A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (19 page)

Celia could barely keep her eyes open through dinner. Her long walk with Hannah had made her thoughtful and footsore. The bath she’d had upon returning to the house had made her sleepy. The other guests seemed quiet, too, and she wasn’t the only one who excused herself early.

She dismissed her maid and brushed out her hair herself. She was glad to have a bit of quiet tonight. Her conversation with Hannah had run through her mind several times. Eventually she must risk her heart again; if she didn’t, she would be certain to avoid another broken heart, but just as certainly she would avoid any chance at love and happiness. And Anthony…Anthony was worth the risk.

A tap at the door startled her out of her thoughts. To her surprise, it was the man who had avoided her all day but still plagued her thoughts.

“What are you doing here?”

“Shh.” He slipped into the room and softly closed the door behind him. “I’m persuading you.”

“Persuading me? To what?”

He just gave her a naughty smile. A rake’s smile.

“Anthony,” she tried to protest, but he pressed his finger to her lips.

“Salve my manly pride by allowing me to try for a bit, please.” Celia rolled her eyes, and he grinned. “Besides, it took me some time to sneak here unobserved, and I doubt I could make it back with the same success at the moment. So I can leave, and be caught sneaking out of your room, or I can stay, and at least if I’m seen sneaking out later, you’ll know whether it was worth it.”

“You,” she informed him, “are outrageous.”

He laughed. “And I’ve not even begun yet.”

“So, you’re going to persuade me to do something.” She sat on her dressing table chair and clasped her hands in her lap, gazing up at him expectantly. “Get on with it, then. It’s been a tiring day.”

He shrugged off his dressing gown and laid it on her dressing table. “Lie down on the bed.” Celia’s eyes widened. “You’ll be more comfortable. Go on.” He made a shooing gesture with one hand, reaching into the dressing gown folds with the other.

Still eyeing him curiously, Celia slowly went to the bed and sat on the edge.
Take the risk,
she reminded herself. “Lie down,” he said again, crossing the room toward her. He looked dangerous and alluring at the same time, his dark trousers outlining his legs, his white shirt falling open at the neck. Swallowing a little flutter of excitement, Celia laid back on the mattress. She heard a soft scrape as he dragged a chair across the floor to sit near her feet, and licked her lips nervously. Good Lord; did he intend to ravish her? Here? Now? And most important, how? Her heart nearly broke her ribs from pounding so hard.

“Pull up your skirt,” he said. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, she did, up and up and up and—“Not that far,” he said with a smile in his voice. She froze, bewildered. Then he took hold of her foot in both his hands and began to rub, pressing his thumbs into her aching sole.

Celia gasped in pure pleasure, a pleasure all the greater for being completely unexpected. “You’ve a naughty mind, my lady,” said Anthony, soft and low. “I admire that in a woman.”

Celia tried to laugh, but he started rubbing the ball of her foot, right under her toes, and all that came out was another sound of ecstasy. “How did you know?” she said on a moan.

He chuckled. “A woman who walks two miles across a field in those ridiculous slippers must have sore feet.”

“I love those slippers.” She wiggled her toes, and he obligingly returned to them. He had some ointment on his hands, and his fingers slid easily over her foot. “They’re the most beautiful shoes.”

“They’re made for dancing in a ballroom, and not outdoor walking.”

“They make me taller,” she said, which sounded like nonsense even to her, but he seemed to have reduced her to an idiot. Oh, goodness, how did he know what to do to her foot?

Anthony laughed again. “And I did appreciate the lovely turn of ankle they displayed. But you are quite tall enough.”

“Mm-hmm.” His fingers were kneading her ankle, running along the bones of her foot. For several minutes she just wallowed in the luxury. By the time he released that foot and moved on to the other, her toes were tingling and her whole foot felt warm and soft.

“Better?” inquired Anthony’s low voice as he worked the same magic on her other foot.

Celia smiled without opening her eyes. “That’s the worst that could be said. A hundred times better. Oh, that’s lovely…”

He began rubbing each toe individually, his touch gentle but firm. “Only a hundred times? I shall have to do better.”

“I should probably expire in bliss if you did any better.”

“A notable challenge.” She pushed open her eyes to see him watching her with a wicked, knowing smile.

