Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake and the Heiress / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem. Marguerite Kaye
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with her for much longer, I’ll resort to murder myself. Her dresses may be charming, but her disposition is rather less so. I find her company tedious, and she finds our delay here beyond bearing. I can’t wait to be rid of the woman.’
‘When will that be?’
‘When I get to London. Once I have Papa’s papers, I’m to take them to his lawyer there in the city.’
‘And then? Do you have plans?’
Serena frowned. ‘I thought I did, now I’m not so sure. You’ll think me fanciful, but I feel like—oh, I don’t know—a ship. All my life I’ve been safely anchored in a harbour, or becalmed, or tethered to another vessel. And now I’ve been cut free I can go where I want, do whatever I want to do. I don’t really want to make plans just yet. Don’t laugh.’
‘I’m not—far from it. I find the image of you unfurling your sails most distracting.’
She blushed at the intimacy of his tone, but ventured no reply. They were walking side by side along a small path lined with cherry trees, the blossom just beginning to come into flower. Serena’s hand was tucked into Nicholas’s arm, their paces matched, so perfectly in tune that neither had noticed.
The atmosphere over the last two days had been relaxed and lightly flirtatious. Until now, Nicholas had shown no sign of wishing to make more serious advances. Which was a good thing, Serena assured herself, and had indeed almost come to believe. Almost. Part of her was tempted to explore the attraction she felt between them, though it was a complication she could well do without. Every time he touched her, no matter how innocuous the circumstances—to hand her a book or her gloves, to seat her at the table or as now, to lend her an arm while they walked—a tiny shiver of awareness flickered inside her. Did he feel it too?
I find the image of you unfurling your sails most distracting. She wished she had not mentioned it, for now she found it distracting too. Unfurling. Why was it such a sensual word?
They continued strolling along the path, but their pace slowed. ‘There’s a seat by the stream and a pretty enough prospect from there over the fields,’ Nicholas said, pointing ahead. ‘We can rest there for a while in the sun, if you wish.’
There was indeed a charming view from the little wooden bench they made their way towards. ‘It’s lovely, really lovely,’ Serena said delightedly. ‘I wonder if my papa and yours spent time fishing here. He told me they knew each other as boys.’
‘Did he? Then perhaps they did.’ Though Nicholas thought it more likely that Serena’s papa poached than fished, he decided not to disillusion her. ‘I fish here myself sometimes. There’s not much sport, trout and carp merely, and to be honest I haven’t the patience for fly fishing. I haven’t been here in an age—I’d almost forgotten how pleasant it is.’ He wiped the bench with a large handkerchief. Serena sat obediently, but Nicholas continued to stand, gazing off into the distance.
‘Don’t you spend much time at the Hall?’ she enquired.
‘No, not really. I have a town house in London—that’s where Georgiana, my half-sister, and her mother are at present. Georgie’s seventeen now, and Melissa is launching her on to the unsuspecting world. She’s a bit of a hoyden, Melissa is quite unable to control her, but she’ll be a hit none the less, she’s a pretty little thing with a handsome portion. Between my hunting box, visiting friends, and trips to the races at Newmarket, I’m lucky if I spend more than a month or so in a year down here.’
‘That seems a shame. It’s such a lovely place.’
‘Well, the prospect is certainly breathtaking at the moment.’
He was not looking at the view. His meaning was unmistakable. Serena could think of no reply, only of what he would do next. She did not have to wait long.
‘Stand up, Serena, I mean to kiss you.’
Somehow she was on her feet. How did that happen? He was pulling her close into the warmth of his body. His arm was looped round her waist. She could feel the heat from his fingers through the thin muslin of her dress. Now he was untying the strings of her bonnet with his other hand, tossing it carelessly on to the bench.
‘I don’t intend to let you,’she finally managed to say.
Nicholas raised a quizzical brow. ‘I think you’ll find that you do.’ He moved closer, watching her all the while, his hold on her still loose, unrestraining, allowing her space and time to retreat. His fingers were on the nape of her neck now, gently exploring, stroking down to her collar bone, up to the shell of her ear. Her body hummed with anticipation, her nerves tingling, her skin, her whole being urging her towards him, as if invisible strings pulled her in, tangled her up, enmeshed the two of them together.
‘Serena?’ His voice was husky. His eyes, dark and disturbing, searched her face questioningly.
She hesitated as his fingers stilled their caress. His hold on her slackened. She knew she should resist, knew it with certainty.
His lips were gentle, pulling her bottom lip between his own, moulding his mouth to hers, delicately flicking her mouth open with his tongue. Their bodies nestled, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. The buttons from his coat dug into her through the thin fabric of her dress. Still Nicholas teased, a determinedly slow onslaught on her mouth that licked and sipped and kissed with seemingly no intent but to tantalise.
She was suffused with a warm glow. A hotter flame flickered low in her abdomen, and yet she shivered too, goose bumps rising on her neck, her waist, her arms, everywhere their bodies touched. So different. So lovely. Unfurling.
His breath was warm on her cheek. She wanted to melt into him. To drink deeper of him. To feel more of him. Instinctively she returned his kiss, relishing the myriad of sensations flooding her senses, blocking out all thought, building so slowly from warmth to heat that she hardly registered the change in temperature, the intensifying ache becoming a need for more.
Nicholas’s hold on her tightened. The pressure of his mouth increased. His tongue touched hers, or hers touched his, and everything changed. He pulled her so close that even through their clothing there could be no mistaking his arousal. His hand left her waist, trailing lower, gripping the soft flesh of her thigh, cupping and moulding the rounded flesh of her bottom. A throbbing pulse inside her responded to his hardness. Heat sparked.
His mouth became demanding. His tongue penetrated deep, tangling with hers, his lips no longer gentle, no longer sipping, but drinking, driving her towards a place hotter and wilder than any she had been before. She was trembling. Would have fallen were it not for the strength of his grip on her. ‘Nicholas,’ she said, though what she meant she had no idea. Her voice sounded ragged.
He released her abruptly, breathing heavily, his lids hooded over eyes that were almost black with desire. Serena slumped down on to the bench, her head swirling.
‘If I’d known the response I’d get I would have waited until we were indoors,’ Nicholas said with a grim attempt at humour, taken aback by the strength of passion that had erupted between them.
‘You said you were going to kiss me, not ravish me,’ Serena flashed in return, desperately struggling for a modicum of composure. Just a kiss! Well, now she knew there was no such thing!
Nicholas turned away, taking his time to adjust his disarrayed neckcloth, allowing himself to be distracted by this small task in order to give them both time to compose themselves. He had intended no more than a teasing kiss, something to test the waters. That they had plunged immediately into the depths was most unsettling.
Serena sat on the damp wood of the seat, wrestling with the tangled strings of her bonnet. Desire and heat warred with shame and guilt as she realised what she had done. What must he think of her? What was she to think