Page 29 of Rake in Disguise (Wicked Widows’ League #33)

Chapter Twenty-Five

He never got her letter!

No wonder he seemed rather angry. She would be too if she had returned to find him and all his belongings gone without an explanation.

“I am sorry, Orlando. I had no idea…”

“It is not your fault it was misplaced or likely tossed away when Mrs. Desmit cleaned the room.”

“I should have left it with your sister, where it would have been safe.”

“Isabella left the day after the last battle.”

This surprised Blythe.

“It became too much for her, especially after she learned that Bertram, our youngest brother, had been killed.”

Blythe reached out to him. “I am so sorry. I did not know.”

“There is no reason why you should have.”

He lifted the decanter of brandy and added more to his glass.

“I wish you would not have witnessed those horrors, but do not discount your place. In a sea of blood and bodies, you were the light and hope. I had a duty to those men, and I did the best that I could to save them but all the while, I knew what waited. You! The beacon that could sooth the ugliness, and gentle touch that could remind me that there were reasons men go into battle and reasons why men heal the hurt, because the fighting is more than simply in duty to a king, but the life that is precious. A way of life filled with goodness which includes beauty, hopes and dreams for a better future and world. You were waiting and I knew that when I saw you that I would be reminded that it was not all for naught, that England and her people were worth the battles men faced. And when I returned to your room at the inn, finally free and after the blood, sweat and stench had been washed away, needing to see you, touch your hand, or caress your cheek you were gone. In that moment, I was more lost than I had ever been and hurt because I was foolish enough to believe that I had come to matter to you.”

“You did,” she cried. “You always did.”

“You were goodness and light at the end of the darkness and despair, and when I finally reached where I thought you were, you were not there.” He shook his head. “I think I have been angry with you since.”

“You did not seem so when I saw you at the Venetian Breakfast or since.”

“That was likely due to shock since I honestly did not think I would ever see you again.” He pushed his fingers through his wet hair. “I could never forget you, Blythe. In fact, I do not think a day has gone by that I did not wonder what became of you, and all this time you were in London.”

* * *

Now that he understood her reasons and that she had bid him goodbye, and that she had asked him to call on her in England, any anger and resentment that had lingered dissipated.

He truly did understand even if he did not agree with what she said.

Yes, she had been sheltered, but the shock of the results of war, becoming a widow and then seeing him as she described, no wonder she had left, and had he just found that blasted letter…

Blythe stood and took her glass to the bar. Then blew out the candles in the room before lifting a lantern.

Maybe she was going to ask him to leave.

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Above stairs to my set of rooms. They are more comfortable than this drawing room.”

He did not need to be asked a second time and helped her extinguish all other lights within the lower level of the house. The only room that she did not go into was the kitchens, but he supposed the servants were still in there.

She then climbed the stairs with Orlando following.

He had assumed that she would lead him to a sitting room, instead, she entered her bedchamber.

This was not at all what he expected, but he was quite happy with the destination.

Blythe set the lantern on a table, then lit the other lamps and candles in the room.

“Even though I embrace the freedom of being a widow, I have not done the one thing that many of my widow friends have.”

“What would that be?”

She turned to face him. “Take a lover.”

Once again, Orlando could swear that his heart stopped, an impossibility.

“I had not been interested before.”

Her blue eyes stared into his, and his pulse jumped.

“I only changed my mind when I saw you.”

“I have been wanting to seduce you since I saw you across the room at the Venetian Breakfast.”

“Thank goodness,” she sighed as her cheeks blossomed into a lovely shade of red.

“Did you think that I would actually reject you?” He took a step toward her.

“I hoped that you would not, but my other concern was that I had no idea how to go about seducing you and so I came right out with it.”

Orlando couldn’t help but laugh. “It is far easier than you think. Just crook your little finger, wanting me to come near, and I am your servant.”

He drew closer and took her hands in his.

“You are shaking?”

