Page 30 of Rake in Disguise (Wicked Widows’ League #33)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Blythe opened her eyes to a sun-filled room and smiled.

The storm was gone and her head rested on the bare chest of Orlando, where she had slept.

It had been the best of sleep, though she did not recall when they had gotten under the counterpane, but she was glad that it was there to cover her nakedness.

Her face heated as she recalled all the delicious things he had done to her last night. H’d kissed her in places that she did not think were meant to be kissed, only touched for pleasure.

Goodness! It had been exquisite and even now with the memory, her body heated and breasts tightened. Longing and desire stirred in her nether regions.

Was it right to want a coupling so soon after they had just been intimate. She thought it took time for a body to recover, at least a few days, as had been her experience. Except, she needed no time and if Orlando awakened and wanted to take her again, she would gladly welcome him.

She had experienced pleasure before and releases, but nothing compared to last night.

If this was what it felt like to be wicked, she did not want it to be any other way.

Orlando’s hand caressed down her arm and she tilted her head back to find him awake and watching her.

“What is on your mind?” he asked with concern.

Was he afraid that she would have regrets? The very idea made her want to laugh.

“I was thinking that I very much like being a wicked widow.”

He chuckled then rolled so that she was now on her back and he was leaning over her.

“Is that so?” he asked as a hand caressed her breast.

“Very much so,” she admitted.

His hand trailed down her abdomen and her muscles contracted beneath his fingertips then he touched her there, the heart of her heat and desire.

She opened for him and allowed Orlando to once again take her to heights newly discovered and as she cried out her release, he came over her and entered quickly, taking her, filling her.

His movements bringing yet another release just as he stiffened and found his.

He rolled to his side and chuckled.

“Why do you laugh?” she asked not certain what to think of his reaction, and some of her insecurities began to emerge.

“I was thinking that I would not mind waking in this same manner every morning.”

Neither would she.

“But I am afraid that I must leave you, though I do not wish to.”

The parting that she knew would eventually arrive was upon them.

“There are patients I must see, and likely people injured last night. I also need to call on Westbrook House,” he explained as he pulled himself from the bed and began dressing. “I need to check the lad’s arm.”

“The one that was fractured?” she asked.

“Yes, and there were a few who were showing signs of illness. I need to make certain that they have not worsened and hope that nobody else became ill. If they were sequestered from the others, then all should be well.” He pulled the shirt over his head, hiding the sculpted and flat chest and abdomen that she had no idea was hidden beneath his clothing until last night.

This moment was also reminiscent of their time in Brussels. Often, he would explain as he left what else he needed to do, as if she fit into only a small portion of a full life he led elsewhere and began to fear that he would not return.

Was this to explain his future absence?

They had said everything that they needed last night. He now knew why she had left, and she knew why he had never called on her, both had been mistaken and misunderstood and all because a letter was not received.

And, they had been intimate, something that she had wanted for longer than she should have. But now that everything had been settled, would he return?

Blythe hated that her heart began to pound with fear that this was all she would have of Orlando. One night and morning.

It wasn’t that she wanted a permanent arrangement because she intended to keep her independence, but she also wanted more.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips gently. “I hope that you will allow me to return tonight.”

Was he suffering the same uncertainty as her? He should not.

“Of course.” She smiled.

“Good.” He grinned and then with a nod, exited her room, wearing the clothing he had borrowed from a footman.

She wasn’t certain if he would wear those to his home or not, nor did she care if anyone saw him leave Athena’s Salon dressed as he was, carrying waterlogged boots.

In fact, she was happy, for the first time in a long time, truly happy and satisfied and she hoped that she could hold onto these emotions for a very long time.

* * *

Sinclair looked Orlando over from head to toe and smirked. And, yes, his toes were exposed because his boots were ruined.

“I am certain there is an explanation for why you are wearing clothing too large for your frame and carrying what I believe is what you wore out of here last evening.”

“There is,” Orlando answered, not that he was going to share the specific. “I was caught in the storm and pity was taken upon me.”

