The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

call of their driver, and the crack of his whip.

      She couldn’t stand it any longer.

      Her head spinning to face him, she said, “A penny for them?”

      His slouching silhouette was etched against the passing gaslight and silver moonlight that reached into the carriage as bars of light ran across him then disappeared. He was the epitome of all she’d heard and seen of a town rake.

      “I’m sure if I spoke them, you’d blush.”

      “As it is too dark for you to see, why would I care?” Her words were braver than she felt, yet if his thoughts were of her, she wanted to know them.

      “I am thinking of how I shall make love to you. What do you like, Jane? What makes you sigh with pleasure? What brings you to conclusion?”

      His tall, lean frame unfolded from his slumped contemplative pose, and his foot fell back to the floor. Then he slid closer and leaned forward, taking her hands in his while his elbows rested on his knees. His thumbs began gently stroking across her palms. She felt it all the way to her stomach, and a deep longing, a thirst or hunger, settled in the back of her throat.

      “I shall begin by touching you, everywhere.” The movement of his thumbs slowed and became more sensual. “Then I wondered how you’ll taste.”

      Her heart hammered, and the ache in her throat descended to her stomach. She wanted all of that. Did it make her wicked? She wanted to share it with him.

      “Jane.” He brought her to her senses. “What do you want?”

      She wanted to reach her hands to his face and draw his mouth to hers, to kiss away all that had happened before, to go back to him and the hopes they’d once shared. To be in his arms forever. For the rest of the world and her past to simply melt away and become a forgotten history. Could he give her that? Perhaps for an hour or two, if she accepted what he was offering, but not forever. She’d lost forever with him. Yet she could take what he was willing to give. She could have now.

      What would Violet say? She wondered. How would Violet respond to this?

      Violet would not merely sit here waiting to be done to. Violet would take the lead. Jane leaned forward, too, and pressed her lips to his. She felt his lift into a smile.

      She pulled away, but he whispered, “Show me then, if you wish. Do not stop.” His grip on her hands pulled her back.

      Her heart raced like a hammer ringing on an anvil as she freed her hands and curved one about his nape while the other rested against his cheek before sliding into his hair. She licked her lips as she leaned forward to kiss him again, and her tongue touched his mouth. He groaned, and the sound emboldened her. She touched the tip of her tongue against his lips as she kissed him, and, as if he could not resist it, his mouth opened, and his tongue touched hers, sweeping into her mouth as his hands rested on her back. Then his mouth pressed more firmly against hers, their lips open and their tongues fencing as he tasted her, just as he’d promised.

      She had not known people kissed like this. He’d never kissed her like this before.

      She felt the magnetic tug which had pulled her from the moment she had seen him standing at the head of the stairs in the ballroom, and moved to cross the carriage, her body arching towards him, but he gripped her arms and held her back.

      “Not so fast, Jane, I don’t want to rush this. We have all night, as long as you like.”

      A long breath slipped from her lungs, and her heart beat erratically as she dropped back into her seat. Had she made a mistake? She thanked God it was too dark for him to see her embarrassment.

      “We’ve waited long enough for this. I’d rather savour it.” His harsh whisper filled the small space of the carriage.

      He sounded frustrated with her, angry.

      I did do something wrong.

      Robert’s body strained against the confines of his breeches. He wanted her now, to strip her clothes away, taste and touch her, feel himself inside her, and know her body surrendered to his. He looked out the window and fought his impatience. They’d be home in fifteen minutes. She was silent again, too.

      Did she want him as much as he wanted her?

      Was she hungry for him, or was he just another man to her, a sexual acquaintance?

      Was she just pleasure seeking, or was this about them, as it was for him?

      She’d cast him aside before, stung his pride, more, given it a permanent dent. God, this was folly, tearing open this old wound, which had taken years to heal and left a scar running deep into his head and heart.

      If … if? No, he’d not face the thought of a second rejection. What did he care now? He had four dozen other women who wanted him if she did not.

      But here was the hub of it. Here was why he’d never truly dispelled her from his blood, because Jane was the one woman who’d turned him away. He’d spent his life since, proving no other woman could. His whole life was testament to the fact that the error had not been his. The fault lay with her.

      He would make sure she did not reject him. His charm was an art form women could not refuse, wasn’t it? He’d spent bloody long enough making it so, making himself a master at this, so Jane would not refuse him again. If she did, he dare not contemplate the pain.

      The carriage rolled to a halt before his home, and in a moment, James opened the door and set down the steps. Robert climbed down first and lifted his hand to take hers. Her fingers were delicate and slender. They stirred something deep inside him. He did not wish to explore the feeling. No other woman had stirred it.

      He retained her fingers and led her up the steps. His butler, Jenkins, opened the door before them. Robert encouraged her to enter first and let go of her hand. She stopped, her eyes following the square rise of the staircase about the edge of the hall. It was one of those which seemed to hang in the air, without a single pillar to support it.

      He pulled the bow of her cloak loose, slid the garment from her shoulders, and passed it to Jenkins. “Thank you. That will be all.”

      Jenkins did not speak. He knew the protocol, as did all Robert’s household. They were to ensure his women felt secure in their discretion.

      Robert bent and whispered to Jane as Jenkins walked away, “Shall we go upstairs, or would you rather seek refreshment in the drawing room first?”

      Her perfume filled his nostrils, vanilla.

      Robert touched her waist, felt her shiver, remembered his earlier expectation, and made the choice for her as she’d voiced no opinion. “Champagne in my chamber it is then, Jenkins.”

      The butler merely nodded from across the room.

      Feeling satisfied, Robert smiled and drew her towards the oak staircase.

      Her eyes lifted again, apparently exploring the vast entrance hall as if awed. But he knew it could not be awe. Sutton’s must have been grander.

      “Come, Jane,” he urged her on, catching up her hand.

      When they reached the first floor, she was breathless.

      He slowed his pace a little and squeezed the fingers gripped in his. The action stirred up a memory of being with her in the woods, where the border of his lands had joined her father’s, the two of them eagerly running through the trees, heading for their secret meeting place, then falling onto a pile of straw in a stable by the woodman’s hut. She’d been laughing.

      The youth who’d been with her was not a person he knew any more, but what of that girl? She seemed different, too.

      He opened the door to his chamber and let her enter first. His usual frippery greeted him, laid out just as he’d ordered. He’d forgotten all of that, all the ceremony he enlisted to aid a woman’s seduction.

      Vases of white roses were spread about the