Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes: Rake Most Likely to Seduce / Rake Most Likely to Sin

‘Normally I do.’ Nolan stopped. What was he doing? He did not have to justify that to Brennan. Nolan rolled his eyes. One of the consequences of living in his friends’ pockets was that they knew everything about him, personal habits and all. He had no privacy left even when he had separate rooms. Nolan pushed a hand through his hair, striving for clarity. ‘It’s complicated, Bren. I won her in a card game, she fell out of the gondola, she’s in the tub right now.’ Striving and failing. Nolan blew out a breath. He could see the explanation didn’t help. He was flubbing this up miserably in his haste to get back to the room.

Brennan waved him off with a hand. ‘Enough, you’re making my head hurt. You can have the damn nightgown if you’ll just stop with all these details.’ Brennan retreated into the dark of his room and came back, a silky white item in one hand. ‘Just to be clear, I won’t want it back when you’re done.’

‘Thanks, I owe you one.’

Brennan laughed. ‘One nightgown, to be precise. I will want it replaced. Now, go to bed.’

Bed was an interesting proposition indeed given there was only the one in his suite and he’d not planned on sharing it with the lovely, mercurial Gianna. He’d also not planned on having her in his room, let alone his bed. Nolan stepped into the steamy bathing room, calling out his approach from the dressing screen that shielded the tub from any intruders. ‘Are you decent? I found you something to wear.’

He heard the water slosh, her voice momentarily flustered. ‘Toss it over the screen, I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘There’s no need to rush,’ Nolan called back, trying to sound cheerful. No need at all. He was still trying to figure out what to do with her, but before he could do that, he had to figure out what to make of her.

He draped the silky material over the screen. The evening hadn’t gone quite as anticipated. He was supposed to have won money, not a woman. But he’d had a plan for that, too. That woman was supposed to have embraced her freedom and left him at the pier. It was a nice, expedient option that should have satisfied them both. In the main room, Nolan poured himself a drink and went out on the balcony to think and to wait. He’d had one plan, but apparently, she’d had another, and that was cause for wonder.

Nolan leaned on the railing, his gaze going out across the dark waters as he sipped at the brandy, letting his thoughts come fast and logical: Was Gianna Minotti a fraud? Was she for real? Was she a little of both, part fact, part fiction? Perhaps of more immediate concern, what did she want badly enough to turn down her freedom and accompany an unknown man to a hotel room, an act that had obviously inspired at least a little fear in her?

There was a delicate cough behind him. He turned, preparing himself for the sight of Gianna Minotti in whatever passed for Brennan’s taste in nightwear. There would be no reason to overreact. This wasn’t his first woman in a nightgown or his first woman anything—he was way beyond firsts when it came to what happened in a bedroom.

His preparation was not enough. Thankfully, years of rote response came to his aid. ‘Will it suffice?’ The words came out of his mouth with little effort from him because the rest of him seemed tongue-tied. The pale-blue dress with its heavy adornments had not done her justice. It had, in fact, distracted the viewer with its opulence from the full onslaught of her beauty. But there was no distraction now.

Nolan’s eyes were riveted on her face, helped there by the simple classic lines of the gown, the thin unobtrusive straps at her shoulders that demanded no attention and the dark cloud of her hair hanging loose and damp at her shoulders, framing her face and those striking hazel eyes. Her face itself was ultimately feminine, at once managing to be compassionate without being soft or delicate, intelligent without being hard. A smart man, a man who wanted to understand her, would study that face for hours and recognise its layers, the complexities of her expressions. Only when that was mastered would he move on to study the rest of her body, shown to perfection in the simplicity of the white gown. Tonight he could not be that man.

Nolan felt his body, typically well trained to reserve its judgement until his mind was made up, stir with arousal. The gown flowed over her curves at the behest of her body, not of fashions. Where the blue gown had forced her to conform, this silk conformed to the wearer, flowing over the swell of her breast, the nip and flare of waist and hip. No wonder Brennan had been reluctant to part with it. The gown had been made by a magician.

‘It suffices, I’d say.’ She took a few steps forward to the cluster of furniture around the fireplace, the silk emphasising the sway of her hips, her mouth quirked in a wry smile that said she’d noted his interest. Damn. He hated being the transparent one. Usually, those roles were reversed. Usually... How many times had he thought of such contrasts tonight? The ‘usual’ held no power here. Nothing that had happened tonight had gone according to plan or prediction.

‘I see the tea has come.’ She sat on the curved sofa and prepared to pour, presiding over the porcelain like a naughty angel in her white gown, her hazel eyes looking preternaturally green against the paleness of her surroundings. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer something stronger?’ She gestured to the decanter on the sideboard, noting the half-empty glass in his hand. ‘I think I’d prefer a little of both after all the excitement tonight.’

Nolan brought the decanter over and sat down, one leg crossed over the other, and let her serve him. If women served tea in nightgowns like this more often, men might actually enjoy the event. He admired the way in which she had manoeuvred things. It was neatly done indeed, masterful even. Of course, he recognised her strategy. It was a trick he used often. To take charge of a situation, one merely had to find a task to perform and then incorporate others into the scheme by asking them questions. Suddenly, you were giving orders and people were looking to you for direction.

