Enticing the Earl (20 page)

“A good thing,” Lauryn pointed out, interested in his brother's assessment of the earl, though she hoped they didn't get caught in this family dissection of his character.

“As long as you don't take it to extremes,” Carter complained. “Every man must have time to play, now and then.”

“True,” Lauryn agreed, dropping her gaze to her lap as she thought of the lovemaking she and the earl had shared. That was surely play at its best!

“Why do you feel your brother is unlikely to settle down?” she asked, bringing the conversation back to its starting point. “Surely he will marry, from his own class, of course, at some point. I mean, he will need an heir.”

“Don't know,” Carter said, his tone cautious. “He threatens to leave that dreadful task to me, which really ain't in my line, either. I like the playing better than the paying, as the saying goes. But if he don't, it goes back to his mother, don't you know. She left, you see, when he was only five.”

“Left?” Lauryn looked up in surprise. If they were both Suttons, but only half brothers, she had assumed different mothers, but she had thought the earl's mother must have died, perhaps in childbirth as too many women did. “What do you mean, she left?”

“Ran off with another man, and the old earl got a divorce, act of Parliament, the whole business. Right lot of gossip it was, at the time. So poor old Marcus doesn't trust women a whole lot, you see.”

“Ah, I do see,” she said, wondering that he had not thrown her out the door when the first flicker of doubt had emerged over her identify or her status. Good heavens.

“Mind you, our father was a hard man to live with, I think even Marcus would tell you that, a right tyrannical old despot, down to the end.” Carter shook his head in memory.

“The two of you must have had a difficult childhood,” she said. And here she had been thinking that, with wealth and a titled name behind them, they had had all that they needed. How wrong one could be!

He shrugged. “Others had worse. We grew up with nannies and tutors, that's all. My own mother was sweet, but so terrified of the old earl she could say little to dissuade him if he were on a tirade. But Marcus would stand up for me, if I had been really bad and our father wanted to have me whipped.”

Lauryn shivered. “Oh, that was good of him!”

“I should say.” Carter gave a rather mirthless laugh, but his eyes turned bleak, remembering. “He was a good brother, actually. I'd like to see him happy.” He gazed back at her suddenly, and appeared a bit embarrassed to be caught in a genuine bit of emotion. “Not that he'd thank me for interfering or telling tales out of school, don't you know.”

“Of course not,” she smiled at him. “My lips are sealed.”

He put his cards away and, with a bow to her, left the sitting room. Lauryn stared at her book, but instead of the poet's groves, she saw two young boys coping with an old and too strict father, a timid mother/stepmother, and the lonely childhood one had faced growing up with the knowledge that his own mother had gone away forever, with no thought to the son she had left behind.

Her heart ached for him. Was there any trace of that boy left in the sophisticated, amazingly adept lover she knew and yet did not know? He could be gentle and yet could freeze up on her in an instant. Perhaps she would never get to truly know him—he would likely send her away before he ever opened up to her, and they would probably never be on a truly level plane…and there was nothing she could do to change the playing field…

She walked over to the cabinet where Carter had put away his cards, and on a whim, took out the deck. She let the cards shuffle through her hands and looked at their printed faces: queen and jack, trey and six, wildly different values, just as in life.

Marcus knew for certain now what he had suspected all along: she was not truly a member of the demimonde, but she was also not an aristocrat, not on the same rung of society as he. They would never stand on the same playing field, so she could not dream of facing him as an equal. She was now as she had been at the beginning—she must not lose her heart, no matter how winning his lovemaking, how bold his kisses, or even how much she might think he needed someone to love…She had to remember that. She could not risk leaving her own heart behind.

When it came time to change for dinner, Lauryn decided
she had also better check on the contessa. She found her sitting in bed reading a book one of the maids had brought her from the shelves downstairs.

“Are you still feeling ill?” Lauryn asked her.

“I am not at my best,” the other lady told her. “Look at me. Yet, the circles under my eyes. My skin is pallid. Bah, I am a mess! I do not come out of the room till I am
tres belle
again.”

