Jane Lark - The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

His tongue slid between her parted lips, tentatively at first, then deep, then tentative again, tempting her, encouraging her to seek more.

She wanted more with a bone-deep longing; his kiss dissolved her senses.

Her fingers clasped his hair as he pressed her further back, the wall grazing one shoulder while the sharp clipped bows of the yew hedge pierced her other.

The sound of the orchestra spun into the night air. The supper hour was over.

He did not stop, his tongue danced about hers as his fingers cupped her bottom and pulled her hips more snugly to his.

A ridge of hard flesh in his trousers pressed against her abdomen, it ought to have scared her. It did not.

His grip stayed tender and gentle while the play of his tongue enchanted.

“God, Mary, you’re beautiful,” he whispered into her mouth. “Better than I imagined.”

His fingers slid up over her hips and her waist, then settled at her ribs and his thumbs brushed the first curve of her bosom.

“Mary,” he said her name again with a dizzying awe. Then he kissed her jaw and her neck, while his palms settled over her breasts, kneading her flesh through her gown.

Voices spilled from the open French doors onto the terrace. People would be dancing again soon, crowding into the ballroom and walking out on to the terrace. Her heart pounded hard, fear, excitement and bewilderment mingling.

He didn’t stop, his teeth nipped her neck while one hand left her breast and slid downwards.

Oh.

He touched between her legs, stroking inward over the material of her gown pressing it to the warm wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs.

She knew men and women joined there. That was where she craved him.

His strokes were tender, careful, like his teeth and lips on her skin, and the grasp of his hand on her breast.

Anticipation and desire climbed, as if her body sought a peek.

Her breath quickened and a sob broke from her lips as delicious sensations wove a spell in her blood.

The hum of conversation seeped from the ballroom along with a melody the orchestra played.

She should tell him to stop, but wrapped in the darkness, hidden from view, the danger had become exhilarating.

His hand clutched her breast harder and his thumb swept back and forth across her hardened nipple, while his fingers stroked forward and back in the cleft between her legs caressing her aching flesh.

Her hands clawed on his shoulder and his neck, clinging, as a whimpering sound left her lips.

He silenced her with a kiss.

She could not kiss him back, she could not think as whatever peak she raced towards approached as if she flew on a firecracker.

Goodness. Oh heavens.

She exploded, and fell from the sky, then the sensation inside her was carried on a flood of water swirling beneath her skin, reaching out to her toes and fingertips as she gripped hard at his neck and shoulder, afraid she would truly fall.

A sound of amusement, half laugh, came from his lungs, slipping into her mouth as he drew away.

He looked down at her, but she could not see his face, or his eyes. His fingers touched her face and his thumb ran back and forth across her cheekbone.

“I could make a sound and have someone find us like this.” he whispered.

“Is that what you want?” His thumb touched her lips as she breathed heavily, still a little disorientated. He was breathing heavily too and through her grip on the back of his neck, even through his neckcloth, she could feel his heart racing hard.

She was not afraid, nothing about him spoke of danger, but I do not know him at all .

“I want you,” he answered, in a hushed voice. “I want you as my wife.”

“You want my dowry.”

“I want you, and your dowry. I know your brother hates the idea of a man in need of a fortune, but he has one. It’s hardly a crime to need to marry wealth, just circumstance. But any of three dozen heiresses could bring me money. I want you, Mary.”

She smiled, knowing the darkness hid it. “You could choose a military career and work for your living.”

His thumb swept across her cheek. “I have not even enough to buy a commission. Besides would you wish to follow the drum?”

“The clergy then…”

“Me, a vicar? Are you mad? That would never work.” A scoffing rumble of amusement growled in his throat.

“I must be, I am here with you.”

His thumb and forefinger gripped her chin, then tilted it up. “Do I have your interest?”

“To be your wife?” Mary fought a desire to kiss the lips lingering over hers. “I barely know you. All I know is you are a rogue.”

This time his amusement erupted as a proper laugh which someone might hear. “Guilty as charged, I’ll not deny it, but now I’m looking for more than amusement. I did not do this with you for that. I wish to marry you. I am trying to persuade you.”

“For money….”

He shook his head. “Money, yes. I need it. I’ll not lie to you. But I want you, too, not only your fortune.” His lips brushed hers, weaving enchantment, fogging her mind.

She forced herself to cling to common-sense. “And if I had no fortune…”

He did not answer. He’d said he would not lie.

He would not choose her if she was penniless. But that was the way of life. There were three dozen men in her uncle’s ballroom without expectation of inheritance, or the desire to be shot at on a battlefield, or the inclination to preach… All of those men were in need of a fortune.

She pushed him away.

As he moved back, his hands slipped to her waist.

“I have to go. I will be missed.”

“When can I meet you again? Where? Do you ride in the morning, in Hyde Park? What if I were there at nine, would you come?”

Male voices drifted on the night air, rising in volume, they came from the terrace.

“I don’t know. I have to go.” She slipped from his hold, both physically and mentally, and hurried back across the grass to the courtyard entrance she’d come from, then returned to the ballroom via the servants’ entrance.

He was not in there. He’d gone.

Mary found her father, who commented on the length of time the maid had taken to fix her hair. It was only teasing.

She’d lied to him, deceived him and disobeyed. She had never done any of those things until the Jerseys’ garden party.

Insanity had claimed her.

What had she done?

Her heart raced, her blood running thick with the memory of their intimate caress.

“Miss Marlow, will you dance?”

She turned to face Lloyd Montague, another of her usual set.

She liked him, she liked them all, but they did not intrigue or enchant her. The only man who did that liked to make her dance with danger.

She accepted Lloyd’s arm and let him lead her into a waltz. But she longed to be outside with Lord Framlington again.

Would she go tomorrow? She could, if she took a groom.

But would it be wise?

Of course it would not. It would be anything but wise. But she wanted to go.

Where would this lead if she went? Not to marriage. Her family would never permit it. It could only lead to disgrace.

She would not.

Drew sat astride his horse, waiting by the gates of Hyde Park. Miss Marlow was thirty minutes late. She was making a fool of him.

Impatience bit hard. His hands on the pommel of his saddle he shifted his weight, and as he did so, he thought of her in his hands last night. Something gripped within his stomach, something which was not lust. She had melted him. Entirely. He had been ice and now he was water… She flowed in his veins, he’d never had an encounter with a woman which was so… beautiful… so real