Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired. Nicola Cornick
of his belly and thigh, her mouth dipping to follow its trail. He stirred and groaned her name, already aroused, his erection straining.
‘Does this feel good?’ She whispered, astonished at her own daring, excited at what she could do to him.
‘Minx.’ He caught her to him, tumbling her beneath him, rolling her over so that she was lying on her stomach on the pillows. ‘You learn too quickly.’
Confused, she tried to turn around to ask him what he was doing, but he held her hips down and she gave a shattered cry as she felt the moist flick of his tongue between her thighs. She felt intensely vulnerable as he opened her to the skilled, intimate stroke of his tongue. The sensations gathered and exploded around her like exquisite torture and then she felt the tip of his erection tease her and he entered her in a series of thrusts that immediately sent her tumbling over the edge into cataclysmic orgasm. Trembling, quiescent, she tried to slump on the pillows but he held her steady, maintaining the power of his thrusts, one moment buried within her, the next withdrawing in a rhythm as strong and primal as time. She felt his hands tighten on her hips and then he thrust deep and hard, emptying himself into her.
For a moment there was nothing but the harshness of their breathing and then he lifted her unresisting body in his arms and turned her to face him, laying her down on the pillows. His kiss was as deep and searing as his possession had been and when he let her go there was a fierce expression in his face as though he were angry with her in some way. She stared up at him, feeling again the sense that there was a part of him that was tormented and dark, a part that he kept locked away where she could not reach him.
‘I will conquer this,’ he ground out, and then his mouth came down on hers again with absolute demand and his hand came up to cup her breast as though through his utter dominance of her body he might somehow control his own desires. Feeling the helpless need that coursed through her at the renewed claim in his touch, Sally freed her mouth and gasped, ‘Jack, please, I can’t …’
But she saw the wicked glint in his eyes and knew it was pointless to protest.
‘You can,’ he whispered, his lips drifting over the curve of her breast. ‘You will,’ and she gave herself up to sheer sensation. Yet beneath the desire ran the deep and strong current of her love and, now that she had acknowledged it, Sally knew she could never be free of it.
‘Miss Sally!’
Sally awoke in a panic to the sound of Mrs Matson’s voice. For one dreadful moment she was afraid that her old nurse had come in and found her in bed with Jack. Then she moved and once again the bed felt empty and cold and she realised with a lurch of the heart that Jack had gone.
‘Miss Sally.’ Mrs Matson was staring fixedly at the dent in the pillow where Jack’s head had lain. ‘I thought I told you to find a nice young man?’
‘Mmm.’ Sally rolled over to prop herself on her elbow. Her memories of the previous night suggested that Jack Kestrel might be many things, but he was not Matty’s idea of a nice young man.
‘And instead,’ Mrs Matson continued, still staring with apparent fascinated disapproval at the tumbled bed, ‘you choose a scoundrel.’
‘Yes,’ Sally said. She yawned. ‘Was there anything else, Matty? I am a little tired this morning.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Matty said astringently. ‘And, yes, there was something, Miss Sally. I wanted to let you know that Miss Connie has come back. I saw her getting out of a motor car outside only a moment ago.’
With a muffled curse Sally leapt from the bed, remembering, as Mrs Matson gave a loud shriek, that she was entirely naked. She grabbed a robe, knotting it about her waist, and hurried out on to the landing.
As she leaned on the wrought-iron banister at the top of the stairs she saw the front door open surreptitiously and her sister Connie come in. She had her shoes in her hand and was tiptoeing across the marble floor to the stairs.
‘Good morning,’ Sally said.
Connie jumped and dropped the shoes with a clatter. She was wearing what Sally recognised to be an evening gown, presumably from the previous night, a sky-blue confection that should have looked divine, but actually looked a little dishevelled now. Her sleek blonde hair was ruffled and she wore no stockings. Connie had a classically pretty face with a pink-and-white complexion and china blue eyes that was almost too perfect in its symmetry. The only thing that marred her expression was the downward droop of her mouth, which seemed to imply perpetual disappointment.
‘What on earth are you doing up at this hour?’ Connie demanded, her blue eyes narrowed. She looked less than friendly.
‘I always get up at this time,’ Sally said calmly. She watched her sister as Connie started to climb the stairs, wincing in her bare feet. ‘Usually you don’t see me,’ she continued, ‘as you never wake until eleven.’
‘Don’t ask me where I’ve been,’ Connie said crossly.
‘All right.’
‘I was with Bertie Basset,’ Connie said. She reached the landing and stopped defiantly in front of her sister. ‘I have been with him for the last couple of days.’
‘I see,’ Sally said. Bertie Basset. She felt a cold dousing of shock as she remembered Jack’s original suspicions about Connie trying to fleece the Bassets one way or another and her own conviction that her sister was up to something. She had hoped against hope it might not be true.
Connie was frowning at her. ‘You look different,’ she said. ‘More … pretty.’ She scowled. ‘Anyway, don’t scold me. I’m too tired.’
Sally touched her sister’s elbow. ‘I need to speak with you, Connie. Urgently.’
Connie pouted. ‘Must you? I’m too tired to talk now! We dined at Grange’s last night and then we went dancing.’ Connie smiled mistily. ‘Then we went to Bartram’s Hotel. It’s very expensive.’
‘I see,’ Sally said drily, wondering if Connie would have been less free with her favours had Bertie proposed to take her somewhere cheaper.
‘I dined with Mr Kestrel last night,’ she added.
Connie’s eyes opened very wide. ‘Mr Jack Kestrel? He wanted to dine with you?’ Her face crumpled with disappointment and jealousy. ‘Oh, I would have liked to meet him!’
‘He would like to meet you too,’ Sally said grimly.
Connie smiled, good humour restored. ‘Naturally he would. Everyone who is anyone in London wishes to meet me.’
‘In order to take back the letters Mr Basset wrote to you, which I believe you have been trying to use to blackmail Mr Basset’s father.’
Connie bit her lip. A shade of colour had crept into her cheeks and she looked defensive. ‘That was a mistake.’
‘It certainly was.’ Sally tapped her fingers on the banister. ‘What are you up to, Connie?’ she said softly. ‘I know there is something going on. You have been with Mr Basset all night and yet you were trying to extort money from his father.’
Connie sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Oh, Sal, you are so naïve!’ Her hair swung forward, hiding her expression. ‘Bertie and I had a falling out. I thought it was all over.’
Sally’s heart sank at this confirmation of her sister’s guilt. ‘So you tried to make some money out of the affair.’
‘Why not?’ Connie straightened up. ‘He owed me something.’
‘And now that you and Mr Basset are reconciled, what are you planning to do?’ Sally asked sarcastically. ‘Write Lord Basset a letter of apology?’
Connie brightened. ‘Oh, that is a splendid idea! We may pretend that the whole matter never happened.’
‘I was joking,’ Sally said. ‘Mr Kestrel is hardly the man to let the matter go, even if Lord Basset