The Rogue (37 page)

She
squeaked and grabbed the counterpane to pull over her body, but not
before his memory was branded forever with the sight of her bare,
slender beauty lit by the fire's glow. He shut his eyes tight.
I
will not harm her. I will not harm her
.

"Well,
I'm bloody well going to harm
you
,"
he heard her say with vast exasperation.

He
covered his face with his hands. He could not let her disarm him now.
She was going back to her spymaster in the same condition in which
she'd left: alive, untouched—well, mostly—and unharmed.

"What
have you done with my staff?" he asked Jane.

He
heard her snort derisively. "Well, I haven't sliced their
throats and dumped them in the Thames, if that's what you're
wondering." Her voice was close now. She was standing next to
him, probably still wearing nothing but green velvet counterpane.

He
kept his eyes clenched shut. "I might, since you're implying
they left willingly."

"They
took a holiday, that's all. They'll be back tomorrow."

"They
had best not return. They're sacked."

She
laughed at him. "They are not."

No,
they weren't. One didn't sack a cook of Sarah's quality without proof
of poisoning first. Even then, Ethan would probably give her three or
four opportunities to reform.

He
could smell her scent. She was very close. "My lady, please go
back to your room."

"Why?"

"Because
you're too good for me," he said desperately. "I'll only
bring you down, you must know that."

She
was very quiet for a moment. He almost thought she had already left
when he heard her whisper.

"I'm
beginning to think that you're too good for me."

The
stark loneliness in her voice was too much for him. He lowered his
hands, but she was gone.

It
was very late when Jane crept back into Ethan's room. From the looks
of things, Ethan had been wrestling with temptation.

That
or a bear.

The
room was nearly dark but for the glow from the coals. There was
enough light to see the shattered glass, the empty brandy decanter,
and Ethan's naked form sprawled on the mussed coverlet.

He
lay face up, with one arm stretched up over his head and the other
lying lax across his flat stomach. It looked as though his last
conscious act had been to pull a corner of the silk bedcover across
his midsection before he'd fallen into a brandy-laced sleep.

There
was no doubt he was naked beneath, however, for the coverlet revealed
a slit of naked hip that glowed golden against the cream silk. Jane
wrapped both hands around the bedpost and leaned her head against the
cool wood, filling her eyes with unguarded, peaceful Ethan.

Where
was his charming façade now? Where was his defense of wicked
humor? His face was handsomer without the knowing twist of lips and
the jaded gleam in his eyes. He looked younger and more hopeful
somehow, as if he had yet to see his dreams defeated.

Jane's
heart ached to see the defenseless arch of his exposed neck and the
way his lax fingers curled hopefully around nothing but air. Ethan
asleep was tragic and superb—an unblooded warrior still
dreaming, still eager to fight the honorable battles of life.

She
stepped closer, letting one hand slide from the bedpost to trail
along the cream silk. Her fingers came across the fold of coverlet
that hid the rest of him from her view. She toyed with it,
desperately curious but unwilling to unveil him without his consent.
It would not be fair, would it, to view him naked and defenseless
while she was still covered?

Almost
without thought, her other hand went to the knot of her own belted
wrapper. The cord seemed to undo itself under her fingers. The silk
slid from her shoulders to the floor with a mere whisper of sound.
She wore nothing beneath.

Fair
was fair. She gave the coverlet a tiny tug. It slid partway to reveal
more rippled stomach muscle and the top of a powerful thigh. She gave
it another pull to show her the trail of dark hair that arrowed down
his body to parts most intriguing, but there the cover stopped, held
down by the hand that rested across it.

Jane
studied that hand for a long moment. Would he wake if she touched him
to move that hand? Furthermore, would that be truly fair, when he was
not touching her in equal amount?

Feeling
very much that she was stepping across a line that could never be
uncrossed, Jane placed one bare knee upon the featherbed, then the
other. She sat back on her heels and considered the fact that she was
in bed with Ethan—naked Ethan at that.

She
was compromised by anyone's reckoning now, wasn't she?

So
why did this feel anything but dishonorable, anything but right and
true and perfect?

The
answer was simple. Because this was Ethan, and she loved him.

She
loved Ethan Damont, shady gambler and rogue of the highest order,
champion flirt and man without means that he did not cheat for. She
smiled. He was everything she'd been brought up to avoid and
disdain—yet there was no man she knew whom she esteemed more.

"You
think you are so very worthless, my love," she whispered. "And
yet you blaze like your name—the Diamond."

A
wave of powerful emotion swept her and she reached for his hand. Not
to move it aside, not to satisfy her curiosity, but to gently entwine
her fingers with his and to let the heat of his palm warm hers. The
heat seeped into her and ran through her veins, filling her with
peace and assurance.

Yet,
how could she get past Ethan's stubborn insistence that she be
preserved for—for whom? For some pasty-faced young lord, or
worse, some pasty-faced old lord? For some idiot who constantly
gambled and
didn't
win?

How
could she get past his defenses? How could she make him hers? If she
made him give in by seducing him, then she would only make him more
sure of his own bad nature.