“Mr. Hamilton, is this all a plot to take advantage of me?” He laughed, pressing his thumbs into the ball of her foot, and Celia let her eyes fall closed again. “If so, it’s working splendidly. Oh, heavens. There—oh, there. Oh, Anthony…”

“I love to hear you say my name,” he whispered. “Particularly in that voice.” His fingers stroked up the back of her leg. “Perhaps I should buy you another pair of slippers with a raised heel, so you’ll welcome me into your room every night.”

“Make them blue,” she murmured. “To match my new evening gown.”

Anthony chuckled. “Ah, but then your knees would soon be sore.” He slid one hand up her leg to her knee, his fingertips circling her kneecap. “And then your entire leg.” Now his hand was on her thigh. Her eyes still closed, Celia lay motionless. Her feet felt wonderful, but as his hands continued to move up and down her legs, pushing her nightdress a little higher each time, the rest of her body began to warm in anticipation.

“I couldn’t contribute to that,” he murmured, and then he pressed his lips to the inside of her knee. The muscles of her calf quivered as his tongue flicked over her skin. “I shall have to tempt you with something other than slippers.”

“With what?” she asked breathlessly. His hands had moved to her inner thighs, still stroking lightly. The air on her bared skin only heightened the sensation, although she wasn’t cold at all.

His laugh was quiet and full of promised pleasures. “I shall have to think. Jewels are too hard, too cold.” Her nightdress slipped up over her hips, pooling around her waist. Celia lay still, her breathing turning shallow. “Roses are too fleeting.” His fingertips skimmed her belly, and she gasped. “You deserve more than that.”

“What?” She had to wet her lips to speak at all. “What do I deserve?”

“You deserve to be worshipped.” He took her foot in his hand again, cradling it and lifting it. He kissed it, right on top above her toes. “Every inch of you.” His hands slid up her leg, holding it up for the succession of lingering kisses he pressed every few inches along the inside of her calf. As he moved, he raised and bent her knee before resting her foot on the bed, right below her hip. He moved to the other leg and repeated his slow, unhurried caresses and kisses, and Celia sucked in her breath as he propped that foot on the bed, too. How wicked she must look, with her knees raised wide, her most private place fully exposed and right in front of him.

“There is something about a woman’s body,” came Anthony’s velvet voice. “Something exotic and enticing. I could spend my life exploring and worshipping yours.”

Her breath came in little pants now. She kept her eyes closed but couldn’t erase from her mind the thought that he was staring at her, between her legs, where she was already growing wet. Could he tell by looking at her there? He must know what he was doing to her. He ran his hands lightly down the tops of her thighs, easing her legs further apart. A tiny spasm rippled through her womb, and Celia gulped in a shuddering breath.

“These valleys and swells, so foreign, so mysterious,” he whispered. Now his hands were stroking over her hips, her belly. “All shadow and temptation.” He brushed the curls that covered her there, and Celia’s neck arched, her hips unconsciously tilting toward him. “Here,” he whispered, his voice growing even softer. “The last veil. A woman concealed, yet bare. A hidden oracle.” His finger glided through the springy curls, parting them. “The map to a treasure man would give his life to find.”

Celia made an inarticulate sound as his fingertip rolled over and around that spot, that spot, oh, that
spot.
Her hands fisted in the coverlet beneath her. “Let me adore you,” Anthony murmured, nipping the flesh of her inner thigh until she moaned. “Let me worship…here.” And he put his mouth where his fingers had been.

Celia’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry as he kissed her, licked her, suckled her. There, on that
spot.
Oh, God, she never knew…Her hips rose off the mattress, straining closer to the pulsing pleasure in his mouth. Every sweep and thrust of his tongue jolted her to new awareness of how sensitive, how primitive, her body could be. She clutched at him, tangling her fingers in his hair. She wanted him to keep going, she wanted him driving inside her, she wanted him…wanted
only
him…

Anthony tore his mouth away, taking little kissing bites of her thigh again. He pushed one finger, then two inside her, and Celia gave a low, keening moan. “Celia, darling,” he said, his voice rough and ragged. “My God, how beautiful you are like this.” He suckled on her some more as his fingers stroked hard and deep inside her. Celia was shaking, real tears running down her face. She could feel it, winding tighter inside her, that exquisite tension, that desperation for release.

