Enticing the Earl (27 page)

“With careful nursing, he should be, and I'm sure his mother will see to that,” he told her, tightening his arms about her.

For a few moments he simply sat there, allowing the feel of her in his arms to sink in, needing the physical reassurance. She was here, and had not somehow disappeared in the time he had been away. She had waited for him. She had met him with open arms.

The soft warmth of her body gradually dispelled the cold knot of fear that had been inside him, without him even knowing.

She put her arm about his neck and in a moment lifted one hand to stroke his hair, combing the dark strands with her fingers.

There was a look in her eyes he could not decipher, but just having her so close eased him, and other more purely physical feelings quickly rose. He took her free hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently, turning it and tracing the line of her palm, kissing it again and feeling her whole body quiver in response. The way she responded so intensely to him, to his touch, pleased him deeply.

“I've missed you,” she told him, her voice low and tremulous. She leaned closer to kiss his ear, nibble lightly on its lobe. He felt his need intensify yet again.

“And I, you, more than I can tell you,” he answered. His voice, too, had changed, grown husky. He put his hand up to cup her cheek, pulled her face down so he could kiss her lips, gently at first, then when she met him eagerly, with more force, allowing his hunger to surface. She answered with her own need.

Her lips were warm and smooth and luscious, and they opened willingly for him. His tongue slipped inside, and he thought he might happily submerge himself in the warm feminine depths of her mouth, a small reflection of the other warm and even more enticing depths yet to come.

And on that thought, he clasped both arms about her slender body, lifted her easily, and carried her across to the bed, placing her in the center and throwing himself over her—catching himself on his arms so that he didn't press his weight upon her too heavily—so that not one precious moment would be wasted.

Lauryn felt him lean over her, smelled the particular masculine aroma, touched his cheek and felt the subtle coarseness of male skin. He was intensely male, and it spoke to her on every level. When he kissed her, she reached up to pull him closer, kissed him back hungrily, wanted to merge with him, press her body closer, feel the strength of him, the firmness of his torso and the hardness of his muscled arms and legs when he pulled her even closer, as if their two bodies could become one.

He rolled onto his side and his arm pulled her into him. She slid easily into his grip, clinging to him, kissing him wildly until they were both breathless. Then they paused only to push his jacket aside and she helped him as he pulled off his neckcloth and twisted till it unwound, then stripped off his linen shirt.

Next came the fiddly buttons on the back of her dress. In his impatience Marcus tugged at the buttons, and she heard a few threads break; she didn't care. There were no words spoken and no need for words—only the need driving her, pushing him—the hunger that ached inside her and surely inside him as well. She pushed the skirt down and pulled at the bodice and then turned her back so he could make short work of her stays, and still there was more clothing to shed.

Oh, to be a savage, she thought, to return to Eden with fig leaves and animal skins and go straight to the primal state. But finally she was down to her shift and her drawers, and then she was free of it all, and Marcus had his strong hands on her, touching her skin, putting his lips on her breast. His lips seemed to burn into her skin, scorching her like a brand, and she jerked with the cold heat of them.

Then he was suckling at one breast, and she took the back of his head and stroked his dark hair, as his tongue surrounded her nipple and eased it into tense alertness. Her breasts ached for more; the other wanted the same delicious care, and she pushed his mouth to the other side, so he could repeat his caresses. Then he dropped his lips to her stomach, kissing the tender skin while she moaned and moved ceaselessly on the linen sheets—it felt too amazingly good to lie immobile. He sent currents of liquid need coursing through her body, and she could not seem to lie still.

And in the deepest part of her, there the great hunger still awaited his touch, and as always, Marcus knew. He slipped his hand down to cup her private place, where she was wet with need, and she arched, she was so ready for him. He traced his fingers there, the secret places—the special places—she gasped. It felt so achingly joyous it was almost edged with pain.

“I want you, Marcus,” she whispered. “Now, my dear, now!”

And he positioned himself over her, lifting her hips so that he could thrust himself into her at just the right angle, and then he pushed hard, and she gasped again at the pleasure he gave her.