“I see,” Lauryn said, although she didn't really. The contessa was always a strikingly attractive woman. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“
Merci
, thank you no,
ma petite
,” the contessa said, smiling at her. “You have saved my life already. The servants vill bring me up ze tray of food.”

So with the help of one of the maids, Lauryn changed her gown for dinner, then went downstairs to eat with the two gentlemen.

“I understand you must represent the feminine side all by yourself tonight,” the earl said. Now in evening dress, he had reappeared, and looked much too handsome to be allowed out alone.

She blinked at him, and tried to focus her thoughts on dinner and other mundane topics. “Yes, the contessa is–is not quite up to her usual good health.”

“Oh, you can be candid. She had a message sent down to me,” Carter told them, grinning. “‘She waits to be restored to her usual standard of beauty,' was how she put it.”

Lauryn tried not to laugh. “The contessa is a lady of, ah, unusual straightforwardness. And that is certainly much to her credit.”

“Much,” the earl agreed. “I'm sure we will miss her conversation tonight at dinner. We shall have to do our best to get along without her, however.” His dark eyes twinkled as he offered his arm to Lauryn. They went into the dining room, where they enjoyed another excellent dinner.

This time, she had little worries about protocol; Carter had an endless supply of funny stories, and when he sometimes wandered into anecdotes about their time as children, or as young men before their father the late earl had died, Lauryn was especially interested. She noticed that Carter never mentioned his brother's mother, however. It appeared that some subjects were taboo, even to the irreverent younger brother.

She left them alone to savor their port, but they came in to join her almost at once, and they played silly child's games in the drawing room, which Lauryn found much less nerve-wracking than cards. True, Marcus beat them all even at spillikins, but she still preferred that to being humiliated at whist.

When the earl put his hand upon hers to show her how to balance the long straws used for the game, she felt a shiver of response go through her, and she wondered if they would be able to share a bed tonight. She tried not to show how her body responded to his slightest touch. But when she looked at him, she felt a hunger that dwarfed anything she had felt in the dining room….

Perhaps that was one reason that the earl proclaimed it
time to retire even before the clock had struck ten o'clock.

“Are you going to bed with the cows?” his brother protested.

“Country hours,” the earl told him cooly. “While we are in the country, you must do as the local populace does.”

“I know one doesn't stay up as late as in London, but really, Marcus, you don't have to take it to extremes,” Carter grumbled. “I'm the one sleeping on a camp bed, if you remember, and without anyone beside me to make it more agreeable.”

“I do weep for you,” his brother told him, grinning.

“Oh, I can tell,” Carter retorted. “Well, I'm taking the rest of the port to bed with me!”

Lauryn said good-night demurely, without getting into the argument, but her heart lightened as she climbed the staircase. She went into the other bedroom to check on the contessa, but all seemed well, and surely tonight, there would be no further midnight alarms.

After changing for bed, she slipped down the hall to the earl's bedroom, and found that he was waiting for her, his expression hard to read.

But he had already shed his clothes, and with his robe on, he sat in a deep chair next to the fireplace. The room was warm from the fire and comfortably dim.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said softly. He held out one arm to her, and she walked close enough so that he could pull her to him.

The strength in his arms was reassuring. He lifted her lightly into his lap, and they sat together in the wide chair. She put her arms about his neck and curled up with him, pushing the lapels of his robe further apart to warm her hands on his chest, touching the light sprinkles of dark hair.

He murmured as she ran her fingers over his chest. “You're teasing me,” he said.

“I would never do that.” She lifted her brows, then leaned closer to kiss where her fingers had lightly traced.

It seemed an age since they had been together, instead of only a few nights ago. She felt her body's hunger for him, the touch of his warm skin, the slight clean male scent of him. He suddenly pulled her nightgown up and she lifted her arms so he could strip it over her head and toss it away. She wanted nothing more than for him to pull her even closer so that their bodies could touch, could meld once more into one.

He put his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her up. She put her hands into his thick dark hair and allowed him to push his face into her breasts, find her nipples, and take them one after the other into his mouth with the kind of hunger that also grew inside her.

They were pushing back and forth with a kind of frantic urgency till she thought they would topple from the chair, but the desire only seemed to grow—she was damp with need, and she wanted him now, wanted to feel him inside her. Lauryn put both arms about his neck and pulled him closer to her—

“Now,” she murmured, “now,” stretching her naked body along his, showing him just how ready she was.

