Page 25 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

If the world makes you hard, you will see, feel, and be hard. How then will you ever knowsoftness?

“W hat happened?” Bluebell asked two nights later. He was stretched out on her bed, idly stroking her body. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to bring the outside world into his experience of her silky skin, the spiced scent of her arousal, or the languid way she coiled against him.

He would take her a second time tonight, he realized, and he didn’t feel guilty about that. He was too pleased with her and the knowledge that Clarissa and Dicky were out of his life for good.

“Bram,” she said as she tugged on his ear. “Tell me.”

“I had them tell their tale,” he said. “Sturman isn’t a bad man, and Dicky knows how to spin a tale of remorse.”

“Did they look pitiful?”

“It rained on the way there, so the damned papier–maché pig was a sodden, sticky mess.”

“Were the pound notes inside?”

“All three of them. Sturman let them keep it because he didn’t want to touch ’em.”

“The notes or Lord Linsel and his wife?”

“Either.”

She chuckled, and he paused to watch the way her breasts bobbed with the movement. “But what happened?”

“Sturman agreed to forgive them the swindle.”

“Really?”

“If Jeremy lived. If they paid him back.”

“But how are they to do that?”

Bram shrugged. “Dupe some other poor sot. I have no idea.”

“But Jeremy?”

Bram turned, pressing a kiss to her delectable shoulder. And then he scraped his teeth along it. He settled himself between her thighs because he couldn’t stop himself.

“Bram!” she huffed. “What about Jeremy?”

He looked at her and grinned. “Getting better every day. His fever broke this morning. Clarissa and Dicky are tending him hand and foot because they know if he sickens, then they’re back to the menagerie.”

“And necklace-eating goat!”

“Unless it was the chimp.”

She giggled. “Of course…oh!”

He thrust into her, and she welcomed him as she always did. Then he began a slow, easy build, relishing every second inside her. Beside her. With her.

So long as he was with her, everything was wonderful.

“Oh Bram,” she murmured. “I love you.”

I love you too, he thought. With every fiber of my body and soul. You are my heart, my life, my everything.

But he never said a word.

And a half hour later, he crept out her window.

*

“I received an offer of marriage today. Two, actually.”

Maybelle was still dressed when he came to her room. She’d just returned from a ball and dismissed her maid two minutes before. He slipped in through the window, silent as usual, and she blew him a kiss in greeting.

He smiled back, then settled onto her pillows, his pose so relaxed that he looked decadent. When she spoke, she kept her voice low as she washed off the kohl that rimmed her eyes.

“Eleanor is relieved. She feared I wouldn’t get any decent offers.”

“You’ve had offers before?”

She nodded. “No one suitable, according to…well, everyone.” She listed off the first three gentlemen who had vied for her hand.

He nodded. “Blighters, every one.”

“I didn’t even hear about them until days later. Grandfather refused them without consulting me.” She was miffed about that, but as they were spendthrifts in search of a fortune, she didn’t complain.

“And today’s offers?”

“Those are more interesting, according to Eleanor.” She shook out her hair and began brushing it. “Joseph Mincey. Second son, barrister, respectable income.”

“Mmph,” he said in dismissal as he uncoiled from his place on the bed. “He’ll never make more money than what he has now. No political savvy and indifferent ability with the law. You can do better.”

“That’s what Eleanor said.”

He came toward her and took the brush from her hand, using it with steady strokes. But once in the light, she saw a dark bruise under his eye.

She spun around, jerking her hair painfully. “What happened?” She reached up to his face though he shied away from her touch.

“I’ve been helping out Bow Street lately. Brilliant man there named Samuel Morrison. Cleverest man I’ve ever met, but he’s not nearly as good with his fives as he needs.”

She frowned, not understanding. He made a fist. “His fives. He specializes in catching murderers, but he needs a partner to help him.”

“That’s you?”

He nodded. “Pays well, and it’s work I’m suited for.”

Except when he took a punch to the face. He saw her looking and lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Lucky throw. Murdering thief had a partner with a jug.”

“You got hit with a jug! You could have lost an eye. Good God—”

He leaned down and silenced her horror with a kiss. And after he’d thoroughly distracted her, he drew away. “Now tell me about your other proposal.”

“What?”

He smirked. He always smirked when she was lust-dazed. “The other marriage proposal.”

She grimaced. “Oh, that. Viscount Wickersham.”

“He’s old enough to be your father.”

“He is exactly the same age as my father. Or would be, if my father had survived. But he’s wealthy enough, and he’s a solid candidate according to Eleanor.”

“But he’s old.”

“I know,” she said. Then she mimicked Eleanor’s tone. “He’s at an unfortunate age. Too old to be handsome, especially with the way he eats.”

“He does have a paunch.”

That was putting it mildly. Then she continued in Eleanor’s voice. “But not so old as to make you a wealthy widow while you’re still in your looks.”