“Yes,” she said, and she moved with him, in the rhythmic beat that was older than time, the dance that men and women had perfected when the dawn was barely born. And the joy was as deep as the first time, and as always, it seemed that this was the best time of all. He pushed deeper and deeper and harder and harder, and she wanted him to go on and on. She moved with him, and the pleasure of it circled in her and through her, winging past thought and mind, moving beyond emotion, bringing with it a primal joy that bound them together into one body, one soul, one being older than thought.

When at last he came with a spasm of wonderful force, she was floating so high, so wide, the joy blossoming into such ever-widening flares of shooting stars, that for once, she did not to her surprise come with him into a delightful spiral of completion, fading down to fall into his arms and drift into delightful exhaustion. Instead she continued to rise, higher and higher. She stared up at Marcus in a bewildered but joyous haze of passion.

“Don't try to stop, darling,” he murmured. “You're past the moon—keep going, my love, keep going.” He kissed her heartily, and as he pulled himself out below, pushed several fingers into her, slipping them in and out to keep the rhythm going so that she still floated, still arched herself against him, unable to believe that she was still experiencing the aching pleasure of greater and greater intensity, joy that rippled through her, over her, over her whole body, like ice and fire, till every inch of her skin seemed aflame. She was created anew by Marcus's tender handling, and every thing he touched felt exquisitely joyous.

How long she floated, flew, sailed, she had no idea, but she did not stop, and presently, he was leaning over her again, firm again, wonderfully hard as his shaft once more pushed just where it should be. Together they arched, rose and fell, came together in glorious and speechless ecstasy.

And somewhere at the top of the farthest star, this time they peaked together, and the bursting joy, like a bubble of golden light, gilded them both with the satiation of complete delight. Lauryn shut her eyes and lay back, cradled in the sanctuary of his arms, and wondered if she had the strength left to breathe.

Tendrils of her damp hair stuck to her cheek, but nothing mattered except lying close to the man she loved, feeling his breath warm against her cheek, his heart beating beneath her hand, and remembering how they had circled the heavens together.

He held her carefully, as if she were something precious to him, and she had never felt so totally loved, as if every strand of her body had been unwound and she floated on an ocean of joy. This must be what heaven felt like.

The next morning Lauryn woke to see pale rays of sunlight
slanting through the half-pulled draperies, which they had never shut. Marcus lay on his stomach, his head turned to one side, and he looked open and vulnerable as he slept.

She touched one lock of his dark hair, careful not to wake him. What an extraordinary night…they continued to find new heights to climb, new prospects to ascend to…Yet how long would she be allowed to spend with him?

It had been a long time since he had mentioned their agreement, the time limit he had imposed. He certainly seemed satisfied with her performance, just as she was continually joyfully surprised with his! But she knew, as much as she wanted to push the knowledge aside, that they could not live forever on this one golden isle, isolated from the rest of the world. At some point, Marcus would have to resume his real life, and so would she. Not matter how wonderful their love-making, she could not spend the rest of her life as a kept woman, living a life that was not really who she was, who she was supposed to be.

She had thought she could assume this identify for a few days or a few weeks, but as deeply as she had tumbled into loving this amazing and complicated man, could she put aside her own identity to make him happy?

Almost, she could, Lauryn thought, her heart twisting. But to give up forever her status, more, her honor, her integrity….

And why, of all times, after the most glorious lovemaking of her life, when she still basked in the glow of it, when her whole body felt easy and rested and complete, full of health and vigor, her spirits high, her heart happy, should she be thinking this now?

She loved him.

She had known it for days. She didn't want to give him up. But could she give herself up, even for Marcus, even for the exquisite joys he brought her, even when he often gazed at her with what she would have sworn was love in his eyes, despite the fact that he had declared the term itself forbidden?

She had never faced such a difficult choice.

Shutting her eyes against the sunlight, which shone stronger by the minute, Lauryn wondered how much longer it would be until she had to decide. Sighing, she leaned across the pillow to kiss his cheek very lightly, then turned and slipped out of bed. She went down the hall to the other bedroom, went in quietly to see the contessa still slept, washed, and, with the help of one of the maids who appeared shortly afterward, got herself ready for the day.

Somehow, Lauryn thought it might be a trying one.

