Page 15 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

Bloody Hell, he was beautiful.

Tall and lean and ridiculously well proportioned.

The curve of his shoulders flowed in a smooth line down to his biceps, and the muscled plains of his chest were ridged with intriguing hollows that made her fingers itch to explore.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him; she could see his ribs, and the slight dusting of hair that ran from his navel down, into the top of his breeches.

Daisy swallowed, her mouth inexplicably dry.

He tossed the shirt carelessly onto one of the dining chairs, then put his hand to the first button of his falls, and she sucked in a gasp.

His brows rose in subtle mockery. “Why are you looking so scandalized? You’re no virgin. You’ve seen a naked man before. Unless you and your stable boy never took your clothes off.”

He popped the button, and Daisy couldn’t seem to look away.

“Was that it?” he teased. “Did you always do it fully dressed?” He shook his head in disbelief. Or pity.

His taunting snapped her out of her trance. “I’ve seen a naked man. More than one, in fact.”

That was technically true. She’d seen Tom without his clothes.

And she’d seen the ancient eighty-year-old Duke of Wansford naked, when he’d died on Tess’s wedding night and they’d had to carry him into his own bed.

Unfortunately, neither of those experiences bore any resemblance to the magnificent sight that was Lucien Vaughan, shirtless.

Tom had been handsome enough, but he’d still been a youth, muscled yet gangly, all elbows and knees. The old duke had been a pasty, withered sack of bones and skin.

Vaughan was… heart-stopping. A creature in his prime, a man in full possession of strength and vitality.

The only thing marring all that tawny, sleek perfection was the scarring that ran from his left hand up his forearm to his elbow.

That, at least, made him seem more like a human and less like an immortal.

With an effort, Daisy wrenched her eyes away and swung round on the bed so she was sitting cross-legged, facing the wall. She concentrated on the scrolling green tendrils of vine decorating the washbowl.

Vaughan let out a soft laugh beneath his breath. Arrogant swine. He probably thought he’d left her breathless with desire.

Unfortunately, he was right. Her skin felt all hot and itchy, and her stomach seemed to have butterflies trapped inside. She wanted to bang her forehead against the solid oak pillar of the bed. Maybe that would knock some sense into her.

She couldn’t see with her face averted, but she could still hear, and her ears strained to decipher every soft, tantalizing scratch of fabric as he undressed.

She bit her lip as he clearly unbuttoned his falls and pushed the soft buckskin of his breeches down his thighs.

Water splashed as he stepped into the tub, and she squeezed her eyes closed tightly against the urge to peek.

Maybe she should have taken that bloody sleeping draught and spared herself this exquisite torture.

No, being defenseless with Vaughan in the room would be a terrible idea.

His low hum of contentment made her blood thrum in her veins. She reopened her eyes and turned even further away, but a flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her pause.

Oh.

Oh no.

She could see him reflected in the mirror.

A wicked, guilty thrill made her shiver. This was completely unacceptable. She ought to look away, not spy on him like some perverted voyeur. And yet…

He’d spied on her, hadn’t he? At dinner.

His back was to her, his arms resting along the top rim of the tub. Light from the fire licked lovingly over his wet shoulders as he rested his head against the back of the bath.

He’d drawn his knees up in front of him, as she’d done, and her eyes roamed over the intriguing swirls of dark hair on his legs.

Her cheeks burned as he sat forward, took the soap, and ran it lazily over his chest and upper arms, following the movement with the washcloth.

The play of muscles in his back was mesmerizing.

She was just about to look away—she was —when he grasped the edge of the tub and stood. Water streamed in rivulets down his back, over the curves of his rear and the thick columns of his thighs, and every good intention fled.

Bloody Hell.

She felt almost winded, as if she’d been elbowed in the stomach. Only statues looked like that. Idealized, marble versions of heroes, battle-honed and cold to the touch. Not glistening flesh and blood.

He reached for one of the bath linens on the chair, drying himself with brisk, efficient movements, then stepped out of the tub and wrapped the fabric around his waist.

“Seen enough, Hamilton?”

Daisy almost swallowed her tongue. She whipped her head around and found him standing, hands on hips, laughing at her.

“Wh-what?”

He pointed toward the corner. “In the mirror. Did you enjoy the show?”

Guilty heat scorched her skin. The monster! Had he known she was watching him, this whole time? Oh God.

She willed her flush away and produced a careless shrug. “No harm in looking.”

A few droplets of water still glistened on his skin and she made a concerted effort not to look any lower than his chest.

“Ah, but are you tempted to touch?”

Yes. Absolutely.

“I think I can contain myself,” she managed, with just the right amount of sarcasm.

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“Contain yourself.”

Her heart stuttered. “What?”

He sent her a dry, knowing expression. “Oh, come now. We’re both adults. Aren’t you curious to see what it would be like between us?”

“No!”

