Never Kiss a Rake (Scandal at the House of Russell, #1)

by Anne Stuart

He was beautiful, there was no other word for it. Tall and lean, with a slightly disheveled elegance that was both charming and impudent, he had eyes of such a deep green she could see them from across the room. He had high cheekbones, slightly slanted brows, and golden hair just a bit too long in a manner that looked dashing rather than unkempt, and his mouth was mesmerizing. A laughing, mocking mouth, made for wickedness. He looked every inch the charming rake he was purported to be, the seducer of beautiful women, yet he was looking at her with no sign of disdain for her ugliness.

He was already surrounded by ugliness, the ugliness of human nature at its worst, and he’d been chained to her for close to a decade.

If society doesn’t like the way I dress then they can go fuck themselves.”

“You’re as sure a virgin as I am Irish. There was no Mr. Greaves, there was no anyone. You’re untouched, and that’s a crying shame.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Consorting? Would that make you my consort? The idea has a certain appeal. I wonder if the Queen would approve of having both a wife and a consort.”

“The lady is very wise. However, we’ll have the darker shade for the curtains and the rich blue for the bed.” His eyes slid down over her, and it almost felt as if he were touching her. “To better complement anyone who might find herself in it.” He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. But it was so blatant there could be no doubt. Mr. Peach coughed, and she wanted to slap Kilmartyn’s face, hard. She wanted to take her small fist and punch him in the stomach. She wanted to strip off her clothes and climb into that bed with him. And she suspected he knew it.

In the darkness her scars were invisible, in the darkness this beautiful man wanted her, and she would endure anything for the bizarre glory of this deep, draining kiss.

“You don’t take a woman on the kitchen table for her first time. You take her to a bed with fine linen sheets and you do it slowly, carefully, so it doesn’t hurt, and she feels like the treasure she is.” He pulled her forward and picked her up, cradling her against him. She was shivering, and he didn’t know if it was cold or reaction. He damned well wanted to shiver and cry as well.

“Sleep well, darling one. Dream of the good man who’ll take you with love, and forget about a right bastard like me.”

“Did I throw up on you before?” “You did not.” She tried to shrug, but her left shoulder didn’t work, strapped down as it was. “One can only hope.”

Sex was about give and take. Desire and retreat, need and generosity, control and abandon.

“I can’t think of one,” he said. “Except that I love you. Now run, damn it, and jump to me.” She stared at him, shocked. “Now’s a fine time to tell me,” she finally managed to snap back. “I’ve been busy,” he growled. “I suppose you expect me to tell you I love you too.” “You could,” he agreed. “I’d much rather have you move your bloody arse and get over here and we can argue about the details later.” “Let me think about it.” He cursed, the words so foul she was impressed. “If you don’t move now you won’t have a chance to ever have a thought in your clever little brain again.” “You’re right,” she said judiciously. “Besides, it’s really very simple.” “It is?” He sounded no more than slightly harassed.