When she went down to the dining room, the earl joined her soon after. When he came into the room, he walked across to the table, and, although he did not kiss her with the footman and maid in the room, bent to smile and say, “Good morning, Mrs. Smith.”

“A particularly fine one,” she agreed, with a private smile.

“After such a fine night, how could it not be?” he replied, even more quietly, then straightened and went to fill a plate from the sideboard while the maid poured his tea.

He sat down and applied himself to his breakfast with, she saw, a hearty appetite. Smiling down at her plate, she spread some very good peach jam onto her toast and took a bite.

They sat in companionable silence, almost like a real married couple, Lauryn thought with a pang, and it seemed so un-remarkable and pleasant, sharing a breakfast table, that all her worries seemed silly and small.

And then she heard, distinctly, the sound of the brass knocker from the front door. The footman turned and went into the hallway, and the earl also lifted his head.

Frowning, he said, “Who on earth, at this hour?” He set down his teacup and turned to the maidservant. “Is my brother at home?”

The maid answered, a bit hesitantly, “I don't think his camp bed was slept in last night, me lord.”

Marcus swore beneath his breath. “A fine hour to be returning from his adventures. The boy will never grow up.”

Lauryn hoped the brothers would not quarrel again. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall—oh, dear, was Carter drunk? It did not sound like him at all. She looked toward the hall, waiting for him to emerge.

In a moment, in the doorway appeared the broad frame of her father-in-law, Squire Harris.

“Squire!” She gasped and dropped her piece of toast.

“L
auryn!” Squire Harris exclaimed, his voice heavy.
“You are indeed here, and with such a man! I feared it would be so, but I can hardly credit it.”

The earl turned his head and motioned to both servants; the footman had come back into the room behind the new arrival. “You may leave.”

They filed out of the room, though the maid threw a glance back at them, looking distinctly curious. Then the footman shut the door behind them.

Lauryn half rose from her chair, then sank back into it, clutching the frame. Her knees had gone weak and she thought she might swoon, and she had never done such a thing in her life. “Why—how—”

“How did I find you? You may well ask, child. Going off without a word to your own family. Your sisters have been in a rare state, I may tell you!”

“But I left Ophelia a note!” Lauryn tried to interject.

“She had not a word, I promise you,” he told her, his voice grim.

“But I did, I gave it to her daughter to give to her,” Lauryn said, her voice trembling. “Oh, dear, it must have gone astray. I am so sorry you have all been worried about me. I should have written—I just didn't think….”

She had had other things on her mind. She had been an inexcusably selfish wretch, Lauryn told herself.

“How did you realize that your daughter-in-law was here, then?” Marcus inquired, his voice even.

The squire turned his head, and his expression changed. “A chance encounter with a man who had played cards with us both, Sutton. Said he'd been at your estate later when you'd—ah—shown off a new favorite, a woman with pale skin, red gold hair, and striking beauty. That sounded much too familiar.”

The older man drew a deep breath, as if holding on to his self-control only with great effort. He drew a packet of papers out of an inside pocket and tossed them onto the table, where they made a solid thud.

“And then when I received the deeds to my estate back from your man of business…” His frown was menacing. “I don't know what you take me for, Sutton, but I'm not a fool! Whatever diabolic bargain you convinced my innocent daughter-in-law to make, over a foolish mistake that was mine alone!”

“No, no,” Lauryn interrupted. “It's not what you think!”

“Certainly not,” Marcus said at almost the same time. They both paused, and the moment of silence allowed the squire to charge forward again, like a bull with only one thought in his head.

“I will not stand by and allow you to destroy her good name. I am here to remove her from your influence and return her to her invalid father, who has not the health to meet you on his own behalf, and for the sake of her honor, to call you out, Sutton!”

“No, no, you can't!” Lauryn thought she might die, here and now. It was all her fault. She had wanted to help her father-in-law, not destroy him totally! If he killed Marcus in a duel, he would go to prison, or hang, and Marcus—oh, dear heaven, Marcus would be dead. And if the squire were killed, Marcus would be convicted, and she would have the squire's death on her conscience for as long as she existed. How could she live with that?

“Squire Harris, you must listen,” Marcus said, meeting the older man's outraged gaze. “You are jumping to conclusions.”

