To Capture a Rake Page 6

  “Pardon.” Mrs. Ashton shoved her way between Gideon and the wench as they started toward a narrow set of stairs at the back of the shabby room. Gideon knew better than to think the woman was actually jealous. No, she was merely reasserting her control. Mr. Ashton must have been a weak-kneed fool.

  Gideon glanced around the shadowed room, aware of the many faces watching their progress. They were looking for easy prey. He shifted ever so slightly, making sure the gleam of the pistol at his waistband was visible. Just a quick warning that he was not to be easily trifled with. The murmur of conversation returned, the travelers refocusing on their mugs of ale and bowls of stew, too exhausted to attempt anything devious.

  “Miss…Mary, was it?” Mrs. Ashton asked.

  The serving wench paused at the stairs and glanced warily over her shoulder. “Aye?”

  “If you can find me a clean, dry gown, you’ll be rewarded. And clothes for…” Elizabeth slid him an amused glance, her face soft and beautiful in the lamplight, at odds with the weathered serving wench before her. “My husband as well, if you can find anything to fit him.”

  The woman sneered, lowering her lantern and splashing light against the stained walls. “Nothing like ye’ve got. Only have a wench’s dress.”

  Elizabeth shoved her hand forward, two coins glittering on the pale surface of her palm. “Tis well enough, as long as it’s clean and dry.”

  The woman made quick work of scooping up the coins and stuffing them into her cleavage, her sneer turning into a welcoming grin. Amazing how quickly money could make friends of enemies. “Follow me.”

  Mrs. Ashton started up the stairs, and Gideon gladly followed behind, taking the opportunity to study the woman from a new angle. The hypnotic sway of her hips, the way a loose curl brushed seductively across her swanlike neck…Gideon felt the wicked stirrings of lust lapping at his insides. Unnatural, it was.

  Trapped overnight in a small inn with this woman would be anything but torture. In his opinion, the sooner they consummated this relationship, the sooner things could go back to normal. Somehow the situation had gotten out of hand. Given his lack of socializing, perhaps the unease he felt would dissolve once he was between the smooth thighs of a woman, where he belonged. Hell, he didn’t want to know her given name, he didn’t want to discuss where they had been born, or their likes and dislikes. Chatting only made her all too human.

  “Most ladies would not wear the gown from a servant,” he said softly near her ear.

  He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. He’d thought to mock her, but instead he realized he was only drawing her into conversation. She paused halfway up the stairs and faced him, a bemused smile upon her lush lips. “I’d wear anything if it was dry and clean.”

  They were eye to eye, so close her warm breath brushed across his lips. His heart skipped a beat. Who the hell was this woman with her ready smile and gentle eyes? Aye, he wanted to keep things simple. She was merely a client. He would show her sexual pleasure and leave. But his curiosity had caught him off guard. Even as he thought to keep his distance, her odd comment whispered through his mind.

  “Those were the men my mother-in-law sent to kill me.”

  He hadn’t bothered to question her when they’d escaped. He was too concerned with reaching shelter. But now that he had time to truly contemplate her response, he found himself insatiably curious. If he was smart, he’d slip away now, undetected, and be free of Lady Lavender and Mrs. Ashton both before he ended up shot or worse. But he had little money, less since paying for the room. If he could make it to Mrs. Ashton’s country home, he wasn’t above borrowing some silver to pay his way to America. He’d saved her life, after all; she owed him.

  She started to turn back around, but his hand on her arm stopped her. Something was off. Aye, he noticed everything about the woman, including the way her gaze darted from shadowy corner to shadowy corner. The way she flinched at the slightest sound. She was afraid.

  They made it to the hall, the serving wench far enough ahead that she wouldn’t overhear. “Are we safe here?”

  She shrugged and glanced nervously toward the top of the steps where the wench had disappeared. “As safe as anywhere, I suppose.”