His brows rose in patent disbelief. “You’ve honestly never, ever thought about it? Not once?”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but he spoke before she could perjure herself.

“Liar!”

Daisy sought to keep her voice calm. “You don’t like me, Vaughan. And I certainly don’t like you.”

“That doesn’t matter. We don’t need to be friends to fuck. It’s one of Mother Nature’s cruelest tricks: it’s possible to lust after the most unsuitable people. You can hate me, despise my every breath, and still have the best night of your life.”

She would not look down at his waist to see if he desired her physically.

She summoned a scornful snort. “Your confidence is ridiculous. It could be the worst night of my life.”

“Highly unlikely. This antagonism between us only makes it more delicious.” His eyes never left hers, and the intensity in them made her body tingle. “When we make love, it’s going to be incredible.”

“‘When’?” Daisy spluttered. “What makes you think I’ll ever sleep with you?”

He took a step closer. “Because you’re insatiably curious. You love knowledge, and you hate a mystery. You’re brave—bordering on reckless—and deep down, you know I’m right. You want to give in, and that’s extremely vexing for you.”

Daisy sucked in a breath. Damn him. He could read her like an open book.

One of his shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “You’re also not someone who lies to herself. You’ll stare at the truth unflinching, even if it’s an unpleasant truth. You’ll acknowledge that you desire me.”

He raised his hand to ward off another protest. “You’re also rebellious. You hate being told what to do, and you love the idea of thumbing your nose at convention.”

God, even Tess and Ellie didn’t understand her as profoundly as this man.

“And you know the final reason?” he murmured.

Daisy tried to sound bored, and not merely breathless. “What?”

“I’m safe.”

A shocked laugh escaped her. “Safe? You? Ha!”

“Safe in the sense that you can sleep with me with no repercussions. I already know you’re not a virgin, and I don’t care.

You can sleep with me and be absolutely certain I won’t tell a soul.

I’ve no need to crow about my conquests in the ton , so your reputation won’t suffer, and I have no desire for a wife, so there’s no question that I’ll try to blackmail you into marrying me. ”

Daisy’s heart was pounding against her ribs. Those were all extremely compelling arguments, and the tug of his allure was so strong.

She wanted to give in.

And yet something held her back. Pride, perhaps. Or maybe she’d finally developed the sense of caution that had evaded her for so long. Either way, she refused to be such an easy conquest.

“I don’t need a man to find satisfaction. I can find pleasure on my own.”

“With your hand?” He let out a good-natured sigh. “That’s so lonely. And also, never as good. Someone else’s hand is always better.”

She couldn’t help it. Her gaze dropped to his hand.

The heat of the bath had turned the scars on the back of it a deeper pink, but all she could think about was how good it would feel to have his fingers between her legs.

Her body clenched in response, and her gaze slid helplessly sideways, to the unmistakable bulge at the front of the bath linen.

Oh God.

He was aroused, impressively so, and heat swept over her in a fiery wave even as she told herself it wasn’t for her specifically. Any woman ogling his semi-naked form would provoke the same reaction.

She forced a mocking smile to her lips. “Are you offering me your hand, Vaughan? Or asking for mine?”

He took another step, and she forced herself to stay still as he reached out and traced a light, teasing pattern on her knee. The heat of it seared through her breeches and sent tingles up her thigh.

“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”

She ignored the desire pooling in her stomach and caught his hand to still it, and the sudden shock of skin on skin almost stopped her heart. Her thumb slid over the raised, knotted texture of his scars, and for a brief, delirious instant she fought the urge to lift it to her lips and kiss it.

Or to press it between her legs.

And then blissful sanity reasserted itself.

“Tempting, but no.” She pushed his hand away, releasing him, and he turned away with a low laugh, as if he’d fully expected her refusal. Beast.

“Pity. I’m sure we’d both sleep much better if we were relaxed.”

Daisy scrambled up the bed and dove under the covers. “I’m going to sleep perfectly well, thank you. And you’re going to sleep on top of these sheets.”

“Or what? You’ll stab me in the night?”

She slid her hand beneath her pillow and felt the reassuring solidity of her knife. “Don’t tempt me.”

He shook his head with a chuckle and she turned her head away as he pulled on a clean shirt and breeches. She did her best to ignore him as he pottered around the room, but when he sank into one of the armchairs by the fire, she watched him through half-closed lids, her nerves jittery.

This was ridiculous. She was exhausted, but how could she possibly sleep with him in the same room, let alone in the same bed?

“I’m going to sit here until my hair dries,” he said. “Go to sleep, Hamilton. I promise to stay on my side of the bed.”

Daisy yawned. The bed was outrageously comfortable, the weight of the covers pressing her down, and she fought the pull of exhaustion.

Vaughan’s perfect profile was outlined in the fireglow, and her last surprising thought was that technically he was going to be the first man she’d ever slept with. As in, slept beside, all night.

He was never going to let her hear the end of it.