He grunted. “Trust Eleanor to see profit in a man’s death.”

“She says it’s an important consideration.”

“Of course it is,” he said, his tone impassive as he gently turned her around to continue brushing her hair.

She let him, watching his face in the mirror. Damn the man for hiding from her. What she wouldn’t give to know his feelings.

“Bram—”

“Anyone else?”

“What?”

“Any other offers?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t despair. It’s the early days yet.”

The Season was half gone. “Grandfather will not pay for another Season. He wants me married by Michaelmas.”

His stroke with the brush hitched for a moment, but then resumed. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Who do you fancy?”

“An impossible man who brushes my hair and quizzes me on other men.”

His lips quirked in a wry twist that held no humor. “Sounds horrible. Best forget him. He sounds like a bastard.”

“He is. But I fancy him nonetheless.”

“Bad choice,” he said. “Your grandfather would never allow it.”

“I am of age.”

“You will be tossed from the ton before you’ve even begun.”

She sighed. “I have been here for more than a month. I have danced and gone to the opera. I have had ices at Gunter’s and shopped at the most exclusive modiste in all of London.”

“Society is so much more than shopping and dancing.”

“Is it?” She hadn’t noticed. It was all prancing about and gossip as far as she could tell. Not so different from Hull, actually, except that everyone was better dressed. Her best moments in London—outside of the bedroom with him—had been when she’d gone to the apothecary shop.

“Do you miss Hull?” he asked.

“I do,” she admitted. “It was…quieter there.” But also lonely. And it would be even more so now without him in it.

“Not boring?”

“Definitely boring, and small-minded, and petty.”

“Sounds like the ton .”

She agreed. “There are ladies aligned against me here, just like at home.”

“They are jealous of your beauty.”

“Of my dowry, you mean.”

He shrugged. “Either way.”

“And the men try to take liberties too. Just like at home.”

His expression darkened. “Where is Eleanor when this happens?”

“Fending off her own improper advances. It doesn’t matter. Unlike your Samuel, I am good with my fives.” She held up her fist and smiled.

“Did you punch him?”

“Two of them. The others…” She flashed him a grin. “Why does no man expect a woman to knee him in the privates? It’s an obvious target.”

His low chuckle was warm. “We get distracted by your beauty.”

“You mean my décolletage.”

He set aside the brush, using the motion to caress her bosom, leaving fire in its wake.

“Definitely that.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the way he touched her. Gentle caress. Unexpected pinch. And all of it whispering possession. She was his, he said with his touch. No other man could kiss her, touch her, or take her as well as he.

Her body agreed.

“Help me undress?” she whispered.

“I have something else in mind,” he answered. “I have wanted to do it from the first time I saw you in the blue and gold gown.”

He helped her stand and set her hands on her dressing table. The candlelight fell on her face and chest. He loosened her gown just enough for him to slip his hand underneath the neckline and pull her breasts out, and then he began to fondle the nipples.

“Bram,” she breathed, her knees going weak.

“Don’t move,” he whispered into her ear. “Keep your hands planted right there.”

She heard him undress behind her. She thought it was just his trousers, but when he stepped up behind her, he was fully naked. Then he slowly lifted her skirts from behind.

Up, up, up went the fabric of her gown. It teased the backs of her legs, and then he flipped it onto her back.

Then he was there between her legs. His fingers and his cock. She was ready by then. Wet and hungry, but he still took his time.

He did as he wanted. First playing with her breasts, then stroking between her legs. Then he helped her tilt her arse back before he slowly, inevitably, imbedded his cock inside her. But didn’t thrust. He held her pinioned while he returned to playing with her nipples.

Good God, what he did to her! She couldn’t move as he tugged and twisted her breasts. Lightning shot through her blood. He was so big inside her and around her. And she was exploding with sensation.

She was sobbing his name by the time he began to thrust, his hands dropping to her hips, holding her in place.

She bent forward, her back arched. Their reflection in the mirror shocked her. Her breasts were brazenly exposed, the nipples distended from his play. But it was his face that held her transfixed. Fierce. His eyes were languid, but his jaw was thrust up and his neck tightened in rippling cords. His teeth were exposed as he took her. And when his thumb slipped between her folds, he grinned, knowing exactly what he did to her.

She came in an explosive riot of movement, but he held her pinned. And while her body gripped him, he thrust hard and fast, his teeth bared. Again and again.

She loved the sight.

And then it hit him. She saw the moment come. And then, to her shock, he bit her.

It was so startling the way he clamped down on her shoulder, marking her there while he exploded below. Shocking because she liked the flash of pain, the sharp sensation extending her orgasm. She also loved seeing the way he lost himself to her. He was completely subjected to the demands of his body—of her body capturing his. It was the only time she felt like she owned him as completely as he possessed her.

But then the moment was over. He collapsed against her back. And now, as his breath steadied, he straightened up only to curse.