She
had to allow him to be good and honorable on this front, or she would
shatter the new man he was trying to be.

She
could let him be, let him say no. She could accept his choice and
then when everything was over—let him go?

That
was simply not an option she was willing to consider.

What
about taking him against his own stubborn will?

If
Ethan were bound, then he'd have no choice. If he had no choice, he
could not blame himself for ruining her. If she took away his chance
to protest—was that not what he truly wanted?

She
considered the sash from her wrapper. It was quite long. The tassels
at the end of the cord went nearly to the floor. Long enough to bind
one hand, go behind the headboard, and come down to bind the other.

Before
she could think better of her scandalous plan, she pulled it from the
wrapper where it lay on the floor. The cord was twisted silk and
would bind most comfortably, she was sure. She made a sliding loop
like the one she once used to hobble the old mare while she cleaned
the stable. Like the mare, Ethan was probably best caught by
surprise, so Jane left the loop loose around his wrist while she
passed the cord behind the head of the bed, then pulled it carefully
back through.

His
other hand was not resting so high on the bed. Jane did not want to
risk moving it herself. Looking around, she spotted a stand of
peacock feathers decorating the mantel. She plucked one from the
display and used it to tickle Ethan just below his elbow. His
response was just what she'd hoped for—he restlessly shifted
his arm higher, bringing his wrist into range of her cord. She
slipped the other loop over that hand and eased the knot down to bind
his wrist.

Moving
quickly, she trotted around the bed to do the same to his other
wrist. There. He was bound, forced to hear her out.

What
she had not expected was her own response to seeing him thus, naked
and vulnerable before her. A thrill of excitement went through her.
Ethan kept still for her exploration and pleasure? It was a secret
dream she'd not even realized she had.

Still
holding the jewel-toned peacock feather in her hand, Jane clambered
aboard Ethan's bed—then, on a whim, clambered aboard Ethan
himself.

He
shifted sleepily beneath her, his hips rising to grind gently on her
center. A shock of pleasure went through her. Scandalous images
flashed across her mind.

She
could ride astride him like in the carriage—dear Lord, what a
thought!

She
wanted him to shift again. She used the feather as a braver surrogate
to trace a path down that trail of fine hairs across his belly
leading beneath the covers. She was rewarded by another writhing
shift of him beneath her.

Emboldened,
she let the feather caress his powerful chest and trace the muscles
twining up his raised arms. He sleepily tried to move his arm away
until it met the resistance of the cord.

Ethan
woke abruptly, alarm singing through his body.

He
tried to move, only to find himself bound and pinned by a slight
weight. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus on the shape above him.
Someone—

"Shh,"
said a soft voice. "Be still."

"Jane?"
Incredulous, he let himself fall back on the pillows. While it was a
relief to find that he wasn't being murdered in his bed, he felt an
entirely new sense of foreboding. "Jane, what goes on here?"

To
his astonishment, she waved a peacock feather at him. He shook his
head. This was one of the stranger positions he'd woken to in his
life. Then he focused his attention on Jane herself and the breath
left his body. She sat astride him, her straight ladylike posture
adding a bizarre flavor to the fact that her hair hung loose over her
naked body. He could clearly see from the valley between her breasts
down to where her nest nuzzled against his own covered groin. He
found himself distracted by the charming way her navel crowned the
slight swell of her soft female belly—

Then
he came back to himself. "What the bloody hell is going on
here?"

His
roar echoed through the house. Excellent. Jeeves would come running.
Thank God for interfering servants. He'd found a use for them at
last.

Except
that no one came. Not Jeeves, not Cook, not even that dour bloke,
Uri.

Then
he remembered. She'd sent them away.

She
gave him a little slap with the feather. "They are not coming."

Ethan
snapped at the irritating thing. "Stop that."

She
smiled slightly. A dangerous gleam appeared in her eye. "I
won't. And you cannot make me."

Ethan
swallowed. "Jane, this is by far the worst idea you have ever
had."

She
raised the feather to tap it meditatively against her chin. "I
don't think so. I think I'm brilliant. I have you right where I want
you."

He
shook his head. "Jane, you don't want me."

She
stroked the feather down his stomach, tickling the fine hairs that
grew there. "Yes I do."

"It
won't be worth it, Janet. Yes, we could give each other a night of
pleasure, I won't deny that. But nothing would come of it but your
own ruin. I'm not a gentleman, remember? If I ruin a woman, she stays
ruined."

She
tilted her head curiously. "Have you ever ruined a woman?"

"Of
course I have!" He hadn't actually, but this was no time to
appear honorable. "I've broken more reputations than I can
remember!"

"Oh,
really?" She looked impressed. "Virgins strewn by the side
of the road, is it?" She smiled meaningfully. "Good. Then
you'll be very practiced at it." The feather began to get a bit
close to home. Ethan panicked.

"Jane,
I don't love you," he blurted. "You bore me! In fact, I can
barely look at you!"

"Oh?"
She considered that for a moment. He had hopes that she'd be hurt and
back away from this horrendous plan. Then she smiled and he knew the
game was up.