Page 13 of How to Court a Rake (Wed Within a Year #1)

P leasure 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 be my kiss.’

‘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 desiring me and 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 wanted something . Her body was gathering, preparing for that something. She gave a moan of want, of frustration, rocking against him.

‘It will come, pleasure is coming, Mary. Claim it ,’ he encouraged her with a voice as raw, as exposed, as she felt, proof that this pleasure was a pleasure for them both to give and to receive. Then she was there at the place she’d blindly been seeking and it seemed to her that the world behind her eyes exploded into fragments of new sensations she’d not felt before, an intensity she’d not imagined existed. She was in his arms, her head lying against his broad shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with release. The only thought that came to her as the world began to settle once more was, ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Of course not. You’re not supposed to know. What would happen if young, innocent girls did know what their bodies were capable of? Everyone would be riding around in carriages all day.’ Caine laughed and she laughed with him.

‘You are truly wicked.’

‘Because I have shown you the truth? Given you knowledge of your own body?’ He was only half teasing.

‘I am sure this is exactly how the serpent tempted Eve, with arguments just like these.’ How could logic be wicked? How could logic lead to wrong conclusions? How could logic be immoral? She was only half teasing, too. Had the serpent held Eve against a broad chest, a strong arm about her as she rested? Created a cocoon she didn’t want to leave for the life that waited beyond it? If so, it was easy to see why she’d eaten the apple. Mary didn’t want to step foot out of the carriage, didn’t want to go back to Carys House and all that waited there.

They rode in silence, Mary savouring the feel of Caine’s body against hers, her mind running through a thousand questions, most of them stemming from what had happened in the carriage. Familiar blocks came into sight. They hadn’t much time left if she wanted to ask them. Perhaps she’d start with the most obvious. ‘Is it like that every time? Can anyone do that?’ She looked up at him, wanting to watch his face, wanting to ensure that he told her the truth he proclaimed to value.

‘Technically, I suppose the answer should be yes, the parts involved don’t change, but it’s not like that all the time. I think it matters who the partners are. It is important that we are with people with whom we can entrust our bodies as well as our emotions.’ Caine paused, considering. ‘Does that disappoint you, Mary?’

‘No,’ she replied, pushing back a tousled lock of his dark hair—tousled from her efforts, she might add. ‘I would not like to think just anyone could make me feel this way. Pleasure should be my choice. Someone should not be able to take it from me, wring it from me.’ As pleasurable as the experience was, she didn’t want it to be common, generic. She wanted it to mean something, she wanted to control whom she shared it with, whom she came apart for. Even if it meant this was something she could have with only one man whom she could not hope to keep for ever.

The carriage stopped before Carys House and she could hear the step being set. The adventure was over. ‘Thank you for today, for all of it.’ She spoke the words in a desperate rush.

‘There’s always tomorrow, Mary.’ Caine smiled, his eyes lingering on her as if he, too, was making a mental picture of these last moments before the world intruded. She’d like to think that was the case, that this had meant as much to him as it had to her. ‘I’ll come in with you. Your father had asked to talk.’

She gave a gasp, suddenly remembering. ‘I didn’t ask you about your meeting with the Prince!’

He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes still warm with the remnants of their passion. ‘We had better things to do. It will keep for later, Mary.’

‘Will there be a later? My father may not allow it. He can be most determined.’ She should not have voiced her fear out loud. It would seem silly to him, a reminder of the vast gulf between her life and his. A reminder, too, that she was not like his glamorous women. She was tied to the strings of familial obligation while Caine was tied to nothing he did not choose.

The door opened and Caine exited first. He helped her down, his voice at her ear where it seemed to naturally belong, saying, ‘He doesn’t get to decide anything unless we let him.’

She wished that were true. How easy he made it sound. To have what she wanted, all she had to do was simply choose it. But Caine was a man. He could do such things and not have to consider the repercussions.

In the hall of Carys House, a footman stood ready to greet them. ‘Lord Barrow, Lord Carys is waiting to receive you in his study.’

