The Royal Rakes: Waking Up With A Rake Part 13

The cavernous rooms and long corridors of Barrowdell never seemed as empty when his booming voice echoed in them. And Olivia's mother wasn't nearly as difficult to deal with when her "dear Mr. Symon" was in residence.

If her father was home, things would be different. When Horatio Symon was there, the children all had free run of the house. There was laughter in the halls. The entire family dined around the long dining table along with the guests, no matter who else might be visiting. No one worried that one of them might commit a breach of etiquette that could hamstring the family's entire future.

When her father came home this time, he'd have the Duke of Clarence with him. If the reason Olivia had been targeted was her impending betrothal to royalty, would the person who was determined to hurt her be even bolder then?

Her gut clenched in anxiety. She'd lied to Babette. She was afraid. Very afraid.

There was no true safety in her father's return, only the hazy illusion of it left over from her cosseted childhood. It was time she faced facts. Life would never go back to the way it used to be.

The snick of the door latch startled her, and her hand lurched involuntarily to her throat.

"Don't worry," came a deep, familiar voice. He spoke softly to keep from being heard beyond the confines of her chamber. "It's only me."

Relief flooded over her. She knew it shouldn't be so, but Rhys Warrington made her feel protected.

"I thought you'd never come."

She gave him a quick hug, but when she started to pull away, he caught her and tugged her closer. She didn't mean to, but she couldn't help melting into him. He was so solid and big and...safe.

"If I'd known being late would mean such a friendly welcome," he murmured into her ear, his warm breath spilling down her neck and teasing beneath her wrapper and nightrail, "I'd have stayed away longer."

She rolled her eyes at him. Her partner in this misadventure. Her protector. Her friend.

Was it workable for him to be all three?

Or even a fourth? What about...her lover?

The shocking possibility took root in her mind when he bent to kiss her. If she was destined for a loveless match with an aging roue like Clarence, shouldn't she have at least one shining moment when she shared herself with a man she truly liked and admired? Short of surrendering her maidenhead, why shouldn't she enjoy the lessons in lovemaking Rhys wanted to give her?

She'd never liked change, but that was all she saw in her future. Since someone had targeted her, her basic trust in others was shattered. It was yet another way her life would never be the same.

If and when she married the duke, it certainly never would be. And after Rhys Warrington, her life would never go back to the way it used to be either.

And of all the changes, only that last one had her thinking perhaps that would be no bad thing. She pulled his head down and deepened their kiss.

Over the years, Rhys had been with some accomplished bed partners, but Olivia kissed him back with more fervor than any of them. She nipped his lower lip. She met his tongue and suckled it in welcome. She groaned softly into his mouth.

When he was with other women, he often thought their sighs and moans were merely play-acting to enhance his pleasure, as if pretending the encounter meant something would make it more enjoyable. He always made it clear at the outset of any new dalliance that nothing beyond their body parts would be involved. Any evidence of ardent feeling made him suspicious.

But there was no play-acting in Olivia. This kiss was all too real.

She wasn't experienced enough to feign pa.s.sion. This was unfiltered, uncensored l.u.s.t in a newly awakened virgin. Her hitched breath, her shuddering sighs, the way she pressed herself against him went right to his heart.

She made him feel something, d.a.m.n her. A hot, tight lump of something unnamable in his chest.

He didn't want to feel it. He couldn't afford to feel it. He was supposed to be here to ruin her, not fall in love with her.

Where the h.e.l.l did that come from?

He shoved the unwelcome thought aside and concentrated instead on the soft give of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the thin muslin and the tautness of her lovely nipples, hard little b.u.t.tons, against his chest.

He started to reach for them, but she surprised him by shoving his jacket off his shoulders without breaking their kiss. If she wanted him less clothed, who was he to protest? Then she tackled the b.u.t.tons on his waistcoat with no gentleness at all. One popped off and rolled toward the fireplace.

