“My thanks,” she finally said.
The man nodded in the shadows. “He will come around, Miss Gates. Of that I am certain. Sometimes rakes need a little push before they can fully accept the love so freely offered.”
“What did you say your name was, my lord?” she asked.
He laughed a rich bellowing laugh. “Now I know why you are the best of friends.”
“What?” What the devil was he talking about?
“Good evening, Miss Gates. Be sure to return the way you came so not raise suspicion.”
“Right then.” She pivoted on her heel and quickly went back into the ballroom. Rawlings was standing on the other side of the room by Sebastian.
Her infuriating brother-in-law motioned for her to join them. She shuffled toward them, not able to meet their eyes.
“Abigail, good of you to join us.” Sebastian patted her hand. “Emma and I must stay a while longer, but I have asked Rawlings to escort you home. You’ve had enough excitement for one night, wouldn’t you agree?”
Did she have to agree or could she make a run for it?
“Yes, of course, your grace,” she mumbled.
Rawlings appeared as pleased as she felt. And she couldn’t trust herself not to scold him any further for saying the things he had. As they made their way to the door, she couldn’t help but look for the stranger who had helped her earlier. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she had no idea why. And his talk of her best friend was a trifle alarming. How was it that he knew everyone she knew?
“Looking for Whitmore?” Rawlings asked.
She tripped him.
He cursed.
She smirked and drifted to the waiting carriage.
“Must you behave so immaturely?” He tightened his grip on her arm.
Abigail sighed. “Must you be such an idiot?”
Rawlings grumbled something under his breath and helped her into the carriage. Dead silence ensued as they sat rigidly straight, staring at nothing save the darkness in front of them.
Finally, because she was actually feeling quite immature, she threw her reticule at his head and was surprised to see him react in time to miss the blow altogether.
“What in the blazes was that for?”
Abigail shrugged. “It slipped.”
“A likely story! What do you keep in that monstrosity? Rocks? Blades to cut out the souls of each man whom you have eating out of the palm of your hand? Devil take it, Abigail, I am so sick and tired of you—”
“Stop talking. I bore so of your complaining, Rawlings.” Launching herself from the other side of the carriage to where he sat, she pinned him against the seat and kissed the anger out of him, the hurt out of her, and the pain from them both.
He appeared to welcome her assault, cursing as he took a breath and pulled at her hair, sending pins flying to the floor. “Do you enjoy torturing me?”
Panting, she answered. “Do you enjoy torturing yourself?”
“Apparently.” He growled, reaching for her body again, jerked it hard against his, stealing the air out of her lungs. “I want you. Devil knows I’ve tried to stay away from you.”
“Don’t.”
“We cannot marry, Abby.” Rawlings tore off her cloak, sending a pool of fabric to the floor. “You deserve to choose.” His words said one thing, but his body said another entirely as he pushed her down on the seat and covered her with his warmth.
“What if you are whom I chose?”
He stopped cold. She grasped his hand, realizing it was shaking. She held it to her lips and kissed it. “Rawlings, what if you are my desire? What if I’m not a debutante out to ruin myself? What if I desire you as my own? As a woman in love with a man. Would you have me believe you are beyond saving?”
His eyes closed and his forehead rested against hers. “You tell me.”
“I thought I had.”
“No. I believe what you did was yell, quite loudly, obscenities about me and my character into the night air.”
She laughed. “That too.” He was still on top of her, as if having a conversation in the middle of kissing was a normal occurrence for him.
“I can’t seem to keep myself from pushing you away,” he admitted, looking to the left of her. “However, my mind, my heart, and my body are not in complete agreement.”
Abigail tugged a piece of his dark silky hair. “And what, pray tell, is your body saying?”
“To consume you.”
“And your mind?”
“To ravish you beyond repair.” He licked her earlobe.
“And your heart?” she whispered.
He paused. “To love you, with every breath I take.”
Heart soaring, Abigail pulled at him until his large body fully covered hers. “Then show me.”
He smiled, genuinely smiled. It was so blinding, so attractive that she couldn’t help that her eyes widened in astonishment. Welcome back to the land of the living, Lord Rawlings.
“With pleasure.” He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and she waited for the moment she had been wanting. He would take her; she was sure of it.
But instead, she found herself firmly planted on the other side of the carriage. “I…I don’t understand.”
“Take your virginity in a moving carriage? What type of man do you take me for?”
Was that a trick question? Did he not know his own identity? This was the man whose bad deeds and womanizing ways were legendary throughout London. Not that she wanted to think of other women at this time, but the thought plagued her. Why, when a woman actually loved him, did he decide to deny his carnal nature?