Somehow they were both sliding past the chair, down to the bear rug in front of the fire, and its thick fur felt like a warm caress on her naked body. But she felt it only in a far corner of her mind, because most of all she thought of his body, how it felt when he entered her hard and quick and lifted her with his hands so that he could continue the strokes and hit just the right places while she gasped and groaned with the pure pleasure of their coming together. She arched with him, matching his rhythm, her body meeting his with an audible impact that only added to the pleasure, the deep-seated satisfaction.

And when he moved one of his hands to her soft folds in front of his manhood and stroked the pleasure point there that always sent her wild, circles of joy raced across her whole skin and turned her inside out, as if she zoomed into the night sky, then down again like a shooting star. She arched up, almost unseating him but for his skillful and continued pulsating beat.

It seemed they climbed to the very top of the sky together, as he continued to pound, harder and harder, and she pushed with him, glorying in every beat, every cadence. And nothing else could touch her, could penetrate the golden glow of ecstasy that wrapped them together as if it were a gift from fate itself—her mind had stopped working long ago—it was only feeling—only touch—only emotion—only pure sensation—only joy—

And when he came, she allowed herself to fly into the universe, too, and the joy continued. He stroked lightly—softly—firmly—and she thought she might die of sheer pleasure—

A woman screamed.

I
t was like breaking a golden egg.

Lauryn was wrenched from her joyous daze, and she had to catch hold of Marcus, trying to find her balance as she fought to stand up.

He was swearing. “If it's another bloody bat, I swear I'll…”

They both struggled to find clothes enough to be presentable, nightwear at least and robes, and then in a minute, were able to stumble down the hallway.

It was like replaying a bad dream. The darkness, the screams, the candlelight in the darkened room. Except this time there seemed to be nothing to see.

“I think she's having a nightmare,” Lauryn muttered, shaking the woman in the bed. “Contessa, wake up, wake up, my dear. You're all right.”

But the other woman, her face tear-stained, looked very far from all right. She was chattering frantically in a language Lauryn did not know, German, perhaps, or Polish?

She tried to calm her, then turned back to confer with the earl. “If you would bring some brandy, perhaps?”

“I will, and I will wake that damnably hard-sleeping brother of mine to come and sit with her,” he suggested, his tone savage.

“I think—I think I will have to stay with her again,” Lauryn told him, sighing. “I wanted to linger in your arms, but she is truly terrified, and I don't believe I can leave. She wants another woman with her, I think.”

He swore. “I wanted a woman with me, as well,” he admitted. “I wanted this woman, you—selfish, I know.” He kissed her quickly. “But you are more charitable than I, I admit it. I will fetch the brandy.”

Lauryn turned back to the bed and went to sit beside the contessa, trying to penetrate the nightmare-induced fog. “You're all right, I promise,” she told her, taking one hand and pressing it.

By the time the earl returned with a glass of brandy, they were able to persuade the contessa to drink a little, and her frantic sobbing subsided, but even then, she did not wish to let go of Lauryn's hand, which she clung to like a lifeline, so there would be no return to wonderful lovemaking tonight.

Lauryn had to comfort herself with recollections of the quite amazing performance they had already enjoyed as she lay beside the contessa and coaxed her back into sleep.

She wondered if the earl did miss her, as he lay alone in his bedroom. She could hope so.

Lauryn slept lightly, waking several times when the contessa stirred in her sleep, murmuring in her native language, but Lauryn was able to speak to her and cajole her back to sleep without the other woman erupting into shrieks of dismay and waking the whole house again. Once when she woke, she heard the hard patter of rain hitting the roof, and wind shaking the shutters outside.

When the first rays of light crept past the draperies, the contessa finally fell into a deeper sleep, and Lauryn also dozed again. When she woke the next time, her bedmate still slept, but Lauryn thought it high time she herself was up.

Would the earl return to town today? She thought it likely, so she dressed rapidly in her borrowed riding habit and descended the staircase.

She found the earl coming up.

