The Countess Conspiracy
Page 59

She let out a shaky breath and caught his hand in hers. “Sebastian.” She let out a breath. “I can’t do this.”
He froze, his hands stilling on her.
“Do what?”
“Be…seduced.” She gulped in a breath. “Particularly by so effective a rake as yourself.”
“A rake.” He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “You say that as if rake was an identifiable species.”
“I know a rake when he kisses me,” she said darkly.
He took his hand from hers and set it deliberately on her hip; his fingers warmed her skin beneath her gown. “It’s not that easy.” His thumb started a little caressing motion, a tiny circle that distracted her. “You have to consider rake phylogeny.”
“Rake phylogeny?” Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me with science.”
“Of course I am.” He winked at her. “And it’s going to work.”
“You’re trying to distract me with falsified science,” Violet accused. “Raking is a learned behavioral trait, not a species designation.”
“Hear me out for now. The thing is, I think you have me confused with rakus indifferentus: the rake whose goal is to plunder as many women as he can, indifferent to everything except whether the hole he utilizes is tight and wet. This sort of rake cares nothing about risk. Pregnancy is irrelevant; the woman’s feelings or reputation—indeed, her consent—is of no concern to him. If he can get between her legs, he will.”
“I am making a list of all the things that are wrong with your species classification.”
His eyes widened in mock innocence. “Excellent. Keep doing that; I’ll just keep telling you wrong things.”
Violet shifted; he smiled and slid his hand around her, pulling her close, playing his fingers against her spine.
“Rakus indifferentus, alas for him, but quite merrily for the rest of us, has a shortened lifespan. If he’s not killed by the women he preys on or the men who care for those women, he’s often taken by the clap. His subspecies is particularly vulnerable to it.”
Violet found herself smiling despite herself.
“Then there’s rakus precauticous.”
“Rakus precauticous?” Violet said dubiously. “That does not sound like valid nomenclature.”
“Don’t interrupt; you’ll have a chance for questions at the end. That is a rake who understands the rules of the game. He limits himself to women who are willing. He may use sheaths or hire doctors to perform examinations of potential partners so as to preserve his, uh, his assets.” Sebastian shrugged. “In general, precauticous either becomes so enamored of the activity that he metamorphosizes into indifferentus—”
“That cannot be a proper species identification, then.”
Sebastian ignored this. “Or he becomes so tired of taking precautions that he limits himself to one or, er, sometimes a few women for lengthy periods of time.”
Violet wrinkled her nose at him. “And so you’re a precauticous on the verge of metamorphosis, is that it?”
Sebastian pushed her to arm’s length. “My lady,” he said in a dignified tone utterly belied by the sparkle in his eye, “I am not. Those two species are to be pitied.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “What species are you, then? Rakus giganticus?”
He smirked. “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it as a subspecies.”
“Rakus improperus?”
“I am wounded and offended.” He didn’t look wounded or offended. He looked cheerful. “Surely you have heard of the humble, the brilliant, the most sought-after rakus perfectus?” He waggled an eyebrow at her.
She burst into laughter, doubling over.
“Please don’t bow in my presence,” he said. “There’s no need; a mere genuflection will do.”
Violet straightened and set her hand over her heart. “Never say that’s true. Am I really in the presence of rakus perfectus giganticus? Let me fetch my scalpel and perform a dissection right this instant.”
“Again, there’s no need—the study is already complete.” He buffed his nails against his jacket. “The perfectus is formed, you see, when a…well, I would call him an ordinary man, but, well.” Another grin. “Even I am not capable of such delusional self-effacement. When an extraordinary man falls irrevocably in love with a woman he cannot have.”
Violet felt the smile slide off her face.
He shrugged. “Maybe she’s married to another,” he says. “Maybe she doesn’t love him back. Maybe he’s a widower who has lost the love of his life.”
“This is taking a somber turn,” Violet said.
“Rakus perfectus knows he won’t fall in love with anyone else—not so long as he has her in his mind. But he doesn’t like the idea of hurting anyone else.” His voice grew low. “Not while he has her in his mind. His assignations may be fewer in number, but he takes care not just for his welfare, but for his partners’ well-being. Because, well.” He looked away. “Maybe because he imagines that someday, someone might tryst with the woman he loves. If they do, he hopes they’ll treat her the way that he…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. She looked over at him. “Sebastian,” she said. “You’ve been a rake your entire adult life.”
He took a deep breath. “Do you remember on the eve of your wedding, when you were nervous? Do you remember how I joked that you should jilt your husband and elope with me?”
“I was eighteen.” She glanced at him. “You were sixteen. You were still in school.”
“Yes, well.” He swallowed. “Also, I wasn’t joking.”
She didn’t know what to say. “Sebastian, you can’t mean that. That was sixteen years ago. You were a boy.”
“My point precisely,” he said quietly. “I was a boy, and back then—at first—I figured I would grow out of it. And I did, actually. For a while. It was just…I grew back into it, too.” He shrugged.
She shook her head.
“Over the years, it has changed. Shifted. It has been sixteen years, and during that entire time, I have not been having sex with you.” His hand closed around her wrist, his forefinger lightly pressing her wrist. “I know that even the thought of that sends you into a tearing panic.”