“I doubt Sebastian would be pleased to know that I took his infuriating, irritating, calculating brazen—”
Fire must have flickered in her eyes, for she was ready to lunge for him, but he laughed and continued, “—bold, beautiful, joyful, passionate sister-in-law before the banns were read.”
The man had a point, although she was ready to burn up with unquenched passion. Once it faded she would regret allowing such things to transpire so soon. She gave him a desperate look, not purposefully, but needing to communicate the swell of emotions.
“Abigail, if you look at me that way again, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. There is only so much a man can take, and I think we can agree that I’m a flawed one at that. I’ll have you on your back with your skirts lifted before you can utter anything but Please Phillip, and Again, Phillip. So, my suggestion is this, scurry on up to your bedroom, lock your door, and do not…I repeat, do not open it. Unless it is Sebastian or your maid on the other side. Do you understand?”
“What if it’s Emma?” she teased.
“Abigail, can I really not scare you away?”
“You don’t scare me, Rawlings,” she snorted.
“Right then, shall I torture you as you’ve tortured me? Hmm…yes, I think so.” Rawlings plopped down beside her, taking her hand in his.
“I would lick every inch of your skin, but very slowly as to burn the memory of your scent into my mind.” He moved to pull off her glove. Throwing it on the ground, he raised her hand to his lips. “Mmm, yes, you taste good even here.” And with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he smiled and extracted one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked.
Uncontrollable shivers ran up and down her body as he continued his assault on every one of her fingers until she thought she would go mad.
When he placed her hand on his lap, she prayed he was finished, but seeing his eyes darken, she realized her prayers were in vain. For she was in a carriage alone with the most reckless rake of them all. Stop was not a word he understood. Torture, however, was.
Offering her a satisfied smile, he said, “But you haven’t a care for the way you taste. Would you like to taste me?”
Was she nodding her head? Apparently, because his next move was to reach out and touch her lips. Tilting his head, he hovered near her mouth, licking and kissing along her chin until his tongue plunged into her mouth.
His tongue, his lips—everything tasted of wine, masculine soap, sweat. She grasped at his evening coat, and she pulled at him, eager for more.
Instead the carriage rumbled to a stop outside the Tempest townhome.
“I’ll see you inside,” Rawlings said but made no move to exit the carriage. He looked down at her hands. He was grasping them as if they were his entire reason for existence. “Are you sure, Abby? The things I’ve done…”
“I’m aware of your sordid accomplishments, but I’m also aware of the man behind the reputation. I want you. Do you remember the waterfall?”
Rawlings twirled a piece of her hair with his finger. “Yes, you nearly drowned and I swore that day to teach you how to swim if it killed me.”
“Which it almost did.”
“Agreed.” Rawlings looked away. “Why do you bring that story up, Abby?”
She drew a shaky breath. “Because it was the same day I saw a glimpse of the man you could become. Do you not remember what else happened that day?”
He shook his head.
“Yes, I nearly drowned, but when you helped me back to the house you took the entire blame. You said I was under your care, and you had let me down. You carried all the blame upon your shoulders as well as the punishment, even though I followed you and I fell in. Rawlings, you might be a rake, and I, as well as the entirety of London, know you haven’t made the best choices. But when it counts, you would shoulder the world if it would lighten the load for even your worst enemy.” Abigail laughed. “You’ve always been my hero. Maybe one day, when you look at yourself, you’ll truly see the man you can be, rather than the man you’ve been.”
“God bless you for seeing something even I don’t.” He chuckled darkly and hopped out of the carriage, his grip on her hand firm. “Thank you, Abby, for your words. I must admit that compliments are unfamiliar to me. Scolding on the other hand…”
“If you remember correctly, I’ve given both.” Abigail winked.
“Yes, you have.” Phillip led her to the stairs of the townhome.
The evening breeze played with her shawl as she fingered the delicate fabric across her shoulders.
“I’ll make arrangements with your father tomorrow.” Rawlings brought her fingers to his lips and smiled. “Tomorrow, Abby?”
“Tomorrow.” Abigail couldn’t trust her own voice as it shook with excitement. Tomorrow she would officially be betrothed to Rawlings. It could not come soon enough.
Chapter Sixteen
It appears the ton has a late visitor. A certain bronzed man was seen walking around the latest ball. It’s been said he’s a long lost prince in search of his princess. It’s about time this season had a few heroes showing up, what with all of our attention being put onto the villains, aka Lord Rawlings, though this author believes it is possible that the man is cleaning up his act.
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers
He knew it was ridiculous and unfounded, but Rawlings could not help the nervousness he felt as he knocked on the Gates’ townhome. It was stupid really. He thought he had nerves of steel, and instead he was standing outside the house feeling much like a young man asking a father’s permission to court his daughter for the first time.