“I was just about to leave you a note,” he said, scanning her face. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Yes, quite tolerably,” she told him. “Has something occurred?”

“The guards at the warehouse have been attacked. I have a note from the colonel. I'm going into town at once. But you need not accompany me, especially if you are still tired or need more time to recover—”

“No, no, I wish to see what is unfolding,” she told him, having no desire to be stuck at the hunting lodge with the contessa and Carter as her only companions. Besides, the earl might wish her beside him, a thought which gave her a small thrill of pleasure.

“Are you sure?” he glanced at her thighs, as if he could see beneath her clothes. “We could take the carriage to spare you—”

“No, no, I am quite restored, and riding will be swifter.” She smiled at him, and he returned it with the easy smile she had come to love.

“I shall order the horses made ready at once,” he told her, turning on his heel. She went to the dining room to take advantage of the brief time to get a cup of tea and a piece of toast.

She had both, and a coddled egg, too, before they set out.

“Did he say anything else?” she asked, after the earl gave her a hand up. She settled into the saddle with a feeling of joy. Her bruises were considerably improved, although her thigh muscles protested a little as they stretched and tightened.

“Not much, but I mean to visit Colonel Swift first of all. We will see if he has anything new to add since he penned the note.”

She nodded, and they urged the horses on to their best speed. The sky was dotted with tall gray clouds, and she hoped they were not rained on before the day was done. So far, the air was cool and the wind brisk, but the freshening breeze felt good upon her face. She tightened her reins and nudged her mare to ride around the biggest puddles in the roadway.

When they reached town, they maneuvered through the traffic-filled streets until they came to the colonel's house. The earl helped her down from her horse, and they walked up to his door. After knocking, they waited, and the door was soon opened by a footman.

The colonel welcomed them into his sitting room. “I find this very strange,” Colonel Swift told them, without preamble. “I got word early this morning, when a street vendor taking out his cart discovered two of our men, the ones on duty last night, one injured, one dead.”

“Good heavens,” Lauryn muttered.

The earl's expression tightened. “That is indeed regrettable.”

“They had been soldiers; they understood the risks,” the colonel said gruffly. A maid brought a tea tray into the room and poured out tea for them, and their host passed the cups around.

Lauryn took a cup and sipped. It felt good on her parched throat after the ride.

“How much is missing from the warehouse?” Marcus asked.

The colonel lowered his cup of tea and dropped it abruptly back into its saucer. The china rattled. “That's the strangest part of all,” he said, his voice overloud. “I had instructed them to take a count of the boxes and barrels in the warehouse.” He walked across to his desk, bent over it, and found a paper which he unrolled and brought back with him. He handed it to the earl. “Here it is, and I hope it matches your official bill of lading as to the number recovered from the sunken ship. But the thing is, after we took the injured man away to see to his wounds, and had the dead man removed to be decently interred, I replaced them with a new and increased team, and we counted what remained in the warehouse. And nothing seems to be missing.”

“What?” Lauryn had not meant to interrupt, but she spoke before she could help herself.

The earl was gazing at their host, looking quizzical, as well. “Did they look into the boxes and crates?”

“Aye, and as far as we can see—mind you, we don't know exactly what they held in the beginning, of course—they're still full.” The colonel shook his head. “How could someone want to get into the building so badly they would kill to get in, and then take nothing away?”

There was a moment of silence as they all pondered this question.

“Unless the intruders were searching for something that they did not find, we are simply not seeing something,” Marcus spoke slowly. “First, however, I mean to look carefully at the warehouse, myself.”

“Yes, I was hoping that you would,” the colonel agreed. “I will ride over with you. I want to check on the guards again and make sure that all is as it should be.”

He sent a maid to tell his groom to saddle his own horse, and as soon as it was ready, the earl and Lauryn returned to their mounts, then led the way back to the warehouse that contained the recovered cargo from the sunken ship.

When they rode up to the large structure, Lauryn saw that now no less than half a dozen men guarded the doors, lined up with military precision and bristling with weapons. They appeared ready to fight a small war. The colonel was taking no chances this time.

They snapped to with even more exactitude when they saw the colonel. “Sir!”

