Page 6 of Tall, Dark and December (The Rake Review #12)

CHAPTER SIX

WHERE A LADY SHARES A SECRET

P enelope waited an hour before she went to find him.

She couldn’t get it out of her mind—or her heart—that she’d hurt West without meaning to. His vulnerability stacked atop such a rough exterior presented a profound contradiction.

It drew her like little else in this life had.

He was a success, her task fulfilled. The ballroom was buzzing with positive commentary about the brash, young American. If he’d erred in any way over the course of the evening, it wasn’t enough to halt the crowning of a luminary. His brother’s obvious, and very protective, ducal support added a layer of icing to an already delicious cake. Nonetheless, when West left her with Northridge, a man she loathed, and Neville, a man she’d decided she only desired as a friend, there’d been an abruptness to the departure, a chill snaking between them that wasn’t from the weather.

His probing gaze hadn’t sought hers out again, not once.

Which left her struggling with a wildly inappropriate infatuation for the most confounding man she’d ever met. Though Penelope played the role of an even-tempered woman because society demanded it, in actuality, she was still that impulsive girl.

And when she was around her brilliant pupil, the girl wanted out .

She slipped through the terrace door she’d seen him use minutes before, as certain as he that it would provide an isolated nook in this weather. No matter the chill, the night was dry, a blazing three-quarters moon flooding the chipped flagstones beneath her feet with a golden shimmer.

She made no effort to conceal her footfalls slapping against stone. Or the rush of pleasure when the sight of his long body angled against a column became clear, the wink of moonlight against the champagne flute in his hand a flare in the night.

Luring her against her will and with it.

Exasperation was evident when she moved close enough to see his face, along with the same fascination she knew sat upon hers. Without comment, he held out his glass. When she took it, he shrugged from his coat in one of those masculine shows of graceless elegance that made her toes curl. She turned, presenting her back, unable to suppress her shiver when he dropped the woolen weight upon her shoulders.

It was warm from his skin and smelled like seven slices of heaven. Pressing her nose to the sleeve, she pulled his scent into her soul.

“You’re hiding,” she finally said, breaking a silence that had begun to pulse in her ears.

“So are you,” he returned, his breath streaking across the nape of her neck. Pushing her to the point of lunacy, his finger dipped inside the coat’s collar to gently work a strand of hair free. If he’d lingered a moment more, one bloody second , Penelope would have shoved him against the column, pressed her lips to his and been done with it.

She knew how to start an affair.

How to discreetly end one had been her problem.

Reaching around her, more touching she wanted and didn’t, he snatched the flute from her hand and took a bruising sip. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it . Heat is blasting off you like a goddamn hearth. And from the looks of your admirers, I don’t think they have the skillfulness to create it. I think it’s me .”

Turning to him, Penelope wrapped her hands around his coat lapels and drew them close to her cheeks. She hoped this served to hide her smile, just a little. She hadn’t felt this wicked, or this wonderful, in years.

When Whitaker got a full glance at her, he took another fast drink. “Are you foxed? Is that it?”

She laughed and realized when it came out sounding like a giggle that what she’d thought was one glass of champagne had perhaps been two. This could account for the aura around him, a misty, winter wonder. Standing there in shirtsleeves, an ivory waistcoat, and his wonderfully knotted cravat. Ebony hair unended by his fingers and the wind, his jaw beginning to show the shadow of stubble it grew mere hours after a close shave.

And his eyes, his glorious, green-as-grass eyes fixed and holding on her .

If she was beautiful, as she’d been told but didn’t care to classify, so was he.

He bumped back into the column, and she had the impression he’d run if a slab of marble wasn’t holding him there. “Go inside, Penny, before I lose my wits. I’ve had my own fair share of champagne. It’s the only way to survive it.”

“Survive what?” she whispered.

He swore and yanked his hand through his hair, the silver sleeve fastener Brixworth had selected winking in the moonlight. “This country. My brother. My business. My past, which haunts me more here than it does at home. If I’m brutally honest, you are what I’m currently trying to survive. You .” Polishing off the champagne, he turned and flung the glass into the night where it hit the lawn with a thump. “What is this between us? Is it only me who feels it?”

She shook her head. It’s not only you.

“Northridge?”

“Long forgotten,” she murmured.

“The earl.”

Penelope shrugged beneath the weight of his coat.

“There was someone.” His gaze seized hers, emerald sparking in the pitch night. “You know what it’s like.”

She shook herself free of his hold. “Passion?” She pressed her wrist to her nose and dwelled for seconds in the crisp scent embedded in his cuff. Her body was beginning to hum, arousal she recognized only too well. Long dormant lust, like her impulsive nature, seeking release. “There was someone, but I paid the price, without as much regret as expected. This time could be—”

His stunned oath cut her off. “You’re an earl’s daughter. I’m a lad from the streets. A lad set on returning to his life in a month, maybe two. Do you truly desire an interlude with no future laid before it?”

“Isn’t that the definition of romantic interludes? They end .” A sizzle of temper spirited through her veins. She’d been told for long enough what was best for her. “I’ve done all I can to ensure your success, now there can be this. We’ll be on equal footing, and I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

He grunted, his gaze roving the veranda before shifting back to her. “Yes, you do. You will. I can’t see the need for so many forks, and I’m not going to try. What we’ve created the past two weeks is a facade of our, and my able valet’s, making. I’m not planning to reside in Weston’s fine clothes for long. I won’t reside in them for one second behind closed doors, even for you.”

She didn’t argue. Instead, she went where she knew he didn’t want her to go. “Emelia?”