She refilled his glass and passed it to him before splashing a healthy amount into her teacup, slightly self-conscious for the first time now that there was no task to perform; no wager to watch, no canal to be hauled out of, no bath to take, no tea to serve. Their action-packed evening had come to a screeching halt and now it was just them and the original reason they were together to start with.

‘So, here we are.’’ Nolan drawled with lazy nonchalance, settling back deep in his chair. Despite his misgivings over her authenticity, he was starting to enjoy this. The next move was hers. What would his bold lady do next?

Chapter Five (#u74f51329-3077-5fc2-9a52-b93f355dc298)

Here they were. In their nightclothes. Together. Gianna took a slow sip of the hot tea. There was a reason polite society didn’t encourage conversation in dishabille and this was it. Without the trappings of one’s wardrobe, one was entirely exposed in more than the obvious ways, although just the obvious exposure alone was enough to leave her feeling flustered and hot at a time when she need to be completely in control.

‘Here we are.’ She smiled, trying to give away none of her nerves. ‘I must thank you again for all you’ve done for me tonight.’ No, that was all wrong, it was too bland. She had to say something more than that if she meant to hold his attention. ‘The gown is lovely. I’m amazed you were able to find anything on such short notice.’ No, that was wrong, too. A man like him must have access to all types of female venues and females. She wondered where the gown had come from, which woman had sacrificed it for her, in return for what? What had the intriguing Nolan Gray promised in exchange?

‘I’m only sorry it didn’t come with a robe.’ Nolan Gray said easily, casually, from his chair, as if he talked with barely clad women over tea all the time. And he might. He’d made it clear in the bathing room undressing women was not a rare occurrence in his life.

‘Liar.’ Gianna caressed the word, a knowing half-smile on her lips. Women were easy for him. This was a man who would want to be flirted with, a man who would want a sensual challenge, something that differed from the norm of his usual experience. She let her eyes hold his over the rim of her tea cup. They were mesmerising eyes, not hard at all to look at with their quicksilver flecks, but hard to look away from. A woman could get lost in them and the decadent promises they held. ‘You’re not sorry at all.’ They were bold words from a bold woman, the sort of woman this man would find appealing.

Nolan Gray wasn’t the sort of man who had to win a woman in a card game. An expanse of well-muscled chest showed in the open vee of his robe, reminding her of the powerful body that had propelled her out of the water, reminding her, too, that she played with a certain intimate fire here. She’d initiated an assertive flirtation and he was very willing to respond in kind.

His eyes drifted over her in a deliberate slide of quicksilver on silk, his gaze making his unspoken thoughts evident: he wanted her. It was to be expected given the circumstances. She was his to want, won fair and square according to the rules of men. But there was more in that gaze than sheer male covetousness and that was what made her pulse race. Those thoughts conveyed possibilities, promises, of pleasure. ‘No, you’ve caught me out. I’m not sorry. You’re a beautiful woman. The blue dress hid you.’

‘The blue dress was worth a fortune,’ she countered, encouraging the flirtation. Flirting was a means to an end, part of her arsenal. If he wanted her, he would let her stay. She had to view that as progress. On the docks he’d been ready to let her go and that did not suit her purposes. But to get what she wanted from him, she’d have to tempt him beyond coy flirtation and who knew where that would end? Well, she knew where that would end—in his bed, with her taking one step closer to becoming her mother, one step closer to being dependent on men, the very thing she’d fought so hard against the count to avoid.

‘It’s too bad the count didn’t wager the dress instead, then.’ Nolan took a swallow of brandy. She followed that swallow down the strong length of his throat. Did she really have a choice in the short term if her long-term goals were to be met?

Gianna stopped her line of thought. How often had her mother said the same? She’d married the count based on that exact logic. She’d wanted respectability for her children, the kind that came cloaked in a title. And yet, despite that cautionary tale, Gianna couldn’t help but think that if she did have to sacrifice herself to the Englishman, then so be it. Was it wrong that part of her didn’t think it would be a terrible sacrifice if it came to that?

The man across from her was attractive with his grey eyes accented by the sweeping upper curve of his cheekbones. It made for an appealing combination of strength and approachability, drawing the eye up to the spill of water-dark hair pushed back from his forehead. His hair would be lighter once it dried, although right now it was the shade of walnuts. His hair had been the colour of sweet pralines in the ballroom. He was a finely made man, too. She’d already noticed how tall and lean-muscled he was and with the manners to go with the looks. To dance with him in a ballroom would be a dream...a dream she should not be entertaining given her circumstances. It would certainly have helped lessen his appeal if he’d been a boor.

‘Why do you suppose he chose to wager you and not the dress?’ Nolan was musing out loud, and she needed to pay attention. Listening was one of a courtesan’s most powerful weapons—the source of information.

‘He was angry with me,’ Gianna replied, not wanting to go into the details. If she was too messy, too complicated, or if he sensed an association with her could be potentially dangerous, he would be rid of her. Nolan raised a brow as if to suggest ‘angry’ didn’t quite explain why a man would wager his daughter in a card game.