Most men would not smile in the wake of those words. But Caine merely bent over her hand once more, in a proper farewell this time, and turned to the footman. ‘Yes, he had indicated an interest in conversation. Lady Mary, thank you again for a delightful afternoon.’

Mary watched him disappear down the hall with the footman and wondered if she would see him again. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Caine could handle her father. He probably could. It was the question of whether or not he thought she was worth the bother. After all, he’d more than fulfilled his self-imposed obligation to her. At some point, he’d simply give her up. There was nothing to keep him with her, certainly not the promise of a future. Which prompted again the question: what did he want from her? What did he get out of this?

She touched her fingers to her lips. Even now, it was something of a wonder he’d gone to all this effort for her. The only explanation she had was the sight of him in the carriage today, his face rapt with desire and his body flush with it. Or perhaps desire, too, was different for a man?

Lord Carys was no different than any other man. His office was proof of that—decorated with all the trappings of his importance: the big desk made of imported mahogany and polished to a high sheen, the Moroccan leather chair behind it, the matching wing-backed chairs set on the other side, the Aubusson carpet, the bookcases filled with exquisite leather-bound editions that had likely never been opened. Lucien would think that a grave sin. The carved walnut mantel adorned with male accoutrements: a set of brass scales, a captain’s telescope the man had probably never used. The art on the walls consisted of an old map of the world, and an oil painting matched the seagoing theme, perhaps courtesy of Lady Carys’s decorating efforts. There was likely a safe behind that oil painting.

Lord Carys did not rise to greet him, but stayed behind the big desk and gestured for the footman to pour drinks. ‘Thank you for your time, Lord Barrow. It seems we have reached a point where some discussion between us is necessary.’ Carys took his drink from the footman without even a nod of acknowledgment before dismissing him. There was a message in that. Things were important to Carys. People were not. People were, in fact, disposable, items to be used for further material gain, even his own daughter. The other message was that appearances were everything. Carys wanted people to see his control, to feel it in the way he treated them.

‘I agree, I am eager to speak with you as well.’ Caine took his drink from the footman and nodded his thanks in direct opposition to Carys’s behaviour. Carys would not miss the gauntlet being thrown down. He had the pleasure of watching Carys’s jaw tighten a nearly imperceptible fraction. He’d been obtuse on purpose, knowing very well what Carys would think. Men wanted to speak to fathers of eligible girls for only one reason. Carys did not want a proposal from him despite him being a marquess and perhaps the only real suitor of Mary’s to rival Amesbury in rank. He decided to push Carys’s discomfort a bit further. ‘I find Lady Mary to be a singularly attractive, intelligent, woman.’

‘I must stop you there, Barrow. I would save you the indignity of a proposal,’ Carys cut in. ‘I am not entertaining any further offers for my daughter’s hand. We have accepted an offer from the Duke of Amesbury, whom I believe you met last night.’

So it was true. Mary had not exaggerated the situation. Caine held Cary’s gaze, careful not to give away the disappointment Carys was hoping to see. Carys wanted the upper hand back. ‘Has Lady Mary offered her approval to the match as well? I do not recall seeing an announcement in The Times .’

‘We have not announced it formally yet, but we will soon.’ Carys gave a falsely benign smile and steepled his hands on the desktop. ‘You are new to your rank, Barrow. Allow me to give you some fatherly advice as a man who was born to his title. When a gentleman is met with the news a woman he aspires to is now off the market, he retreats politely. He does not question the nature of the arrangement and argue with the woman’s father. It is not how these things are done.’

‘Is forcing one’s daughter to accept a match also how it is done these days? I thought we’d left such things behind with the Middle Ages.’ Caine levelled a hard stare at Carys. ‘Lady Mary does not want this match.’

‘Does any woman know what she wants? Or what is even good for her?’ Carys chuckled. ‘She is playing coy and teasing you, Barrow. Perhaps she delights in arousing a bit of chivalry from you. You of all people should know how women are with their games.’