“At ease,” he said. “This is the earl, whose property you are protecting. We are going to examine the cargo inside.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man who seemed to be in charge said.

The earl acknowledged him. “Good man.” They went inside the building.

Lauryn blinked in the dimmer light, and they walked across to the stacks of boxes and barrels.

“They've all been counted and recounted most carefully. The numbers have been accounted for,” the colonel assured them.

“If you've done it already, I will not waste my time counting them,” the earl told him. “I trust your efficiency.”

The colonel nodded, as if in appreciation of the compliment. “So next, I suppose we must check inside the boxes.”

This was going to be both time consuming and exhausting, Lauryn thought, meeting Marcus's wry glance. But there was nothing for it but to plunge in.

The earl removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and Lauryn did the same with the jacket of her riding habit. Then Marcus pried open the top of the nearest box—the lid didn't shatter or fall apart in his hands—and they began the task of checking what was inside each one.

Packed among the soggy sawdust, which reeked of rot and mildew, they found the same jade artwork and ancient Chinese urns and vases that Lauryn had glimpsed earlier. The earl looked over them carefully, trying to detect possible substitutions, as he explained to Lauryn and the colonel. But the contents seemed to be the originals, and he could make out no changes.

Nor did there seem to be any empty spots in the packing that could have marked where some of the statues or Ming vases had been taken away. Some of the boxes' contents seemed a bit shaken about, but whether that was from having been rearranged or simply from being tossed about during a sea voyage, it was impossible to say.

“This makes no sense,” the earl said, after several hours had passed, and nothing had been accomplished except that they were all much dirtier and becoming short tempered and weary. “Why put up a terrific battle to get in and then take away none of these quite valuable treasures?”

“Perhaps they were ordinary street thugs and they didn't know what they had?” the colonel suggested. “Although that does stretch belief.” He shook his head.

“Could there be any other reason for breaking in?” Lauryn asked.

“Like what?” Marcus turned to look at her.

“Oh, I don't know,” she said. “I'm just wracking my brain for some reason that would explain what happened.”

He nodded. “I know. When one can't think of anything that makes sense, we try for the nonsensical.”

When they walked back toward the doors, Lauryn could see how covered with dust and grime they all were. She took out her handkerchief and tried to wipe off some of the dust from her hands, then her face. She could just see a black stain that had somehow ended up on the end of her nose. She tried to rub it, but her handkerchief was itself so black, she suspected she had accomplished little.

Colonel Swift was inviting them to his house for dinner. To her relief, the earl politely declined.

“I think we are hardly in shape to grace your dining table,” Sutton told him, looking ruefully down at his own trousers, covered with specks of grime, and trying to dust off his hands. “Thank you, another time, perhaps.”

They walked toward their steeds. Lauryn looked toward the far corner of the long building where she had glimpsed the mysterious figure of the man the last time she had been here.

A figure appeared, only for a moment, and then slipped out of sight around the corner of the building.

It was him!

She exclaimed, and when the earl turned, she cried, “He's back!”

The earl turned and looked toward where she motioned. “The same man?”

When she nodded, he said, “Stay here with the colonel.” Marcus jumped on his horse and made for the corner of the building.

The alley was narrow and would barely allow for passage of his steed, but in the hope of making better time and running down the mysterious onlooker, Marcus decided to stay astride. So although he slowed his pace, he retained his seat in the saddle.

He saw no sign of anyone in the alley; it was littered with pools of dirty water from the recent rains and smelled of the refuse that usually cluttered such passageways. He came out of the other end and pulled up his horse to glance around him, trying to decide which way to go.

A glimpse of movement caught his eye and he turned to the left. There, disappearing behind a large wagon full of coal—he'd barely had time to register the figure before it had slipped out of his view, but just as Lauryn had said, a momentary impression of something different about him made the brief glimpse stand out. So even though other figures were also moving along the street, men in coats and trousers holding on their hats against the brisk wind, women in spencers and pelisses and bonnets tied securely against the same breeze, servants pushing prams with their young charges bundled up against the unseasonably cool day, still this one shape had seemed alien, exotic. His brain had hardly had time to register just why that was, but he'd had a distinct feeling of something different about the man, and he trusted his impression.