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

скачать книгу бесплатно


He’d begun this interlude with a plan in mind: Let her see that she played a dangerous game. If she wanted to flirt with him, there would be consequences and he would show her what they were. He’d not expected it to go as far as it had. He’d expected to feel the reticence of last night when her hands had slid up his thighs, not entirely certain. He’d expected to feel the hesitation of her mouth when he’d kissed her. Instead, she’d answered him with her tongue, with her body, her hands, and it had left his plan in shreds.

She’d not been frightened off by his bold sensuality. She’d embraced it and it had ratcheted up his desire to the point that he would have taken her against the wall if not for the bells. And it shamed him. Tonight, she had bested him. She’d taken his game and turned it against him. He should have been more astute.

Nolan ushered her out of the church, his steps brisk, his hand at her back propelling her towards the pier, his words coming in terse businesslike sentences. ‘The gondolier will take you to the hotel. He will see to it that you’re safe. Go directly up to the room, just in case the count has bothered to discover where you are. If there is any emergency, you can go next door and ask for Brennan Carr, my travelling companion.’

They reached the edge of the pier before Gianna staged her rebellion. She crossed her arms and faced him. ‘Where might you be going to in such a hurry? You practically dragged me out of the church.’

‘For which you should be glad. If we had stayed we might have been discovered in a most indecent position. I told you earlier, I had a card game. I still have a card game.’

‘When will you be back?’ She was furious. ‘You are always leaving me.’

Nolan took a step closer to her, keeping their conversation private, his voice a growl. ‘Do you want me to stay? After what happened in the church, there can be no doubt about where our evening is headed if I do.’ Dammit all, he didn’t want to have to spell it out for her. ‘You tempt me to sin and yet I don’t think those are sins you are ready to commit.’ The knuckles of his hand grazed her cheek in a slow stroke. He watched her eyes meet his at the contact and then drift away. He had his confirmation. ‘I do not think you understand how powerful sex can be. Men have gone to war over it.’

She would be a sensual partner in bed, when she was ready, but not yet. He did not want to take her like a battle prize, something he’d conquered.

‘Let me know when you make up your mind.’ He wanted her to come to him, and then—oh, then the things he could show her. There was nothing more seductive than choice. In the meantime, if sex was what he wanted, he knew where to find it. Louisa von Haas would be more than accommodating. He took her hand and kissed the gloved knuckles. ‘Now you see why it is best that we part ways for the evening. Get in the gondola and go.’

* * *

She’d not seen the dismissal coming! What a fool she’d been to be taken so unaware. She’d thought they were making progress in the church—well, perhaps not ‘they’, but certainly she was in her attempt to draw him close.

Gianna drew off her gloves and threw them on the small table next to the door. Apparently kissing a woman up against a church wall was all in a night’s work for Nolan Gray. Which might explain why he was capable of walking away from it without as much as a backward glance. There was another explanation, too. He had simply seen her coming, strategy and all. He’d been wary of her motives from the start.

Gianna trailed her cloak over the back of a chair, its haphazard drape ruining the perfection of the room. Someone had been here after they’d left to clear the dinner things, to turn down the lamps. In the bedroom, someone had turned down the bed and laid out the silky nightgown. Nolan Gray must indeed be paying them a fortune for the flawless service he received, proof enough that she wasn’t beggaring him with her dinner and dresses. Proof enough, too, that he didn’t need the card game in the way he suggested. But he had needed it in other ways. He’d needed the distance. If he had walked away, it hadn’t been without some effort. There was consolation in that.

She should be glad for his restraint—if that’s what it could be called. There’d been nothing restrained about the encounter until the end. What had happened in the church had affected them both. Gianna changed into the nightgown, the slide of silk against her body reminding her of other touches, of his hand on her breast, his mouth on her neck, on her mouth, and how her body had thrilled to his touch wherever it had been, she had thrilled to him in other places, too, that had gone untouched by his hands but not untouched by his words. I want to put my mouth on you, here and here and here... Even now those words could recall the thrill they had raised.

