In the Arms of an Earl (22 page)

Shyness and modesty vanished. Instead of feeling vulnerable, she was liberated from the deprivation she’d always forced upon herself.

She sensed a subtle change in him, as well. While tender, his kisses grew deeper, more insistent, and he wasn’t content to accept her meek response. His hand splayed over her navel, and she moved it higher, almost panicking for some ridiculous reason. He gave a slight shake of his head and replaced his hand a moment later. After a brief hesitation, she touched his leg, growing bold enough to stroke the length of his thigh.

The taut muscles rippled beneath her fingers. He clasped her wrist, slowly dragging her hand toward the apex of his thighs, where the intriguing pressure had grown. With a strangled gasp, she pulled back, but his grip was firm.

“Please,” he breathed, “touch me.”

“I…I don’t know…what to do.” Her face burned with the same intense fire as the rest of her.

“I’ll show you. It’s like playing an adagio…slow and sweet.” Heat rose between them, turning the bed into a damp cocoon. A fine dew of sweat broke out on her chest. “Trust me,” he whispered.

He stroked the back of her hand, dragging it forward against the fall of his breeches. The buttons strained to contain him.
Adagio
. Her mind swirled with desire and uncertainty. She danced her fingers up and down the length of him, all the while gazing into his eyes, which burned with a smoldering fire.

His eyes fluttered closed, and his lips parted with a rush of breath. He released her hand, leaving it in place, only to skim his fingers back to her navel, but lower than before.

“I must touch you,” he said.

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she inhaled sharply, her pulse racing, as he slid between her thighs as if it were the most natural place for him to be. She clenched and quivered, rocking involuntarily toward him.

His kiss grew more demanding than before. His tongue broke through her tightened lips and stroked hers. He tasted of wine and desire. He’d never kissed her like this, with so much passion and heat she felt him in every part of her being.

At first, she was almost afraid of this transformation. He was no longer the twinkling-eyed suitor stealing tender kisses while holding her at bay. In the darkness of their wedding bed, he was both seducer and lover, commander and slave. Every hesitant motion on her part seemed to stir his arousal even more. Her anxiety and restraint melted away as she allowed herself to enjoy the moment without reservation.

As rough as his kisses had grown, his touch on her gentled. He was silent now, and all she could hear was her own quickened breathing coming in short gasps and a strange roaring in her ears.

It seemed almost indecent to lie thus, and she closed her legs around his hand for some measure of propriety. This only increased the sweet agony, and she clutched his shoulders, even as his head lowered and he pressed burning kisses on her exposed throat and breasts.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she cried aloud, gasping for air as her soul flew out of her body in a dazzling torrent of white-hot flames. She rocked wantonly against his hand, thrusting against his strong, callused fingers, barely aware of the words slipping from her lips, urging him not to stop, to never stop…Gasping his name with a cry until she nearly forgot how to say it, and only kept repeating the first syllable, over and over…

She fell back to earth.

He rubbed his rough cheek against hers, chuckling deep in his throat. His mouth was soft and light, his tongue stroking a lazy pattern on her lower lip.

“That…that wasn’t an adagio.” Her voice shook with emotion and amazement. “That was a crescendo.”

He laughed and clasped her in his arms. “I suppose it’s why Shakespeare wrote, ‘If music be the food of love, play on.’ And you know how dearly I love to play.” He dipped his head again, a breath away from her lips. “Especially with you.”

She was so at peace she’d forgotten to blush. “You’re a very good teacher,” she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair. “But I don’t recall a single symphony ending like this.”

“Imagine if they did. What a ruckus it would cause at the Theatre Royal.”

She stretched languorously, relishing the crisp, wiry hairs on his chest chafing her tender skin. He shifted his body and released her to unbutton his breeches. A sweet, slow fire coursed through her, settling in the throbbing apex of her womanhood.

“What are you doing?” she asked faintly.

