Chapter Twenty-Two
The low voice from the bed startled Charlotte so much she almost dropped her pot of salve. Recovering quickly, she set it down and lowered her nightgown.
“Please, I beg you, don’t deny a wounded man such an uplifting tonic,” Rafe implored her. “You’re a poor nurse if you don’t understand that your patient needs to be kept in good spirits.”
“And you’re an unconscionable flirt,” she said stiffly, patting her gown modestly into place. “I can’t imagine you saying such a thing to Mama or Aunt Flora.”
“Heaven forfend!” A wicked smile worked at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose a kiss would be out of the question?”
“Rafe! How much brandy have you had? Or perhaps it’s the nostrum that’s sent your thoughts down this road. This is neither the time nor the place for such improper suggestions. You’re hurt and need to be calm.”
“I disagree. Alone with you in a bedchamber, in the dead of night, is the perfect place and time.”
The man was truly incorrigible. “Only a few short hours ago,” she said, “you forbade me to have anything to do with you because it was too dangerous. It seems I can’t take your word for anything.”
“Yes, you can. Forgive me—I forgot myself. But be in no doubt about your attractions. I’m not merely flattering you when I say how desirable you are, how I long to taste you again.”
She blinked. This was not what she needed to hear. Not with her vivid imagination already working overtime. “Rafe, do I have to throw a ewer of cold water over you?”
Or herself?
He rolled his gaze up to the ceiling and murmured, “Mayhap you should. I fear I’m my own worst enemy. Let’s find something neutral to talk about, to take my mind off your considerable charms.”
Thankfully, a question had been gnawing away at her for hours. His answer should provide a solid distraction. “Perhaps you’d like to explain why you’ve taken to robbing folk on the highway?”
He smiled. “A ruse, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. I needed to deter people from being on the heath, so no innocent bystander would be harmed if I, or the militia, had to shoot down the free traders. I’d also hoped to deter the smugglers, but a single bandit on the road means nothing to such determined villains.”
“I suppose not,” she mused.
“Disguising myself as a high toby was another way of concealing my identity. If the free traders knew the Earl of Beckport was after them, my friends, my family, and even my servants would be in peril of reprisal. It would have made me vulnerable. I’d have no way to earn back the respect of Society.”
She leaned forward and said earnestly, “After all you’ve already done? You are more than worthy of anyone’s respect.”
“Ah, but have I achieved anything?” he asked. “All I’ve done is fail to stop a spy and a cargo of contraband, and fail to prevent a soldier’s death. Then to cap it all, I took a ball in the leg, and possibly alerted the traitor that his plot has been discovered.”
“Not if Culverdale believes he’s been attacked by a common highwayman.”
“But how will he interpret the behavior of yourself and your maid?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Maybe he’ll think we were in collusion, to act as a distraction.”
He said firmly, “I won’t have him think you’re my accomplices. God knows what he might do to you.”
It was an alarming thought she didn’t want to explore. “I’ve every confidence you’ll have him hanged before he can harm us,” she said. “Besides, I don’t think he knew who I was. When we danced at Dorchester I was masked, and in the coach, we gave him false names.”
A rich, throaty laugh erupted from Rafe, sending delicious shivers up her spine. “Clearly, I’ve underestimated you. Had we more spies with your skills, Napoleon wouldn’t stand a chance. I apologize for not recognizing your true worth.”
She felt a wash of embarrassed pride. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
“Not at all. I’m quite certain Culverdale was aiming at my head. If it weren’t for your prompt action, I’d be lying dead in Fox Wood with my brains blown out. And if you hadn’t identified him as the likely ringleader, I was planning to use myself as bait to draw the fellow out. Which, had things not gone to plan, might have resulted in me languishing in some cellar being tortured.”
The horrible image this presented made her blanch and swallow hard. With trembling hand, she helped herself to a glass of Rafe’s water. “Well, I’m glad you avoided that terrible fate.”
“As am I. I owe you much, Miss Charlotte Allston,” he murmured.
His dark eyes watched her from the bed, scrutinizing every movement. She suddenly felt intensely aware of her inappropriately intimate attire: her bare feet, her hair loosely plaited down her back, her nakedness beneath her nightgown.
He’d thrust her away at their last meeting, trying to deny the mutual attraction that had exploded like a mortar shell between them. But his intense gaze now belied those actions.
“Stop staring at me,” she ordered briskly.
“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
She pressed her lips together. “You’ve had too much physick. It’s dulled your senses.”
