The moment he had pulled her into his embrace, bringing their bodies together, hers flush against his, his heat and strength burning into her, the wanton part of her had taken the reins. The rational, calm Persephone had disappeared, no match for the fiery sensations Rafe inspired in her.
Still, she did not know what the repercussions would be for him. It was her understanding that the Sutton siblings owned The Sinner’s Palace together. However, it was possible Mr. Sutton, as the eldest of his family, owned more than the others. It was possible Rafe could be dismissed as well, or that Mr. Sutton would take other action against him.
She had to try one more time to dissuade him from his course. To dissuade them both.
“Staying here is foolish,” she said on a gasp as he sucked on the tender flesh of her throat. She was breathless. Nearly mindless. She was his, whatever he wished of her. “I could be dismissed, and you…” Her words trailed away as he kissed back up her neck, not stopping until he reached her mouth.
He kissed the right corner, denying her what she craved, the full press of his lips on hers. “And you?”
He was prompting her to complete her thought. But the impediment to doing so was that she no longer was capable of thoughts. Not rational, reasonable ones, anyway.
“Oh, Rafe,” she managed, cupping his face in her hands. The slight prick of golden whiskers on his jaw was a new delight. At last, she felt its texture on her palms and the sensitive undersides of her fingers. She had been longing to feel the rasp of his whiskers from the moment she had first seen them. “Kiss me.”
He kissed the opposite corner of her mouth, obeying her command but not in the way she wanted. “I’m not like the other one, you know. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.”
Of course she knew he was nothing like Viscount Gregson. The two men could not be more dissimilar.
“I know you are not,” she reassured him, allowing her touch to trail over his cheekbones, the high, carved slashes she had only admired but never touched. “I want to be here with you, though I know it is most unwise.”
His head lifted, his hazel stare meeting hers.
“You’re safe with me, Persephone,” he said solemnly. “Safe with me and safe from others. No one will come to my room, and I’ll make certain no one sees you return to yours when you decide to go.”
He sounded so confident, as if he conducted trysts every day. But then, with his sinful good looks and his confident, sensual air, perhaps he did.
She did not want to think of that now. Nor did she want to think of the others who would inevitably follow her. For this stolen moment, he was hers, and she was his. The scars of the past and the uncertainties of the future could not find them here.
“I do feel safe with you,” she reassured him, touched by his need to be sure she felt no danger.
“You didn’t always,” he reminded her wryly, still searching her eyes, as if they possessed all the answers he sought. “You drugged me.”
Guilt lanced her. “It was not you. It was never you. It was merely my own desperation and fears.”
He nodded, his jaw tensing beneath her fingers. “If you want to stop, tell me. If you don’t want this, say it now. You’re in control.”
She nodded, grateful that he understood so well what she needed. Perhaps better, even, than she knew herself. She was in control, he had said. Which meant she did not need to wait for him to kiss her.
They were almost the same height. All she needed to do was roll to the balls of her feet and press her mouth to his. He responded immediately, his lips moving against hers, hungry and demanding and hot.
So hot.
She came to life, opening for his questing tongue. He tasted of spirits and sin and something indefinably heady. Him. Rafe. He may have told her she was in control, but she had lost all ability to rein in her body. Her arms wound around his neck, and she aligned herself shamelessly to him, seeking, searching.
This was what had been missing from her life. This man, this feeling.
The kiss went on, and she gave herself to it fully, just as she intended to give herself to him.
Give herself to him?
Yes! Why had the thought not occurred to her earlier?
The realization struck her like a knell of sudden clarity. A lady was told all her life that her worth was in her virtue. That she must guard and preserve it at all costs. What if she had none?
If Cousin Bartholomew were to find her tomorrow, no longer the virginal miss he had been determined to claim for his own, would he stomach the prospect of forcing her into marriage? The answer was elusive, but she felt quite certain it would, at the very least, prove an appalling discovery to him. And if he were indeed to discover her before she reached five-and-twenty, at least she would have this memory to cling to.
Persephone was justifying her shamelessness, but there was no longer a need for that when Rafe’s knowing fingers found the ties of her gown and undid them. Her bodice sagged. Fabric pooled down her arms. And still he kissed her, devouring her with lips, tongue, and teeth.
Her gown fell to the floor, leaving her feeling curiously light. She wore only her shift, stays, petticoats, and stockings. His fingers slipped into her simple coiffure, pulling all the pins and dismantling her morning efforts. His lips moved over hers, coaxing the response he wanted, the low growl in his throat gratifying. To think, this handsome, seductive man wanted her. Persephone Wren, a drab governess who had done everything she could to blend in with her surroundings.