The Royal Rakes: Waking Up With A Rake Part 22

Rhys reached between them to spread her soft folds and circle her spot again. She might be setting the pace, but he wanted to give to her as well. He liked the control of pus.h.i.+ng her to another pinnacle.

Her head fell back, her cloak slipping off her shoulders. She arched her back and quickened her rhythm.

Rhys groaned.

He wished for a bed so he could spread her out and torment her properly. He'd make her beg.

But now he was near to begging himself. She brought him to the brink, then slowed her pace, denying him release. At least at the slower rhythm, Rhys could stroke her more deftly, using feather-light touches that had her panting.

She moved faster again, but he kept up the pressure she seemed to need. A low growl of feminine desire rumbled out of her.

He was close, perilously close. He really ought to pull out. He hadn't done so on their wedding night, but he'd silently berated himself for it several times since. Children were a complication their already complicated marriage didn't need. He should be more responsible. He ought to make it a firm policy that he'd do the gentlemanly thing and withdraw.

But he couldn't bring himself to sever their connection. He ached to feel her come around him. He arched up, penetrating her as deeply as he could. She cried out.

Her first spasm fisted around his c.o.c.k. He teetered on the brink of control. She pulsed hard, squeezing him in sudden little contractions. The spurt of his s.e.m.e.n rushed upward and it was suddenly far too late to do the gentlemanly thing.

He pumped for half a minute, clasping her close, wallowing in the fierce pleasure of release. His breathing was still ragged when the last pulse died.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Her heart rate finally slowed from a gallop to a canter.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She leaned back and c.o.c.ked her head at him, a puzzled frown marring her brow. "For what?"

Guilt gnawed at him. Childbed was no light matter. Churchyards were littered with the graves of young mothers. Why hadn't he thought of that before he swived her w.i.l.l.y-nilly?

"For not withdrawing at the last moment," he said.

Her cheeks paled. "Why would you do that?"

"So I don't get you with child, of course." She was so d.a.m.n trusting. Hadn't she learned yet that he didn't deserve it? "Honestly, did your mother tell you nothing?"

He hadn't meant it to come out like that. It was just that he couldn't bear the thought of her going through the pain and danger of childbirth because he let his body make the wrong decision.

The selfish decision.

Olivia moved off his lap and slid over to the opposite seat, smoothing down her skirts. She fiddled with her bodice. Not meeting his gaze, she covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and tied the lace over them in a neat bow. She fumbled with her b.u.t.tons.

"Let me help," he said softly.

"I'm perfectly capable," she said, her voice tight.

He was plagued with an odd sense of loss. For a brief moment, when he and Olivia were joined, he wasn't alone. He was part of a glorious "us." Now his soul was his own again and he was already tired of his own company.

"Are you angry?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Shouldn't I be? You've just told me you don't want me to bear your child."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you possibly mean it?" She pulled her cloak tighter around her.

"I didn't know you wanted children," he said. She'd never mentioned it. Of course, it wasn't a subject a rake usually broached with a woman he intended to ruin. It occurred to him that he could report success to Mr. Alc.o.c.k now, but since the Duke of Clarence had already cried off, Rhys's deal with the Member of Parliament was probably a moot point. Guilt strafed his soul afresh.

"One of the reasons the Duke of Clarence courted me, aside from my dowry, is because I come from a fertile family. I've never considered not having children."

"Well, fine then." If she was willing to take the risks, who was he to deny her? Some women wanted a baby more than breathing. "If you feel that strongly about it, of course we'll have children. Avail yourself of my services at any time," he said, trying to inject some levity into a conversation that had veered badly into the serious range. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, for pity's sake. Surely any serious disagreements should be tabled until they returned to society and real life descended upon them. "I am at your disposal, madam."

"I think not." She pulled her cloak's hood up, obscuring her face. "Not with a man who doesn't want to get me with child."

Rhys rearranged his own clothes as the coach made a lumbering turn and slowed. He started to reach for her. "Forget I said that."

She batted his hand away. "I'll never forget you said that. It changes everything."

Chapter 27.

At her disposal. Ready to service her, was he? As if she was a mare in season.

Olivia huffed loudly and moved back to the forward facing squab. Sidling closer to the door so not even the hem of her cloak touched Rhys, she feigned interest in the quaint rock bridge arching over the tumbling brook, which the coach would be crossing shortly.

What did the man think they were doing?

She wasn't just another one of his conquests. She was his wife. And they weren't animals. When they came together, it wasn't just a coupling, a servicing, a swiving-oh! How she detested that wicked word now. What they did in the bedchamber-and out of it!-was supposed to mean something.

