Free [Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) by The Last Rake in London Page B

bad for me, Jack.’ She traced a pattern on the sheet with her fingers. ‘Would it have made a difference to you, had you known? Would you have refused me?’
    Jack thought about it. He remembered the absolute, driving need that he had felt to possess her, the sweetness of her surrender, the desire he had, even now, to slake his hunger for her again. He shook his head.
    ‘No,’ he said. He put a hand out and caught hold of the sheet that wrapped her up. ‘But then, I am a rake.’
    Her eyes widened. He realised she was shocked.
    ‘I thought—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I thought that you would leave now.’
    He laughed and tugged suddenly on the end of the sheet. It unfurled, leaving her naked to the waist.
    ‘What a lot you have to learn, my sweet,’ he said.

Chapter Four
    S ally woke up as the morning sun crept across the floor of the bedroom and touched her face with its warmth. She opened her eyes slowly. She could tell that it was very early, for the light still had its dawn pallor. Out in the street she could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and the scrape and crash of the vendors setting up their stalls, but behind that noise were the calls of the birds in the garden at the back of the house and the splash of water in the fountain. It sounded peaceful.
    She yawned, stretched and reached out a hand. The bed was empty. Somehow she had known that it would be. Jack had gone whilst she was asleep.
    He had made love to her twice more through the long, hot darkness of the night, teaching her things she could never have imagined, taking her to places she had never even thought could exist, showing her things about herself and her responses that had dazzled and overwhelmed her. He had held her in his arms and shown her tenderness, but despite her inexperience she had not confused that with love. She knew he did not love her. There was something within Jack she was already all too aware that she could not reach, something dark that he had locked away.
    He had left a note. On the table beside the bed was a crisp white piece of paper.
    ‘Dinner tonight at eight.’ The arrogant black scrawl suggested that he had not for a moment considered that she might refuse him. Despite herself, Sally smiled a little. So it was not over yet. Her body suffused with heat at the thought.
    With a sigh she sat up, reached for a robe and thrust her feet into the little swansdown slippers that were one of her few concessions to frivolity. She frowned a little to see the pink dress crumpled on the floor, but the pieces of the corset made her blush. She would never, ever be able to view Matty’s needlework scissors in the same light again.
    She opened the door of her room and walked along the landing to the stairs. Her body ached a little. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, lush in its satiation. Sally examined her feelings. There was no guilt. She felt more astonished at herself than anything else. Astonished and pleased…But beneath the pleasure she was a little afraid. She was afraid that she might have fallen in love with Jack Kestrel last night. Everything had happened so fast, like a whirlwind. If she opened the door a crack and acknowledged her feelings, she was afraid that the love would swamp her. Her parched soul, which had welcomed Jack’s desire for her, would give freely of its love as well. And he would not want that.
    She had not mistaken lust for love the previous night. She might be inexperienced—less so now, admittedly—but she was no impressionable girl. She knew that Jack had wanted her desperately, violently, in the same way that she had wanted him, but equally she knew that it was just an affair to him. Yet she could not help herself. She could feel all the danger signs: the swooping sensation in the region of her heart at the thought of seeing Jack again, the breathlessness that was not merely from anticipation of his lovemaking, the pleasure she took in his company.
    She would have to be careful and sensible, for