How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption) Read online

  The library was dark and she set the candle down to light a lamp, letting the larger lamp throw its glow on the walls. She trailed her hands over the book spines, pulling out one book after another, none of them satisfactory. Even the novels held little appeal. She decided on Waverly and turned to go, only to discover she wasn’t alone.

  A little shriek of surprise died on her lips as she recognised the broad-shouldered frame standing in the door. ‘You scared me, Ashe.’ An odd thought occurred. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

  ‘Long enough to know you had difficulty making up your mind.’

  Genevra was glad for the protection of her robe. No doubt he’d been standing there long enough to know she was indecently clad for such an encounter too.

  He advanced. ‘Having difficulty sleeping?’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed hard, glad her voice hadn’t cracked. He was a decadent wolf by lamplight, his green eyes glittering. He took the book from her hand and studied the cover. ‘Waverly? He marries the baron’s daughter, the coward.’ Ashe set the book on a nearby table.

  ‘I’ve read it before.’

  ‘Then you know what motivates our hero’s choice. He chooses the safe course with Rose instead of the passionate way with Flora.’

  Genevra was about to respond with a defence of Waverly’s solid choice but Ashe silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips. ‘I did not come down here to debate Waverly’s notion of good choices. And we both know it’s not the reason you’re here searching for a book after midnight.’ Challenge flared in his eyes daring her to gainsay him.

  ‘Exactly what would that reason be?’ Genevra answered in haughty tones.

  ‘Henry’s proposal has unnerved you,’ Ashe asserted boldly, his eyes watching her intently for any tell-tale sign of remorse or happiness.

  So Henry had told Ashe. ‘I wish he had not mentioned it.’ Genevra idly fingered the spine of the book where it lay on the table. ‘Nothing will come of it.’

  ‘He meant it as a warning for you and me both. Did Henry tell you how despicable I was? Did he fill your head with tales of my decadence?’ Ashe had stepped closer to her during the conversation. He laughed now in the darkness, a deep, sensual chuckle.

  ‘He did mention your reputation was less than pristine in that regard.’ She was aware of his closeness, of the smell of him, clean and appealing even after a long day. Her body was starting to stir.

  ‘I will not respond in kind by slinging arrows at Henry’s reputation. It can prove itself on its own merits, which I am sure it will do given enough time.’ There was an edge to Ashe’s voice that implied one should be sceptical of Henry’s golden-boy charm.

  ‘I am not looking to make a marriage, not to Henry or to anyone else.’ She might as well be clear on that matter with Ashe from the beginning.

  ‘Not tonight anyway.’ Ashe laughed at her defiance. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t explore other interesting avenues of association. Unless, of course, you are indeed committed to Henry? Are you, Neva? Are you and Henry secret lovers?

  Secret conspirators?’

  Ashe had not liked seeing them together and he’d drawn his own conclusions.

  He was daring her to prove it was otherwise. ‘I decide for myself. Neither Henry nor you have any claim on me,’ Genevra asserted, although her body knew the latter statement to be something of a lie. Ashe did claim her attentions in a way that transcended their connection through the estate.

  Ashe’s long fingers reached out to stroke a cheek. ‘And what have you decided, Neva? Have you decided to allow yourself the pleasure of a night? It is too late to deny it. I see the desire in your eyes, and not only tonight. I’ve seen it before, in the conservatory. I intrigue you and you intrigue me. I would gladly give you the one night your body is asking you for.’

  Genevra whetted her lips, weighing the invitation against the challenge.

  Already, in the midst of this little quarrel, her body was rousing for him, her mind excited by the possibilities he promised, her curiosity provoked by Henry’s insinuations about Ashe’s reputation as a lover.

  What would it be like to be with a man such as Ashe Bedevere, who would give pleasure without extracting a price? He was promising a moment out of time, a moment outside of the life she’d so carefully cobbled together after Philip. Maybe if she leapt, the nobler Ashe Bedevere would be waiting on the other side. That would be a man worth leaping for.