“On the contrary. It’s heightened them. If it weren’t for the danger—and the secrets—that keep us apart, I’d offer for you right here and now.”
She gasped in surprise. “Stop. You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” His eyes held hers, and something responded in her womb—a sensation that was warm, enticing, and eager. This man affected her like no other—not even Justin—simply by looking at her, promising all kinds of pleasurable new experiences with just his gaze.
Her cheeks heated. Her whole body heated.
Suddenly, the events of this turbulent day didn’t seem so dreadful, after all. She was alone with a man who fascinated her, and he was very much alive, looking more devilishly handsome in his disheveled state than he did when appropriately dressed.
The flicker of desire in her belly suddenly took flame, and she was grateful she was sitting down, as her knees would have failed her. Images of his mouth on her breasts that day behind the laurel bush swamped through her. The remembered touch of Rafe’s lips replaced any hurt she’d felt at being sent away.
She met his eyes and saw in them the knowledge of what she was feeling.
“Come here,” he murmured.
She shouldn’t.
But she went anyway.
He made room for her on the bed and opened his arms to her.
Madness.
She shouldn’t let him touch her. He was a danger to her in more ways than she could say.
He didn’t mean what he’d said about marriage. It was just the nostrum speaking. And even if he did mean it, Rafe was an earl. She was the daughter of a felon. A match between them was utterly impossible.
But, oh, how she wished it weren’t!
“I just want to hold you,” he said softly. “Nothing more. I have an injury, remember? I need to keep my leg still.”
So, she relented, and lay gently against him, on top of the covers, and settled her head into the valley between his shoulder and his neck. She felt a soft kiss on the top of her head.
This was the best pillow she’d ever nestled into—warm, firm, and inviting—and when his arm came round to cradle her shoulder, it felt safe, as well. His gentle breathing lulled her, and the stillness of his body soothed her. She felt cherished, and that was just as powerful as feeling desired. More so, especially by a man as sturdy, as admirable, and as perfect as Rafe.
Yes, perfect.
She snuggled closer, and his fingers caressed her arm. She felt another soft kiss on the top of her head, a gesture of affection that kindled her heart. Evidently, he was happy just to hold her.
But…was she?
What would it feel like to steal an arm across the tempting rise of his chest? Unbidden, her hand began to move.
“Have pity on me, Charlotte, and be still,” he said with a groan. “You cannot know how difficult it is for me to restrain myself with you.”
“Actually, I believe I do,” she murmured back, smiling. She laid her arm across the muscled landscape of his chest and tucked her hand into his side.
Sighing deeply, he turned a little toward her. “And this is how it begins. So easily. Holding you was definitely not one of my better ideas.”
She was starting to think it was actually a rather good one.
Her fingers twitched, longing to explore the smooth planes and angles of his chest, the rippling muscle of his abdomen, the heated skin beneath the rough linen of the nightshirt. Once again, she felt that tug of excitement deep in her womb that she’d only ever felt with Rafe. Her body yearned to enfold his.
She rolled toward him, pressing her hips against his side, and her leg came up over his bared shin. She wanted to melt into him as if they were one and the same being.
It seemed a simple embrace might well be beyond them. His body drew hers like a magnet. Lifting her head, she looked into melting brown eyes lit with reflected light from the fire. She examined his beautifully sculpted mouth, with the little quirks at the corners, and brushed a finger across them.
“Charlotte, you must go,” he whispered. “Now.”
No, he wasn’t perfect. Alluring, enticing, yes. And devilishly handsome, too. But far too confident in his own judgment.
What about her feelings? What about what she wanted?
She said, “I don’t like being told what to do.”
She continued stroking his full lower lip and caressed both corners of his tempting mouth. When he caught her finger between his teeth and bit down gently, she gasped in surprise.
He was bold and unpredictable. It made her feel alive in his presence.
However, his bravery and unpredictability had almost led to disastrous consequences. It was madness for him to jump onto an armed peer’s carriage in hopes of catching him with traitorous documents. It was madness for him to attend a masked ball just to see her.
And it was madness for both of them to think they could lie together on a bed, and be able to resist temptation.
She’d thought Rafe wandering in his wits when he first tumbled her over in the sand—and since then, he hadn’t done much to allay that impression.
He needed someone to prevent him being his own worst enemy.
“What are you thinking about, minx?” he asked.
“You. About how you might be reformed.”
He laughed softly, and she loved the way it revealed his strong, white teeth. “And you think you might be the one to reform me?”
