The Countess Conspiracy

She exhaled slowly. She could feel her pulse hammering against his finger.

“I know you, Sebastian,” she said. “You like sex, and for me, it’s a complete disaster.”

He simply raised an eyebrow. “Let me tell you more about rakus perfectus,” he said. “The whole point of raking is to make sure that everyone is satisfied and safe. There was one night when the woman I was with changed her mind after she came up to the hotel room I had taken for the evening. We spent the night playing vingt-et-un for pennies.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

He considered this. “Yes. By ‘pennies,’ I meant ‘half-pennies.’ It just flows better when you say ‘vingt-et-un for pennies.’”

“Weren’t you furious with her?”

“Should I have been?” He shrugged. “I won three shillings.” He was playing with her hair, twirling it about one of his fingers. “We’re still friends, she and I.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Usually, I’m not,” he said. “But about this? Rakus perfectus spends a great deal of time learning how to find satisfaction without risking disease or pregnancy. It makes for a much, much happier life.”

“But playing cards? Really?”

“I like it when people like me.” Sebastian shrugged. “When a woman bursts into tears in the bedroom because she’s realized she doesn’t want to go through with it, you’ll make her very happy when you pull out a pack of cards.”

Violet could actually imagine him doing that.

“As it happens, she’ll also tell all her friends that you are an extraordinarily considerate lover, and they’ll tell everyone else, and the next thing you know…” His smile glinted at her. “From a purely selfish perspective, I have found that making sure my partner leaves with a smile on her face—however I manage that—is always a good choice.”

“But…”

He smiled at her. “As it happens, I also really, really enjoy intercourse.”

She exhaled, feeling a bloom of heat.

“But I also like kissing,” he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to her breastbone. “And touching. Between the extremes of playing vingt-et-un and doing my damnedest to get you with child, there are innumerable possibilities. And I’m very, very, very…” he paused, his lips pressing against her. “Very,” he repeated, “very interested in discovering which ones you like.”

She couldn’t think, not while he was doing that. Not while his breath tickled her chest, his hands held her close.

“Wait,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what I think of your so-called classifications.”

“Oh?” He kissed her again.

“They’re complete bollocks,” she said.

“True.” He winked at her. “But you’re smiling now. It’s all part of my evil plot.”

“You have an evil plot?”

“Of course I have an evil plot. Before the evening is up, I intend to engage you in a game of vingt-et-un. One-on-one.”

She did her best to hide her smile and failed miserably.

“We’ll work up to that,” he said archly. “A good rake doesn’t whip out his cards at the first sign of acquiescence. Right now, I’m going to give you a back rub.”

She pulled away from him. “Is that a euphemism?”

He frowned and looked upward. “Yes,” he said, “it is. When I say ‘back,’ I include your shoulders and neck.”

She swallowed, just thinking of what that would mean. His hands, caressing her, kneading her flesh. Coaxing her into relaxation.

“And what will happen when you’re done?”

He leaned down to her. “Then I will stop touching you. Rake’s honor.”

She let out a shaky breath. But she knew she could trust Sebastian for this—if he said he was going to stop, he’d do it.

He stood and motioned for her to lie on her front. She took a deep breath and rolled over.

She was tense for that first touch, so tense that when she felt the palm of his hand fall on her lower back, she almost jumped. But he didn’t move any lower. He didn’t spread her legs, as she’d feared. He just pressed his hand against her lower back, unmoving, until her heart stopped thumping and her exhales grew farther apart. Until, despite the warning bells sounding in her mind, her muscles began to relax.

And then he ran his hand up her spine to her shoulders.

“Here,” he said. “Your muscles are so tense, right here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ll feel better if you can relax a little. Like this.”

It was a coaxing, gentle massage, his fingers pressing ever so lightly into her flesh. It wasn’t the kind of angry, expectant rub that a husband might give his wife’s shoulders—a tit for tat that positively screamed, Look what I’m doing for you; now you’d better let me between your legs, or next time, it’s nothing.

“You spend all your time bent over those garden beds in your greenhouse,” he told her. “You’ve got a knot right here.” He pressed a spot in her back, and her breath hissed out. “And right here.” Another sore point. “And…well, you get the drift of what I’m saying. You carry around all the day’s labors in your flesh. Let’s see if we can’t get you to set them down for a few moments.”

She might have thought that he had no more interest in her than in loosening those sore spots. He could have made it more sensual. When he leaned over her, he might have brushed his body against hers. When he pushed his thumbs into those knots, working them, he could have kissed the back of her neck…and sensitive as it was, so aware of his flesh so close to hers, she would have shivered. He might have worked his hands not just along her back but down the sides, finding her br**sts, the erect nubs of her ni**les. She was aware, so aware of all the ways he wasn’t touching her. Of all the things he could do. Of how vulnerable she was under him—how little effort it would take for him to push her against the cushions and hold her there, no matter how she protested.

She wasn’t even sure she would protest.

But he’d promised her that he wouldn’t importune her, and so he didn’t. His touch warmed and then it loosened—and then, gradually, she found herself drifting into a state of contentment.