Cold-Hearted Rake

She was beyond hearing, working on him in repeated lunges. He felt her reach the peak, the supple quivers and throbs closing all around him. In an agony of self-discipline he held still, every muscle contracted and rock-hard. Forcing himself to wait, he let her take her pleasure, even though his heart threatened to explode from the effort. He managed to give her ten seconds… the most excruciating ten seconds of his life. That was all he could last before his release began. Grunting with effort, he tried to haul her off him.

What he hadn’t bargained on, however, was the strength of her thighs, the muscles of an experienced horsewoman gripping him with a tenacity that even a thousand-pound Arabian couldn’t have unseated. As he tried to buck her off, he felt her instinctively using the movements against him, her legs locking tighter with each backlash. She was too much for him. A scalding climax overcame him, pouring through him in a pleasure as absolute as death. He bucked a few more times while she rode him through it, her body wringing out every drop of sensation without mercy.

Devon groaned and collapsed back to the floor.

As the dizzying ecstasy faded, he was chilled by the realization that he had come inside her. He’d never done that with any woman before. In fact he’d always used rubber sheaths to make certain of it. But he’d arrogantly assumed that he would have no problem withdrawing from Kathleen – and the truth was, he’d wanted to be inside her with no barriers between them.

The price he might have to pay for that was unthinkable.

Kathleen lay over him, her slender body rising and falling on his wracking breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, sounding shocked. “I couldn’t stop. I just… couldn’t.”

Devon was silent, trying to think through the panic.

“What should we do now?” she asked, her voice muffled.

Although he knew of ways to prevent pregnancy, the details and particulars of what to do after the sexual act were a woman’s province.

“I’ve heard of using champagne,” he managed to say. But he had only the vaguest idea about how a contraceptive douche was administered, and there was no way in hell that he would risk harming Kathleen by making a mistake.

“Drinking champagne will help?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled grimly above her head. “Not to drink, my innocent. But it doesn’t matter – it would have to be done soon, and there isn’t time.”

Her weight on his ribs was making him ache. He eased her off his body and stood, restoring his clothes with vicious efficiency. Reaching down, he took her outstretched hand and helped her up.

As Kathleen stood and saw his expression, all the color leached from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said once more, her voice unsteady. “Please believe that no matter what happens, I won’t hold you responsible.”

His fear transformed instantly into anger, the words setting off his temper like a keg of gunpowder. “Do you think that makes a damned bit of difference?” he asked savagely. “I’m already responsible for a thousand things I never asked for.”

She replied with as much dignity as a woman could while trying to pull her undergarments back into place. “I don’t want to be included on that list.”

“For once, it doesn’t matter what you want. If there is a baby, neither of us can will it out of existence. And it’s half mine.” He couldn’t keep his appalled gaze from sliding low on her body, as if his seed were already taking root inside her. She took a step backward, the small movement infuriating him.

“When will your monthly flow begin?” he asked, struggling to moderate his tone.

“Two, perhaps three weeks. I’ll send a telegram to you in London when it happens.”

“If it happens,” he said bitterly. “And you won’t need to send a bloody telegram – you’re still coming with me. Don’t bother asking why – I’m weary of having to explain every decision I make to every person on this godforsaken estate.”

He left her before he could say anything else, striding away as if the devil were at his heels.

Chapter 28

The railway journey to London was accomplished in a miraculous two hours, at least four times faster than it would have been had they gone by coach. That turned out to be fortunate, as it soon became apparent that the Ravenel family did not travel well.

Pandora and Cassandra were both overcome with excitement, never having set foot on a train before. They chattered and exclaimed, darting across the station platform like feeding pigeons, begging West to purchase railway editions of popular novels – only a shilling apiece – and sandwiches packaged in cunning little paper boxes, and handkerchiefs printed with pastoral scenes. Loaded with souvenirs, they boarded the family’s first-class railway carriage and insisted on trying every seat before choosing the ones they preferred.

Helen had insisted on bringing one of her potted orchids, its long, fragile stem having been stabilized with a stick and a bit of ribbon. The orchid was a rare and sensitive species of Blue Vanda. Despite its dislike of being moved, she believed it would be better off in London with her. She carried the orchid in her lap the entire way, her absorbed gaze focused on the passing landscape.

Soon after the train had left the station, Cassandra made herself queasy by trying to read one of the railway novels. She closed the book and settled in her seat with her eyes closed, moaning occasionally as the train swayed. Pandora, by contrast, couldn’t stay seated for more than a few minutes at a time, jumping up to test the feeling of standing in a moving locomotive, and attempting to view the scenery from different windows. But the worst traveler by far was Clara, the lady’s maid, whose fear of the train’s speed proved resistant to all attempts at soothing. Every small jolt or lurch of the carriage drew a fearful cry from her until Devon had given her a small glass of brandy to settle her nerves.