“It’s not quite over, my love,” he said with a wicked grin. He indicated the band at his waist. “I’m afraid I’m no good at this, one-handed. Would you mind…?”

Her jaw dropped open, and she closed it with a click. “There’s more?”

She knew there was more. Of course, there was more! Her sisters had hinted with plenty of sly smiles, but Jane hadn’t really understood what they meant. Animals coupled, and people obviously did, or else the world would be empty. Though she knew the biblical version of what was going to happen, she’d never thought she would actually be in this particular situation. It was both intimidating and exciting.

The insistent pressure of his arousal had never abated and seemed to grow the more they fumbled with his breeches. She was grateful for the solitary glow of the fire, which cast only a dim light, so he would not notice her rampant blushing.

“If just now was the crescendo, then we’re about to experience the entire orchestral masterpiece. It should be even more magnificent than my own composition, and you have assured me on numerous occasions I am your favorite composer.”

She was too nervous to laugh. “Will it…does it…”

“I will never hurt you,” he whispered, so earnestly, she knew he spoke the truth. “Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Good. Then, please help me out of these blasted things before I burst.”

She giggled, chiding herself for ever doubting. Her sisters seemed so happy in their marriages. Her heart raced with renewed excitement. Finally, she would experience such bliss as theirs.

A log collapsed on the fire, illuminating the room with a pale yellow glow. They both fought his buttons, which were now too tight to maneuver. With a light curse, he sprang from the bed and seized the cheese knife. While she giggled hysterically into the quilt, he brandished the knife like a pirate and cut the tapes on the back of his waistband, freeing himself.

He was magnificent. His tawny skin burned with a golden glow in the firelight. A mat of dark hair covered his chest, descending in a narrow trail to his navel, until…

Her knees turned to jelly again. Pitted scars of various sizes and depths dotted his left thigh and abdomen, the remnant souvenirs of the battle which had cost him his hand. One especially vivid scar cut a long, angry slash from his hip to his groin, disappearing in the thatch of curly black hair surrounding his arousal.

Tears misted her eyes. She opened her arms, and he came to her, sliding beneath the quilt and embracing her gently. He was now the hesitant one. She realized why he’d wanted to postpone their consummation. It had all been a ruse to avoid this inevitable moment.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, seeking him beneath the counterpane and closing her fingers softly around him.

He stroked her breast lightly, his lips on her forehead. She felt him shake his head. His heartbeat thudded against her chest, and she increased the pressure of her hand. He moaned, and his flesh quivered against her palm.

“I think it will be all right.” His gaze met hers, and she saw the sparkle she loved so well in his dark eyes. “As long as you’re gentle with me, countess.”

It felt natural to wrap her legs around him and clasp him in her arms. His shoulders were too broad to span, so she held him around the neck, watching the flickering firelight on his swarthy face. His eyes glimmered in the darkness, the lids hooded and shadowed. He probed between her legs, and she arched her back to meet him. He groaned softly as he entered her, kissing her soundly as their bodies joined.

Her trembling ceased. Brilliant, sharp heat filled her being and vanished just as quickly. She ran her hands over his face, exploring the sharp cheekbones, the soft, pouting mouth, his hard jaw. His breath came in short gasps.

“I haven’t felt like this, not since…”

Her body tightened around his, and he gasped through his teeth. She did it once more, crying out as another thrust, harder than the last, rocked her into a delirious spasm. She raked his shoulders with her nails but stopped abruptly, patting his injured skin only to do it again while the next rolling wave blocked out everything else in the world.

She couldn’t move. She held him with weak, useless arms while he kissed her throat and mouth, plunging his tongue between her lips while his body slid over hers in increasing thrusts. A few minutes later, he gasped her name and sank heavily onto her.

“I didn’t know,” she said, then gave into relieved tears of happiness. He fell on his side, taking her with him, their bodies still joined. She was surprised to realize he shook with stifled laughter.

