This Rake of Mine (27 page)

Holding her fast, his other hand returned to her breast, sweeping aside her impotent layers of propriety and defense—as if a shawl over her wrapper made a difference to a man with intent—and sought out his prize.

Beneath his fingers, her skin enticed him like silk, his thumb rolling over the taut peak, while his touch memorized every detail of her perfect shape.

Gads, how he loved a woman's breasts.

The shape, the taste, the way a man could fill his senses with their silk, their promise, how a lady would writhe and sigh if they were cherished, teased just so. And if one inhaled deeply enough as he devoured her, he could discover her very scent.

As he broke the kiss that had silenced her protests and brought his lips to taste her nipple, to tease and torment her in an altogether new way, this lady and her perfect breasts suddenly brought back memories of another scandalized miss.

Oh, yes, it had been a long time since he'd tasted a woman, enjoyed the pleasures of her silken flesh. And this lady… this woman… suddenly seemed demmed familiar.

Remember…

He paused and then brought his mouth to hers, kissing her again, this time, tasting her, testing her, while memories flooded his senses.

Images of London. The sound of music in the distance. To a young miss with a kiss filled with innocence…

A woman who was supposed to be dead. He wrenched his mouth from hers. "What the hell—"

Miranda's outrage had once again been overwhelmed by the passion she found in Jack Tremont's arms. The wretched bounder had a way of sending her protests scattering away in a flutter, like autumn leaves in a tempest.

And while his hands could tease and torment her, his kiss was an uncontrollable tumult that swept through her every good intention, her very control.

Like the rich odor of brandy surrounding him, he intoxicated her with his kiss.

In his arms, with his lips pressed to hers, with his body covering her, with…
that
riding up against her, so insistent in making its presence known, she couldn't keep a single sensible thought from being tangled and tossed aside.

Just as traitorous as her body had been when he'd kissed her at the opera, or held her in the tower earlier, it once again betrayed her. It began in her toes as they curled up in bliss.

Somehow the rogue knew the effect he had on her, and he pulled her in tighter, indecently so.

Before she could stop herself, she let out a soft moan of longing.

Of desire…

Good grief, had she gone mad?

A proper lady wasn't supposed to think about such things, but when he kissed her like this, all she could think about was that dangerous hardness between his legs. Of how she wanted to touch it, to have all the layers between them ripped away so there was nothing left to do but…

His hand moved upward, sweeping aside her shawl, her wrapper, moving beneath her nightrail and freeing her breast, his fingers taking possession and moving over her with almost a reverence—surely an expertise, because he had her knees going weaker still, until she thought they would buckle for certain.

Then he broke their kiss and her traitorous lips opened up as if to cry out in torment, to call him back—until his mouth covered her breast and he began to suckle her.

With his tongue lapping at her, his lips drawing her deeper into his mouth, her knees did buckle. He was sending shock waves through her body, tossing aside all the intentions she'd had when she'd come downstairs.

Then just as suddenly as he'd begun this torment, he stopped, kissing her once more, and then pulling his head back and staring at her…

And then she saw it—a question in his eyes.

As if he knew who she was!

Impossible. Besides, he knew it couldn't be true. Miranda Mabberly was dead.

But there it was—shock and surprise in his eyes. And disbelief.

Good
, she thought. And to distract him further, she shoved him away from her—in truth, what she should have done from the first moment he'd caught hold of her—and sent a stinging slap across his cheek, a warning sally to keep him from ever coming near her again.

To ever discover the truth.

"How dare you!" she sputtered.

His hand went to his now red cheek, and he glanced over at her with narrowed eyes. "I dare, madame, because it is
my
house."

"Well, be that as it may, as a gentleman—"

He stalked toward her, closing the gap quickly, dangerously. His hand snaked out and caught her by the elbow, hauling her once again up against him. "Need I remind you, I am no gentleman. And in the future, if you decide to come seeking my company in the middle of the night, remember well that such an encounter will end in my bed,
Miss Porter
. Is that what you want? To come spend the night in my bed?"