"Mr. Clyde will be cross with you," he said as he kissed his way along her clavicle. He gave her soft skin a little nip and she shivered but didn't object. "A grumpy valet is a terrible thing to behold."

"Mr. Clyde doesn't frighten me."

She let him slide her wrapper and nightrail to the side to expose her shoulder to more kisses. Her skin smelled so sweet, so fresh compared to the cloying fragrance emanating from her vanity table, that he wanted to eat her up.

"I'll set my abigail after your Mr. Clyde," Olivia said, continuing to work the b.u.t.tons on his waistcoat. "Babette claims she has 'certain skills' that will keep me safe."

He caught both her hands and held them still so he could concentrate on what she'd just said. The way she seemed intent on undressing him threatened to shove other matters aside, but the p.r.i.c.kle on his nape warned him this might be important. "What do you mean-certain skills?"

Olivia told him about the cryptic conversation with her maid. It bothered Rhys that the help had speculated so accurately what was really going on at Barrowdell.

"She's French, you say?" He stopped kissing her shoulder and straightened to his full height.

"Very."

That alone made him disposed to mistrust Babette. He longed to continue to kiss Olivia all over, but if he was going to keep her safe, he needed to know more about those who surrounded her daily.

"How long has Babette been with you?"

"A few months," she said. "Since her previous mistress drowned in the Thames."

He snorted. "That's not much of a commendation."

"No, you don't understand." She slid his waistcoat off and let it drop to the floor. "She had nothing to do with the drowning. She worked for La Belle Perdu."

"The French spy."

"That was the general consensus about her," Olivia conceded. "But Babette a.s.sures me her mistress was no such thing. The courtesan couldn't bear the thought of being arrested, so she leaped into the water in despondency."

"Someone who's willing to die rather than be interrogated by the authorities generally has plenty to hide. Sounds like a spy to me," Rhys said. "I don't like the idea of this Babette being so near you."

"But you can't hold her accountable for her mistress's actions."

Olivia started to untie his cravat but tugged the wrong end of the starched fabric. It tightened around his neck instead.

"Allow me," he said, gentling her questing fingers away and quickly undoing the elegant waterfall of linen. "Before you garrote me with my own neckwear."

She pulled a face at him. "Pardon me for not understanding the intricacies of a gentleman's wardrobe."

"Before tonight, I would have said there is no wrong way to undress a man. Apparently there are a few," he said with a laugh. "But the ends justify the means, I suppose."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"I'd never do that," he a.s.sured her. "But I do want to have fun with you. If I teach you nothing else, I want you to know a man and woman should laugh together. But back to your Babette-"

"She's never given me reason not to trust her," she said as she unfastened his shirt, frowning at each b.u.t.ton in concentration.

"Still, I don't like her being close to you."

She smiled up at him. Blast, if it wasn't as coquettish a smile as any courtesan's. Where on earth had she learned that? Since Eden, he supposed, women had been gifted with the means to distract a man. Olivia had come fully into her birthright as a daughter of Eve.

"Right now," she said, letting her fingertips slip inside his open shirt, "you're the only one close to me."

"And that's how I like it." He gathered her into his arms. "Not to complain, but it's not often a man is greeted by a beautiful woman who seems intent on undressing him."

"Surely, given your reputation, it must happen to you with regularity."

"Not as often as you might think." He smiled down at her. "And never as memorably as this time."

"Really? And what makes this so memorable?"

"Because you're doing it rather badly."

She huffed and pulled away from him. "What do you mean I'm doing it badly?"

"That's maybe not the best way to put it. If the goal is simply to see a man naked, you'll accomplish it, but you could reach the same end by asking me to strip. It would save time. And my wardrobe," he said with a grin. The topic had been officially changed, and he was in no mood to go back to the old one. "However, if your aim is to seduce a man beyond bearing, there are other ways to go about it besides ripping off his b.u.t.tons." He c.o.c.ked a brow at her. "Not that that can't be fun on occasion."