She didn’t want to explain. She didn’t want his pity just yet and certainly not his rejection. That was what she’d have if she told him the whole sordid story. She’d tell him later perhaps if she was desperate. Pity could be a tool, too. Besides, telling the story exposed her hand more than she wanted. They might be drinking tea in their nightwear and he might have saved her from drowning but he was still a stranger. So much lay unknown between them. At the moment, she was operating off nothing more than her assumptions about his character.

‘More brandy?’ she offered. She rose with the decanter in hand to cross the short distance between them, but Nolan waved it away.

‘More answers.’ He set his glass down on the low table, pushing it away from him with a sense of finality. Gianna swallowed hard. Small talk was over.

It was time to be bold. She needed a distraction or he’d drag the entire story out of her. She would tell him when she was ready, when she knew she had him and he wouldn’t send her back. Until then, she needed to give him a reason to let her stay. Gianna put down the decanter and pulled off the stopper. She gave it a long, slow lick of her tongue, her eyes on Nolan, watching his reaction. ‘Perhaps we can think of something else to do with the brandy besides drink it.’ Her voice was husky and provocative, the implication clear.

His grey eyes went black at the fantasy she conjured. ‘What are you suggesting?’ His voice had become a husky growl. It was now or never. Gianna seized her courage. She could do this. She knew in theory what men wanted and how to deliver it, if not in practice. But truly, how hard could it be?

Gianna knelt at his knees in the small place between him and the tea table, careful to keep her eyes on his, never letting him guess the boldness was an act. ‘We can find something better to entertain ourselves with besides talk. After all, you didn’t win my conversation in a card game.’ She ran her hands up the insides of his thighs beneath his banyan, over the rough hair of his legs, and she knew the heady sensation of success.

Already his body was shifting, opening to accommodate her touch, his robe falling away to reveal all of him, his phallus starting its journey to arousal as her thumb met with its head, his tip rubbery and tender. She’d not thought it would feel so...vulnerable...when the rest of his body was so very hard. She closed her hand over the length of his shaft, feeling its heat, its pulsing life as it grew harder. She started to stroke.

His hand came down quick and fierce, shackling her wrist. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Do you prefer something else?’ Gianna fired back, defensive in her doubt. Was she doing it wrong?

‘I’d prefer the truth.’ His grip was hard as he brought both of them to their feet. Standing nose to nose or rather nose to chest, she felt the whole force and strength of his presence. Had she misjudged him? Was there cruelty in him yet? Gianna tensed and waited.

‘You haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re doing, of what you’re playing with,’ he accused, and she felt her cheeks burn with shame. He had roused to her touch, her efforts couldn’t have been that far off the mark. Gianna willed herself not to look away from him as he continued his scold. She would not give him or any man the satisfaction of victory. Nolan’s eyes were hard, near-obsidian shards as he made his case. ‘At the palazzo you were not the least interested in sleeping with me. I believe your words were “take your hand off me”. That seems to have changed in a rather short time. Frankly, I find your about-face unbelievable. Perhaps we should try your resolve before this goes any further.’

It was all the warning she had. He seized her mouth in a bruising kiss that left her breathless and reeling from its onslaught, but there was no mistaking this kiss for anything other than what it was—a punishment, a proving ground.

Nolan dragged his mouth away, his eyes narrowed in flinty speculation. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He ran his hand across his mouth, and Gianna knew whatever test he had put to her she had failed. ‘A woman always kisses her truth. Now, why don’t you tell me how it is that a woman who didn’t want to be wagered turns down her freedom when it’s offered to her, especially when she’s not particularly interested in sleeping with me?’

Gianna gathered her dignity and looked him in the eye. She was losing him, not because she lacked competence in the arts of seduction, but because he saw through her, he knew her game and it dulled her one weapon. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Before you oh, so conveniently fell into the canal you were about to say “this is where I stay”,’ he prompted, not believing her feint of ignorance. ‘Somewhere between the ballroom and the canal incident, you decided you didn’t want to be free of me.’

His meaning was evident. Anger surged. ‘You think I planned this? You think I wanted to fall into the canal?’

Her own accusation didn’t appear to stoke his temper. His gaze remained steady. He let go of her wrist and crossed his arms over his chest, entrenching. She recognised the signs. ‘There are those who would say you’ve done well for yourself tonight. You’re here, after all, in this sumptuous room. The question is why?’ His voice was a sensuous caution, reminding her that she toyed with a dangerous man in spite of the kindnesses he’d shown her. ‘What do you want so badly, Gianna, you’re willing to put your hand and no doubt eventually your mouth on a stranger’s cock?’

It would have been better to have simply called her a whore. His crass description of her efforts to bribe him into compliance put her over the edge. Whatever restraint she had left fled in the wake of her temper at full boil. She raised her hand and struck him hard across the face, across that beautifully curved sweeping cheekbone.

‘How dare you!’ But she knew how he dared. He dared because it was true. She’d been willing to do that much and more if need be and it shamed her. In those moments she’d become like her mother, the very life she was trying so hard to avoid—a life dependent on a man’s reactions to her charms.