She faced herself in the mirror, her hands moving to cup her breasts, through the silk of the nightgown, lifting them, running her thumbs over the peaks, feeling them rouse a little like they had for him, but it was only a mere facsimile of the truth he’d wrung from them, from her.

That truth still seared her. She’d not wanted him to stay for the sake of her game—the game didn’t need him to stay. She already had his consent. He’d burgle the count’s house without it. He’d pledged his help in return for her leaving, not for sex, not for pleasure, not for the liberties he could take against a church wall. Staying was something she wanted for herself alone. She wanted more of what had happened against the church wall, more of his mouth, more of his hands, more of his body pressed indecently against her, his need for her evident in the bold erection he’d made no attempt to hide.

Perhaps it was her curiosity that had driven her wild as much as his mouth. Maybe she was her own worst enemy in her efforts to resist his lures or were those lures really cautions? Tonight had been meant to warn her away, but it had only served to heighten the complex pull she felt when she was with him.

He had cautioned her to make up her mind, to lay down her weapon and seek pleasure instead, and yet she felt those words suited him as well. He was not without his own conundrum. He wanted her and he wanted her to leave. He could not have both. It made her wonder what sort of plans he had? Did a real mistress await him? Was he looking forward to her leaving? She hoped he’d regret the thought of her leaving a little, otherwise her next revelation might come as an unpleasant surprise.

Gianna slid beneath the covers of the big bed. She didn’t dare think beyond tomorrow night and the masquerade. She would focus on the jewel box. Once she had it, then, and only then, would she think about the next item. She’d seen too many people tripped up by looking too far ahead. It was better to focus on the immediate future. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the hour. She blew out the lamp beside the bed, leaned back against the pillows and said her prayers. They were very simple ones, ones she’d prayed every night since her mother passed away. Please let Giovanni be safe. Please let me be enough.

* * *

The clock chimed two in the morning and Count Agostino Minotto ran a hand across the chessboard, scattering the pieces in play on the floor. ‘Basta! Enough!’ He could hardly concentrate on the game, so distracted was he by Gianna’s absence. What was she doing? Was she still in the city? Had she enticed the Englishman to help her? Had she slept with the English bastard? If she’d done any of it, it was all his fault. He’d let her slip through his fingers with that wager.

His opponent, the decadently handsome, dark-haired Romano Lippi, merely laughed. ‘She’ll be back.’ Romano bent down to pick up the pieces. He set the queen back on her square. ‘The Englishman will return her when he is done with her. It’s only been a day.’

The count grunted and said nothing. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d thought to frighten her into accepting his proposal. He’d imagined putting the wager to her and watching her beg him not to do it, watching her bargain anything not to be sent away, even marriage to him, which would give him everything he wanted. He was well aware she didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. But better the devil you know. Or so he’d thought. But Gianna hadn’t quivered, not once. She’d merely marched off with the Englishman.

‘You’re just upset she preferred a stranger over you.’ Romano poured each of them another drink.

Hell, yes, he was upset. He took a long swallow. He’d misjudged her. She’d called his bluff and allowed him to wager her instead of crying and begging. Even then, he hadn’t worried. He had had a good hand, one that should win. He wouldn’t really lose her. He’d only meant to scare her. Then that Englishman had laid down an unbeatable hand. Now she was gone.

He didn’t regret what he might have doomed her to. He was hardly bothered about the fact that he might have sent his ward to lie with a stranger. He was bothered that she’d slipped out of his control. For all intents and purposes, she was loose in Venice, able to cultivate an ally in the Englishman if she wished to, able to strike back at him if he didn’t strike out at her first. To be honest, it did make him nervous. There was a small fortune and jewels at stake that would see him through for some years.

If she remained free for four weeks, all of her money would be hers. He would lose every last bit of control, everything he’d worked for in the past five years. That would set a domino effect in motion. He would lose the palazzo, he would become a barnabotti—a nobleman with no funds—as he had been before Gianna’s mother had presented with him with an opportunity he couldn’t refuse.

