Page 68 of In a Rake's Embrace
“I want you,” she gasped, her voice trembling with desire. “I want you to make love to me over and over as you promised.”
“And when your pussy is too sore?”
Their gazes held.
“Then my mouth is yours … and when my throat cannot take more … my arse is yours.”
“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his forehead to hers, a sharp tremor wracking his body, his cock filling her with a force that left her breathless.
“Hold me for the night, Thomas,” she whispered, her fingers curling around his nape, “and do not let me go.”
His mouth brushed hers in a tender kiss, and a lump rose in her throat. Agatha swallowed down the words of love stirring in her chest, choosing instead to surrender fully to the passion blazing wickedly between them.
Thomas stood by the bed,gazing at Agatha’s serene, sleeping face. Her lashes cast delicate shadows across her cheeks, and her lips parted in a soft sigh. The hint of a smile lingered there, and he knew it was exhausted and satisfied. She looked so beautiful and utterly at peace.
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. He moved carefully, easing out of bed without making a sound. The early dawn light filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a gentle, silvery glow. He dressed quietly, knowing this encounter was likely a final farewell. Before Thomas left, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She murmured his name, her lips curving faintly as if, even in sleep, she dreamed about it. For a moment, he nearly stopped, nearly let himself settle back into that bed and pull her into his arms. But instead, he let her drift, untouched by the weight of what lingered unsaid between them. Standing by the door, he took one last look at her, committing every detail to memory. And then, with a deep breath, he turned and walked away.
Once outside, he inhaled the cool night air, tipping his head back and breathing deeply. The sadness in her gaze, which shequickly hid before curling up beside him and drifting to sleep, haunted him. He’d taken her four times throughout the night, remembering her softly whispered plea for a break. But he hadn’t paused—one night was all they had, and every second, every kiss, every release was precious. Each time he drove her toward wicked, breathless pleasure, a dark part of him wanted to punish her with ecstasy, to brand her for making him feel so damn much.
The sting of unshed tears startled him, burning hot behind his eyes. What the hell was this? He blew a harsh breath, raking his fingers through his hair and walking toward his parked carriage. Less than an hour later, Thomas climbed the steps to his bedchamber in his townhouse. Dawn was barely breaking, and he heard the stirrings of the household as he went into his room. Stripping down, he sprawled onto the bed, Agatha’s scent lingering on his skin and tongue. She was gone now, a lover who had left him with only a powerful memory. But now that it was over, he swore he’d excise it from his mind. She would not haunt him.
Thomas would not allow it.
Precisely twelve days later,Thomas realized he was a damn fool. The relentless storm inside him could no longer be ignored. He thought he could avoid his feelings andsidestep whatever emotional chaos had taken root. But the quiet nights only amplified the disarray in his heart, mirroring his inner turmoil. Agatha Woodville occupied his thoughts as persistently as the rising sun, and each attempt to bury his feelings in reports or parliamentary plans only made them grow sharperandmore demanding.
A humorless smile touched his mouth. After days of restless nights recounting every moment shared, he wrote her a simple note, asking how her brother was and requesting to call on her in Devonshire. Yet the response from his runner was far from reassuring: the cottage in Devonshire was empty, and discreet inquiries suggested Miss Woodville might still be in London—last seen atAphrodite.
When he read the report, Thomas rose from his desk, summoning his horse. Almost an hour later, he strode intoAphrodite, headed straight to Rebecca’s office, and threw the door open.
She looked up, startled. “Radbourne!”
“Where is she?” he demanded, his voice tense. “And why is she still here?”
Madam Rebecca arched a brow, leaning back, an odd look flickering in her eyes. She sighed. “You’re a bit late, Radbourne. Agatha accepted the protection of the Duke of Merrick. She is to be his mistress.”
Her words struck like a blow to his chest, so strong he felt winded. Amistress? His eyes slid shut as pain gripped him, so visceral he rubbed his chest. Agatha, the woman he cared for, under the protection of another man. Another fierce, clawing ache tore through his chest, so raw and visceral it nearly dragged a snarl from his throat. The thought churned, but something in him refused to believe it. His eyes snapped open, and his gaze bore into Rebecca.
“You lie to me?”
She stiffened, taken aback. “Radbourne—”
“Agatha wouldneveragree to be any man’s mistress, not even if the king himself begged her. Do you think because she auctioned her virginity, you understand her character? Agatha has more strength, honor, and pride than you or I could evergrasp. Don’t insult her again. Whatever relationship we had will be over.”
Rebecca flinched, then, after a moment, lowered her gaze and exhaled. “I apologize,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it through or expect you would burst in here like this. My instinctive thought was to spare her further pain. Her eyes … when she left she had been crying, and I could tell that she had foolishly fallen under your charm. What is the point of you chasing her? I know you can persuade her with seductions, but she deserves …”
Madam Rebecca glanced away.
“Then tell me where she went,” he said.
Rebecca studied him as if weighing the sincerity of his anger. “Are you certain she’s no longer here or with the duke?”
“Yes. The woman I fell in lovewith, the woman I am certain holds a similar regard, would not so easily betray her feelings. She’s shown me her kindness, resilience, loyalty, andpassion … she’s shown me herself, her pride and her determination. I broke her heart when I left without a conversation or a proper farewell. I disappointed her by hiding my feelings instead of opening myself to her. Still, she would not run from my arms to another.”
Rebecca shook her head in faint disbelief. “All of my most distinguished clients have succumbed to this cursed lovesickness. First, the Duke of Basil, then the Marquess of Ambrose, Mr. Armstrong, and now you.”
Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Brandon?”
Rebecca chuckled. “He came only yesterday and asked Bea to marry him. The poor chit turned him down and ran off in tears. He’s on a ship to Boston now, presumably heartbroken. I didn’t care for her moping, so I gave her my blessing to go after him. She sailed this morning.” A small, bittersweet smile crossed Rebecca’s face.