  Ashe tipped her chin upwards, taking her mouth in a most decadent inducement of a kiss and she accepted, Waverly forgotten. Who needed a paper hero, when she had Ashe Bedevere very much in the flesh and blood and a chance for just one night to throw caution to the wind?

  Chapter Twelve

  Ashe released her long enough to shut the library door, the snick of the lock bringing with it a finality in the silence. Decisions had been made, consent had been given. Genevra gave the ribbon that held her hair a swift tug, letting it fall loose about her shoulders.

  ‘Lady Godiva.’ Ashe’s voice was hoarse with anticipation. He crossed the room in a slow approach, giving her time to drink in the enormity of what she was about to do. His own hair was loose, creating the impression of a dark mane, framing the sculpted planes of his face, highlighting his eyes.

  He did not stop beside her, but went on to kneel in front of the fireplace giving her a glimpse of his backside as he laid a quick fire. He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers from dinner, enough to be considered in dishabille, but wearing entirely too many clothes for Genevra’s preferences at the moment. Then he turned and faced her, his hands at the waistband of his trousers as if he’d read her mind. In a fluid, cross-armed motion, Ashe pulled his shirt over his head. Genevra sat down hard, suddenly aware of the chair that met the back of her knees. He was not a man to appreciate standing up. In the firelight the contours of his torso were like a map leading downwards to that most obviously male region of him.

  Her hands itched to trace those lines to their logical conclusion.

  His hands drew her gaze once again to the waistband of those damnable trousers. He pushed his trousers down lean hips, past muscled thighs that spoke of years in a saddle.

  She clutched the arms of the chair, vaguely aware that her mouth had gone dry as all this glorious English manhood was revealed slow inch by slow inch. He gave a quick flick of his foot and his trousers were off. Completely. It occurred to her briefly that such a skilfully effortless undressing was not accomplished without practice—lots of practice. But tonight she didn’t care. Tonight, he would be hers and in the morning there would be no complications because they both understood there couldn’t be, not with the estate between them.

  ‘Come, Neva,’ he coaxed from the fireplace, hands on his hips, his index fingers pointing ever so subtly to the jut of his phallus. ‘It’s your turn—I want to see you naked.’

  She rose, suddenly shy, her fingers fumbling with the sash of her dressing gown, acutely aware she’d never disrobed quite so deliberately for a man before, or stood naked before one. To undress deliberately was erotic and powerful. Ashe’s eyes were hungry for her. It had not been like this with Philip. She pushed the thought away. There was no place in this interlude for his intrusion. This was her moment of pleasure. She was due this.

  ‘No, wait. Not yet, I’ve changed my mind.’ Ashe moved towards her, closing the small distance, enviously comfortable in his own nakedness and clearly unabashed by the noticeable proof of his arousal. Ashe placed a finger on her lips when she would protest and drew it down the base of her neck.

  At his touch, heat pooled low in the cradle between her legs. He could excite her so easily. His hands found the belt of her robe, letting the halves of it fall away before he pushed it back from her shoulders.

  He turned her gently, putting her back to the fire, his breath catching. ‘Firelight and lawn becomes you, madam.’ He did not take her gown immediately, instead he traced her against the flame, making her aware she might as well be naked alre
ady for all the covering the fine material of her nightgown afforded. He cupped her breasts, drawing the material taut against her nipples, the light friction of the fabric beneath his thumbs eliciting a tender ache that sought fulfilment. But she knew instinctively fulfilment would not come yet and that knowledge in itself fuelled her arousal.

  Genevra arched against him and he knelt before her, his hands framing her hips, his thumbs massaging the low bones of her pelvis in deliciously tantalising circles not unlike the ones he’d drawn on her hands. He looked up at her, green eyes blazing, and she felt her power. She was Venus in that moment, her supplicant worshipping at her feet, seeking only her pleasure. It was heady ambrosia indeed, but nothing compared for what Ashe did next. He kissed her through the thin fabric of her gown with all the reverence due a goddess. A sharp arrow of heat sang through her, a moan of want escaping her lips.