  Was she intentionally being a dunce? “Will your mother-in-law come after us here?”

  “No. She’s a coward when it comes down to it. Most likely Mr. Frond and Sam have disappeared for good. It will be some time before she realizes I survived.”

  She hiked up her wet skirts and rushed up the steps, following after the serving wench and not bothering to explain further. Perhaps she figured he didn’t care, or maybe she thought he didn’t deserve a complete response. Or maybe—most likely—she was hiding something. Gideon frowned, catching up to her at the top of the steps. The serving wench was waiting impatiently at the end of the hall.

  Gideon leaned close to Mrs. Ashton, his lips brushing her ear. “And do you plan to explain why your mother-in-law would want you dead?”

  She sighed. “She wants my inheritance, of course.”

  Gideon paused in midstride, struck by the realization that this woman must be an heiress. But how much money, exactly, did she have? If her mother-in-law would go to the extreme of having her hunted down and murdered, she must have inherited quite the treasure. Despite his resolve to keep his distance, he found himself pressing his hand to the small of her back. He had a feeling that this innocent-looking milkmaid just might be his ticket to America.

  “Here it is.” The serving wench shoved open the last door on the right. She curtsied, showing some respect now that she had a few coins in hand. But she didn’t wait for their response, disappearing down the hall, unconcerned with the state of the room.

  “Will it do?” he asked, watching Mrs. Ashton with some amusement as she stepped hesitantly through the doorway.

  The room was sparse and left much to be desired, but rather typical for an inn. A large four-poster bed took up most of the area. Against the far wall was a brick fireplace with a cold hearth. It was far from luxurious, although it seemed clean enough. Better than the stables. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for the complaints he knew would come.

  Elizabeth dropped her reticule to the bed. “It’s dry and warm, it will do.”

  He frowned, annoyed at being surprised by her once more. Before he could question her sunny disposition, a lad appeared caring a hip tub. He settled the bath in the middle of the floor, then scurried toward the hearth, starting a fire, but Gideon was barely aware of the boy. No, he only had interest in the woman who was humming softly as she went to the window and pulled the faded curtains closed. As if she was merely settling in for the night, she found the bed and smoothed down the faded blanket, then fluffed the pillows.

  His chest felt tight at the picture she made. Aye, he could imagine a man coming home to a wife like her. She’d be attentive, he knew that from the day he’d spent with her. She’d ring for tea; help him take off his boots. Perhaps even rub his shoulders. Repulsive idea.

  He shoved the image aside. What the hell was wrong with him? There was no place for marriage in his life. He spread his fingers wide, stretching the numbness from the skin, and focused on the task at hand. He needed either to bed the woman or leave her altogether. Merely a client, indeed. He shot her a glance, taking in that pale, innocent face. Those wide, guileless eyes. If he left now, the woman would be completely on her own. Why did he care what happened to her? Damn it all, he apparently still had a bit of conscience because he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone here. Tupping it would be then.

  Two lads shuffled into the room, carrying large buckets of steaming water. Gideon settled in the only chair, taking off his mud-caked boots as the lads filled the tub. Tendrils of warm mist curled up toward the dusty beams above, adding a welcoming humidity to the air. Whatever his decision might be, he wouldn’t leave tonight. Not only could he begrudgingly admit that he didn’t wish to abandon Mrs. A
shton, but he was too bloody chilled and tired to escape. Tonight he would sleep in a warm bed, in a warm room, with a warm woman.

  The boys left. Gideon moved to the door, bolting it. For an unsteady moment, he realized they were alone. Completely and utterly alone. For the first time in fourteen years, there was no schedule to keep, no one to appease, no money to exchange hands. He glanced back at Mrs. Ashton. The woman was completely at his mercy, but she didn’t seem the least bit nervous…at least not about his presence.

