London's Most Wanted Rake by Bronwyn Scott Page B

over time, but it would always be there. It was the night he’d gone too far. He had not liked the way she’d looked at a gentleman, an English visitor, over dinner. Frankly, he’d not liked Englishmen since he’d discovered Channing’s infatuation with her. Alina squeezed her eyes shut, pushing back those memories. She’d been too young, too naïve to do anything then but bear it. She’d done nothing to inspire this new Englishman, but the comte, in his paranoia, believed otherwise.
    He’d called her to him in his chamber that evening and she’d known it would go badly, that she’d be blamed for some imagined slight, even though it was by his own orders that she graced his table and consorted with his guests. He’d been in a rage and he’d been planning. She saw too late that his signet ring had already been heating in the fire. She’d tried to run, tried to fight him. She’d not yet learned that such attempts excited him to frenzy. He’d ripped the fabric of her gown from her and pinned her to the wall with his weight while he’d pressed the scorching ring into her soft flesh, all the while she screamed, knowing no one would answer her cries.
    Alina drew the folds of her robe together and rebelted it. She’d changed that night. She’d gone from being a meek wife whose strategy for survival had been invisibility and quiet acceptance of her fate to a woman empowered by her assets. Maybe she didn’t have the brute strength to counter him physically or to stop him, but she had the power to deny him the satisfaction of watching her break. Harnessing that power had required her to be bold, to go against the teachings of childhood when it came to a woman’s duty and obedience. She’d had to acquire skills no decent Englishwoman learned in the schoolroom, but she’d done it. Sex became a game, a source of power and control, and she’d survived.
    It was not until she’d met Channing again in England upon her return, that she’d learned there could be pleasure. Even that lesson had been hard learned. He’d shown her how to soar like Icarus to the sun, then he’d let her crash. But tonight, she would have both the power and the pleasure.
    Alina gave her appearance a final glance. Satisfied, she checked the supplies in the drawer beside the bed. The capotes anglaise were prepared, one of them already out of its package so there would not be much interruption when the time came. She moved to the table and chairs set before the fire. Little vials of oil stood discreetly ready on the table top along with the more obvious bucket of champagne. She picked up one of the oils and removed the stopper, letting the scent of sandalwood fill the room. But that was not the one she was going to use on him. She had a nice vanilla-scented oil for that . All was in place.
    A thrill ran through her at the prospect of what lay ahead. Games and pasts aside, this was going to be a delightful seduction. The interlude at the summerhouse ensured it. It had served as an ice-breaker of sorts. The fast, heated, playful love making had paved the way for something more sophisticated and lingering, something that could take all night if they wanted. They would not repeat the mistakes of the previous night with a quarrel and insinuations from pasts neither of them fully understood. Better to live in the present.
    There was a quiet scratch on the door and her pulse raced for a moment with anticipation of what was to come. Sex with Channing Deveril was one of the highlights of her life as long as it was just sex, as long as she remembered the rules of the game and what she wanted at the end of it.
    Channing slipped inside and shut the door softly behind him. He was dressed in a robe, too, and his feet were bare. ‘I hope no one saw you.’ Alina let her gaze sweep his form. He was obviously naked beneath the robe. More than a hint of bare chest was visible between the lapels of the robe and his legs were uncovered. No one catching him in the