The count fingered a pawn and set it down. She might have her freedom, but it would cost her. He’d given Gianna twenty-four hours to decide her fate: return to him or run. She had chosen to remain at large. What happened next would be on her head. Tomorrow, he would send the letter that would decide Giovanni’s fate. As long as he controlled her brother, he could still force her hand. He gave Romano a long, lingering look that Romano returned before rising and coming to massage his shoulders. Agostino sighed and let the tension go. He understood Romano, Romano was easy to please: money and attention were all he required. But women were damnably frustrating creatures.

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

Nolan had not been this frustrated by a woman since his first mistress at twenty-one. Olivia Donati, an opera singer. Perhaps it was no coincidence that she, too, was Italian. Maybe it was only Italian women who were frustrating. He’d spent the early morning walking the city, thinking, and now his feet had brought him back to the hotel. Nolan took a seat out of doors at one of the cafés near the hotel and signalled for a coffee. He couldn’t go up yet to Gianna without any answers.

The coffee was rich and hot and Nolan savoured the warmth curling around his hands. It had been a cold walk and not one he’d planned to take. After cards, his body had still been far too primed to come back to the hotel. Neither had he relished the idea of sleeping in the club room again. He’d stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his greatcoat and let the February cold of Venice before dawn work its dubious magic.

Nolan sipped the coffee and watched the Piazza San Marco come alive in slow, predictable rhythm. First would come the carters and vendors bound for the markets, then the shopkeepers and the restaurant owners who depended on the vendors to supply their businesses. Finally, long after he’d drunk his coffee, would come the daily shoppers and the tourists.

After six weeks in Venice, he still hadn’t tired of the rhythm. Venice felt good. The city suited him, as if they were made for one another. In a way, he supposed they were. Like him, Venice was a city that had accrued its power through wealth instead of landownership. He owned nothing, not yet.

Of course, that was the old Venice, the Venice of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a Venice that was long gone now. But modern Venice was like him, too. Modern Venice preferred pleasure. Venice had refashioned herself around that pleasure, lifted herself from the ashes of Napoleon much as he had lifted himself from the ashes of his family and his father’s unyielding dominance.

The city was a subdued phoenix, certainly not the pleasure capital she’d once been, but a phoenix none the less. The city and himself had decided not to tolerate their dismal situations and had taken efforts to change them. There was a saying he was quite fond of: if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got. In other words, change was only possible when one changed his circumstances. The Grand Tour had been his chance to do that in the most literal of ways.

Why aren’t you doing that with Gianna, then? You know it works. The thought hit him forcefully. He was waiting for her to convince herself sex didn’t have to be only a weapon, a means to an end. But her convincing might need some help. What if she didn’t know how to convince herself? What if he changed her mind for her? The whole day lay before them, with nothing to do but wait for the masquerade. Until now. Nolan rose. He was going to seduce Gianna for her own good and what better place to do it than Venice, a city made for pleasure.

* * *

‘Get dressed, we’re going out, sleepyhead!’

Gianna threw an arm over her face against the invading light. She’d slept poorly and it seemed patently unfair that Nolan should be so freakishly cheerful. She had not pegged him as morning person. Gianna rolled over and hid her face in the pillow with a mumbled protest. ‘Whatever happened to breakfast at noon?’

‘We’ve got a lot to do today.’ She could hear Nolan moving about the room, opening drawers and wardrobes. Something soft and filmy hit her face.

‘Please stop going through my undergarments.’ She nudged the chemise aside.

‘Then get up and get them yourself.’ Nolan dropped a pile of clothes on the bed and pressed on the mattress with the full force of his hands, bouncing it.

‘You’re obnoxious, just like...’ She stopped herself. She’d nearly said my little brother. She didn’t want that to slip out, not yet. She’d tell Nolan about Giovanni when the time was right, or if the time was ever right. Perhaps, once she had the jewel case, she would be able to go after Giovanni on her own. Nolan need never know the count had her brother locked away on the mainland. Tonight was the first step in getting him back. Gianna swallowed back the lump in her throat.

‘Just like what?’ Nolan stopped jiggling the bed and moved away. She could hear him pouring something. Then the aroma hit her.

