The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

“I’ve been offering you sanctuary for some time now, Jemima, dearest,” he purred, getting up to kneel beside her, resting his cheek against hers. She felt her resolve weaken slightly and stiffened in response. No, she couldn’t afford weakness. She drew herself upright, putting distance between them, just as he snaked both arms about her shoulders, drawing her head down upon his shoulder.

“You tremble.” He sounded shocked for the first time. “You’re afraid?”

He was in earnest now, his expression concerned, his fingertips tracing her cheekbones, drawing her hair back from her face as he brought his mouth gently to hers.

“We will take it as slow as you want to, dear heart.”

Jemima felt her body go limp as she sank into his embrace, his one hand lightly supporting her beneath the chin so he could kiss her, the other hand gently working the buttons at the back of her dress.

She should protest, and it wasn’t only because over his shoulder she could see the Grecian urn which would be her ultimate salvation that she didn’t. Overtaking her was the sense of finally coming home. So great was this feeling of utter peace and sanctuary that she allowed him complete license, and so was entirely complicit in his seduction of her. That’s what he’d intended would be their fate for all these months. She just hadn’t believed it.

Just once. Let this be a parting memory before she began her perilous journey. She’d never let it happen again. No man would marry her and she would be no man’s mistress. Tonight—now—would be her one taste of mutual desire. She had to protect her heart and her future, and Lord Ruthcot could have no part of that if she were to have what she wanted above all else—her freedom.

For now, she would be his, and she would lose herself in a moment that would always be hers to treasure.

She shifted so he could pull her gown over her head. It slithered into a sensuous puddle of silk upon the bed like a whisper of the delights to come; the tiny glass beads glittering in the candlelight like stars of hope.

Slowly he unlaced the short stays she wore over her chemise, then Jemima raised her arms once more, without being asked, and he drew off the final layer. She nestled into his lap and put her arms about his neck, pressing her torso against him, but he put her away from him.

“You are exquisite.” His voice was hoarse. “Magnificent.”

And yours for less than an hour. She wouldn’t say it, but the thought filled her with sudden aching poignancy, galvanizing her into proceeding slightly faster than he might have expected. Yes, she would have her one taste of desire fulfilled.

“And I am curious to know what you are, Lord Ruthcot,” she whispered, arching against him as his palms smoothed her hips in a fluid motion. Her third lover in less than a year. Her last.

Tomorrow, she would be the respectable governess en route to take up her duties. Her behavior would be exemplary; she would not meet anyone’s eye and leave herself vulnerable to exploitation ever again. She would find a fortune, and she would be…free.

“Ahhh.” It floated almost unwillingly off her tongue for she didn’t want to find herself too much in thrall. Desire sated for both of them, executed quickly and efficiently, and then she could carry out the rest of her plan once Lord Ruthcot was asleep. That’s what she needed. If she could only disassociate her mind from her body as she’d learned to do when Roderick and, then, Deveril made love to her, she’d be free from danger.

“You liked that?” His eyes gleamed as he looked up from suckling her nipple while he continued to contour her flanks with languid, fluid movements. “Perhaps you’ll like this even better.” Now he inched his exploring fingertips to the inside of her thighs.

She sucked in a quick breath. Could she really be doing this? The thought flashed through her mind like the sting of a whip. Was she so depraved that she’d become this man’s lover for just one hour, while not so far away her other lover anticipated the delights of her body? She, who little more than a year ago never imagined she’d leave her father’s scholarly world to be a wife, much less a mistress. Ruined. A fallen woman.

She tried to banish such thoughts. Live for the moment. There weren’t too many moments lately she’d wanted to relish like this.

Lord Ruthcot obviously knew how to please a woman. Gently he lay her back upon the mattress and began to massage the swollen nub between her thighs as he rose over her, smiling. As if she were the most exquisite creature in the world.

It’s how she was feeling, too.

She was already highly aroused, just at the prospect of being with him.

The realization was shaming, but she was, after all, what she was.

It helped her to cast aside the final vestiges of restraint. What did it matter what he thought of her? He’d not see her again after this.

His hard, muscled chest loomed deliciously above her. She raised her face and suckled one nipple, grasping his swollen member in her hand as she squirmed with pleasure.

He seemed surprised, then delighted, kissing her more fiercely; tracing her jawline with his lips, raining kisses down her throat, her collarbone, her breasts while he kneaded her buttocks and thighs with one hand.

The ache between her legs intensified as he focused his full attention upon arousing all her passions.

“God, I want you,” he growled between kisses, “but if you want to call a halt, now is the time for I’ll soon not answer for my actions.”

She shook her head, smiling up at him as she wriggled a little with the need for release. Soon he would enter her and brand her his. It was what she wanted: this one act of passion she would treasure in her memory, forever. A memory that would sustain her through the lonely years ahead.

Jemima rose onto her elbow and stared at the sleeping man beside her. His smiling face was suffused in a soft glow, and his long, lean body was unashamedly revealed.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, her breath catching when he stirred. She pulled on her chemise, fastened her stays, and put on her petticoat and dress, but the top buttons were too difficult. Perhaps it was her sigh of frustration that wakened him for he opened his eyes, surprised.