  She moved to the fireplace, drawing his attention like a bee to a flower. The light made her hair and skin glow. She was lovelier than a woman had a right to be. It wasn’t a sensual sort of attraction but a purity that called out. He fought the wave of desire that washed over him, stifling his longing. She was merely a client. An heiress. And if he had his way, her account would be a few pounds lighter when he left.

  The seductress glanced over her shoulder at him. Helen of Troy could not have been more enticing than this woman. “Will you help me undress?”

  Aye, it would be best to keep his wits about him. Like a dutiful whore, he went to her. Let her trust him, he could be as charming as Alex, as kind as James, if he needed. As he traveled the row of buttons down her back and between her shoulder blades, he was keenly aware of the heat between their bodies. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit interested in his heat, or body or anything about him.

  She peeled the sodden sleeves from her arms and let the bodice fall to the dusty worn floorboards. Gideon tried to ignore the way his fingers trembled as he released the waistband of her skirt. Tried to ignore the tingle of awareness that spread over his skin, but it was impossible when she was near.

  She let the dress fall to her feet and stepped from the pool of material, standing in only her shift and corset. With a shy glance that belied her bold undressing, she asked, “Do you mind if I bathe?”

  “Of course not.” Gideon had the startling revelation that the little minx was trying her hand at flirting, and doing a rather blasted good job if his body’s reaction was any judge. Raw desire shot through his body and straight to his groin.

  Determined to ignore her and regain control of his raging lust, he moved to the fireplace and stoked the flames. He stayed near the fire, torn between wanting to slam from the bedroom and scoop her up in his arms. Mad. He’d gone bloody mad, but then lust would do that to a man.

  “I’ll return the coins you’ve used.” She settled on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots and stockings from delicate feet. He didn’t want her damn money, he wanted her body.

  A rough wind battered the windows, rattling the glass. Muddy roads would make tomorrow’s travel rough and slow. Why did the thought of hours in Mrs. Ashton’s company not annoy him? Because he had a feeling by the morning he wouldn’t quite be done with this woman.

  “You have no questions?” She released a wry laugh as she stood. He liked her laugh. “Certainly you must have many.”

  “No.” He stood and straightened. The desire to be near her, to reach out and pull her into his arms, to taste her soft lips, overrode any aloofness. “I’m here merely to do as you wish.”

  She narrowed her eyes, noting his sarcasm. “Very well.” She brushed back the loose strands of her hair. “The laces of my corset?”

  He glanced at the front of her chest and the tangled mess of strings that held the material together and pushed her breasts into soft mounds that practically spilled from her shift. His fingers curled, his hands itched to touch those beautiful, pale breasts. This is what he was here for. This is what he was…a man who brought women to the heights of pleasure. This is what he understood.

  For a long moment he didn’t stir, although why, he wasn’t sure. Hell, he’d undressed many women. Hundreds. Why did she give him pause? Forcing his legs to move, he made his way slowly toward her. He stopped so close they were almost touching. So close that the tips of his toes touched hers. He felt like the villain from a horrid novel, which wasn’t surprising. What caught him off guard was that for some bloody reason he felt almost guilty about his heated desires, guilty about the fact that he planned to not only steal from the woman, but abandon her as soon as possible.

  His breath teased the loose hair that had slid from her pins and caressed the sides of her face. She shivered, whether from his nearness or the cold, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure at all how she felt and he hated not knowing. For nearly fourteen years now he’d been sure, completely and utterly positive, about what women wanted from him, about what he wanted. Now…now he felt decidedly confused and all because of a woman who looked like a milkmaid but kissed like a whore.

  He pulled the knife from his waistband and slid the tip under her laces over her belly. Her stomach quivered. Their gazes clashed and held. There was fear there…yes, but something else…something he’d seen far too often. Desire.

  With a flick of his wrist he tugged the blade upward, shredding the laces. The corset parted, falling to the floor with a soft swoosh, leaving her in a fine shift. She didn’t yelp, or curse in outrage. There was no maidenly blushing, or quivering shock. Mrs. Ashton merely released a puff of air, her delicate shoulders relaxing.