It had meant something to her.

How strange that something so intimate could be accomplished without really knowing what was going on in the mind and heart of the other person. Her chest ached that he could be so flippant about something so precious. So...sacred.

"Would you mind not scowling so?" Rhys said.

"Why? Are you afraid my face will grow that way?"

"No, but I am afraid you might scare the servants at Braebrooke Cairn. We've turned down the lane already. As soon as they see a coach coming, they generally turn out to welcome any of the family back."

She rolled her eyes. "Heaven forefend I terrorize the help."

"Olivia, if you want to be angry with me, be angry, though G.o.d knows, I don't understand why. All I ask is that you don't harm any innocent bystanders."

"Never fear." She shot him a poisonous glance. "I make it a policy only to harm the guilty."

"Let it go for now, would you please?" Rhys said as the coach lumbered to a stop at the top of a circular drive. "We're here."

Here turned out to be a gray stone tower that looked as if it might have sprung naturally from the rising wall of rock behind it. There was an adjoining manor house of the same weathered stone, though it looked to be several centuries newer than the tower.

Which means it's only slightly younger than dirt.

Braebrooke Cairn boasted no moat. However, it presented as forbidding an aspect as any castle. The riotous brook they'd driven over earlier burbled along before the house with only a stone footbridge spanning it. Since the property's rearguard was that sheer rock wall, it was as defensible a position as any fighting man could wish.

She sneaked a glance at Rhys as he handed her down from the coach. The way his jaw was set, she judged he was ready to continue their fight whenever she was ready to begin it again. But she couldn't fault his stilted courtesy. He placed a hand at the small of her back and shepherded her over the footbridge as if harsh words had never been spoken.

A row of servants formed up on either side of the ma.s.sive oak door. The maids nervously adjusted their mobcaps and dipped in jerky curtseys as Olivia and Rhys pa.s.sed them by. Rugged menservants, fresh from the stable, doffed their caps and s.h.i.+fted restlessly from one foot to the other. There were no gilded-lily liveried footmen or formally attired butlers, no lady's maids with starched ap.r.o.ns. But when Rhys called them each by name, the servants of Braebrooke Cairn grinned shyly back at him.

Only one old fellow didn't fidget like the rest. Despite the iron gray hair and beard, he stood tall, with his hands clasped behind his back, his brown and green kilt hanging unevenly to just below his knees. Rhys walked toward him.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Ferguson."

"Master Rhys." The man nodded in acknowledgment, meeting Rhys's gaze steadily as though he considered himself any man's equal. "Welcome back to Braebrooke Cairn, laddie. Ye've been away too long."

"He's known me since I was in short pants," Rhys said to Olivia as an aside. "As far as Ferguson is concerned, I'm still a youngster."

"That ye are. And as green a twig as they come. But ye've a right sweet blossom on yer arm." Mr. Ferguson sketched a bow that would have been deemed elegant and courtly a generation earlier. "Alpin Ferguson, at your service, miss."

"It's missus," Rhys corrected. "May I present my wife, Lady Olivia? Olivia, this is Mr. Ferguson, Braebrooke Cairn's steward."

"Ah! Lady Olivia, is it? A thousand welcomes, then. Tell me now, how did this blatherskite manage to sneak up on a pretty little thing like yerself?"

Olivia's mouth dropped open. Her mother would never have countenanced such familiarity from a servant.

"In case you hadn't guessed, Ferguson doesn't stand on ceremony," Rhys said.

"No need of it, this far back of beyond." Mr. Ferguson waved a hand toward the door to usher them inside. "Will ye be pleased to come in and rest in the parlor whilst we're about preparing your rooms?"

"Room," Rhys corrected. "We're on our honeymoon."

Mr. Ferguson smiled, displaying a mouthful of horse-sized teeth. "Weel, now, isn't that grand?"

They started into the manor house with Mr. Ferguson and the rest of the servants in their wake. Olivia had one foot on the lowest step leading up to the door when a voice from just inside stopped her.

"Rhys! Is it really you?" A pretty young woman appeared framed in the doorway. She patted her honey-blond hair, swept up in a bun that seemed to have come half-undone. Several tendrils teased her chin and dangled at her temples. The effect framed her oval of a face as artfully as if it had been planned. Her cheeks glowed with robust health. The high waist of her gown did nothing to disguise the growing bulge in her belly. Olivia wished she could look as good on purpose as this woman did by seeming accident.

"Sarah!" Rhys bounded up the steps, picked her up, and swung her around. Their laughter echoed off the nearby tower and set Olivia's teeth on edge. Surely he wouldn't have kept one of his previous lovers at his family's Scottish estate.

