Page 63 of Taming of the Rake
Giving her one last short, sweet kiss, David undulated beneath her, reveling in the drag of her naked breasts against his chest, the press of her mound against his swelling cock.
“You’ve situated yourself too low, my dear. Would you shift up just a bit?”
She complied, but not nearly enough for David’s liking.
“More,” he urged, until she sat straddling his torso. “Nearly there … up … up ...”
When she finally rested where he wanted her, he raised his head to nuzzle the soft nest of her curls. He could see them in his mind’s eye, a fiery red splash against the pale translucence of her skin. He kissed the inside of each smooth, creamy thigh, drawing soft sighs of delight from her.
“Perfect,” he murmured, lightly dragging his tongue down her slit. “Now … down.”
Then, his senses were awash in Regina—her satiny-slick flesh pressed to his lips, the swollen nub of her clit sliding against his tongue. David groaned and went at her like a man starved, losing himself to the feel of her, the taste of her, the scent of her arousal, cloying and sweet.
The scrape of Regina’s nails against the headboard filled his ears, followed by the gasps and moans of her pleasure—music to David’s ears.
As he fulfilled his promise to pleasure her like she’d never been pleasured in her life—all without the benefits of hands or eyesight—David realized how wrong he had been to think being surrounded by women was some form of heaven on earth. For certain, women were marvelous creatures, but there was none like his Regina. She was light and life and joy. She was everything he’d been missing, and she would now belong to him until the day he died.
She alone was David’s idea of heaven.
Epilogue
Benedict stared into the dark amber liquid in his tumbler, finding he had no desire to lose himself to its siren’s call. The need to drown himself in excess pleasures and strong drink had faded away days ago, leaving him an empty, hollow shell. He had hardly eaten all day, hadn’t slept more than a few hours all week, and was generally a very miserable person to be around.
His friends had mostly left him to his own devices—all save Aubrey, who visited every day on his way home from his linen drapery to ensure Benedict hadn’t hanged himself from the rafters or slit his own throat.
In truth, he wasn’tthatmiserable just yet, but he could understand his best friend’s concerns. He had not been himself these past weeks, and they both knew why.
There was no explaining it to the other courtesans, who had no idea how that death notice in the papers had poked and prodded at old wounds. So, he allowed Hugh, David, and Dominick to think he was simply stewing in jealousy over having to stand back and watch each of them find happiness with the women they loved, and go on to become husbands and fathers. Honestly, he did feel the slightest twinge of envy, but not for the reasons they might think. He didn’t want what they had for himself—had realized quite early in life that such things weren’t possible for him.
Yes, it hurt to feel as if he had lost them all one by one, because now he was the only man of their set who didn’t quite fit. The only one who wasn’t someone’s husband or soon to be a father. The only miserable bastard who woke every morning alone, and who went to his bed each night the same way. It had been foolish of him to think this wouldn’t eventually happen, and perhaps in the back of his mind he had always known better.
However, Benedict hadn’t counted on how much he would come to rely on them. He moaned and complained about the messes they made, but he secretly reveled in being the one they came to when the time came to clean those messes. Perhaps Aubrey hadn’t needed him quite as much as the others, but the things making them different from the other men of their circle was what drew them together. It was what helped Aubrey understand him in a way no one else did.
Benedict had accused David of being pitiful, but the truth couldn’t be clearer.Hewas the pitiful one.
However, watching David and Regina wed in their small, private ceremony had given him what he needed to move forward. All he had ever wanted was for his friends to be secure and cared for. That mission had been accomplished, whether by his own efforts or those of the women they loved. However, there were still a few loose ends that needed tying up, and it was better for them to stay away from him so he could do what needed to be done.
Upon his return from Lancashire, he’d been visited by Lady Millicent Dane. She came with news that neither surprised nor angered him … because as she related how she had uncovered the identity of The London Gossip, Benedict realized he already knew. He’d known from the moment she had overtaken him in St. Giles, and that nauseating scent of lily of the valley had wafted up his nostrils. Millicent’s report had only confirmed his suspicions, making his next and final move very clear.
In the end, it would seem all had turned out as it should, because David’s marriage had pushed him firmly into the ranks of former courtesans who had become respectable. All he had to do now was take the Gossip down without allowing their past involvement with the agency to become public knowledge. And, he knew exactly how to accomplish such an aim.
What then?
The unwelcome thought intruded upon the machinations of his mind, prompting him to take his first sip of brandy all day. He hadn’t wanted to drown himself in drink, but damn it, he couldn’t let himself think of the future. There were some things he simply was not ready to face, such as the inevitability of inheriting a viscountcy and the years ahead that would see him grow old alone.
The taste of the brandy soured on his tongue, and he set the tumbler aside before coming to his feet. If he continued like this, he’d become slow and fat, and his next pugilist match would end with him choking on someone’s fist. He needed distraction and movement. He needed to outrun the memories plaguing his waking hours as well as his dreams.
He didn’t bother with a greatcoat, barreling out of his study, down the corridor and straight through the front door. The chill of the late-night air stung his face and bare hands, but Benedict curled his fingers into his palms and pressed on, walking at a brisk and purposeful pace with nowhere to go.
It doesn’t matter that the countess is dead. It changes nothing.
Benedict repeated those words to himself over and over, because if he didn’t, he might lose control. And he was never anything if not in complete control—of his life, his destiny, his circumstances. Things didn’thappento Benedict Sterling, he made them happen his way. The world didn’t kick him about as it once had, not anymore. He thumbed his nose at the world and did as he pleased.
He wasnota starving dog staring in a bakery window, damn it. There wasn’t a thing in this world Benedict could want that wasn’t within his reach. What need had he to pine over a lover who had decided he wasn’t worth the trouble of spurning convention and the wishes of a tyrannical father? He was better off alone.
Benedict wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, though without his watch he had no concept of time. The night grew colder, his nose numb and sore, his fingers stiff. He had wandered quite a ways from home, and picked up the pace on his way back. The walk had helped clear his head and cleanse him of all foolish notions of love.
He could rejoice in the happiness of his friends without feeling as if he needed what they had. He didn’t, and he would not let the pain of the past convince him otherwise. Choices had been made—irrevocable choices. All parties involved had to live with the results, himself included. There was too much riding on his success in this battle with The London Gossip. He couldn’t afford distractions of any kind.