“Oh, Jane. You are full of surprises.” He tilted her chin to possess her mouth again.

She ran her fingertip over his full bottom lip. “I was so worried about…about pleasing you, and then I forgot.”

He chuckled. “Let it always be so.” In the glowing firelight, his face was dark but still handsome. Curling tendrils of black hair clung damply to his forehead. His left arm twitched, and she moved away.

“I don’t want to hurt you by lying on your arm.”

He sat up and flexed the torn muscles, and rubbed the stump idly. “To tell the truth, I haven’t thought about it since you kissed me.”

“Then I shall always have to kiss you.”

“I like how you can be shy with me one moment, and an unleashed vixen the next. Perhaps you will stop blushing after two years married to me.”

She laughed with him, though her face burned. She’d most definitely lost all semblance of modesty in the last half hour. “I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.”

His humor faded as he stretched out to lie beside her again.

“Forty years from now,” he whispered, twining his fingers around a lock of her hair, “when I’m a feeble old man, with a long gray beard, I’ll remind you of how much you loved me at this very moment, and you won’t believe me.”

She kissed the cleft in the center of his collarbone. Already, renewed passion grew between them. She draped her leg over his.

“I will believe you,” she replied, closing her eyes as she dissolved into the private world they’d created.

Chapter Twenty-One

The melodious patter of rain on the carriage roof had lulled them both into a stupor. Frederick drew the rug over her knees.

“Not too much longer, my love. We’ll be able to rest today, but I’ll be gone tomorrow, I’m afraid. Henry left a lot of unfinished business, and I must contend with our seat in Parliament.”

“Will you be gone for very long?”

Their eventual separation was difficult to acknowledge after sharing a perfect night. They hadn’t slept much, alternating between talking and making love until daybreak. With his brother’s recent death, she hadn’t expected a honeymoon, but she’d hoped for at least a few days together.

“I’ll try to leave what I can to Akers, my solicitor. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do with London at your doorstep. And there’s Alice, of course. You and she will become great friends.”

Not wanting him to think she needed to be fussed over, she put on a cheerful outlook. “I cannot wait to meet her.” She sounded more sincere than she felt. His sister-in-law had been a countess for several years and, no doubt, was a fine and elegant lady. Jane studied her fingernails. She’d bitten them to the ends despite her mother’s application of bitters.

Weston and her parents’ cozy house seemed so far away. Amelia was preparing for her new baby, and Rosalind and Mr. Shelbourne were hardly ever at home, preferring to travel and visit their many friends. Jane suddenly longed for the old familiar ways: waking up before her family so she could practice her music in peace, and taking long walks to the village with her sisters.

Now, those days were gone. London loomed ahead, and she stifled a shudder at the smoky fog in the distance and the general sprawl of the place.

She closed the curtain and settled against him. He placed her hand on his knee and covered it with his hand as if he could press her flesh into him. A flush of heat suffused her body. Misty memories of the night before played through her mind in a haze of whispers and shadows, caresses and kisses. She blinked out of her reverie, returning his smile when she met his amused gaze.

“You appear tired, my little bride. I hope I did not deprive you of too much sleep.”

His sensuous voice caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. Two of his fingers trapped hers. She remembered how skilled he’d been with those fingers the night before and closed her eyes. His lips were warm and sweet, and they kissed all the way into the gray city.

Jane stared at the medieval buildings of the Tower as they drove by, remembering stories from her father’s history books. She gulped, rubbing her neck at the thought of what had occurred beyond the forbidding stone walls. As the new Countess of Falconbury, she might even meet the current king, who, while no Henry VIII, was still a powerful man.

She almost shook her head at the idea. Who would have thought bookworm Jane might one day be presented to the King of England?

The sights and general grandeur of London distracted her so she didn’t notice when the coach stopped. The footman opened the door and stepped back as a distinguished-looking older man took his place. He bowed crisply to Frederick.