Page 24 of How to Court a Rake
‘No, they do not. They are lucky to have married for love. He had nothing when he came to England, just his skill and his horse, the one he rode today. He was a prince, but not here. He worked as an instructor at Fozard’s, trading on those skills.’ He watched her fingers pleat her skirt, watched her eyes lower even though he knew a thousand thoughts were coursing behind them. He hoped one of those thoughts was not about what he’d learned today on her behalf.
‘That’s quite a story,’ she said at last. ‘I envy them their confidence in one another. They are certain that no matter what life throws at them, they’ll have each other. It is not their money or their titles they protect themselves with, but with each other. I think that’s rare in theton.’ She lifted her grey eyes, two silvery pools of thought that would suck a man into their depths if he looked long enough. ‘Is that why you are not keen to wed despite your circumstances? Because you think you’ll not find that?’
‘Is that whyyouhave not wed?’ he parried.
‘I asked you first.’
He did not answer. She cocked her head and let the silence drag out between them. ‘You hide it well, Caine Parkhurst.’ She gave a throaty laugh that had him rousing all over again. Did she have any idea how sultry that laugh was? How it made a man think of beds and dark rooms?
‘What exactly am I hiding?’ he teased with a hint of seductive playfulness, but in all seriousness, the list was getting quite long where she was concerned and he regretted that for them both.
She leaned forward and tapped his knee. ‘You, sir, are a romantic. Despite your affairs and opera singers,youseek true love.’ A lightning bolt to the chest could not have been more shocking. He was not used to being seen so clearly. Most women saw only what he wanted them to see.
‘That is a bold claim, Mary.’ He let his gaze rake her lips, signalling that perhaps he was more interested in seeking something else at the moment.
‘None the less, I think it’s true. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’
He believed that. If she pledged herself to someone, she would be unfailingly loyal to them. He sensed her friendship and affections were not given lightly. In all of their interactions, she’d been honest and forthright. Secretsweresafe with Mary Kimber. Even his, but that didn’t mean she’d thank him for sharing them. Secrets could be powerful; they could bind people together or they could be burdens. His secrets, including what he’d learned from Prince Baklanov today, fell into the latter category.
He shifted in his seat, wanting to move to a topic that wasn’t a probe into his own romantic yearnings or into his meeting with Prince Baklanov. ‘And your forfeit? Have you thought about what it will be?’
A coy smile took her mouth, her grey eyes sparkled, and Caine felt his body’s arousal heighten in anticipation. ‘If Klara is putting her husband through his paces, perhaps I should put you through yours.’ She moved across the carriage and lifted her skirts, revealing slim calves and silk stockings. She was feeling bold, no doubt the thrill of the competition was still thrumming through her, urging her to a delicious recklessness. He did like a bold woman.
Caine shifted his body to accommodate her, revelling in the feel of her derrière against him as she straddled his lap as if he, too, was a thoroughbred she would ride astride. She wrapped her arms about his neck, her bottom wiggling against his groin as she settled. He moved his hands to her hips, to steady her, to steady himself. He knew instinctively that this was the real Lady Mary Kimber. She was putting her true self on display for him and for the first time. She was both bold and vulnerable in these moments. It was his privilege to be the first to see it and it was positively decadent watching this woman come alive in front of him, for him.
Her words were a whisper against his lips. ‘For my forfeit, I claim you.’
His whisper was a growled invitation deep in his throat. ‘It would be my pleasure.’ He would ensure that it would be hers as well.
Chapter Thirteen
Pleasure was indeed the word of the moment. Her body trembled with it, vibrated with it. Mary pushed her hands through the depths of his midnight hair, stealing a look at him from beneath half-lidded eyes as her lips played with his, exchanging soft nips, gentle, lingering busses, noses rubbing, mouths melding.
He was beautiful, she realised; the sweep of his dark lashes against his cheek offering a soft juxtaposition to the hard strength of him as his mouth made love to hers until the experiment in claiming burned hotter than their playful busses could tolerate. She might have begun it, but it was his mouth that was doing the claiming now. When had she lost control of her forfeit?
‘You’re a thief,’ she murmured against his mouth, eliciting one of his private chuckles, his eyes glowing like polished obsidian. ‘This was supposed to bemykiss.’
‘It was.’ He laughed against her lips. ‘And now it’s mine.’ She felt his hands move from her hips to the curves of her bottom and draw her taut against him so that she felt him: the heat and muscle of him; the dangerous passion of him that always seemed to simmer so near the surface, dancing in his eyes, and underlying the provocative words that fell from his lips; most of all, she felt the tangible masculine proof of his desire rising hard and insistent against her belly.
A sinful smile curved on his lips, his eyes agleam with wicked intent. ‘Do you feel what you do to me? You’re a temptress in hiding, Mary.’
Something courageous and confident leapt within her. He would never know how much those words meant to her. To be beautiful, to be desired for herself and nothing else, was a pleasure that transcended any kiss, any touch.
A moment later, when his warm hand slid up her leg, past silk stockings to rest on the bare skin of her thigh, she was re-evaluating that claim.
‘What? I can see the laughter in your eyes. I’m missing a grand joke,’ Caine teased and this, too, was a revelation—to laugh, to play amid what she’d once thought of as the serious, formal business of seduction. She’d not once imagined seduction as casual, comfortable,easy, where one was not in a constant state of awkward self-awareness. She was barely aware of how his hand had got there. She was only aware that it was there now and she more than liked the feel of it.
‘I was just thinking about your words, about desiringmeand how much that meant. I don’t think I’ve ever been desired simply for myself,’ she confessed. ‘And that such a feeling was grander than any touch could be. Then you slid your hand up my leg and I had to re-evaluate that.’
He laughed against her mouth and his hand moved higher, discovering her little secret. ‘Mary, you’re not wearing drawers,’ he drawled.
‘No, I dressed in haste. They seemed…expendable…at the time.’
‘A very fortuitous choice.’ He was all wicked grins and dancing eyes that drew her in, that made her feel the extent of a seductress’s power. How wondrous and new this realisation was. She had a power that was uniquely hers to wield simply because she was herself and that pleased him.
And yet, when he slid a finger between her legs and traced the private seam of her until he found the little nub beneath its hood, all she could think of was surrender, complete and abject surrender to the stroke of his hand, to the pleasure his touch sent shooting through her, although pleasure was much too tame of a word for the sensations he roused within her now.
She moved against his hand, a gasp escaping her. Her hands tightened in his hair as she pressed into him, against him, her body blindly searching for something, reaching for something to make the sensations stop. Stop? No, that couldn’t be right. Why would she want this to stop? But she wantedsomething. Her body was gathering, preparing for that something. She gave a moan of want, of frustration, rocking against him.
