Page 33 of Ruthless with a Rogue
Derek smirked.“To be fair, the redhead—Kitty, I think it was?—was doing much of the work herself.I just provided the prick.”But Derek couldn’t deny he was talented when it came to bringing women to orgasm without using his hands.Miss Forester’s lust-drunk gaze swam through his vision.She’d beensoclose last night.Just from his words.
“Ah, Kitty.”Rafe’s contented groan snapped Derek’s attention back to his friend.Rafe leaned back, his eyes glazing over as he disappeared somewhere in his memory.“Apt name that.Her purr was delicious.”He closed his eyes and held his hands in front of his chest, cupping the air in front of him.“If I try hard enough, I can still picture her tits bouncing as she rode you.Glorious.A jockey if I ever saw one.”
“That is one shame in having your hands tied.You can look but not touch.Though that’s part of the thrill.It’s the best kind of torture.”Christ, he loved being denied.The feeling that came over him when he wanted nothing more than to touch but having that choice taken away from him.It turned him into an animal.No wonder he couldn’t get Miss Forester off his mind.
Rafe’s eyes darkened, his whole body turning rigid.“There is no good kind of torture,” he muttered.“No restraints.Ever.”
Derek always wondered at that detail.Rafe wasn’t one to say no to something, willing to give almost anything a try.But the minute restraints or gags were brought up, the man turned cold as the Thames when it used to freeze over.Derek had tried to broach the subject on numerous occasions, but his friend remained tight-lipped.His gaze fell to Rafe’s scar.He knew it had to do with Rafe’s upbringing, and Derek’s mind conjured all sorts of horrible scenarios he hoped were far from the truth.
Derek narrowed his eyes at a gentleman with thinning blond hair heading their way.
“Any new conquests as of late?”Rafe asked.
Derek shook his head.Not yet.But soon.
The aging blond lord stopped before them.“Your Grace.Lord Dunmore,” Lord Wentworth said with a bow.
Derek nodded stiffly.“Lord Wentworth.
“I wanted to stop by to ask if you had given any more thought to my proposal, Dunmore.”
“It’s a generous offer, but my answer remains no.”
“My land holdings would complement your Northamptonshire estate nicely.Not to mention the various investments included, the factories, the large donation to your foundling home…”
“As you well know, those aren’t the items I oppose.”Derek arched a brow.The man was being deliberately obtuse about the whole thing.And wasting Derek’s time.
Wentworth’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his coat as he chuckled and shifted his heavy weight back and forth.“My daughter would make you an exemplary wife.She has been raised to be the most accomplished of hostesses and will make a fine mother.The women in our line are known as good breeding stock.And she will be no hardship to bed; she is an incomparable beauty.”
Derek just managed to avoid grimacing.What kind of father spoke so cavalierly about the bedding of his daughter?Derek’s father’s visage flashed in his mind.His stomach twisted.Probably most.
“I have no intention to marry any time soon.”He stared hard at Lord Wentworth.“As I have told you onmanyoccasions.”
The baron’s shoulders slumped.“Yes, well.The offer remains on the table.”
“I will keep that in mind.”Derek turned back to Rafe, effectively dismissing Wentworth.
“Why not marry the chit?”Rafe asked, his gaze tracking Wentworth’s departing figure.
Derek’s lips pulled back, and his incredulous gaze whipped to Rafe’s.“You know my feelings concerning marriage.And women.I prize my freedom—hell, I’m only eight-and-twenty.And I don’t need his money.”Now.
Rafe dipped his chin in understanding.Derek didn’t say it; didn’t need to.
It was comical that there had been no offers of funds when Derek had been in need of them.When he had been drowning in debt.When he’d been trying to clean up the mess his father had left him.When, at the mere age of fifteen, Derek’s father had cocked up his toes.
“Wedon’t need his money for the foundling home either,” Derek said.“You, Rutledge, and I have plenty of funds to keep the current home up and running.You’re funding the second foundling home all by your lonesome, for fuck’s sake.”
Rafe swirled his whisky, his gaze unreadable.Which wasn’t unusual.But something about it had the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck lifting.
“Let me play devil’s advocate,” Rafe murmured.“Who would complain aboutmoremoney?I highly doubt Wentworth’s daughter would object to your continuing with your current lifestyle.Your reputation is not exactly a secret.And as her father said…”—Rafe grimaced—“she would be a sporting good time in bed.”
Derek choked back a laugh.“I don’t believe that was how he phrased it, though he might as well have.Not to mention, anyone who is going to be anexemplary hostessis sure to be a dead fish in bed.”He shook his head, staring down into his empty whisky glass.“It doesn’t matter.I’ll delay as long as I’m able.Women of the ton are flighty and inconstant.Just look at how many have cuckolded their husbands with me.I’ve lost count, and I love counting my conquests.”
“Yes, you’re a rarefied Adonis,” Rafe said with a completely flat expression.
Derek ignored his friend’s jab.“Moreover, marriage inevitably means offspring.”His lip curled up as he shot Rafe a look.“I think we both share the same sentiment there.”
He may never abandon a child, but he certainly knew its mother would.The overgrown vines twisted and tightened over his long-neglected heart.When the time came, his title would pass on to some distant relative.Once he was dead, what did it matter anyhow?At least no children were hurt on his behalf that way.The all-too-familiar weight settled over him again.Fuck, not now.