  “Much better.” She pressed her hands to her ribs. “Although, did you have to destroy the piece? It was French silk.”

  He flipped the knife around and handed it to her. “Yes, Mrs. Ashton. It was easier then untangling the mess of strings. Besides, her dress will be too large for you. You won’t need it.”

  She gave him a shy grin that left him feeling off balance. “I admit, it does sound rather freeing not to wear one.” She set the knife upon the bedside table.

  The woman fully dressed was a temptation, but without a corset, those hardened nipples pressing to the fine fabric of her gown, she would be a morsel even he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

  “And please,” she said. “Call me Elizabeth. It seems silly for us not to use our given names.”

  Elizabeth. The name fit her. He liked how it rolled off his tongue. “Elizabeth,” he repeated slowly.

  “Yes?” She lifted the narrow straps of her shift from her shoulders and dropped the garment to the ground.

  Naked, she stood before him. Pearly skin that practically glowed in the firelight; smooth skin that begged to be touched. Blood rushed to his cock. In the many years he’d been ensconced at Lady Lavender’s, he’d seen many naked women, so why did he feel as if he’d never seen a female before? Why did he feel as if he’d never touched a woman? Never rested between silky thighs?

  “Gideon.” She practically breathed his name. “I’m going to bathe.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her warily. He wasn’t sure which he distrusted more, the innocent milkmaid before him or the way his body reacted to her. He had the odd feeling the woman had been setting him up all along for his downfall. What was her plan?

  “But after I’m done,” she whispered, “I should very much like for you to seduce me.”

  Chapter 5

  There, she’d said the words she’d been waiting to say all day.

  She thought she’d feel better, but she didn’t. The fact that she was naked would surely prompt him to respond. She might be keeping much of the truth from him, but at least this wasn’t a lie. She did want him to seduce her. She needed him to seduce her. But for now, all he needed to know was that she wanted a good tumble. Or so he’d think.

  With trembling fingers, she reached up to the mess of her fiery hair and pulled the pins free. The thick mass tumbled down her back, whispering across her bottom. She followed her unveiling with a soft, inviting smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble of her body. If she wanted to be completely honest, she would have admitted to him that she was bloody nervous. Who wouldn’t be? He was a stranger, for God’s sake. But it must be done, and it must be done now.

  “Here?” he asked, that damn amusement back in his mocking gaze. “Now?”

  She stiffened, unsure if she should be offe
nded. She’d been assured that no man could resist a naked woman. He did find her attractive, didn’t he? Mr. Ashton had complimented her more than once, but she knew her hair was unconventional and those bloody freckles marked her skin. But considering he was a whore, she’d assumed his tastes were not particular.

  “Yes.” She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, resisting the urge to cover her breasts with her arm and her nether regions with her hand. “Well, after I bathe.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to seduce you while you were covered in filth.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Yes, he was definitely amused. She didn’t particularly care for people mocking her, especially him, especially while she was naked. She took in a deep breath, but realized it only managed to bring her breasts higher and the movement caught his attention. Heated embarrassment crawled painfully slow up her body…her naked body.

  Completely and utterly naked.

  “Please.” He nodded toward the tub. “Don’t let me keep you. The sooner you wash, the sooner we can get on with it. Merely call out when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”

  Get on with it? Elizabeth was most definitely sure she should be offended that time. She resisted the urge to grab her shift, reminding herself that she was supposed to be a woman of the world, a woman who did not get embarrassed over something as silly as nudity.

  His fingers went to his waistcoat and her confusing emotions fled, replaced with pure interest. There was something incredibly enticing about a man wearing only his trousers and shirtsleeves. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat. He shrugged the material from his shoulders and tossed the wet garment to the chair. He’d lost his jacket long ago and had traveled inappropriately in only his shirtsleeves.