Caine also knew how men were. This one deserved a drubbing for treating his daughter as a pawn on his own personal chessboard and then speaking of her as if she were a merry widow revelling in casual affairs or a woman of even looser virtue still. ‘Those are harsh words to which I take offence on Lady Mary’s behalf.’ He’d not fought a duel for two years, although he’d nearly challenged Creighton on his sister’s behalf last year before they’d wed. One did like to stay in practice.

‘You are not her protector. You have no right to level such accusations at me.’ Carys was on edge now, perhaps remembering that Caine was known for his prowess with a pistol and his short fuse of a temper when it came to those he cared for. Carys was a seaman, not a marksman.

Caine tried another tack. Carys was nothing if not self-centred. ‘Perhaps I ask for your own benefit, too. What do you know of Amesbury beyond his title?’ He’d learned some interesting things about the former Duke from Nikolay Baklanov this afternoon and circumstances suggested it was possible the new Duke had followed in the former’s footsteps. The question was whether or not Carys knew and was involved. The latter seemed highly possible given how Carys’s Season was unfolding.

Carys stiffened and stilled. ‘Is there something you think I should know?’ Caine noted the defensiveness. Carys felt there was something to defend, something to protect. A secret relationship, perhaps? A covert business deal? Something he didn’t want exposed? Or was it merely that Carys was protecting his choice, not wanting to look the fool?

‘The former Duke was involved in an ammunitions scandal. He involved himself with a covert arms dealer by the name of Cabot Roan who sold arms and munitions to whichever side was buying. Furthermore, the bullets were faulty. The machinery used to produce them was not always accurate, thus up to an estimated twenty per cent of the bullets misfired. The factory knew this and did not spend the necessary monies to make the correction.’

Carys’s gaze had gone hard. ‘Where did you hear such a thing? There was nothing of the sort in the newspapers when the former Duke died.’

‘From Prince Baklanov, who was there the day of the carriage accident. He indicated the cause of the accident and the reason for it were tied to the factory scandal. Being a duke, there was a desire to keep much of this out of the papers in order to save face for the family. I have met with Baklanov and he assures me he is more than happy to meet with you to discuss the scandal.’

Caine kept his gaze steady on Carys, watching carefully as the man’s restraint faltered. He could tell it was taking all of Carys’s willpower to not squirm or leap over the desk and plant him a facer in an attempt to silence him, a sure sign that he was getting to him. He was close to something, although Carys was unlikely to admit it. Perhaps that meant he was close to culpability, but that meant nothing if Caine couldn’t prove it.

‘I thought you should know. My concern, of course, is for your family and for Lady Mary’s reputation.’ It wasn’t entirely false flattery. He was indeed concerned for Mary and that concern had grown considerably this afternoon. Roses were hardy blooms that could survive under myriad conditions, but that didn’t mean they didn’t deserve better.

‘If you were concerned for Mary’s reputation, you would not have danced with her,’ Carys said through gritted teeth.

‘You’re the one marrying her against her will into a family tainted by scandal. I sincerely think my crime is not the biggest one here, Lord Carys.’ Caine spread his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘But perhaps there is nothing to worry about and the scandal will not touch the new Duke. We can always hope it will remain buried.’ Unless, of course, the reason for the scandal had never truly died and the new Duke had taken up his predecessor’s hunger for money as well as the man’s title. War was a lucrative business and there was always someone to fight if one wasn’t particular about the side they fought on.

‘Thank you for your time, Lord Carys. I will see myself out. I will enjoy seeing you tonight for the musicale your wife is hosting.’ Caine rose, knowing that his decision to end the meeting would irritate the other man to no end. Carys was a man who decided when his meetings were over, not the other party. He would not like that petty power usurped. It was beyond time someone did some usurping. Carys was too used to getting his way and too used to having no one gainsay him.

Even if the news today had been a shocking revelation and Carys had truly known no more about Amesbury than that he was young, unmarried and had a title, it didn’t change the reality that Carys was a tyrant in his own home and was forcing his daughter towards a marriage she did not want. On those grounds alone, Caine would gladly teach the man a lesson. On the grounds of ensuring Mary’s freedom from such tyranny he found himself willing to do much more—a realisation that was quite sobering for a man who insisted he couldn’t and wouldn’t wed.