“Bram?”

“Your shoulder,” he rasped, indicating the dark red mark. “Bloody hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Tears burned in her eyes and clogged her throat. He wanted to erase his mark on her, and she hated that. He flipped down her skirt, and she straightened to her full height, then forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

“It’s right there. Everyone will see,” he said. “God, why did I do that?”

Because he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he was so damned stubborn. Why the hell wouldn’t he give himself to her? She didn’t care that he was a bastard. He was the only one she wanted.

“I—” he began, obviously flustered. “Can you cover it with make up? Before your maid sees?”

“No need.” She reached for the iron used to curl hair and set it in the coals. The weather had turned cool enough that the maid had lit a fire, so soon the metal was the right temperature.

“What are you doing?”

She took it out, then tilted her hair away from the bite. She hated doing this. It had nothing to do with the coming pain. She hated erasing his mark, but she could see he needed her to do it. He needed to hide from what they were together.

She set the hot iron against her skin. He cried out, but no more than she. The skin sizzled, and now she could finally let her tears fall.

First burn done. She adjusted the damned thing to cover the entire bite and pressed down.

“Stop it!” He jerked the iron away, his fingers on the hot metal since she held the handle. It burned him too, and he tossed it aside with a curse.

She exhaled, the pain lessening, but only slightly. She’d had burns before and knew it would take a good long time to heal. She shifted, turning her shoulder to the mirror. The skin was red and puffy, the burn clearly in the shape of the hair iron.

“Did I get it all?” she asked.

He swallowed. He was looking into her eyes in the mirror, but eventually, his gaze dropped to her shoulder.

“Yes,” he finally rasped. “It looks like an iron burn.”

“There. I’ll just say I couldn’t sleep and was experimenting with the iron. It was late, I was clumsy, and it slipped.”

He nodded, but his eyes were excruciatingly sad. “And now I’ve made you into a liar.”

“What?” Her gaze jerked to his, but he’d already turned away. “No! Bram—”

Too late. He resettled his clothing, then headed for the window.

He paused there, his expression completely locked down. But in his eyes—right above the swollen bruise on his cheek—she saw the swirl of some dark and intense emotion. She had no label for it. She knew that he was thinking something that meant a great deal to him.

But he didn’t speak. A moment later, he swung himself out and was gone. And this time, he didn’t even kiss her before he left.

She stared at the open window for the longest time. Then she looked in the mirror, her gaze finding the burn mark that still smelled acrid. Odd how the pain of that mark was nothing compared to the emptiness in her heart.

She’d offered him her love. Over and over again, she’d told him what she felt. But he never said the words back. She’d told herself she didn’t care. She knew he loved her. She felt it in every look, every touch, every breath.

But words mattered. She hadn’t thought they did, but she saw now how important they were. Because every time he held the words back, she knew he was protecting himself. He was never going to marry her, so by holding back the words, it wouldn’t hurt so much when she gave herself to another man.

She understood his choice. And now, finally, she understood her own. She couldn’t give her body to a man who would not give his heart back to her. She couldn’t nightly love a man who held back his feelings.

Which meant she had to end these visits. She had to stop hoping for more from Bram.

He would never give her what she wanted. And holding out hope kept her from fully searching for a husband. She had to cut him from her body and her heart because she had to find a husband by the Season’s end. Her grandfather had said so. He was not going to fund another season.

So if she couldn’t marry Bram, it had to be someone else. She would not go back to Hull and her small life there. She was so resolved she said it aloud to her reflection.

“I will marry someone this month.”

And yet it took three more weeks before she had the strength to truly break with Bram. She wanted to give him one last chance to choose her. And even then, she took the coward’s way out. She used the excuse of a house party at one of her suitor’s homes. She waited until after they’d shared their passion.

He knew something was wrong. He knew because she clung to him, and she rode him like a woman possessed. And when he kissed her tenderly, she said the words as if they meant nothing to her. As if it were something she remembered at the last moment.

“I shall be leaving in the morning for the home of the Marquis de Mowles’s country estate.”

“Mowles? Is he that French refugee?”

“He’s eminently respectable. Or at least as respectable as I am, given that Eleanor’s lies have come back on us. Everyone knows I’m from Hull and not a mysterious Russian princess.”

In truth, she’d been the one to tell people. She’d gotten sick of all the lies and had confessed to a notorious gossip. She was from Hull and had never even seen the ocean, much less crossed it.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Never.” She took a deep breath. “I intend to marry him.”

“But—”

“He’s notoriously afraid for his safety. Keeps a guard near the doors at night. Another patrols the grounds.”

Translation: Bram won’t be able to come to her at night . They could never be together again unless he changed his mind now. Unless he wanted her as much as she desperately wanted him.

Unless…

“He’s a good choice,” Bram said softly. Then he grabbed the windowsill and swung himself out of her room—and her life—forever.