“I am nervous,” she admitted. “I have not been in this situation before, and it has been so long…what if I have forgotten…”

Orlando placed a hand on her cheek and stared into her blue eyes, unable to help his smile. Soon, her concerns would be silenced.

He had wanted to kiss her for so many years.

The thought had crossed his mind nearly every night that he visited her in the inn on the outskirts of Brussels, yet he refrained.

But, during those nights that he had held her after the nightmares, he had wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside of her so that he could forget.

Each time one of those thoughts had begun to form, he had pushed it away. He would not take advantage of Blythe and he would not do something that he would later regret. It wasn’t making Blythe his, it had been the adultery that he couldn’t commit.

But now, she was here before him, a widow nearly three years.

“Orlando?” she questioned when he had said nothing and he noted her concern, an insecurity, that needed to be erased and he leaned forward to place his lips against hers.

He was gentle at first, more in fear that the passion that had been brewing for so long would take over and this perfect moment would become rushed.

He wanted to savor, explore, even if he took the entire night to do so.

Lightning continued to crack and flash followed by rumbles and sometimes booms of thunder. The air was charged tonight as a tempest built within.

Orlando pulled back and placed his hands on her cheeks, his forehead against hers.

“Are you certain, Blythe.”

“Yes.”

He just needed to hear her say it again before he brought his lips to hers.

This time it wasn’t a sweet brushing of his mouth on hers as one may treat an innocent, but nearly demanding and when she parted for him, he delved as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his body.

She tilted her head and grasped onto his shoulders, returning passion for passion until they were both nearly breathless.

He broke the kiss and turned her away from him as he pulled her hair over one shoulder and kissed the side of her neck as he unfastened the back of her dress.

Blythe shivered in anticipation and as more skin was revealed, his lips followed until he had freed enough of the gown so that it could be pushed from her shoulders.

As the sleeves slipped further, he pushed them all the way free and her silk gown floated to the floor leaving Blythe in a simple shift, her back still to him.

With an arm about her waist, he brought her against his body again, kissed just behind her ear as a hand cupped the most perfect breast, filling to overflowing his palm before he ran a thumb across her peak.

She then turned to face him, her hands on the borrowed linen shirt that she tugged from the trousers to free it before her hands slipped beneath and she ran her palms over his abdomen. Orlando’s muscles contracted at her touch and anticipation.

She continued until her hands were on his chest, palm near his heart and then rose onto her toes and kissed him.

Blood pounded in his veins and heat surged through his body and he once again pulled her close, pressing himself against her so that Blythe was aware of exactly what she did to him, and how much he needed her.

She, in turn, pushed back then lifted the shirt over his head.

Orlando assisted her in freeing himself of the garment then tossed it aside, before he slid the shift down her body as he had her dress, his lips following in its wake until he was kneeling before her, savoring one breast while caressing the other, worshiping her.

Blythe’s fingernails dug into his shoulders as a moan came from deep within her body. It was then that he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed and lay her before him, naked in her beauty—perfection.

Orlando only paused long enough to remove his trousers so that he was as naked as her before he came over her and kissed nearly every inch of her body from her lips to her knees, then between her thighs.

She pulled at his hair as her cries became louder and her body strained for the release he kept denying.

He could have led her there instantly, she was so sensitive and ready, but he did not want this night to end so quickly.

It was only when she begged, his name in a whisper on her lips, that he pushed her over the precipice.

Blythe arched and cried out, her body stiffening then falling back onto the bed. He rose up, looked into her blue eyes, pupils dilated and lay between her thighs.

Blythe reached out and lifted her hips and he sank into her. It was more prefect than he had ever imagined.

Orlando paused, but only so long as to gain control. He wanted to savor and love her, not rush to climax.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. Her arms came around his shoulders and then he moved. She met him but did not rush and let him set the tempo.

Orlando committed everything about her to memory for fear that he might never have this moment again, but his desire to prolong and draw this night out was taken from him when his body demanded more and took over and as passion ruled he was taken to heights that he had not believed existed and meeting him on that higher plane was Blythe as they cried out together.