She pressed her lips together, if only because she didn't trust herself not to say an emphatic
Yes, Jack
.

God, how she wanted him.

"Are you staying or leaving, Miss Porter?" he asked in a voice as dark as the night, a temptation that curled around her with dangerous passion.

If she gave in now, she knew she'd never be able to leave him, never escape Thistleton Park. She'd be subject to his whims, his desires for as long as he would keep her.

And then he'd surely cast her back out to face the cold fate that would await her.

Miranda gasped at the thought and shook off his grasp with all her might. Then she fled back upstairs, his mocking laughter chasing her up each flight, only adding to her haste.

When she reached the door, she came to a skidding halt.

Compose yourself, Miranda
, she chastened. She tried to still her racing heart. Impossible. Shake off the last vestiges of passion. Equally unachievable. So she made do by patting her hair into place and making sure her nightrail and wrapper were now decently reassembled. Finally, she settled her shawl back over her shoulders and knocked quietly, but firmly, on the door. "Ladies, let me in."

The door flung open, as if they were about to save her from the very hounds of hell. Felicity and Tally stood side by side, while Pippin was huddled beneath the covers of her bed.

Miranda walked in, hoping that she was the picture of composure, that no one noticed the way her knees still wobbled.

"Whatever happened?" Felicity asked. "What did you discover?"

That Jack Tremont can still kiss a lady senseless… that we must be away from here before…

Brutus circled her hemline, sniffing and growling at whatever he found there.

"There is nothing amiss," she told the twins.

They fell back, looking all too disappointed, while Brutus cast a suspicious glance up at her that suggested the little canine didn't believe a word of what she was saying.

"But the noise," Felicity protested. "We all heard that monstrous noise.
You
heard it." Her hands were on her hips, and Miranda knew the girl wasn't going to be appeased without some sort of plausible explanation.

"Yes, well, it seems one of the servants has had too much to drink." Miranda sent them all a pointed glance. "Unfortunately this house is not very well run, and someone left the wine cellar unlocked," Happily, her words started to sound like another lecture on household management, and her audience was in no mood for lessons.

"I knew this would come to naught," Felicity said to her sister. "You and your curses."

Tally shrugged and made her way back to her bed. "It could have been a curse. You certainly thought so a few minutes ago."

Pippin had never left her bed, and now she pulled a pillow up over her head to drown out the argument that was sure to follow.

"Good night, ladies," Miranda bid them and returned to her own room. She dropped her shawl on a chair and paced about the chamber trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She stopped in midstep and stared at her reflection in horror. Glancing down at her sleeve where Jack had first held her, where he had caught hold of her and pulled her into his grasp was evidence of something unmistakable.

Blood.

She struggled frantically to get out of her nightrail, pulling it from her body, then staring down at the muslin in her hands.

And yet there it was. A bloody handprint. She looked up at the door that led to the hall.

Drunken revels, indeed! He was up to his neck in something nefarious. Something deadly.

The passion that he'd enflamed with his kiss now seemed quite tame.

She looked again at the door. The door that would lead back to Jack. To an answer to all this mystery.

And yet his threat came back to haunt her.

…
if you decide to come seeking my company in the middle of the night, remember well that such an encounter will end in my bed
, Miss Porter…

Miranda stared at her ruined nightrail, then wadded it up in a ball and threw it into the fireplace, the coals still hot enough to catch hold of the damning evidence and consign it to the flames.

Perhaps it was better that some questions remain unanswered. For now, she'd take the coward's path and stay in her room, well hidden from Jack Tremont.

A man she couldn't even begin to fathom.

Pippin peeked out from beneath the covers and glanced at the door that led to Miss Porter's. "Is she coming back?" she whispered.

"No, I think she's going to bed," Felicity offered. "Did you manage it?"

"Yes," Pippin said as she quietly climbed out of bed.

"Were you seen?" Tally asked.

"Not that I know."

"What about Mr. Stillings?" Felicity asked. "Miss Porter said he was going to spend the night in the stables."