"I a.s.sumed the most direct route is best. What other ways are there?"

"So seduction is your aim?"

"To seduce you beyond bearing? You flatter yourself, sir," she said as she flounced into one of the wing chairs. "But last night you showed me something about me. Tonight, I want to learn about you." She tugged her sagging wrapper back up to cover her bare shoulder. "Or are you no longer interested in giving me lessons?"

Come here. Go away. Beg me to stay. Where had she learned those essential bits of the seductress's art?

"I'm interested." Definitely. His body was already primed and ready.

"Then how should I undress you?" she asked, innocently unaware that just those words dropping from her sweet mouth were blissful torture for him.

"You should undress a man in the same way you'd explore a pleasure garden. Slowly. Deliberately. Tarry to see the sights. Touch. Taste," he said. "Take all the time you need."

"All right." She stood and walked over to him. "Let's take it turn and turn about. I allowed you to disrobe me without interference last night. Will you trust me enough to stand perfectly still?"

"I'm at your command."

"Good," she said with a feline smile. "But I don't think you need to stand before a mirror. You already know what a fine-looking fellow you are. Let's see what you have hidden under your shirt."

Chapter 17.

She finished undoing the row of b.u.t.tons with agonizing slowness. Then she parted the front of his shirt and stepped back to view his bare chest.

After giving him a satisfied smile, she undid the b.u.t.ton on one side of the flap front of his trousers. Olivia tugged at his shirttail. Then her breath hitched. The sound was slight, but it registered surprise. And, he hoped, delight.

"You're not wearing any smallclothes," she observed.

"I usually don't under formal wear, and your mother does require her guests to dress for dinner," he said. "Brummell always says they spoil the line of good trousers."

"Hmm. Not having them spoils my chance to help you out of them."

He smiled. She was determined to push this lesson to limits beyond his dreams.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed. I expect I'll find not unraveling the mysteries of masculine undergarments will fade compared to what else I'll learn tonight."

She touched the slight indentation at the base of his throat and then slid her fingertips down his chest. She circled each brown nipple, and then ran her knuckle from his breastbone to the waist of his trousers. Antic.i.p.ation tightened his gut.

He'd never been so undone by such a simple touch.

Then she tugged the rest of his shirttail out of his trousers, took hold of one side of the shirt, and walked around him, slipping the garment down one arm. It snagged at his wrist.

"Cufflinks," he said. She was so endearingly awkward. That strange lump in his chest glowed, but he tamped it down. He'd never complete his mission to upset her match with the duke if he allowed himself to have feelings for her. He had a job to do. He had to keep reminding himself of it.

"You might have warned me."

"I thought allowing you to discover the small details on your own would be more interesting."

She drew the shirt back up and removed the silver studs at his wrists. Then she circled him, sliding the shirt off his back and down the other arm before it joined his waistcoat on the floor. The glide of the fabric, the brush of her fingertips, the kiss of air on his bared skin made desire lance through him. This time her attempt to remove his shirt was much less awkward but no less endearing. Even though she was a novice in matters sensual, her efforts to seduce brought him to tingling need.

He'd been rock hard for a while, but now his erection throbbed, straining against the superfine trousers.

She stared at him in frank appraisal, a smile playing about her lips.

"Well?" he asked when she didn't seem disposed to move forward.

"Well, what? You told me to tarry to see the sights."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Why'd he have to be so blasted clever? He should have told her the right way to undress a man was to tear his clothes off like a wild woman, b.u.t.tons be d.a.m.ned.

"Hold still now," she said as she reached out to smooth her palms over his shoulders and down his arms. "You told me to touch, you know."

"So I did," he murmured, his voice a throaty growl.

When her fingertips dipped lower, his ballocks drew up in a snug mound. Unfortunately, she didn't venture below the waist of his trousers. But his navel peeped above the superfine pants, and she teased the small hairs whorled around it mercilessly.

"Close your eyes," she said.