“When I see the two of you alone in a secluded hideaway, what other conclusion should I come to?” the squire thundered.

“But they are not alone! Who zaid they vere alone?” Someone spoke decisively from the doorway. “And who iz this rude and noizy man?”

Lauryn jumped. She had not heard the door open in the tenseness of the heated exchange, and now she turned, as did the two men, to see the contessa, dressed in her usual Continental elegance, standing in the doorway and looking at the newcomer as if he were a peasant tracking in straw from the barnyard. Lauryn felt hysterical peals of laughter rise inside her, but she pushed them back.

“Contessa, this is my father-in-law, Squire Harris.” She looked back. “Squire, this is my friend, the Contessa d'Ellaye.”

“And your-sweet daughter-in-the-law 'as not been alone, no.
Moi
—am I not 'ere? Am I no one? Am I not alvays the correct duenna? 'Ave I not alzo been at the earl's estate vith 'er?
C'est dommage
for listening to pernicious gozzip vhen, as zo often, it 'as no truth beneath its ugly head.” The contessa looked down her long nose at the squire, who for once appeared confounded.

If the contessa's passionate entreaty did not have him totally convinced, it at least made him stop shouting. Lauryn threw the other woman a grateful glance.

Marcus took advantage of advantage of the pause in the older man's accusations to step in. “As I was trying to tell you, Squire, you have no cause for alarm, and you need not assume nefarious motives. I sent you back the deeds, which I never had any real interest in, because I can hardly accept your property when we are soon going to be, more or less, related.”

“What?” Squire Harris turned to stare at him. Which was just as well, as Lauryn had done the same, knowing that her eyes were very wide. Hopefully her father-in-law would not notice her shock.

“I am hoping to persuade Mrs. Harris to accept my proposal of marriage,” Marcus finished, his voice level.

“You expect me to believe such nonsense?” the squire demanded, his face reddening once again. “I already told you I'm not a fool!”

Lauryn had jumped to her feet. “Oh, how can you!”

Rubbing his jaw, her father-in-law stopped and glanced at her.

“Yes, you muzt not inzult her in zuch a vay!” the contessa put in. “Why should Zutton not azk for 'er 'and in marriage? Why iz that zo impossible to believe?”

“I only meant, the difference in estate, in fortune, that's all. Of course Lauryn is lovely and sweet-natured, but–but—”

The contessa made a rude noise, and Lauryn herself had turned away, putting her hands to her face. She couldn't face any of them. She thought, wildly, she should tell both men to go to the devil!

“Lauryn…” the earl said.

She shook her head and walked across to stare out the window, though she was aware of seeing nothing.

“I think,” she heard the earl say to Squire Harris, “that we should continue this conversation in my study.”

The squire grunted. “Aye. I shall speak to you presently, my dear,” he called to her, and she knew that he meant, in his bull in the china shop kind of way, to be reassuring. Oh, the fat was in the fire, now.

When she heard them walk out of the room and shut the door behind them, she drew a deep breath and at last turned. The contessa had sat down at the table and was eating a cold piece of ham.

“Shall I call for some hot tea?” she asked. “That was so good of you, Contessa. How can I thank you?”

“Ah,
non
,” the other woman made a dismissive motion. “Vhat a loud man your father-in-the-law iz. Does he beat you?”

“No, no,” Lauryn said, laughing a little hysterically and coming to sit down once more. Her knees felt suddenly weak. “He just—he's trying to do the right thing as he sees it. I didn't mean to worry everyone. I did leave a note. I wonder why it disappeared? And I should have written once I left. But I knew what would happen if they discovered where I really was.”

And that was exactly what had occurred, she thought. And even though the contessa had tried to give her cover, and now the earl had offered another outrageous lie—how long did he think the squire would believe such an implausible story, and one which, moreover, made her ache inside, with its contrast between the real and the fairy tale.

She put one hand to her face.

“I believe I am to vish you 'appy?” the contessa was saying.

Lauryn looked across the table at her. Was she being funny? Surely she would not be cruel enough to offer sarcasm.

“I need to go upstairs,” Lauryn murmured. “Please excuse me.” And she fled the room.