Pippin sniffed as she shrugged off her cloak and hung it over the back of a chair near the fireplace. "He was playing cards with the other stable hands."

"And you were able to…"

Pippin turned around and grinned at them. "Yes, I cut them. We won't be going anywhere in the morning. Or in the afternoon, for that matter."

Tally sighed. "That is perfect. Now Jack will have no more excuses to keep from declaring his feelings for Miss Porter."

"Yes, but I am worried about her," Felicity said. "She seems quite determined to the contrary."

"Well," Tally mused, rolling over in her bed and reaching down to give Brutus a pat on the head. "We'll have all day to convince her otherwise. I suspect we'll have no problems tomorrow showing her Lord John's finest attributes."

«
^
»

"W
hat do you mean the harnesses are cut?" Miranda asked Stillings when he came into breakfast to inform them that their trip would be delayed—yet again.

"Like I said, miss," he replied. "They've been cut. Completely useless."

Miranda turned her gaze on the trio of girls behind her. "Ladies, do you know anything about this?"

"Us, Miss Porter?" Felicity asked, her eyes wide with innocence.

The girl was good, but her sister and cousin were not as successful; Pippin buried her nose in her meal, while Tally turned a bright shade of incriminating pink.

"How long will it take to fix them, Mr. Stillings?" Miranda asked, knowing it was no use questioning the girls together—they probably feared Felicity's wrath far more than hers.

"Actually, not more than an hour," he told her.

"An hour?" Felicity burst out.

"How can that be?" Pippin asked. "You surely can't repair the crupper without—" Pippin's question came to an abrupt halt as Miranda quirked a brow at her.

"Yes, well, Pippin," she said, "it seems we have something to discuss while we wait for Mr. Stillings." She glanced over at the driver. "An hour?"

"Yes, miss, shouldn't take much longer than that." He smiled and winked at Pippin. "You of all people, Lady Philippa, should know I always carry a spare crupper."

Pippin cringed.

"Ladies," Miranda announced, "breakfast is over. Please thank Mr. Birdwell and then join me in the library. It seems we have much to discuss."

The girls rose together and bid their farewells to Mr. Birdwell. Then they followed their teacher to the library like a condemned lot at Newgate, Brutus trotting behind them, his tail waving back and forth.

Miranda didn't even wait to shut the door before she started in on them.

"How dare you!" she said in a voice both deadly and calm. "This is inexcusable. I am going to—"

"Miss Porter, please, if you would but listen—" Felicity began.

"Miss Langley, if I require anything of you, I will ask. Now sit."

Felicity did as she was bid.

Meanwhile, Brutus, who wasn't under any admonition or scrutiny, ignored them all and started sniffing around the library shelves.

"As I was saying," Miss Porter continued. "I shall indeed write your fathers and report that—"

"Grrrrr." Brutus paced before the wall, growling and barking loud enough to drown out Miranda's reprimand.

"Brutus!" she snapped at the dog. "Stop that immediately."

The little dog ignored her and continued to scratch at the shelves, growling and snarling at the volumes.

Tally went to his rescue, plucking up her pet and carrying him over to her seat. "Darling," she cooed at him, "those are just dull old history books, not rats." She looked up at Miranda. "He probably smells a rat."

No doubt explaining his initial reaction to Lord John.

"Now, as I was saying," Miranda began anew. "There is no doubt that Miss Emery will be angry to discover that students of her school engaged in such—"

Meanwhile, Brutus had gotten loose from Tally's grasp and was yet again at the library shelves, scratching and digging at the lower one, even barking at the dusty tomes.

"Brutus!" Tally hissed. "Get over here!" She shot an apologetic glance at Miranda. "I don't know what is wrong with him, he's usually so well behaved."

"Harrumph!" Miranda was of a contrary opinion.

"I'll get him," Pippin said, rushing to keep the peace and ending up stumbling over the hem of her gown. She pitched forward and fell, catching hold of one of the shelves as she went, landing in a heap beside Brutus with a shower of books around her.