Then she reminded herself that she really knew very little about her new husband.

Who knows what a rake might do?

When he finally put the strange woman down, she palmed his cheeks and kissed him squarely on the lips.

"Excuse me," Olivia said, stomping up the steps to join them at the threshold. "I'm Olivia Warrington, and that's my husband you're kissing."

Sarah's rosebud of a mouth formed a perfect "oh." "Rhys, you're married! Well, isn't that wonderful? And she's so pretty, too."

The woman threw her arms around Olivia and kissed the air by both of her cheeks.

"Olivia, may I present my baby sister, Sarah? Or should I say Lady Blakesby?" Rhys said with formality. "Sorry I missed the wedding."

Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand. "I understood and, in the interests of family harmony, I appreciated your thoughtfulness. Father would have been...difficult otherwise." She sighed and her eyes glistened, but she blinked back the unshed tears. "But my wedding didn't seem right without you." Then Rhys's sister turned to Olivia and hugged her tightly. "No t.i.tles between the two of us. Please call me Sarah and I shall call you Olivia."

"Sarah's a demonstrative sort," Rhys said with a laugh, "but we tolerate her pretty well in any case."

"Tolerate, indeed." She gave his chest a playful swat. "I'm your favorite sister and you know it. Don't keep your bride standing there in the cold, you big oaf. Come in, come in. Your teeth are chattering, Olivia. Honestly, men never think of practicalities, do they?" Sarah said, waving them in.

Once they were all inside, she linked arms with Olivia and steered her out of the cold foyer and into a cozy parlor where a fire crackled merrily, driving away the eternal chill of the gray stone walls.

If the exterior of Braebrooke Cairn was forbidding, the interior was designed for homey comfort. The room was furnished with serviceable pieces instead of fas.h.i.+onable ones. The chair by the fire was overstuffed and, after their jostling coach ride, Olivia longed to sink into it and disappear into its softness.

Stacks of books graced the side tables. A slightly shabby settee was draped with a multi-hued blanket, and a tea service, whose elegance was out of place in the rustic parlor, was laid out on a low table before it.

"Here's what's wanted to warm you up." Sarah settled herself near the tea service and poured out. "One lump or two?"

"Two, please," Olivia said, thinking an extra helping of sugar would warm her all the quicker.

"Ah, that's how I take it too. I wonder what else we have in common besides this rakeh.e.l.l," Sarah said, lifting a brow at her brother. She grinned at Olivia as she plopped two brown lumps into her cup. Then she stirred in enough milk to turn the tea creamy-looking and handed the delicate cup and saucer to Olivia. "And of course, Rhys takes his with one lump. Oh, how he's needed a woman to take him in hand and teach him how to enjoy civilized pleasures. I suppose I needn't tell you he's already mastered the uncivilized ones."

She actually winked at her. Olivia decided she liked Rhys's quicksilver sister very much indeed.

"Because he's mastered those uncivilized pleasures, I believe it proves he's trainable," Olivia confided. "I have hope for him."

Rhys snorted, but Sarah laughed.

"I do too," she said. "Oh, Olivia, I'm so glad to meet you. Now, Rhys, there's someone I want you to meet, too." She twisted her ungainly form around and directed her next words over the back of the settee. "Alex. Hide-and-seek is done for the moment. Come out, lovie."

A rustling came from behind the cus.h.i.+oned settee. As Olivia watched, a child emerged, little b.u.m first, then a pudgy body. Finally, a golden head wiggled out from its hiding place. The little boy scrambled to his feet and stood clutching the arm of the settee. He stared at first Olivia, then Rhys, thrusting a thumb into his mouth for rea.s.surance.

"Alex. My firstborn," Sarah said with pride.

"Alex." Rhys squatted down so he was more nearly at eye level with the lad and smiled. Then he looked back up at his sister. "You named him Alexander?"

That was Rhys's middle name. Olivia remembered hearing it at their wedding ceremony.

"I did." Sarah sniffed and swiped a quick tear from her cheek. "I guess it proves you're my favorite right back."

"Didn't your husband object?"

"A wise man doesn't cross the woman who's just brought his heir into the world," Sarah said, folding her arms across her chest.

Olivia would have bet that Sarah's husband, whoever he was, didn't cross her on much of anything. Then she reminded herself that she'd sworn off gambling of any kind. Intemperate wagers were the reason she now found herself married to a man she barely knew, after all.

Sarah turned her attention back to her son. "Come now, say h.e.l.lo."

The child took his thumb from his mouth long enough to wave, then popped it back between his rosy lips.