  ‘Sit down in the chair, Neva and spread your legs for me,’ Ashe commanded, no longer the supplicant, but the wolf. There was an undeniable thrill in what he asked, in being vulnerable and exposed before him. He knelt again and pushed up the material of her gown until it bunched at her waist. His hands gently skimmed the soft skin of her thighs, his thumbs stroking the softer folds of her womanly places.

  She trembled, her body begging. Then he lowered his head to her, no longer the supplicant or the wolf, but something in between: the seducer, the lover, the pleasure-giver. His breath was warm and welcome at her juncture and she sighed from the sheer delight of it. Then his tongue flicked across the tiny secret nub of her and all delight fled, replaced by something more intense, more overwhelming than anything she’d known and she was drowning in it. Her hands were in his hair as if, by holding on, she could drive him deeper into her and resolve the search for fulfilment. She was vaguely aware of thrashing now as the ecstasy began to take her, his hands strong and firm at her hips, steadying her until at last she broke against him with a sob that sounded more like a scream.

  Ashe rose and gathered her to him, his arms about her, his hands stroking her back in a gentle rhythm while she recovered. He took her down to the floor after she’d quieted and they lay in stillness, her head on his chest, his arm about her, tracing shapes on her back. But he was by no means done with his seduction. His own need had not yet been slaked. His phallus rose firm and insistent in the firelight, the flames dancing on the crystal bead of moisture at its tip.

  Genevra sat up and pulled her nightgown over her head, arms extended, ready at last to be naked, to have nothing between them. This was heady new ground.

  But if the night had taught her anything, it was that she’d known nothing of passion until now. What had passed between her and Philip had not been this. It had been fumbling and harsh. It had lacked all the beauty and release that Ashe had shown her and she was hungry for more.

  Ashe’s eyes were on her, as hot as any flame, watching her discard the gown.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘I could look at you all night.’ His hands mirrored his words, reaching up to push her hair over her shoulders so that no curtain hid her breasts. He rose up on his knees to meet her, taking her breasts in his hands, kneading them ever so gently, his thumbs circling the aureoles. His mouth found hers in a kiss that spoke of slow sensuality.

  ‘We are like Adam and Eve in the garden,’ she whispered.

  ‘Discovering each other,’ Ashe replied. The desire in his eyes had changed from a primal smoulder to a deeper flame. They were getting to the core of the fire, the place where the flame of passion burned more fiercely now that the initial wildfire had been subdued. There was time now for exploration.

  Genevra pushed lightly at his shoulders, signalling she wanted him to lie down.

  ‘It’s my turn.’

  Ashe gave her a lazy wolf’s grin. ‘For a while.’

  She started with his chest, tracing his aureoles, watching his flat nipples pucker in response. ‘Is it the same for you, I wonder?’ She’d hardly been aware she’d spoken out loud until she heard Ashe give a throaty laugh. His hand came up to capture hers.

  ‘It’s not nearly as stimulating. I don’t mind it, of course, it’s nice, but it’s not as arousing for men.’

  Genevra gave a little pout. ‘I feel sorry for you then. You’re missing out.’

  ‘Men have other spots, my dear.’ He guided her hand lower, mischief in his eyes. ‘If you’re willing, there are those who believe a man’s sac is his sensual equivalent to a woman’s breasts. I happen to be among their number.’

  Genevra complied, marvelling at the weight of them in her hands. She gave them a gentle, experimental squeeze and was rewarded with a moan. There was joy here. She’d never taken a man in her hand before, never known he could be so open to pleasure, that this love-making could be a congress of equals.

  His phallus beckoned and she moved her hand to cover the sparkling tip and began a slow journey up and down its length.

  He bucked hard against her once. ‘I think it’s time, Neva. I won’t last much longer. Rise up over me, take me inside you.’

  Her eyes widened at the exotic nature of the challenge. How amazing. She had not guessed. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, but Ashe was there, taking himself in hand and guiding her on to him, a wondrous ‘ohhh’ escaping her as he slid home. This was incredible indeed, to be able to look at him, to watch him as need took them both. His hands were at her hips, guiding her into a rhythm, her body aware of the pressure building in her once more as it had done in the chair.