“An—Anthony,” she gasped. “Please…You…Not just your mouth…”

“Come for me first,” he whispered, his breath hot against her sensitive, aching sex. Celia tossed her head from side to side, almost whimpering in ecstasy. Her breath caught and held; she trembled as he sucked at her with long, hard pulls. Her climax pooled in her belly like a knot of heat, then it cracked and split, reverberating through her entire body. Celia arched her back with a choked cry, quaking with each wave of pleasure.

Anthony lurched to his feet. A moment later it wasn’t his fingers inside her, but his cock, thrusting slick and hard. Celia cried out again as her body clenched around him, as if to hold on to him and draw him deeper inside her. Anthony’s hands on her knees flexed, taking a firmer grip, and then he began a hard, slow, steady rhythm. Every time he came into her it bowed her spine and made her breasts bounce. The soft silk of her nightdress felt like coarse wool against her skin, made exquisitely sensitive from his touch and his words.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, thrusting into her after each word. “You want to.”

Celia blinked aside the traces of tears and stared at him as she pressed her hands to her breasts, rubbing her palms against her nipples. Anthony’s face darkened, and the muscles in his neck tensed. He squeezed her knees, pushing them farther apart and back into her chest. She was bent and curled, completely open and helpless beneath his relentless, driving possession. And she had never felt more alive in her life.

“Touch here.” He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. He sucked on her finger, his tongue swirling around it as he had done to another part of her body, and Celia’s breath hitched again. Without looking away from her face, he guided her hand from his mouth to that—oh
heavens—
to
that
spot between her legs. His fingers covered hers, guiding hers, showing her just what he wanted her to do. Celia felt him inside her, above her, all around her. As she felt another wave building inside her, insanity rolled over her. She dug her toes into the mattress and began meeting his thrusts harder, bucking her hips into him, thrilling when his eyes flared and he seized her waist, dragging her toward the end of the bed and tilting her hips as he changed the angle of his thrusts. Sharp and short, hard and fast; Celia spread her hands on her belly and felt him moving inside her.

With an astonishing snap, her climax came over her, so fast she wasn’t prepared for it. Her body simply seized, her back arched and taut, her hands closing in fists around the folds of her nightdress. Dimly she heard Anthony’s victorious growl, and then his head sank and his shoulders heaved, and he was still.

After a long moment Anthony raised his head. His eyes were soft and golden as he regarded her. He reached out and brushed his knuckles down her cheek with sweet tenderness. “Darling,” he murmured. “Oh, Celia.”

She couldn’t speak. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and turned her head to press her lips against his palm. He had upended her world, scattered her thoughts, and left her not knowing what to think. For now she only wanted to lie here beneath him, luxuriating in the aftermath of his lovemaking.

After a moment he shifted, sliding out of her. Celia made a soft noise of regret, and he smiled. He turned away, doing something she couldn’t see, and a moment later fastened his trousers, leaving his shirt hanging out.

He leaned over her again, pressing a kiss to her stomach before pulling her nightdress back down over her. Celia smiled lazily at him. “What’s that?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

Anthony caught her hand and brought it to his lips as he sat beside her on the bed. Celia rolled onto her side, wanting to curl herself around him. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know what it was like to sleep in his arms, to wake with him beside her. At this moment, being with him didn’t feel like a risk; it felt like a necessity.

“It prevents conception,” he said then, showing her what was in his other hand. Celia looked up, surprised out of her dreamy thoughts.

“Oh.” It looked like a crumpled piece of wet silk. “Why—I mean…I might not even be able…”

His smile this time was bitter. “I swore never to have a bastard. It would ruin the mother, and the child…” He shrugged, still holding her hand next to his cheek. “It wouldn’t be fair to the child, saddling it with a lifetime of misery just for my night’s pleasure.”

“Oh. Then…Then you don’t…”

He sighed, replacing her hand on her stomach. “No. Not one.” He got up and crossed the room to pull on his dressing gown, then shoved the crumpled sheath into the pocket, as well as a small jar that must hold the ointment he had spread on her feet. Celia just watched him move around her room. He didn’t look out of place at all, or ill at ease. He never did, she realized. No matter where he was or what he was doing, Anthony always managed to appear composed. Controlled.