‘Ahhhh.’ Gianna sat up, eyes open. ‘You brought coffee. I love you.’

Nolan passed her the cup. ‘Twenty minutes, that’s all you get. It’s already half past ten. The day’s a-wasting.’

Gianna took a long, fortifying swallow of coffee. ‘Where are we going? You haven’t forgotten we’ve got the count’s house to burgle.’ She said it lightly but she did fear for a moment that perhaps this was a strategy to get out of his promise.

Nolan leaned down so she could see those amazing grey eyes and that infectious smile up close. ‘We are going to the fish market and, second, I have not forgotten about the count’s house, but that is hours away, a whole day away and we must do something to pass the time.’

‘The fish market?’ Gianna wrinkled her nose. ‘Whatever for?’

‘You’ll see.’ Nolan grinned and pulled out his pocket watch, snapping it open. ‘Eighteen minutes, Gianna. Tick-tock.’

She dressed quickly in the deep-raspberry walking gown because she was curious and because the dress was exquisite. At least that was what she told herself as she tucked a final pin into her hair. She told herself her quickness had nothing to do with the excitement of being out with Nolan, or the anticipation of what might happen next between them. She knew there was a sexual game between them. How could there not be under the circumstances that had thrown them together? And yet, even knowing that game was there, he constantly took her by surprise.

The church last night had been enlightening. It had stripped her bare in all ways; her wanting exposed by his hands, his lips; her strategy exposed by his words. He’d spiked her guns most effectively. He knew she meant sex to be her weapon against him, the tool by which she would manoeuvre him into compliance. He’d called her bluff against that hard wall at San Giorgio Maggiore and then given her the choice—to explore the pleasures of sex instead of the politics of it...with him.

Gianna flung her cloak about her shoulders. If that was what today was about, she’d best be on her game. Or off it, a wicked little voice tempted. The thought gave her pause. Perhaps today wasn’t meant to be so much about being on her guard as it was about letting her guard down. Did she trust him enough for that? Did she trust herself? The part of her that remembered his mouth on her in the church, his hands in her hair, wanted to. The cynic in her launched a violent protest.

What would happen if she let him in? It was frightening to contemplate. Letting him in risked much. Her world was a dark mess full of the count’s betrayals and cruelties. If Nolan truly knew the darkness that surrounded her, he might rethink all of it—the burglary tonight, even his association with her. Giovanni needed her to act circumspectly. She’d failed her brother once. It had led to him being sent away, an act the count had meant to punish her and it had. For four years now, it had been the driving force behind everything she’d done, everything she’d endured at the count’s hand: save Giovanni; make a new life for the two them where he could not be made to suffer for her rash actions. She had cost him four years of freedom already, she would not cost him any more. She would make it up to him somehow, even if it meant resisting the temptations Nolan offered.

* * *

Nolan was waiting for her in the lobby, offering her his arm, sweeping her out to the piazza and into the throng of sightseers who’d come to enjoy the city for Carnevale. Apparently, along with rooting out her clothes, he’d grabbed some for himself as well and had taken time to freshen up somewhere else, perhaps the club room, while she’d changed. He’d traded his evening clothes for walking attire and tall boots. He’d even managed to shave. No one looking at him would guess he’d been up the entire night.

‘Isn’t this a little backwards?’ Gianna asked as they headed towards the Rialto. ‘Shouldn’t I be showing you around the city? Technically, you’re the visitor.’

Nolan merely grinned. ‘No, today, you are the tourist. I am going to show you Venice my way.’ When he smiled at her that way, making her the sum of his world in that gaze, she had the feeling resistance would be pointless no matter what vows she’d made herself.

North of the Rialto Bridge was the fish market, the pescheria, the largest and arguably the oldest in the city...and it was exciting. With Nolan’s hand at her back, they navigated the stalls, taking in the fish, all fresh caught that morning in the lagoon or farther out in the Adriatic: shrimps, scallops, lobsters, crabs, cod, sole. The rows of stalls piled with fish on display were mesmerising in their diversity—fish of all shapes and colours stared back at her.