“Penny, I can scarcely remember what she looks like.” He closed his eyes, possibly trying to bring her image forth. “She makes sense, like your starry-eyed marquess. We understand each other in the way formidable couples do. There are no agreements I’m breaking as we have none. Emelia is simply a possibility.” His lids lifted, his gaze spearing her. “You’re the one inhabiting my dreams, not her.”

Penelope’s temper settled into fear. She’d never been denied in this area, though she’d only asked once before. “Lady P would agree that affairs happen every day.”

“ Blessed hell , there’s no comparison to the way you make me feel. Like I can move mountains.” He held up his hand to stop her when she took a step closer. “Emotion doesn’t make this a wise move. Like it is in chess, a reckless one will gut you. The heart deals a much crueler wound than a blade.”

“I make you feel like you can move mountains?” Tears pricked her vision, and Penelope blinked to keep herself from crying in front of him. She hadn’t shed a single tear over losing Northridge. She’d never been important to someone, never meant enough.

Whitaker scrubbed the back of his neck, unease circling him like London’s damned mist. “You make me feel safe .”

She curled her fingers around the coin in her pocket, her words as uneven as her heartbeat. “Are you going to kiss me? Perhaps our angst is for naught.”

Men are so easy to challenge, she thought as he strode to her.

She tilted her chin, refusing to glance at her slippers as every proper English woman was taught to do. If he only understood, she was as much of an outcast as he.

“Your audacity kicks me in the teeth every time,” he whispered as he reached for her. Framing her cheeks with his hands, his gloves long gone, he tipped her gaze to his. Moonlight danced over his face, highlighting a regrettably solemn expression and the exquisiteness inhabiting her dreams. “I’ve spent the past days watching you, wanting you. You’re an equation, one I desperately want to solve. Desire is battling reason, rare for me, meaning I won’t seek the answers to you in half measure. I understand myself too well to imagine otherwise… but I can’t live without knowing, either. Once .”

Ready a thousand hours ago, her lips parted before his touched hers, a mistake.

What should have been a gentle introduction instead devastated from the start. An instant, explosive, chemical reaction even she, with her days of longing, hadn’t expected. The first taste shot higher than her fantasies, vivid colors of the sort she layered across canvas spilled free in her mind.

Groaning at her swift acquiescence, his tongue drew hers into play as the backs of his fingers trailed down her neck, circling her nape and drawing her closer, hip to hip. His capable response and the luscious trace of champagne on his lips evaporated awareness. The dull echo of an orchestra, laughter, a branch hitting a window above them, ceased to exist until there was only him.

Lifting her arms, she twined them about his neck, scraped her nails along his skin as she plunged her fingers into hair as wondrously unruly as she’d imagined. Suddenly boneless, sagging in his arms, his coat tumbled to the flagstones. Her body pulsed, desire finally realized cascading through her veins. The secreted parts of her, pleasured in the dead of night by her hand, blossomed fully under his.

“I told you,” she whispered on a ragged breath, in mere seconds having proven her case.

“You win,” he murmured as he backed her into a darkened corner where they would not be seen. Flattening her against the wall, he pillaged, molding his broad body to hers. Then, his hands roamed. Her breast in his palm, tenderly cradled, his thumb searching for her hardened nipple. The other curving over her hip, urging her into a frenzied grind. Senses alight, she raced to catch up, to lead, on her tiptoes to reach him, but she lost herself as desire blurred her world and her poise. His shaft was a rigid length against her hip, his muscled thigh wedged between hers, giving her a way to ease the pulsing agony at her core.

There could be no kiss like it again in this life unless shared with him. Desire shouldn’t have the power to consume a soul, yet it did.

When her hairpin hit the flagstones with a pop, as her fingers were curled in his cravat to tug it loose, as his fist was tangled in her skirt to drag it to her knee, their gazes met in stunned acknowledgment of how far they’d gone on a duke’s twilight-misted veranda.

“Stay,” she murmured, cupping his jaw, holding him steady before he could run away. His cheeks were flushed, his shoulders rising and falling with his exhalations. Dropping her brow to his chest, she shivered in his arms, and thankfully, he curled them around her and brought her home.

“Better than dreams,” he said into her hair, his breath streaking over her scalp. “Dammit.”

Smiling, Penny recalled the dab of yellow paint on her palm she’d been unable to remove, now hidden by her glove. She’d concealed herself long enough.

“The note in your pocket.” She grazed her chin across the bone button of his waistcoat and purred like a cat. “From Lady Billingsly. I saw her give it to you.”

West kissed her temple and lingered with a drawn breath. “What?”

Pleasure flooded her. The poor man had forgotten all about it.

Leaning back, she noted his vacant gaze, his swollen lips, the moist sheen to his skin. Lower, his cock ready at her hip. His trembling fingers at her nape. Like her, he was caught in arousal’s grasp. “We’ll trade. Her offer for mine, though I have no quill and paper. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

Without delay, he tunneled his hand in his pocket and handed the folded sheet over.

She opened the note—mouthed “find me at midnight” with a scowl—then ripped it into pieces and let them flutter to the flagstones.

“I wasn’t going to accept. That damned Rake Review has the lot of them thinking I will. I can’t even tell you her name .”

She let his pronouncement sink in, deciding she believed him. Truthfully, he couldn’t help it if he was the most appealing man in the ballroom. “You said I know so much about you, yet you know nothing about me.”

His lids dropped, shielding, guardedness creeping between them.

Well, she wasn’t having it. Not with her body entangled with his and the greatest kiss of her life only moments behind her. Determined, she guided his mouth to hers, and after the slightest hesitation, he let her tug him into another, gentler, but no less potent, engagement.

When he started to pull away, she decided it was time to quit hiding. “What if I were to share my biggest secret?”