She smiled ruefully. “I suspect not. I don’t have much of a reputation for common sense. And that’s what you need—someone to talk you out of your madcap schemes. They’re liable to get you killed.”
“I’m gratified by your concern. I confess the game in which I’m currently involved is, indeed, fueled by suicidal lunacy. But so are all wars. Mine is just fought on a different kind of battlefield.”
She traced her finger across his lips again, fascinated at having his face so close to hers, eager to explore it, to investigate its different textures—the stubbled roughness of his jaw, the delicate skin of his eyelids, and the supremely silken, sensitive flesh of his mouth.
Suddenly, she found herself on top of him, lifted there in a single expert scoop of his arms.
She really ought to wriggle off, but she couldn’t imagine a better place to be than touching the full length of his powerful body, her breasts crushed with every lift of his rib cage, her nipples tightening at the contact and longing to be touched by his hands.
His stomach, flat and firm, pressed against her belly, and heat erupted there, pooling between her legs. Slowly, he pulled her farther up his body, and every nerve in her sprang to rich, sensuous vibrancy.
Then he kissed her. His lips slid over hers, caressing them, then slipped away to tease her cheek and temple, then came back and kissed her mouth again, harder than before, urging her to open. His tongue thrust in.
The throbbing between her legs heightened, and she moaned softly. She wanted something desperately, but didn’t know exactly what.
He intensified the kiss, pushing still harder into her mouth, and his body began to move with the same rhythm, his hips rocking slowly and suggestively against hers. His hands found her breasts and teased the nipples into full, aching awareness. She moaned again, and her hands raked up into his hair, clenching against his head.
Something pressed against her belly that hadn’t been there before, and she knew it was a sign of male arousal, a sign that his body wanted hers. She shivered in anticipation and wonder, eager to know more.
But he broke the kiss and rasped out against her hair, “No, be still. We’re playing with fire. If you have any consideration for me at all, I beg you, go to your own bed. And before you do, throw a bucket of cold water over me.”
Propping herself up on her elbows, she examined the face of the man whose body was giving her an invitation his mind denied.
His jaw was tight, and there was heightened color in his cheeks. “You’re too innocent to know the danger you’re in,” he said. “Yes, I know, you nearly eloped with a boy who kissed you and groped you. But this is different. I could so very easily bring about your complete ruin.”
“I’m sure I can rely on your discretion,” she said. “Unless you once again think to blackmail my family by compromising me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. “Forgive me for that particular piece of idiocy. But think of the possible consequences if we take this further. There’d be nothing discreet about a crying babe. How would your family cope with that scandal?”
She swallowed, potent desire warring with her good sense. “Are there not preventatives for such things? I’m certain Dr. L. E. Campaign must have something in his formidable arsenal.”
“You’re teasing me,” Rafe complained. “And I’m not of a mind to be teased. How can I risk getting you with child when we’re not wed? I wish it could be otherwise, but it would be a selfish cruelty to marry you and leave you pregnant when I could so easily end up dead in a ditch. You’re too young to be a widow with a babe to raise alone.”
She pressed her hands together above his breastbone and rested her chin on it. “These are not the words of a rake,” she said consideringly.
“You deserve better than a rake,” he replied with equal seriousness, then turned his head away and exhaled deeply.
Realizing that signaled the end of their conversation, she pushed out a frustrated sigh and removed herself carefully from his supine form. Without his heat, without his caress, she felt lost, like a candle smoking forlornly after its brilliance has been snuffed out.
She pushed her feet into her slippers and pulled her woolen shawl closely about her shoulders. “As you wish, my lord. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and left the room.
After closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it, seeking comfort from its sturdiness. Her heart was hammering fit to burst.
She’d been just a whisper away from giving herself to him entirely. Thank heaven Rafe had more self-control than she did.
Admittedly, he’d said he would marry her. But how could she possibly ensure he honored that promise?
Especially given her checkered background…
If the Earl of Beckport married her without knowing her darkest secret, their marriage would be built on a lie. And when the story came out—as it surely would—she’d be damned by him, and they’d both be cast from Society by the ton.
It might not matter to her because she was nobody. But how could she wish such a fate on Rafe, a man who was risking his very life to redeem his good name and resurrect his tarnished reputation?
No, she couldn’t possibly put him through that kind of ignominy.
She had truly grown to love Rafe. Marrying him was her heart’s greatest desire. But she knew it could never happen.
Not in this lifetime.