  Release would come. She wanted to hurry it along, wanted to feel that blissful emancipation one more time.

  In a sudden remarkable move, Ashe gathered her to him and rolled, taking her beneath him, their bodies not parting. Above her, the same pleasure captured him. It wouldn’t be long until they were both there together. Once, twice more, she shattered and somewhere in the prism of fractured sensations, he shattered with her.

  *

  Ashe waited for the sensation to pass, waited for the momentary physical peace to fade all too soon as it always did. Tonight, it was being gloriously stubborn. It was lingering and he was happy to bask in its unlooked-for afterglow.

  Beside him, nestled against his body, Genevra dozed, naked and satiated beneath a throw he’d managed to pull down from the chair without rising up and disturbing her rest. She’d been a sensual marvel, an intoxicating mixture of bold experience and shy reserve. It was a combination even the most practised of courtesans could not replicate. It was insightful, too. Her husband had failed her.

  There was no issue of virginity between them, but virgin or not, she had been untutored. He would wager his last pound she was not trailing a string of sundry lovers behind her. Her knowledge had not been as fully formed as her willingness.

  Yet she’d taken his instruction eagerly. He knew a particular manly thrill in having been the one to instruct her on finding her pleasure. Whatever experiences had preceded him, none had equalled him, of that he was certain. He was counting on that now to override her misgivings about marriage. Tonight didn’t have to exist in isolation.

  Bedding an heiress was a tricky business when one was a poor man. They were not impressed by baubles and trinkets. They could buy enough of those on their own. The only currency he had here that carried any value was the pleasure he could give.

  Ashe pushed such sordid thoughts aside. Yes, he had to think about winning her, but, no, tonight had not been entirely about that. He’d found pleasure aplenty with her that far superseded plans and calculations or any of the physical enjoyments he’d found in the arms of London’s more adventurous ladies.

  Tonight had been about acting on an attraction that had sizzled since the moment he’d seen her. It was a balm to his post-coital conscience that, Bedevere aside, he would still have wanted to bed her and most definitely would still have tried. He was not in this alone either. Even without the complications of Bedevere, she would still have wanted him, would still have chosen to be with him.
/>   But Bedevere was involved. Ashe knew he was betting heavily on the pleasure they’d found to count for quite a lot in the morning light, not the least being the contents of the envelope that had arrived from London.

  Ashe hated himself immediately for the thought. Had he really fallen so far as to use sex as a tool to coerce a woman into a marriage of convenience? If so, what did that make him?

  Genevra stirred in his arms, her body warm against his as she dozed, so very unsuspecting of the turmoil in his mind. He reminded himself it was all for a good cause. But when would the ends stop justifying the means?

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Genevra, would you like to tour the estate with me, this morning? The weather has turned out to be fairer than expected after last night.’

  Genevra’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth, shirred eggs dangling dangerously in mid-air. Had any man in the history of the world used those words to follow up a mad night of passion? Would you like to tour the estate?

  ‘I need to get out and see the tenant farmers and assess their needs before spring planting gets underway,’ Ashe continued from the sideboard, piling a plate high with eggs and sausage.

  He was doing so much better than she at pretending last night hadn’t happened. Then again, he hadn’t been the one to wake up on the library sofa.

  He’d been gone when she’d woken. But she couldn’t argue with that. It was the right thing to do. The English had protocol for everything. He couldn’t very well be discovered sleeping on the floor with her. It would be far easier for her to explain having fallen asleep on the sofa should an early-morning maid walk in to build up the fire.

  ‘Genni is just the right person, Ashton,’ Leticia put in from her place at the table. ‘She knows everyone. She’ll see to it that you’re introduced. Everyone will be glad to know it’s business as usual at Bedevere.’

  ‘I would be glad to go,’ Genevra said because there was nothing else to say without looking querulous. Leticia was right. She would be the best person for it, she’d ridden out several times during the old earl’s illness, but she didn’t relish spending the better part of the day riding around on a bench seat next to Ashe.