly charming in cheerful conversation with her sister.

This morning she wore a simple yellow day gown with light green embroidery circling the white lace collar. Her hair hung in silky waves around her shoulders, except where she’d captured a sweep behind one dainty ear. A single tendril had escaped her attention and hooked mischievously below the line of her bodice. He rubbed his palms together, his fingers twitching to free the renegade lock.

Maman cleared her throat.

With reluctance, he formed some sort of answer. “I’m distracted, nothing more.” He took a hearty bite of bread and chewed with feigned enthusiasm. “I have a lot on my mind as of late.”
Naughty daydreams and even more scandalous night dreams…yes. Hotly erotic remembrances of kissing Penelope occupied his mind with zeal.

“Dorothy is expected for tea this afternoon. Aubry has lessons.” Victoria Betcham paused as a servant cleared her plate and replaced the service. “I’d like if you and Penelope joined us.”

He glanced to Penny, a ready smile on his lips. He would enjoy nothing more than to share an afternoon outing with her, but he was not sure it was possible. His eyes dropped lower, distracted with the single tantalizing curl, the exact shade of brown sugar, trapped against her skin. It must tickle, at least one would think. Didn’t she feel the sensation? He did.

A fluttering of feathers announced Mon Ami’s bid for attention. “Find a wife. Settle down.”

The parrot chimed in with such accuracy, he wondered if the daft bird communicated with his mother through telepathic means. He loosened the stranglehold of his neckcloth and noticed Penelope and Aubry engrossed in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Maman, who is teaching Mon Ami these ridiculous phrases?” He speared another piece of ham with conviction. “Every time I am forced to share his company, I hear a litany of senseless dribble.” He again considered the possibility his mother had sunk to a new, lower level and entreated the bird in her efforts to see him wed. He could not discard the idea as inconceivable.

Aubry responded before his mother could reply.

“I’ve read a passage about parrots during my studies. Mon Ami is repeating phrases he has heard spoken out of context. While parrots can mimic language, they cannot communicate unless taught a pattern of phrases to give the appearance of conversation.”

A scornful sound escaped Phin’s throat before he could stifle it. “I’m not so sure.”

Penelope giggled and raised her eyes to match his across the table. Damnation, if she didn’t unhook that silky tress soon, he’d be suffering another type of problem altogether, an inevitable battle of lust versus decorum.

“Excellent point. Your tutors would be pleased.” Victoria beamed with satisfaction. “Don’t you agree?”

Lifting his fork, Phineas chased the last bite of meat across his plate. “I’m wondering as to the conversations your infernal feathered nuisance overhears and how often you confide in him.” He captured the piece of ham and chewed, as if not debating the fact his mother held a regular
tête-a-tête
with a macaw.

“Pay him no heed, ladies. My son has never valued the companionship Mon Ami has provided.” From the corner of his eye, Phin watched her lean forward as if she didn’t want him to hear. “He’s jealous of the attention Mon Ami garners.”

Blast, his mother could behave in ridiculous fashion. About to respond, he stalled as he watched Penny reach for her glass, the tempting ribbon of hair captured tightly against the soft slope of her breast. Soon the loud pounding of his heart would drown out the disruptive growl of his stomach. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained. “I won’t acknowledge your comment with a response and I will not be available for tea. Please extend my regrets to Lady Livingston.”

Anticipating his departure, Maman laid down her silver, turning a warm smile in Penny’s direction. “Will you join us?”

“She’s the one. She’s the one.” A rash flutter of wings brought everyone’s attention to the parrot’s pithy interjection.

Phineas threw his napkin at the cage, but the ridiculous bird did little beside bob its head at the oncoming linen, safe and secure on its perch.

“Pigeon.”

Mon Ami did not respond to his insult. Nonetheless, Phin prided himself on having the last word. He slanted Penelope a glance in response to her laughter. She gathered her hair over her shoulder in one fluid movement displacing the delightful curl, his daydreams swept away in its wake. Damn it to hell, he remembered the taste of her skin, the tremble of her pulse against his lips, all too well. His gaze settled on her mouth when she spoke.

“Please accept my apologies. I promised my cousin Elizabeth an overdue trip to the shops this afternoon. I should send her a quick note.”

“It’s of no matter, dear. Lady Livingston is here often. You will meet her upon the next visit. We are…how do you say it, son?”

If she suggested he translate
two birds of a feather
, he was summoning a doctor to this madhouse, but no, this time his mother made sense.

“
Les soeurs du coeur.
”

“Sisters of the heart.” Phin turned to Penelope and Aubry. “My mother and Lady Livingston are the best of friends. I’m sure you’ll become fond of her. I know I have.” He smiled and stood, about to take his leave when Jenkins entered the room, Constantine and Harold on his heels.

“Très bien!
Come in and join us. Please make introductions.” Maman motioned in his direction. “You don’t need to be told.”

Of course he didn’t and resented the unnecessary reminders issued. He sent her an arched stare and ensured everyone became acquainted before Aubry excused herself for morning lessons. Directly after, his mother took her leave and the remaining friends moved to the sitting room with delightful chatter and laughter filling the hall.

“I brought you a few of my best wines. I left them with Jenkins. To celebrate your mother’s arrival, of course.” Constantine cleared his throat causing a deliberate pause. “And to help you cope.”

“She will be pleased, especially with Chef Pierre in the kitchen. Thank you. You should note Maman is only residing in house temporarily. She prefers the country and I, my sanity.” An odd unease accompanied his statement, hoping his friends wouldn’t choose to exploit his mother’s overprotective nature in front of Penelope. They were correct, of course, but he did not wish to become the subject of further embarrassment.