Sinclair arched an eyebrow. “By your smile, I suspect it was more than simple pity.”

Orlando grinned but said nothing further as he headed up the stairs to his set of rooms to change and prepare for the day.

Last night had been perfect. Beyond his imagination. He had thought about being with Blythe many times, but he did not believe that such passion truly existed or an all-consuming desire until he touched her and had to fight for control for fear that it would engulf him.

He hated that she had felt the need to leave Brussels and her reasons, but he also now understood.

Had the letter been given to him when he returned to the inn, he would have understood much sooner and gone after her as soon as he had been free from treating the wounded.

He may have even hastened his return to London.

Blythe had needed to be away from him, and her past. She needed to find her own future, and perhaps herself, and he admired who she had become. He desired and wanted her, just as much if not more than he had in Brussels.

After he had completed his toilet and returned downstairs, Orlando partook of a simple breakfast of oatmeal then began the long day of treating patients and as he had predicted, some had been injured in the fierce storm before finding shelter.

He had then gone to Westbrook House and was please to find that the children who had been ill had recovered and nobody else contracted their symptoms. The lad’s arm also appeared to be healing without difficulty, other than discomfort, which was to be expected.

He had asked after Lady Victoria and his brother, but as neither had arrived that day, he assumed all was well or he would have been told.

Once he returned to his office, Orlando updated records and reports, read the latest medical texts and looked at the clock frequently.

The hands were moving much slower today.

He knew they were not, simply his perception of what was turning out to be one of the longest days he had ever experienced with nothing of importance to occupy his time.

Finally, the sky began to darken and he visited the tavern around the corner, ate a quick meal then returned to his chamber to prepare for the night, anticipating that he would not be returning until after the sun had risen tomorrow.

He then arrived at Athena’s Salon promptly at eight and was rewarded by the sight of Blythe descending the stairs in a pale blue, shimmering gown, the color that matched her eyes.

The bodice clung to her perfect breasts, pushing them up to nearly spill from the top. A design that only married women and widows were allowed to wear.

His mouth watered because he now knew what her breasts looked like, how they felt and recalled kissing each one.

As desire stirred in his nether regions, Orlando returned his attention to her beauty and humor lit eyes.

He blew out a sigh and walked forward to meet her. “As always, you are enchanting, Lady Blythe.”

A blush stained her cheeks. “Thank you, Dr. Valentine.”

They had not addressed each other as such when alone, but without agreement or discussion, both reverted to proper address for anyone listening.

As she led him into the drawing room, others arrived and before he had a glass of brandy in hand, several people had gathered in various settings and many discussions included the storm from the night before, damage to homes and fallen trees.

He had noted the debris in the streets when he had left. Leaves and limbs littered the ground and some windows had been broken, but such had not truly registered in his mind, nor had he thought about the terrible storm because he was remembering what he and Blythe were doing instead.

Some guests described previous serious storms along the coast and others who had traveled told of storms at seas, and tornadoes in America. It was all anyone seemed to discuss, as well as the scientific reasons for why some storms were stronger than others.

He listened but did not participate. Instead, Orlando watched as Blythe played hostess, going from one group to another, engaging them in conversation. Sometimes she would leave but he knew that she visited the gambling room.

Tonight was different then the two he had been present previously. On those nights, she had spent her time speaking with him. Tonight, it was a greeting but she excused herself as soon as he was served brandy.

He supposed that Blythe couldn’t always be by his side, but had her interest waned now that they experienced the one thing that had been lacking from their association?

That was a troubling thought.

What if her curiosity had been satisfied, the wickedness she embraced settled, and she was now to return to the normality she had enjoyed before they encountered the other after so long.

She laughed at something Lord Percy Evans, Viscount Shrewsbury, said and Orlando did not like it very much.

In fact, he did not like it at all and in that moment realized that he was jealous of any gentleman on whom she bestowed her attention.

Bloody hell!

He should not be feeling this way. She would not suddenly turn from him and seek another, would she?

How wicked did Blythe intended to become?