The market was bustling with customers. Fishmongers called out their wares, people haggled over prices, loud voices rose and fell in hearty competition. ‘It doesn’t smell, not really,’ Gianna commented as they stopped beside a booth that served bowls of fish stew.

‘Fresh fish doesn’t usually smell.’ Nolan gave her a curious smile and turned to the vendor, ordering two bowls and a half loaf of fresh-baked bread. He handed one to her. ‘I believe you are in need of breakfast. Let’s sit.’ He motioned to a set of rough benches and plank tables set to the side of the market.

Gianna couldn’t imagine a better breakfast. She followed Nolan’s lead and dipped her bread into the stew broth, laughing when she dribbled. Nolan whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at her chin. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘I think simple food is often the best food.’ Nolan tore off another chunk of bread and offered it to her. ‘Tell me, have you been here?’

The question caught her off guard. Gianna looked up from her stew. ‘I’ve lived in Venice my whole life.’

‘That’s not what I asked. Have you ever come here?’

‘Not since I was a little girl. Even then only once or twice. My mother’s...’ She paused, hesitated. ‘Er...protectors always arranged for servants, at least a cook and a lady’s maid.’

Nolan nodded, not put off by the reminder of her mother’s profession. ‘And the count?’

‘He had servants, too. There was no need.’ Her voice trailed off and she concentrated on her stew. But she’d already given too much away.

‘You didn’t come here on your own just to walk around by choice? Or the count didn’t permit it?’ Nolan probed. His eyes were on her. ‘You don’t have to lie for him, Gianna.’

She met his gaze. ‘Perhaps I have to lie for myself,’ Gianna answered softly, ‘so we can enjoy this lovely winter morning you’ve planned for us. There is no need to burden you with my life.’

‘Maybe I want to be burdened.’ Nolan dipped a piece of bread into the hot broth and held it to her lips. ‘Or shall I make it easy for you and guess? The count did not allow you to leave his palazzo?’

Gianna summoned her courage. Would he offer pity and then politely distance himself? Perhaps it was better to know now what sort of man he was than to know later when perhaps it was too late to save herself. ‘After my mother died, the count did not allow us to leave the palazzo. He said that was what servants were for, but we knew better. If we left, we might never come back and he knew that.’

‘We? Who is we?’ Nolan asked softly, lifting another piece of broth-dipped bread to her lips.

It was all or nothing now. ‘My brother and I.’ She watched his grey eyes take in the news. It seemed that the bustle of the fish market had receded, leaving them in a cocoon apart from the world. There was only the two of them and her story if she was willing.

Nolan’s voice was quiet and prompting. ‘Where is your brother now?’

She didn’t answer immediately. The shame was too great. Where he was, was all her fault. ‘The count sent him away when he was thirteen.’ She’d not meant to say even that much, but it had come spilling out of her.

‘Why?’ Nolan divided the last of the bread between them and offered her a section. ‘You can tell me, Gianna. You needn’t worry you’ll shock me.’ It was what a lot of people said. Few of them meant it or even knew how to mean it. But Nolan’s next words convinced her that perhaps he might be different. ‘I have a brother, too, Gianna.’ He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘I know what it means to want to save them...and to fail.’

‘I was stubborn. I had stood up to the count one too many times in the months after my mother died. I was furious that he had managed to be named our guardian. He was furious that I wouldn’t sign over complete control of the money my mother had left me.’ Gianna broke the bread into little pieces, trying to tell the story with some detachment. That day was still so vivid although it had been four years ago. In his anger, the count had swung his fist at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time the count had hit her or tried physical force to gain her compliance, but it was the first time Giovanni had been present.

‘My brother stepped between us, trying to defend me.’ It happened in slow motion again in her mind. ‘The count grabbed him and flung him against the wall. He hit his head.’ She had been the one to call the doctor. She had stayed beside him for endless days, fearing that if she left him, the count wouldn’t let her back. She loved Giovanni on his own merits, but she’d also promised her mother they would be together always. It was a promise she hadn’t been able to keep.