In the study, the two men faced each other. They were
still on their feet, as the squire had refused his host's offer to take a seat, and he still appeared grim faced. “If you expect me to believe that you have sudden and convenient thoughts of marriage—this from a man known to be one of London's most infamous rakes…”

Marcus drew a deep breath. He could not plant a facer on the squire's reddened countenance, as much as he longed to. The man was older and he had a legitimate grievance; he was trying to protect Lauryn, even if he did it with all the grace of a cross-eyed ox.

“Sometimes reputations become exaggerated,” he said, his tone controlled. “But I will be a good husband, I give you my word. And I think you should allow Lauryn to have a say in her own destiny.”

“As if you mean to make a serious offer,” the squire snorted. “You shall not get off so easy, my lord. I meant what I said; I came here to call you out.”

Once more, Marcus reminded himself to stay calm. The idea that he would lie about such an important proposal made his temper hard to control. And to think that he had been forced to blurt it out in front of Lauryn instead of presenting it carefully to her. Last night he'd thought about how to bring it up, and somehow, no moment, amid all the wondrous passion, had seemed quite the perfect time.

Perhaps he was simply afraid to put it to the test, afraid she would not accept him…. He pulled his thoughts back to the obviously still suspicious squire.

“You may call me anything you like,” he told the other man. “I am simply not going to accept your challenge.” He walked across and pulled open a drawer in his desk, taking out some papers.

“Here.” He gestured to the squire to come closer and take a look.

Squire Harris approached the desk and bent over, squinting to read the print and the names written on the document. “But this–this—” he sputtered.

“Yes, this is a special license,” Marcus agreed. “I obtained it when I traveled down to London, so that Lauryn and I can be married as soon as she agrees to my proposal. They are not cheap, and I would hardly have gone to this much trouble, applying to the bishop, simply for a bit of what you deem nonsense, don't you think?”

The squire, at last, seemed to have run out of accusations. He sat down heavily in the closest chair. “I find it—well, I am surprised to think I might be wrong.”

“I am sorry my reputation is that bad,” Marcus told him, going to the tray by the window and pouring out a glass of wine. “I suppose I should have taken a greater care before now about gossip and how it tends to become exaggerated. It simply never seemed worth the trouble.”

“And now?” the squire asked, watching him with a surprisingly shrewd gaze.

“Now”—Marcus handed him a glass, and thank heavens the other man took it and seemed at last ready to make a tentative peace—“now, I will have a future family to think of, and I will certainly have to be more careful. That is assuming that she accepts me. If you will excuse me, sir, I think I need to make sure of that, first!”

He nodded to the squire, and then, as he had been wanting to do since they entered the room, went smartly out and back to the dining room.

But to his disappointment, only the contessa was there, finishing a leisurely breakfast. She raised a cup of tea to her lips and glanced at him over the rim.

“If you zeek your perhaps fiancée-to-be, look upstairs. And next time, Zutton, my dear, I should 'andle a proposal of marriage with a bit more élan.”

He grimaced. Was Lauryn angry? Disappointed that he had not spoken to her first, in private? It really was a disgraceful way to tell her, in front of everyone…. Proposals were important to women, he had always been told. His heart beating fast, he took the steps in a rush, hurrying up the flight and to his bedroom. The door was shut, and he tapped on the panel.

He heard a murmured, “Come in,” and he turned the knob and went inside.

She was sitting in the chair by the hearth, her feet tucked up beneath her. She had been looking into the fire, and she did not at once turn to face him.

If she were truly angry…his heart sank. He pulled up a low stool and sat, literally, at her feet, ready to abase himself if that was what she wanted. The only thing he wanted, now, was her.

“I'm sorry the way it came out,” Marcus told her, reaching for her hand. “I should have had more forethought.”

At least she let him take her hand, grip it in his, and raise it to kiss it lightly. “We didn't expect my father-in-law to come raging into the room,” she pointed out, as if it had been only an inconvenience.

“Still, what I said, it must have been a shock.”

“Yes, rather,” she agreed, her tone hard to read, especially as she still refused to meet his eyes. “How is the squire? Were you able to appease him?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good,” she noted. “That was a clever thing to say, then.”